Original subtitles

IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME

BASED ON MARCEL PROUST'S NOVEL

Translated by selaflaure (selaflaure@gmail.com)

Easy does it! It doesn't feel right.

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

There's mud on the skirt!

Stop fussing! Stop!

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

- Caroline! - So that's it!

A little cap!

Ask Jean-Claude to fix it on you.

It fits, right? But I split my pants!

Very white. It has to look theatrical.

There!

I nicked my lip...

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

and then he loves you in Paris.

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

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

A bit!

The Gilberte in the book is a very cold girl.

When she's bored, she dumps him.

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

I had become almost indifferent to Gilberte

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

If only the Balbec Church knew how unhappy you are

at the prospect of a visit.

The day before departure

I learned my father had been detained at the ministry,

and my mother would stay behind.

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

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

I picture you like Mme de Sévigné,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will quickly become accustomed

to being without Mother.

Perhaps you should sleep a little.

The barman and his staff were so charming!

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

If you cannot sleep,

then read!

This shade of blue

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

What a lovely golden sheen to your buttons!

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

At first, my indifference was still intermittent.

The me who had loved Gilberte,

replaced almost entirely by another, was re-emerging.

So the thought of not seeing her was suddenly painful.

But this pain and resurgence of love for Gilberte

was fleetingly dreamlike.

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

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

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

Miss!

Life would have seemed delicious if only I could have spent

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

IN THE SHADOW OF YOUNG GIRLS IN BLOOM

The climate would benefit my grandson.

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

Prices much too high for my meagre budget!

I must confess that I feel unwell!

I believe we must return to Paris!

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

I shan't be long!

Thank you!

In this strange room, I felt as reduced and uncomfortable

as Cardinal La Balue,

confined by Louis XI in a cage

in which he could neither sit nor stand.

There was no space for me in my Balbec room.

It was full of things that, not knowing me,

testified that I was disturbing the routine of their existence.

Threatened by enemies around me,

overwhelmed by the fever, I was alone.

I wanted to die.

I knew, when I was with my grandmother,

the vast depths of my sorrow

would be quelled by the vaster depth of her pity.

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

No, grandma.

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

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

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

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

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

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

that accompanies us all life long,

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

But the following morning,

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

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

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

Let's hurry up.

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

M. de Stermaria and his daughter.

Oh! They were due to arrive this evening.

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

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

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

Set the table.

Take care this doesn't happen again.

It offends me that strangers have taken my table.

Alas, no previous contempt

was so undesirable as that of M. de Stermaria.

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

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

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

In the hardness of her look

I glimpsed the passing airs of almost palpable docility

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

The Marquise of Villeparisis.

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

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

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

I would cross in seconds the infinite social distance

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

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

to see people who would waste

our precious time that we could pass before the waves.

If Mme de Villeparisis, sitting at our table,

had given from me to Mlle de Stermaria

an opinion that made me emboldened to approach her,

maybe we could have bonded better.

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

in her Romanesque chateau,

I could have joined and possessed her,

in this Brittany which enveloped her in so many memories.

One morning, Mme de Villeparisis and my grandmother

fell upon each other, in a doorway.

It was enough to pronounce the name of a titled person

for Aimé to be happy.

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

he went to fetch our finger bowls

with the discreet smile of a hostess

who knows how to retire.

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

he and his daughter having left the hotel.

Having no friends or relations in Balbec,

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

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

descending into Hudimesnil,

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

that I hadn't felt since childhood:

The three old trees formed around the Calvary,

an image not seen for the first time.

Where had I ever seen them?

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

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

and a good part of me passed forever into nothingness.

I never knew where I had seen them.

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

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

is currently in garrison, in a village near Doncieres.

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

He is of great intelligence and a big heart.

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

and who won't let him go.

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

I imagined that Robert de Saint-Loup

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

Oh! What a happy meeting!

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was rereading some passages.

It's a poem dedicated to the sea.

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

that it was a simple worldly habit, something learned.

I borrowed from your aunt some very anecdotal memoires

of the famous Comte de Marsantes.

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

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

who spent all his life hunting and at the races.

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

of which I am, alas, the heir.

We are great friends forever, aren't we?

Friends forever.

These words caused me a kind of sadness,

and I was embarrassed to answer.

I blamed myself for taking pleasure in considering Saint-Loup

as an ancient artefact, as a work of art

that my reverie was trying to fathom.

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

What a lucky man!

For me, there was still nothing.

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

"I'm ready to recognize my wrongs."

