Bildungsromans; France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Villages -- France -- Fiction
Once I was just making up my mind, but she was "in the press", another
time in the hands of the hairdresser, an elderly gentleman who never did
anything for the women except pour oil on their loosened hair and then
comb it. And I grew tired of waiting, even though several of the humbler
frequenters of the place (working girls, they called themselves, but
they always seemed to be out of work), had come to mix drinks for me and
to hold long conversations to which, despite the gravity of the subjects
discussed, the partial or total nudity of the speakers gave an
attractive simplicity. I ceased moreover to go to this house because,
anxious to present a token of my good-will to the woman who kept it and
was in need of furniture, I had given her several pieces, notably a big
sofa, which I had inherited from my aunt Léonie. I used never to see
them, for want of space had prevented my parents from taking them in at
home, and they were stored in a warehouse. But as soon as I discovered
them again in the house where these women were putting them to their own
uses, all the virtues that one had imbibed in the air of my aunt's room
at Combray became apparent to me, tortured by the cruel contact to which
I had abandoned them in their helplessness! Had I outraged the dead, I
should not have suffered such remorse. I returned no more to visit their
new mistress, for they seemed to me to be alive, and to be appealing to
me, like those objects, apparently inanimate, in a Persian fairy tale,
in which are embodied human souls that are undergoing martyrdom and
plead for deliverance. Besides, as our memory presents things to us, as
a rule, not in their chronological sequence but as it were by a
reflexion in which the order of the parts is reversed, I remembered only
long afterwards that it was upon that same sofa that, many years before,
I had tasted for the first time the sweets of love with one of my girl
cousins, with whom I had not known where to go until she somewhat rashly
suggested our taking advantage of a moment in which aunt Léonie had
left her room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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