All language subtitles for A la recherche du temps perdu (2011) CD1 EN

IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME

BASED ON MARCEL PROUST'S NOVEL

Translated by
selaflaure (selaflaure@gmail.com)

Easy does it!
It doesn't feel right.

I'm missing a Gilberte!
Where's the little one?

There's mud on the skirt!

Stop fussing! Stop!

- Where is she?
- They're all too small!

- Caroline!
- So that's it!

A little cap!

Ask Jean-Claude
to fix it on you.

It fits, right?
But I split my pants!

Very white.
It has to look theatrical.

There!

I nicked my lip...

I'll go first.
He takes me to the country,

and then he loves you in Paris.

We're both Gilberte.
I'm just older.

- I know. Do you love him too?
- No!

A bit!

The Gilberte in the book
is a very cold girl.

When she's bored, she dumps him.

- No, it's him that's too clingy.
- He's in pain! She doesn't care!

I had become
almost indifferent to Gilberte

when two years later,
my grandmother and I left for Balbec.

If only the Balbec Church
knew how unhappy you are

at the prospect of a visit.

The day before departure

I learned my father had been
detained at the ministry,

and my mother would stay behind.

For the first time I began to suspect
she could actually live without me.

- I cherish my little man!
- Otherwise than for me?

I picture you
like Mme de Sévigné,

your eyes glued to a map,
following our every move.

What does Mme de Sévigné say?
Your grandmother will tell you:

"I will have to muster
all the courage that you lack."

So as to avoid the choking fits
engendered by travel anguish,

my doctor counseled me to imbibe
before departure a little beer or cognac,

in order to achieve that state
which he called "euphoria".

I'm so very happy
to be going to Balbec!

I will
quickly become accustomed

to being without Mother.

Perhaps you should
sleep a little.

The barman and his staff
were so charming!

I hope I make this trip often
so that I may see them again.

If you cannot sleep,

then read!

This shade of blue

is the loveliest colour
I've seen in all my born days.

What a lovely golden sheen
to your buttons!

It would make me so happy
if you sat with us!

At first, my indifference
was still intermittent.

The me who had loved Gilberte,

replaced almost entirely
by another, was re-emerging.

So the thought of not seeing her
was suddenly painful.

But this pain and
resurgence of love for Gilberte

was fleetingly dreamlike.

- Fresh milk! Hot café-au-lait!
- This way, miss!

At the sight of the milkmaid,
I felt the desire to live

that is re-awakened in each of us, in
the face of sudden beauty and happiness.

Miss!

Life would have seemed delicious
if only I could have spent

hour after hour with her
from the farm to the train...

IN THE SHADOW
OF YOUNG GIRLS IN BLOOM

The climate
would benefit my grandson.

- I'd hoped for a longer stay!
- Those are the prices, madam.

Prices much too high
for my meagre budget!

I must confess
that I feel unwell!

I believe
we must return to Paris!

I must acquire some necessities,
whether we return, or not!

I shan't be long!

Thank you!

In this strange room,
I felt as reduced and uncomfortable

as Cardinal La Balue,

confined by Louis XI in a cage

in which he could neither
sit nor stand.

There was no space for
me in my Balbec room.

It was full of things
that, not knowing me,

testified that I was disturbing
the routine of their existence.

Threatened by enemies around me,

overwhelmed by the fever,
I was alone.

I wanted to die.

I knew, when I was
with my grandmother,

the vast depths of my sorrow

would be quelled
by the vaster depth of her pity.

My lips hovered over her face as if trying
to access that boundless heart of hers.

No, grandma.

I beg you, it's such
a joy for your grandmother.

Don't forget to knock on the wall
if you need something tonight.

My bed is right next to yours.
The partition is very thin.

As soon my grandmother had left me,
my suffering returned again.

Could this terror, among others,
of sleeping in strange rooms

be the unconscious form of
our desperate refusal to accept death,

that accompanies us
all life long,

by detaching from us, at every
moment, shreds of ourselves?

But the following morning,

what a joy to see in the window,
and each glass surface,

as through the portholes of a ship's cabin,
the naked, shadowless sea,

and to watch the waves, breaking
in sequence like jumpers on a trampoline.

Let's hurry up.

One doesn't come to the seaside to
stay locked up. I'm dying for a walk.

M. de Stermaria and his daughter.

Oh! They were
due to arrive this evening.

- A long walk...
- Excuse me...

You have been given, by mistake,
the table of M. de Stermaria,

a very old Brittany family,
who honors us by choosing Le Grand Hotel.

Set the table.

Take care this doesn't happen again.

It offends me that
strangers have taken my table.

Alas, no previous contempt

was so undesirable
as that of M. de Stermaria.

For I had noticed his daughter,
her pretty pale face, almost

- bluish.
- We will start with vol-au-vent.

Aimé, I want you to personally
see to it that it's hot!

In the hardness of her look

I glimpsed the passing airs
of almost palpable docility

that the taste of sensual pleasures
gives even to the most proud.

The Marquise of Villeparisis.

The sudden appearance,
in the guise of a little old woman,

of the most powerful fairy, could
not have caused me more pleasure.

Thanks to Madame de Villeparisis,
my grandmother's friend,

I would cross in seconds
the infinite social distance

at least in Balbec, which
separated me from Mlle de Stermaria.

Sadly, my grandmother's principle
was not to visit the seaside

to see people who would waste

our precious time that
we could pass before the waves.

If Mme de Villeparisis,
sitting at our table,

had given from me
to Mlle de Stermaria

an opinion that made me
emboldened to approach her,

maybe we could have bonded better.

And, a month when she was left
alone, without her parents,

in her Romanesque chateau,

I could have
joined and possessed her,

in this Brittany which
enveloped her in so many memories.

One morning, Mme de Villeparisis
and my grandmother

fell upon each other, in a doorway.

It was enough to pronounce
the name of a titled person

for Aimé to be happy.

Seeing that Mme de Villeparisis
had found in us old friends,

he went to fetch our finger bowls

with the discreet smile of a hostess

who knows how to retire.

Alas! Aimé's delight
couldn't be shared by M. de Stermaria,

he and his daughter
having left the hotel.

Having no friends or relations
in Balbec,

I went with my grandmother
and the Marquise for long walks.

On the day we visited
St John's church in La Haise,

descending into Hudimesnil,

all of a sudden, I felt filled
with that deep happiness

that I hadn't felt since childhood:

The three old trees
formed around the Calvary,

an image not seen
for the first time.

Where had I ever seen them?

I felt, behind them,
a moment in my past life,

but, despite my desperate efforts,
I couldn't bring them to mind,

and a good part of me
passed forever into nothingness.

I never knew
where I had seen them.

Soon I'll see you less
often than I would like.

My nephew Robert de Saint-Loup
who is training in Saumur

is currently in garrison,
in a village near Doncieres.

He let me know he's coming to me
for a few weeks' leave.

He is of great intelligence
and a big heart.

Unfortunately, he fell into the clutches
of a bad woman he's crazy about,

and who won't let him go.

It's the young Marquis
de Saint-Loup-en-Bray.

I imagined that
Robert de Saint-Loup

was going to take a liking to me,
that I would be his best friend.

Oh! What a happy meeting!

Let me introduce to you my dear
nephew, Robert de Saint-Loup.

Robert, this is the grandson
of my dear friend I told you of.

I thought it was at least a duel when,
the next day, he sent me his card,

but he showed me a sympathy very
different from his salute the day before.

I'm glad you accepted
my invitation to have a chat.

When we met yesterday, I saw
you reading Loti's "My brother Yves".

I was rereading some passages.

It's a poem dedicated to the sea.

Afterwards, I realized that he
made his salute without thinking,

that it was a simple worldly
habit, something learned.

I borrowed from your aunt
some very anecdotal memoires

of the famous Comte de Marsantes.

Would you agree to tell me more
about the novel that was his life?

I hardly knew my father.
It seems he was an exquisite man,

who spent all his life
hunting and at the races.

I've cut myself off from that world.
Fled from this ignorant, selfish caste

of which I am, alas, the heir.

We are great friends
forever, aren't we?

Friends forever.

These words caused me
a kind of sadness,

and I was
embarrassed to answer.

I blamed myself for taking pleasure
in considering Saint-Loup

as an ancient artefact,
as a work of art

that my reverie was trying to fathom.

At the post office, this morning,
Françoise was given letters for you.

What a lucky man!

For me, there was still nothing.

I wrote to her:
"Tell me, what did I do wrong?