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

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

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

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

It's my friend Bloch.

We met before the University Board of Examiners.

I salute you, dear God-made flesh,

and you, beloved horseman of Athena

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

Happy to see you again.

I run to the telegraph office.

An urgent dispatch to send before closing.

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

You're crossing a nice crisis of snobbery.

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

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

You are unkind.

I've hurt you. Forgive me.

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

of our afternoons in class,

I sobbed all night.

I swear to you!

Alas, you won't believe me.

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

Basically, that's rather Jewish of me.

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

They formed a cortège of biblical figures

dissimilar to the people watching them pass by

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

No girl on holiday at Balbec was allowed to associate

with this horde of poorly bred girls

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

I was just going to your caravanserai

to ask both of you to come one day

to dine with my illustrious father of blameless heart.

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

I can't commit right now.

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

Bloch made us these invitations as he had an unbridled desire

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

to enter aristocratic circles.

Formed by me,

this wish would appeared to Bloch the most hideous snobbery.

My uncle Palamede is a proponent of physical exercise,

especially of long walks.

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

Where does his first name come from?

The Sicilian Princes, his ancestors.

Even in the most exclusive aristocratic circles,

my uncle still stands out as notoriously inaccessible,

and infatuated with his nobility.

But I know his life is anything but boring.

In his youth, he brought women every day

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

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

And I know that he cheated on my poor aunt.

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

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

possessed by intense calculation.

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

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

or a lunatic.

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

before making your escape.

How are you?

May I introduce my nephew the Baron de Guermantes.

My dear boarding school friend!

- Charmed. - My God!

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

Allow me to introduce the Baron de Charlus.

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

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

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

Did my ears deceive me?

Mme de Villeparisis said your uncle was a Guermantes?

Of course! Palamède de Guermantes.

The same Guermantes who have a castle near Combray

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

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

And your uncle? Who's he?

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

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

He'll explain with pleasure.

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

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

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

but never made it to the castle.

I would have liked so much to reach it.

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

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

We'll leave you here.

We're having lunch with the Princess de Luxembourg.

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

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

My dear Bathilde, come sit beside me.

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

now in the hands of Israeli bankers,

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

where the guardian said to me:

"This is where Mary Stuart prayed...

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

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

Isn't it, Auntie?

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

Tea?

My nephew can tell you about the Chateau de Rochers,

where your dear Sévigné wrote so many letters.

I stayed there.

It makes my dear Bathilde sad

when I tell her that I see a little literature

in this despair of Mme de Sévigné

to be separated from her tedious daughter.

On the contrary, nothing seems more real to me.

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

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

Being near our loved ones is our only joy!

Madame de Sévigné was less to be pitied then others,

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

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

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

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

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

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

you admire Bergotte's works.

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

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

those moments when you are none too happy.

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

I was worried that my discomfort with the approach of night

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

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

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

and that's always charming.

The greatest folly is to find ridiculous or blameworthy

feelings one doesn't feel oneself.

I love the night,

and you tell me you dread it.

I will not say that your sadness is not painful.

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

But... don't complain too much.

You have placed your affection in your grandmother,

and...

it is a permissible affection.

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

There are so many of which one cannot say that.

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

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

That is just what I was thinking!

Good evening, sir.

Sir!

Your grandmother wishes to see you after your swim.

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

Little rascal!

How's that, sir? I love her!

Sir, you're still young.

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

before having penetrated their meaning.

By taking this precaution,

you would have avoided, not to mince matters,

adding a second ridicule to that of having

embroidered anchors on your swimsuit.

I lent you a book by Bergotte which I need.

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

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

Good evening, sir.

Come on, darling, come.

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

I'm dressed in my loveliest attire.

For my hat, I'm still unsure.

Powder? Jewelry? Lace?

For a simple photo?

I always thought you unconcerned regarding your appearance.

It seems I was wrong.

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

Why should I deprive you of a pleasure?

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

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

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

I managed to drive from my grandmother's face

that happy expression which I should have enjoyed,

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

That day, like the previous,

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

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

to go find my grandmother.

They were five or six,

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

They were like a flock of seagulls

performing a choreographed walk on the beach.

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

Although each of them was absolutely different,

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

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

She's a friend of little Simonet.

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

Now their features were no longer indistinct.

Who's that Ostrogoth staring at us like that?

I've never seen him before.

Neither in Paris nor in Balbec,

among all the passers-by who caught my eye,

had I seen any so beautiful,

that I found it impossible to find reunited species

rarer than those of these young flowers

that now interrupted in front of me

the line of the sea with their light wings,

like a grove of Pennsylvania roses.

