EARLY IN 1902 MARCEL PROFESSED his friendship to Antoine and agreed to a secret pact with the prince, whereby one would inform the other of what friends said about each behind their backs. Bibesco proved to be a bad choice for such a game, for he loved gossip and found it difficult to keep the secrets that Marcel entrusted to him during their late evening tête-à-têtes at 45, rue de Courcelles.
Antoine was especially kind to Marcel just before leaving for Easter vacation in the country. The young diplomat brought Marcel a bag of chocolates and, a few days later, a more princely gift: a rare edition of the Imitation de Jésus-Christ, attributed to the medieval writer Thomas a Kempis, whom Marcel had quoted in his epigraphs for Pleasures and Days. Such attention and largesse thrilled Marcel. Writing to thank Bibesco, he indicated, perhaps as a reward, that he had had some fairly “profound thoughts about Salaïsm,” which he would share during one of their next “metaphysical conversations,” by which he meant gossip. Whether or not a person was “Dreyfusard, anti-Dreyfusard, Salaïst, anti-Salaïst,” he said, “are just about the only things worth knowing about an imbecile.”1 Marcel later regretted trusting Antoine with so many of his secrets.
As much as Marcel prized Antoine’s companionship, it was Bertrand de Fénelon, whom he referred to as Nonelef or His Blue Eyes, who captured his heart.2 Because nearly all of Proust’s letters to Fénelon have remained in the hands of private collectors, it is difficult to reconstruct the relationship with any certainty. What is certain is that His Blue Eyes was the object of one of Marcel’s great crushes, and although Bertrand seems not to have reciprocated the sentiments, he did not totally discourage the attention. Sometime in the spring of 1902 Bertrand made some gesture that Marcel interpreted as “affectionate.” Marcel confided this incident to Antoine, using their code for “top secret” (tombeau secret—information one would take to the grave, tombeau, without divulging). What was not secret and especially irked Marcel had been Fénelon’s imitation of him and his refusal to accept the kind of friendship Marcel sought from those he adored: exclusivity, confessions, all sealed by a pact. Marcel’s obsession became even more evident when he asked Antoine to spy on Bertrand. He wanted to know how Fénelon had spent a particular evening and, above all, where he dined.3 Marcel signed the letter Leckram; perhaps the anagrams served the purpose of giving anonymity to a grown man behaving like a lovesick adolescent because of supposed neglect by another man. As Antoine witnessed the state Marcel was in over Bertrand, it became necessary for Marcel to insist even more emphatically that his great affection for His Blue Eyes was platonic.
In another letter, Marcel urged Antoine to tell Fénelon “that I have a great deal of affection for him and that I should be only too happy if, in exchange for mine which is enormous, he would grant me a little piece of his, which he breaks up and disperses among so many people. I, too, disperse myself, but successively. Each one’s share is shorter but larger.”4
Proust wrote to decline Ocsebib’s (Bibesco’s) invitation to attend his rustic tea party, the sort of entertainment that Parisians considered elegant that year, in addition to wearing half-boots and sprinkling their conversation with English words. To Antoine, Marcel had made it clear that he envied him and Fénelon for being well and able to see each other, while he could only change sides in his bed.
On June 1, Marcel sent congratulations to Antoine’s cousin Anna de Noailles, whose volume Le Cœur innombrable won the Prix Archon-Despérouse for poetry awarded by the Académie française. The committee split the prize between her and two unknown poets, prompting Proust to write: “Christ suffered the same fate. Posterity has forgotten the names of the two thieves . . . but the name of Christ is immortal. As yours already is.”5 And that was just the beginning of the compliment. Later that month Marcel had occasion to congratulate Anna on a new volume of poetry, L’Ombre des jours (The shadow of days). Although he loved Le Cœur innombrable with “all his soul,” he nevertheless felt the latest volume was something greater, that she had reached a “higher point” within herself. As for his work on La Bible d’Amiens, he wrote that he was making progress and expected to finish all his research in the next few days.