"I'm ready to recognize my wrongs."

But now she loathes me
and she's torturing me.

Basically, I'm not irreducibly
hostile to Jewish nationality,

but we can't take two
steps without meeting one.

We only hear: "Thay,
Apraham, I thaw Chacop."

It's my friend Bloch.

We met before the
University Board of Examiners.

I salute you,
dear God-made flesh,

and you, beloved horseman
of Athena

of Saint-Loup-en-Bray,
with fast javelin.

Happy to see you again.

I run to the telegraph office.

An urgent dispatch
to send before closing.

Are you hoping his nobility
will rub off on you in time?

You're crossing
a nice crisis of snobbery.

Tell me, are you a snob?
You are, aren't you?

I could have answered him:
"If I were, I wouldn't see you."

You are unkind.

I've hurt you. Forgive me.

Yesterday, thinking of my
visits to your home, in Combray,

of our afternoons in class,

I sobbed all night.

I swear to you!

Alas, you won't believe me.

You can't even imagine
my pain, when I think of you.

Basically, that's
rather Jewish of me.

Bloch was in Balbec with his
sisters, many relatives and friends.

They formed a cortège
of biblical figures

dissimilar to the people
watching them pass by

and finding them there every year,
whilst never exchanging a word with them.

No girl on holiday at Balbec
was allowed to associate

with this horde
of poorly bred girls

who would, one day,
cause me such great anguish.

I was just going
to your caravanserai

to ask both of you to come one day

to dine with my illustrious
father of blameless heart.

I would be happy
to meet your father, but...

I can't commit right now.

I'm waiting for an uncle who
comes to spend some time with us.

Bloch made us these invitations
as he had an unbridled desire

to bond with Saint-Loup
who would help him, he hoped,

to enter
aristocratic circles.

Formed by me,

this wish would appeared to
Bloch the most hideous snobbery.

My uncle Palamede is
a proponent of physical exercise,

especially of long walks.

Since he left on foot, he cannot
tell me exactly the time of his arrival.

Where does his first name come from?

The Sicilian Princes, his ancestors.

Even in the most exclusive
aristocratic circles,

my uncle still stands out as
notoriously inaccessible,

and infatuated with his nobility.

But I know
his life is anything but boring.

In his youth,
he brought women every day

to a studio apartment he
had with two of his friends,

both handsome like him. That's why
they were called "The Three Graces".

And I know that he
cheated on my poor aunt.

Still, he treated her deliciously
and grieved for her for years.

This man who was unknown
to me stared at me with eyes

possessed by intense calculation.

I thought he was a hotel crook
preparing a dirty trick.

The singularity of his expression
made me take him for a thief

or a lunatic.

He shot me one last look,
like the shot you fire

before making your escape.

How are you?

May I introduce my
nephew the Baron de Guermantes.

My dear boarding school friend!

- Charmed.
- My God!

I'm losing my mind. I called you
Baron de Guermantes.

Allow me to introduce
the Baron de Charlus.

After all, it's a trifling matter.
You're a Guermantes too.

I'm surprised to see Balzac
admired by my nephews.

I blame him for painting a
society where he was not received.

Did my ears deceive me?

Mme de Villeparisis said
your uncle was a Guermantes?

Of course!
Palamède de Guermantes.

The same Guermantes
who have a castle near Combray

- and are said to be descended
from Geneviève de Brabant? - Absolutely.

He is the Duke of Guermantes'
brother, the owner of the castle.

And your uncle? Who's he?

He had his pick of 4 or 5 princely titles
but kept that of Baron de Charlus.

He thinks they're not worthy of him.
Typical of the elderly.

He'll explain with pleasure.

Don't make me talk genealogy.
I know nothing more boring.

When I was a child, in Combray,
and sure of weather,

because the walk was long,
we were going to Guermantes,

but never made it to the castle.

I would have liked so much to reach it.

It was easier to go to
the other side, in Méséglise,

which we also called "Swann's way",
as we passed by M. Swann's property.

We'll leave you here.

We're having lunch with
the Princess de Luxembourg.

I'll have tea, after dinner,
in my aunt's apartment.

I hope you will give me the pleasure
of coming with your grandmother.

My dear Bathilde, come sit beside me.

The fact that it was my family's home,
where Marie Antoinette once slept,

now in the hands of Israeli bankers,

reminds me of this room
in the Chateau de Blois...

where the guardian said to me:

"This is where Mary Stuart prayed...

"and this is where now
I put my brooms." A candy?

It's a good idea you came.
It's charming.

Isn't it, Auntie?

But sir,
it was you who asked me to come.

Tea?

My nephew can tell you
about the Chateau de Rochers,

where your dear Sévigné
wrote so many letters.

I stayed there.

It makes my dear Bathilde sad

when I tell her that
I see a little literature

in this despair of Mme de Sévigné

to be separated
from her tedious daughter.

On the contrary,
nothing seems more real to me.

It's so beautiful, what she
says, when leaving her.

"This parting is a soul wound
rendered physical too."

Being near our loved ones
is our only joy!

Madame de Sévigné was less
to be pitied then others,

she lived a large part of her life
among those whom she loved.

It was not love. You're forgetting
that it was about her daughter.

The important thing in life is
not what we love, it is to love.

- It's Charlus. May I come in, sir?
- Please come in, sir.

Sir, my nephew was telling me
just now that you were...

a little bored before falling asleep,
and on the other hand that...

you admire Bergotte's works.

As I have with me some
you may not know, I...

I'm bringing you this one,
to help you pass

those moments when
you are none too happy.

Indeed I didn't know it.
Thank you, sir.

I was worried that my discomfort
with the approach of night

made me look to your eyes
more stupid than I am.

Maybe you have no personal merit.
Very few have it.

But, at least for a while,
you have your youth,

and that's always charming.

The greatest folly is to find
ridiculous or blameworthy

feelings one doesn't feel oneself.

I love the night,

and you
tell me you dread it.

I will not say that your
sadness is not painful.

I know how much one can suffer
for things others cannot understand.

But...
don't complain too much.

You have placed your
affection in your grandmother,

and...

it is a permissible affection.

That is to say...
an affection that is repaid in kind.

There are so many
of which one cannot say that.

I have another Bergotte volume.
I'll send someone to bring it to you.

You're too good, sir. A single
Bergotte volume will suffice.

That is just
what I was thinking!

Good evening, sir.

Sir!

Your grandmother wishes
to see you after your swim.

But we don't care about
the old grandmother, huh?

Little rascal!

How's that, sir? I love her!

Sir, you're still young.

You'd better learn not to answer
aggressively to things you're told,

before having
penetrated their meaning.

By taking this precaution,

you would have avoided,
not to mince matters,

adding a second ridicule
to that of having

embroidered anchors
on your swimsuit.

I lent you a book by Bergotte
which I need.

Have it sent back to me
before I leave, in one hour.

Don't let me keep you standing.
You might catch cold.

Good evening, sir.

Come on, darling, come.

Your friend Robert asked if I'd like him
to take my picture before he left Balbec.

I'm dressed
in my loveliest attire.

For my hat, I'm still unsure.

Powder? Jewelry? Lace?

For a simple photo?

I always thought you unconcerned
regarding your appearance.

It seems I was wrong.

If this sitting displeases you,
I will not hesitate to cancel.

Why should I deprive
you of a pleasure?

I see no problem.
I'll leave you to beautify yourself.

Sir, the poor lady will be so
happy to have her own portrait.

You have to let her go, sir.
And I did.

I managed to drive
from my grandmother's face

that happy expression
which I should have enjoyed,

but which in photographs can seem
like a travesty of the beloved.

That day, like the previous,

Saint-Loup was obliged
to show himself at his garrison.

Alone again, I was waiting in front
of the Grand Hotel for the moment

to go find my grandmother.

They were five or six,

so different from all the people
we were accustomed to in Balbec.

They were like a flock of seagulls

performing a choreographed walk
on the beach.

Octave told me that a
certain Mme de Villeparisis...

Although each of them
was absolutely different,

I saw emerging a pale oval,
blue eyes, green eyes,

but I could not relate
them to this or that girl.

She's a friend of little Simonet.

Poor old man, it makes me sad.
He looks half-dead.

Now their features
were no longer indistinct.

Who's that Ostrogoth
staring at us like that?

I've never seen him before.

Neither in Paris nor in Balbec,

among all the passers-by
who caught my eye,

had I seen any so beautiful,

that I found it impossible
to find reunited species

rarer than those of
these young flowers

that now interrupted in front of me

the line of the sea
with their light wings,

like a grove of
Pennsylvania roses.

