TIME BEGINS TO BE LOST 333
indulgent smile, an expression of approaching repose. Contrary
to usual report, Marcel had only the sharp-edged, delicately
curved Jewish nose and swimming dark eyes of his mother: the
mould of his face, especially the narrow, thick-lipped mouth, was
startlingly like his father's.
Despite his occasional outbursts of rage, or sudden, arbitrary
vetoes ('my father had a way of refusing to let me do things which
were clearly allowed in the more liberal charters granted me by
my mother and grandmother, because he was careless of
"principles", and had no idea of "international law",' says the
Narrator), Dr Proust had been a touchingly indulgent parent,
more sensibly and equably so than Mme Proust. From sheer
kindness and resignation he had allowed his bewildering son to
lead the life he wished; he never withheld the money for his
clothes, orchids, presents, 'little dinners' of fifteen persons,
Ruskin pilgrimages, or twelve-hour cab-hires. Even the enormous
bills of several hundred francs a month for cotton-wool, and
medicaments for asthma, insomnia, rheumatisms and indiges-
tions, although these hurt his professional conscience as well as
his pocket, were paid with a sigh. He could understand neither
Marcel's passion for society, nor society's passion for Marcel. "Is
he really so charming? Why is he invited out so often?" he asked
one of his son's noble hostesses; but there was no satisfactory
answer. Yet he took pride in Marcel's literary career, such as it
was, and consoled himself for his own failure to enter the
Academy of Moral Sciences with the generous prophecy: "Marcel
will belong to the Academie Fran~aise!"
On at least one occasion he made use of Marcel's talent. In his
speech on 7 June 1903 at the unveiling of the monument to
Pasteur at Chartres he compared the discoverer of the bacterial
origin of disease to one of the sculptures in the cathedral. "In
the porch of Chartres you will see a figure whose name is Magas,. the magician of the Encyclopaedia of Chartres. Magas symbolises
alchemy: he is the master of the science which summons from the
domain of mystery so many extraordinary dreams, and trans-
plants them into the real world we know." His audience must
have been astonished by Dr Proust's knowledge of iconography;
but we can hardly doubt that these Ruskinian words were written
for him by his son. Dr Proust himself, however, may be given sole
credit for the moving and eminently Proustian opening of his