The Modern Library In Search of Lost Time, Complete and Unabridged : 6-Book Bundle

by Marcel Proust

  Curious conversation between Swann and the Prince de Guermantes. M. de Charlus exercises his insolent wit at the expense of Mme de Saint-Euverte. Swann’s concupiscent stares at Mme de Surgis’s bosom. His account of the Prince de Guermantes’s conversion to Dreyfusism, and also his wife’s. Swann invites me to visit Gilberte. The Princesse de Guermantes’s secret passion for M. de Charlus.

  Departure and return home. M. de Guermantes takes leave of his brother: affectionate reminiscences and a gaffe. I leave with the Duke and Duchess: scene on the staircase. Mme de Gallardon. Mme d’Orvillers. Return home in the Guermantes’ coupé. The Duchess’s refusal to introduce me to Baroness Putbus. The Guermantes prepare for their fancy-dress ball in spite of the death of their cousin d’Osmond.

  Visit from Albertine. Françoise and her daughter. Linguistic geography. I await Albertine’s arrival with growing anxiety. A telephone call from Albertine. “This terrible need of a person”: my mother and Albertine. How Françoise announces Albertine; the latter’s visit. Afterwards I write to Gilberte Swann, with none of the emotion of old. The Duc de Guermantes’s conversion to Dreyfusism.

  Social visiting before my second trip to Balbec. I continue to see other fairies and their dwellings. Changes in the social picture; the Verdurin salon and the rise of Odette’s salon, centred round Bergotte. Mme de Montmorency.

  The Intermittencies of the Heart

  My second stay in Balbec. The hotel manager’s malapropisms. Principal motive for coming to Balbec: the hope of meeting at the Verdurins’ Mme de Putbus’s maid and other unknown beauties. Upheaval of my entire being: the living presence of my grandmother is restored to me; at the same time I discover that I have lost her for ever. My dream, my awakening and my heart-rending memories. A message from Albertine: I have no desire to see her, or anyone. An invitation from Mme de Cambremer, which I decline. My grief, however, is less profound than my mother’s. Her resemblance to my grandmother. Meeting with Mme Poussin. The new young page at the hotel and the domestic staff from the chorus of Athalie. Françoise’s revelations about the circumstances in which Saint-Loup’s photograph of my grandmother had been taken. Further revelations, from the manager: my grandmother’s syncopes. Another dream about her. I suddenly decide to see Albertine. Apple-trees in blossom.

  Chapter Two

  Resumption of intimacy with Albertine, and first suspicions. My grief at the death of my grandmother wanes and Albertine begins to inspire me with a desire for happiness. Sudden return of my grief in the little train. Albertine’s visit to Balbec. The Princesse de Parme. My links with Albertine’s friends. The lift-boy goes to fetch her: his manners and his speech. Beginnings of my mistrust of Albertine: Cottard’s remark while she is dancing with Andrée. Albertine fails to turn up one evening. Painful curiosity about her secret life. Her lies about her proposed visit to a lady in Infreville. In the casino at Balbec: the girls she sees in the mirror. The memory of Odette’s character applied to Albertine.

  Visit from Mme de Cambremer while I am on the esplanade with Albertine and her friends. Her paraphernalia. Her daughter-in-law’s two forms of politeness. Etymological curiosities. Aesthetic prejudices and snobbery of the young Mme de Cambremer; evolution of artistic theories; her pronunciation of Chenouville. She has forgotten her Legrandin origins. The Cambremers’ friend, a worshipper at the shrine of Le Sidaner.

  Albertine comes up to my room. The lift-boy’s anxious and despondent air; its cause: the absence of the customary tip. The hotel staff and money. My calculated protestations of coldness towards Albertine and love for Andrée. Albertine denies having had relations with Andrée. Reconciliation and caresses. Excursions with Albertine. Brief desires for other girls. Jealousy.

  Scandal in the Grand Hotel provoked by Bloch’s sister and an actress, hushed up through the good offices of M. Nissim Bernard. Why the latter likes the hotel. My friendship with two young “couriers”; their language. Renewed suspicions about Albertine’s Gomorrhan proclivities: the unknown woman in the casino; suspect rudeness to a friend of her aunt’s. M. Nissim Bernard and the tomatoes. I go to Doncières with Albertine. A fat, vulgar, pretentious lady on the train. Albertine and Saint-Loup. M. de Charlus appears on the platform at Doncières. His first meeting with Morel.

  An evening with the Verdurins at La Raspelière. The little train and its “habitués”: Cottard, Ski, Brichot. Social development of the Verdurin salon. Saniette; Ski. Princess Sherbatoff. Cottard and the Verdurin “Wednesdays”. The handsome unknown girl with the cigarette. Mme Verdurin has invited the Cambremers, whose tenant she is. Remarks of the “faithful” about the Cambremers. Brichot’s etymologies. I recognise Princess Sherbatoff as the fat lady in the train to Doncières. News of the death of Dechambre, formerly Mme Verdurin’s favourite pianist. Mme Verdurin and the death of the faithful. Beauty of the countryside. Dechambre disowned in the interests of Morel, who is coming with Charlus. The latter’s sexual proclivities better known among the “faithful” than in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. The Verdurins’ indifference to the beauties of nature.

