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60 - Swanns Way by Marcel Proust · Swanns Way

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  Speaker 1: Part four, Section six of Swan's Way by Marcel Preus,
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  Speaker 1: translated by C. K. Scott Moncrief eighteen eighty nine to
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  Speaker 1: nineteen thirty. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
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  Speaker 1: Recording by expatriate in Bangor, Maine. Part four place names
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  Speaker 1: the name. Section six. Those even who did not know her,
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  Speaker 1: were warned by something exceptional, something beyond the normal, in her,
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  Speaker 1: or perhaps by a telepathic suggestion such as would move
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  Speaker 1: an ignorant audience to a frenzy of applause. When Berma
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  Speaker 1: was sublime, that she must be someone well known. They
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  Speaker 1: would ask one another who is she? Or sometimes would
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  Speaker 1: interrogate a passing stranger, or would make a mental note
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  Speaker 1: of how she was dressed, so as to fix her
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  Speaker 1: identity later in the mind of a friend better informed
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  Speaker 1: than themselves, who would at once enlighten them. Another pair,
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  Speaker 1: half stopping in their walk, would exchange, you know who
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  Speaker 1: that is, Madame Swan, That conveys nothing to you, Odette
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  Speaker 1: de Crecy, then Odette de Cracye. I thought as much,
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  Speaker 1: those great sad eyes. But I say, you know she
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  Speaker 1: can't be as young as she was once, eh. I
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  Speaker 1: remember I had her on the day that McMahon went,
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  Speaker 1: I shouldn't remind her of it if I were you.
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  Speaker 1: She is now Madame Swan, the wife of a gentleman
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  Speaker 1: in the jockey club, a friend of the Prince of Wales.
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  Speaker 1: Apart from that, though she is wonderful still. Oh, but
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  Speaker 1: you ought to have known her then, gad, she was lovely.
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  Speaker 1: She lived in a very odd little house with a
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  Speaker 1: lot of Chinese stuff. I remember we were bothered all
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  Speaker 1: the time by the newsboys shouting outside. In the end
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  Speaker 1: she made me get up and go. Without listening to
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  Speaker 1: these memories, I could feel all about her, the indistinct
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  Speaker 1: murmur of fame. My heart leaped with impatience when I
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  Speaker 1: thought that a few seconds must still e last before
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  Speaker 1: all these people, among whom I was dismayed not to
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  Speaker 1: find a certain mulatto banker who, or so I felt,
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  Speaker 1: had a contempt for me, or to see the unknown
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  Speaker 1: youth to whom they had not so far been paying
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  Speaker 1: the slightest attention salute without knowing her. It was true,
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  Speaker 1: but I thought that I had sufficient authority, since my
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  Speaker 1: parents knew her husband, that I was her daughter's playmate.
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  Speaker 1: This woman whose reputation for beauty for misconduct and for
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  Speaker 1: elegance was universal. But I was now close to Madame Swann.
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  Speaker 1: I pulled off my hat with so lavish, so prolonged
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  Speaker 1: the gesture that she could not repress a smile. People laughed.
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  Speaker 1: As for her. She had never seen me with Jilbert.