During the summer Bibesco’s lack of reserve landed him and Marcel in trouble, when Antoine talked openly about young Sala’s overt homosexuality and the young man learned of the indiscretion. After reproving Bibesco for his poor judgment, Marcel tried to help him smooth things over by drafting a letter of apology for Antoine to send to “My dear little Sala.” Marcel attempted to explain away the remark as having been a misunderstood joke, promising never to repeat the mistake. In the postscript Marcel admonished Antoine: “We must absolutely stop this horrible business of being the public denouncer of Salaïsm.”6 The only way to stop it was for Marcel not to confide in Antoine, but Marcel was to wait a long time before taking such a step.
Sometime in 1902 Proust sketched three new characters and scenes and added them to the Jean Santeuil manuscript.7 One of these scenes was directly inspired by a dashing gesture of kindness that Fénelon made in August at Larue’s restaurant.8 In spite of the summer heat Marcel felt chilly, and Bertrand rushed off to find something to keep him warm. Returning with a borrowed coat, Fénelon leaped up on the cushioned seat along the walls of the crowded restaurant and ran toward his shivering friend; as he ran he jumped over the electrical wires jutting out of the wall to the lamps on the tables. Marcel, amazed and moved by Bertrand’s kind, acrobatic gesture, transcribed the scene first for Jean Santeuil, where he depicted Bertrand as the epitome of good breeding, grace, and masculine beauty.9 This moment may well have marked the high point in Proust’s crush on Fénelon. Their friendship was to follow a pattern similar to that seen with Reynaldo and Lucien, though Proust and Fénelon were never as close.
By August, Marcel’s mother had apparently convinced him to adopt a better schedule. In a letter to Robert Dreyfus, who wanted to come for a visit, he indicated that the next day would bring a change in his regimen—Marcel was careful to include an escape clause, telling Dreyfus parenthetically, “This is not certain.”10 Even though this latest attempt at reform collapsed immediately, Proust’s parents were not yet ready to admit defeat.
Having given Dreyfus some hope for a late afternoon visit, Marcel wrote a long letter to Antoine in which he discussed his relationship with Fénelon (referred to throughout as Nonelef), a relationship Marcel wanted to discourage because he thought that no good could come of being more closely attached to Bertrand.11 The danger for Marcel had begun, he said, when Fénelon had twice behaved in a charming way toward him, once at Mme Lemaire’s and then at Larue’s, thus sending the viscount’s “stock” soaring. Proust feared the “beginnings of an intense affection for Nonelef, ephemeral, like all my predilections, and yet, alas, susceptible of continuing for quite some time.” He must thwart this affection before it overwhelmed him by avoiding the object of his love. Having written about his affection at some length, always careful to place it in the context of friendship, but in language and tones that none of his friends would have applied to another man, Marcel added a disclaimer by calling his letter “a gross exaggeration.” All that Marcel required to become indifferent was for Nonelef to be no more charming than his other friends, after which Marcel would “no longer have to struggle with that Siren of the sea-blue eyes.” Then, indicating his readiness to practice the new policy of avoiding Bertrand, he informed Bibesco: “I am going to the Noailleses’ this evening and not asking leave to bring Nonelef. And I’m going to Larue’s alone at half-past eleven without letting Nonelef know. What do you think of that?”
One can easily imagine what Antoine thought of that. Marcel was endearing, and maddeningly brilliant, and so transparent. His strategy of indifference toward Fénelon did not last long. Several days later he dashed off a letter to Antoine asking whether he was lunching with Nonelef at Weber’s or elsewhere. If so, Antoine should reply immediately so that Marcel, who had just undressed for bed in the middle of the morning, could put his clothes back on and run out to meet them. He thought that this meeting might chase away the “horrible state” he was in, but if he was to come, Antoine must not look at his face because he looked like death. If Antoine could arrange this meeting quickly, without Fénelon’s knowing that Marcel had requested it, he would be very pleased. This was certainly an odd way to behave toward someone he had resolved to avoid.
