Source: http://piratesandrevolutionaries.blogspot.com/2013/06/
Timestamp: 2018-11-19 16:40:27+00:00

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Pirates & Revolutionaries: June 2013
§13/14 After dinner, if storming, grandmother rej...
§12/13 From Magic Lantern Fantasy to the Dinner Ta...
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§13/14 After dinner, if storming, grandmother rejoices outside. Proust. Du coté chez swann (Swan's Way). Part 1, Combray
[Proust Swan's Way series, Entry Directory.]
After dinner, if storming, grandmother rejoices outside
Du coté chez swann. A la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I
§13 / §14
After dinner there would be chatting outside or inside depending on the weather, but grandmother would go out in the rain and even rejoice under a storm.
Previously the narrator described how the magic lantern shows projected on his bedroom wall unsettled his sense of the distinction between dream-like fantasy and everyday reality, and then his viewings would be interrupted by the call to dinner, which returned him to normal life.
After dinner the adults would chat either outside or inside depending on the weather (with the exception of his grandmother who would go out even in the rain). His father would send him to his room to read a book, while checking the barometer as his mother admiringly observes. His grandmother would love to go out in the storms and rejoice in their refreshing power, despite appearing out of her mind and getting her clothes muddy.
Après le dîner, hélas, j’étais bientôt obligé de quitter maman qui restait à causer avec les autres, au jardin s’il faisait beau, dans le petit salon où tout le monde se retirait s’il faisait mauvais. Tout le monde, sauf ma grand’mère qui trouvait que «c’est une pitié de rester enfermé à la campagne» et qui avait d’incessantes discussions avec mon père, les jours de trop grande pluie, parce qu’il m’envoyait lire dans ma chambre au lieu de rester dehors. «Ce n’est pas comme cela que vous le rendrez robuste et énergique, disait-elle tristement, surtout ce petit qui a tant besoin de prendre des forces et de la volonté.» Mon père haussait les épaules et il examinait le baromètre, car il aimait la météorologie, pendant que ma mère, évitant de faire du bruit pour ne pas le troubler, le regardait avec un respect attendri, mais pas trop fixement pour ne pas chercher à percer le mystère de ses supériorités. Mais ma grand’mère, elle, par tous les temps, même quand la pluie faisait rage et que Françoise avait précipitamment rentré les précieux fauteuils d’osier de peur qu’ils ne fussent mouillés, on la voyait dans le jardin vide et fouetté par l’averse, relevant ses mèches désordonnées et grises pour que son front s’imbibât mieux de la salubrité du vent et de la pluie. Elle disait: «Enfin, on respire!» et parcourait les allées détrempées,— trop symétriquement alignées à son gré par le nouveau jardinier dépourvu du sentiment de la nature et auquel mon père avait demandé depuis le matin si le temps s’arrangerait,— de son petit pas enthousiaste et saccadé, réglé sur les mouvements divers qu’excitaient dans son âme l’ivresse de l’orage, la puissance de l’hygiène, la stupidité de mon éducation et la symétrie des jardins, plutôt que sur le désir inconnu d’elle d’éviter à sa jupe prune les taches de boue sous lesquelles elle disparaissait jusqu’à une hauteur qui était toujours pour sa femme de chambre un désespoir et un problème.
Proust, Marcel. Du coté chez swann. A la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I.
Proust, Marcel. Swan's Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past.Transl. C.K. Scott Moncrieff
Posted by Corry Shores at 6/18/2013 09:09:00 am 0 comments
From magic lantern fantasy to the dinner table
§12 / §13
Previously the narrator described how as a child he watched magic lantern shows projected on his bedroom wall.
Now he explains how his room reflected his personality and that he became unsettled and melancholic by how the images took over his room and thus his sense of himself. He used his door handle so much it became an unconscious habit that was a part of his everyday behavior. But the magic lantern projected the character Golo’s body on the handle, which in a way is an invasion into his sense of self. The dinner bell would ring and he would run to a more familiar world of family and the dinner table.
And, indeed, I found plenty of charm in these bright projections, which seemed to have come straight out of a Merovingian past, and to shed around me the reflections of such ancient history. But I cannot express the discomfort I felt at such an intrusion of mystery and beauty into a room which I had succeeded in filling with my own personality until I thought no more of the room than of myself. The anaesthetic effect of custom being destroyed, I would begin to think and to feel very melancholy things. The door-handle of my room, which was different to me from all the other doorhandles in the world, inasmuch as it seemed to open of its own accord and without my having to turn it, so unconscious had its manipulation become; lo and behold, it was now an astral body for Golo. And as soon as the dinner-bell rang I would run down to the dining-room, where the big hanging lamp, ignorant of Golo and Bluebeard but well acquainted with my family and the dish of stewed beef, shed the same light as on every other evening; and I would fall into the arms of my mother, whom the misfortunes of Geneviève de Brabant had made all the dearer to me, just as the crimes of Golo had driven me to a more than ordinarily scrupulous examination of my own conscience..
Certes je leur trouvais du charme à ces brillantes projections qui semblaient émaner d’un passé mérovingien et promenaient autour de moi des reflets d’histoire si anciens. Mais je ne peux dire quel malaise me causait pourtant cette intrusion du mystère et de la beauté dans une chambre que j’avais fini par remplir de mon moi au point de ne pas faire plus attention à elle qu’à lui-même. L’influence anesthésiante de l’habitude ayant cessé, je me mettais à penser, à sentir, choses si tristes. Ce bouton de la porte de ma chambre, qui différait pour moi de tous les autres boutons de porte du monde en ceci qu’il semblait ouvrir tout seul, sans que j’eusse besoin de le tourner, tant le maniement m’en était devenu inconscient, le voilà qui servait maintenant de corps astral à Golo. Et dès qu’on sonnait le dîner, j’avais hâte de courir à la salle à manger, où la grosse lampe de la suspension, ignorante de Golo et de Barbe-Bleue, et qui connaissait mes parents et le bœuf à la casserole, donnait sa lumière de tous les soirs; et de tomber dans les bras de maman que les malheurs de Geneviève de Brabant me rendaient plus chère, tandis que les crimes de Golo me faisaient examiner ma propre conscience avec plus de scrupules.
Posted by Corry Shores at 6/17/2013 01:09:00 am 0 comments
Labels: Geneviève of Brabant, magic lantern, Proust

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