Bildungsromans; France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Villages -- France -- Fiction
can, by our belief that they have an existence of their own, give to
certain of the things that we see a soul which they afterwards keep,
which they develop in our minds. All the ideas that I had formed of the
hours, different from those that exist for other men, passed by the
Swanns in that house which was to their life what the body is to the
soul, and must give expression to its singularity, all those ideas were
rearranged, amalgamated--equally disturbing and indefinite
throughout--in the arrangement of the furniture, the thickness of the
carpets, the position of the windows, the ministrations of the servants.
When, after luncheon, we went in the sunshine to drink our coffee in the
great bay window of the drawing-room, while Mme. Swann was asking me how
many lumps of sugar I took, it was not only the silk-covered stool which
she pushed towards me that emitted, with the agonising charm that I had
long ago felt--first among the pink hawthorn and then beside the clump
of laurels--in the name of Gilberte, the hostility that her parents had
shewn to me, which this little piece of furniture seemed to have so well
understood, to have so completely shared that I felt myself unworthy,
and found myself almost reluctant to set my feet on its defenceless
cushion; a personality, a soul was latent there which linked it secretly
to the light of two o'clock in the afternoon, so different from any
other light, in the gulf in which there played about our feet its
sparkling tide of gold out of which the bluish crags of sofas and
vaporous carpet beaches emerged like enchanted islands; and there was
nothing, even to the painting by Rubens hung above the chimneypiece,
that was not endowed with the same quality and almost the same intensity
of charm as the laced boots of M. Swann, and that hooded cape, the like
of which I had so dearly longed to wear, whereas now Odette would beg
her husband to go and put on another, so as to appear more smart,
whenever I did them the honour of driving out with them. She too went
away to change her dress--not heeding my protestations that no "outdoor"
clothes could be nearly so becoming as the marvellous garment of
_crêpe-de-Chine_ or silk, old rose, cherry-coloured, Tiepolo pink,
white, mauve, green, red or yellow, plain or patterned, in which Mme.
Swann had sat down to luncheon and which she was now going to take off.
When I assured her that she ought to go out in that costume, she
laughed, either in scorn of my ignorance or from delight in my
compliment. She apologised for having so many wrappers, explaining that
they were the only kind of dress in which she felt comfortable, and left
us, to go and array herself in one of those regal toilets which imposed
their majesty on all beholders, and yet among which I was sometimes
summoned to decide which of them I preferred that she should put on.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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