  Arrival of Morel and M. de Charlus; evidence of the latter’s femininity. Morel’s request to me; his rudeness once he has obtained satisfaction. Arrival of the Cambremers, he vulgarly ugly, she haughty and morose; introductions. Mme Verdurin and social etiquette. The Cambremers’ garden. M. de Charlus’s momentary mistake about Cottard. The name Chantepie. Combination of culture and snobbery in Mme de Cambremer. M. de Cambremer takes an interest in my fits of breathlessness. My mother and Albertine.

  More etymology from Brichot. The Norwegian philosopher. M. Verdurin bullies Saniette. Conversation about Elstir. A letter from the dowager Marquise de Cambremer: the rule of the three adjectives. M. de Charlus’s claim to the rank of Highness. The Verdurins’ attitude to Brichot. M. de Charlus’s historical anecdotes. Mme de Cambremer’s musical snobbery. Brichot holds forth. M. de Charlus and the Archangel Michael. M. de Cambremer discovers the identity of Professor Cottard. Mme Cottard dozes off. Sleeping draughts. A game of cards. The arms of the Arrachepels. M. de Charlus expresses a preference for strawberry-juice. His first skirmish with Mme Verdurin. She invites me to her next “Wednesday” with my “cousin” and even suggests that I should bring her to stay. Renewed outburst by M. Verdurin against Saniette. Cottard and du Boulbon. M. de Cambremer’s tip. Mme de Cambremer’s good-bye.

  Chapter Three

  The squinting page. Sleep after a visit to La Raspelière; reflections on sleep. M. de Charlus dines at the Grand Hotel with a footman. His strange letter to Aimé.

  Excursions with Albertine. Through the forest of Chantepie. Presents for Albertine. Virtues of the motor-car. Visit to the Verdurins. The “views” from La Raspelière. Charm of social life in the country. Other customers of our chauffeur: Charlus and Morel. One of their luncheons on the coast. Morel’s cynical projects and the Baron’s sensual excitement. My obsession with Albertine. Norman churches. A loving couple. My increasing jealousy: the Rivebelle waiter. Remonstrances from my mother and their negative effect. Evening assignations with Albertine followed by morning anxiety about her day-time activities. A lesson in the use of words from the lift-boy. Weariness of life with Albertine. The aeroplane.

  Morel, the chauffeur, and Mme Verdurin’s coachman. Morel’s change of attitude towards me; his composite character. Charm of setting out for La Raspelière on late summer evenings. M. de Charlus in the little train. He becomes temporarily the faithfullest of the faithful. Princess Sherbatoff gives me the cold shoulder after a meeting on the train with Mme de Villeparisis. M. de Charlus’s blindness. Discussion between Brichot and Charlus about Chateaubriand and Balzac. M. de Charlus’s discretion about his favourite subject in Morel’s presence. Albertine’s clothes, inspired by Elstir’s taste, admired by M. de Charlus. Morel’s admiration for my great-uncle and his house. M. de Charlus’s “Balzacian” melancholy. Morel reminds me of Rachel.

  M. de Charlus’s fictitious duel. Morel dissuades him. Cottard, an alarmed but disapp
ointed second. Morel’s demands for money.

  The stations on the “Transatlantic.” The de luxe brothel at Maineville. Morel’s assignation there with the Prince de Guermantes, of which M. de Charlus gets wind. Discomfiture of the Prince de Guermantes. Grattevast: the Comte de Crécy. The turkeys carved by the hotel manager. Origins of the Crécy family: Odette’s first husband. Hermenonville: M. de Chevregny: a provincial with a passion for Paris. Mme de Cambremer’s three adjectives again. Unsatisfactory relations between the Verdurins and the Cambremers. Brichot’s secret passion for Mme de Cambremer junior. M. and Mme Féré. The long drive between the station and La Raspelière. More Brichot etymologies. Brief visits from friends at various stations. A misunderstanding with Bloch. M. de Charlus’s interest in Bloch. Familiarity and social relations rob these places of their poetry and mystery. I feel it would be madness to marry Albertine.

  Chapter Four

  Albertine’s revelation about Mlle Vinteuil and her friend. Recollection of Montjouvain. I take her back to the Grand Hotel. Solitary misery until dawn. Albertine consoles me. I ask her to accompany me to Paris. Her objections, then her sudden decision to come with me that very day. Reflections on love. I tell my mother that I must marry Albertine.

  1993 Modern Library Edition

  Copyright © 1993 by Random House, Inc.

  Copyright © 1981 by Chatto & Windus and Random House, Inc.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Random House, Inc., New York.

  Modern Library is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

  This edition was originally published in Great Britain by

  Chatto & Windus, London, in 1992.

  This translation is a revised edition of the 1981 translation of The Captive and The Sweet Cheat Gone by C. K. Scott Moncrieff and Terence Kilmartin, published in the United States by Random House, Inc., and in Great Britain by Chatto & Windus. Revisions by D. J. Enright.

  The Captive first appeared in The Modern Library in 1941.