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

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

the only one who, turning her head,

had seemed to notice my fixed gaze.

Come in.

This is our last night.

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

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

I promise to come several times a week.

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

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

The structure of your face

must be the same as your ancestors,

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

A delicate scholar?

Thank you.

Your head is reminiscent of these ancient dungeon towers

that has been arranged internally into a library.

If I had your disposition,

I think I would write from morning to night.

But you take more pleasure doing nothing.

How sad it is that second-raters like myself

are those always ready to work.

For this evening, before his departure,

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

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

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

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

whose pensive gaze remained firmly fixed on the void.

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

who piqued our curiosity.

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

It was Elstir?

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

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

We sent him a note

revealing the two tardy diners sitting a few steps away

were two passionate lovers of his talent,

and two friends of his friend Swann.

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

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

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

I'm delighted for your meeting with Elstir.

The conversation of a superior man

is as powerful in training, in strengthening a spirit

as the sea breeze.

Saint-Loup was gone.

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

My desire went now to one, now to another.

I loved no one, loving them all.

Albertine! Are you coming?

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

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

You change your suit every day.

You've ordered hats and ties from Paris,

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

one of our greatest artists.

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

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

I ended up reluctantly obeying my grandmother.

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

Elstir, at my request, continued to paint.

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

The charm of each consisted of a kind of

metamorphosis of the things represented.

Elstir's studio appeared to me

like the laboratory for the creation of a new world.

I've always imagined the church of Balbec

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

When getting off the train,

I was told that the sea was five leagues away,

and I saw that the church stood on a square,

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

I had been advised not to go to Brittany,

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

When a mind is prone to dreams,

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

What heals him is not less dreams,

but more dreams. All the time.

Good morning.

Do you know that girl, sir?

Yes. Her name is Albertine Simonet.

I met her in Balbec with other girls.

Rosemonde, Gisèle, Andrée...

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

and paying me a little visit.

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

Elstir himself invited me

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

You're welcome. No fuss.

Come, I'll introduce you to Albertine.

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

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

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

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

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

it indicates a degree of culture and civilization

hard to associate with the bacchante on her bicycle.

Albertine seemed to me more intimidated than implacable,

more respectable than ill-bred.

After this first metamorphosis,

Albertine would change many times for me.

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

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

What weather!

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

I didn't forget.

The endless summer of Balbec is a huge joke.

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

You must be bored.

How dull, lying on the beach?

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

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

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

The pressure of Albertine's hand had a sensual sweetness

that seemed to allow one to penetrate her being.

I promised myself, at our next meeting,

to be bolder with her.

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

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

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

I would ask for your advice to arrange it.

What a nice trip I would make!

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

It might have been moral laxity,

but also the silly gaiety of a respectable young girl.

Do you like the new car fashions for women?

Yes, of course!

Hello, M. Elstir!

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

We just passed by to say hello.

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

My friend Andrée, my friend Gisèle.

Hello!

- Hello. - Hello.

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

- M. Elstir, goodbye. - Goodbye.

- Goodbye. - Goodbye.

Are you going down to the beach, just now?

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

Goodbye, Gisèle.

- Goodbye. - Goodbye.

I found you most unpleasant with your friend.

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

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

I didn't notice it.

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

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

That day, her cheeks were creamy pink,

like certain roses that have a waxy gloss.

Come on, ladies!

Despite Albertine's reluctance to introduce us,

I finally made the acquaintance of the entire little group.

The dance teacher is at his wit's end,

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

Waltz.

Andrée, who had seemed to me the coldest,

was infinitely more delicate, more affectionate than Albertine,

to whom she showed the tenderness of an elder sister.

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

When an activity presents itself,

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

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

No. I'll stay and chat with him.

Do as you wish, I must dash.

She's charming. She's stupendous.

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

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

The poor girl says that her aunt, Mme Bontemps,

has but one wish: to be rid of her.

Her aunt, doesn't mind complaining everywhere

that Albertine with no parents and no fortune,

will never be marriage material.

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

All those sandwiches and pies, your young girls

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

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

To each his taste.

Who will laugh first.

The dawn of youth which flushed these girls' faces

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

that we come to like only the very youngest girls.

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

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

She sends us the composition she wrote for her exam.

Here is the subject she chose.

"Sophocles writes from Hell to Racine

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

There is, in the chirpings of these girls,

pitches lost to older women.

