In Search of Lost Time, Volume V_ The Captive, the Fugitive - Marcel Proust [179]
Charlie, seeking a borrowed dignity in which to cloak the tatters of his own, found in his memory something that he had read or, more probably, heard quoted, and at once proclaimed: “I wasn’t brought up to stomach such an affront. This very evening I shall break with M. de Charlus. The Queen of Naples has gone, hasn’t she? Otherwise, before breaking with him, I’d have asked him …”
“It isn’t necessary to break with him altogether,” said Mme Verdurin, anxious to avoid a disruption of the little nucleus. “There’s no harm in your seeing him here, among our little group, where you are appreciated, where no one speaks ill of you. But you must insist upon your freedom, and not let him drag you about among all those silly women who are friendly to your face; I wish you could have heard what they were saying behind your back. Anyhow, you need feel no regret. Not only are you getting rid of a stain which would have marked you for the rest of your life, but from the artistic point of view, even without this scandalous presentation by Charlus, I don’t mind telling you that debasing yourself like this in these sham society circles would give the impression that you aren’t serious, would earn you the reputation of being an amateur, a mere salon performer, which is a terrible thing at your age. I can understand that to all those fine ladies it’s highly convenient to be able to return their friends’ hospitality by making you come and play for nothing, but it’s your future as an artist that would foot the bill. I don’t say that there aren’t one or two. You mentioned the Queen of Naples—who has left, for she had to go on to another party—now she’s a nice woman, and I may tell you that I think she has a poor opinion of Charlus. I’m sure she came here chiefly to please me. Yes, yes, I know she was longing to meet M. Verdurin and myself. That is a house in which you might play. And then of course if I take you—because the artists all know me, you understand, they’ve always been very sweet to me, and regard me almost as one of themselves, as their Mistress—that’s quite a different matter. But whatever you do, you must never go near Mme de Duras! Don’t go and make a bloomer like that! I know several artists who have come here and told me all about her. They know they can trust me,” she said, in the sweet and simple tone which she knew how to adopt instantaneously, imparting an appropriate air of modesty to her features, an appropriate charm to her eyes, “they come here, just like that, to tell me all their little troubles; the ones who are said to be most taciturn go on chatting to me sometimes for hours on end, and I can’t tell you how interesting they are. Poor Chabrier always used to say: ‘There’s nobody like Mme Verdurin for getting them to talk.’ Well, do you know, I’ve seen them all, every one of them without exception, literally in tears after having gone to play for Mme de Duras. It’s not only the way she enjoys making her servants humiliate them, but they could never get an engagement anywhere else again. The agents would say: ‘Oh yes, the fellow who plays at Mme de Duras’s.’ That settled it. There’s nothing like that for ruining a man’s future. You see, with society people it doesn’t seem serious; you may have all the talent in the world, it’s a sad thing to have to say, but one Mme de Duras is enough to give you the reputation of an amateur. And artists, you realise—and after all I know them, I’ve been moving among them for forty years, launching them, taking an interest in them—well, when they say that somebody’s an amateur, that’s the end of it. And people were beginning to say it of you. Indeed, the number of times I’ve been obliged to take up the cudgels on your behalf, to assure them that you wouldn’t play in some absurd drawing-room! Do you know what the answer was: ‘But he’ll be forced to. Charlus won’t even consult