The Year of Reading Proust discussion

This thread is for the discussion that will take place through Sunday, 18 Aug. of Sodom and Gomorrah, to page 568 (to the paragraph beginning: “After dinner the car would bring Albertine back...”)

Sappho has been mentioned; some people have commented: here's a taste:

Tonight I've watched
the moon and then
the Pleiades
go down

The night is now
half-gone; youth
goes; I am

in bed alone

Thank you for this!

I spent the better part of an afternoon, and tore a fingernail, trying to find my copy of her poems, but finally found this one on line. There is a semi-apocryphal story that many fragments of her poems were found several thousand years after her death, having been torn up and used for mummy wrappings.

For mummy wrappings? How fascinating!

Looking at some photographs recently, I was struck by how the camera often sees what the naked eye misses, how it can catch a transient expression on a person's face which that person's nearest relative may never have noticed, how it can catch an eyelid even in mid blink.

I've just come to the Montesquiou-like description, quoted last week by Eugene, of Charlus' ironic smile which fit unduler la bouche.. mais comme le Baron craignait de laisser voir une dent en or, il le brisa sous le reflux de ses lèvres, de sorte que la sinuosité qui en résulta fut celle d'un sourire de bienveillance and I can't help thinking that most of us would not have been able to catch the swift stages through which that amazing smile passed.
There are many other passages which shows the Narrator's facility for observation to be just as acute as any camera lens. But when we remember how he claimed not to be very observant - as in the passage quoted earlier about Mme Verdurin's dress, je n'ai pas l'esprit d'observation or when he claimed not to have noticed the Verdurin's tableware, we wonder how that can be. Is it that he had a brilliant memory for the detail of people's faces, expressions, voice inflections, their actual words, their posture, style of walking, etc., but less of an interest/memory for objects?

More acute observation of smiles, this time Mme Verdurin's false smile, when she offered to accompany the Narrator and Albertine on their afternoon drive, a smile which the Narrator has seen people use often but never such refined individuals as Swann or Charlus. Interesting to see those two set apart in this way.
En même temps s'appliqua sur sa bouche un sourire qui ne lui appartenait pas en propre, un sourire que j'avais déjà vu à certaines gens quand ils disaient à Bergotte d'un air fin: "J'ai acheté votre livre, c'est comme cela", un de ces sourires collectifs, universaux, que quand ils en ont besoin - comme on se sert du chemin de fer et des voitures de démenagement - empruntent les individus, sauf quelques-uns très raffinés comme Swann ou comme M. de Charlus aux lèvres de qui je n'ai jamais vu se poser ce sourire-là. GF 173

Fionnuala wrote: "More acute observation of smiles, this time Mme Verdurin's false smile, when she offered to accompany the Narrator and Albertine on their afternoon drive, a smile which the Narrator has seen people..."

Yes, his powers of observation are phenomenal. So, when I read the Narrator's claim that he was not observant, I laughed out loud. I am sure the intonation of the reader in my audio, with his beautiful French, contributed to my response.

Of course, we were not there so we don't know whether we would have noticed other things. But the subtlety with which he can disarm the body language of other people is astounding. The power of the smile,

Funny because part of the reason people who smile for photographs do not necessarily look happy is because a voluntary smile uses different muscles to the spontaneous smile. And we can read that in someone's face even without being aware.

I also loved the passage you have quoted, Fionnuala.

This sentence for us, now, has such a different meaning than for Charlus..

Je n'ai jamais entendu jouer Chopin.

Haha.... Of course Charlus means Chopin himself.

This is like his discrimination of the different types of pears.

As for the transcription to piano of Beethoven's Op 132, I do not have it. But I do have those of his Symphonies, both in recording and score. They were transcribed by Liszt. They are wonderful to listen to, and help a great deal in focusing on key passages that then stand out more when going back to the fully orchestrated version.

Just a note on Mendelssohn. He was not really from Berlin, but was born in Hamburg. But he spent a great deal of time in Berlin but also Leipzig. The Mendelssohn museum is in Leipzig and the conservatory there is named after him.

Lately I am paying more attention to all the "stage directions" and particularly indications on manners of speech for each character, since they have obviously been taken into account when the reader of my audio version has fashioned the characters in their voices.

It sort of gives it a high relief quality to the narration.

For Charlus..ajouta-t-il d'une voix nasillarde, ralentie et trainante...

Yes!, wonderfully so....

Kalliope wrote: "Lately I am paying more attention to all the "stage directions" and particularly indications on manners of speech for each character, since they have obviously been taken into account when the read..."

I find myself noticing these 'stage directions' more and more too, Kalliope. Are there more of them than there used to be perhaps?
I am looking forward to listening to your audio version a lot - thank you for pointing me towards it.

I think one of my favourite characters in La recherche is Mme Verdurin. She just cannot get any better...

Her best line so far is, after M. de Cambremer's peroration on the "écusson sculpté".. in which he finishes with the: Mais if faut se rappeler qu'il s'agit du XIè siècle, she retorts Cela manque d'actualité

All these funny scenes remind me a great deal of Molière. I have posted this before, but now we come to:

Vous avez, dit Cottard, une veine de..... turlututu, mot qu'il répétait volontiers pour esquiver celui de Molière

The missing word is "cocu".

Fionnuala wrote: "Kalliope wrote: "Lately I am paying more attention to all the "stage directions" and particularly indications on manners of speech for each character, since they have obviously been taken into acco..."

In my second read, page 131 GF, another one, a wonderful one.

Charlus has been talking. And the reader has dragged the words...

ajouta-t-il d'une voix complaisante, maniérée, insistante, comme s'il trouvait quelque sadique volupté à employer cette chaste comparaison et aussi à appuyer au passage de sa voix sur ce qui concernait Morel , à le toucher, á défaut de la main, avec des paroles qui semblaient le palper.

I am going to be away next week, and as much as I love Proust, would rather pack my tackle box. Therefore I'm going to get both weeks' reading done this week, and will try to be aware of which I week(s) I might post comments in :)

Martin wrote: "I am going to be away next week, and as much as I love Proust, would rather pack my tackle box. Therefore I'm going to get both weeks' reading done this week, and will try to be aware of which I we..."

Have a good trip, Martin.. We will be here for when you come back.

Fionnuala wrote: ...Charlus' ironic smile which "fit unduler la bouche...mais comme le Baron craignait de laisser voir une dent en or, il le brisa sous le reflux de ses lèvres, de sorte que la sinuosité qui en résulta fut celle d'un sourire de bienveillance" and I can't help thinking that most of us would not have been able to catch the swift stages through which that amazing smile passed.

and

...Narrator's facility for observation...how he claimed not to be very observant - as in the passage quoted earlier about Mme Verdurin's dress, "je n'ai pas l'esprit d'observation"...

Might I remind you there are distinct voices of narration here: Charlus' smile is related in a 3rd person omniscient style as how would a 1st person narrator know "...le Baron craignait..." More obviously, apropos Mme. Verdurin's dress, "je n'ai pas l'esprit d'observation" is written in 1st person narration. Both (the description of Charlus' virtuoso smile and the Narrator claiming he is not observant) can be true--they don't contradict one another--they are different narrative aspects of Marcel Proust's novel, different voices telling the story.

It seems we are just at the beginning of a series of "escarmouches" between Mme Verdurin and Charlus, two formidable opponents.

This one was an unexpected blow....

When Mme Verdurin asks Charlus if he knows of any penniless and old nobleman, because she could have him as her "concierge", he replies:

.. je ne vous le conseille pas.... Je craindrais pour vous que les visiteurs élégants n'allassent pas plus loin que la loge

Ouch... it hurts...

In the beautiful passage on falling asleep there is an extraordinary section, which can be read as a direct testimony of Proust and the way he was writing his novel, sick, in bed, and knowing that his end was approaching.

It is the first time he refers explicitly to himself and begins with the startling "moi"

...moi, l'étrange humain, qui en attendant que la mort le délivre, vit les volets clos, ne sait rien du monde, reste immobile comme un hibou et comme celui-ci, ne voit un peu clair que dans les ténèbres.