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

Lying between these girls,

the fullness of what I felt overflowed into waves of happiness

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

Whom I was most ready to love.

Who has a pencil?

- And paper? - Sorry.

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

Be careful that no one sees it.

"I really like you."

"I really like you."

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

You should always wear your hair slightly dishevelled.

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

Rosemonde told me that Albertine leaves tomorrow

to spend 48 hours at her aunt's house,

and that she'll come tonight

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

This won't help you.

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

Protocol would intervene.

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

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

Go, I'll join you.

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

Nobody knows who I do it for.

Andrée told me that you're leaving tomorrow early.

Yes.

I'm spending tonight at your hotel.

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

You could dine in my room if you like.

My aunt won't know.

- See you later. - See you later.

Come in.

Come, come.

The sight of Albertine's bare throat,

her cheeks too pink,

had thrown me into such intoxication

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

Stop or I'll ring.

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

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

Albertine had rung with all her might.

I'll be back.

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

But never do it again.

For you.

Little by little, my dreams abandoned Albertine,

no longer fed by hopes of possessing her.

Bad weather arrived,

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

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

We would have to leave,

the cold and the humidity having become too perishing.

I forgot moreover almost immediately those preceding weeks.

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

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

I knew my friends were on the seawall.

I heard their laughter. Twelve o'clock struck.

At last Françoise arrived.

While she was removing the pins,

took down various cloths and drew the curtains,

the summer day she revealed seemed as dead,

as ancient as a sumptuous dynastic mummy

from which our old servant had unwound the wrappings,

before having her appear swathed in her golden dress.

Filthy beast!

Back in Paris, we had moved.

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

Françoise had packed her trunk in tears.

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

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

to deny me the satisfaction of her pity.

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

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

I felt painfully distended

by a sideboard that my eyes attempted to digest.

I went to retrieve some clothes in our former house.

I thought I would choke on our dusty old boulevard.

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

That's the fickleness of women.

Everything is much better arranged in our new home.

There's no comparison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

mingled with the wind-borne fragrance of hawthorn blossom.

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

of the young duchess,

and like a periwinkle impossible to pick,

her eyes were lit by an azure smile.

There's the Duke down there shaving.

José! Bring your carriage!

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

I'll never hear the end of it,

if Madam finds me at the window.

= THE GUERMANTES WAY =

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

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

They're having company, downstairs. Gay times.

The life I supposed the Guermantes leading

seemed so rarefied somehow,

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

the presence of anyone I could have known,

real people.

The presence of the body of Jesus Christ in the Host

seemed less of a mystery than the Guermantes salon,

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

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

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

at the Duke d'Omane.

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

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

until the radiators are installed.

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

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

Often in the Princess de Guermantes's box.

The wife of the duke's cousin...

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

seemed no less ethereal than her home.

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

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

First, there were only vague shadows.

In the boxes,

the white deities who inhabited those sombre abodes,

slowly detached themselves from the depths of the night

and let their half-naked bodies emerge.

Their bright faces

appeared behind the playful batting of their feathery fans.

But of all these retreats,

the most famous was the block of semi-darkness

known as the box of the Princess de Guermantes.

Like a great goddess who presides from afar

over the games of the lesser gods,

the Princess remained slightly aloof,

on a sofa red as a coral reef.

In her victorious assurance and her greatness as a goddess,

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

she entered in a cloud of snow-white muslin,

the Duchess de Guermantes.

It was as if I had seen,

thanks to the miraculous scattering of the clouds,

the gathering of the gods contemplating the spectacle of mankind.

The Duchess, goddess turned woman

and suddenly seeming a thousand times more beautiful,

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

Now, every morning...

Sometimes, when our paths did not cross,

I would sadly make my way back home.

I would not have felt

that Mme de Guermantes was tired of this daily ritual

had I not read it on the face of Françoise.

I was truly in love with Mme de Guermantes.

The greatest happiness I could have asked of God

would have been that He subject her to every conceivable mishap

and that, ruined, despised,

lacking all the privileges which separated me from her,

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

she would take refuge with me.

I have only you.

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

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

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

rich and powerful.

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

We will never be apart.

The ever-rising need to meet her,

to be for a moment the object of her attention,

that need was stronger than the annoyance of displeasing her.

I would have to go away for a while.

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

You can unpack them. I'm not leaving.

He's crazy. Crazy.

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

I promise.

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

Perhaps we will see Mme de Guermantes there.

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

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

Could you tell her, even exaggerating a little,

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

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

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

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

all the possible sweet things in life, I instantly recognized

"Rachel when the Lord".