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  Speaker 1: She did not know my name, But I was for
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  Speaker 1: her like one of the keepers in the bois, like
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  Speaker 1: the boatman, or the ducks on the lake to which
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  Speaker 1: she threw scraps of bread, one of the minor personages, familiar,
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  Speaker 1: nameless as devoid of individual character, as a stage hand
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  Speaker 1: in a theater. Of her daily walks abroad. On certain days,
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  Speaker 1: when I had missed her in the Alee de a Cassias,
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  Speaker 1: I would be so fortunate as to meet her in
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  Speaker 1: the Allee de la Reine Marguerite, where women went who
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  Speaker 1: wished to be alone, or to appear to be wishing
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  Speaker 1: to be alone. She would not be alone for long,
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  Speaker 1: being soon overtaken by some man or other, often in
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  Speaker 1: a great tile hat, whom I did not know, and
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  Speaker 1: who would talk to her for some time while their
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  Speaker 1: two carriages crawled behind. That sense of the complexity of
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  Speaker 1: the Bois de Bouillon, which made it an artificial place,
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  Speaker 1: and in the zoological or mythological sense of the word
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  Speaker 1: a garden, I captured again this year as I crossed
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  Speaker 1: it on my way to Trianon on one of those
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  Speaker 1: mornings early in November when in Paris. If we stay indoors,
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  Speaker 1: being so near and yet prevented from witnessing the transformation
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  Speaker 1: scene of autumn, which is drawing so rapidly to a
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  Speaker 1: close without our assistance, we feel a regret for the
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  Speaker 1: fallen leaves that becomes a fever and may even keep
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  Speaker 1: us awake at night. Into my closed room, they have
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  Speaker 1: been drifting already for a month, summoned there by my
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  Speaker 1: desire to see them, slipping between my thoughts and the object,
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  Speaker 1: whatever it might be, upon which I was trying to concentrate,
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  Speaker 1: them whirling in front of me like those brown spots
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  Speaker 1: that sometimes whatever we may be looking at, will seem
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  Speaker 1: to be dancing or swimming before our eyes. And on
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  Speaker 1: that morning, not hearing the splash of the rain, as
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  Speaker 1: on the previous days, seeing the smile of fine weather
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  Speaker 1: at the corners of my drawn curtains, as from the
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  Speaker 1: corners of closed lips, may escape the secret of their
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  Speaker 1: happiness I had felt that I could actually see those
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  Speaker 1: yellow leaves with the light shining through them, in their
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  Speaker 1: supreme beauty, and being no more able to restrain myself
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  Speaker 1: from going to look at the trees than in my
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  Speaker 1: childhood's days when the wind howled in the chimney, I
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  Speaker 1: had been able to resist the longing to visit the sea.
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  Speaker 1: I had risen and left the house to go to Trianon.
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  Speaker 1: Passing through the Bois de Bouillon, it was the hour
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  Speaker 1: and the season in which the Boiss seems perhaps most multiform,
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  Speaker 1: not only because it is then most divided, but because
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  Speaker 1: it is divided in a different way, even in the
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  Speaker 1: unwooded parts, where the horizon is large. Here and there
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  Speaker 1: against the background of a dark and distant massive trees,
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  Speaker 1: now leafless or still keeping their summer foliage unchanged, a
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  Speaker 1: double row of orange red chestnuts seemed as in a
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  Speaker 1: picture just begun to be the only thing painted so
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  Speaker 1: far by an artist who had not laid any color
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  Speaker 1: on the rest, and to be offering their cloister in
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  Speaker 1: full daylight, for the casual exercise of the human figures
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  Speaker 1: that would be added to the picture later on. Farther off,
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  Speaker 1: at a place where the trees were still all green.
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  Speaker 1: One alone, small, stunted, lopped but stubborn in its resistance,
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  Speaker 1: was tossing in the breeze, an ugly mane of red. Elsewhere,
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  Speaker 1: again might be seen the first awakening of this maytime
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  Speaker 1: of the leaves and those of an M. Pilopsis, a
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  Speaker 1: smiling miracle like a red hornworn flowering in winter, had
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  Speaker 1: that very morning all come out, so to speak, in blossom,
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  Speaker 1: and the Bois had the temporary, unfinished artificial look of
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  Speaker 1: a nursery garden or a park in which, either for
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  Speaker 1: some botanic purpose or in preparation for a festival, there
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  Speaker 1: have been embedded among the trees of commoner growth which
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  Speaker 1: have not yet been uprooted and transplanted. Elsewhere, a few
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  Speaker 1: rare specimens with fantastic foliage, which seemed to be clearing
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  Speaker 1: all round them in empty space, making room, giving air,
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  Speaker 1: diffusing light. Thus it was the time of year at
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  Speaker 1: which the Bois de Bouillon displays more separate characteristics, assembles,
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  Speaker 1: more distinct elements in a composite hole than at any other.
