Original subtitles

IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME

BASED ON MARCEL PROUST'S NOVEL

Easy does it! It doesn't feel right.

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

Crap, mud stains!

Stop fussing! Stop!

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

- Caroline! - So that's it!

A little cap!

It fits, right? But I split my pants!

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.

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.

As my father had been detained at the ministry,

my mother would stay behind.

I began to suspect she could actually live without me.

- I cherish my little man! - What about 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,

to provoke a "euphoric state."

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 color 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

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 meager 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!

Alone, in this strange room, I felt as reduced

and uncomfortable as Cardinal La Ballue

confined by Louis XI in a cage

in which he could neither sit nor stand.

There was no room for me in my room in Balbec.

It was full of items that, being unfamiliar to me,

began to protest the effect of my presence on them.

Threatened by enemies all around,

bone-sick with fever,

I was alone. I wanted to die.

With my grandmother near, 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, Grandmother!

Please! It makes your grandmother so happy!

Knock if you need anything.

My bed is right across the wall from yours

and the walls are paper-thin!

My suffering returned as soon as she left.

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

be the unconscious form of our desperate refusal

to accept death, which follows us all life long,

stripping pieces of ourselves from us at every moment?

But the following morning...

What joy to behold reflected, on every glass surface around,

like the portholes of a boat,

the naked, shadow-less sea!

The waves breaking in sequence, like trampoline jumpers.

Let's hurry up! I'm dying to walk by the sea!

You don't come here to stay inside, my sweetheart!

M. de Stermaria and his daughter.

They were due to arrive this evening.

Excuse me, but...

You were given M. de Stermaria's table by mistake.

He's from a very ancient Brittany family,

and honors us by choosing "Le Grand Hotel".

Set the table!

Make sure this doesn't happen again!

It offends me to have strangers taking my table!

Alas, no previous contempt

was so unbearable as that of M. de Stermaria.

For I had noticed his daughter the moment she came in.

Her pretty, pallid face, and almost bluish tint.

We'll start with seafood vol-au-vents.

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

Behind that hard countenance, I glimpsed the passing airs

of almost palpable docility

that result from a love of the sensual.

- Ah! It's ready! - The Marquise de Villeparisis!

I was elated by the entrance of the most powerful of fairies,

disguised as a tiny old woman,

thanks to whom, I would,

as though swept through the air on the wings of a fabulous bird,

cross in a few moments the infinitely wide social gulf

that kept me from Mlle de Stermaria.

But sadly, my grandmother's principles

wouldn't allow us to waste precious time catching up,

instead of spending it in the open air before the waves.

Mme Villeparisis's acknowledgement of us

would have given us some import in the eyes

of Mlle de Stermaria, and brought us closer.

While her parents were away from their romantic castle,

I would join her there,

and possess her in that Brittany

that reappeared in so many of her memories.

But grandmother and her friend found each other soon enough.

Aristocratic name-dropping had the desired effect on Aimé.

Seeing that Mme de Villeparisis

was indeed an old friend, he brought us our finger bowls

with a smile both proudly modest and knowingly discrete.

But his delight could not, alas, be shared with M. de Stermaria,

as he and his daughter had already left.

With no real acquaintances here, I accompanied

my grandmother and her friend on long outings.

The day we went to the church in Saint-Jean-de-la-Haize,

while descending into Le Ménil,

I was suddenly filled with a joy I hadn't felt since childhood.

Three trees surrounding a cross was a sight

not unfamiliar to me.

Where had I seen them before?

I sensed a moment of my life had been left there somehow.

But no matter how I tried, I couldn't draw it back to me.

It had slipped, forevermore, out of my grasp into the void.

Soon, I won't be able to see you so often!

My nephew, Robert de Saint-Loup, preparing for cavalry training,

presently in the garrison town of Doncières,

will be spending a few weeks' vacation with me here.

He has a fine intellect and an even finer heart!

Unfortunately, he's fallen into the clutches

of a despicable woman he's besotted with,

who won't let him go!

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

Famously elegant!

I was already expecting de Saint-Loup's favor,

and my future status as his favorite friend.

What a happy coincidence!

Let me introduce my dear nephew!

Robert, meet the grandson of my dear friend!

When I received his card, I could only think of duels.

But I was greeted with a warmth entirely absent the day before.

I'm happy you accepted my invitation to chat!

Yesterday, you were reading Loti's "My brother Yves."

I was rereading some passages. It's a poem about the sea.

I knew then, that yesterday's greeting

had been given unthinkingly,

a simple social gesture he'd learned from his world.

Your aunt lent me

some very anecdotal memoirs of the Comte de Marsantes.

Would you accept my invitation to further elaborate

on the novel that was his life?

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

who spent his life hunting, and at the races.

I've cut myself off from that world,

fled from that ignorant selfish caste, of which I am heir.

We will be fast friends forever, won't we?

Fast friends forever!

The question made me strangely sad,

and my reply embarrassed me.

I was at fault for regarding him as some ancient work of art,

to which my contemplation added deeper layers of meaning.

Your fine Francoise was given mail for you today.

Lucky you!

Still nothing for me!

Tell me what I'm doing wrong! I can face my faults.

Now she loathes me. And she's torturing me.

I am not, in principle, irremediably hostile to Jews,

but you can't go 2 paces here without meeting one!

You hear: "Thay Apraham, I've just theen Chacop!"

- It's my buddy Bloch! - We've met.

Before the University Board of Examiners.

Greetings, God-made flesh!

And you, Sir Saint-Loup-de-Bray, hurler of javelins!

Nice to see you again!

I have an urgent telegram to dispatch before closing time.

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

You are going through a splendid crisis of snobbery.

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

If I were, I wouldn't be spending time with him.

You aren't very congenial.

I've vexed you!

Forgive me!

Last night, I thought of you,

of Combray, of our afternoon classes,

and I wept all night long.

I swear it!

Alas, you don't believe me!

You can't imagine my sorrow when I think of you.

That's rather Jewish of me!

Bloch was here with his sisters, many relatives and friends

who formed of procession of biblical figures

completely removed, and continually snubbed,

by the habitués around them.

No other young girl here was allowed to associate

with these "ill-bred cows,"

who would one day cause me so much anguish.

I was just heading to your caravansary

to invite you to dine some day soon

with my illustrious father, of blameless heart!

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

I can commit to nothing for now. My uncles are expected soon.

Bloch proffered this invitation because of a rampant desire

to ally himself more closely with Saint-Loup,

hoping thus to secure his entry into aristocratic circles,

thereby enjoying his own "splendid crisis of snobbery."

My Uncle Palamède is a proponent of long vigorous walks.

