Hotel Ritz Rendezvous
__________________
By the middle of 1918—
The last summer of World War I
Miss Proust had a compelling reason
For wanting to remain in Paris:
“I’d met at the Ritz Hotel—
A young waiter named Henri Rochat
Who had simply captivated me, you
Know how young waiters can be…
Camille Wixler another Ritz waiter—
Swiss like Rochat, introduced me to
The boy who was only nineteen back
Then and I fell in love with him
Rochat had gone to school—
At the Ecole hôtelière de Lausanne and
Had come to Paris as an apprentice
Under Olivier Dabescat
One day Dabescat told Rochat—
That I’d noticed him and wondered
Whether he would like to wait my table
Which the young man gladly accepted
I gave enormous tips to waiters—
The personnel at the Ritz were expected
Of course, to cater to the whims of tardy diners
And my whims tended toward male romance
After the meal in the small salon—
I consumed a dozen or so demitasses
Of coffee and then asked for more, chatting
With young Henry Rochat most intimately
I even offered the young man—
An occupation better suited to his abilities
With the position as my personal secretary
Sometime in late 1918 or early 1919
Rochat had no qualifications—
For such work, was taciturn & uneducated,
Couldn’t write or speak French, and his
Pronunciation and spelling were poor
Later there were no photographs—
And only vague physical descriptions of
Young exquisite Rochat who was not only
Handsome, but tres well endowed
He had a fair complexion & brown hair—
And I contrasted Rochat's darker mane with
Ernest Forsgren's blond good looks in gossipy
Letters to the Duchess of Clermont-Tonnerre
Everyone in Paris knew about it—
My sexual practices generally considered
Rather perverse and embarrassing but
I managed to stay out of the newspapers
I often tipped the maître d'hôtel—
A few hundred francs for being discrete
When Rochat & I changed from street clothes
Into Ritz formal attire, he looked very sharp
I bought him handsome suits to wear—
And silk underclothes of the finest quality
When other waiters asked how he could afford
Such indulgencies and expensive clothes…
Rochat answered frankly & full of pride—
That he did so with the aid of Monsieur Proust
Attaching himself to me with all the sheer
Tenacity of a barnacle onto a rock
I had him for two and a half years—
But rather than him being in the position
Of a writer’s service, it was me, mon Cheri,
That slaved away pleasing the young man
It cost me a lot of money—
Money that I was forced to borrow or
Raise by selling off my few remaining
Investments but it was worth it
Céleste agrees that I recruited him—
Being naïve or perhaps overly protective
Taking young Rochat under my wing
As an act of charity for the poor youth
I used to say to Céleste—
"Rochat thinks he’s making love, but he’s
Always so surly, sullen, sulky & moody…
Which unfortunately is just my type.”
Rochat was jealous as well—
Not letting me procure other young men
For sexual trysts at Boulevard Haussmann
For takeout dinners from the Ritz
He even told me that a young waiter—
I had the hots for by the name of Vanelli
Wasn’t my type and wouldn’t accept
Any of my lewd, sexual propositions
Rochat was simply astounded—
Finding young Vanelli in bed with me
And from then on he was very suspicious
Of any other possible favorites of mine
Rochat was so upset that he—
Sailed for South America in June 1921
Knowing that I’d grown weary of him
Finding a post in faraway Buenos Aires
You know how tricks and favorites—
Simply come & go, without leaving any
Traces in the documents or tender gay
Memories that one keeps over the years
Lucien Daudet describes an evening—
At the Ritz with all the openly gay diners
Like Count Antoine Sala and his friends
Camping it up at tables in the dining room
I preferred to dine at the Ritz alone—
When the service was exceptionally good
When the waiters didn’t have to flee
Towards the kitchen except to serve dishes
There was the Place Vendôme, as course—
But I preferred the smooth service at the Ritz
Late at night when my own courting of waiters
Wasn’t inconvenienced by indiscreet flirtations
My favorite stratagem for enticing bellhops—
I’d ring for the bellboy and then begin washing
My hands, so that when the boy entered the room,
I was leaning over the sink, saying to him:
"My dear young friend, I have a tip for you—
But I can't give it to you because my hands
Are wet, so please reach into my pants
Pockets & get it out, won’t you please?”
Maurice Duplay once caught me—
In a compromising position with a
Handsome young thug when he arrived in
My modest apartment unannounced:
"I was visibly disturbed by them—
The young thug didn’t even look up and
Kept whipping Proust’s ass with his belt,
Calling him a fucking no-good faggot!!!”
“I closed the door awkwardly—
Causing some papers to slide off the desk,
Proust’s face was crimson but his pale
White ass was exceptionally black & blue!!!”
Duplay noted the youth's thuggish face—
His thick black hair parted in the middle,
Completely nude and erect, obviously not
Faking it, but rather the hoodlum type
"Marcel, didn’t even look up at me,”—
Duplay said, gossiping about the louche
Incident with the bored Baron de Charlus
Who simply yawned, snorting more coke
“Rough trade is so difficult to get—
These days, my dear Duplay,” Charlus said,
“All the cute ones are dead soldiers now or
Just cripples left over from the war.”
