A la Recherche du temps perdu - Proust
Proust, A la Recherche du temps perdu
Matthew Warren
For a long time, I went to bed early. Sometimes, as soon as candle had gone out, my eyes
would close before I could tell myself that I was going to sleep. Half an hour later, the
thought that it was time to sleep would awaken me.
I would want to put down the book I thought I had in my hands and blow out the light. Once
asleep, I would not have stopped thinking about what I had read, though my thoughts would
have taken a particular turn. It would appear to me that I was the focus of the book: a church,
a quartet, the rivalry between François I and Charles V.
This belief survived for several second after waking up. It would not shock me, but it would
weigh my eyes down and prevent them from noticing that the candle was no longer lit. Then
the belief would begin to become unintelligible, like the thoughts of a past life after
reincarnation. The subject of the book would then detach itself from my thoughts, and I
would be free to choose whether to engage it or not. Soon I would regain my sight and would
be shocked to find myself surrounded by darkness that was relaxing for my eyes. It was
perhaps even more so for my mind, to which it appeared as something incomprehensible,
without cause, like something truly dark.
I would ask myself what the time could be. I would be able to hear the whisper of the trains,
sometimes close by, sometimes far away. They marked the distance, like bird calls in forests.
The sounds would describe to me the vast, deserted countryside, through which the traveller
hurries towards the next station. The small path that he follows will be engraved in his
memory by the excitement owed to being in a new place, as well as to the unusual actions.
This would be reinforced by the memories of recent conversations, goodbyes beneath strange
lamps that follow him still through the silence of the night, and the close pleasure of
returning.