It is interesting the way the Narrator includes the thoughts of Henri Bergson. He does it through the "philosophe norvégien", when in reality Proust had met Bergson, had had dinner with him and attended some of his lectures. According to Carter, Proust was best man when Bergson married the cousin of Proust's mother, Louise Neuburger.

... je fuis surpris d'apprendre par le philosophe norvégien.... ce que Bergson pensait des altérations particulières de la mémoire due aux hypnotiques.

So this is another contemporary brought in by Proust. Bergson's dates are 1859-1941.

The notes in the GF edition give the full verses from which the Baudelaire quote originates.

Or, ce que j'oublie dans l'un et l'autre cas, ce n'est pas tel vers de Baudelaire qui me fatigue plutôt "ainsi qu'un tympanon.

Baudelaire's

Ta mémoire, pareille aux fables incertaines,
Fatigue le lecteur ainsi qu'un tympanon.

Fleurs du Mal, XXXIX.

The 'sleep' sequence in Chapter 3 is darker than those before.

Including the first one in Combray, in the opening pages of the novel, they all seem to be drug aided: the chemical residue in consciousness upon waking, the confusion between being asleep & being awake or the 'twilight', etc. Carter confirms Proust as having taken soporifics before he began ISOLT, even mentioning them in letters to his mother. Rather than seeing them as sleep sequences, I think of them as drug experiences.

Yesterday I got the bio of Montesquiou by Jullian in the mail where Proust is a player, a friend & 'student' of the Count, in his history rather than the subject as he was in Carter. Reading the chapter, A Professor of Beauty, how indebted Proust was to Montesquiou for gaining access to society & from a story the Count told him of the "disgrace" of Mme. de Beaulaincourt & her 30 year affair with an ambassador came up with the character of Mme. de Villeparisis even down to the rival woman who dressed like Marie Antoinette, Mme. de Chaponay.

A different & valuable perspective on Proust.

Kalliope wrote: "In the beautiful passage on falling asleep there is an extraordinary section, which can be read as a direct testimony of Proust and the way he was writing his novel, sick, in bed, and knowing that his end was approaching. It is the first time he refers explicitly to himself and begins with the startling "moi"
...moi, l'étrange humain, qui en attendant que la mort le délivre, vit les volets clos, ne sait rien du monde, reste immobile comme un hibou et comme celui-ci, ne voit un peu clair que dans les ténèbres."

I've been thinking a lot lately about Proust's last years, the years when he was writing these later volumes, when he was hardly going out at all, not eating much, sleeping only in daylight and fitfully, writing through the night in poor light, remembering the life he lead in his active days and decorating the scenes of La Recherche with details from times past, details which he recalled clearly only dans les ténèbres. While this image of the later Proust is a tragic one, at the same time, it is clear that the passion he felt for the characters, the details, the twists and turns of the plot must have been like an incredibly satisfying drug and so his choosing to restrict and focus his life in the way he did seems less tragic since it enabled him to indulge his all consuming passion, i.e., spinning the magic lantern every night, telling himself the story of La Recherche.

Kalliope wrote: "It is interesting the way the Narrator includes the thoughts of Henri Bergson. He does it through the "philosophe norvégien", when in reality Proust had met Bergson, had had dinner with him and attended some of his lectures. According to Carter, Proust was best man when Bergson married the cousin of Proust's mother, Louise Neuburger.."

I wondered about this little excerpt from Bergsons's work and what it signified in the narrative.
I liked that no one, not even the author, it seemed, knew when or whither the Norwegian had disappeared - an Assomption was even mentioned!!!

Yes, I got the feeling of a darkness descending when Chapter Three began: The much bleaker dream-sequence, the feeling of having rung the bell a dozen times, that sort of floating in between reality and oblivion (and not knowing which is dream, and which is reality. A clue here?).

And what did happen to the poor Norske? To quote The Life of Brian a little, has be "been taken up?!"

I found the Narrator's musings on sleep and time so interesting. I wish he had said more. I was especially attentive to the odd role of time in sleep and of course of the disconnect he felt upon waking up. As Fionnuala mentioned, Proust's last years were rather tragic viewed from the outside, and it is quite amazing to see how well his brain functioned given his lack of nourishment and use of narcotics and stimulants. In contrast to the confusion the Narrator describes when waking up after a night at the Verdurins's, Proust's mind was incredibly sharp in spite of his lifestyle.