In August, Marcel’s parents departed for Évian-les-Bains, leaving three servants behind to look after him: Arthur, who was sick with a chest cold during much of the time, Félicie, and Marie. Marie was Mme Proust’s chambermaid, a beautiful young woman with a soft spot for Marcel, to whom she once gave a pink satin quilt she had made.12 In letters to his mother and to Antoine, Marcel complained about being alone, sick, and miserable. Bibesco, more stagestruck than ever and in love with the actress Lucienne Bréval, spent much of his time with playwrights and producers or lying in his lover’s arms. Before departing, Jeanne had urged Bertrand to see Marcel more often during her absence. Her suggestions were ignored, and her son instructed her not to try again.13
Not long after his parents left, Marcel experienced an episode—perhaps a panic attack—that sent his pulse racing out of control. He tried unsuccessfully to see Dr. Bize, but did obtain an appointment with Dr. Vaquez, a heart specialist, whose advice Marcel considered useless. Dr. Vaquez warned Marcel against the dangers of two substances: morphine and alcohol. Proust brushed the warnings aside because morphine did not tempt him and he considered the large quantities of beer he was consuming merely therapeutic.
The reports Marcel sent his mother in Évian detailed his continued efforts to improve his schedule. As usual, the results were mixed. His complaints ranged from the relatively minor frustration of not being able to go out for a ride because there were no closed carriages available during the warm months to his profound unhappiness at being so lonely. During the first part of his mother’s absence, both Antoine and Bertrand were too busy to see him. In mid-August, Marcel told Antoine that he intended to take a strong dose of Trional in order to sleep, and he complained that his friend had neglected him. Reynaldo stopped by very late, but nothing consoled Marcel for the absence of Antoine and Bertrand.
By the end of the summer Marcel complained to Antoine about the unequal nature of their relationship, saying that whereas he told Antoine everything, Antoine told him nothing, not even those things that concerned him. When would he ever, Marcel lamented, find someone who would treat him as he treated others and with whom he could have an inviolable and bilateral pact? He accused Antoine of neglecting him for the company of actors and theater people, such as the critic Abel Hermant and the playwright Henry Bernstein. Like all Proust’s confidants, Antoine found it impossible to meet Proust’s enormous need for affection and confessions.
In August, Marcel wrote his mother a soul-searching letter in which he sounded unusually optimistic.14 At the top of the page he wrote, in an obvious attempt to please her: “Monday evening, after dinner, 9 o’clock in the dining room, 45, rue de Courcelles.” He was making a serious attempt to control his schedule and had gone to bed at about three o’clock in the morning to avoid taking any Trional. He stayed in bed for twelve hours, during which time his pulse dropped from 120 to 76. He dined at Durand’s with Constantin without having an attack either during dinner or during the night, a rarity since he had begun going out every night. As usual, there were setbacks, but he was smoking less than before. He believed that his asthma had been arrested. Maybe enemas were unnecessary, since he had been skipping them during this period of improvement. He even seemed less chilly and had left off the second pair of drawers he usually wore at night. Even more remarkable, during the day he had not needed to wear his second thick jersey. There was no end to the marvels he told. The many restaurant dinners had given him a “brand-new stomach”; he was eating more, but much more slowly. Then, as though he needed to justify his expenditures in restaurants, he told her that eating out was his Évian, his travel, his summer resort—all the things he had to go without.
Then he raised a subject that he and his mother had often discussed: the kind of life he should be leading if he were well or even if he remained the same: “You tell me there are people who have as many troubles as I do but have to work and support their families. I know that. Though having the same troubles ... infinitely bigger troubles, doesn’t necessarily imply the same amount of suffering.” He claimed that he was right to have delayed choosing a career until his condition improved; it would have been dangerous to risk his health and even his life by making such an attempt. “Literary work,” he observed, “makes constant demands on those emotions which are connected with suffering.” What he really wanted now was “frivolity, entertainment,” but he was resigned to the absence of such delights in Paris in the month of August.
On September 6 Marcel left Paris “after an impulsive decision” to visit Lucien and his family at Pray, their country home in Touraine.15 Fénelon, who had a different destination, boarded the 6:25 P.M. train with Marcel. The two friends traveled together as far as Amboise, where Lucien met Marcel and drove him out to Pray, a lovely estate on the Loire River.
