A Swan Song?

Close Read 490-493

Stacey’s Seminar

As we approach the end of this portion of In Search of Lost Time vol. 1, there is one thing that is apparent; Swann is obsessed with Odette. He pines and broods when he does not hear from her and constantly awaits the return of the jealousy that taunts him – Swann is exhausted, as is Odette, but in her case it is from the constant lying and scheming she must do, perhaps an expected hardship for a “kept-woman”[1]. Proust has touched again on involuntary memory triggered by the senses, not unlike the consumption of the madeleine (taste), but this time with the sonata (sound) that Swann hears on several occasions throughout Swann in Love but in this particular passage the song no longer evokes the feeling of love in the present time but rather the idea of the love that is now lost.

But suddenly it was as though she had entered, and this apparition was so agonizingly painful that his hand clutched at his heart.[2]

At this point in the story, it is hard to have any pity for this man, and it is sometimes hard to know what the intention of the narrator is. But Swann is a man whom, after being intentionally uninvited from the Verdurin’s romp at the Chatou, and consequently being barred from taking Odette home, chooses to walk through the Bois and essentially throw a temper-tantrum.[3] The beginning of this passage is the same, melodramatic mannerisms that seem to be commonplace for Swann, intentionally placed by Proust or our narrator? Or is Swann in fact now in so much pain that he cannot help but clutch at his heart? But here we having the song playing at a concert at the Marquise de Saint-Euverte’s, and upon hearing just a few notes, Swann is yet again thrust into an emotion state, this time involving shock, suffering, and unhappiness.

The violin had risen to a series of high notes on which it rested as though awaiting something, holding on to them in a prolonged expectancy, in the exaltation of already seeing the object of its expectation approaching, and with a desperate effort to last out until its arrival, to welcome it before itself expiring, to keep the way open for a moment longer, with all its remaining strength, so that the stranger might pass, as one holds a door open that would otherwise automatically close.[4]

Again, we have Swann waiting for the phrase in the sonata, waiting for the notes, hovering with anticipation, unable to move or sway in stance, harboring the distress that would soon come, breathing in and out knowing the blow is inevitable, his heart would burst, the tears would fall, the violist would play, the notes would crush his eardrums, and this sentence, would, continue on; forever… These types of sentences run rampant throughout the text. Long, breathy sentences, wordy sentences, which pause, and move in such a way to make the reader, pause, and move. This sentence is particularly delightful as it does just what one can imagine the high notes that are described are doing. The sentence continues down, holding the reader, pausing the reader, making them wait, just as the high notes held Swann. A remarkable feat for a sentence; a remarkable feat for a song.

But it is too late, the song crashes down and Swann does not have time to flee from the impending doom that lingers in each note. It is a reminder of Odette and he must again wade through the memory of his memory of the last time he heard the song. And again, we are going in and out of memory: a memory when first recalled begets happiness which is then transferred onto Odette but now that that love has soured in Swann’s eyes, the memory is torture as it reminds him of the love they once shared, which he believes that she no longer feels.

…he now recovered everything that had fixed unalterably the specific, volatile essence of that lost happiness; he could see it all: the snowy, curled petals of the chrysanthemum which she had tossed after him into his carriage, which he had kept pressed to his lips…[5]

Throughout the book, flowers seems to be a recurring theme, and in regards to Swann in Love, the chrysanthemum seems to symbolize the love between Swann and Odette, at least to Swann. After bringing Odette home in his carriage in the beginning of their affair, Odette plucks the last chrysanthemum from her garden, and hands it to Swann before he drives away. Swann then presses it to his lips and once it begins to wither, places it in his desk.[6] It is later mentioned that Swann finds these flowers “irritated” Swann, “…but it had pleased him, on this occasion…”.[7]

Another striking feature of this quote is the wording that is used. Swann recalls her tossing the chrysanthemum to him whereas when she gave it to him she handed it to him. This entire passage is an alteration of the happy memories that he once had with Odette which is triggered by the sonata; the idea of a flower being tossed to the recipient, instead of being handed, implies that the giver of the gift felt little for the gesture, the choice words alter the sentiment but this seems consistent with the state of self-pity that Swann has seemed to be in for some time now.

And Swann could distinguish, standing motionless before that scene of remembered happiness, a wretched figure who filled him with such pity, because he did not at first recognize who it was, that he had to lower his eyes lest anyone should observe that they were filled with tears. It was himself. When he realized this, his pity ceased; he was jealous, now, of that other self whom she had loved…[8]

Wrought with emotion, Swann finds himself brought to tears when thinking back on the love that once was. So much of Swann’s pain seems self-inflicted. He over analyses things to the point that the memories shift to become conducive to his self-torment, so much so that he is brought back to his jealous tendencies when thinking about not only the potential other lovers that Odette may have but the love that she once had for him.

The memory that Swann has of this sonata has changed throughout the progression of this story – something that once brought him great joy now brings him excruciating pain, so much so that he feels the need to clutch his chest when he hears it. One cannot help but wonder if perhaps he enjoys the pain, a cure for the boredom that seems to plague the wealthy or if Swann – or perhaps our narrator or Proust – just simply has a taste for the melodramatic.

[1] Proust, Marcel, and C. K. Moncrieff. “Swann In Love.” Swann’s Way. New York: Modern Library, 2003. 446. Print.

[2] Ibid. 490.

[3] ibid. 404-407.

[4] Ibid. 490.

[5] Ibid. 491.

[6] Ibid. 311.

[7] Ibid. 312.

[8] Ibid. 493.