Contemplation
of human nature calls to mind the relationship between what we think and what
we do. Proust found human nature endlessly (yes) interesting. Here, among his
observations, are my favourites:
A. Our place in society
Everyone has
their place:
“ “Oriane,”
(at once Mme. des Laumes looked with amused astonishment towards an invisible
third, whom she seemed to call to witness that she had never authorised Mme. de
Gallardon to use her Christian name).”
And we want
to be superior:
“she never
gets a chance of being a snob; she doesn’t know anyone.”
We mark our
superiority politely:
“She treated
each of them with that charming courtesy with which well-bred people treat
their inferiors ...”
“... “But you
are our equal, if not our superior,” the Guermantes seemed, in all their
actions, to be saying; and they said it in the most courteous fashion
imaginable, to be loved, admired, but not to be believed; that one should
discern the fictitious character of this affability was what they called being
well-bred; to suppose it to be genuine, a sign of ill-breeding. ...”
“... they are
naturally polite to anybody, as beautiful women are glad to bestow a smile
which they know to be so joyfully received. ...”
“... he was
sufficiently persuaded of his own importance to be able to mix with the very
humblest people.”
B. Our relationships
We get over
people:
“Nothing can
be more affectionate than this sort of correspondence between friends who do
not wish to see one another any more.”
We disconnect
mutually:
“... the
fiction of a mutual incognito, on hearing her friend’s name from the manager
she merely looked the other way, and pretended not to see Mme. de Villeparisis,
who, realising that my grandmother did not want to be recognised, looked also
into the void.”
We try to
impress:
“ “In fact,
it was drolatic,” put in M. de Guermantes, whose odd vocabulary enabled people
in society to declare that he was no fool and literary people, at the same
time, to regard him as a complete imbecile.”
Aggressively
we try to deflect criticism:
“... people
against whom certain things may be hinted like to shew that they are not afraid
to mention them.”
Gaydar alert!
“There is a
special kind of glance, apparently of recognition, which a young man never
receives from certain women — nor from certain men — after the day on which
they have made his acquaintance and have learned that he is the friend of
people with whom they too are intimate.”
C. Our own natures
I’m nasty,
but funny with it:
“... it’s
often difficult not to be a little spiteful when one is so full of wit ...”
“... “Mme.
Verdurin, why, I used to know her terribly well!” with an affectation of
humility, like a great lady who tells you that she has taken the tram.”
Stress can
reveal us as essentially silly:
“... an
exclamation the silliness of which kept him from sleeping for at least a week
afterwards. His remark was of no great interest, but I remembered it as a proof
that sometimes in this life, under the stress of an exceptional emotion, people
do say what is in their minds.”
Meaning can
get lost when one has to be polite:
“... she
answered as she did, in order not to seem to be unaware of what I meant, as in
a conversation one assumes an understanding air when somebody talks of Fourrier
or of Tobolsk without even knowing what these names mean. ...”
“... the
sterile pleasure of a social contact which excludes all penetrating thought”
Our errors
compound:
“... the
ill-balanced mentality of early manhood (a period in which, even in the middle
class, one appears ungrateful and behaves like a cad because, having forgotten
for months to write to a benefactor after he has lost his wife, one then ceases
to nod to him in the street so as to simplify matters),...”
We can have a
self-perpetuating insecurity:
“But he was
so anxious not to let it be seen that he was not sought after, that he dared
not offer himself. ...”
“... “You
don’t happen to know what you will be doing in the next few days, because I
shall probably be somewhere in the neighbourhood of Balbec? Not that it makes
the slightest difference, I just thought I would ask you.” This air deceived
nobody, and the inverse signs whereby we express our sentiments by their
opposites are so clearly legible that we ask ourselves how there can still be
people who say, for instance: “I have so many invitations that I don’t know
where to lay my head” to conceal the fact that they have been invited nowhere.”
We can try to
wound with silence:
“M. de
Charlus made no reply and looked as if he had not heard, which was one of his
favourite forms of insolence.”
We like to be
noticed:
“ “You are
the talk of the Conservatoire,” she added, feeling that this was the argument
that carried most weight; ...”
Our attacks
are justified:
“People are
not always very tolerant of the tears which they themselves have provoked.”
We must make
an effort to be social:
“... said the
Duchess, making an effort in order to speak of a matter which did not interest
her.”
The children must
get established:
“... the
great receptions given by Mme. de Marsantes and Mme. de Forcheville, given year
after year with an eye chiefly to the establishment, upon a brilliant footing,
of their children, ...”
There are
times when we must appear decent:
“... he
assumed the modest air of one who is not asking for payment.”
