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=[http://www.corr-proust.org/letter/02830 Marcel Proust à Reynaldo Hahn <nowiki>[peu après le 24 octobre 1914]</nowiki>]=
=[http://www.corr-proust.org/letter/02830 Marcel Proust to Reynaldo Hahn <nowiki>[shortly after 24 October 1914]</nowiki>]=
<small>(Click on the link above to see this letter and its notes in the ''Corr-Proust'' digital edition, including all relevant hyperlinks.)</small>
<small>(Click on the link above to see this letter and its notes in the ''Corr-Proust'' digital edition, including all relevant hyperlinks.)</small>


<ref name="n1" />
<ref name="n1" />


Cher Reynaldo
Dear Reynaldo


Je vous remercie de tout coeur de votre lettre<ref name="n2" />, impérissable monument de bonté et d'amitié. Mais Bize se trompe entièrement s'il croit qu'un certificat<ref name="n3" /> me dispense de quoi que ce soit. Peut-être un certificat de Pozzi, lieutenant-colonel au Val-de-Grâce, l'eût pu (et je ne crois pas). Mais avec des manières charmantes et des procédés parfaits il l'a éludé et refusé<ref name="n4" />. Je vous tiendrai au courant de mes mésaventures militaires quand elles se produiront. Mon cher petit vous êtes bien gentil d'avoir pensé que Cabourg<ref name="n5" /> avait dû m'être pénible à cause d'Agostinelli. Je dois avouer à ma honte qu'il ne l'a pas été autant que j'aurais cru et que ce voyage a plutôt marqué une première étape de détachement de mon chagrin, étape après laquelle heureusement j'ai rétrogradé[,] une fois revenu[,] vers les souffrances premières. Mais enfin à Cabourg sans cesser d'être aussi triste ni d'autant le regretter, il y a eu des moments, peut-être des heures, où il avait disparu de ma pensée. Mon cher petit ne me jugez pas trop mal par là (si mal que je me juge moi-même !). Et n'en augurez pas un manque de fidélité dans mes affections, comme moi j'ai eu le tort de l'augurer pour vous quand je vous voyais regretter peu des gens du monde que je croyais que vous aimiez beaucoup. Je vous ai supposé alors moins de tendresse que je n'avais cru. Et j'ai compris ensuite que c'était parce qu'il s'agissait de gens que vous n'aimiez pas vraiment. J'aimais vraiment Alfred. Ce n'est pas assez de dire que je l'aimais, je l'adorais. Et je ne sais pourquoi j'écris cela au passé car je l'aime toujours. Mais malgré tout, dans les regrets, il y a une part d'involontaire et une part de devoir qui fixe l'involontaire et en assure la durée. Or ce devoir n'existe pas envers Alfred qui avait très mal agi avec moi, je lui donne les regrets que je ne peux faire autrement que de lui donner, je ne me sens pas tenu envers lui à un devoir comme celui qui me lie à vous, qui me lierait à vous, même si je vous devais mille fois moins, si je vous aimais mille fois moins. Si donc j'ai eu à Cabourg quelques semaines de relative inconstance, ne me jugez pas inconstant et n'en accusez que celui qui ne pouvait mériter de fidélité. D'ailleurs j'ai eu une grande joie à voir que mes souffrances étaient revenues ; mais par moments elles sont assez vives pour que je regrette un peu l'apaisement d'il y a un mois. Mais j'ai aussi la tristesse de sentir que même vives elles sont pourtant peut-être moins obsédantes qu'il y a un mois et demi ou deux mois. Ce n'est pas parce que les autres sont morts que le chagrin diminue, mais parce qu'on meurt soi-même. Et il faut une bien grande vitalité pour maintenir et faire vivre intact le « moi » d'il y a quelques semaines. Son ami ne l'a pas oublié, le pauvre Alfred. Mais il l'a rejoint dans la mort et son héritier, le « moi » d'aujourd'hui[,] aime Alfred mais ne l'a connu que par les récits de l'autre. C'est une tendresse de seconde main<ref name="n6" />. (Prière de ne parler de tout cela à personne ; si le caractère général de ces vérités vous donnait la tentation d'en lire quelques extraits à Gregh ou à d'autres, vous me feriez beaucoup de peine. Si jamais je veux formuler de telles choses ce sera sous le pseudonyme de Swann. D'ailleurs je n'ai plus à les formuler. Il y a longtemps que la vie ne m'offre plus que des événements que j'ai déjà décrits. Quand vous lirez mon troisième volume<ref name="n7" /> celui qui s'appelle en partie « A l'ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs », vous reconnaîtrez l'anticipation et la sûre prophétie de ce que j'ai éprouvé depuis.)
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your letter<ref name="n2" />, an imperishable memorial to kindness and friendship. But Bize is completely mistaken if he thinks that a certificate<ref name="n3" /> will exempt me from anything whatsoever. Perhaps a certificate from Pozzi, a lieutenant-colonel at Val-de-Grâce, might do it (but I don’t know). But with charming manners and perfect protocol he evaded the question and refused<ref name="n4" />. I shall bring you up to date with my military misadventures as they happen. My dear little one it is very sweet of you to think that Cabourg<ref name="n5" /> must have been painful to me on account of Agostinelli. To my shame I must confess that it was not as painful as I had thought, and that this trip has rather marked a first stage of detachment from my grief, a stage after which, fortunately, I have gone back, once I had returned, to my initial suffering. But finally, in Cabourg, without being any the less heartbroken nor feeling any less regret about him, there were moments, hours even, when he had vanished from my thoughts. My dear little one, don’t judge me too harshly for that (as harshly as I judge myself!). And don’t take that to signify any lack of loyalty in my affections, just as I was wrong to assume that of you when I saw that you hardly missed society people who I thought you cared about a great deal. I assumed that you had less fondness than I had thought. And I understood afterwards that it was because these were people who you did not truly love. I truly loved Alfred. It’s not enough to say that I loved him, I adored him. And I don’t know why I write it in the past tense because I still love him. Because in spite of everything, in our regrets there is one part that is involuntary and one part duty that determines the involuntary and assures its duration. But this duty did not exist in relation to Alfred who behaved very badly towards me. I feel regrets towards him that I cannot do other than feel towards him, but I don’t feel that I am constrained by any sense of duty, such as the one that binds me to you, which will bind me to you even if I needed you a thousand times less, if I loved you a thousand times less. So if I have had a few weeks of relative inconstancy in Cabourg, don’t judge me as inconstant and blame the person who was incapable of deserving fidelity. In any case it was a joy to me to see that my sufferings had returned; but at times they are so strong that I miss a little their abatement of a month ago. But I also have the sadness  of feeling that however strong they might be, they are still perhaps less tormenting than a month and a half or two months ago. It is not because others have died that the grief diminishes, but because one dies oneself. And it requires great vitality to maintain and keep alive and intact the “self” of a few weeks ago. His friend has not forgotten him, poor Alfred. But he has rejoined him in death and his successor, the “self” of today, loves Alfred but did not know him other than through the reports of the other. It is a secondhand tenderness<ref name="n6" />. (Don’t talk about this to anybody I beg you; if the general character of these truths tempts you to read out any extracts of this to Gregh or others, you would be causing me a great deal of pain. If I ever want to formulate such ideas as these it will be under the pseudonym of Swann. For a long time now life has no longer offered me anything but events that I have already described. When you read the third volume of my book<ref name="n7" /> the one that in part will be called “A l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs”, you will recognize the anticipation and the sure prophesy of what I have felt since.)