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  Speaker 1: It was also the time of day. In places where
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  Speaker 1: the trees still kept their leaves, they seemed to have
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  Speaker 1: undergone an alteration of their substance from the point at
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  Speaker 1: which they were touched by the sun's light, still at
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  Speaker 1: this hour in the morning, almost horizontal, as it would
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  Speaker 1: be again a few hours later, at the moment when
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  Speaker 1: just as dust began, it would flame up, like a lamp,
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  Speaker 1: project afar over the leaves, a warm and artificial glow,
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  Speaker 1: and set ablaze the few topmost boughs of a tree
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  Speaker 1: that would itself remain unchanged, a somber incombustible candelabrum beneath
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  Speaker 1: its flaming crest. At one spot, the light grew solid
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  Speaker 1: as a brick wall, and like a piece of yellow
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  Speaker 1: Persian masonry patterned in blue, daubed coarsely upon the sky
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  Speaker 1: the leaves of the chestnuts. At another, it cut them
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  Speaker 1: off from the sky, towards which they stretched out their
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  Speaker 1: curling golden fingers. Halfway up the trunk of a tree
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  Speaker 1: draped with wild vine, the light had grafted and brought
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  Speaker 1: to blossom, too dazzling to be clearly distinguished, an enormous
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  Speaker 1: posy of red flowers, apparently perhaps of a new variety
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  Speaker 1: of carnation. The different parts of the bois so easily
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  Speaker 1: confounded in summer, in the density and monotonya their universal
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  Speaker 1: green were now clearly divided. A patch of brightness indicated
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  Speaker 1: the approach to almost every one of them, or else
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  Speaker 1: a splendid mass of foliage stood out before it, like
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  Speaker 1: an oriflowme, I could make out, as on a colored map, Armenonvi,
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  Speaker 1: the pre Catalan, Madrid, the racecourse, and the shore of
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  Speaker 1: the lake. Here and there would appear some meaningless erection,
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  Speaker 1: a sham grotto, a mill for which the trees made
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  Speaker 1: room by drawing away from it, or which was borne
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  Speaker 1: upon the soft green platform of a grassy lawn. I
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  Speaker 1: could feel that the bois was not really a wood,
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  Speaker 1: that it existed for a purpose alien to the life
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  Speaker 1: of its trees. My sense of exaltation was due not
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  Speaker 1: only to admiration of the autumn tints, but to a
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  Speaker 1: bodily desire, ample source of a joy which the heart
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  Speaker 1: feels at first without being conscious of its cause, without
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  Speaker 1: understanding that it results from no external impulse. Thus I
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  Speaker 1: gazed at the trees with an unced satisfied longing, which
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  Speaker 1: went beyond them, and without my knowledge, directed itself towards
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  Speaker 1: that masterpiece of beautiful strolling women, which the trees inframed
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  Speaker 1: for a few hours every day I walked towards the
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  Speaker 1: Alee de Acassias. I passed through forest groves in which
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  Speaker 1: the morning light, breaking them into new sections, locked and trimmed.
