In Search of Lost Time, Volume V_ The Captive, the Fugitive - Marcel Proust [364]
“Did you call at Salviati’s?”
“Yes.”
“Will they send it tomorrow?”
“I brought the bowl back myself. You shall see it after dinner. Let us look at the menu.”
“Did you send instructions about my Suez shares?”
“No; at the present moment the Stock Exchange is entirely taken up with oil shares. But there’s no hurry, in view of the propitious state of the market. Here is the menu. As a first course there is red mullet. Shall we try them?”
“I shall, but you are not allowed them. Ask for a risotto instead. But they don’t know how to cook it.”
“Never mind. Waiter, some mullet for Madame and a risotto for me.”
A fresh and prolonged silence.
“Here, I’ve brought you the papers, the Corriere della Sera, the Gazzetta del Popolo, and all the rest of them. Did you know that there is a strong likelihood of a diplomatic reshuffle in which the first scapegoat will be Paléologue, who is notoriously inadequate in Serbia. He may perhaps be replaced by Lozé, and there will be a vacancy at Constantinople. But,” M. de Norpois hastened to add in a biting tone, “for an Embassy of such scope, in a capital where it is obvious that Great Britain must always, whatever happens, occupy the chief place at the council-table, it would be prudent to turn to men of experience better equipped to counter the subterfuges of the enemies of our British ally than are diplomats of the modern school who would walk blindfold into the trap.” The angry volubility with which M. de Norpois uttered these last words was due principally to the fact that the newspapers, instead of suggesting his name as he had recommended them to do, named as a “hot favourite” a young minister of Foreign Affairs. “Heaven knows that the men of years and experience are far from eager to put themselves forward, after all manner of tortuous manoeuvres, in the place of more or less incapable recruits. I have known many of these self-styled diplomats of the empirical school who centred all their hopes in flying a kite which it didn’t take me long to shoot down. There can be no question that if the Government is so lacking in wisdom as to entrust the reins of state to unruly hands, at the call of duty any conscript will always answer ‘Present!’ But who knows” (and here M. de Norpois appeared to know perfectly well to whom he was referring) “whether it would not be the same on the day when they came in search of some veteran full of wisdom and skill. To my mind, though everyone may have his own way of looking at things, the post at Constantinople should not be accepted until we have settled our existing difficulties with Germany. We owe no man anything, and it is intolerable that every six months they should come and demand from us, by fraudulent machinations and under protest, some full discharge or other which is invariably advocated by a venal press. This must cease, and naturally a man of high distinction who has proved his merit, a man who would have, if I may say so, the Emperor’s ear, would enjoy greater authority than anyone else in bringing the conflict to an end.”
A gentleman who was finishing his dinner bowed to M. de Norpois.
“Why, there’s Prince Foggi,” said the Marquis.
“Ah, I’m not sure that I know who you mean,” muttered Mme de Villeparisis.
“But, of course you do—Prince Odo. He’s the brother-in-law of your cousin Doudeauville. Surely you remember that I went shooting with him at Bonnétable?”
“Ah! Odo, is he the one who went in for painting?”
“Not at all, he’s the one who married the Grand Duke N—’s sister.”
M. de Norpois uttered these remarks in the cross tone of a schoolmaster who is dissatisfied with his pupil, and stared fixedly at Mme de Villeparisis out of his blue eyes.
When the Prince had drunk his coffee and was leaving his table, M. de Norpois rose, hastened towards him and with a majestic sweep of his arm, stepping aside himself, presented him to Mme de Villeparisis. And during the few minutes