Fortunately, that’s all the information—
That Duplay gives with no hints of the
Approximate date of his intrusion or its
Inclusion in À la recherche du temps perdu
__________________
By the middle of 1918—
The last summer of World War I
Miss Proust had a compelling reason
For wanting to remain in Paris:
“I’d met at the Ritz Hotel—
A young waiter named Henri Rochat
Who had simply captivated me, you
Know how young waiters can be…
Camille Wixler another Ritz waiter—
Swiss like Rochat, introduced me to
The boy who was only nineteen back
Then and I fell in love with him
Rochat had gone to school—
At the Ecole hôtelière de Lausanne and
Had come to Paris as an apprentice
Under Olivier Dabescat
One day Dabescat told Rochat—
That I’d noticed him and wondered
Whether he would like to wait my table
Which the young man gladly accepted
I gave enormous tips to waiters—
The personnel at the Ritz were expected
Of course, to cater to the whims of tardy diners
And my whims tended toward male romance
After the meal in the small salon—
I consumed a dozen or so demitasses
Of coffee and then asked for more, chatting
With young Henry Rochat most intimately
I even offered the young man—
An occupation better suited to his abilities
With the position as my personal secretary
Sometime in late 1918 or early 1919
Rochat had no qualifications—
For such work, was taciturn & uneducated,
Couldn’t write or speak French, and his
Pronunciation and spelling were poor
Later there were no photographs—
And only vague physical descriptions of
Young exquisite Rochat who was not only
Handsome, but tres well endowed
He had a fair complexion & brown hair—
And I contrasted Rochat's darker mane with
Ernest Forsgren's blond good looks in gossipy
Letters to the Duchess of Clermont-Tonnerre
Everyone in Paris knew about it—
My sexual practices generally considered
Rather perverse and embarrassing but
I managed to stay out of the newspapers
I often tipped the maître d'hôtel—
A few hundred francs for being discrete
When Rochat & I changed from street clothes
Into Ritz formal attire, he looked very sharp
I bought him handsome suits to wear—
And silk underclothes of the finest quality
When other waiters asked how he could afford
Such indulgencies and expensive clothes…
Rochat answered frankly & full of pride—
That he did so with the aid of Monsieur Proust
Attaching himself to me with all the sheer
Tenacity of a barnacle onto a rock
I had him for two and a half years—
But rather than him being in the position
Of a writer’s service, it was me, mon Cheri,
That slaved away pleasing the young man
It cost me a lot of money—
Money that I was forced to borrow or
Raise by selling off my few remaining
Investments but it was worth it
Céleste agrees that I recruited him—
Being naïve or perhaps overly protective
Taking young Rochat under my wing
As an act of charity for the poor youth
I used to say to Céleste—
"Rochat thinks he’s making love, but he’s
Always so surly, sullen, sulky & moody…
Which unfortunately is just my type.”
Rochat was jealous as well—
Not letting me procure other young men
For sexual trysts at Boulevard Haussmann
For takeout dinners from the Ritz
He even told me that a young waiter—
I had the hots for by the name of Vanelli
Wasn’t my type and wouldn’t accept
Any of my lewd, sexual propositions
Rochat was simply astounded—
Finding young Vanelli in bed with me
And from then on he was very suspicious
Of any other possible favorites of mine
Rochat was so upset that he—
Sailed for South America in June 1921
Knowing that I’d grown weary of him
Finding a post in faraway Buenos Aires
You know how tricks and favorites—
Simply come & go, without leaving any
Traces in the documents or tender gay
Memories that one keeps over the years
Lucien Daudet describes an evening—
At the Ritz with all the openly gay diners
Like Count Antoine Sala and his friends
Camping it up at tables in the dining room
I preferred to dine at the Ritz alone—
When the service was exceptionally good
When the waiters didn’t have to flee
Towards the kitchen except to serve dishes
There was the Place Vendôme, as course—
But I preferred the smooth service at the Ritz
Late at night when my own courting of waiters
Wasn’t inconvenienced by indiscreet flirtations
My favorite stratagem for enticing bellhops—
I’d ring for the bellboy and then begin washing
My hands, so that when the boy entered the room,
I was leaning over the sink, saying to him:
"My dear young friend, I have a tip for you—
But I can't give it to you because my hands
Are wet, so please reach into my pants
Pockets & get it out, won’t you please?”
Maurice Duplay once caught me—
In a compromising position with a
Handsome young thug when he arrived in
My modest apartment unannounced:
"I was visibly disturbed by them—
The young thug didn’t even look up and
Kept whipping Proust’s ass with his belt,
Calling him a fucking no-good faggot!!!”
“I closed the door awkwardly—
Causing some papers to slide off the desk,
Proust’s face was crimson but his pale
White ass was exceptionally black & blue!!!”
Duplay noted the youth's thuggish face—
His thick black hair parted in the middle,
Completely nude and erect, obviously not
Faking it, but rather the hoodlum type
"Marcel, didn’t even look up at me,”—
Duplay said, gossiping about the louche
Incident with the bored Baron de Charlus
Who simply yawned, snorting more coke
“Rough trade is so difficult to get—
These days, my dear Duplay,” Charlus said,
“All the cute ones are dead soldiers now or
Just cripples left over from the war.”
Fortunately, that’s all the information—
That Duplay gives with no hints of the
Approximate date of his intrusion or its
Inclusion in À la recherche du temps perdu
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