Since he left on foot, I cannot know when he'll arrive.

- Where does his name come from? - From his ancestors,

the Sicilian Princes.

Even in the most exclusive aristocratic circles,

my uncle has the further distinction

of being notoriously inaccessible.

But his life was anything but boring!

In his youth, he brought women every day to a bachelor flat

he shared with 2 friends, all of them so handsome,

they called them "The Three Graces."

And I know he wronged my poor aunt.

But he treated her deliciously. He grieved for her for years.

A strange man locked his gaze upon me,

with eyes possessed by intense calculation.

Was he perhaps some hotel crook planning a dirty trick?

His expression was so singular, I took him

one moment for a thief, and another for a lunatic!

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

before making your escape.

- How are you? - My nephew,

the Baron de Guermantes.

My dear boarding school friend!

A pleasure!

What was I thinking, calling you Baron de Guermantes!

Allow me to introduce the Baron de Charlus!

A trifling matter! You're a Guermantes, all right!

I'm astonished that my nephew admires Balzac,

who wrote of a society that never admitted him!

Did my ears deceive me?

Mme de Villeparisis said your uncle was a Guermantes?

Of course! Palamède de Guermantes.

Is their castle near Combray?

Are they descended from Geneviève de Brabant?

Absolutely!

He's the brother of the Duke de Guermantes,

who presently owns the castle.

Then who is this uncle?

He had his pick of princely titles,

but remained Baron de Charlus.

He claims there is no older title.

He'll be happy to explain it himself!

Don't make me talk genealogy! There is nothing more perishing!

When I was a child in Combray,

we would often, when sure of fine weather,

take "Guermantes way," but never made it to the castle

where I so wanted to go.

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

which we also called "Swann's way,"

because we passed by M. Swann's property.

We must leave you now! We're having lunch

with the Princess of Luxemburg!

I will be taking tea tonight in my aunt's apartment.

I hope you will give me the pleasure of seeing

you and your grandmother there.

My dear Bathilde! Come and sit beside me!

Seeing our family home,

where Marie Antoinette once slept,

now in the hands of Israeli bankers,

reminds me of being in Château de Blois,

and being told that the room where Mary Stuart prayed

was now a broom closet!

Candy?

What a charming thought it was to pay us a visit.

- Isn't it so, Auntie? - But sir, don't you remember

- that you invited us yourself. - Tea?

Tell them about the Château des Rochers

where your cherished Sévigné wrote so many letters.

- I once stayed. - It makes my dear Bathilde sad

that I see something of the literary

in Mme de Sévigné's despair over her tedious daughter!

Nothing could be truer!

The beauty of her words when her daughter leaves:

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

Being near our loved ones is our only joy!

Mme de Sévigné over-lamented. She spent much of her life

- close to what she loved. - Which is no match for a child!

You don't target, you just love.

It's de Charlus! May I come in, sir?

Please do, sir, by all means!

Sir...

my nephew informed me that you suffer from

a certain apprehension before sleep,

and that you also admire Bergotte's works.

Since I have some with me that you don't perhaps know,

I bring you this one

to help you endure those moments of desolation.

I haven't read this one, true. Thank you, sir!

I was worried that what you heard about me,

might make me appear more stupid still.

You have not, perhaps, any personal merit.

Very few of us do.

But for a time, at least, you have youth,

and that's always charming.

The greatest folly of all is to laugh at, or condemn

sentiments in others that one does not feel oneself.

I love the night.

And you tell me that you fear it.

I do not say that these moods aren't painful.

I know how much one can suffer

from things others cannot understand.

But beware of too much self-pity.

You wisely chose to focus your affection on your grandmother.

This is permissible affection.

What I mean to say is...

affection that is repaid in kind.

There are so many of which one cannot say that.

I have another book by Bergotte you may have.

Please dear sir, one volume may suffice?

That is just what I was thinking!

Good night, sir!

Sir!

Your grandmother wishes to see you after your swim.

You don't give a damn about your old grandmother,

do you, you little rascal!

- What, sir? I adore her! - Sir, you are still young!

You should learn not to spew warring words

to things said before you have penetrated their meaning.

Having taken this precaution,

you would have saved yourself from looking doubly ridiculous,

what with anchors sewn to your bathing-dress.

I seem to remember lending you a book by Bergotte.

Have it sent back to me before I leave, in 1 hour.

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

Good evening, sir.

Look, my darling! Your friend Robert asked me

if he could take my picture before he left Balbec.

I'm dressed in my loveliest attire.

The hat!

- I'm still unsure! - Powder? Jewelry? Lace?

For an ordinary photograph?

I thought you were unconcerned with personal adornment!

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

Why would I deprive you of such a harmless pleasure?

I will leave you to beautify yourself!

Sir, she was so looking forward to having her likeness taken.

- You have to let her! - And I did...

At least I succeeded

in driving the joyful expression from her face,

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

Saint-Loup had returned to the garrisons a few days ago.

Once more alone, in front of the Grand Hotel,

I waited for my grandmother.

There were 5 or 6 of them.

All of them so very different from the usual Balbec habitués.

They were like a flock of seagulls

performing a choreographed walk on the beach.

Although they were all very different types,

I saw a series of pale oval faces, blue eyes, green eyes.

I could not bring their features home to any one girl.

She's a friend of the Simonet girl.

Poor old man! He looks half-dead!

Now their charming features had ceased to be indistinct.

Who is that odd fellow staring at us like that?

- I've never seen him before. - Neither in Balbec nor in Paris,

had I been so compelled

by the beauty of passers-by,

like this straggle of rare buds, now blocking the line of the sea

like a slender hedge, a bower of Pennsylvania roses.

From the very first day, it seemed to me

that the Simonet girl was the prettiest of them all.

She was the first to turn around and notice my unwavering stare.

Come in!

This is our last evening.

Tomorrow, I'll be dining with my garrison mates.

Promise me you'll come to dine with me in Doncières.

I promise to come several times a week.

It's cool outside.

You should wear it.

Why are you looking at me like that,

with your wide doe eyes?

Your face must be like those of your ancestors,

devised more for an ardent bowman

than for a delicate student.

A delicate student?

- Well, thank you. - Your head reminds me

of those old dungeon keeps, later converted into libraries.

If I had your disposition,

I think I would write from morning till night.

But you take more pleasure doing nothing.

How sad it is that second-raters like myself are the ones

who are willing to work.

On this eve of his departure,

Saint-Loup brought me once more to the "Rivebelle."

Two or three times already, we had seen taking a table,

while everyone else was leaving,

a man of imposing stature with a grizzled beard,

gazing pensively into empty air.

Upon questioning the landlord about this solitary late diner

who piqued our curiosity.

