Plumage and Pearls, Oh Radiant Girls!

On at least three definite occasions in today's 30-page chunk of The Guermantes' Way, Marcel gave me a little quiver of euphoria.

Let me explain. Although the entirety of the 30 pages consisted of a detailed account of Marcel's visit to the opera, neither the play nor the performance were of central concern to our young narrator. Rather, he discussed the current of characters sashaying into the theatre, through the isles and perching onto the real "scene;" that is, the spectators' red velour cushioned seating. For, in Marcel's eyes, this is where the show happens.

Given my inability to take responsibility for my own misgivings, allow me to preface the following confession with an excuse: these days it is a natural thing, and quite acceptable, to have a small attention span, due to our current state of the media. Thus, I am not alone in admitting that I sometimes liken my Proust readings to the event of a duck paddling through thick seaweed for miles and miles. He thinks he just has to kick harder, but alas, the seaweed is both slippery and tangly in the worst of ways. He makes no distance and finally falls asleep from utter exhaustion. I am this duck.

Anyhow, to get back to the point, the three moments in today's reading that resuscitated my reading all concern appearances and especially couture. Today, Marcel gave me a lesson not only in what to wear, but more importantly, how to wear it.

1) The entrance of the marquis de Palancy. In this scene, Marcel describes the creature as something almost animalistic: he has an "oblique figure, with one fat, round eye glued to his monocle." But the best part of the description is the image of the marquis swimming into the room like a "fish" who, contained in his "aquarium" moves through the room oblivious to all the eyes observing him with awe. His presence is enough to magnetize the eyes of the princess de Guermantes. And what eyes! According to Marcel, these gems look with a glance like chained diamonds, filled with both love and intelligence, but in the moment they abandon emotion, are stunning simply for their beauty. Stripped of her own inward projection outward, these eyes take on their own dress; one of sparks ignited from cinders, a profound and inhuman fire - horizontal and spendid! (Marcel later tells us that this marquis is one of the men he truly wishes he could be!)

2) Next comes the duchess de Guermantes. She saunters into the room wrapped in white mousselines. In an effort to give her cousin, the princess a "lesson in taste," the duchess declined the extravagant "costumes" of her fellow socialite women and opted for a simpler toilette gown. Instead of the enormous, marvellous and ever-so-soft plumage of her cousin's headwear, which descended just to the nap of her stunning neck, instead of the reservoir of shells and pearls, she chose the less aquatic "aigrette" (single swan feather) hair clip which gave her whole head and neck a bird-like elegance. Impatiently, Marcel takes our imaginary eye down his own tracing of her dress. The toilette was adorned with a remarkable corsage, constructed of brilliant metal, of rings and of studs! And the dress enraptured her person with a "precision that was altogether Britannic." The duchess sat gingerly next to her cousin, the princess, and Marcel could have sworn he saw them twist their chairs ever so slightly in each others' direction, just to keep an eye on one another.

3) Through the eyes of Mme. de Cambremer. Finally, toward the end of the opera, even Marcel admits to being "feverish with thirst and nostalgia" (?) and so focusses yet again on a delight of sartorial grace - this time from what he imagines is Mme. de Cambremer's perspective. Now we have a new discussion of the Guermates women's attire. Once thought to be exclusive to the Conde and the Guermantes feminine dress, these toilettes with their red collers can never be worn the same way again. For as Proust writes, for both the Guermantes women and the bird, "the plumage is not merely an ornament of her beauty, but an extension of her body." The dresses were like "snowy" drapery that held worlds of activity in every shadowed fold!

These are the moments I savoured today. What positively poetic description of fashion and people Proust gives us. So much delight Marcel takes in the art of couture. For the deliciousness of these paragraphs is not gratuitous, is it? No, there is something I cannot describe that makes fashion important. Two days ago, I felt pity for Francoise and swore I was becoming a Marxist, but with all the beauty of these gowns, how can I? I love clothes, I love shoes, I love accessories, and I love to read about them from any era. Besides, they have kept me mentally alive for another reading session. Can I then say that my survival depends on couture?

-natalie