SAINT-LOUP 305hope he continues to do so! He is so intelligently kind to me, so
kind, and so intelligent.' But during July he transferred, or rather
extended, his pursuit from Antoine to Fenelon. It was one of the
stormiest and most disappointing of his friendships, the only one
on which he looked back with lasting bitterness, not because
he lost Fenelon, but because he never won him. The long-
accumulated strain on his nerves, added to the dual necessity of
lunching and dining with his friends without ceasing to stay up
all night, not infrequently prevented him from going to bed at
all; and when in total exhaustion at the beginning of August he
took to his bed in the evenings, it was not a return to the human
norm: on the contrary, he realised with horror, his life was a whole
twenty-four hours out of gear. Before leaving for Evian on I2
August Mme Proust took the extreme step of writing to Fenelon
to beg him to see her son regularly; but, Marcel grumbled,
'Fenelon has taken no notice of your requests-still, whatever
you do, don't begin again, because there's absolutely nothing
more to be said; and Bibesco is taken up every evening just now
by his double absorption in ham acting and making love.' 'I
never stop hearing new stories of women you've tried to assault,'
he rebuked Antoine, 'your violence is simply fantastic!' On the
14th, demoralised by lack of sleep, indigestion and a racing pulse,
he visited Dr Vaquez, who advised a regime of bed, trional and
cold tubs, and abstention from alcohol and morphine. "I never
could understand," said the wise doctor, "why invalids can't be
content with their own illnesses, instead of insisting on creating
new ones by making themselves unhappy over people who aren't
worth the trouble!" That night Proust dined at Larue's, alone
except for the waiters, under the glare of sixty electric lights:
Fenelon and Constantin de Brancovan had broken their promise
to join him, and he was again left in the lurch. But his woes were
alleviated by the kindness of old F elicie, of whom he wrote to
his mother in words which recall the Narrator's regard for
F ran"oise: 'Peace is restored, and a very affectionate one, between
F elicie and me. I'd far rather have her than Marie in a situation
like this. Marie is more educated, but less literary in her language,
and above all, Felicie's affection is so charming and simple.'
However, Proust and Fenelon had their times oflaughter and
delight that summer. He recalled afterwards a day on which they
visited Mme Straus at her villa, Le Clos des Muriers, at Trouville;