The Daudets, no doubt trembling at the thought of such a taxing houseguest, had placed in Marcel’s “delightful room,” as he noted, “so many things for warmth, for comfort.” But there had been an unfortunate mix-up about his request for a hot-water bottle. In the flurry of contradictory telegrams that Marcel sent before leaving Paris, the telegraph operator read “bouillote à I’esprit de vin” (hot-water bottle with spirit of wine) as “bouillon with spirit of wine,” completely mystifying the Daudets and their cook.16
The Daudets need not have worried too much about entertaining Marcel, because after midnight, as he conversed with Lucien through a cloud of smoke from his Espic cigarettes, their guest had already decided to leave early the next morning. Lucien, exasperated but not surprised, inscribed a photograph for his eccentric friend as a souvenir: “Mon cher petit, It is two in the morning and it’s stupid that you are leaving tomorrow but I’m very fond of you anyway. Lucien Daudet. Pray. 9-6-1902.”17 Léon compared Marcel’s sudden arrival and rapid departure to the passage of a “peaky meteor that nonetheless left a trail of light.” Proust, Daudet believed, had become “through excessive intellectual activity, phosphorescent.”18
Marcel left in a rush the next morning with Lucien in an automobile bound for Mme de Brantes’s château du Fresne at Authon, a destination that he had long wanted to visit. After a night with little sleep, the two men enjoyed the fine weather as they drove through Touraine. Lucien teased Marcel for being “so effusive” because his breathing had eased and he found the car ride exhilarating.19 When Marcel returned on the train that night to Paris, he had been gone for little more than twenty-four hours. He wrote to Mme Daudet to apologize for his hasty departure, thanking her “for the delightful hours spent at your admirable Pray, one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen” and one that he would always remember.20 In his haste to leave the Daudets’ house, he had left behind a number of items, ranging in size from a tiepin to a suitcase, which Mme Daudet mailed to him as they were recovered.
In September, Marcel received new proof that Antoine was a poor choice for a confidant. At times the prince enjoyed tormenting Marcel, who now suffered from terrible jealousy over Fénelon’s frequent coolness toward him. Antoine asked Marcel in front of a mutual friend, Georges de Lauris, whether he thought His Blue Eyes had been nicer or not so nice to him on a certain evening. In a letter expressing his outrage at Bibesco’s betrayal, Proust reminded him that he had “made it absolutely clear that you were the only person to whom I had spoken of this business.... But it’s not only on my account, I also owe it to my family not to let myself be taken for a Salaïst, gratuitously since I’m not one.” By the postscript he had forgotten his anger over Bibesco’s indiscretions and continued the dangerous game as though he were addicted to confessing: “Very important and ultra silence tomb. Since an entire hidden aspect of His Blue Eyes’s life may be discoverable this evening,” he asked where Antoine would be at all hours of the day and at dinner “in case I want to talk with you, because without you I would not be able to learn anything.” His final instructions, obviously ignored by Antoine, were to keep this letter hidden and to return it to him. A few days later he asked Antoine to be ready in case he needed him for “my secret police operation.”21
Having suffered jealousy and betrayal at the hands of his friends, Proust received a blow from an unexpected quarter. On September 29 he learned that Ollendorff had decided not to publish La Bible d’Amiens. Determined to find a publisher for his work, Marcel took the extraordinary measure of rising and going out during business hours to Alfred Vallette’s office at the Mercure de France, but the editor was not in. He wrote Vallette that another publishing house had just brought out Ruskin’s Unto This Last and announced a series of translations of Ruskin’s works. Clearly, Ruskin was of great interest to French readers. He urged Vallette to publish his translation of The Bible of Amiens and asked him for a decision within the next week or so.22
That day Marcel heard the news about Émile Zola’s tragic death. The acclaimed author had died of asphyxiation due to faulty ventilation in his apartment. Almost immediately, conspiracy theories began to surface, alleging that the hero of the Dreyfus Affair had been murdered because he had defended the despised Jew. But Marcel’s thoughts were occupied with art and love. He had decided to go to Belgium and take as his traveling companion Bertrand de Fénelon.