The one that some years ago the madam had told me

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

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

♪ Rachel, when the Lord... ♪

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

didn't know why I called her

♪ "Rachel when the Lord" ♪

♪ entrusted you the cradle, ♪

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

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

Women change so quickly their situation in this world.

Rachel was on the stage of a provincial theatre,

when Saint-Loup met her for the first time.

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

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

Saint-Loup's love for her

made out of her the object of an infinite suffering.

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

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

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

imagine that she could have been a onetime midnight reveler

creating a sensation maybe by devouring the fortune

of some man long ago laid in his grave.

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

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

My dear, you remember when Liszt was here,

he said that it was yours which was a copy.

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

Besides, he was already senile.

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

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

Better show him in.

Gentlemen, may I present my niece,

the Duchess de Guermantes.

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

Thank you very much for receiving me, Madame.

Legrandin.

You show rare graciousness towards an old recluse.

The same Legrandin who had recently lambasted me severely

for my frequenting aristocratic salons.

M. Legrandin has a sister named Madame de Cambremer.

You couldn't be happier then I am.

I know her perfectly well.

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

to send her my way.

She's impossible.

She says "plumitive", and things like that.

What does that mean?

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

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

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

I can quite understand.

She has the same humility when she gets out of bed

and as tediously fact-filled as a scientific compendium.

Take a seat. Serve yourself.

Well, sir,

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

You could at least be courteous and greet me properly.

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

I can't behave like a boor.

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

Her duchy projected itself around her,

and gave reign to the shady, golden freshness

of the Guermantes forest in the middle of the salon.

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

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

in which you split hairs.

I have frankly given you my opinion.

What you did then was not worth committing to paper.

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

About that play to be held at your place,

I knew you were refusing Robert's mistress.

She's unworthy. Quite unworthy!

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

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

How? Don't you know that this Rachel

played at my manor before everyone?

Good evening, my good man.

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

My little neighbour, good evening.

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

She came to recite,

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

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

I don't understand how Robert could love her.

I know anyone can love anything.

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

But I find it amazing that we can find seduction

in someone so ridiculous.

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

right in the middle of the salon.

And she warned me she would repose

on her stomach, on the steps.

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

"It's called The Seven Princesses."

"The Seven Princesses"? How snobbish!

Do you know "The Seven Princesses"?

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

"How they sleep! How..."

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

Distraught by the cold welcome she had given me,

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

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

I am too indulgent.

"Don't sleep!"

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

Hello, Robert.

- Hello. - My nephew.

That's how you forget your aunt.

Be nice to this young man.

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

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

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

You're very nice. I'm flattered.

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

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

I see you sometimes in the morning.

You're like me, you like morning walks.

It's good for one's health.

Would you like a cup of tea?

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

Thank you.

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

Aunt, I must go.

What on earth persuaded my Aunt Villeparisis

to invite Mme Swann? Despite Swann's insistence?

My aunt Oriane never agreed to receive either his wife,

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

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

I suffer dreadfully. A terrible fight.

I'm off to ask her forgiveness.

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

Would you join me for a short stroll?

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

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

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

You wanted to talk to me?

Indeed. What I could do for you

would bring much inconvenience into my life.

I wonder if you're worth all this trouble.

I would never wish to cause you any worries.

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

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

I have but one passion:

atoning for my past faults

by transmitting what I've learned to an unblemished soul

who may still be passionate about virtue.

Perhaps you're the one whose life

I could take over and bring to new heights.

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

Every day.

The first sacrifice you'll have to make for me

is to avoid society.

It would only distort your character and your intelligence.

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

I even encourage you, young rascal.

Young rascal who must now shave.

But the choice of male friends is of another importance.

Most are scoundrels.

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

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

Coachman!

- Which way are you going? - Your way.

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

Of course.

Try not to spend your entire life regretting

not having chosen the path leading to virtue.

For some time now, without knowing the cause,

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

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

daydreaming, looking beyond a book with a crazed expression.

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

She begged me to send you her best,

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

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

Mother tells me you were not feeling too good today,

that you didn't want to leave your room,

although you had no fever.

I know how much you love us, grandmother,

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

to see you stay cloistered in your room,

like your cousin Léonie,

you, a lover of the outdoors.

It's your nerves, mother.

The doctor said so.

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

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

It could be today.

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

I promise!

Why is Grandma taking so long to get ready?

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

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

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

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

But grandmother knows!

I'm meeting friends at the Champs-Élysées

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

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

I look a little unhappy with this one.

It's that way.

PUBLIC TOILET Don't you want to retire?

And why should I retire?

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

There's always company and distractions.

And I even choose my clients.

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

You want me to open a cabin?

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

Françoise assured us that the woman had lost her fortune,

and that she was once a marquise.

I was afraid you were nauseous, grandmother.

Do you feel better?

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

It couldn't be more Guermantes-ish.

"I don't receive anybody."

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

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

Poor boy! But since you insist.

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

My grandmother realised she had no need to hide

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

I'm going to get a cab.

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

I was forced to silence my concern.

Though she was still alive, I already felt alone.

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

Because of her suffering, she was allowed morphine,

which, unfortunately, increased the dose of albumin.

Sometimes, Cottard, after hesitating, stopped the morphine.

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

I'd love to go out for a stroll.

The side effects of uremia soon affected her eyes.

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

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

Grandma!

Grandma! I beg you!

Mother! Don't! No!

Don't! I beg you!

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

grandmother told me she knew no greater cruelty

than snatching a desperate man from the death he wanted.

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

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

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

- Did you send for Dieulafoy? - No.

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

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

Did they bring the oxygen flasks?

I hear someone talking.

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

to introduce me to your mother?

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

You must come at once, my dear. Come.

Given the circumstance, I hope you will forgive me.

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

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

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

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

Say that I'll be back in a moment.

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

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

or practically.

I have all the luck.

A few hours later,

the traces of sufferings endured by grandma

disappeared from her face.

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

On this funeral bed, death

had laid on her the appearance of a young girl.

Though it was just an autumn Sunday,

I had been reborn.

I had a lifetime in front of me.

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

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

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

to forget Rachel, whom he no longer loved,

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

who had divorced three months after her wedding.

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

She replied she would gladly have dinner with me.

So I wrote that very morning to Mme de Stermaria

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

There's a visitor for you. Mlle Albertine.

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

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

On this chair, your back seems to say

"Damn, there's no cliff here."

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

in imposing your idea of having Sophocles write

"My dear Racine"?

Andrée was right, I was stupid.

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

something different that made me hope that,

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

My optimistic hypothesis was due to the appearance of new words

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

Regarding a duel I had, she told me

You had choice seconds.

When she said

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

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

When, finally, she said:

In my opinion, it was for the best.

I think it's the best solution.

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

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

Your moustache suits you well.

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

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

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

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

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

If we continue like this,

I can't help but kissing you.

It would be a beautiful misfortune.

Not having succeeded in Balbec,

I would finally know the taste of the unknown rose

which were Albertine's cheeks.

You have nice hair. You have pretty eyes.

You are nice.

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

When will I see you again?

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

I had no more love for Albertine.

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

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

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

- My grandmother... - I know.

When you wish, I'll come.

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

because it came from Mme de Stermaria.

She accepted my invitation.

Albertine delayed me so much that the play was ending

when I arrived at Mme de Villeparisis's.

The sight of the duchess caused me no more trouble.

All my thoughts of love were for Mme de Stermaria.

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

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

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

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

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

Have you heard from Robert?

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

For once we see you.

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

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

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

Unfortunately, Wednesday is impossible.

And Saturday?

Mother comes back on Saturday from Combray.

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

You're not a man one can easily invite.

People of the world are so accustomed to be sought,

that whoever avoids them

seems to them a phoenix and attracts their attention.

Why don't you ever come to see me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had the duchess decided to invite me on noticing

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

Well, I must leave you.

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

- You're not going? - No.

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

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

and even brought you back.

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

The days before my dinner with Mme de Stermaria

were not delightful, but unbearable.

What I needed,

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

where I had invited her.

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

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

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

the pale silhouette of Mme de Stermaria.

In the meantime, I indulged in such imaginings

which are the beginnings of caresses.

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

The day of the dinner, as night fell,

I sent a car to Mme de Stermaria.

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

or "The lady is waiting for you".

Go back down and wait.

I'm awfully sorry.

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

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

Regretfully, best regards.

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

yet Mme de Stermaria had not thought about it once,

and had, no doubt, forgotten my invitation.

Our life is like an artist's studio,

full of abandoned sketches, on which we had hoped

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

I never saw Mme Stermaria again.

It was not her I would love.

Dinner at the Guermantes,

it was like embarking on a long-desired journey,

becoming acquainted with a dream.

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

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

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

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

Oh! What a joy to see you!

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

I understood that Albert was her son.

I tried remembering which acquaintance was named Albert.

There was only Bloch. - How is your father?

But this couldn't be Mme Bloch,

since she had passed away many years ago.

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

She finds you charming. Then I understood everything.

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

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

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

The Princess de Parme is a very noble woman.

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

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

If Oriane invited him...

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

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

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

so that you may return often.

Your Grace is served.

Basin! Tell me,

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

Where did you hear that, my dear Babal?

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

A remarkable boy. Not one bit the socialite type.

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

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

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

Don't trouble yourself. Poullein,

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

Poullein, whom I'd seen in the courtyard,

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

and he would spend all day with her.

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

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

The rendez-vous with his fiancée was compromised.

The next day, she wouldn't be free.

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

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

They are fortunate to work here.

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

That one is annoying because he's in love.

He thinks he has to show off his melancholy.

Indeed, he doesn't look too happy.

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

as if it were written in Russian. Or Chinese.

But if you persevere, how well you are rewarded!

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

She understands none of it.

She became a literary type after being rejected.

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

Your Highness, all this is becoming a burden,

she comes whimpering to me

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

But I must say that...

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

I can't force him to go see her.

But every day, she gives me such headaches,

that each time I must take an aspirin.

It's enough to make a cat laugh.

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

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

Everybody knows he has talent.

In his best poems there is often an idea.

Even a profound idea.

Listen...

"The dead don't last long, alas!

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

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

But between us, my aunt, who...

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

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

because it's a verse from Musset.

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

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

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

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

Only you, Oriane, could find such wonders.

I'm glad you like them.

But what's sad is that they will die.

Yet they're not cut flowers.

They are ladies. A plant species

where ladies and gentlemen are not on equal footing.

I'm like those dog owners.

I'm looking for a husband for my flowers.

But in nature?

There are insects that take care of the marriage

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

The things you teach me, Oriane.

Was it because of dinners like this

that everyone dressed elegantly

and refused the bourgeois in their so exclusive salons?

Certainly not.

My presence surely accounted for their superficial talk.

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

the mysterious Saint-Germain lifestyle

I had imagined so fine.

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

High society is like that.

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

It's like that in real life too.

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

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

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

for the great occasions.

The carriage of Monsieur le Duc de Chatellerault!

Monsieur de Brouchy's carriage!

Oh, what a good idea! How practical!

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

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

Your Highness can be reassured. It will not snow.

How would you know, Madame?

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

Measures have been taken. They threw salt.

The naive lady wouldn't stop there.

Regardless of my denials about Admiral de la Gravière,

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

It's in the blood.

M. de Charlus has sent me through Saint-Loup

an imperative request to go see him

at 11 o'clock, that evening.

The conversations that had seemed so boring at dinner,

I suddenly found interesting and funny.

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

Good evening, sir.

Is it necessary for me to stand, sir?

Put yourself in the Louis XIV chair.

This is what you call a Louis XIV chair?

I see you're educated.

Sir...

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

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

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

In Balbec, sir?

Do you pretend not to have received my message?

Almost a declaration?

In what way was the book I sent you adorned?

A very pretty, interlaced design?

You know as much about flowers as about style.

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

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

a wash-bowl!

And who knows what you'll do in it.

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

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

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

Since I was everything and you were nothing,

I made the first steps towards you.

You have responded to my kindness with slanderous inventions!

Sir, I have never said anything about you!

When you left unanswered

the proposal I made you the other day,

it seemed to me so incredible

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

or lost letters,

or wrong addresses.

Finally, you weren't interested.

And now it's out of the question.

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

even if only for the sake of my age,

write to me.

One can always write.

Now I must distance myself.

We will no longer know each other.

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

Who tells you that I am offended?

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

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

perched on top of each other, could even dribble

upon my august toes?

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

"Spare the rod, spoil the child."

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

I promised my informant I would not betray him.

Sit down for a moment.

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

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

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

My mother will be worried.

I'll join you in the carriage.

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

after accompanying you.

You don't know how to shave.

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

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

with someone like you,

for you're still nice.

You could be nicer than all the others.

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

At dinner, they said

that the Princess de Guermantes' manor is very beautiful.

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

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

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

Unless I intervene.

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

But my role is over.

A few days later, what a surprise!

"The Princess de Guermantes, born Duchess of Bavaria,

"will be at home..."

Was I perhaps the victim of a terrible joke?

Wasn't it a plot contrived by Baron de Charlus

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

to which I wasn't invited?

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

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

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

Can Her Grace the Duchess receive me?

