ier only than it must come to all of us--was the great and
general renunciation which old age makes in preparation for death, the
chrysalis stage of life, which may be observed wherever life has been
unduly prolonged; even in old lovers who have lived for one another with
the utmost intensity of passion, and in old friends bound by the closest
ties of mental sympathy, who, after a certain year, cease to make, the
necessary journey, or even to cross the street to see one another, cease
to correspond, and know well that they will communicate no more in this
world. My aunt must have been perfectly well aware that she would not
see Swann again, that she would never leave her own house any more, but
this ultimate seclusion seemed to be accepted by her with all the more
readiness for the very reason which, to our minds, ought to have made
it more unbearable; namely, that such a seclusion was forced upon her by
the gradual and steady diminution in her strength which she was able to
measure daily, which, by making every action, every movement 'tiring' to
her if not actually painful, gave to inaction, isolation and silence the
blessed, strengthening and refreshing charm of repose.

My aunt did not go to see the pink hawthorn in the hedge, but at all
hours of the day I would ask the rest of my family whether she was
not going to go, whether she used not, at one time, to go often to
Tansonville, trying to make them speak of Mile. Swann's parents and
grandparents, who appeared to me to be as great and glorious as gods.
The name, which had for me become almost mythological, of Swann--when I
talked with my family I would grow sick with longing to hear them
utter it; I dared not pronounce it myself, but I would draw them into a
discussion of matters which led naturally to Gilberte and her family, in
which she was involved, in speaking of which I would feel myself not too
remotely banished from her company; and I would suddenly force my father
(by pretending, for instance, to believe that my grandfather's business
had been in our family before his day, or that the hedge with the pink
hawthorn which my aunt Leonie wished to visit was on common ground) to
correct my statements, to say, as though in opposition to me and of his
own accord: "No, no, the business belonged to _Swann's_ father, that
hedge is part of _Swann's_ park." And then I would be obliged to pause
for breath; so stifling was the pressure, upon that part of me where it
was