Pretty good so far, except it's pretty obvious this is a really bad translation, but one where the errors usually end up being funny! Says John Haylock and Francis King translated it.
There's a pic in this one of Robert with his white cat sitting on a bizarre elephant toy. I can almost get good and lost in this, but then these odd funny sentences pop out.
At any rate. One can never know too much about the luminaries of France...
Another wonderful image of RM and Yturri dressed up as Rajahs!
I read this some years ago, and recently got a copy again, after lending it out. Never lend books! But beyond that, this is a fascinating figure in Turn of the Century France. Proust fanatics must have this book!
Robert de Montesquiou is now perhaps most remembered as one of the models for Huysmans’ Jean des Esseintes in ‘Against Nature’, a model for Basil Hallward in Wildes ‘Picture Of Dorian Gray’ and Baron Charlus in Proust's ‘Remembrance of Things Past’. That is quite a legacy, but what of the ‘real’ de Montesquiou, the poet, the ‘Professor of Beauty’ and (no sniggering back there) ‘The Commander of Delicate Odours’?
De Montesquiou was the uppermost of the upper crust, eccentric but discerning and in the vacuous world of the French aristos of the time insufferably snobbish. Jullian paints a picture where everybody is in a pecking order and is desperate to ascend/jump up to the next level by their charm, wit or talent. Old money, new money, who bred who, Jullian spends a lot of time on this. The first half of the book is virtually unreadable unless you care about such things. We are bombarded with names of those in de Montesquiou’s milieu, Baronesses maiden names, who they were descended from, who they later married or divorced, who THEY were (a mere Duke as opposed to an Archduke?) ad nauseum. It is dull, dull, dull, especially as the interesting people that do cross his path, such as surgeon Samuel Jean de Pozzi (read the truly excellent biography ‘The Man in The Red Coat’ upon him- I review it on this site) are treated in the same slapdash manner. I must confess I almost lost the will to live and carry on with the book.
Thankfully things pick up (a little) in the second half when we get to hear about de Montesquiou’s parties (he thought them so much better without people as they only messed with the flower arrangements) and the people who tried to join his very select group of friends who he would take up and then put back down again for some societal slight such as not thanking him for the ‘thank you’ note he sent them for a gift he had received from the person concerned. Sometimes he would create a supposed ‘witty’ rhyming couplet to relate to those (still) in his circle which was actually insulting and intended to reach the object of his scorn, but as it came from ‘him’- no doubt oh so clever. Here is one on Mme Gauthereau ( a very beautiful woman and Singer Sargents model (Montesquiou preferred Whistler) for his famous painting of 'Madam X'):
“To keep her figure the is now obliged to force it Not to the mould of Canova but a Corset”
Oh! How they must have laughed- or rather tittered- laughing too loudly was for oiks.
His real poetry has a few good moments, but is generally (quelle surprise!) overwrought peans to flowers, the moon, the soul…
“The pale moon Seems like an Opal That the changing sky Has mounted in silver.”
You get the drift.
What makes the second half of the book bearable is the fact that it is very funny. De Montesquiou was gay (obs!) but seemingly not a practising one although he shared a large part of his life with his dear friend Yurri who would go cruising for rough trade with Jean Lorrain. Lorrain features quite heavily in this book which always makes for a fun read especially as he and de Montesquiou had a love/hate relationship. Lorrain partly modelled ‘Monsieur de Phocas’ upon him.
Perhaps de Montesquiou’s ass was red raw from all the licking it receives from all and sundry as they grovel for his societal favours. Jullian gives some excellent quotes from various toadying letters which are laugh out loud funny. Here is a young pianist trying to worm his way in; ‘It is difficult to appreciate how moral qualities can go with a sensitive and superior soul like yours. We are not worthy of such qualities: we admire them more than we understand them. But we reserve for ourselves the most desirable of privileges - which is to love you…tenderly…The day on which I had the good fortune to know you was like the beginning of a new existence.’
It seems de Montesquiou believed his own hype. After Proust first wrote to him, the Count sent him a photograph of himself inscribed “I am the lord of transitory glory…”
Jullien suggests that perhaps the Count saw the ridiculousness of himself but notably fails to back up this assertion, or if he does, I certainly missed it. Indeed, the general tone of this biography has a certain air of sycophancy by the author towards his subject. Perhaps he thought he would gain some societal status by writing it apparently Jullien was a terrible snob himself. I think that if he spent less time on de Montesquiou’s ‘society’ and more on his poems or art criticism (which was apparently astute) we would have a fuller picture. Or maybe really there is ‘nothing to be seen here’.
It all makes for a very unsatisfactory read. I didn’t feel enlightened regarding de Montesquiou and didn’t like the obsequious tone that permeated the whole book. Until a better English language biography comes along, avoid.
A biography of a man and his eternal search for Beauty. Count Montesquiou was the great arbitrer of style and fashion of Parisian society at the turn of the last century. His luminous circle included Whistler, Sarah Bernhardt and Gabriele d'Annunzio, to name a few. He inspired characters of Wilde and Proust, but most famously as the eccentric Des Esseintes in Huysmans' A rebours. An Athenian by persuasion he still remained mostly celibate, but it was his irony and spitefulness that earned him as many enemies as friends. It seems unreal that ever such a man existed and after reading this fluid text one feels like waking from a dream.