Autobiographical fiction; France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
protest took this form: “I understand the newspapers to say that Dreyfus
has committed a crime against his country—so I understand, I pay no
attention to the newspapers, I read them as I wash my hands, without
finding that it is worth my while to take any interest in what I am
doing. In any case, the crime is non-existent, your friend’s compatriot
would have committed a crime if he had betrayed Judaea, but what has he
to do with France?” I pointed out that if there should be a war the Jews
would be mobilised just as much as anyone else. “Perhaps so, and I am
not sure that it would not be an imprudence. If we bring over Senegalese
and Malagasies, I hardly suppose that their hearts will be in the task
of defending France, which is only natural. Your Dreyfus might rather be
convicted of a breach of the laws of hospitality. But we need not
discuss that. Perhaps you could ask your friend to allow me to be
present at some great festival in the Temple, at a circumcision, with
Jewish chants. He might perhaps take a hall, and give me some biblical
entertainment, as the young ladies of Saint-Cyr performed scenes taken
from the Psalms by Racine, to amuse Louis XIV. You might even arrange
parties to give us a good laugh. For instance a battle between your
friend and his father, in which he would smite him as David smote
Goliath. That would make quite an amusing farce. He might even, while he
was about it, deal some stout blows at his hag (or, as my old nurse
would say, his ‘haggart’) of a mother. That would be an excellent show,
and would not be unpleasing to us, eh, my young friend, since we like
exotic spectacles, and to thrash that non-European creature would be
giving a well-earned punishment to an old camel.” As he poured out this
terrible, almost insane language, M. de Charlus squeezed my arm until it
ached. I reminded myself of all that his family had told me of his
wonderful kindness to this old nurse, whose Molieresque vocabulary he
had just quoted, and thought to myself that the connexions, hitherto, I
felt, little studied, between goodness and wickedness in the same heart,
various as they might be, would be an interesting subject for research.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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