I don't know why, but from
the first day, I told myself

that little Simonet had to
be the prettiest of them all,

the only one who, turning her head,

had seemed
to notice my fixed gaze.

Come in.

This is our last night.

Tomorrow, I'll have dinner
at my garrison with my friends.

Promise me to come to lunch
or dinner with me in Doncieres.

I promise to come
several times a week.

It's not hot.
You'd better keep it.

Why do you look at me me so
with your big fawn eyes?

The structure of your face

must be the same
as your ancestors,

devised more for an ardent archer
than for a delicate scholar.

A delicate scholar?

Thank you.

Your head is reminiscent of
these ancient dungeon towers

that has been arranged
internally into a library.

If I had your disposition,

I think I would write
from morning to night.

But you take more pleasure
doing nothing.

How sad it is that second-raters
like myself

are those always ready to work.

For this evening,
before his departure,

Saint-Loup took me one last time
to dine at Rivebelle.

Already two or three times,
we had seen, Saint-Loup and I,

seating himself at a table,
when everyone else was leaving,

a tall man, with a powerful
build, a grizzled beard,

whose pensive gaze remained
firmly fixed on the void.

Yesterday finally, we questioned
the landlord on this solitary tardy client

who piqued our curiosity.

"What? You don't know the
famous painter Elstir?"

It was Elstir?

He's not only famous,
he's a great artist.

I remembered that M. Swann
had spoken to me about him.

We sent him a note

revealing the two tardy diners
sitting a few steps away

were two passionate lovers
of his talent,

and two friends of his friend Swann.

And Monsieur Elstir took the trouble
to come to your table?

He stayed for a short time,
but he was very kind.

He invited me to come see him
at his Balbec studio.

I'm delighted for
your meeting with Elstir.

The conversation
of a superior man

is as powerful in training,
in strengthening a spirit

as the sea breeze.

Saint-Loup was gone.

He couldn't share my fascination
with the little group.

My desire went now to one,
now to another.

I loved no one,
loving them all.

Albertine! Are you coming?

I hadn't yet replied
to Elstir's invitation.

Uncertain of the time when the girls
might pass by, I dared not leave.

You change your suit every day.

You've ordered hats
and ties from Paris,

and you miss the opportunity
to listen to and watch at work

one of our greatest artists.

I find it absurd and unkind that
you've not yet gone to see him.

Elstir lives far away.
I'd have to walk and take the tram.

I ended up reluctantly
obeying my grandmother.

But when I found myself in
the studio, I felt perfectly happy.

Elstir, at my request,
continued to paint.

In his studio there were only
seascapes of here, in Balbec.

The charm of each
consisted of a kind of

metamorphosis
of the things represented.

Elstir's studio appeared to me

like the laboratory for
the creation of a new world.

I've always imagined
the church of Balbec

as receiving at its base the
sea foam raised by the storm.

When getting off the train,

I was told that the sea
was five leagues away,

and I saw that the church
stood on a square,

in front of a café, bearing in
golden letters the name "Pillard".

I had been advised
not to go to Brittany,

because it was unhealthy for
a spirit already prone to dreams.

When a mind
is prone to dreams,

you must not rationalize it.
Too little dreaming is dangerous.

What heals him
is not less dreams,

but more dreams.
All the time.

Good morning.

Do you know that girl, sir?

Yes.
Her name is Albertine Simonet.

I met her in Balbec with other girls.

Rosemonde, Gisèle, Andrée...

Not a day goes by without one of them
passing by the studio

and paying me a little visit.

A few days later,
after all all my queries about her,

Elstir himself invited me

to a morning tea party
at which I could meet Albertine.

You're welcome. No fuss.

Come, I'll introduce you to Albertine.

- Is she here?
- Over there, in front of you.

I didn't recognize her. I've only seen
her with her wide-brimmed hat.

His father is very rich.
He played an important role...

- A perfectly boring gentleman.
- So unpleasant...

As unpleasant as it may be
using this "perfectly",

it indicates a degree of
culture and civilization

hard to associate
with the bacchante on her bicycle.

Albertine seemed to me
more intimidated than implacable,

more respectable than ill-bred.

After this first metamorphosis,

Albertine would change
many times for me.

Sitting close to her, I saw the
beauty spot on the cheek, below her eye.

I remembered that the other day,
at Elstir's, I noticed it on her chin.

What weather!

You don't recognize me? We saw
each other at M. Elstir's house.

I didn't forget.

The endless summer
of Balbec is a huge joke.

You do nothing? We never see you
at golf or dancing at the casino.

You must be bored.

How dull, lying on the beach?

Do you like basking in the sun?
I love all sports.

The mole I had remembered sometimes
on her cheek, sometimes her chin,

I would now always remember
on her upper lip, under her nose.

The pressure of Albertine's
hand had a sensual sweetness

that seemed to allow one
to penetrate her being.

I promised myself,
at our next meeting,

to be bolder with her.

I traced in advance the plan
of everything that I would tell her.

But I didn't tell her anything
of what I had planned.

How I would like to be rich,
to have a yacht!

I would ask for
your advice to arrange it.

What a nice trip I would make!

I was embarrassed by certain things
in her look, in her smile.

It might have been moral laxity,

but also the silly gaiety
of a respectable young girl.

Do you like
the new car fashions for women?

Yes, of course!

Hello, M. Elstir!

- Hello, my little ones. Come in.
- We're off to town.

We just passed by to say hello.

- We didn't expect to see you here.
- As you see, I'm here.

My friend Andrée,
my friend Gisèle.

Hello!

- Hello.
- Hello.

I have my round of golf.
I have to hurry.

- M. Elstir, goodbye.
- Goodbye.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

Are you going down
to the beach, just now?

- We haven't decided anything yet.
- Goodbye. Goodbye, M. Elstir.

Goodbye, Gisèle.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

I found you most
unpleasant with your friend.

She must learn to be more discreet.
I should have told her to go to blazes.

And I hate her hair left like that,
it makes her look quite tawdry.

I didn't notice it.

But you were looking at her
as if you wanted to paint her.

I was wondering what perfume,
what taste her cheeks might have?

That day,
her cheeks were creamy pink,

like certain roses
that have a waxy gloss.

Come on, ladies!

Despite Albertine's reluctance
to introduce us,

I finally made the acquaintance
of the entire little group.

The dance teacher
is at his wit's end,

because we make too much noise.
We even broke some chairs.

Waltz.

Andrée, who had
seemed to me the coldest,

was infinitely more delicate,
more affectionate than Albertine,

to whom she showed
the tenderness of an elder sister.

All those who know Albertine
can only become fond of her.

When an activity presents itself,

she attacks it with the violent joy
of a child. Look at her.

Andrée, let's hurry up.
We've a game of golf waiting.

No. I'll stay and chat with him.

Do as you wish, I must dash.

She's charming. She's stupendous.

My mother likes her immensely.
She wants to invite her every year.

She wants to offer a stay by the sea
as she can't afford to travel herself.

The poor girl says that
her aunt, Mme Bontemps,

has but one wish:
to be rid of her.

Her aunt, doesn't mind
complaining everywhere

that Albertine
with no parents and no fortune,

will never be marriage material.

M. Aimé told me that
your picnic basket is ready.

All those sandwiches and pies,
your young girls

could take turns paying
if they weren't so interested.

The sandwiches are divine.
Why do you only eat cakes?

To each his taste.

Who will laugh first.

The dawn of youth
which flushed these girls' faces

illuminated everything in front of them.
It is so short, this radiant morning,

that we come to like
only the very youngest girls.

I have to show you the letter
Gisèle wrote me this morning.

I have it here, I'd forgotten, I guess.

She sends us the composition
she wrote for her exam.

Here is the subject she chose.

"Sophocles writes from Hell to Racine

to console him for the
failure of his play "Athalie".

There is,
in the chirpings of these girls,

pitches lost to older women.

"My dear friend,
forgive me for writing to you..."

Lying between these girls,

the fullness of what I felt
overflowed into waves of happiness

without me being able to say which
one made these places so precious.

Whom I was most ready to love.

Who has a pencil?

- And paper?
- Sorry.

You nosy biddies,
I forbid you to watch what I write.

Be careful that no one sees it.

"I really like you."

"I really like you."

I tell myself that it's with
Albertine that I would have my novel.

You should always wear
your hair slightly dishevelled.

Now, I knew that I loved Albertine,
but pretended to prefer Andrée.