"You mean you don't know the famous painter Elstir?"

Really?

Not only is he famous, my love, he is also a great artist.

M. Swann mentioned him. They were friends.

We sent him a note revealing that the diners nearby,

were 2 ardent admirers of his,

and 2 great friends of Swann.

M. Elstir took the trouble to come to your table?

A short but congenial visit.

He invited me to visit him.

I'm delighted you made his acquaintance.

Conversation with a superior man

has the same elevated effect on the molding of young minds

as the bracing sea breeze!

As Saint-Loup was gone,

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

My desire flitted from one to the other,

I was in love with none of them, loving them all.

Albertine! Are you coming?

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

Fearful of missing any sightings of the girls, I dared not leave.

Such smart attire!

And every day now!

And you've ordered ties and hats from Paris!

And avoiding the opportunity of benefiting from a great man.

I find it rude and absurd that you've not paid him a call.

But it's so far away. A long walk plus a tramway ride.

In the end, I reluctantly complied with her wishes.

But once inside the studio, I felt perfectly happy.

Elstir, at my request,

went on working.

He painted only seascapes, here in Balbec.

The charm in each of them lay in a sort of metamorphosis

of the things represented.

And Elstir's studio

appeared to me as the laboratory for the creation of a new world.

I always pictured Balbec Church,

its base spattered with the sea foam of uplifted waves.

I was later told that the sea was in fact 12 miles away.

And the church stood opposite a café, bearing in gold letters,

the word "billiards."

They told me to avoid Brittany,

as it was unhealthy for a mind already given to dreaming.

When a mind is given to dreaming you mustn't impose rationing.

Too little dreaming is dangerous.

The cure is not to dream less, but to dream more!

All the time!

Hello!

You know this young lady, sir?

- Her name is Albertine Simonet. - I've seen her in Balbec

- with other young ladies. - Rosemonde, Gisèle, Andrée.

Not a day goes by

without one of them paying me a visit.

I've no shortage of visitors.

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

Elstir proposed a morning tea party

so that I could meet Albertine.

Come and meet Albertine.

- She's here? - Right over there.

I didn't recognize her without her wide-brimmed hat.

A perfectly common man, and a perfect bore.

This unpleasant usage

of "perfectly," indicated

a degree of civilization, and culture hard to associate

with the bacchante and her bicycle.

She now seemed more intimidated than implacable,

more respectable than ill-bred.

After this one, there would be many more metamorphoses to come.

Then I finally noticed the beauty spot on her cheek.

When last I saw her at Elstir's, I had seen it on her chin.

What weather!

- We met at Elstir's, remember? - I didn't forget.

Balbec's never-ending summer is a huge joke!

You do nothing here.

We never see you at golf,

or dancing in the casino.

What a bore, lying on the beach like a lizard.

- I adore every sport! - The beauty spot I had observed

first on her cheek, and then on her chin,

I would now always remember on her upper lip.

The pressure from her hand delivered a sensual sweetness

that seemed to allow one to penetrate her being.

I promised myself

I would be more daring with her when next we met.

I would draw up a list of things to tell her.

But I related none of these.

Oh, to be rich and have a yacht!

I'll need your advice on its upkeep! Bon voyage to me!

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

It might have been moral laxity

or maybe just the silly gaiety of a respectable young girl.

Do you like the new car fashions for women?

Certainly!

- Good morning, M. Elstir! - Hello there!

- Come on in! - We can't stay.

We just wanted to say a quick hello.

- This was unexpected! - Then change your expectations!

My friends Andrée and Gisèle.

Hello.

My round of golf is coming up. I have to go.

- Goodbye, M. Elstir! - Goodbye!

Will you be at the beach later?

- Nothing's been decided. - Then goodbye.

- Goodbye, M. Elstir! - Goodbye, Gisèle!

- You were very rude to her. - She needs to learn discretion.

I should have told her to go to blazes!

- And what a tawdry hairstyle! - I hadn't noticed.

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

I gazed at Albertine's cheeks

and wondered what they might taste like.

That day, her cheeks were creamy pink,

like certain roses whose petals have a waxy gloss.

In spite of Albertine's reluctance

to introduce us, I finally made the acquaintance

of the entire little group.

The dance teacher is at his wits end

because we're too noisy! We even broke some chairs.

Andrée, who had seemed the coldest at first,

was infinitely more refined and affectionate than Albertine,

whom she doted upon.

Albertine ends up endearing herself to everybody.

She attacks each activity with the violent joy of a child.

Look at her!

Andrée, we need to hurry! We have a golf game waiting!

- I'll stay and chat with him. - Do as you like. I must dash.

She's a dear, but a handful!

My mother likes her immensely. She holidays here with us

because she doesn't have the means herself.

Poor darling says her aunt, Mme Bontemps, wants her gone.

because Albertine,

with no parents or fortune, will never be marriage material.

M. Aimé says your picnic basket is ready.

All those sandwiches and pies.

Those girls could take turns paying, if they were less keen.

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

Let him eat what he wants.

Who laughs first!

The rosy dawn

of adolescence in the faces of these young girls

was still aglow.

It is so short, this radiant morning time,

that one comes to like only the very youngest girls.

Look at the letter Gisèle wrote me this morning.

What an idiot I am! I had it all this time!

This is her exam essay.

This is the topic she chose:

"Sophocles writes to Racine to console him for the failure

of Athalie."

Their young girl chirpings had pitches lost to older women.

Lying here now, the plenitude of my feelings

overflowed into waves of happiness,

without being able to say who was more precious,

whom I was most ready to love.

Who has a pencil?

And paper?

You nosy biddies may not read what I wrote.

Let no one see.

- I really like you. - "I really like you."

I was sure that Albertine would lead to my novel.

Could you please wear your hair slightly disheveled, always.

I knew that I loved Albertine, but pretended I loved Andrée.

Rosemonde told me Albertine was visiting her aunt

and that she would return here 48 hours before her departure.

It will do you no good.

I don't think she will see you. Protocol would intervene.

I didn't consider this. I hope you believe me.

- There you are! - I'm going home, my sweet!

I'll be there soon.

I'm styling my hair the way you like it,

and no one knows why.

- Are you truly leaving tomorrow? - Yes.

But I'm spending the night at your hotel.

I've a cold, so I will retire early.

You could dine in my room if you like.

My aunt won't know.

- See you later? - See you later.

Come in!

The sight of Albertine's bare throat

and those all too vivid cheeks had me so intoxicated,

I felt immune to the power of death itself.

Stop or I'll ring the bell.

It couldn't be for naught that she had me come in secret.

I would learn the fragrance and flavor

this strange pink fruit concealed.

