At last!! I've emerged from the constantly metamorphosing state of twilight into the solid world of Combray and grand-mère!
Directly after the episode of Golo transvertebrating on the doorknob, we have our first introduction to his family, and the first hint of his attachment to his mother: "Après le dîner, hélas, j'étais bientôt obligé de quitter maman qui restait à causer avec les autres... (After dinner, alas, I was obliged to part from Mamma, who stayed to chat with the others)..."
Then we meet grand-mère, who seems at first to be a rather stiff, cold type, who feels her grandson needs to "buck up," and disapproves of his father's coddling. I especially love the image of her standing out in the thunderstorm, her grey hair drenched, face to the wind and rain, declaring, "Finally one can breathe!!" This image brought a flashback of my early childhood in Landstuhl, Germany....
My mother had engaged a part-time nanny, named Helena, of whom I was reminded when I read about grand-mère. She was of very sturdy German stock and would have agreed fervidly with the grand-mère's views of health and hygiene. She got into extremely heated arguments with my mother over the virtues of fresh, cold air, espousing that even in the dead of winter, the bedroom windows should be wide open all night long to allow the fresh air in. The windows were screened and she also felt these should be removed to encourage the circulation of the frigid air.
So, when she put us to bed, under the immense weight of layer upon layer of heavy quilts and down comforters, she would then fling the windows wide open and stand, like grand-mère, with her face to the wind, taking in huge gulps of the frosty air. And I do mean frosty, as she would open the windows ever if it were snowing!!
Of course, the second she left the room, my mother would stomp in and, while chaffing her arms and muttering under her breath "Oooo, that stubborn woman!!", slam the windows shut, lock the handles and shut the curtains. And not five minutes later, Helena would sneak back in, open the curtains and fling open the windows again!!
At some point, I think my mother realized she had lost the battle and threw her hands up in despair. I can't say that we ever suffered from the cold, fresh air; however, there was an accident related to this which could have had quite a tragic end. And it invoved yours truly. :-)
My mother actually did win the screen argument and the screens were back to stay. However, my mother was never known for her handyman abilities, and it was she who re-installed the window screens in our bedroom.
One day soon shortly thereafter, I was in the bedroom, yelling out the window to get my sister's attention; she did not seem to hear me, so I pulled a chair over, thinking perhaps some height might increase my volume, and while pounding on the screen and screetching a the top of my lungs, all of a sudden the screen gave way and out I went, ass over teakettle, just as my mother walked into the room to see what I was screaming about!!
She said she collapsed to her knees and could not look out the window.... we were on the first floor, but the window was a good ten feet off the ground, and I landed squarely on my head (yes, yes, yes... I know.. that explains a lot... I've heard it before!). Fortunately, I landed on wet grass, and although I was unconscious for several minutes, I did not fracture my skull or break my neck ( although I did get a really impressive grass stain on my scalp); apparently it appeared that the latter was the case when my mother got to the window and saw my motionless little body crumpled on the ground below. She thought I was dead.
But here I am. My sister, with whom I shared the room, suffered the trauma of seeing me fall and land on my head. But worse than that, she developed a morbid fear of giraffes after constantly hearing my mother tell Helena the windows MUST be shut to keep "drafts" from coming in....she thought my mother has said, "giraffes!!"
À demain,
Michel
Wondrous as it is, Marcel's bedroom was getting a bit claustrophobic for me.
ReplyDeleteAt last, some narrative (but for how long?).
I find it telling that immediately Proust starts talking about character, he hones in on dos-and-dont's (taboos, "going too far", inappropriate behaviour chastised) and social reputation. This underscores the author's own obsession with social climbing, gossip and painful self-observation and self-limiting behaviour when it came to his private life (and where it sat in his perceptions of society and his own social life). Proust must have felt he could breathe in the countryside, but just as the social world of Illiers-Combray is never far from Paris, the grand-mere's experience is short-lived. Like all of us, she's quickly back inside the house - back to our own inner landscape and battle of wills among those around us.