Rosemonde told me that
Albertine leaves tomorrow

to spend 48 hours
at her aunt's house,

and that she'll come tonight

to sleep at the Grand-Hôtel
to catch the first train.

This won't help you.

I'm sure she won't want to see you,
if she comes alone to the hotel.

Protocol would intervene.

I wasn't even thinking about it.
I beg you to believe me.

- Ah! You're here.
- My child, I'm going back home.

Go, I'll join you.

I now arrange my hair
just the way you like it.

Nobody knows who
I do it for.

Andrée told me that
you're leaving tomorrow early.

Yes.

I'm spending tonight at your hotel.

Since I have a cold,
I'll go to bed early.

You could dine
in my room if you like.

My aunt won't know.

- See you later.
- See you later.

Come in.

Come, come.

The sight of Albertine's bare throat,

her cheeks too pink,

had thrown me into such intoxication

that, if death had struck me,
I would have been indifferent.

Stop or I'll ring.

I told myself it couldn't be for naught
that she had me come in secret.

I would learn the fragrance
and flavour of this unknown fruit.

Albertine had rung
with all her might.

I'll be back.

I forgive you.
I'm sorry to have hurt you.

But never do it again.

For you.

Little by little,
my dreams abandoned Albertine,

no longer fed
by hopes of possessing her.

Bad weather arrived,

and my friends left Balbec.
Albertine went first, suddenly.

Almost everyone left the hotel,
which would soon shut down.

We would have to leave,

the cold and the humidity
having become too perishing.

I forgot moreover almost
immediately those preceding weeks.

Yet, what I invariably saw when
I thought about Balbec,

was all those mornings where my grandmother
forced me to stay lying in the dark.

I knew my friends were on the seawall.

I heard their laughter.
Twelve o'clock struck.

At last Françoise arrived.

While she was removing the pins,

took down various cloths
and drew the curtains,

the summer day she revealed
seemed as dead,

as ancient as a sumptuous
dynastic mummy

from which our old servant
had unwound the wrappings,

before having her appear
swathed in her golden dress.

Filthy beast!

Back in Paris, we had moved.

Desolate at leaving an establishment
where she'd been "so well respected by all,"

Françoise had packed
her trunk in tears.

She alone could have
understood me, had she chosen to,

but when I suffered,
she turned her head away...

to deny me
the satisfaction of her pity.

A few days later, while I was still
feverish as a result of the move,

and when, like a boa
who had swallowed an ox,

I felt painfully distended

by a sideboard that
my eyes attempted to digest.

I went to retrieve some clothes
in our former house.

I thought I would choke
on our dusty old boulevard.

I wouldn't go back to live
there for a king's ransom.

That's the fickleness of women.

Everything is much better
arranged in our new home.

There's no comparison.

It's time to mention we've come to live
closer to Mme de Villeparisis,

in an apartment that was a part
of the Hôtel de Guermantes.

When the name of Guermantes resumes,
for a moment, after so many years,

the sound it had for me on the
wedding day of Dr. Percepied's daughter,

the day I saw the Duchess de
Guermantes, for the first and last time,

I breathe Combray's air
that year, that day,

mingled with the wind-borne
fragrance of hawthorn blossom.

I can see this mauve so sweet
of the silky and swollen scarf

of the young duchess,

and like a periwinkle
impossible to pick,

her eyes were lit by an azure smile.

There's the Duke down there shaving.

José! Bring your carriage!

They've called for the carriage.
The duchess is going out.

I'll never hear the end of it,

if Madam finds me at the window.

= THE GUERMANTES WAY =

An old friend of my father
had told us about the duchess:

"Hers is the leading house
in the Faubourg Saint-Germain."

They're having company, downstairs.
Gay times.

The life I supposed
the Guermantes leading

seemed so rarefied somehow,

that I couldn't have imagined
at the Duchess's parties

the presence of anyone
I could have known,

real people.

The presence of the body
of Jesus Christ in the Host

seemed less of a mystery
than the Guermantes salon,

when I could, in my room, hear them
moving the furniture the next morning.

A Chinese Shadow Show is hosted by
the Princess de Parma this evening.

But we won't go as Madame
is leaving for two days at Chantilly.

at the Duke d'Omane.

So, this year you won't be going
to Guermantes Castle anymore?

With the Duke's rheumatism,
we won't go back

until the radiators are installed.

Madame will probably go for a few
days to Cannes, to the Duchess de Guise.

- And the theatre, do you go?
- Sometimes to the opera.

Often in the
Princess de Guermantes's box.

The wife of the duke's cousin...

This villa, this box where Mme
de Guermantes poured her existence,

seemed no less ethereal than her home.

A few days later,
enjoying a ticket received by my father,

I was myself at the opera,
for a gala evening.

First,
there were only vague shadows.

In the boxes,

the white deities who
inhabited those sombre abodes,

slowly detached themselves
from the depths of the night

and let their
half-naked bodies emerge.

Their bright faces

appeared behind the playful
batting of their feathery fans.

But of all these retreats,

the most famous was
the block of semi-darkness

known as the box of
the Princess de Guermantes.

Like a great goddess
who presides from afar

over the games
of the lesser gods,

the Princess remained slightly aloof,

on a sofa
red as a coral reef.

In her victorious assurance
and her greatness as a goddess,

but with a latecomer's odd meekness,
causing everyone to rise,

she entered
in a cloud of snow-white muslin,

the Duchess de Guermantes.

It was as if I had seen,

thanks to the miraculous
scattering of the clouds,

the gathering of the gods
contemplating the spectacle of mankind.

The Duchess,
goddess turned woman

and suddenly seeming a
thousand times more beautiful,

rained down on me the shining
and celestial burst of her smile.

Now, every morning...

Sometimes, when
our paths did not cross,

I would sadly make my way back home.

I would not have felt

that Mme de Guermantes
was tired of this daily ritual

had I not read it
on the face of Françoise.

I was truly in love
with Mme de Guermantes.

The greatest happiness
I could have asked of God

would have been that He subject her
to every conceivable mishap

and that, ruined, despised,

lacking all the privileges
which separated me from her,

with no roof over her head
nor people who didn't shun her

she would take refuge with me.

I have only you.

Instead of getting down to work,
I preferred to think vividly

of a whole novel where the
Duchess came to implore me,

me, who had become, as a
result of reverse circumstances,

rich and powerful.

I'll always be here. I'll protect you.

We will never be apart.

The ever-rising
need to meet her,

to be for a moment
the object of her attention,

that need was stronger than
the annoyance of displeasing her.

I would have to
go away for a while.

Francoise, I'm going on a trip.
Pack my trunks.

You can unpack them.
I'm not leaving.

He's crazy. Crazy.

Tomorrow, after lunch,
we'll go to my aunt Villeparisis.

I promise.

If my girl wants to keep me
a little longer, I'll meet you there.

Perhaps we will see
Mme de Guermantes there.

I think I told you
I'm very interested in her,

how shall I put it?
From a literary point of view.

Could you tell her,
even exaggerating a little,

what you think of me? I've been
assured that she thinks I'm stupid.

I'll tell this worthy aunt that you're
one of the smartest people I know.

I'm happy that, finally,
you'll see my Rachel.

In this woman who was
for Saint-Loup all the love,

all the possible sweet things
in life, I instantly recognized

"Rachel when the Lord".

The one that some years ago
the madam had told me

Why don't you try Rachel?
She's a Jewess. Doesn't that entice you?

Just think: a Jewess!
She'll take you to the limit.

♪ Rachel, when the Lord... ♪

The madam, who didn't know
"The Jewess", Halévy's opera,

didn't know why I called her

♪ "Rachel when the Lord" ♪

♪ entrusted you the cradle, ♪

♪ To your happiness ♪
♪ I devoted my whole life. ♪

♪ And it's I who deliver ♪
♪ you to the executioner. ♪

Women change so quickly
their situation in this world.

Rachel was on the stage
of a provincial theatre,

when Saint-Loup met her
for the first time.

This woman that seemed to me
not worth her 20 francs price tag

when she was offered to me
for 20 francs in the brothel,

Saint-Loup's love for her

made out of her the object
of an infinite suffering.

His folly had turned a common
little tart into an inaccessible idol.

How many women's lives have been
divided into contrasting periods?

How many young people who have before them
the respectable Marquise de Villeparisis

imagine that she could have been
a onetime midnight reveler

creating a sensation maybe
by devouring the fortune

of some man long ago
laid in his grave.

Sir, you want to write
about the Duchess de Montmorency?

