It is midnight some one has turned out the gas the last servant has gone to bed, and he must lie all night in agony with no one to bring him any help. The ray of light beneath his door is extinguished. He is certain he heard footsteps: they come nearer, and then die away. The thought of being made comfortable gives him strength to endure his pain. The servants will be about in a minute: he can ring, and some one will come to look after him. The hour when an invalid, who has been obliged to start on a journey and to sleep in a strange hotel, awakens in a moment of illness and sees with glad relief a streak of daylight shewing under his bedroom door. Or I would strike a match to look at my watch. I would lay my cheeks gently against the comfortable cheeks of my pillow, as plump and blooming as the cheeks of babyhood. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. AN AFTERNOON PARTY AT THE HOUSE OF THE PRINCESSE DE GUERMANTES D:\Users\Ghislaine\Desktop\Proust\3hRxTWGpFYvVMCx7Le3H9qLwy2Q.jpgįor a long time I used to go to bed early. DE CHARLUS DURING THE WAR, HIS OPINIONS, HIS PLEASURESĬHAPTER III. DE CHARLUSĬHAPTER TWO - MADEMOISELLE DE FORCHEVILLEĬHAPTER FOUR - A FRESH LIGHT UPON ROBERT DE SAINT-LOUPĬHAPTER II. REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST (In Search of Lost Time)ĬONTENTS REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST (In Search of Lost Time)ĬHAPTER TWO.THE VERDURINS QUARREL WITH M.
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