My Year With Proust - Day 252

   I should have liked, before kissing her, to be able to breathe into her anew the mystery which had had for me on the beach before I knew her, to discover in her the place where she had lived earlier; in its stead at least, if I knew nothing of it, I could insinuate all the memories of our life at Balbec, the sound of the waves breaking beneath my window, the shouts of the children.  But when I let my eyes glide over the charming pink globe of her cheeks, the gently curving surfaces of which expired beneath the first foothills of her beautiful black hair which ran in undulating ridges, thrust out its escarpments, and moulded the hollows and ripples of its valleys, I could not help saying to myself" "Now at last, after failing at Balbec, I am going to discover the fragrance of the secret rose that blooms in Albertine's cheeks.  And, since, the cycle through which we are able to make things and people pass in the course of our existence are comparatively few, perhaps I shall be able to consider mine in a certain sense fulfilled when, having taken out of its distant frame the blossoming face that I had chosen from among all others, I shall have brought it onto this new plane, where I shall at last have knowledge of it through my lips." I told myself this because I believed that there was such a thing as knowledge acquired by the lips; I told myself that I was going to know the taste of this fleshly rose, because I had not stopped to think that man, a creature obviously less rudimentary than the sea-urchin or even the whale, nevertheless lacks a certain number of essential organs, and notably possesses none that will serve for kissing.  For this absent organ he substitutes his lips, and thereby arrives perhaps at a slightly more satisfying result than if he were reduced to caressing the beloved with a horny tusk.  But a pair of lips, designed to convey to the palate the taste of whatever whets his appetite, must be content, without understanding their mistake or admitting their disappointment, with roaming over the surface and with coming to a halt at the barrier of the impenetrable and irresistible cheek.  Moreover at that moment of actual contact with the flesh, the lips, even on the assumption that they might become more expert and better endowed, would doubtless be unable to enjoy any more fully the savour which nature prevents their ever actually grasping, for in that desolate zone in which they are unable to find their proper nourishment they are alone, the sense of sight, then that of smell, having long since deserted them.  At first, as my mouth began gradually to approach the cheeks which my eyes had recommended it to kiss, my eyes, in changing position, saw a different pair of cheeks; the neck, observed at closer ranged and as though through a magnifying glass, showed in its coarser grain a robustness which modified the character of the face.

Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way, pp. 377-378

Things continue to get more and more serious, or at least more and more physical, between Marcel and Albertine.  Several things jump out at me in this passage, one of them being that despite Proust's usual sensitivity he unconsciously, or maybe quite consciously, portrayed the encounter as a military campaign.  He reflects on how "after failing at Balbec" he was going to discover more this time.  Even the description of Albertine's body reads like a map of desirable terrain: "But when I let my eyes glide over the charming pink globe of her cheeks, the gently curving surfaces of which expired beneath the first foothills of her beautiful black hair which ran in undulating ridges, thrust out its escarpments, and moulded the hollows and ripples of its valleys . . ."  So, for Marcel, like the rest of us, is sex just a matter of conquest?  A physical conquest?  Potentially; although I'm not that convinced that it is only sexual or physical.  Taken in the broader arc of their time together I think it relates to his reconquest of memory.  He tells us, "I should have liked, before kissing her, to be able to breathe into her anew the mystery which had had for me on the beach before I knew her, to discover in her the place where she had lived earlier; in its stead at least, if I knew nothing of it, I could insinuate all the memories of our life at Balbec, the sound of the waves breaking beneath my window, the shouts of the children."  Is this why we end up feeling so consumingly sad when we've slipped up and had sex with an ex; not because we've cheated on our present girlfriend, but because we've once again failed to recapture the past?

Proust's discussion of his lips, and their limitation, is also interesting.  Proust proposes, "For this absent organ he substitutes his lips, and thereby arrives perhaps at a slightly more satisfying result than if he were reduced to caressing the beloved with a horny tusk.  But a pair of lips, designed to convey to the palate the taste of whatever whets his appetite, must be content, without understanding their mistake or admitting their disappointment, with roaming over the surface and with coming to a halt at the barrier of the impenetrable and irresistible cheek." As I'm sure I've mentioned previously, the ancient Chinese philosophers grappled with the role of the sense organs because they are magnetically drawn to beauty - which is why Mencius proposed just being guided by the heart (mind). Proust tells us, ". . . my mouth began gradually to approach the cheeks which my eyes had recommended it to kiss . . ." As we know, the brain (and for that matter evolution) has its own agenda, and there logically, and thus illogically, must be a reason why the lips and the eyes are leading us in a certain direction.  But in following the demands of sensation - and the mad dance of evolutionary need - what else are we missing?

An diagram, complete with homunculus, showing the relative sensitivity of various sense organs, which, reflecting on the Proust passage above, represents the important role of the lips.  I've seen different versions of this homunculus, including one that appears in Linden's The Accidental Mind.  I borrowed this one from Adam John Privitera from Chemeketa Community College (http://nobaproject.com/modules/sensation-and-perception).