I'll show you her portrait, the original
of the copy which is in the Louvre.

My dear, you remember
when Liszt was here,

he said that it was yours
which was a copy.

I would consider Liszt's views
in music, but not in painting.

Besides, he was already senile.

Oh! There's someone
who was introduced to me.

I've never asked him,
but it's five times now he's come.

Better show him in.

Gentlemen, may I present my niece,

the Duchess de Guermantes.

- My dear Duchess...
- Duchess...

Thank you very much
for receiving me, Madame.

Legrandin.

You show rare graciousness
towards an old recluse.

The same Legrandin who had
recently lambasted me severely

for my frequenting
aristocratic salons.

M. Legrandin has a sister
named Madame de Cambremer.

You couldn't be happier then I am.

I know her perfectly well.

I don't know what possessed Basin,
who met her husband God knows where,

to send her my way.

She's impossible.

She says "plumitive",
and things like that.

What does that mean?

I don't know,
I don't speak that kind of French.

Everybody knows that a plumitive is
a writer, but it's a horror of a word.

He doesn't excel by wisdom.
So that's her brother.

I can quite understand.

She has the same humility
when she gets out of bed

and as tediously fact-filled
as a scientific compendium.

Take a seat. Serve yourself.

Well, sir,

I presume I'm excused being in
a salon, since I find you here too.

You could at least be courteous
and greet me properly.

Of course, when they persecute me
asking me 20 times in a row to come,

I can't behave like a boor.

Her name and title added
their long history to her person.

Her duchy projected itself around her,

and gave reign to
the shady, golden freshness

of the Guermantes forest
in the middle of the salon.

- Are you working on something?
- I hope, one day, to answer you positively.

A few years ago, you showed a small
work, a little too sophisticated...

in which you split hairs.

I have frankly given you my opinion.

What you did then was
not worth committing to paper.

Oh, here is my dear friend,
the Prince of Faffenheim...

About that play
to be held at your place,

I knew you were
refusing Robert's mistress.

She's unworthy. Quite unworthy!

She's a horror! She hasn't
the shadow of talent.

- And, besides, she's grotesque.
- But how do you know her?

How? Don't you know
that this Rachel

played at my manor before everyone?

Good evening, my good man.

- Good evening, d'Argencourt.
- My dear Duke...

My little neighbour, good evening.

How's your father?
You know we're very good friends?

She came to recite,

a bouquet of lilies in one hand
and another on her dress.

- You know who we're talking about, Basin.
- Naturally.

I don't understand
how Robert could love her.

I know anyone can love anything.

And what's even better
in love is its mystery.

But I find it amazing
that we can find seduction

in someone so ridiculous.

First, imagine she had the gall
to ask me to erect a staircase

right in the middle of the salon.

And she warned me
she would repose

on her stomach, on the steps.

If only you could
have heard what she said...

"It's called
The Seven Princesses."

"The Seven Princesses"?
How snobbish!

Do you know
"The Seven Princesses"?

I only know one, but that robbed me of
the curiosity of meeting the other six.

"How they sleep! How..."

"What a fool!"
That's what I thought.

Distraught by the cold
welcome she had given me,

I found a bitter consolation in her
complete misunderstanding of Maeterlinck.

For such a woman did I walk
so many miles each morning?

I am too indulgent.

"Don't sleep!"

Henceforth it'll be I who
wants nothing to do with her.

Hello, Robert.

- Hello.
- My nephew.

That's how you forget your aunt.

Be nice to this young man.

- This is my dearest friend.
- Hello. How are you?

Not too good. Maybe he'd feel better
if he saw you more often,

as I won't hide from you
that he rather enjoys your company.

You're very nice. I'm flattered.

This time it's all over.
I broke it off.

I'll go see my aunt.
Take my seat.

I see you sometimes
in the morning.

You're like me,
you like morning walks.

It's good for one's health.

Would you like a cup of tea?

- Or a piece of pie? It's very good.
- No, I don't want any.

Thank you.

It's time for me to
say goodbye to my aunt.

Aunt, I must go.

What on earth persuaded
my Aunt Villeparisis

to invite Mme Swann?
Despite Swann's insistence?

My aunt Oriane never agreed
to receive either his wife,

or his daughter Gilberte.
She's a former prostitute.

Her husband is Jewish
and she claims he's anti-Dreyfus.

I suffer dreadfully.
A terrible fight.

I'm off to ask her forgiveness.

- Baron...
- I want to leave in a moment.

Would you join me
for a short stroll?

There are some little things
I'd like to discuss with you.

We'll walk until
I find a cab which suits me.

That one is not for me.
Because of his lantern and destination.

You wanted to talk to me?

Indeed.
What I could do for you

would bring much
inconvenience into my life.

I wonder if you're worth
all this trouble.

I would never wish
to cause you any worries.

but be assured I'm touched that
you wish to pay me any attention.

It's a long time since the people
in high society interested me.

I have but one passion:

atoning for my past faults

by transmitting what I've learned
to an unblemished soul

who may still be
passionate about virtue.

Perhaps you're
the one whose life

I could take over
and bring to new heights.

To know that, I'll have
to see you often. Very often.

Every day.

The first sacrifice
you'll have to make for me

is to avoid society.

It would only distort your
character and your intelligence.

Have a mistress or two,
if your family has no objection.

I even encourage you,
young rascal.

Young rascal
who must now shave.

But the choice of male friends
is of another importance.

Most are scoundrels.

My nephew Saint-Loup, at a pinch,
could be a good friend.

He's not one of those effeminate types
we meet so many of, today.

Coachman!

- Which way are you going?
- Your way.

I don't want to climb back on my seat.
Is it OK me staying with you?

Of course.

Try not to spend
your entire life regretting

not having chosen
the path leading to virtue.

For some time now,
without knowing the cause,

my grandmother complained of her health.
When I looked at her furtively,

I saw not my grandmother, but
a sad old woman who seemed a stranger,

daydreaming, looking beyond a book
with a crazed expression.

I've just returned from Mme
de Villeparisis, grandmother.

She begged me to send you her best,

and to tell you that she really
hopes you'll pay her a visit.

I wrote to her that
I am not going out right now.

Mother tells me you were not
feeling too good today,

that you didn't want
to leave your room,

although you had no fever.

I know how much
you love us, grandmother,

so think about our sorrow,
my mother's and mine,

to see you stay
cloistered in your room,

like your cousin Léonie,

you, a lover of the outdoors.

It's your nerves, mother.

The doctor said so.

He's one of the most famous
and respected doctors in France.

One day, you may realize
that nothing depends on you.

It could be today.

Your grandmother was a bit lazy.
Tomorrow I'll go out with my little mouse.

I promise!

Why is Grandma taking
so long to get ready?

She didn't
want me to stay to help her.

Now that I knew my grandmother
didn't suffer from a serious illness,

with this strange indifference we have
for our forebears while still living,

making us ignore their needs,
I found her quite selfish.

But grandmother knows!

I'm meeting friends
at the Champs-Élysées

to dine at the Ville-'Avray,
which promises to be quite entertaining.

Since you're going to see friends,
I could have chosen another jacket.

I look a little unhappy with this one.

It's that way.

PUBLIC TOILET
Don't you want to retire?

And why should I retire?

Would you tell me where
I would be better off than here?

There's always company
and distractions.

And I even choose my clients.

I don't receive everybody
in what I call "my salons."

You want me to open a cabin?

- No, thank you.
- It was in good faith.

Françoise assured us that
the woman had lost her fortune,

and that she was once a marquise.

I was afraid you were
nauseous, grandmother.

Do you feel better?

I heard the whole conversation
between the marquise and the gamekeeper.

It couldn't be more Guermantes-ish.

"I don't receive anybody."

Since you're sick, if you want,
we can go home.

I didn't dare to propose it
because of your friends.

Poor boy!
But since you insist.

Don't exhaust yourself talking.
It's absurd.

My grandmother realised
she had no need to hide

what I understood at once.
She had just had a minor heart attack.

I'm going to get a cab.

In her in whom I had
always placed my utmost trust,

I was forced to
silence my concern.

Though she was still alive,
I already felt alone.

The attack was caused by uremia
which now destroyed her kidneys.

Because of her suffering,
she was allowed morphine,

which, unfortunately, increased
the dose of albumin.

Sometimes, Cottard, after
hesitating, stopped the morphine.

It's awful, in bed
with this beautiful sun...

I'd love to go out for a stroll.

The side effects of uremia
soon affected her eyes.