Taking advantage of what he called an improvement in his health, Proust and Fénelon left Paris on Friday, October 3, on a train for Bruges to visit an exhibition of early Flemish art. Because the exhibition was to close on Sunday, they intended to return home within a day or two. In case he decided to prolong his trip, Marcel took along an itinerary provided by Léon Yeatman, who had recently toured Holland with his wife. During this journey Proust experienced an unprecedented burst of energy and independence, at times offset by bouts of fatigue and moroseness.
After viewing the exhibition, Marcel and Bertrand traveled through Holland to visit its museums and picturesque cities. They had brought along two books on art, Eugène Fromentin’s study of Dutch painters, Les Maîtres d’autrefois (Old Masters), and Hippolyte Taine’s La Philosophie de l’art dans les Pays-Bas (The philosophy of art in the Netherlands). As they viewed works of art, Fénelon read to Proust relevant passages from Taine.
Marcel, amazed at his own mobility, sent postcards to various friends. Antoine received at least three cards, but a letter to Reynaldo was the most artistic epistle. It contained a twenty-seven-line poem on Dordrecht and a drawing of the city, where Marcel had climbed to the top of the church tower to enjoy the panoramic views.23 From Dordrecht, the city that perhaps had pleased him most of the entire trip, he and Bertrand traveled by boat to Rotterdam.
On October 9 Jeanne, on her son’s behalf, wrote Antoine to inform him of Marcel’s travels.24 She began by quoting Ponsard: “‘Once the limit is exceeded, there’s no stopping,’ and having failed to return that same evening, Marcel doesn’t seem to be coming back at all.” Marcel had asked her to convey his best regards and to tell Antoine that he missed him very much. Jeanne thanked Antoine for having encouraged Marcel: “This little absence is a great step forward—and he owes a good part of his improvement to your warm, comforting friendship.” Marcel had remarked, in the letter with the message for Antoine, that his fatigue was making him prolong his trip. Jeanne interpreted this to mean that he feared he would never return to the Netherlands.
After a week of traveling together Marcel and Bertrand parted company for four days in Antwerp, agreeing to meet later in Amsterdam. Sometime during the trip a thief stole Marcel’s money, and he appealed to his parents for funds to cover the rest of his stay.25 On October 14 he arrived by boat in Amsterdam and checked in at the luxurious Hôtel de l’Europe, where Bertrand had booked them rooms. The following day, Marcel, still in a quandary over his feelings for Bertrand, suggested that they separate again. He would go on his own to Volendam and meet Bertrand at The Hague in four days. What Fénelon thought of all this is not known. It seems likely that Marcel was in love and profoundly unhappy. Had Marcel sent Bertrand into brief exiles in order to avoid proclaiming his love, because—though he knew he was wearing his heart on his sleeve—he feared being rebuffed and perhaps humiliated? Or was it simply that Marcel’s own emotions were fluctuating between jubilation—over a sudden improvement in his health and ability to travel on his own—and moroseness over his awareness that he could never have the kind of relationship he wanted with a man whom he worshiped? He confessed in his next letter to his mother that he was in “so disastrous an emotional state that I was afraid of poisoning poor Fénelon with my dreariness, and I’ve given him a breathing spell, far from my sighs.”26
Marcel set off by tramway to Monnikendam, where he took a boat for Volendam. Exhilarated by the open air and freed from the tension of his self-torturing relationship with Fénelon, Proust enjoyed the ride through the marshes. He remained in good spirits as he viewed the fishing village he found “delicious and unique.”27 Volendam, virtually unchanged since the seventeenth century, was a picturesque port beloved of a small colony of artists but neglected by most others.
On October 17, the day before he was to rejoin Bertrand at The Hague, Marcel journeyed to Haarlem to see the Frans Hals paintings, which he later mentioned in the Search. Back in his room at the Hôtel de l’Europe, he described to his mother the places he had visited, underscoring for her his daytime activities.28 His management of this trip was so conscientious and intelligent that he often went out at half-past nine or ten in the morning and did not return until very late. The news that he could function well at normal hours delighted his parents, but for Marcel, happiness seemed elusive. He mentioned his confused emotional state and having sent Fénelon away for a few days.
He missed his parents, despite the success of his trip, his genuine interest in the towns he had visited, and the remarkable paintings and architecture he had viewed. He told his mother that he might not have had the courage to bear so long a separation if he had not decided on it all at once; he had never imagined that he could go a fortnight without embracing her.