J'espère que ce que je vous ai écrit<ref name="n8" /> vous a déjà convaincu et que vous restez à Albi. D'ailleurs j'espère que votre cher Commandant, si vos velléités absurdes persistaient, saurait « commander » et vous[,] « obéir ». Je ne veux pas avoir l'air d'éluder vos questions sur moi-même. Car je sais que vous ne me le demandez pas par politesse ; non je ne me « nourris » pas en ce moment. Mais la fréquence des crises l'empêche. Vous savez que dès qu'elles diminuent, je sais remonter la pente, vous vous rappelez l'année dernière et ma victoire de la Marne<ref name="n9" />. Je regrette un peu ce que je vous ai écrit de Pozzi. Je crois qu'il n'est pas très bien avec Février le directeur du Service de Santé et le côté Gallieni. Du reste tout cela sera sans doute inutile car je ne serai peut-être pas appelé. En tout cas je me suis fait inscrire. Ce qui en dispense c'est une infirmité visible, comme un pouce manquant etc. Des maladies comme l'asthme ne sont pas prévues. Il est vrai que pour mon livre on m'a interv[iewé] dans mon lit<ref name="n10" /> ; mais pensez-vous que le Gouvernement Militaire de Paris en sache quelque chose ! Bize a fait erreur s'il croit que c'est une dispense légale.
I hope that what I’ve written to you<ref name="n8" /> has by now convinced you and that you will stay at Albi. Moreover I hope that if your absurd whims persist your dear Commandant will know how to “command” and you to “obey”. I don’t want to appear to be avoiding your questions about me. Because I know that you are not just asking them out of politeness; no I am not “eating well” at the moment. The frequency of my attacks prevents it. You know that as soon as they lessen, I am capable of climbing back up the slope, remember last year and my own victory of the Marne<ref name="n9" />. I rather regret what I wrote to you about Pozzi. I don’t think he gets on very well with Février, the director of the Service for Health and the Gallieni people. Besides, more than likely none of this will be of any importance because I probably won’t get called up. In any case I have been registered. What gets one out of it is a visible infirmity, like a missing thumb or something. Illnesses such as asthma can’t be discerned. It’s true that for my book I was interviewed in my bed<ref name="n10" />; but do you think that the Military Authorities in Paris know anything about that! Bize is mistaken if he thinks it is a legal exemption.