When her sight improved,
the pain passed to her ears.

Soon she had trouble speaking.
We could no longer understand her.

Grandma!

Grandma! I beg you!

Mother! Don't! No!

Don't! I beg you!

At Balbec, when a widow
was saved after jumping in a river,

grandmother told me
she knew no greater cruelty

than snatching a desperate man
from the death he wanted.

I've just learned, my dear sir,
this terrible news.

I'd like to express my
deepest sympathy to your father.

I'm sorry,
but it's difficult for me to disturb him.

- Did you send for Dieulafoy?
- No.

It's a serious mistake. If you had
asked me, he would have come.

He refuses me nothing,
he refused the Duchess de Chartres.

Did they bring the oxygen flasks?

I hear someone talking.

- Sir, please...
- Could you do me the honour

to introduce me
to your mother?

Mother, the Duke de Guermantes
wishes to pay his respects.

You must come at once, my dear.
Come.

Given the circumstance,
I hope you will forgive me.

Ah! That's good! I had important
things to tell you!

I almost left for Doncières.
- I arrived this morning. - If I'd been told

that I had only to cross
the courtyard to find you here,

I would have thought it was in jest.
Leave a card and come with me.

Say that I'll be
back in a moment.

As your friend Bloch would say,
"It's rather farcical to come upon you."

You can see I've practically
touched the hangman's rope,

or practically.

I have all the luck.

A few hours later,

the traces of sufferings
endured by grandma

disappeared from her face.

Life, in retiring, had carried
away the disappointments of life.

On this funeral bed, death

had laid on her
the appearance of a young girl.

Though it was just
an autumn Sunday,

I had been reborn.

I had a lifetime in front of me.

Profiting by the absence of my parents,
gone for a few days to Combray,

I was counting to go tonight to listen
to a play at Mme de Villeparisis.

Robert de Saint-Loup,
who had been sent to Morocco

to forget Rachel,
whom he no longer loved,

had written to me that he had met
at Tangier Mme de Stermaria,

who had divorced
three months after her wedding.

He asked her for a
rendez-vous on my behalf.

She replied she would gladly
have dinner with me.

So I wrote that very morning
to Mme de Stermaria

telling her it could be
on the day of her choice.

There's a visitor for you.
Mlle Albertine.

- May I come in? I'm not disturbing you?
- Come in, sit down beside me.

You've brought with you
the days spent at Balbec.

On this chair, your back seems to say

"Damn, there's no cliff here."

You remember the day when,
on the cliff, you put so much fervour

in imposing your idea
of having Sophocles write

"My dear Racine"?

Andrée was right, I was stupid.

I felt in that same pretty girl
that sat down by my bed

something different
that made me hope that,

now, perhaps,
she would allow me to kiss her.

My optimistic hypothesis was due
to the appearance of new words

which, at Balbec,
weren't part of her vocabulary.

Regarding a duel I had, she told me

You had choice seconds.

When she said

I haven't seen Gisèle
since a lapse of time.

Ah! "Lapse" of time?
My chances are growing!

When, finally, she said:

In my opinion,
it was for the best.

I think it's the best solution.

I didn't hesitate anymore.
Right after "in my opinion",

I pulled her closer, and at
"In my opinion," I sat her on my bed.

Your moustache suits you well.

- Does it tickle?
- Imagine, I'm not ticklish at all.

You could tickle me a whole hour,
I wouldn't even feel it.

- Do you want me to try?
- If you wish,

but it would be more convenient
if you lie on my bed.

- I'm not too heavy?
- Do you know what I'm afraid of?

If we continue like this,

I can't help but kissing you.

It would be a beautiful misfortune.

Not having succeeded in Balbec,

I would finally know
the taste of the unknown rose

which were Albertine's cheeks.

You have nice hair.
You have pretty eyes.

You are nice.

It's late.
I'll let you go to your dinner now.

When will I see you again?

My little Albertine,
as soon as I can, I'll call for you.

I had no more love
for Albertine.

I didn't know then, what
she would mean to me one day.

I wanted to subordinate everything to the
possibility of seeing Mme de Stermaria.

Unfortunately I don't know when.
I'm not yet over my loss.

- My grandmother...
- I know.

When you wish, I'll come.

With Albertine just gone, Françoise brought
me a letter that filled me with joy,

because it came
from Mme de Stermaria.

She accepted my invitation.

Albertine delayed me so much
that the play was ending

when I arrived at
Mme de Villeparisis's.

The sight of the duchess
caused me no more trouble.

All my thoughts of love
were for Mme de Stermaria.

Mme de Guermantes, no longer burdened
by someone she did not care for,

- came to me...
- May I sit with you a minute?

...finding again the lovely smile
from that evening at the opera.

You know that I am
Robert de Saint-Loup's aunt,

who likes you very much.
Besides, we've already met here.

Have you heard from Robert?

Well, you've picked
a fine time to come, sir.

For once we see you.

But I don't want to disturb
your conversation with Oriane.

Don't you want to come to
dinner with her on Wednesday?

It was the day I was to dine
with Mme de Stermaria.

Unfortunately,
Wednesday is impossible.

And Saturday?

Mother comes back on
Saturday from Combray.

It wouldn't be nice of me
not to dine with her.

You're not a man
one can easily invite.

People of the world are so
accustomed to be sought,

that whoever avoids them

seems to them a phoenix
and attracts their attention.

Why don't you ever come to see me?

It's annoying to see each other
only at other people's places.

If you don't want to have dinner
with me at my aunt's,

why don't you come
to dine at my place?

Would you be free on Friday night?
A small group, it would be nice.

I'm totally free, Friday.
Thank you very much.

There'll be the Princess de Parme,
who is charming.

I would never invite you
if wasn't to meet pleasant people.

Had the duchess decided
to invite me on noticing

that Mme Villeparisis had been unable
to invite me on a day which suited her?

Well, I must leave you.

I must pay a little visit
to the Princess de Ligne.

- You're not going?
- No.

You don't like high society?
You're right, it's boring.

I regret it, selfishly,
I could have taken you,

and even brought you back.

Then I'll say goodbye.
And I look forward to Friday.

The days before my
dinner with Mme de Stermaria

were not delightful,
but unbearable.

What I needed,

was to possess Mme de Stermaria
on the Bois de Boulogne island

where I had invited her.

The dense fog that fell at night
on the lake's shore

would almost turn for me the Isle of Swans
into a small Brittany island

where a foggy coastal atmosphere
had always surrounded, for me,

the pale silhouette
of Mme de Stermaria.

In the meantime,
I indulged in such imaginings

which are the beginnings of caresses.

Caresses that I furiously wanted
to be performed by the woman herself.

The day of the dinner,
as night fell,

I sent a car to Mme de Stermaria.

I thought I'd be told
"The lady is downstairs",

or "The lady is waiting for you".

Go back down and wait.

I'm awfully sorry.

Something unexpected prevents me
from dining tonight on the Isle du Bois.

I was looking forward to it
I'll write you soon. De Stermaria.

Regretfully, best regards.

Every hour, since Sunday,
I lived only for that dinner,

yet Mme de Stermaria had
not thought about it once,

and had, no doubt,
forgotten my invitation.

Our life is like
an artist's studio,

full of abandoned sketches,
on which we had hoped

to be able to fix
our need for a great love.

I never saw Mme Stermaria again.

It was not her I would love.

Dinner at the Guermantes,

it was like embarking
on a long-desired journey,

becoming acquainted with a dream.

Oh! My wife feared a little
defection on your part.

Since this morning, we both said:
"You'll see he won't come."

You're not an easy man
to have as a guest.

Here he is. You see, I brought him
by the scruff of his neck.

Oh! What a joy to see you!

You can well imagine how Albert
will regret not having come.

I understood that
Albert was her son.

I tried remembering which
acquaintance was named Albert.

There was only Bloch.
- How is your father?

But this couldn't be Mme Bloch,

since she had passed away
many years ago.

- ...he works a lot.
- Oh! Well!

She finds you charming.
Then I understood everything.

From the duke's tone I discerned
the nature of the beast.

She was a Royal Highness.
She knew neither my family nor my name,

but a Royal Highness always knew
who she was scheduled to meet.

The Princess de Parme
is a very noble woman.

She knows how to behave
like a fine lady when necessary.

- Do you know who this young man is?
- Not yet.

If Oriane invited him...

Is he not that scientist whose
anti-cancer serum was just tested?

I'm sure Basin bores you leading you
like this, from one to another.

We want you to know our friends, but
we especially don't wish to tire you,

so that you may return often.

