Paris during the war
Synopsis
On one of the first evening after his return to Paris in 1916 and wanting to hear more about the progress of the war, the narrator ventures out after dinner to visit Mme Verdurin - “one of the queens of that Paris of the war which reminded one of the Directory” - whose usual practice was to invite people to attend her abode at five o’clock “to talk about the war”, or at least the newspaper reports thereof, much as she would have said in another era to talk about l’affaire. As he goes abroad, the Louvre and all the museums were closed. At the decline of day, he sees miniscule spots in the sky in the distance which appear rather like gnats or birds, but which are in reality planes keeping watch over Paris.
As he walks, he recalls receiving letters from Gilberte and from Saint-Loup. In September 1914, Gilberte wrote to him that as much as she would have liked to remain in Paris the perpetual aerial raids over Paris had frightened her to such an extent that she had fled Paris by the last train which left for Combray for Tansonville. However, she was only there two days when her home was requisitioned by German troops. Two years later, he received another letter depicting the impetus of her flight as being not to flee the Germans but rather to defend her Château from them. She recalls their walks in the region all those years ago, now contested ground, the Germans holding one half of Combray, the French the other:
On one of the first evening after his return to Paris in 1916 and wanting to hear more about the progress of the war, the narrator ventures out after dinner to visit Mme Verdurin - “one of the queens of that Paris of the war which reminded one of the Directory” - whose usual practice was to invite people to attend her abode at five o’clock “to talk about the war”, or at least the newspaper reports thereof, much as she would have said in another era to talk about l’affaire. As he goes abroad, the Louvre and all the museums were closed. At the decline of day, he sees miniscule spots in the sky in the distance which appear rather like gnats or birds, but which are in reality planes keeping watch over Paris.
As he walks, he recalls receiving letters from Gilberte and from Saint-Loup. In September 1914, Gilberte wrote to him that as much as she would have liked to remain in Paris the perpetual aerial raids over Paris had frightened her to such an extent that she had fled Paris by the last train which left for Combray for Tansonville. However, she was only there two days when her home was requisitioned by German troops. Two years later, he received another letter depicting the impetus of her flight as being not to flee the Germans but rather to defend her Château from them. She recalls their walks in the region all those years ago, now contested ground, the Germans holding one half of Combray, the French the other:
“The Battle of Méséglise lasted more than eight months, the Germans lost more than one hundred thousand men there, they destroyed Méséglise but they have not taken it. The little road you so loved, the one we called the stiff hawthorn climb, where you professed to be in love with me when you were a child, when all the time I was in love with you, I cannot tell you how important that position is. The great wheat field in which it ended is the famous ‘slope 307’ the name you have so often seen recorded in the communiqués”.
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Whilst thus reminiscing he had made a long-detour on his way to Mme Verdurin’s and had nearly reached the bridge of the Invalides. The lamps, few and far between on account of the Gothas (German bombers), were lit a little too early on account of daylight saving, and “above the partly-illumined city, in one whole part of the sky – a sky which ignored summer and winter and did not deign to observe that half-past eight had become half-past nine – it still continued to be daylight”.
The restaurants were full. He sees a soldier on leave from the front fix his eyes for an instant on the brilliantly illuminated windows, commenting: “You’d never know there was a war going on here” (p 49). At half past nine, the lights are suddenly put out in deference to the black-out, and at 9.35, the restaurant patrons, those in service in the capital without danger, seize their overcoats and went out into the night.
He starts to retrace his steps. As he leaves the Bridge of the Invalides behind him, daylight has evaporated nor is there scarcely a light in all the city and he becomes lost, stumbling here and there against the dust-bins, and after following a labyrinth of obscure streets, he finds himself unexpectedly upon the Boulevards.
In the crowd he espies someone who looks familiar whom he then realises is the Baron de Charlus, who is embarrassed by the encounter but greets him nonetheless. By this stage in his life, M de Charlus, who is also somewhat of a Germanophile, is now a sado-masochits, a mere shadow of his former self, completely consumed by, and a prisoner of, his sexual vices:
They walk and chat and in due course, the Baron takes his leave by seizing the narrator’s hand and crushing it. With all his walking, the narrator is tired and thirsty and loses his way again. All the hotels are now closed, but he chances upon one establishment which is exceptionally busy, “full of activity and opulence” with people coming and going all the time. He sees an officer hastily exiting the premises and thinks it may be Saint-Loup, but the establishment is none too flash and he thinks he may be mistaken.
He decides to enter and surreptiously overhears several soldiers and two men of the working class talking quietly in a small, stuffy room. One who is apparently leaving in the morn on a dangerous mission imagines himself immune from harm because of his youth, only 22, as though being only 22 should give him a better chance of survival. “In Paris, it’s wonderful”, said another, “you wouldn’t think here was a war going on”. The narrator hears that the manager has gone in search of some chains to restrain a guest better than those currently employed which were defective.
The narrator obtains a room to which he takes some cassis to quench his thirst. He then goes upstairs out of curiosity. Through a lateral peephole in the door of another room he witnesses the Baron in chains on a bed “like Prometheus on his rock” being unmercifully flayed with a cat o’ nine tails replete with embedded nails, the supplicant making submissive remarks all the while. During the course of this scene, the hotel manager arrives, he being none other than Jupien. Other patrons of the hotel and availing themselves of its services include a Liberal Deputy and a priest. The narrator hears a conversation concerning a Croix de Guerre found on the premises and the unknown identity of its owner. Following his ordeal, the Baron comes downstairs and complains that the man who inflicted it was in his opinion “not brutal enough”.
The restaurants were full. He sees a soldier on leave from the front fix his eyes for an instant on the brilliantly illuminated windows, commenting: “You’d never know there was a war going on here” (p 49). At half past nine, the lights are suddenly put out in deference to the black-out, and at 9.35, the restaurant patrons, those in service in the capital without danger, seize their overcoats and went out into the night.
He starts to retrace his steps. As he leaves the Bridge of the Invalides behind him, daylight has evaporated nor is there scarcely a light in all the city and he becomes lost, stumbling here and there against the dust-bins, and after following a labyrinth of obscure streets, he finds himself unexpectedly upon the Boulevards.
In the crowd he espies someone who looks familiar whom he then realises is the Baron de Charlus, who is embarrassed by the encounter but greets him nonetheless. By this stage in his life, M de Charlus, who is also somewhat of a Germanophile, is now a sado-masochits, a mere shadow of his former self, completely consumed by, and a prisoner of, his sexual vices:
They walk and chat and in due course, the Baron takes his leave by seizing the narrator’s hand and crushing it. With all his walking, the narrator is tired and thirsty and loses his way again. All the hotels are now closed, but he chances upon one establishment which is exceptionally busy, “full of activity and opulence” with people coming and going all the time. He sees an officer hastily exiting the premises and thinks it may be Saint-Loup, but the establishment is none too flash and he thinks he may be mistaken.
He decides to enter and surreptiously overhears several soldiers and two men of the working class talking quietly in a small, stuffy room. One who is apparently leaving in the morn on a dangerous mission imagines himself immune from harm because of his youth, only 22, as though being only 22 should give him a better chance of survival. “In Paris, it’s wonderful”, said another, “you wouldn’t think here was a war going on”. The narrator hears that the manager has gone in search of some chains to restrain a guest better than those currently employed which were defective.
The narrator obtains a room to which he takes some cassis to quench his thirst. He then goes upstairs out of curiosity. Through a lateral peephole in the door of another room he witnesses the Baron in chains on a bed “like Prometheus on his rock” being unmercifully flayed with a cat o’ nine tails replete with embedded nails, the supplicant making submissive remarks all the while. During the course of this scene, the hotel manager arrives, he being none other than Jupien. Other patrons of the hotel and availing themselves of its services include a Liberal Deputy and a priest. The narrator hears a conversation concerning a Croix de Guerre found on the premises and the unknown identity of its owner. Following his ordeal, the Baron comes downstairs and complains that the man who inflicted it was in his opinion “not brutal enough”.
As Marcel leaves, he hears the blasts of a siren followed by violent barrage firing. A German aviator is hovering overhead and suddenly a violent explosion proved that he had unleashed one of his bombs. The alarm sounds. The streets are now entirely dark, only now and then an enemy aeroplane flying low casts a light on the spot where he is going to drop his bomb. He thinks Jupien’s may have been reduced perhaps to cinders, for one bomb is dropped quite close. He arrives home as the all clear sounds and encounters Françoise who tells him that Saint-Loup has called earlier inquiring whether he may have misplaced his croix-de-guerre there. A few days later, he hears that Saint-Loup has been killed in combat.
His departure from Paris is delayed as a result. He ponders what might have been....
Photographic source:
(Header) French soldiers march past the Petit Palais (1916). Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_during_the_First_World_War#/media/File:Paris_in_1916.jpg
His departure from Paris is delayed as a result. He ponders what might have been....
Photographic source:
(Header) French soldiers march past the Petit Palais (1916). Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_during_the_First_World_War#/media/File:Paris_in_1916.jpg