![]() ![]() Only yesterday the incessant noise in our ears, by describing to us in a continuous narrative all that was happening in the street and in the house, succeeded at length in sending us to sleep like a boring book today, on the surface of silence spread over our sleep, a shock louder than the rest manages to make itself heard, gentle as a sigh, unrelated to any other sound, mysterious and the demand for an explanation which it exhales is sufficient to awaken us. As he stands alone in Robert’s barracks he contemplates the wildly different effects that sound have on us depending on time of day, mood, season, etc: The narrator decides to leave Paris for several weeks and visit his friend Robert who lives in an army barracks at Doncieres. ![]() But in The Guermantes Way, Proust reminds us that our sense of sound, hearing someone’s voice, or not hearing that voice in a period of complete silence is equally as striking. When we are away from those we love, our senses of touch and sight suffer the greatest deprivation. ![]()
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