He, it appeared, had been
that afternoon to an exhibition of the work of another artist, also a
friend of Mme. Verdurin, who had recently died, and Swann wished to find
out from him (for he valued his discrimination) whether there had really
been anything more in this later work than the virtuosity which had struck
people so forcibly in his earlier exhibitions.
"From that point of view it was extraordinary, but it did not seem to me
to be a form of art which you could call 'elevated,'" said Swann with a
smile.
"Elevated... to the height of an Institute!" interrupted Cottard, raising
his arms with mock solemnity. The whole table burst out laughing.
"What did I tell you?" said Mme. Verdurin to Forcheville. "It's simply
impossible to be serious with him. When you least expect it, out he comes
with a joke."
But she observed that Swann, and Swann alone, had not unbent. For one
thing he was none too well pleased with Cottard for having secured a laugh
at his expense in front of Forcheville. But the painter, instead of
replying in a way that might have interested Swann, as he would probably
have done had they been alone together, preferred to win the easy
admiration of the rest by exercising his wit upon the talent of their dead
friend.
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