Albertine had rung with all her might.

I'll be back.

I forgive you.

I'm even sorry I upset you. But you must never do it again.

For you.

Starved of all hope of possessing her,

my dreams abandoned Albertine.

The bad weather began, and my friends left Balbec.

Albertine went first, abruptly.

Almost everyone deserted the hotel, which soon shut down.

We would have to leave. The humid cold was perishing.

I forgot the preceding week almost immediately.

My sharpest memory of Balbec was of the morning

my grandmother forced me to stay in bed in the dark,

and I heard my friends laughing near the seawall outside.

Twelve o'clock struck, and Françoise arrived at last.

And while she removed the pins, took down the various cloths,

and drew the curtains, the summer she revealed

seemed as dead, as immemorially ancient

as a sumptuously attired dynastic mummy

from which our old servant had unwound the wrappings

to display its vesture of gold.

Filthy beast! Filthy beast!

We returned to Paris, and then promptly moved.

Desolate at leaving an establishment

in which she had 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 was in pain,

she ignored me, to deny me the satisfaction of her pity.

Several days later, while I was still feverish after the move,

and feeling as distended as a snake who'd ingested an ox,

as I attempted to digest a new sideboard nearby...

I went back to our old place to retrieve some clothes.

I thought I would choke on our dusty old boulevard.

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

The fickleness of women...

It's so much better here. There's no comparison!

It is time to mention that we were now living

near Mme de Villeparisis in a flat forming part

of the Hôtel de Guermantes.

The sound of the name "Guermantes,"

retrieved its meaning for me from long past,

on the day of Mlle Percepied's marriage,

the day I saw the Duchess of Guermantes

for the first and last time.

I breathed in the air of the Combray on that day

mingled with the wind-borne fragrance of hawthorn berries.

I see the delicate mauve of the billowy silk scarf

the young duchess wore.

And like periwinkle flowers one cannot pluck,

her eyes were lit with an azure smile.

There's the Duke down there shaving.

Her carriage is ready. 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's once said of the Duchess:

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

They're having company downstairs.

Gay times!

The lifestyle I imagined the Guermantes leading

seemed so rarefied somehow,

that I couldn't imagine anyone I knew being there,

anyone real being there.

The body of Christ in the host seemed less of a mystery

than what went on in their house,

whose laundry got aired the next day.

The Princesse de Parme

is hosting a Chinese Shadow Show this evening,

which we cannot regrettably attend...

Then you won't be going to Guermantes Castle this year?

What with the Duke's rheumatism, not until the radiators are in.

My mistress might go to Cannes for few days,

- to the Duchess of Guise's home. - Do you go to the theatre?

To the opera sometimes,

when the Princess of Guermantes's box is available.

That villa, that box, into which Mme de Guermantes

poured her presence, seemed no less ethereal than her home.

A few days later, my father bestowed a ticket on me

for a special gala evening at the opera.

At first, nothing visible except vague shadows,

sheltering the white deities inhabiting these somber abodes.

Gradually, their human shapes detached themselves

from the shadow of the night, revealing semi-nude forms

and glowing faces behind briskly batting fans.

But of all these retreats,

the most famous was the cube of semi-darkness

known as the stage box of the Princess de Guermantes.

Like a goddess presiding over the games of lesser gods,

the Princess remained slightly aloof

on a sofa red as coral reef.

With all the grandeur and assurance of a true goddess,

but a latecomer's odd meekness,

the Duchess entered in a cloud of snow-white muslin.

I felt like a witness to a miraculous parting

of the clouds to reveal the Assembly of the Gods

contemplating the spectacle of mankind.

The Duchess, goddess turned woman,

and appearing in that moment a thousand times more lovely,

showered upon me the insolent celestial torrent of her smile.

And now, every morning...

Sometimes, on days when our paths didn't cross,

I would sadly make my way back home.

I would not have myself concluded

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, stripped of her wealth,

with no roof over her head or people who didn't shun her,

- she would take refuge with me. - You're all I have.

Instead of getting down to work,

I preferred to confabulate a novel-like narrative

in which the devastated Duchess, would come to me

now that I was rich and powerful.

I will always be there! I will protect you!

We will never be apart!

The ever nascent desire to meet her,

to be the object of her attention, however brief,

was stronger than my fear of displeasing her.

I would have to go away for a while.

Françoise! Pack my trunks! I'm going on a trip!

You can unpack them. I'm not leaving.

He's lost his mind!

Tomorrow, after lunch,

we'll pay a visit to my Aunt Villeparisis.

And if my girl keeps me late, I'll meet you there.

Perhaps we will see Mme de Guermantes.

I think I told you that I have

a certain literary interest in her.

Could you discreetly let her know what you think of me?

I know she thinks I'm a buffoon.

I will tell this fine virago

that you have the finest mind of them all!

And soon you will meet my girl!

In this woman in which Saint-Loup saw

all the love, every possible delight in life,

I instantly recognized "Rachel when the Lord,"

of whom the madam had once urged me to:

Try young Rachel. She's a Jew.

Doesn't that entice you?

Just think, my dear, a Jew! She'll take you to the limit.

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

couldn't fathom why I adopted the habit of calling her:

"Rachel when the Lord."

Women change positions so rapidly in that world.

Rachel had been onstage in a provincial theatre,

when Saint-Loup first laid eyes on her.

A woman I hadn't thought worth her 20 franc price tag,

had become,

through Saint-Loup's love, an object of infinite suffering.

His folly had turned a common little tart

into an inaccessible idol.

So many women's lives get split into contrasting periods.

Young people would be hard put

to imagine the proper elderly Marquise de Villeparisis

as a onetime midnight reveler or devourer of men's fortunes...

You want to write about the Duchesse de Montmorency?

Come look at her portrait. The one at the Louvre is a copy.

But my dear,

When Liszt was here, he said yours was the copy.

I respect his opinions on music, not on painting!

He was off his rocker then anyway.

Someone who was introduced to me.

He's tried his luck 5 times now. Better show him in.

Gentlemen! You too!

Allow me to present my niece, the Duchesse de Guermantes.

My dear Duchess!

- Thank you for receiving me. - Legrandin!

You show rare graciousness towards an old recluse.

The same Legrandin who had recently lambasted me

for frequenting aristocratic salons.

Legrandin! He has a sister named Mme de Cambremer...

I know her quite well!

I don't know what possessed Basin to send her my way.

She's beyond the pale. She uses words like "plumitive."

What does "plumitive" mean?

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

Everyone knows it means "writer" but it's a dreadful word,

like hearing nails on a chalkboard.

So that's the brother, is it?

Much like him, she's as servile as a doormat

and as tediously fact-filled as a scientific compendium.

