Translations:CP 02830/30/en: Difference between revisions

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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 it 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.)
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.)

Latest revision as of 07:07, 31 January 2022

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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[1], an imperishable memorial to kindness and friendship. But Bize is completely mistaken if he thinks that a certificate[2] 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[3]. 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[4] 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[5]. (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[6] 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.)

  1. ↑ Cite error: Invalid <ref> tag; no text was provided for refs named n2
  2. ↑ Cite error: Invalid <ref> tag; no text was provided for refs named n3
  3. ↑ Cite error: Invalid <ref> tag; no text was provided for refs named n4
  4. ↑ Cite error: Invalid <ref> tag; no text was provided for refs named n5
  5. ↑ Cite error: Invalid <ref> tag; no text was provided for refs named n6
  6. ↑ Cite error: Invalid <ref> tag; no text was provided for refs named n7
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