By the way, thank you for the Baudelaire verse. I did not know there was a connection to an actual poem.

In reference to Bergson's dates of birth and death, I find myself placing all events in relationship to Proust. I have his dates so anchored in my mind, as well as the political, social and cultural life of the time that I practically refer to anything else as BP or AP (Before and After Proust). Even just yesterday, when my mother-in-law told me she was born in 1922, I said it was when Proust died! It 's really turning into an obsession.

Martin wrote: "Yes, I got the feeling of a darkness descending when Chapter Three began: The much bleaker dream-sequence, the feeling of having rung the bell a dozen times, that sort of floating in between realit..."

Speaking of oblivion, I liked his wondering about what is real and not. "J'étais effrayé pourtant de penser que ce rêve avait eu la netteté de la connaissance. La connaissance aurait-elle, réciproquement, l'irréalité du rêve?"

Jocelyne wrote: "Martin wrote: "Yes, I got the feeling of a darkness descending when Chapter Three began: The much bleaker dream-sequence, the feeling of having rung the bell a dozen times, that sort of floating inbetween realit..."
Speaking of oblivion, I liked his wondering about what is real and not. "

Interesting too how he described sleep as that other, alternative apartment we go to when we are no longer awake, with its own special sounds, its own logic and people who are all androgynous.

Mme. Verdurin:

Vous croyez peut-être à la réputation de la galette. Mon cuisinier les fait autrement bien. Je vous en ferai manger, moi, de la galette normande, de la vraie, et des sablés, je ne vous dis que ça.

Scott Moncrieff translates "galette normande" as "Norman rock-cake." But what kinds of cakes are these which our host is so proud? Time for an image search!







To me these look like apple pies, with proper top and bottom crusts.

I also found a savory tart stuffed with camembert and andouille

also called galette normande but since she's pairing it with shortbread I assume she means the dessert kind.

And this is the first time he mentions that he has been in the military..

Comme un officier de mon régiment, qui m'eût semblé un être spécial,...

Out of the blue, similarly to when he mentioned he had engaged in duels.

Richard wrote: "Mme. Verdurin: Vous croyez peut-être à la réputation de la galette. Mon cuisinier les fait autrement bien. Je vous en ferai manger, moi, de la galette normande, de la vraie, et des sablés, je ne vo..."

Yam, yam, Richard.

Here is the more cookie or biscuit-like kind .



Apple pies are also famous in Normandy.

Kalliope wrote: "...he was writing his novel, sick, in bed, and knowing that his end was approaching. It is the first time he refers explicitly to himself and begins with the startling "moi"
...moi, l'étrange humain, qui en attendant que la mort le délivre, vit les volets clos, ne sait rien du monde, reste immobile comme un hibou et comme celui-ci, ne voit un peu clair que dans les ténèbres."
"

I'm still thinking about that remarkable passage where Proust describes himself waiting for death. In The Magic Mountain, which I'm reading at the moment, there's a character called Settembrini who reminds me a little of Proust. What is interesting is that Settembrini describes the people in the sanatorium where the novel takes place as living life horizontally. Isn't that what Proust did too, he lived life horizontally in the end, writing himself onto the page, line by line, until his every memory was fully transcribed.

I just ate but all these galettes and pies are making me hungry again already.

Given how much time Proust did spend living horizontally and how interested he was in sleep, dream, memory and consciousness, isn't surprising that he did not have more contacts with Bergson, especially since they were related? And can anybody suggest a good introductory book on Bergson, something that a non-analytical person could understand?

If you do enjoy a galette, it's important to make sure to pick one that won't lead to peritonitis

Fionnuala wrote: "Kalliope wrote: "In the beautiful passage on falling asleep there is an extraordinary section, which can be read as a direct testimony of Proust and the way he was writing his novel, sick, in bed, ..."

Like Kalliope and Fionnuala, I too cannot seem to let go of the image of Proust sitting in his bed working at writing his novel for 14 years(14 years!!!), and frankly for his ability to come up with so much material.