Mille tendresses de votre
With much fondness from your


Marcel
Marcel


Je reçois à l'instant le certificat<ref name="n11" /> de Bize, je vais lui écrire pour lui demander de le faire autrement<ref name="n12" />, sur papier à 0,60, car ce certificat sans valeur de dispense, peut néanmoins le moment venu m'être utile. Mais rien ne presse, je ne serai pas appelé au plus tôt avant un mois ou deux. En tout cas je vais lui écrire.
I have just now received the certificate<ref name="n11" /> from Bize. I’m going to write to him and ask him to do it differently<ref name="n12" />, on 0.60 paper, because even though it is of no use for my exemption, this certificate might come in useful at some point. But there is no urgency, I won’t be called any sooner than in a month or two at least. Be that as it may, I shall still write to him.


P.S. Que ma lettre je vous en prie n'aille pas vous donner l'idée que j'ai oublié Alfred. Malgré la distance que je sens hélas par moments, je n'hésiterais pas même dans ces moments-là à courir me faire couper un bras ou une jambe si cela pouvait le ressusciter.
P.S. I hope my letter doesn’t give you the idea that I have forgotten Alfred. Despite the distance in time that, alas, I feel at times, I wouldn’t hesitate, even at those moments, to rush off and have an arm or a leg cut off if that could bring him back.


3e P.S. Surtout cher petit ne faites quoi que ce soit pour ma question de contre-réforme. Ce que vous avez fait était divinement gentil et a été parfait. Mais faire autre chose ne pourrait que m'attirer des ennuis. Je crois que tout se passera très bien. Et d'ailleurs ce ne sera pas avant quelque temps. Que pense le Commandant C. de la guerre ? comme durée, comme issue, comme présent, comme passé, comme avenir.
3rd P.S. Above all, dear little one, don’t do anything about my counter discharge question. What you have done already was exquisitely kind and was perfect. But to do any more would only cause me trouble. I think that it will all go quite well. And anyway it won’t be for some time. What does Commandant C. think about the war? how long will it last? what will be the outcome? <u>present</u>, past and future?


<ref name="n13" /> <ref name="n14" />
<ref name="n13" /> <ref name="n14" />
Line 28: Line 28:
<references>
<references>


<ref name="n1"> Note 1 </ref>
<ref name="n1"> In a telegram of 24 October 1914 (CP 02829; Kolb, XIII, no. 178), Proust thanked Hahn for having requested and obtained for him a medical certificate from Doctor Bize (CP 05638), and asked him to reply by letter. This letter is in response to Hahn's letter. [PK, FP] </ref>


<ref name="n2"> Note 2 </ref>
<ref name="n2"> This letter has not been found. [PK, FP] </ref>


