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Updated: June 23, 2025
He was shrewd; he knew his father would not kill him until he had made his confession. "'Thank you, and excuse us, said Cambremer to the priest, when he saw Jacques' obstinacy. 'I wished to give a lesson to my son, and will ask you to say nothing about it. As for you, he said to Jacques, 'if you do not amend, the next offence you commit will be your last; I shall end it without confession.
Others think that Cambremer, that's his name, casts an evil fate on those who come within his air, and so they always look which way the wind is before they pass this rock. If it's nor'-westerly they wouldn't go by, no, not if their errand was to get a bit of the true cross; they'd go back, frightened.
They lived over there, look!" said the fisherman, going up a hillock to show us an island in the little Mediterranean between the dunes where we were walking and the marshes of Guerande. "You can see the house from here. It belonged to him. Jacquette Brouin and Cambremer had only one son, a lad they loved how shall I say? well, they loved him like an only child, they were mad about him.
The wife of Pierre Cambremer owed about one hundred francs to divers persons for the little girl, linen, clothes, and what not, and it so chanced that she had sewed a bit of Spanish gold into her mattress for a nest-egg toward paying off that money.
He'd have charted a large vessel and trawled for cod if he hadn't loved his wife so much; she was a fine woman, a Brouin of Guerande, with a good heart. She loved Cambremer so much that she couldn't bear to have her man leave her for longer than to fish sardine.
My late mother was servant in the family of a lawyer to whom Cambremer told all by order of the priest, who wouldn't give him absolution until he had done so at least, that's what the folks of the port say. My poor mother overheard Cambremer without trying to; the lawyer's kitchen was close to the office, and that's how she heard. She's dead, and so is the lawyer.
You will see some fine sights, Beatrix, and one very strange one; you will see Cambremer, a man who does penance on a rock for having wilfully killed his son. Oh! you are in a primitive land, among a primitive race of people, where men are moved by other sentiments than those of ordinary mortals. Calyste shall tell you the tale; it is a drama of the seashore."
It was in this fashion that Swann had often carried back his mind to the image of Odette, encountered in the theatre, on that first evening when he had no thought of ever seeing her again and that he now recalled the party at Mme. de Saint-Euverte's, at which he had introduced General de Frober-ville to Mme. de Cambremer.
Pierre Cambremer, as if it was ordained, came back that day in his boat; as he landed he saw a bit of paper floating in the water, and he picked it up, looked at it, and carried it to his wife, who fell down as if dead, seeing her own writing.
"Look, there's Swann talking to your Cambremer woman; over there, beside old Saint-Euverte, don't you see him? Ask him to introduce you. But hurry up, he seems to be just going!" "Did you notice how dreadfully ill he's looking?" asked the General. "My precious Charles? Ah, he's coming at last; I was beginning to think he didn't want to see me!"
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