He was still “awfully unhappy about that theft, which is making my trip a heavy burden to you.” But in spite of that “catastrophic adventure,” he had been balancing his budget with great ingenuity. He blamed Fenélon for having chosen such an expensive hotel, but apparently the choice had been an excellent one for his lungs. He concluded that if he had not had “so much as a trace of asthma” in Amsterdam, “it’s because the hotel is heated by hot-water pipes” as opposed to the hot-air heating he feared. If his parents still intended to send him away from Paris for the winter, he hoped to discourage such plans: It would do him “great harm” to leave now. “Fénelon was the only person I could go away with. If I were not afraid of boring him with my present moroseness and not afraid of running out of funds ... I would spend another week in Holland or Belgium.” But the thought of “going to Illiers or anywhere else, especially at the present time, would be true madness.”
Once he had accounted for himself to his mother, Marcel added a cruel little postscript: “I suspect you of not reading my letters, which would be horrid. Since this one has been written during a pseudo-remission, do at least read it.” Had his parents’ intention of sending him away as part of a strategy to improve his health and make him more independent inspired him to accuse them of indifference? The reference to a “pseudo-remission” brought an ominous prophecy, certain to be fulfilled: he expected his health problems to resume.
The artistic revelation of the trip occurred on October 18 at The Hague, when Proust visited the Mauritshuis Royal Art Gallery. There he saw a picture whose beauty had a profound and lasting effect on him: Vermeer’s View of Delft, which he called “the most beautiful painting in the world.”29 Vermeer’s depiction of his native town as it looked in the seventeenth century captivated Marcel. He later assigned his character Charles Swann the task of writing a study of Vermeer, a mysterious, obscure figure about whom virtually nothing is known.
By October 20, after an absence of nearly three weeks, Proust returned to Paris. His mother’s assumption regarding his reasons for prolonging this trip proved correct: the journey to Belgium and Holland was his last outside France. Vermeer’s painting of Delft left the most lasting impression, but there are other traces of the Holland trip in the Search as well. Perhaps his jealousy of Fénelon—fortified by the later knowledge that his friend did engage in homosexual relations—inspired him to choose Amsterdam as one of the places in which the Narrator imagined Albertine’s lesbian “debaucheries.”
In late October, Antoine rushed to Bucharest on learning that his mother was gravely ill. She died on October 31, before her son reached her bedside. Marcel expressed his sympathy with such emotion that he feared Antoine might judge it intrusive.30 After giving his condolences, he offered: “I’ll write to you or not, I’ll speak to you of your sorrow or not, I’ll do whatever you wish. I don’t ask you to feel affection for me. All other feelings are certain to be shattered. But I never knew that I felt so much affection for you. I’m very unhappy.” Perhaps Marcel’s reference to his own sorrows, even after so much sympathy, also struck Antoine as insensitive.
On November 24 Marcel wrote to Constantin de Brancovan, the new editor in chief of the review La Renaissance latine. Constantin had been “kind enough” to ask Marcel to contribute an article, and Proust proposed excerpts from his forthcoming Ruskin translation, which he claimed was basically a Latin book “because it was the history of Christianity in Gaul and the Orient, explained by the Amiens cathedral.” He told Constantin that the Mercure de France would likely publish his translation next February or March—a proposition that was in fact far from certain. Given that possibility, he urged Constantin to move quickly.31
Almost immediately after giving Constantin the impression that the Mercure would publish his translation, Marcel received word from Vallette declining the manuscript. Proust wrote at once to ask the publisher to reconsider, even offering to pay the printing costs, a gesture that proved to be reckless and unnecessary. Proust pressed his case for publication of La Bible d’Amiens, telling Vallette that many thought the book Ruskin’s finest work. He quoted French critics who maintained that “if any of Ruskin’s books should arouse the interest of us French, it is The Bible of Amiens, the only one dealing with our history and our monuments.”32 Vallette had made it clear that what he really wanted Marcel to produce for him was an edition of Ruskin’s Selected Writings. Proust refused to consider an anthology until he found a publisher for La Bible d’Amiens. His letter to Vallette contained a hint that he had begun translating another Ruskin work, Sesame and Lilies.33
The strategy worked: Vallette agreed to publish La Bible d’Amiens if Proust would later compile a selection of Ruskin’s writings. Proust promised to complete his work on La Bible d’Amiens by February 1 and publish by March 1. He intended to ask La Renaissance latine to publish its first installment on February 15, two weeks before the publication date for the Mercure. He asked Vallette to return the manuscript immediately so that he could begin work. He then convinced Constantin to publish long excerpts in the February 15 and March 15 issues. Proust got everything he wanted from his editor and publisher but greatly overestimated the speed with which he would complete translating and annotating the book.