  The Fugitive first appeared in The Modern Library as

  The Sweet Cheat Gone in 1948.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Proust, Marcel, 1871–1922.

  [Prisonnière. English]

  The captive; The fugitive/Marcel Proust; translated by C. K. Scott

  Moncrieff & Terence Kilmartin; revised by D. J. Enright.

  p. cm.—(In search of lost time; 5)

  eISBN: 978-0-307-75537-7

  I. Scott-Moncrieff, C. K. (Charles Kenneth), 1889–1930.

  II. Kilmartin, Terence. III. Enright, D. J. (Dennis Joseph), 1920–.

  IV. Proust, Marcel, 1871–1922. Albertine disparue. English. 1993.

  V. Title. VI. Series: Proust, Marcel, 1871–1922.

  A la recherche du temps perdu. English; v. 5.

  PQ2631.R63P713 1993

  843′.912—dc20 93-15168

  Modern Library website address:

  www.randomhouse.com/modernlibrary

  v3.0r1jc

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Part One: The Captive

  Part Two: The Fugitive

  Chapter One: Grieving and Forgetting

  Chapter Two: Mademoiselle de Forcheville

  Chapter Three: Sojourn in Venice

  Chapter Four: New Aspect of Robert de Saint-Loup

  Notes

  Addenda

  Synopsis

  THE CAPTIVE

  At daybreak, my face still turned to the wall, and before I had seen above the big window-curtains what shade of colour the first streaks of light assumed, I could already tell what the weather was like. The first sounds from the street had told me, according to whether they came to my ears deadened and distorted by the moisture of the atmosphere or quivering like arrows in the resonant, empty expanses of a spacious, frosty, pure morning; as soon as I heard the rumble of the first tramcar, I could tell whether it was sodden with rain or setting forth into the blue. And perhaps these sounds had themselves been forestalled by some swifter and more pervasive emanation which, stealing into my sleep, diffused in it a melancholy that announced snow or else (through a certain intermittent little person) burst into so many hymns to the glory of the sun that, having first of all begun to smile in my sleep, having prepared my eyes, behind their shut lids, to be dazzled, I would awake finally to clarion peals of music. It was, in fact, principally from my bedroom that I took in the life of the outer world during this period. I know that Bloch reported that, when he called to see me in the evenings, he could hear the sound of conversation; as my mother was at Combray and he never found anybody in my room, he concluded that I was talking to myself. When, much later, he learned that Albertine had been staying with me at the time, and realised that I had concealed her presence from everybody, he declared that he saw at last the reason why, during that phase of my life, I had always refused to go out of doors. He was wrong. His mistake was, however, perfectly excusable, for reality, even though it is necessary, is not always foreseeable as a whole. People who learn some correct detail about another person’s life at once draw conclusions from it which are not accurate, and see in the newly discovered fact an explanation of things that have no connexion with it whatsoever.

  When I reflect now that, on our return from Balbec, Albertine had come to live in Paris under the same roof as myself, that she had abandoned the idea of going on a cruise, that she was installed in a bedroom within twenty paces of my own, at the end of the corridor, in my father’s tapestried study, and that late every night, before leaving me, she used to slide her tongue between my lips like a portion of daily bread, a nourishing food that had the almost sacred character of all flesh upon which the sufferings that we have endured on its account have come in time to confer a sort of spiritual grace, what I at once call to mind in comparison is not the night that Captain de Borodino allowed me to spend in barracks, a favour which cured what was after all only a passing distemper, but the night on which my father sent Mamma to sleep in the little bed beside mine. So true is it that life when it chooses to deliver us once more from sufferings that seemed inescapable, does so in different, at times diametrically opposed conditions, so much so that it seems almost sacrilegious to note the identical nature of the consolations vouchsafed!

  When Albertine had heard from Françoise that, in the darkness of my still curtained room, I was not asleep, she had no qualms about disturbing me as she washed herself in her bathroom. Then, frequently, instead of waiting until later in the day, I would go to my own bathroom, which adjoined hers and was a very agreeable place. Time was when a stage manager would spend hundreds of thousands of francs to begem with real emeralds the throne upon which a great actress would play the part of an empress. The Russian ballet has taught us that simple lighting effects, trained upon the right spot, will beget jewels as gorgeous and more varied. This decoration, already more ethereal, is not so pleasing, however, as that which, at eight o’clock in the morning, the sun substitutes for what we were accustomed to see when we did not rise before noon. The windows of our respective bathrooms, so that their occupants might not be visible from without, were not smooth and transparent but crinkled with an artificial and old-fashioned hoar-frost. All of a sudden, the sun would colour this muslin glass, gild it, and, gently disclosing in my person an earlier young man whom habit had long concealed, would intoxicate me with memories, as though I were in the heart of the country amidst golden foliage in which even a bird was not lacking. For I could hear Albertine ceaselessly humming:

  For melancholy

  Is but folly,

  And he who heeds it is a fool.

  I was too fond of her not to be able to spare a smile for her bad taste in music. This song had, as it happened, during the past summer, delighted Mme Bontemps, who presently heard people say that it was silly, with the result that, instead of asking Albertine to sing it when she had company
, she would substitute: