The Polishness of Proust's Madeleines

marcel_proustmagdalenka_.jpg, default, Marcel Proust, 1895, photo: Otto Wegener / Madeleine Biscuits, photo: bhofack2 / easyfotostock / East News

#language & literature

#polish cuisine

The French say that a madeleine is something that triggers a memory or nostalgia. The famous shell-shaped cookie was immortalised by the great French writer Marcel Proust in his famous novel ‘In Search of Lost Time’. Few people, however, know that this classic French snack has Polish origins. Culture.pl explores the history of the small sponge cake, its literary life, and also how to make it.

Chasing time

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Marcel Proust, 1910, photo: Hulton Archive / Getty Images

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Petites madeleines (little madeleines) owe their fame to Marcel Proust, the founder of the psychological novel and stream-of-consciousness narrative. It is because of him that the classic French cookies evolved from a simple (but very tasty) delight into a literary metaphor. Proust was intensely interested in the phenomenon of elusive, intangible, lost time. The writer believed that it is possible to turn the clock back, to relive former sensations and impressions only with the help of the arts, and that the trigger, the release button, for such creative work can be sudden illuminations, sometimes evoked by seemingly insignificant details.

Proust describes the trigger mechanism using the example of madeleines. In the first chapter of the novel Swann’s Way (1913), which opens Proust’s celebrated epic In Search of Lost Time, the protagonist, chilled to the bone (it is winter outside), drinks lime-flower tea with madeleine cookies served by his mother after his return home. And something amazing happens to him:

No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate than a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, but individual, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory—this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me, it was myself. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, accidental, mortal.

_{Trans. C. K. Scott Moncrieff}

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Scene from Krzysztof Warlikowski's play The French, 1015, photo: Denis Guéguin / Nowy Teatr

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What happened? What is the reason for this unexpected delight that the protagonist experiences? He senses that there is a connection between the sudden euphoria and the taste of the cookie of a non-gastronomic nature: ‘but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could not, indeed, be of the same nature as theirs’ (trans. C. K. Scott Moncrieff). As this sensation weakens with every sip of tea with the cookie soaked in it, the protagonist realises that the source of this sudden burst of creative illumination is not in the madeleine but in himself – the dessert has only awakened the volcano that had hitherto been dormant.

The taste of the cookie brought back memories of a summer vacation in the small town of Combray, where the protagonist was treated to madeleines by his aunt:

And suddenly the memory returns. The taste was that of the little crumb of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before church-time), when I went to say good day to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of real or of lime-flower tea. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it. [...] And once I had recognized the taste of the crumb of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-flowers which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy) immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like the scenery of a theatre to attach itself to the little pavilion, opening on to the garden, which had been built out behind it for my parents (the isolated panel which until that moment had been all that I could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the Square where I was sent before luncheon, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine.

_{Trans. C. K. Scott Moncrieff}

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Still from Volker Schlöndorf's film Swann Love, 1984, photo: Bioskop Film / France 3 Cinéma / Gaumont

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Memories of flowers in the garden, the venerable citizens of Combray, their cottages, and the bell tower on the Church of Saint Hilary slowly emerged from the cup of tea. It all became not only visible but also tangible. ‘Like the little pieces of Japanese paper (Proust’s metaphor) which, thrown into a bowl, swell up, expand, and take on the form of flowers, of houses or faces’, as the Polish writer and artist Józef Czapski observed in his Lectures on Proust. Czapski continues:

The memory released by the fragrance of the madeleine rises, deepens, and, bit by bit, takes on the shape of his childhood home, the old gothic church and the countryside of his youth, the faces of his old aunts, Françoise the cook, Swann, a frequent visitor to the house, and the faces of his mother and grandmother, adored above all others. This tiny impression at the outset announces the whole work.

_{Trans. Eric Karpeles}

You have probably experienced this yourself more than once. The taste of the lemonade you loved as a child, the smell of a former sweetheart’s perfume that you sensed for a moment in the middle of a crowd, the music you listened to on your first date – all these things can not only evoke memories but also put your mind in motion. Not surprisingly, such a state of mind is valued by creative individuals. And so, Proust’s madeleine is not just a taste or a smell of childhood; it’s a powerful creative impulse.

Polish cookies

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Portrait of Stanisław Leszczyński, 1727-1728, photo: Versailles Palace, Paris

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Where do these delicate cookies, which look like mollusc shells, come from? Yes, the madeleines’ homeland is France, but they first appeared at the court of King Stanisław Leszczyński of Poland – the exiled Polish king, to be precise. Stanisław was brought to power in Poland by Swedish bayonets, as he was supported by Charles XII of Sweden. The latter forced Augustus II of Poland to abdicate in favour of Stanisław. Following the defeat of Charles at Poltava in 1709, however, Stanisław lost his throne.

With the support of Russian troops, Augustus regained the Polish crown, and Stanisław fled to France. He lived there for nearly half a century and was delighted to see his daughter Mary marry Louis XV of France. In 1755, Stanisław gave a ball attended by his daughter and royal son-in-law. A disaster was looming: the cook unexpectedly fell ill, and the guests risked being left without dessert.

What could be done? His maid, a young French woman named Madeleine Polmier, saved the day. She recalled a recipe for cookies that her grandmother used to bake, and she quickly made them. The king and his wife liked them so much that the recipe, named after the quick-witted young lady, was passed on to the pastry chefs at Versailles, who made them for the royal table. Madeleine cookies found their way to the coffee houses of Paris and became popular in no time, making their way onto the pages of the Proust’s immortal novel.

How to make madeleines

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Madeleine biscuits, photo: Hulton Archive / Getty Images

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If you want to stimulate your creative thinking or simply enjoy a great dessert, we recommend making your own madeleines in Proust’s fashion. You will need a hundred grams of flour, a hundred grams of sugar, half a lemon, two eggs, and a piece of butter to melt. Beat the eggs and sugar, add the flour, and mix. Then add the butter, grated lemon zest, and baking powder. Mix again and let it sit for about twenty minutes, then divide the dough into madeleine pans (according to the classic recipe, the moulds should be shell-shaped, but they don’t have to be). Fill the pans halfway in order to prevent the batter from leaking out during the baking process. Then put the pans in the oven and set the temperature to 220 degrees Celsius. In ten minutes, the cookies will be ready.

In order to experience Proust-like illumination, please remember to make sure you eat the madeleines while drinking lime-flower tea. And who knows, maybe the legacy of world literature will be enriched with a new masterpiece that is in no way inferior to Proust’s novel.

Originally written in Russian, translated by Natalia Mamul, Nov 2021

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Marcel Proust