Take a seat and serve yourself!

Well, monsieur...

I presume I'm excused for being in a tearoom since you are, too.

You could at least be courteous and greet me properly.

As I have been asked 20 times to attend,

I cannot behave as a peasant.

Her name and her title

added their long history to who she was.

Her duchy was cast around her.

The golden, shadowy coolness of the Guermantes forest

was felt in the tearoom that day.

Do you have anything in the works?

No, but I hope to, very soon.

You once showed me a small work, somewhat convoluted,

in which you endlessly split hairs.

I gave you my honest opinion.

That writing was not worthy of being on paper.

Oh! my dear friend, the Prince of Faffenheim...

About that play to be held at your place,

I heard you turned down Robert's mistress.

She's unworthy. Quite unworthy.

She's horrible! No talent whatsoever.

What's more, she's grotesque.

How did you get to know her?

How, now?

Didn't you know this Rachel

was the first to play at my manor?

Good evening, my good man. Good evening, d'Argencourt.

- My dear Duke. - Good evening, young neighbor.

How's your father? We're friends, you know.

She came to recite,

with a bouquet of lilies in one hand,

and another on her dress.

- You know who I mean, Basin? - Naturally.

I cannot understand how Robert could love her.

I know anyone can love anything.

That's what's great about love. And mysterious.

Yet I find it surprising anyone could be attracted

by someone so ridiculous.

Would you believe she had the gall

to ask me to install a stairway in the middle of my tearoom?

She informed me she'd lie down, flat on her stomach,

on the steps.

If only you could have heard what she said.

It was called "The Seven Princesses."

"The Seven Princesses"? How snobbish!

You know The Seven Princesses? I've only met one,

and I no longer wish to meet the others.

Oh! How they sleep...

What a fool. Those were my thoughts.

Distraught by her cold greeting,

I was comforted to see her total incomprehension of Maeterlinck.

I travelled so far each morning to meet such a woman?

I found myself overly kind.

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

Hello, Robert.

- Hello. - My nephew.

So that's how you neglect your aunt?

Be nice to this young man.

He's my dearest friend.

- Hello, how are you? - Not so good.

Perhaps he'd feel better if he saw you more often,

since he rather enjoys your company.

I'm flattered.

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

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

Sometimes I see you in the morning.

You're like me. You enjoy morning strolls.

It's a very healthy habit.

Wouldn't you like a cup of tea,

or a piece of pie? It's delicious.

No, thank you.

It's time I say goodbye to my aunt.

I must go, dear aunt.

How could my aunt Villeparisis have invited Mme Swann?

Despite Swann's insistence, whom she loves,

my aunt Oriane would never have invited 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 dispute... I'm off to ask her forgiveness.

- Mr. Baron. - I wish to leave soon.

Would you join me for a short stroll?

I'd like to speak with you.

We'll walk until I find a cab to my liking.

I don't like that one because of his lantern and his route.

- You wished to speak with me? - Indeed.

What I could do for you would cause me a lot of problems

in my everyday life.

I wonder if you're worth all this trouble.

I would never wish to cause you any worries.

Rest assured I'm quite touched by your kindness towards me.

I'm no longer interested in high society.

I'm only passionate about one thing:

atoning for my past faults, by transmitting what I've learned

to an unblemished soul,

one that may still be passionate about virtue.

Perhaps you're the one whose life

I could take over and bring to new heights.

I'd have to see you often. Quite often.

Every day.

The first sacrifice you must make is to avoid society.

It would only distort your character and intelligence.

Take a mistress or two, if your family has no objections.

I even encourage you to do so, naughty young man.

Naughty young man, who must now shave.

However, choosing male friends requires more thought.

Most are scoundrels.

My nephew Saint-Loup could be a good friend of yours.

He's not one of those effeminate types.

Driver!

- Which way are you going? - Your way.

I don't want to climb back on my seat. Is it all right,

- if I stay here with you? - Of course.

Try not to spend your entire life

regretting not having chosen the path leading to virtue.

For some time now, my grandmother complained

about her health.

When I looked at her furtively,

I saw an overwhelmed old woman who seemed a stranger,

day dreaming,

her eyes looking beyond a book with a crazed expression.

I've just returned from seeing Mme Villeparisis.

She sends her best regards,

and says she greatly hopes to see you one of these days.

I wrote her that I wasn't leaving my house at the moment.

Mother says you didn't feel well today,

that you didn't leave your room, even though you had no fever.

I know how much you care for us, grandmother.

Think of all the grief my mother and I feel,

to see you secluded 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 France's most reputed doctors.

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 grandmother taking so much time to get ready?

She didn't want me to help her get ready.

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

this odd indifference we feel towards our parents,

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

But grandmother knew.

I'm meeting friends at the Champs-Élysées

to go to Ville-d'Avray,

to a dinner that promises to be quite entertaining.

Heavens! You're seeing friends!

I could have chosen another jacket.

I look somewhat miserable in this one.

It's that way.

PUBLIC RESTROOMS

- You don't want to retire? - Why would I? I love it here.

There's always company and distractions.

I choose who may enter what I call my drawing rooms.

- Would you like a stall? - No. Thank you.

Françoise said she had suffered misfortune,

and was once a marquise.

I thought you were nauseous. Do you feel better?

Did you hear that conversation

between the marquise and the gamekeeper?

She couldn't have sounded more like a Guermantes.

"I choose who may enter..."

Since you feel a little sick, we'll head back home.

I didn't want to ask you, because of your friends.

Poor boy!

But since you insist...

Don't tire yourself. It's ridiculous.

My grandmother knew she didn't have to conceal her condition.

She had suffered a minor heart attack.

I'll get a cab.

Though I had always placed my utmost trust in her,

I could not tell her I was worried.

Though she was still alive, I already felt alone.

The uremia had caused the attack and now destroyed her kidneys.

Because of her suffering, she was allowed morphine,

which increased the albumin dose.

Sometimes Cottard would stop administrating morphine.

Oh! my daughter, it's terrible

to be in bed when it's so sunny. I'd love to go for a stroll.

The side effects of uremia spread to her eyes.

When her vision improved, the pain settled in her ears.

Soon she had trouble speaking.

We could no longer understand her.

Grandmother! Grandmother, I...

...I beg you. No!

Mother!

No!

No!

Let go, mother! I beg you!

In Balbec, after a widow was saved after jumping in a river,

my grandmother said nothing was crueler than snatching someone

from a willful death.

Monsieur, I've just learned the terrible news.

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

It would be difficult to disturb him at this time.

- Have you called Dieulafoy? - No.

That's a most serious mistake.

If you had asked on my behalf, he'd have come.