Sometime during 1902 Marie Nordlinger returned to Paris and resumed her post as a silversmith in the Art Nouveau workshops. Proust, hard at work on the difficult translation and complicated annotation, was happy to hear that Marie had come back. He began to summon her “frequently, urgently, by phone, by messenger or petit-bleu [pneumatic mail].” Marie described what it was like to work with Marcel. On arriving, Mme Proust welcomed her “graciously in the heavily furnished salon.” Although Mme Proust was evidently “much interested in our work” she withdrew discreetly, leaving Félicie to take Marie to Marcel:
I remember only a few sessions at the large oval dining-room table with its red cover and old-fashioned oil-lamp; he was mostly in bed, swathed in Jaeger woolens and thermogene wadding, but invariably fastidious about his appearance. Whatever the season the room was oppressively warm; Félice [Félicie] would bring me an ice or orangeade and petits fours from Rebattet’s and boiling hot coffee for Marcel. The apparent discomfort in which he worked was quite incredible, the bed was littered with books and papers, his pillows all over the place, a bamboo table on his left piled high and, more often than not, no support for whatever he was writing on (no wonder he wrote illegibly); a cheap wooden penholder or two lay where they had fallen on the floor. Only Ruskin mattered. These sessions often continued late into the night, scrutinizing or reviewing a chapter, a sentence or a mere word; any help a dictionary could supply had been exhausted and memorized by him before my arrival. Conversation ranged far and wide, but if anything he was an even more eloquent listener, interrogating, probing with his strangely luminous, omnivorous eyes. Eyes I can recall alight with fun and mimicry or suddenly suffused unaccountably, unashamedly, with tears.34
On the day Proust learned that La Bible d’Amiens would be published in its entirety by Vallette and excerpted by Constantin’s review, he awaited a visit from Fénelon, who was coming to say good-bye before leaving for his first diplomatic post in Constantinople. Although he was eager to see Bertrand and tell him the news about his Ruskin translation, he was tired because an asthma attack had prevented him from getting enough sleep. On awakening and seeking assistance he had experienced several unpleasant encounters with the servants, who were forced to obey his mother’s restrictions, intended to encourage him to adopt a more reasonable schedule. She had at last taken drastic measures, ordering the servants not to serve him a meal or make a fire at odd hours. She had even removed an item he considered essential: the bedside table on which he kept his stock of medication and writing materials. Marcel was in a terrible state of nerves when Fénelon arrived with Comte Georges de Lauris, a twenty-four-year-old law student. Marcel, who later became closely attached to Lauris, considered him Fénelon’s confidant. During the farewell visit, Fénelon, whether provoked or not is unknown, said something to Proust that was “very disagreeable.” Marcel flew at him and began to pummel him with his fists. And then, not realizing what he was doing, Marcel picked up the new hat Fénelon had bought for his trip to Constantinople, “stamped on it, tore it into shreds, and finally ripped out the lining.”
