What a deceptive sense sight is! A human body, even a beloved one, as Albertine's was, seems to us, from a few yards, from a few inches away, remote from us. And similarly with the soul that inhabits it. But if something brings about a violent change in the position of that soul in relation to us, shows us that it is in love with others and not with us, then by the beating of our shattered heart we feel that it is not a few feet away from us but within us that the beloved creature was. Within us, in regions more or less superficial. But the words: "That friend is Mlle Vinteuil" had been the Open sesame, which I should have been incapable of discovering by myself, that had made Albertine penetrate to the depths of my lacerated heart. And I might search for a hundred years without discovering how the open the door that had closed behind her.
Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1165-1166
Marcel is getting closer to figuring out his relationship with Albertine, although he's still focusing more on effect than cause. At the very least it's now clear to him that it's not her, but rather the specter of not having her which is driving him crazy. Proust proposes that the two of them, or I guess any two people who are "supposed" to be in love are separate creatures, but are only united when jealousy rears its ugly head. "But if something brings about a violent change in the position of that soul in relation to us, shows us that it is in love with others and not with us, then by the beating of our shattered heart we feel that it is not a few feet away from us but within us that the beloved creature was." Again, this brings us back to one of the central themes of our discussion of Remembrance of Things Past: is love just about possession, which means that it's a question of power?
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