Оглавление
Marcel Proust. In Search Of Lost Time. Volumes 1 to 7
SWANN’S WAY
Overture
Combray
Swann in Love
Place-Names: The Name
WITHIN A BUDDING GROVE
Seascape, with Frieze of Girls
Madame Swann at Home
Place-Names: The Place
THE GUERMANTES WAY
Chapter One
Chapter Two
CITIES OF THE PLAIN
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Two (continued)
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
THE CAPTIVE
Chapter One. Life with Albertine
Chapter Two. The Verdurins Quarrel with M. De Charlus
Chapter Two (continued)
Chapter Three. Flight of Albertine
THE SWEET CHEAT GONE
Chapter One. Grief and Oblivion
Chapter Two. Mademoiselle De Forcheville
Chapter Three. Venice
Chapter Four. A Fresh Light Upon Robert De Saint-Loup
TIME REGAINED
Chapter One. Tansonville
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Отрывок из книги
For a long time I used to go to bed early. Sometimes, when I had put out my candle, my eyes would close so quickly that I had not even time to say “I’m going to sleep.” And half an hour later the thought that it was time to go to sleep would awaken me; I would try to put away the book which, I imagined, was still in my hands, and to blow out the light; I had been thinking all the time, while I was asleep, of what I had just been reading, but my thoughts had run into a channel of their own, until I myself seemed actually to have become the subject of my book: a church, a quartet, the rivalry between François I and Charles V. This impression would persist for some moments after I was awake; it did not disturb my mind, but it lay like scales upon my eyes and prevented them from registering the fact that the candle was no longer burning. Then it would begin to seem unintelligible, as the thoughts of a former existence must be to a reincarnate spirit; the subject of my book would separate itself from me, leaving me free to choose whether I would form part of it or no; and at the same time my sight would return and I would be astonished to find myself in a state of darkness, pleasant and restful enough for the eyes, and even more, perhaps, for my mind, to which it appeared incomprehensible, without a cause, a matter dark indeed.
I would ask myself what o’clock it could be; I could hear the whistling of trains, which, now nearer and now farther off, punctuating the distance like the note of a bird in a forest, shewed me in perspective the deserted countryside through which a traveller would be hurrying towards the nearest station: the path that he followed being fixed for ever in his memory by the general excitement due to being in a strange place, to doing unusual things, to the last words of conversation, to farewells exchanged beneath an unfamiliar lamp which echoed still in his ears amid the silence of the night; and to the delightful prospect of being once again at home.
.....
“Isn’t he charming?” she asked Swann, “doesn’t he just understand it, his sonata, the little wretch? You never dreamed, did you, that a piano could be made to express all that? Upon my word, there’s everything in it except the piano! I’m caught out every time I hear it; I think I’m listening to an orchestra. Though it’s better, really, than an orchestra, more complete.”
The young pianist bent over her as he answered, smiling and underlining each of his words as though he were making an epigram: “You are most generous to me.”
.....