<ref name="n3"> Note 3 </ref>
<ref name="n3"> At the moment he began writing this letter Proust had not yet received the first certificate from Doctor Bize, but Hahn had told him that he had obtained one, first of all by telegram (the evening of the 23rd? or the morning of the 24th?), then by letter; he added his postscript afterwards. [FL, FP] </ref>


<ref name="n4"> Note 4 </ref>
<ref name="n4"> See Proust's letter to Doctor Pozzi [between 6 and 12 November 1914] (CP 05412): "Since you have preferred not to give me a certificate...". In the end Pozzi wrote out a certificate (not found); Proust thanks him for it in his letter of Thursday [12? November 1914] (CP 05413). [FP, FL] </ref>


<ref name="n5"> Note 5 </ref>
<ref name="n5"> Proust returned to Cabourg on the 13th or 14th October 1914; he describes his gruelling journey in a letter to Madame Catusse [17 October 1914] (CP 02827; Kolb, XIII, no. 176). [FP] </ref>


<ref name="n6"> Note 6 </ref>
<ref name="n6"> This passage is one of those that attest to the transposition of Alfred Agostinelli into Albertine in the novel (see Albertine disparue, IV, p. 175; La Fugitive, Cahiers d’Albertine disparue, ed. N. Mauriac Dyer, Le Livre de poche "classique", 1993, p. 189 et note 1). The present letter may have served as an initial draft of a verso page in the "Venuste" Cahier, essentially written after the accidental disappearance of Agostinelli in spring 1914. This particular passage is highlighted in blue pencil, demonstrating the importance that Proust attached to it: "Capital (perhaps for the very end of the book, possibly on the death of Albertine when I begin to forget) / It is not because other people die that one's grief diminishes, but because one dies oneself. Albertine had nothing to reproach her lover for. Her lover had not forgotten her but had rejoined her in death, leaving behind as heir the man who I am today who most certainly loves Albertine but did not know her. Indeed on many occasions he had heard her spoken of in the accounts of that other self while he continued to live on under the shadow of the one that had died, the one that he had to outlive, he had often heard her spoken of; he thought he knew her, he loved her through the accounts he heard about her: but it was nothing more than a secondhand affection." (Cahier 54, f. 13v, simplified transcription). See Cahier 54, ed. F. Goujon, N. Mauriac Dyer and Ch. Nakano, Brepols, 2008, vol. II, f. 13v and note 1. Proust would take up the passage again from the (final) version in Cahier 56 in his letter-dedication to Mme Scheikévitch (CP 03024; Kolb, XIV, no. 136). [NM] </ref>


<ref name="n7"> Note 7 </ref>
<ref name="n7"> In October 1914, "my third volume" denoted Le Temps retrouvé, the last of the three volumes anticipated since the summer of 1913. "À l'ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs" was at that time the title of the first of the nine parts which composed the last volume. See the announcement published in 1913 at the front of Du côté de chez Swann. [FL, FP, NM] </ref>


<ref name="n8"> Note 8 </ref>
<ref name="n8"> The letter in which Proust attempts to convince Hahn to stay in Albi has not been found. [FL] </ref>


<ref name="n9"> Note 9 </ref>
<ref name="n9"> Probable allusion to the improvements in Proust's health around the final months of 1913. [PK, FP] </ref>


<ref name="n10"> Note 10 </ref>
<ref name="n10"> Allusion to the two interviews given by Proust at the time of the publication of Du côté de chez Swann in 1913. [PK, FP] </ref>


<ref name="n11"> Note 11 </ref>
<ref name="n11"> The first certificate signed by Doctor Bize, 23 October 1914: see CP 05638. [FP] </ref>


<ref name="n12"> Note 12 </ref>
<ref name="n12"> This letter has not been found. Doctor Bize was to sign a second certificate on 4 November 1914: see CP 05639. [FP] </ref>


<ref name="n13"> Translation notes: </ref>
<ref name="n13"> Translation notes: </ref>


<ref name="n14"> Contributors: </ref>
<ref name="n14"> Contributors: Yorktaylors </ref>




</references>
</references>

Latest revision as of 11:09, 1 February 2022

Other languages:

Marcel Proust to Reynaldo Hahn [shortly after 24 October 1914]

(Click on the link above to see this letter and its notes in the Corr-Proust digital edition, including all relevant hyperlinks.)