There were a couple of pages that had Mme Verdurin giving what sounded like a speech ...

""Anyhow," she said to me,"before you dine with the Cambremers, why not bring your cousin here?" at the bottom of page 501 that ends with...." since that's what he's most afraid of, it will have a calming effect on his nerves." Mme Verdurin concluded." on page 507.

These pages had me thinking about poor Marcel, sitting up in his bed experimenting with his writing style.

At one point he gives us Mme Verdurin: " I was always bored to death of him." in which he adds: "(Translation: He went to the La Tremoilles and Guermantes and knew that I didn't.")" (MKE 504)

I was surprised to find this translation bit between parenthesis on the page in the middle of Mme Verdurin's uninterrrupted conversation.

Basically, it had me thinking of Proust thinking about what to put down on the page.



oh for crying out loud, unable to post the image. Here it is as a link:

http://fictionwritersreview.com/wp-co...


Jocelyne, help!!!

Can't you see the image on your end, Reem? It's beautifully posted here. And so funny!

Jocelyne wrote: "Can't you see the image on your end, Reem? It's beautifully posted here. And so funny!"

It must be your magic presence Jocelyne. I couldn't see it before.

That is a funny image, Reem but Proust looks too comfortable in it.
According to his friend, Louis Gautier-Vignal, Proust always lay on his side, leaning on one elbow, writing without any firm support underneath his copy book. L V-G offered to get him an invalid's writing desk such as in your image but Proust preferred to continue according to his own beloved 'habitudes'.
L V-G went on to say that there were no lamps on each side of the bed as there should have been, but only one lamp, placed too far from the bed to really light the page properly. And that Proust gave up on the telephone because it was too distracting, he used to send Celeste out to a public telephone box whenever he needed to send anyone a message.
Sorry for bursting this brilliant bubble...

hey, maybe Proust also had trouble with his coccyx, like me. Lying on my side is the only position I can take on the sofa, my most common reading position these days. Unfortunately I tend to drift off to sleep.....

Fionnuala wrote: "That is a funny image, Reem but Proust looks too comfortable in it.
According to his friend, Louis Gautier-Vignal, Proust always lay on his side, leaning on one elbow, writing without any firm supp..."

I was actually frustrated when reading that part in GV. It seemed like such tiny changes, like a better lamp, would have made a huge difference in his level of comfort, and yet he would not give up his customary way of doing things.

@Karen, you should get that little pillow with the hole in it. I forgot what it is called. Even if you are getting used to lying on your side, don't be stubbornly Proustian about it. Hope you feel better.

Jocelyne wrote: "I was actually frustrated when reading that part in GV. It seemed like such tiny changes, like a better lamp, would have made a huge difference in his level of comfort, and yet he would not give up his customary way of doing things.
."
I know -it did seem frustrating that he wouldn't adopt even minimal changes but I got a bit frustrated with G-V when he tried to insist that Proust make those changes. G-V said the trait he most valued in himself was his ability to give other people good advice - I laughed at that! I can imagine that Proust laughed a little too at G-V's efforts, knowing as he did, that he absolutely had to keep to his customary way of doing things in order to be able to continue writing..
@Karen - sorry the coccyx is still such a problem.

Sorry, somewhat off-topic: I'm just a leetle frustrated cos I've had two excruciating injections which have not made a blind bit of difference. I know folks say no pain no gain, but pain and no gain is, well....

Back to Proust: what was that odd expression used by the 'chasseur louche' about his sister, right at the very beginning of Ch. 3?

'et qu'une fois, comme elle avait envie de retourner chez elle au lieu de rester sérieuse...'

Rester sérieuse - that IS a nice euphemism, is it not? Or have I misunderstood something here?

As in taking the job seriously? It is funny

Fionnuala wrote: "That is a funny image, Reem but Proust looks too comfortable in it.
According to his friend, Louis Gautier-Vignal, Proust always lay on his side, leaning on one elbow, writing without any firm supp..."

And that is why there is such need for fact checkers. Thanks Fionnuala for correcting the mistakes in the cartoon and clarifying the image that is constantly developing in our heads.

