It
passed, with simple and immortal movements, scattering 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 detachment 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 centuries 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.
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