[1]

Dear Reynaldo

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your letter[2], an imperishable memorial to kindness and friendship. But Bize is completely mistaken if he thinks that a certificate[3] will exempt me from anything whatsoever. Perhaps a certificate from Pozzi, a lieutenant-colonel at Val-de-Grâce, might do it (but I don’t know). But with charming manners and perfect protocol he evaded the question and refused[4]. I shall bring you up to date with my military misadventures as they happen. My dear little one it is very sweet of you to think that Cabourg[5] must have been painful to me on account of Agostinelli. To my shame I must confess that it was not as painful as I had thought, and that this trip has rather marked a first stage of detachment from my grief, a stage after which, fortunately, I have gone back, once I had returned, to my initial suffering. But finally, in Cabourg, without being any the less heartbroken nor feeling any less regret about him, there were moments, hours even, when he had vanished from my thoughts. My dear little one, don’t judge me too harshly for that (as harshly as I judge myself!). And don’t take that to signify any lack of loyalty in my affections, just as I was wrong to assume that of you when I saw that you hardly missed society people who I thought you cared about a great deal. I assumed that you had less fondness than I had thought. And I understood afterwards that it was because these were people who you did not truly love. I truly loved Alfred. It’s not enough to say that I loved him, I adored him. And I don’t know why I write it in the past tense because I still love him. Because in spite of everything, in our regrets there is one part that is involuntary and one part duty that determines the involuntary and assures its duration. But this duty did not exist in relation to Alfred who behaved very badly towards me. I feel regrets towards him that I cannot do other than feel towards him, but I don’t feel that I am constrained by any sense of duty, such as the one that binds me to you, which will bind me to you even if I needed you a thousand times less, if I loved you a thousand times less. So if I have had a few weeks of relative inconstancy in Cabourg, don’t judge me as inconstant and blame the person who was incapable of deserving fidelity. In any case it was a joy to me to see that my sufferings had returned; but at times they are so strong that I miss a little their abatement of a month ago. But I also have the sadness of feeling that however strong they might be, they are still perhaps less tormenting than a month and a half or two months ago. It is not because others have died that the grief diminishes, but because one dies oneself. And it requires great vitality to maintain and keep alive and intact the “self” of a few weeks ago. His friend has not forgotten him, poor Alfred. But he has rejoined him in death and his successor, the “self” of today, loves Alfred but did not know him other than through the reports of the other. It is a secondhand tenderness[6]. (Don’t talk about this to anybody I beg you; if the general character of these truths tempts you to read out any extracts of this to Gregh or others, you would be causing me a great deal of pain. If I ever want to formulate such ideas as these it will be under the pseudonym of Swann. For a long time now life has no longer offered me anything but events that I have already described. When you read the third volume of my book[7] the one that in part will be called “A l’ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs”, you will recognize the anticipation and the sure prophesy of what I have felt since.)

I hope that what I’ve written to you[8] has by now convinced you and that you will stay at Albi. Moreover I hope that if your absurd whims persist your dear Commandant will know how to “command” and you to “obey”. I don’t want to appear to be avoiding your questions about me. Because I know that you are not just asking them out of politeness; no I am not “eating well” at the moment. The frequency of my attacks prevents it. You know that as soon as they lessen, I am capable of climbing back up the slope, remember last year and my own victory of the Marne[9]. I rather regret what I wrote to you about Pozzi. I don’t think he gets on very well with Février, the director of the Service for Health and the Gallieni people. Besides, more than likely none of this will be of any importance because I probably won’t get called up. In any case I have been registered. What gets one out of it is a visible infirmity, like a missing thumb or something. Illnesses such as asthma can’t be discerned. It’s true that for my book I was interviewed in my bed[10]; but do you think that the Military Authorities in Paris know anything about that! Bize is mistaken if he thinks it is a legal exemption.

With much fondness from your

Marcel

I have just now received the certificate[11] from Bize. I’m going to write to him and ask him to do it differently[12], on 0.60 paper, because even though it is of no use for my exemption, this certificate might come in useful at some point. But there is no urgency, I won’t be called any sooner than in a month or two at least. Be that as it may, I shall still write to him.