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

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

Poullein, have you finished?

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

and I wondered if, by a providential chance,

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

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

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

so disarming, I couldn't prevent myself from thinking

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

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

was a woman.

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

in that yard where they had never met.

The baron adopted a conceited, casual, ridiculous air.

Jupien stuck out his posterior,

posing with the same coquetry the orchid would have had

for the providential bumblebee which had yet to arrive.

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

It had the mark of strangeness,

and a casual air whose beauty kept expanding.

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

Could you give me a light?

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

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

Through the indisposition of Mme de Villeparisis,

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

the man preordained for men like the baron

to have their share of voluptuousness in this world,

the man who loves only old gentlemen.

From the distance of my childhood returned like an echo

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

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

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

= SODOM AND GOMORRAH =

Hidden under Mlle Vinteuil's window,

a few days after her father's death,

It sounded like someone slitting another man's throat.

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

now bathing together to wash away traces of the crime.

You have a great ass.

Now I understood why it seemed that M. de Charlus

looked like a woman.

He belonged to that breed whose ideal is masculine,

through the fact that their nature is feminine.

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

is punishable and shameful,

instead of being the sweetest comfort of all.

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

A tall dark fellow.

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

who brings his drugs.

I see you're quite flirtatious.

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

Yes, you big kid!

All this is a question of taste.

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

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

heartstrings.

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

An intelligent petit-bourgeois

who has no notion of the prodigious character I am,

and the microscopic amoeba he represents.

Shall we?

The hatred of the Capulets and Montagues was nothing

compared to the obstacles that were surmounted

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

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

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

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

almost the same type, and no less wonderful.

I was, though, distressed to have missed,

the fertilization of the flower by the bumblebee.

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

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

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

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

I came to ask the Duchess

if the Princess of Guermantes had really invited me tonight.

It's too late.

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

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

Be so kind. When you see Oriane.

Not a word on that, please.

Her Grace asks if His Grace

wishes to receive M. Swann,

since Her Grace is not yet ready.

Send him in.

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

I don't know if he's invited.

The prince likes him a lot, because he thinks

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

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

whenever he sees a Jew.

- A visit? - Who can it be?

It's M. Swann.

Swann, who as a dreyfusard, should have understood,

that he should, as our friend,

have severed all ties with these people.

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

Do you question my memory?

Allow me to leave you two alone.

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

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

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

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

He once let an entire castle wing burn,

to avoid borrowing pumps from the castle next to his,

which belonged to the Rothschilds.

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

And besides with you, Charles, everything is pleasant,

what you wear and what you say,

what you read and what you do.

- Look at you! - You like my dress?

- I'm delighted. - What beautiful rubies!

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

like a glass brimming with Bordeaux.

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

What is it tonight at the Princess?

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

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

It'll be amazingly dreadful.

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

Which delights me.

Dear Charles, you didn't send the picture

of the Rhodes knights.

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

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

My servants only tell me what they think is appropriate.

My dearest Charles,

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

when we would rather stay at home.

There are evenings I'd rather die.

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

Dear Charles, Basin and I intend

to spend next spring in Italy and Sicily.

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

- Open the envelope. - Not tonight, Oriane.

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

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

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

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

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

I don't think it will be possible.

Oh! Madame de Montmorency was more fortunate.

You have been with her to Venice and Vicenza.

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

I'll tell you, if you wish.

First, you see that I'm gravely ill.

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

But I'm not asking about next week.

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

The carriage has arrived.

Come on, Oriane. Hop on.

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

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

My illness, which could dispatch me at any time,

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

At the very most.

What's this? You must be joking!

It would be in charming taste.

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

I might die any day now.

But I wouldn't want you to be late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go put on your red shoes!

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

They'll wait.

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

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

Without me, Oriane would have dined in black shoes.

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

She would have noticed as we arrived.

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

I would have dined at 9.

Come, my children. Leave before she returns.

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

And I confess frankly that I'm starving.

I hardly ate a thing this morning.

And you, Charles,

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

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

You'll bury us all!

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

and I say to myself, without any anxiety,

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

I accept with resignation what will happen to me,

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

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

You should come see your friend Gilberte.

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

She would be so happy...

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

I no longer loved Gilberte.

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

and then forgotten.

I no longer felt like seeing Gilberte,

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

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

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

These are projects we concoct when we love a woman

and that we forget when we love them no more.

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

Translated by selaflaure (selaflaure@gmail.com)

Revision: corvusalbus thanks to TV5 Québec translation