Page 136 - swanns-way

soldiers subside. Long after order had been restored, an
abnormal tide of humanity would continue to darken the
streets of Corn-bray. And in front of every house, even of
those where it was not, as a rule, ‘done,’ the servants, and
sometimes even the masters would sit and stare, festooning
their doorsteps with a dark, irregular fringe, like the bor-
der of shells and sea-weed which a stronger tide than usual
leaves on the beach, as though trimming it with embroi-
dered crape, when the sea itself has retreated.
Except on such days as these, however, I would as a rule
be left to read in peace. But the interruption which a visit
from Swann once made, and the commentary which he then
supplied to the course of my reading, which had brought me
to the work of an author quite new to me, called Bergotte,
had this definite result that for a long time afterwards it was
not against a wall gay with spikes of purple blossom, but
on a wholly different background, the porch of a gothic ca-
thedral, that I would see outlined the figure of one of the
women of whom I dreamed.
I had heard Bergotte spoken of, for the first time, by a
friend older than myself, for whom I had a strong admira-
tion, a precious youth of the name of Bloch. Hearing me
confess my love of the Nuit d’Octobre, he had burst out in
a bray of laughter, like a bugle-call, and told me, by way of
warning: ‘You must conquer your vile taste for A. de Mus-
set, Esquire. He is a bad egg, one of the very worst, a pretty
detestable specimen. I am bound to admit, natheless,’ he
added graciously, ‘that he, and even the man Racine, did,
each of them, once in his life, compose a line which is not

136 Swann’s Way