P.S. I hope my letter doesn’t give you the idea that I have forgotten Alfred. Despite the distance in time that, alas, I feel at times, I wouldn’t hesitate, even at those moments, to rush off and have an arm or a leg cut off if that could bring him back.

3rd P.S. Above all, dear little one, don’t do anything about my counter discharge question. What you have done already was exquisitely kind and was perfect. But to do any more would only cause me trouble. I think that it will all go quite well. And anyway it won’t be for some time. What does Commandant C. think about the war? how long will it last? what will be the outcome? present, past and future?

[13] [14]

Notes

  1. ↑ In a telegram of 24 October 1914 (CP 02829; Kolb, XIII, no. 178), Proust thanked Hahn for having requested and obtained for him a medical certificate from Doctor Bize (CP 05638), and asked him to reply by letter. This letter is in response to Hahn's letter. [PK, FP]
  2. ↑ This letter has not been found. [PK, FP]
  3. ↑ At the moment he began writing this letter Proust had not yet received the first certificate from Doctor Bize, but Hahn had told him that he had obtained one, first of all by telegram (the evening of the 23rd? or the morning of the 24th?), then by letter; he added his postscript afterwards. [FL, FP]
  4. ↑ See Proust's letter to Doctor Pozzi [between 6 and 12 November 1914] (CP 05412): "Since you have preferred not to give me a certificate...". In the end Pozzi wrote out a certificate (not found); Proust thanks him for it in his letter of Thursday [12? November 1914] (CP 05413). [FP, FL]
  5. ↑ Proust returned to Cabourg on the 13th or 14th October 1914; he describes his gruelling journey in a letter to Madame Catusse [17 October 1914] (CP 02827; Kolb, XIII, no. 176). [FP]
  6. ↑ This passage is one of those that attest to the transposition of Alfred Agostinelli into Albertine in the novel (see Albertine disparue, IV, p. 175; La Fugitive, Cahiers d’Albertine disparue, ed. N. Mauriac Dyer, Le Livre de poche "classique", 1993, p. 189 et note 1). The present letter may have served as an initial draft of a verso page in the "Venuste" Cahier, essentially written after the accidental disappearance of Agostinelli in spring 1914. This particular passage is highlighted in blue pencil, demonstrating the importance that Proust attached to it: "Capital (perhaps for the very end of the book, possibly on the death of Albertine when I begin to forget) / It is not because other people die that one's grief diminishes, but because one dies oneself. Albertine had nothing to reproach her lover for. Her lover had not forgotten her but had rejoined her in death, leaving behind as heir the man who I am today who most certainly loves Albertine but did not know her. Indeed on many occasions he had heard her spoken of in the accounts of that other self while he continued to live on under the shadow of the one that had died, the one that he had to outlive, he had often heard her spoken of; he thought he knew her, he loved her through the accounts he heard about her: but it was nothing more than a secondhand affection." (Cahier 54, f. 13v, simplified transcription). See Cahier 54, ed. F. Goujon, N. Mauriac Dyer and Ch. Nakano, Brepols, 2008, vol. II, f. 13v and note 1. Proust would take up the passage again from the (final) version in Cahier 56 in his letter-dedication to Mme Scheikévitch (CP 03024; Kolb, XIV, no. 136). [NM]
  7. ↑ In October 1914, "my third volume" denoted Le Temps retrouvé, the last of the three volumes anticipated since the summer of 1913. "À l'ombre des jeunes filles en fleurs" was at that time the title of the first of the nine parts which composed the last volume. See the announcement published in 1913 at the front of Du côté de chez Swann. [FL, FP, NM]
  8. ↑ The letter in which Proust attempts to convince Hahn to stay in Albi has not been found. [FL]
  9. ↑ Probable allusion to the improvements in Proust's health around the final months of 1913. [PK, FP]
  10. ↑ Allusion to the two interviews given by Proust at the time of the publication of Du côté de chez Swann in 1913. [PK, FP]
  11. ↑ The first certificate signed by Doctor Bize, 23 October 1914: see CP 05638. [FP]
  12. ↑ This letter has not been found. Doctor Bize was to sign a second certificate on 4 November 1914: see CP 05639. [FP]
  13. ↑ Translation notes:
  14. ↑ Contributors: Yorktaylors
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