Your Grace is served.

Basin! Tell me,

this young man must be the new
Swedish embassy attaché you told us of?

Where did you hear that,
my dear Babal?

He is a close friend of my nephew
Robert and my aunt Villeparisis.

A remarkable boy.
Not one bit the socialite type.

You're a real Nimrod, I'm told?

The comparison is flattering.
I've landed a few fine specimens.

I'll allow myself to send the duchess
a dozen pheasants.

Don't trouble yourself.
Poullein,

you'll go tomorrow to the Count
and bring the pheasants here.

Poullein,
whom I'd seen in the courtyard,

had told me that tomorrow
was his fiancée's day off,

and he would spend all day with her.

I know it's your day off,
just change it with George.

who'll have tomorrow off.
And you, the day after.

The rendez-vous with
his fiancée was compromised.

The next day,
she wouldn't be free.

I often give as an example your
kindness with your people, Oriane.

I only treat them
the way I'd like to be treated.

They are fortunate to work here.

It's nothing special,
but I think they rather like me.

That one is annoying
because he's in love.

He thinks he has
to show off his melancholy.

Indeed,
he doesn't look too happy.

I'm telling you,
reading Victor Hugo can be as grueling

as if it were written in Russian.
Or Chinese.

But if you persevere,
how well you are rewarded!

- There is so much imagination!
- Mme d'Arpajon loves poetry very much.

She understands none of it.

She became a literary type
after being rejected.

If Mme de Villeparisis
became like Mme de Norpois...

Your Highness,
all this is becoming a burden,

she comes whimpering to me

whenever my husband fails to visit her,
which is almost every day!

But I must say that...

But it's not my fault
if she bores him.

I can't force him to go see her.

But every day,
she gives me such headaches,

that each time
I must take an aspirin.

It's enough to make a cat laugh.

All that because Basin cheated
on me with her for a year.

It's well known that everyone
talks about Victor Hugo.

Everybody knows he has talent.

In his best poems
there is often an idea.

Even a profound idea.

Listen...

"The dead don't last long, alas!

"but in their grave they fall into
dust slower than in our hearts."

"These relics of the heart
also have their dust."

But between us, my aunt, who...

Poor woman, I pity her.
She really loves him.

She thinks she loves him, as she
thinks right now she's quoting from Hugo,

because it's a verse from Musset.

I've heard you're a relative of
Admiral Jurien de la Gravière.

I assure you, Madame,
that I only know the admiral by name.

I shan't insist.
Your discretion does you credit.

What pretty flowers!
I've never seen anything like it.

Only you, Oriane,
could find such wonders.

I'm glad you like them.

But what's sad is that they will die.

Yet they're not cut flowers.

They are ladies.
A plant species

where ladies and gentlemen
are not on equal footing.

I'm like those dog owners.

I'm looking for
a husband for my flowers.

But in nature?

There are insects that
take care of the marriage

as for sovereigns, by proxy,
without the betrothed seeing each other.

The things you teach me, Oriane.

Was it because
of dinners like this

that everyone dressed elegantly

and refused the bourgeois
in their so exclusive salons?

Certainly not.

My presence surely accounted
for their superficial talk.

My presence, prevented the guests
from leading in this most glorious salon,

the mysterious
Saint-Germain lifestyle

I had imagined so fine.

I hope you'll come back soon.
I barely spoke to you.

High society is like that.

We don't see each other, or tell
each other what we would like to say.

It's like that in real life too.

Let's hope after death
it's better organized.

At least we'll no longer
need a low neckline...

And yet, who knows, maybe
we'll show our bones and worms

for the great occasions.

The carriage of Monsieur
le Duc de Chatellerault!

Monsieur de Brouchy's carriage!

Oh, what a good idea!
How practical!

Madame, we'll have
to purchase some of those.

Thanks to them, you'll have nothing
to worry about, even if it snows.

Your Highness can be reassured.
It will not snow.

How would you know, Madame?

It can't snow anymore.
It's materially impossible.

Measures have been taken.
They threw salt.

The naive lady wouldn't stop there.

Regardless of my denials
about Admiral de la Gravière,

Besides, Monsieur, needn't worry.
He must have sea legs.

It's in the blood.

M. de Charlus has sent me
through Saint-Loup

an imperative request to go see him

at 11 o'clock, that evening.

The conversations that had
seemed so boring at dinner,

I suddenly found
interesting and funny.

and I was eager to tell
M. de Charlus the stories I had heard.

Good evening, sir.

Is it necessary for me to stand, sir?

Put yourself in the Louis XIV chair.

This is what you call
a Louis XIV chair?

I see you're educated.

Sir...

The interview I have condescended
to grant will mark, for us, the end point.

I won't hide that I expected better.
I felt sympathy towards you.

I told you in Balbec
that you could count on me.

In Balbec, sir?

Do you pretend
not to have received my message?

Almost a declaration?

In what way was the book
I sent you adorned?

A very pretty, interlaced design?

You know as much
about flowers as about style.

You offer your backside a Directoire
cabriolet for a Louis XIV armchair.

One of these days you'll take
the knees of Madame de Villeparisis for...

a wash-bowl!

And who knows
what you'll do in it.

You didn't even recognize
in the binding of the book

the lintel of forget-me-nots
of the church of Balbec!

Could I not find a clearer way
to tell you... "forget me not"?

Since I was everything
and you were nothing,

I made
the first steps towards you.

You have responded to my kindness
with slanderous inventions!

Sir, I have never
said anything about you!

When you left unanswered

the proposal I made you
the other day,

it seemed to me so incredible

that I had the naivety to believe
in all the unheard of quips,

or lost letters,

or wrong addresses.

Finally, you weren't interested.

And now
it's out of the question.

It only seems to me that...
you could,

even if only for
the sake of my age,

write to me.

One can always write.

Now I must distance myself.

We will no longer
know each other.

Sir, again I swear,
I never did anything to offend you!

Who tells you that I am offended?

Do you think it's within
your reach to offend me?

Do you believe that the poisonous
saliva of 500 of your petty friends

perched on top of each other,
could even dribble

upon my august toes?

Don't be such a child!
Stay for a moment.

"Spare the rod,
spoil the child."

Tell me who slandered me in such
a perfidious way and I'll stay to learn it.

I promised my informant
I would not betray him.

Sit down for a moment.

It's late and I have
a carriage waiting for me.

Pay for it and send it away.
I'll call a cab to bring you back.

If you're afraid it will be too late,
I could offer you a room.

My mother will be worried.

I'll join you in the carriage.

The moon is wonderfully clear tonight,
and I'll go see it in the woods

after accompanying you.

You don't know how to shave.

Even when you're invited for dinner,
you have a few stray hairs.

How pleasant it would be
to look at this clear blue moon

with someone like you,

for you're still nice.

You could be nicer than all the others.

Come on, get in.
In 5 minutes you'll be home.

At dinner, they said

that the Princess de Guermantes'
manor is very beautiful.

- The gardens are incomparable.
- It's like Versailles in Paris.

I would like very much to see them.
Can they be visited?

You must be invited,
but the princess never invites anyone.

Unless I intervene.

Without my "Open Sesame,"
her house is inaccessible.

But my role is over.

A few days later,
what a surprise!

"The Princess de Guermantes,
born Duchess of Bavaria,

"will be at home..."

Was I perhaps the victim
of a terrible joke?

Wasn't it a plot contrived
by Baron de Charlus

who wanted, in order to punish me,
to have me thrown out of a home

to which I wasn't invited?

What bad luck the Duchess is in
Cannes! I would've asked for advice...

On the morning of the soiree
of the Princess of Guermantes,

I learned that the duke and duchess
had finally returned to Paris.

Can Her Grace the Duchess
receive me?

The duke and the duchess went out
early and have still not returned.

In order not to miss their return,
I kept watch in our staircase.

Poullein, have you finished?

Mme de Guermantes' precious orchid
was on display in the yard,

and I wondered if,
by a providential chance,

an insect so desirable wouldn't
come to fertilize it before my eyes.

At that moment when
he thought no one could see him,

I found on M. de Charlus' face
something so affectionate,

so disarming, I couldn't
prevent myself from thinking

how angry he would be
had he known he was being observed.

For what he reminded me of most,
this man so in love with masculinity,

was a woman.

Chance brought face to face
the baron and Jupien, the tailor,

in that yard where
they had never met.

The baron adopted a conceited,
casual, ridiculous air.

