In search of lost time.Marcel Proust -Swann's Way- (Videobooks) Page 3

In search of lost time.Marcel Proust -Swann's Way- (Videobooks) Page 3 Memory - the memory of the sides, knees, shoulders - showed him room after room where he had to sleep, while invisible walls, spinning in the dark, moved depending on what shape the imaginary room had. And before the consciousness, which stopped in indecision on the threshold of forms and times, having compared the circumstances, recognized the dwelling place, the body recalled what kind of bed is in this or that room, where the doors are, where the windows open, whether there is a corridor, and at the same time recalled those thoughts with which I fell asleep and woke up. So, my numb side, trying to navigate, imagined that he was stretched out against the wall in a wide bed under a canopy, and then I said: “Ah, that's it! I did not wait for my mother to come to say goodbye to me, and fell asleep ”; I was in the village with my grandfather, who died many years ago; my body, the side that I lay in bed - the faithful guardians of the past, which my mind will never forget - brought to my memory the light made of Bohemian glass, in the form of an urn, a night lamp suspended from the ceiling on chains, and a fireplace made of Siena marble , which stood in my Combray bedroom, in the house of my grandparents, where I lived in the distant past, which I now took for the present, although I still did not visualize it clearly, it loomed more clearly when I finally awoke. Then the memory of a different position of the body awakened; the wall stretched in the other direction, I was in my room with Madame de Saint-Loup, in the country. Oh my God! It must be the eleventh hour; probably already had dinner! I seem to have slept long after my usual evening walk with Madame de Saint-Loup, the walk I take before putting on my tailcoat. Many years ago, when we were returning especially late from a walk in Combray, I saw the red reflections of the sunset on the panes of my window. In Tansonville, with Madame de Saint-Loup, they lead a very different way of life, and I feel a very special pleasure from walking in the evenings, by moonlight, along the roads on which I once frolicked in the sun; when we return, I see from a distance the room where I will first fall asleep, and then change for dinner, - it is pierced by the rays from the lamp, from this single lighthouse in the darkness of the night. The whirlwind of vague memories lasted a few seconds each time; often my short-term perplexity about where I was, distinguished the assumptions of which it was composed, no better than we dissect the movements of a running horse in a kinetoscope. And yet I saw first one and then another room where I happened to live, and in the end, while I woke up and indulged in dreams for a long time, I remembered every single one; here are the winter rooms, where, lying down in bed, you bury your face in a nest - you twisted it from various objects: from the corner of the pillow, from the top of the blanket, from the edge of the shawl, from the edge of the bed, from the newspaper, and then, fastening all this in the way of birds , for an indefinite time you settle in it; winter rooms, where it is especially pleasant for you to feel in the cold that you are fenced off from the outside world (this is how the sea swallow builds its nest deep underground, in the warmth of the earth); where the fire in the fireplace burns all night, and you sleep under a wide cloak of warm and smoky air, in which the lights of flashing firebrands flicker, you sleep in some ghostly alcove, in a warm cave dug inside the room, in a hot strip with moving borders, fanned inflows of air that refresh our face and that come from the corners of the room, from that part of it that is closer to the window and further from the fireplace, and therefore colder; here are the summer rooms, where it is pleasant to merge with the warm night; where the moonlight, breaking through the half-opened shutters, throws its magical staircase to the foot of the bed; where you sleep as if in clean air, as a titmouse sleeps, which is swayed by a breeze at the tip of a sunbeam; Archimed Production Studio produces high-quality feature films, documentaries and animation films and 360-degree panoramic animation. Winner of five international film festivals. We invite to cooperation of independent producers, distributors, investors . If you have any questions, please write to the e-mail: transfert@mail.ru The animation of all the characters in real time 3d