Proust's Overcoat - Lorenza Foschini [15]
For Guérin, finding this book was a sweet reprieve; a rare volume had been spared, a victim of negligence. For all those years, Robert Proust had not remembered owning this book and had allowed time and carelessness to reduce it to a very sorry state. His memory had not retained the tender and nostalgic words of his brother’s dedication, and now these words filled the room like a cry from the heart, like the pleas Proust heard from souls trapped in inanimate objects yearning to be set free.
The rapport between Marcel and Robert was always one full of affection, but it was never intimate. Love for their parents and the shared experiences of childhood united them, but they had almost nothing in common. As observed by contemporaries, however, the brothers shared several characteristics. Both were exceedingly well educated, maintained a somewhat exaggerated sense of scruples, and were inherently skeptical. Each brother also developed a remarkable capacity for understanding others. Georges Duhamel, a surgeon and writer, winner of the Prix Goncourt in 1918, remembered watching Robert Proust at work as a surgeon. He observed that his medical colleague possessed “the same slowness, the same languor, the same inclination to detour, the same paradoxical inventiveness, the same reticence. At the end of the day, Robert’s surgical style had much in common with Marcel’s literary phrasing.”
Among the papers Werner had thrown in the hatbox was an undated letter from Marcel as a young boy to his mother, in which can be felt all the concern of an older brother for a younger sibling. In a fine, clear, almost feminine hand, Proust expressed his worry about his brother’s melancholic disposition:
My dear Mama,
I think Robert is feeling sad and it worries me. Not asking anything of him, I wasn’t able to get a word out of him and you won’t be able to do better. But he is very kind. Try and chat with him before he goes out.
Proust always spoke of his brother’s goodness, yet was invariably ironic when describing him: “Happiness and regret have ripened his nature like a fruit that, having been a trifle acidic, becomes sweet,” he wrote to his mother. Followed by this: “Don’t show this letter to my angel-brother because he is not only an angel but also a judge, a harsh judge.” It could be that Robert was not as harsh a judge as Marcel claimed, but he certainly projected a paternalistic aura, both in his work and in his private life.
Near the end of his life, Marcel wrote to his brother asking for help in procuring the award of the Legion of Honor, through Robert’s friendship with the highly influential General Charles Mangin. Robert’s response was less than encouraging. Marcel wrote back to him:
Dear little brother,
Thank you with all my heart for your too kind letter. Don’t worry: under no circumstances would I ever have let myself be commended by General M. By this I don’t mean to say that we can act freely, and in this particular case, the only reason for the General’s feelings toward me are my books. Despite this, I would never have risked upsetting your relations with him without having first received your approval. And so you tell me you would prefer that nothing be asked of him. Rest assured, your wish is an order; I will never ask anything of him. . . .
I don’t spurn honorary titles, but I can live without them. The work, that’s what needs to be done: whether the rest comes or doesn’t is secondary.
Proust continued with a description of his ailments and with a list of physicians he was to consult. But in the last lines of his letter he exacts his small and bitter revenge: