All language subtitles for A.la.recherche.du.temps.perdu.2011.Part1.ENGLiSH.dTV

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