On the surface a traditional «Bildungsroman» describing the narrator's journey of self-discovery, this huge and complex book is also a panoramic and richly comic portrait of France in the author's lifetime, and a profound meditation on the nature of art, love, time, memory and death. But for most readers it is the characters of the novel who loom the largest: Swann and Odette, Monsieur de Charlus, Morel, the Duchesse de Guermantes, Françoise, Saint-Loup and so many others – Giants, as the author calls them, immersed in Time. "In Search of Lost Time" is a novel in seven volumes. The novel began to take shape in 1909. Proust continued to work on it until his final illness in the autumn of 1922 forced him to break off. Proust established the structure early on, but even after volumes were initially finished he kept adding new material, and edited one volume after another for publication. The last three of the seven volumes contain oversights and fragmentary or unpolished passages as they existed in draft form at the death of the author; the publication of these parts was overseen by his brother Robert.
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Marcel Proust
★
★
IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME (COMPLETE COLLECTION)
★
★
À la Recherche du temps perdu
Translated from the French by
C. K. Scott Moncrieff and
Stephen Hudson
Swann’s Way Marcel Proust IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME ★
Overture swann’s way
Combray swann’s way
Swann in Love swann’s way
Place-Names: The Name swann’s way
Within a Budding Grove Marcel Proust IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME ★
Seascape, with Frieze of Girls within a budding grove
Dinners at Rivebelle—Enter Albertine.
Madame Swann at Home within a budding grove
A break in the narrative: old friends in new aspects—The Marquis de Norpois—Bergotte—How I cease for the time being to see Gilberte: a general outline of the sorrow caused by a parting and of the irregular process of oblivion.
Place-Names: The Place
My first visit to Balbec—First impressions of M. de Charlus and of Robert de Saint-Loup—Dinner with Bloch and his family.
The Guermantes Way
Chapter One
Names of People: The Duchesse de Guermantes—Saint-Loup at Doncières—Mme. de Villeparisis at home—My grandmother’s illness—Bergotte’s illness—The Duke and the Doctor—Decline and death of my grandmother.
Chapter Two
A visit from Albertine—Prospect of rich brides for certain friends of Saint-Loup—The wit of the Guermantes, as displayed before the Princesse de Parme—A strange visit to M. de Charlus—His character puzzles me more and more—The red shoes of the Duchess.
Cities of the Plain
Introduction
Introducing the men-women, descendants of those of the inhabitants of Sodom who were spared by the fire from heaven.
Chapter One
M. de Charlus in Society.—A physician.—Typical physiognomy of Mme. de Vaugoubert.—Mme. d’Arpajon, the Hubert Robert fountain and the merriment of the Grand Duke Vladimir.—Mmes. d’Amoncourt, de Citri, de Saint-Euverte, etc.—Curious conversation between Swann and the Prince de Guermantes.—Albertine on the telephone.—My social life in the interval before my second and final visit to Balbec. Arrival at Balbec.
The Heart’s Intermissions
Chapter Two
The mysteries of Albertine—The girls whom she sees reflected in the glass—The other woman—The lift-boy—Madame de Cambremer.
Chapter Two (continued)
The pleasures of M. Nissim Bernard—Outline of the strange character of Morel—M. de Charlus dines with the Verdurins.
Chapter Three
The sorrows of M. de Charlus.—His sham duel.—The stations on the ‘Transatlantic.’—Weary of Albertine I decide to break with her.
Chapter Four
Sudden revulsion in favour of Albertine.—Agony at sunrise.—I set off at once with Albertine for Paris.
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
M. de Charlus during the war, his opinions, his pleasures
Chapter Three
An afternoon party at the house of the Princesse de Guermantes
Marcel Proust
IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME
★
SWANN’S
WAY
★
À la Recherche du temps perdu:
Du côté de chez Swann
Translated from the French by
C. K. Scott Moncrieff
swann’s way
Overture
F or 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.
I would lay my cheeks gently against the comfortable cheeks of my pillow, as plump and blooming as the cheeks of babyhood. Or I would strike a match to look at my watch. Nearly midnight. 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. Oh, joy of joys! it is morning. The servants will be about in a minute: he can ring, and some one will come to look after him. The thought of being made comfortable gives him strength to endure his pain. He is certain he heard footsteps: they come nearer, and then die away. The ray of light beneath his door is extinguished. 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.
I would fall asleep, and often I would be awake again for short snatches only, just long enough to hear the regular creaking of the wainscot, or to open my eyes to settle the shifting kaleidoscope of the darkness, to savour, in an instantaneous flash of perception, the sleep which lay heavy upon the furniture, the room, the whole surroundings of which I formed but an insignificant part and whose unconsciousness I should very soon return to share. Or, perhaps, while I was asleep I had returned without the least effort to an earlier stage in my life, now for ever outgrown; and had come under the thrall of one of my childish terrors, such as that old terror of my great-uncle’s pulling my curls, which was effectually dispelled on the day—the dawn of a new era to me—on which they were finally cropped from my head. I had forgotten that event during my sleep; I remembered it again immediately I had succeeded in making myself wake up to escape my great-uncle’s fingers; still, as a measure of precaution, I would bury the whole of my head in the pillow before returning to the world of dreams.
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