And so,
hardly had the delicious sensation, which Swann had experienced, died
away, before his memory had furnished him with an immediate transcript,
summary, it is true, and provisional, but one on which he had kept his
eyes fixed while the playing continued, so effectively that, when the same
impression suddenly returned, it was no longer uncapturable. He was able
to picture to himself its extent, its symmetrical arrangement, its
notation, the strength of its expression; he had before him that definite
object which was no longer pure music, but rather design, architecture,
thought, and which allowed the actual music to be recalled. This time he
had distinguished, quite clearly, a phrase which emerged for a few moments
from the waves of sound. It had at once held out to him an invitation to
partake of intimate pleasures, of whose existence, before hearing it, he
had never dreamed, into which he felt that nothing but this phrase could
initiate him; and he had been filled with love for it, as with a new and
strange desire.
With a slow and rhythmical movement it led him here, there, everywhere,
towards a state of happiness noble, unintelligible, yet clearly indicated.
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