In Rebecca Comay’s essay on Proust she talks about how Proust’s body, even after his death, maintained a certain youthfulness. The writer François Mauriac noted “the preternatural youthfulness of the corpse”: “Laid out on his bed, one would not have thought that he was fifty years old, but barely thirty, as if Time didn’t dare touch him who had tamed and vanquished it.” Paul Helleu, an artist, recorded: “Oh! It was horrible, but how handsome he was! He hadn’t eaten for five months, except for café au lait. You can’t imagine how beautiful … can be the corpse of a man who hasn’t eaten for such a long time; everything superfluous is dissolved away. Ah, he was handsome…” Man Ray’s portrait of Proust on his deathbed aids this interpretation; like a waxwork, without wrinkles, already a death mask.”