Jupien stuck out his posterior,

posing with the same coquetry
the orchid would have had

for the providential bumblebee
which had yet to arrive.

The scene was not, as a matter
of fact, actually comical.

It had the mark of strangeness,

and a casual air
whose beauty kept expanding.

Who knows if this bumblebee wasn't
the one so long awaited by the orchid?

Could you give me a light?

I'm asking for a light,
but I see I've forgotten my cigars.

Come inside.
We'll give you everything you need.

Through the indisposition
of Mme de Villeparisis,

M. de Charlus had met Jupien
and, with him,

the man preordained
for men like the baron

to have their share of
voluptuousness in this world,

the man who loves
only old gentlemen.

From the distance of my childhood
returned like an echo

- Leave it open, I'm hot.
- It's dangerous. They'll see us.

If they see us,
it'll be all the more pleasant.

A vague memory of the scene
in Monjouvain that I had witnessed.

= SODOM AND GOMORRAH =

Hidden under Mlle Vinteuil's window,

a few days after her father's death,

It sounded like someone
slitting another man's throat.

And then, the killer and
the victim brought back to life

now bathing together
to wash away traces of the crime.

You have a great ass.

Now I understood why
it seemed that M. de Charlus

looked like a woman.

He belonged to that breed
whose ideal is masculine,

through the fact that
their nature is feminine.

A breed forced to live a lie,
for it knows its desire

is punishable and shameful,

instead of being
the sweetest comfort of all.

Don't you know anything about
the chestnut seller on the corner?

A tall dark fellow.

The pharmacist across the road
has a very cute bicycle delivery boy

who brings his drugs.

I see you're quite flirtatious.

In a short while,
couldn't we return to the boutique?

Yes, you big kid!

All this is a question of taste.

In young people, for example,
I don't want any physical possession.

But I only calm down
when I touch their...

heartstrings.

Now, I feel attracted to...
to a strange young man.

An intelligent petit-bourgeois

who has no notion of
the prodigious character I am,

and the microscopic amoeba
he represents.

Shall we?

The hatred of the Capulets
and Montagues was nothing

compared to the obstacles
that were surmounted

before a former tailor
fell for of a paunchy 50-year-old.

M. de Charlus had distracted me
from watching if the bumblebee

had brought the orchid the pollen
she was waiting so long for.

It was a miracle, too,
which I had just witnessed,

almost the same type,
and no less wonderful.

I was, though,
distressed to have missed,

the fertilization of the flower
by the bumblebee.

You'll see Oriane right away.
She's getting dressed.

My wife's impossible.
She asked Swann to bring his proofs

on the Knights of Malta
just when we're about to go out.

It's nice of you to come
on the day of our return.

I came to ask the Duchess

if the Princess of Guermantes
had really invited me tonight.

It's too late.

Above all, neither I nor Oriane want in any
way to be involved in their guest list.

I don't even know
if we'll attend ourselves.

Be so kind.
When you see Oriane.

Not a word on that, please.

Her Grace asks if His Grace

wishes to receive M. Swann,

since Her Grace is not yet ready.

Send him in.

No need to talk in front of Swann
about Marie-Gilbert's soiree,

I don't know if he's invited.

The prince likes him a lot,
because he thinks

he's the Duke of Berry's
natural grandson.

Without that, just think:
My cousin who has a fit

whenever he sees a Jew.

- A visit?
- Who can it be?

It's M. Swann.

Swann, who as a dreyfusard,
should have understood,

that he should, as our friend,

have severed all ties
with these people.

I thought that after so long,
you wouldn't recognize me.

Do you question my memory?

Allow me to leave you two alone.

I'll put on my glad rags
and I'll be back.

In your opinion... how is it that
all Guermantes are antidreyfusards?

Because, basically, all these
people are anti-Semitic.

- I already knew the prince was.
- Don't even mention his name.

He once let
an entire castle wing burn,

to avoid borrowing pumps
from the castle next to his,

which belonged to the Rothschilds.

How nice it is
to have lined your hat in green!

And besides with you, Charles,
everything is pleasant,

what you wear and what you say,

what you read
and what you do.

- Look at you!
- You like my dress?

- I'm delighted.
- What beautiful rubies!

They're a gift from the Grand Duchess.
For me, they are rather big, a bit

like a glass brimming with Bordeaux.

I wear them so the Grand Duchess
can see them tonight at Marie-Gilbert's.

What is it tonight at the Princess?

- Almost nothing.
- I don't know yet if I'll attend.

What are you saying, Basin?
Everyone will be there.

It'll be amazingly dreadful.

We'll meet you there. Marie-Gilbert
told me you're one of us.

Which delights me.

Dear Charles,
you didn't send the picture

of the Rhodes knights.

I apologize for interrupting
you, but I sent it to you.

Your servants left it in the vestibule,
fearing it would not fit in the door.

My servants only tell me
what they think is appropriate.

My dearest Charles,

how boring it is to get dressed up,
to have dinner in town,

when we would rather stay at home.

There are evenings
I'd rather die.

It's true that dying is maybe just as
tedious, as we don't know what it means.

Dear Charles, Basin and I intend

to spend next spring
in Italy and Sicily.

Imagine what a trip like that
would become if you came with us.

- Open the envelope.
- Not tonight, Oriane.

- It amuses me to see it with Charles.
- He'll come back.

Then you can spend three hours together
looking at it if it amuses you.

- But where will you put such
a big thing? - In my room.

Ah! Perfect. If it's in your room,
I may never see it.

Well, Charles, you didn't tell me
if you'd come with us to Italy.

I don't think it will be possible.

Oh! Madame de Montmorency
was more fortunate.

You have been with her
to Venice and Vicenza.

I'd still like to know, how, 10 months in
advance, you can know it's impossible?

I'll tell you, if you wish.

First, you see that
I'm gravely ill.

Oh, my dear Charles...
I've noticed you don't look so good.

But I'm not asking about next week.

But it's 10 months.
You should feel better by then.

The carriage has arrived.

Come on, Oriane. Hop on.

Well, in a word, the reason that
prevents you from coming to Italy.

Dear friend, the reason is that
I'll have been dead for several months.

My illness, which could
dispatch me at any time,

won't leave me more
than 3 or 4 months to live.

At the very most.

What's this?
You must be joking!

It would be
in charming taste.

I haven't told you about my illness,
but since you've asked me...

I might die any day now.

But I wouldn't want you
to be late.

Don't worry about this dinner.
It doesn't matter.

Come on, Oriane! Stop chatting
and moaning so much with Swann.

You know Mme de Saint-Euverte
wants us to be at table by 8 o'clock.

Excuse me, Charles,
but it's ten to eight.

We'll talk about it later.
I don't believe a word you say.

They probably frightened you for nothing.
Come to lunch whenever you wish.

Oriane, what are you doing,
for heaven's sake?

You're wearing your black shoes
with a red dress?

Go put on your red shoes!

- But, my friend, if we're late...
- No, no! We have plenty of time.

They'll wait.

You can't wear a red dress
with black shoes.

People poke fun at us
poor husbands, but we can be useful.

Without me, Oriane
would have dined in black shoes.

I noticed her black shoes,
but they didn't offend me.

She would have noticed
as we arrived.

I'd have been obliged
to go for the red ones.

I would have dined at 9.

Come, my children.
Leave before she returns.

If she finds you here,
she'll start talking again.

And I confess frankly
that I'm starving.

I hardly ate a thing this morning.

And you, Charles,

don't let yourself be fooled
by stupid doctors, what the hell!

They're donkeys.
You're as sound as the Pont-Neuf.

You'll bury us all!

I've lived life to the full.
I've fully enjoyed the arts,

and I say to myself,
without any anxiety,

that it will be very annoying
to leave all this behind.

I accept with resignation
what will happen to me,

but it would be very annoying to die
before the end of the Dreyfus affair.

I'd like to live long enough
to see him rehabilitated.

You should come see
your friend Gilberte.

She's grown up. She's changed.
You wouldn't recognize her.

She would be so happy...

I'll write her
as soon as I get home.

I no longer loved Gilberte.

She was like a loved one
mourned for a long time,

and then forgotten.

I no longer felt
like seeing Gilberte,

or even showing her
I didn't care to see her.

Every day, when I loved her,
I promised myself,

when I stopped loving her,
I'd tell her so.

These are projects we concoct
when we love a woman

and that we forget
when we love them no more.

My second arrival at Balbec
was very different from the first.

Translated by
selaflaure (selaflaure@gmail.com)

Revision: corvusalbus
thanks to TV5 Québec translation