Page 337 - swanns-way

de Hooch, where the subject is set back a long way through
the narrow framework of a half-opened door—infinitely re-
mote, in colour quite different, velvety with the radiance of
some intervening light, the little phrase appeared, dancing,
pastoral, interpolated, episodic, belonging to another world.
It passed, with simple and immortal movements, scatter-
ing on every side the bounties of its grace, smiling ineffably
still; but Swann thought that he could now discern in it
some disenchantment. It seemed to be aware how vain, how
hollow was the happiness to which it shewed the way. In its
airy grace there was, indeed, something definitely achieved,
and complete in itself, like the mood of philosophic detach-
ment which follows an outburst of vain regret. But little did
that matter to him; he looked upon the sonata less in its
own light—as what it might express, had, in fact, expressed
to a certain musician, ignorant that any Swann or Odette,
anywhere in the world, existed, when he composed it, and
would express to all those who should hear it played in cen-
turies to come—than as a pledge, a token of his love, which
made even the Verdurins and their little pianist think of
Odette and, at the same time, of himself—which bound her
to him by a lasting tie; and at that point he had (whimsically
entreated by Odette) abandoned the idea of getting some
‘professional’ to play over to him the whole sonata, of which
he still knew no more than this one passage. ‘Why do you
want the rest?’ she had asked him. ‘Our little bit; that’s all
we need.’ He went farther; agonised by the reflection, at the
moment when it passed by him, so near and yet so infinitely
remote, that, while it was addressed to their ears, it knew

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