Wednesday, April 7, 2010

The Madeleine


I raised to my lips a spoonful of the cake . . . a shudder ran through my whole body and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place...


The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it.... but ....as soon as I had recognized the taste of the piece of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me .... immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage...

...my aunt would dip a little madeleine in the boiling infusion, whose taste of dead leaves or faded blossom she so relished, and hand me a piece when it was sufficiently soft.

Marcel Proust (1871-1922)


Proust's bed at aunt Léonie's house in Illiers-Combray

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