For me, but not for the Duchess of Chartres.

Do we have the oxygen flasks? I hear people talking.

Please...

Could you do me the honor of presenting me your mother?

Mother, the Duke of Guermantes wishes to pay his respect.

You must come quickly, my dear. Come.

Considering the circumstances, please forgive me.

Hello, young man!

I wished to speak to you. I almost left for Doncières.

- I arrived this morning. - If someone had told me

I could find you here today, I'd have thought it was in jest.

Leave a card and come with me.

Tell them I'll be back in a short while.

As Bloch would say,

"It's rather farcical to come upon you."

You can tell I've practically touched a hangman's rope.

I have all the luck!

A few hours later,

the pain grandmother had endured vanished from her features.

Life withdrew from her, along with life's disillusions.

As she lay on her deathbed, she resembled a young woman.

Though it was simply a Sunday in the fall,

I had come back to life.

Life itself lay ahead of me.

Taking advantage of my parents' absence, who were in Combray,

I planned on attending a play, at Mme de Villeparisis's.

Robert de Saint-Loup, sent to Morocco to get over Rachel,

whom he no longer loved, said he had met in Tangier,

Mme de Stermaria,

who had divorced 3 months after her wedding.

He had asked a meeting with her on my behalf.

She replied she would gladly have dinner with me.

So that very morning, I wrote to Mme de Stermaria,

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

You have a visitor. Miss Albertine.

- I hope I'm not bothering you. - Come sit beside me.

You bring with you the memories of days spent in Balbec.

On that chair, your back seems to say,

"But there are no cliffs here."

Do you remember that day where you defended with such fervor,

your idea of having Sophocles write,

- "My dear Racine." - Andrée was right. I was stupid.

I felt, in that same pretty woman sitting here,

something different, which gave me hope that now,

perhaps she would allow me to kiss her...

My optimistic hypothesis was based on certain words,

which weren't part of her vocabulary in Balbec.

Concerning a duel, she said: You had choice witnesses.

When she said:

I haven't seen Gisèle for a certain time.

At "certain time," my chances appeared great.

When at last she said:

In my opinion, it was for the best.

I think it's the best solution.

I no longer hesitated. At "in my opinion,"

I pulled her closer, and at "I think,"

I sat her on my bed.

You look good with a mustache. Does it tickle?

In fact, I'm not ticklish at all.

You could tickle me for an hour. I wouldn't feel a thing.

- Do you wish me to try? - If you wish.

But it would be more practical if you were to lay down.

Am I too heavy?

Do you know what I'm the most afraid of?

That if we continue, I'll have no choice but to kiss you.

How misfortunate that would be.

Having not succeeded in Balbec,

I would finally have a taste of the unknown rose,

which were Albertine's cheeks.

You have nice hair.

You have pretty eyes.

You're kind.

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

When will I see you again?

As soon as I can, I'll call for you.

I was no longer in love.

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

I was more interested in meeting Mme de Stermaria.

We'll meet shortly.

I still haven't gotten over the loss of my grandmother.

I know. I'll come when you are ready.

Shortly after Albertine left,

Françoise brought me a letter from Mme de Stermaria,

which overjoyed me. She had accepted my invitation.

Albertine had stayed so long,

that when I finally arrived, the play was ending.

Seeing the duchess no longer moved me.

My fondest thoughts were now devoted to Mme de Stermaria.

No longer burdened by the love of a man she did not care for,

- Mme de Guermantes came to me. - May I sit with you?

She smiled adoringly, like that night at the opera.

I'm Robert de Saint-Loup's aunt, and he likes you a lot.

Besides, we've already met here. Have you heard from Robert?

What a tardy entrance for a man we seldom see.

I don't want to interrupt your conversation with Oriane.

Why not have dinner with her on Wednesday?

That was the day I was to meet Mme de Stermaria.

- Unfortunately, I cannot. - How about Saturday?

My mother is returning from Combray.

It wouldn't be proper to be absent.

Well! You're not a man one can easily invite.

People of the world are so often solicited,

that whoever avoids them, becomes like a phoenix,

- engrossing their attention. - How come you never visit me?

It's tedious to meet only at other people's places.

Since you won't have dinner with me at my aunt's,

why not dine at my home? Are you free on Friday?

There will be but few of us.

I'm free on Friday. I'm deeply grateful.

The charming Princess of Parme will attend.

I would never invite you if my guests weren't pleasant people.

Was she inviting me only because Mme de Villeparisis

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

I must leave now.

I must meet the Princess of Ligne.

- Aren't you going? - No.

You don't like high society? You're right. It's tedious.

Egotistically, I regret it, for I could have taken you.

And even brought you back.

So I bid you farewell, and I look forward to Friday.

The days preceding my dinner with Mme de Stermaria

were not peaceful, but unbearable.

What I needed was to possess Mme de Stermaria

in Bois-de-Boulogne, where I had invited her.

The heavy fog descending on the lakeshore,

would make l'île des Cygnes look like Brittany,

whose foggy, coastal atmosphere

had always veiled the pale silhouette of Mme de Stermaria.

As I waited,

I imagined preliminary, gentle strokes...

Strokes I furiously wanted to be performed by that very woman.

On the day of our dinner,

I sent a cab over at Mme de Stermaria's.

I thought I'd be told, "She's downstairs,"

or "She's waiting for you."

Return downstairs and wait.

"My apologies.

"I will be unable to dine with you at Bois-de-Boulogne.

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

"Regretfully, best regards."

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

yet it hadn't crossed Mme de Stermaria's mind.

She had probably forgotten my invitation.

Our life is like an artist's workshop,

littered with abandoned sketches on which we had hoped

to settle our need for one's true love...

I never saw Mme de Stermaria again.

She was not the woman I would love.

Dining at the Guermantes

was like undertaking a long-awaited journey,

becoming familiar with a dream.

My wife was afraid you'd fail to appear.

We kept saying to one another, "You'll see, he won't come."

It's not easy to have you over as a guest.

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

What a pleasure to see you.

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

I deduced Albert was her son.

I tried remembering which acquaintance was named Albert.

Only Bloch came to mind.

Yet this could not be his mother,

for she had passed away years ago.

- ...he works a lot. - Very well...

She finds you charming.

Then I understood.

His tone of voice revealed the nature of the beast.

She was a Royal Highness.

She knew neither my family or myself,

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

The Princess of Parme is a very noble woman.

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

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

If Oriane invited him...

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

I'm sure Basin is tiring you,

leading you from one to the other.

We want you to meet our friends, but we 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?

Where did you hear that, my dear Babal?

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

A remarkable boy. Not one bit the socialite type.

Rouchy, I heard you're quite the Nimrod.

