SCHOLARLY MUSINGS
Odette Swann
“Then it was, stepping onto the fine gravel of the avenue, that Mme Swann would make her entrance, as late, languid, and luxuriant as the most beautiful flower, which never opened until noon, the outfits that gave her a bloom of radiance, and which, though they were always different, I remember as mainly mauve. The bright moment of her flowering was complete with, on an elongated stretch of stem, she unfurled the silky vexillum of a broad sunshade blending with the full-blown shimmer of her frock. She was accompanied by a whole retinue: Swann was there, as were four or five other clubmen who had either dropped in to see her that morning or whom she had just encountered. And the black and grays of this disciplined formation executed their almost mechanical movements, lending an inert frame to Odette, they made the woman, the only one with any intensity in her gaze, appear to be staring past them all, looking straight ahead as though leaning out of a window, and made her stand out, fragile and fearless, in the nudity of her gentle colours, as though she were a creature of a different species or of some mysterious descent, with a suggestion of something warlike about her, all of which enabled her single person to counterbalance her numerous escort. Beaming with smiles, contented with the lovely day and the sunshine, which was not yet too warm, with all the poise and confidence of a creator who beholds every thing that he has made and see it is very good, and knowing (though vulgar passerby might not appreciate this) that her outfit was more elegant than anyone else’s, she wore it for herself but also for her friends, naturally, without show but also without complete indifference, not objecting if the light bows on her bodice and skirt drifted slightly in front of her, like pets whose presence she was aware of but whose caprices she indulged, leaving them to their own devices as long as they stayed close to her, and as though her purple parisol, often furled when she first emerged into the avenue, was a posy of Parma violets, it too at times received from her happy eyes a glance which, though directed not at her friends but at an inanimate object, brimmed with so much gentle goodwill that it seemed to be a smile.”
-Marcel Proust, In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower (1919)
