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  Speaker 1: The trees united different trunks in marriage, made nosegays of
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  Speaker 1: their branches. It would skillfully draw towards it a pair
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  Speaker 1: of trees, making deft use of the sharp chisel of
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  Speaker 1: light and shade. It would cut away from each of
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  Speaker 1: them half of its trunken branches, and, weaving together the
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  Speaker 1: two halves that remained, would make of them either a
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  Speaker 1: single pillar of shade defined by the surrounding light, or
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  Speaker 1: a single luminous phantom, whose artificial quivering contour was encompassed
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  Speaker 1: in a network of inky shadows. When a ray of
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  Speaker 1: sunshine gilded the highest branches, they seemed soaked and still
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  Speaker 1: dripping with a sparkling moisture, to have emerged alone from
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  Speaker 1: the liquid, emerald green atmosphere in which the whole grove
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  Speaker 1: was plunged as though beneath the sea. For the trees
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  Speaker 1: continued to live by their own vitality, and when they
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  Speaker 1: had no longer any leaves that vitality gleamed more brightly
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  Speaker 1: still from the nap of green velvet that carpeted their trunks,
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  Speaker 1: or in the white enamel of the globes of mistletoe
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  Speaker 1: that were scattered all the way up to the topmost
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  Speaker 1: branches of the poplars, rounded as are the sun and
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  Speaker 1: moon in Michelangelo's creation, but forced for so many years
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  Speaker 1: now by a sort of grafting process, to share the
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  Speaker 1: life of feminine humanity. They called to my mind the
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  Speaker 1: figure of the dryad, the fair worldling, swiftly walking, brightly colored,
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  Speaker 1: whom they sheltered with their branches as she passed beneath them,
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  Speaker 1: and obliged to acknowledge as they themselves acknowledged the power
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  Speaker 1: of the season. They recalled to me the happy day
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  Speaker 1: when I was young and had faith, when I would
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  Speaker 1: hasten eagerly to the spots where masterpieces of female elegance
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  Speaker 1: would be incarnate for a few moments beneath the unconscious
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  Speaker 1: accommodating boughs. But the beauty for which the firs and
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  Speaker 1: acasias of the Bois deu Brillon made me long more
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  Speaker 1: disquieting in that respect than the chestnuts and lilacs of
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  Speaker 1: trianon which I was going to see, was not fixed
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  Speaker 1: somewhere outside myself, in the relics of an historical period,
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  Speaker 1: in works of art, in a little temple of love,
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  Speaker 1: at whose door was piled an oblation of autumn leaves
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  Speaker 1: ribbed with gold. I reached the shore of the lake
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  Speaker 1: I walked on as far as the pigeon shooting ground.
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  Speaker 1: The idea of perfection which I had within me, I
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  Speaker 1: had bestowed in that other time upon the height of
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  Speaker 1: a victoria, upon the raking thinness of those horses, frenzied
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  Speaker 1: in light as wasps upon the wing with bloodshot eyes,
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  Speaker 1: like the cruel steeds of diomed which, now smitten by
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  Speaker 1: a desire to see again what I had once loved,
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  Speaker 1: as ardent as the desire that had driven me many
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  Speaker 1: years before along the same paths I wished to see
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  Speaker 1: renewed before my eyes. At the moment, with Madame Swan's
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  Speaker 1: enormous coachman, supervised by a groom no bigger than his fist,
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  Speaker 1: and as infantile as Saint George in the picture, endeavored
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  Speaker 1: to curb the ardor of the flying steel tipped pinions
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  Speaker 1: with which they thundered along the ground. Alas there was
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  Speaker 1: nothing now but motor cars, driven each by a mustache mechanic,
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  Speaker 1: with a tall footman towering by his side. I wished
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  Speaker 1: to hold before my bodily eyes, that I might know
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  Speaker 1: whether they were indeed as charming as they appeared to
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  Speaker 1: the eyes of memory. Little hats so low crowned as
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  Speaker 1: to seem no more than garlands about the brows of women.
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  Speaker 1: All the hats now were immense covered with fruits and flowers,
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  Speaker 1: and all manner of birds. In place of the lovely
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  Speaker 1: gowns in which Madame Soan walked like a queen, appeared
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  Speaker 1: Greco saxon tunics with tanagra folds, or sometimes in the
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  Speaker 1: Directois style, liberty chiffons sprinkled with flowers like sheets of wallpaper.