I'm flattered. I've landed a few game birds.

Tomorrow, I'll send a dozen pheasants to the duchess.

Don't trouble yourself. Poullein?

Tomorrow you'll bring the count's pheasants here.

I had met Poullein in the yard,

where he happily told me he'd meet his fiancée the next day.

I know it's your day off. Simply switch with Georges,

- and take the following day off. - He would not meet his fiancée.

- The next day, she wasn't free. - I often mention your kindness.

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

They are fortunate to work here.

It's not that great, but I think they rather like me.

But I find that one annoying.

He's in love, so he tends to be melancholic.

Indeed, he doesn't look too happy.

Victor Hugo can be as grueling

to read as if it were written in Russian, or in Chinese.

But if you persevere, how great is the reward. What imagination!

Madame d'Arpajon loves poetry.

But she understands none of it.

She became a literary type after being rejected.

If Mme de Villeparisis became like Mme de Noirpois...

Your Highness, all this is becoming a burden.

When my husband fails to visit her, she comes whimpering to me.

It's not my fault is he finds her boring.

I can't force him to go see her.

But every day, she gives me such headaches,

that I must take an aspirin.

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

My dear, what you said about Victor Hugo is well known.

We all know he's talented. In his best poetry,

there is often a reflection, a profound reflection.

For example...

"The dead don't last long.

"Alas! in their caskets, they fall into dust

"quicker than in our hearts!"

"For the heart's relics have a hallowed tomb."

Between us...

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

She thinks she loves him,

the same way she thinks she's quoting Hugo and not Musset.

I heard you're related to the admiral Jurien de la Gravière.

I assure you that I know him only by name.

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

What a pretty flower. I've never seen any like it.

Only you, Oriane, could find such wonders.

I'm delighted you like them.

But it saddens me to think they will die.

Yet they're not fresh flowers.

They are ladies.

A plant species whose genders are not on an equal footing.

I'm like dog owners. I want a husband for my flowers.

But what about nature...

Some insects handle the union by proxy, like for monarchs.

The betrothed never see each other.

The things I'm learning!

Was it really for dinners such as these,

that people dressed up and excluded bourgeois

from their closed society? Surely not.

My presence surely accounted for their superficial talk.

My presence prevented them from leading,

in this glorious tea room,

their Saint-Germain lifestyle I thought was so great.

I hope you come back soon. I have barely spoken to you.

High society is like that.

We don't see each other, or say what we'd want to say.

It's also like that in real life.

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

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

Then again, who knows?

Perhaps we'll exhibit our bones and verses on grand occasions.

What a great idea! How practical.

Madame, we must purchase some of those.

Thanks to those, you'll have nothing to fear,

even if it snows again.

Her Highness should not worry. It won't snow.

How would you know?

It cannot. It's a physical impossibility.

They took the means: they spread salt.

She wouldn't leave it at that

and discarded my denial concerning the admiral.

Monsieur need not worry. He must have sea legs.

"Good seed makes good crop."

Via Saint-Loup, M. de Charlus

insisted I pay him a visit that evening at precisely 11 PM.

I suddenly found the tedious dinner conversations

somewhat interesting and funny.

And I couldn't wait to tell M. de Charlus

the stories I had heard.

Good evening, sir.

- Must I remain standing? - Sit in the Louis XIV chair.

So that's a Louis XIV chair! How educated you are.

Sir...

This discussion will mark the end of our relationship.

I had expected better from you.

I felt sympathy towards you.

In Balbec, I told you you could count on me.

In Balbec?

You claim you didn't receive my message?

Which was almost a declaration?

In what way was the book I sent you adorned?

With a very pretty interlaced design...

You know as much about flowers than about style.

Your derrière confuses a fireside chair

with a Louis XIV. Soon, you'll confuse

Mme de Villeparisis' knees with a washbowl.

And who knows what you'll do in it.

You didn't even recognize,

on Bergotte's bookbinding, the forget-me-not adorned lintel

of the Balbec church.

Could I have been clearer in telling you, "Forget me not?"

I was everything and you were nothing.

I had made the first move.

You replied to my kindness with slanderous fabrications.

I have never spoken of you, Sir.

When you didn't respond

to the proposition I made the other day,

I found that so unbelievable

that I was naïve enough to believe in unheard-of quips,

or lost letters,

or wrong addresses. Anyways...

You weren't interested.

And now it's out of the question.

Yet it seems you could at least,

if only in consideration for my age,

have written to me.

One can always write.

Now I must distance myself.

We will no longer know each other.

I never said anything offensive, Sir!

Who says I'm offended?

Do you think yourself capable of offending me?

Do you think the venomous saliva of your unimportant friends,

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.

I promised my informant I would not betray him.

Stay for a moment.

It's late. And I have a cab waiting.

Pay for it and send it back.

I'll call a cab to bring you back.

If you think it's late, I could offer you a room here.

My mother would worry.

I wish to join you in the cab.

The moon is wonderfully clear tonight.

I'll take a walk in the forest after accompanying you.

You don't know how to shave.

Even when you're invited for dinner,

you always have a few stray hairs.

It would be pleasant to observe this blue moonlight

with someone like you.

After all, you are nice.

And you could be nicer than all others.

Get in. You'll be home in 5 minutes.

At dinner, people said princess Guermantes' manor

was quite beautiful.

They say the gardens are beyond comparison.

- It's like Versailles in Paris. - I'd love to see them.

- Can people visit them? - You must be invited.

But the princess never invites anyone.

Unless I intercede.

Without my "Open Sesame," her home remains inaccessible.

I no longer have that role, sir.

Surprisingly, a few days later...

Princess Guermantes, born Duchess of Bavaria, will host...

Was this a terrible joke?

A plot, contrived by the Baron of Charlus to punish me,

by having me thrown out of a home to which I wasn't invited?

How unfortunate the duchess is in Cannes. She'd offer advice...

On the morning of the Princess's soirée,

I learned the duke and duchess had returned from Paris.

Can Her Grace the Duchess receive me?

The duke and duchess left early and haven't returned yet.

To make sure I wouldn't miss them,

I kept watch from another stairway.

Poullein, are you done?

Mme de Guermantes's precious orchid

was in the yard, and I wondered if by any chance,

an insect would fertilize it before my eyes.

Just as he thought no one saw him,

M. de Charlus looked so affectionate and vulnerable,

I couldn't help but think how angry he'd be,

had he known he was being observed.

This man, so passionate about masculinity,

reminded me of a woman.

Then, by chance,

Jupien the tailor came out. They had never met in this yard.

The baron adopted a conceited, casual, ridiculous air.

Jupien stuck out his derrière, posing with the same affectation

an orchid could have for a heaven-sent bumblebee.