Karen, Joceylne is right! The donut is a must for your coccyx. The good news is that you will heal. The hardest part is getting out of the car and the bathtub. Soaking in a hot tub helps. I hope you feel better. 2 shots, ouch.

http://www.amazon.com/Donut-Pillow-co...

As often as not I went no further than the great plain which overlooks Gourville, and as it resembles slightly the plain that begins above Combray, in the direction of Méséglise, even at a considerable distance from Albertine I had the joy of thinking that, even if my eyes could not reach her, the powerful, soft sea breeze that was flowing past me, carrying further than they, must sweep down, with nothing to arrest it, as far as Quetteholme, until it stirred the branches of the trees that bury Saint-Jean-de-la-Haise in their foliage, caressing my beloved's face, and thus create a double link between us in this retreat indefinitely enlarged but free of dangers, as in those games in which two children find themselves momentarily out of sight and earshot of one another, and yet while far apart remain together. ML p. 558

I like the Narrator when he is free from the "dangers" of jealousy; Proust writes a line from the heart, it's love as it should be. But there again, these feelings, so dear, so protective of them he is, are reasons when threatened for his jealousy.

The sentence takes the Narrator and us from from Gourville to Combray to Méséglise then the sea breeze takes us to Quetteholme to Saint-Jean-de-la-Haise and stirs the trees before it caresses Albertine's face: the lovers "while far apart remain together."

Phantoms

It was natural, and yet it was not without importance; they reminded me that it was my fate to pursue only phantoms, creatures whose reality existed to a great extent in my imagination; for there are people—and this had been my case since youth—for whom all the things that have a fixed value, assessable by others, fortune, success, high positions, do not count; what they must have is phantoms. They sacrifice all the rest, devote all their efforts, make everything else subservient to the pursuit of some phantom. ML p. 559

Now isn't jealousy, or its threat, a phantom (a figment of the imagination); if it were real it would be envy or some other reaction. That is not the point of this comment.

Mamma says to her son:

"...Besides, I do really think you've gone about with Albertine quite enough. I assure you you're overdoing it, even to her it may seem ridiculous..." ML p. 567

(Now isn't this what she says to him of Mme. de Guermantes [a phantom] in Vol. 2 too and the result is that he 'falls out of love' with her.)

The Narrator is a mamma's boy and he's realized the power that a boy has over his Mamma, being her darling, from that night in Combray when she came up to his room, according to his wishes, and they cried together while she read George Sand to him.

He replies:

that ...her words would delay for perhaps two months the decision for which they asked, which otherwise I would have reached before the end of the week. ML p. 568

How could he say this to her? There is a reciprocity of power here, an exchange of love: a mamma's boy must be her darling and to be a darling one gives one's future away, one cajoles, one lies, etc. to Mamma with love and with talented promise.

As I recall Mamma and Grandmother said nothing about ending his relations with Gilberte; they spoke about his "work" and with her he couldn't, so he realized.

She remembered all the years in which my grandmother and she had refrained from speaking to me about my work and the need for a healthier way of life which, I used to say, the agitation into which their exhortations threw me alone prevented me from beginning, and which, notwithstanding their obedient silence, I had failed to pursue. ML p. 568

He's got them, say something, say nothing, they can't win (BTW they don't want to win), they can only love him and he can be their mamma's boy. "Work" is a phantom too, at least the way he's conceived it until now.

OK, all you image experts (and I know you're out there). How about posting a picture of what Albertine's "Italian straw toque and veil" might have looked like?

Kalliope, I love The Magic Mountain. One reviewer has a hilarious interpretation of it. Think of it as a huge college dormitory, full of horny young people who live a life of leisure and complain about the food all the time.

Eugene wrote: "Yesterday I got the bio of Montesquiou by Jullian in the mail where Proust is a player, a friend & 'student' of the Count..."

Just got this in the mail yesterday... looks to be a great additional resource.

I don't know how apocryphal this story is, but here it is. Montesquiou had a valet named Iturri (who was a South American Indian) who made the following score. He discovered that a convent near Versailles had Mme de Montespan's pink marble bathtub, and got it for his master! He took them a pair of v. fancy embroidered slippers that belonged to Montesquiou and told them that they had belonged to the Pope, and they let him have the bath for them!