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  Speaker 1: On the heads of the gentlemen who might have been
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  Speaker 1: eligible to stroll with Madame Swoan. In the Aleet de
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  Speaker 1: la reine Marguerite, I found not the gray tile hats
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  Speaker 1: of old, nor any other kind. They walked the bois
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  Speaker 1: bare headed, and seeing all these new elements of the spectacle,
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  Speaker 1: I had no longer the faith which applied to them
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  Speaker 1: would have given them consistency unity life. They passed in
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  Speaker 1: a scattered sequence before me at random, without reality, containing
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  Speaker 1: in themselves no beauty that my eyes might have endeavored,
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  Speaker 1: as in the old days, to extract from them and
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  Speaker 1: to compose in a picture. They were just women in
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  Speaker 1: whose elegance I had no belief, and whose clothes seemed
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  Speaker 1: to me unimportant. But when a belief vanishes, there survives
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  Speaker 1: it more and more ardently, so as to cloak the
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  Speaker 1: absence of the power now lost to us, of imparting
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  Speaker 1: reality to new phenomena, an idolatrous attachment to the old
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  Speaker 1: things which our belief in them did once animate, as
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  Speaker 1: if it was in that belief and not in ourselves,
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  Speaker 1: that the divine spark resided, and as if our present
• 14:23
  Speaker 1: incredulity had a contingent cause the death of the gods.
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  Speaker 1: Oh horrible, I exclaimed to myself. Does anyone really imagine
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  Speaker 1: that these motor cars are as smart as the old carriage?
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  Speaker 1: And pair? I dare say, I am too old now,
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  Speaker 1: But I was not intended for a world in which
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  Speaker 1: women shackle themselves in garments that are not even made
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  Speaker 1: of cloth. To what purpose shall I walk among these trees?
• 14:49
  Speaker 1: If there is nothing left now of the assembly that
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  Speaker 1: used to meet beneath the delicate tracery of reddening leaves.
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  Speaker 1: If vulgarity and fatuity have supplanted the exquisite thing that
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  Speaker 1: once their branches framed, oh horrible. My consolation is to
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  Speaker 1: think of the women whom I have known in the past,
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  Speaker 1: now that there is no standard left of elegance. But
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  Speaker 1: how can the people who watch these dreadful creatures hobble
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  Speaker 1: by beneath hats on which have been heaped the spoils
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  Speaker 1: of aviary or garden bed? How can they imagine the
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  Speaker 1: charm that there was in the sight of Madame Swan,
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  Speaker 1: crowned with a close fitting lilac bonnet, or with a
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  Speaker 1: tiny hat from which rose stiffly above her head. A
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  Speaker 1: single iris could I ever have made them understand the
• 15:34
  Speaker 1: emotion that I used to feel on winter mornings when
• 15:37
  Speaker 1: I met Madame Swan on foot in an otter skin
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  Speaker 1: coat with a woolen cap from which stuck out two
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  Speaker 1: blade like partridge feathers, but enveloped also in the deliberate
• 15:49
  Speaker 1: artificial warmth of her own house, which was suggested by
• 15:52
  Speaker 1: nothing more than the bunch of violets crushed into her bosom,
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  Speaker 1: whose flowering vivid and blue against the gray sky, the
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  Speaker 1: freezing air. The naked boughs had the same charming effect
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  Speaker 1: of using the season and the weather nearly as a setting,
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  Speaker 1: and of living actually in a human atmosphere, in the
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  Speaker 1: atmosphere of this woman, as had in the vases and
• 16:16
  Speaker 1: bopots of her drawing room, beside the blazing fire, in
• 16:19
  Speaker 1: front of the silk covered sofa, the flowers that looked
• 16:23
  Speaker 1: out through closed windows at the falling snow. But it
• 16:26
  Speaker 1: would not have sufficed me that the costumes alone should
