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By Root 880 0

picture of one’s self and that seen by others: 367–69. Our body “a vase enclosing our spiritual nature”: IV 211–13. Our unfaithfulness to our former selves: 349. “Experience of oneself which is the only true experience”: 434. “We lack the sense of our own visibility”: 609–10. M’s several “selves,” notably the philosopher and “the little barometric mannikin”: V 5–6. “We detest what resembles ourselves”: 136. We do not see our own bodies, which other people see, while the object of our thoughts is invisible to them: 237. Our ignorance of ourselves: 563–64 (cf. 641). The “innumerable and humble ‘selves’ that compose our personality”: 578–79 (cf. 660: “a composite army,” and 713–14). Self-plagiarism: 586–87. “Man is the creature who cannot escape from himself, who knows other people only in himself”: 607. “Our ego is composed of the superimposition of our successive states”: 733–34. Other people are “merely showcases for the very perishable collections of one’s own mind”: 751. “Spare selves” that are substituted for a self “that has been too seriously wounded”: 803–5. Death of one’s former self no more distressing than the continuous eclipse of the various incompatible selves that make up one’s personality: 869–70. “Through art alone are we able to emerge from ourselves”: VI 364 (cf. 276–77; V 205).

SERVANTS. Françoise’s tyranny over other servants: I 173. Servants must be actuated by different motives from ours: 509. Servants observe and misinterpret the behaviour of their employers as human beings do animals: II 374. Lunch below stairs, Françoise holds court: III 11–27. Françoise less of a servant than others: 77. “Monstrous abnormality” of the life led by servants 78. Defects of his servants reveal to M his own shortcomings: 79. M’s pity for servants: IV 239–40. Power of divination in servants: 303. Servants recognise their own kind, as do convicts and animals: 526–27. Servants only make clearer the limitations of their caste the more they imagine they are penetrating ours: VI 365. Clichés in the servants’ hall as in social coteries: 230.

SLEEP. Depersonalisation due to sleep; the sleep of things; disorientation in time and space: I 1–9. Distortion in sleep of the sleeper’s real perceptions: 540–41. Sleep in a train: II 315–16. Sleep after evenings at Rivebelle; mysteries into which we are initiated by deep sleep; a form of intoxication; a potent narcotic; the body measures time in sleep: 544–47. Sleep at Doncières; poetic landscape of sleep; the “secret garden” in which different kinds of sleep grow “like unknown flowers;” “sleeping like a log”: III 105–11; “organic dislocations” produced by sleep after great fatigue take us back to our earlier selves; “a charming fairy-tale”: 115–16. Remains of waking thoughts subsist in sleep; diminutions that characterise sleep reflected symbolically in dreams: 191–92. The act of awakening is one of forgetting: 457. Insomnia helps us to appreciate sleep: IV 69. The world of sleep; an “inward Lethe”: 216. Mme Cottard falls asleep at La Raspelière; Cottard on soporifics: 488–90. Sleep like a second dwelling, a different world in which we lead another life; distortion of time during sleep; sensual pleasure enjoyed in sleep a positive waste: 516–20. Sleep itself the most powerful soporific; Bergson on soporifics; sleep and memory: 520–24. Albertine’s sleep: V 84–91, 142–46, 485–86, 494–95, 521–22. Refreshing quality of heavy sleep; changing rhythms of sleep; varieties of sleep; images of pity in sleep: 153–60. Insomnia and narcotics (Bergotte): 242–44. “That curiously alive and creative sleep of the unconscious”: 456. Sleep and the memory of Albertine: 604, 658–59. After all these centuries we still know very little about sleep: VI 366.

SMELL. Taste and smell alone bear “the vast structure of recollection”: I 63–64.

Evocative smells: Scent of the lilacs of Tansonville: I 190–91, 262; bitter-sweet almond fragrance of hawthorn blossom: 158, 194 (cf. IV 739); musty smell of the little trellised pavilion in the Champs-Elysées recalls Uncle Adolphe’s sanctum at Combray: II 87–88, 91 (cf. I