No one knows how Fénelon and Lauris reacted to Marcel’s fit of anger. His friends must not have taken the matter too seriously, because they all remained on good terms. Perhaps they understood and condoned Jeanne’s efforts to force her son to follow a normal, healthy routine, even if this caused him, at times, to fly into a rage. Proust’s friends knew that the harmony of the household had been destroyed by his habits, temper, and manipulations. Sick and miserable though he was, Marcel confronted his parents with a powerful will and monstrous ego. That evening after Fénelon and Lauris left, it was too late for Marcel to talk to Jeanne about the various contretemps of the day, so he wrote his “dear little Mama” a long, bitter letter that spoke of his profound misery while condemning her for lacking compassion: “I’m writing to tell you that I fail to understand you. You could guess, if you don’t know, that from the time I come in I cry all night, and not without reason; and all day long you say things to me like: ‘I couldn’t sleep last night because the servants were up and about until eleven o’clock.’ I would be only too glad if that were what prevented me from sleeping! Today, because I was suffering, I committed the crime of ringing for Marie (to bring me my asthma powders) who had come and told me she had finished her lunch, and you punished me, as soon as I had taken my Trional, by making people shout and hammer nails all day.”
He then blamed her for his state of nerves that led to the attack on Fénelon. In case she thought he was exaggerating about having demolished the hat, he enclosed a piece of the lining. He expressed his relief that the victim was a friend; it was fortunate that his parents were not present to restrain him, because he might not have been able to stop himself from saying something awful to them. He then turned to the matter of the servants and her strategy to protect them and punish him, by forbidding them to come when he rang or to wait on him at the table. Marcel told his mother she had no idea how uncomfortable she was making the servants with her orders.
Then, in his most incredible accusation yet, he said her actions served only to perpetuate his invalid status:
What afflicts me . . . is not finding the moral comfort I thought I could expect from you in these truly desperate hours. The truth is that as soon as I feel better, the life that makes me feel better exasperates you and you demolish everything until I feel ill again. This isn’t the first time. I caught cold last night; if it turns to asthma, which it’s sure to do in the present state of affairs, I have no doubt that you’ll be good to me again, when I’m in the same state as this time last year. But it’s sad, not being able to have affection and health at the same time. If I had both at this moment, it would be no more than I need to help me fight against an unhappiness which, especially since yesterday evening . . . has become so intense that I can no longer contend with it.35
His prediction came true. A week later he was still in bed, suffering from asthma.
His mother knew that Fénelon’s departure had saddened and discouraged Marcel about finding a friend upon whom he could depend for companionship and affection. Jeanne remained devoted to the cause of reforming her son, but she often despaired for him and for herself and Adrien. She knew that Marcel was immensely talented and incredibly handicapped. The pattern of genuine illness, self-pity, hypochondria, self-medication, bizarre schedules, and rituals had been set for life. Except for occasional, unpredictable periods when he improved enough to rise and go out in the daytime, Proust was never to change his habits. He never quite became the bedridden hermit so often depicted, but for the rest of his life his active hours would be primarily nocturnal.
During Antoine’s absence Marcel dreamed of traveling with him to foreign lands or settling near him in Romania. On December 20 he wrote Antoine a long letter in which he talked about his eagerness to travel to see him, the difficulties involved, and his disappointment in himself for having set aside original work for translation. Two important obligations at home would prevent his departing for Romania until the spring: his brother’s marriage and his “Ruskin,” which he must deliver to the Mercure on February 1. He did not see how he could depart with all thirty volumes of his Ruskin books and his manuscripts, because he needed his research materials. Proust had decided to cross-reference La Bible d’Amiens to other Ruskin works and to return to original biblical sources for his notations rather than rely on reference books, which he found incomplete.
While Proust worked on this all-consuming task, he regretted not creating an original work of fiction. He explained his frustration to Antoine:
What I’m doing at present is not real work, only documentation, translation, etc. It’s enough to arouse my thirst for creation, without of course slaking it in the least. Now that for the first time since my long torpor I have looked inward and examined my thoughts, I feel all the insignificance of my life; a thousand characters for novels, a thousand ideas urge me to give them body, like the shades in the Odyssey who plead with Ulysses to give them a little blood to drink to bring them back to life and whom the hero brushes aside with his sword. I have awakened the sleeping bee and I feel its cruel sting far more than its helpless wings. I had enslaved my intelligence to my peace of mind. In striking off its fetters I thought I was merely delivering a slave, but I was giving myself a master whom I have not the physical strength to satisfy and who would kill me if I did not resist him. So many things are weighing on me!36
Proust had again prophesied correctly. He was in the end to give himself a master, the Search, that would eventually consume him.