This scene was not necessarily comical.

It was imbued with a singularity

and a casual air whose beauty kept expanding.

Perhaps this is the orchid's long-awaited bumblebee?

Would you have a match?

I'm... I'm asking for a match,

but I notice I've forgotten my cigars.

Come inside. I'll give you everything you desire.

Due to Mme de Villeparisis' absence,

M. de Charlus had met Jupien,

the perfect man for allowing men like the baron,

to experience sensual pleasure on this earth:

a man who prefers old men.

Childhood memories returned like an echo.

- Leave it open, I'm hot. - But people will see us.

If they did, it would be even better.

A vague remembrance of a scene I witnessed in Montjouvain...

"SODOM AND GOMORRAH"

...hidden behind Miss Vinteuil's window,

a few days after her father's death.

It sounded like someone slitting another man's throat.

And then, as if the murderer and his resurrected victim,

now bathed together, to wash away the evidence.

Now, there's a nice one!

I don't want money...

Now I knew why I found M. de Charlus looked like a woman.

He was one of those beings whose ideal is masculine,

because their temperament is feminine.

A being whose life is based on lies, since his desires

are punishable and shameful,

instead of being the sweetest comfort of all.

Do you know anything about the chestnut merchant?

A tall, dark guy?

And the pharmacist has a very nice bicycle delivery boy.

I see you're a fickle man.

Could we return to the boutique in a short while?

Yes, you playful child!

It's a matter of taste.

I don't wish to physically possess young men.

But I'm pleased only once I've touched their heartstrings.

These days, a strange little boy is making my head turn.

An intelligent bourgeois

without any notion of the prodigious character I am,

and the microscopic amoeba he represents.

Shall we go inside?

The hatred of the Capulets and Montagues was nothing

compared to the obstacles that were surmounted

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

Monsieur de Charlus had distracted me from noting

if the bumblebee had pollinated the orchid.

What I had witnessed was a miracle of sorts,

of almost the same type, and just as amazing.

Still, I was disappointed, as I had missed out on

the flower's pollination by the bumblebee.

Oriane is getting dressed. My wife is impossible!

She asked Swann to bring his Maltese knights proofs,

just as we're about to go out.

- It's nice of you to have come. - I came to ask the duchess

if the Princess of Guermantes had truly invited me.

It's too late!

We no longer wish to get involved in their guest list.

I don't even know if we shall attend.

Do me a favor: not a word to Oriane on this subject, please.

Her Grace the Duchess asks if His Grace the Duke

can receive monsieur Swann, since Her Grace isn't ready yet.

Show him in.

Don't mention the soirée, since I don't know if Swann's invited.

The prince likes him a lot.

He thinks he's the natural grandson of the duke of Berry...

- A visitor? - Who could it be?

It's M. Swann.

...Swann is openly pro-Dreyfus. Since he was our friend,

he should've severed all links with these people.

After such a long time,

I thought you wouldn't recognize me.

You doubted my memory?

Allow me to leave you two alone.

I'll put on my tailcoat and I'll be back.

In your opinion,

why are all the Guermantes anti-Dreyfus?

Because they're all 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 his neighbor, the Rotschilds.

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

Everything about you is pleasant:

what you wear, what you say,

what you read, what you do.

My gosh!

You like the way I look? I'm delighted.

- What wonderful rubies. - A gift from the duchess.

They're rather big. Like an overflowing glass of Bordeaux.

I'm wearing them because we're meeting the duchess tonight.

- What's the occasion? - Nothing much.

- I don't know if I'll attend. - How now, Basin,

everyone will be there. It'll be amazingly dreadful.

Marie-Gilbert said she invited you,

which delights me.

My dearest Charles,

you haven't sent me the photo of the Rhodes knights...

I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have.

Your servants left it in the lobby, because of its size.

My servants only tell me what they feel is important.

My dearest Charles...

How tedious it is to dress up, to go out for dinner,

when I'd much prefer to stay home. Sometimes I'd rather die.

It's probably as tedious, since we don't know what it's like.

Basin and I would like to spend the spring in Italy and Sicily.

Imagine what such a trip could become if you joined us.

- Unwrap it. - Not tonight, Oriane.

- I want to see it with Charles. - He'll come back,

then you can spend 3 hours in front of it if it pleases you.

Where do you plan on hanging it?

- In my room. - Perfect. If it's in your room,

I may never see it.

Well, Charles, you didn't say whether you'd come to Italy.

I'm afraid it won't be possible.

Mme de Montmorency was more fortunate.

You accompanied her in Venice and Vicenza.

How can you know 10 months in advance it won't be possible?

If you insist...

First, I am gravely ill.

I've noticed that you don't look so good.

But I wasn't asking about next week,

but in 10 months. You should feel better by then.

The cab has arrived.

Come, Oriane. Hop on.

Well, in a word,

the reason preventing you from coming to Italy?

My dear friend, I'll be dead by then.

My illness, which could dispatch me at any time,

will grant me only 3 or 4 months

- at the very most. - You must me jesting.

That would be a charming prank. I never mentioned my illness,

but since you asked me,

and that I may die from one day to the next.

But I wouldn't want you to be late.

This dinner is of no importance.

Oriane, stop all that chatting and moaning with Swann.

Mme de Saint-Euverte wants us to arrive no later than 8 PM.

I'm sorry, Charles, but it's almost 8.

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

You probably worry for nothing.

Come have lunch whenever you wish.

Oriane! For heaven's sake!

You're wearing black shoes with a red outfit!

- Go put on your red shoes. - We're late...

No, we have time. They'll have to wait.

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

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

Oriane would've worn black shoes.

They didn't offend me.

She would have noticed as we arrived.

And I would've been obliged to come and get them.

I would have eaten at 9.

Come, my children. Leave before she returns.

If she sees you, she'll start talking

and frankly, I'm starving. I've hardly eaten all day.

And as for you, Charles, don't let doctors fool you.

They're donkeys.

You're as sturdy as the Pont-Neuf.

You'll outlive us all!

I've lived life to the full.

I've fully enjoyed the arts.

And I say to myself, without feeling any anguish,

it'll be a shame to leave all that behind.

I have resigned myself to my fate.

But I'd hate to die before the Dreyfus affair is resolved.

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

You should come see you friend Gilberte.

She has grown up and changed. You wouldn't recognize her.

- It would make her so happy. - I'll write to her tonight.

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 her,

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

When I was in love with her,

I secretly vowed I'd let her know when I stopped loving her.

This plan concocted when I loved her,

was forgotten once I no longer loved her.

My second trip to Balbec

was quite different than the first.

Translation: TV5 Québec Canada