• 16:29
  Speaker 1: still have been the same as in those distant years,
• 16:32
  Speaker 1: because of the solidarity that binds together the different parts
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  Speaker 1: of a general impression, parts that our memory keeps in
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  Speaker 1: a balanced hole, of which we are not permitted to
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  Speaker 1: subtract or to decline any fraction. I should have liked
• 16:46
  Speaker 1: to be able to pass the rest of the day
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  Speaker 1: with one of those women over a cup of tea
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  Speaker 1: in a little house with dark painted walls, as Madame
• 16:54
  Speaker 1: Swans were still in the year after that in which
• 16:58
  Speaker 1: the first part of this story ends, against which would
• 17:01
  Speaker 1: glow the orange flame, the red combustion, the pink and
• 17:05
  Speaker 1: white flickering of her chrysanthemums, in the twilight of a
• 17:09
  Speaker 1: November evening, in moments similar to those in which, as
• 17:12
  Speaker 1: we shall see, I had not managed to discover the
• 17:15
  Speaker 1: pleasures for which I longed, But now, albeit they had
• 17:19
  Speaker 1: led to nothing, those moments struck me as having been
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  Speaker 1: charming enough in themselves, I sought to find them again
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  Speaker 1: as I remembered them, alas there was nothing now but
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  Speaker 1: flats decorated in the Louis the sixteenth style, all white
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  Speaker 1: paint with hortensias and blue enamel. Moreover, people did not
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  Speaker 1: return to Paris now until much later. Madame Swan would
• 17:42
  Speaker 1: have written to me from a country house that she
• 17:44
  Speaker 1: would not be in town before February. Had I asked
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  Speaker 1: her to reconstruct for me the elements of that memory,
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  Speaker 1: which I felt to belong to a distant era, to
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  Speaker 1: a date in time towards which it was forbidden me
• 17:56
  Speaker 1: to ascend again the fatal slope, the elements of that
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  Speaker 1: longing which had become itself as inaccessible as the pleasure
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  Speaker 1: that it had once vainly pursued. And I should have
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  Speaker 1: required also that they be the same women, those whose
• 18:11
  Speaker 1: costume interested me, because at a time when I still
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  Speaker 1: had faith, my imagination had individualized them, and had provided
• 18:19
  Speaker 1: each of them with a legend alas in the Acacia
• 18:23
  Speaker 1: Avenue the Myrtle alley, I did see some of them again,
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  Speaker 1: grown old, no more now than grim specters of what
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  Speaker 1: once they had been wandering to and fro in desperate
• 18:35
  Speaker 1: search of heaven. Knew what through the virgilian groves they
• 18:39
  Speaker 1: had long fled. And still I stood vainly questioning the
• 18:42
  Speaker 1: deserted paths. The sun's face was hidden. Nature began again
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  Speaker 1: to reign over the Bois, from which had vanished all
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  Speaker 1: trace of the idea that it was the alesioned garden
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  Speaker 1: of woman. Above the jim Crack windmill, the real sky
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  Speaker 1: was gray. The wind wrinkled the surface of the Grand
• 19:00
  Speaker 1: Lais in little wavelengths, like a real lake. Large birds
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  Speaker 1: passed swiftly over the Bois as over a real wood,
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  Speaker 1: and with shrill cries, perched one after another on the
• 19:12
  Speaker 1: great oaks, which, beneath their druidical crown, and with dodonaic majesty,
• 19:18
  Speaker 1: seemed to proclaim the unpeopled vacancy of this estranged forest,
• 19:22
  Speaker 1: and help me to understand how paradoxical it is to
• 19:26
  Speaker 1: seek in reality for the pictures that are stored in
• 19:29
  Speaker 1: one's memory, which must inevitably lose the charm that comes
• 19:33
  Speaker 1: to them from memory itself and from their not being
• 19:36
  Speaker 1: apprehended by the senses. The reality that I had known
• 19:40
  Speaker 1: no longer existed. It sufficed that Madame Swann did not
• 19:44
  Speaker 1: appear in the same attire and at the same moment,
• 19:48
  Speaker 1: for the whole avenue to be altered. The places that
• 19:51
  Speaker 1: we have known belong now only to the little world
• 19:54
  Speaker 1: of space on which we map them for our own convenience.
• 19:58
  Speaker 1: None of them was ever more than a thin slice
• 20:01
  Speaker 1: held between the contiguous impressions that composed our life at
• 20:05
  Speaker 1: that time. Remembrance of a particular form is but regret
• 20:10
  Speaker 1: for a particular moment, and houses, roads, avenues are as
• 20:14
  Speaker 1: fugitive alas as the years. End of Part four, Section
• 20:21
  Speaker 1: six recording by expatriate in Bangor, Maine. End of Swan's
• 20:27
  Speaker 1: Way by Marcel Proust, translated by C. K. Scott Montrieve