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Chère Natalie Barney: Portrait d'une séductrice
La vie de ma chère Natalie Barney est une suite ininterrompue de grandes amours. Car la séduction, la vraie, ignore les méfaits de l'âge. Et depuis sa naissance, le 31 octobre 1872, Natalie n'a pas cessé de séduire et de faire naître les œuvres les plus diverses des passions qu'inspiraient sa beauté, son esprit, sa personnalité de femme libre en un temps où les femmes l'étaient si peu. Pour elle, Liane de Pougy écrit son roman Idylle saphique, Renée Vivien compose ses meilleurs poèmes et Romaine Brooks ses meilleurs portraits. Remy de Gourmont lui adresse ses Lettres à l'Amazone.
mais l'Amazone ne s'est pas contentée d'être une muse. Elle est l'auteur de livres de souvenirs, Souvenirs indiscrets, Traits et portraits, Aventures de l'esprit, qui appartiennent à l'histoire littéraire de notre siècle, comme son salon qu'elle a tenu à Paris, au 20 rue Jacob, de 1910 à 1970, et où elle a reçu ses amis qui se nommaient Anatole France, Paul Valéry, Colette, Pierre Louÿs, Paul Morand, Gertrude Stein, Milosz ou Max Jacob.
Le 29 juillet 1963, dans une lettre, Marguerite Yourcenar déclare à Natalie Barney : " Je me suis dit que vous aviez eu la chance de vivre à une époque où la notion de plaisir restait une notion civilisatrice (elle ne l'est plus aujourd'hui)." Cette notion a marqué l'existence de l'Amazone qui, m'ayant choisi pour confident, m'avouait sereinement à l'automne 1963 : "Je crois ne m'être jamais approchée d'un être sans lui faire du bien". Elle me répétait aussi : "Mieux vaut passer sa vie à se créer soi-même qu'à procréer." Cette biographie en forme de témoignage apporte de multiples preuves à ces deux affirmations.
Jean Chalon.
Couverture : Natalie Clifford Barney à dix-huit ans. Collection de l'auteur.
mais l'Amazone ne s'est pas contentée d'être une muse. Elle est l'auteur de livres de souvenirs, Souvenirs indiscrets, Traits et portraits, Aventures de l'esprit, qui appartiennent à l'histoire littéraire de notre siècle, comme son salon qu'elle a tenu à Paris, au 20 rue Jacob, de 1910 à 1970, et où elle a reçu ses amis qui se nommaient Anatole France, Paul Valéry, Colette, Pierre Louÿs, Paul Morand, Gertrude Stein, Milosz ou Max Jacob.
Le 29 juillet 1963, dans une lettre, Marguerite Yourcenar déclare à Natalie Barney : " Je me suis dit que vous aviez eu la chance de vivre à une époque où la notion de plaisir restait une notion civilisatrice (elle ne l'est plus aujourd'hui)." Cette notion a marqué l'existence de l'Amazone qui, m'ayant choisi pour confident, m'avouait sereinement à l'automne 1963 : "Je crois ne m'être jamais approchée d'un être sans lui faire du bien". Elle me répétait aussi : "Mieux vaut passer sa vie à se créer soi-même qu'à procréer." Cette biographie en forme de témoignage apporte de multiples preuves à ces deux affirmations.
Jean Chalon.
Couverture : Natalie Clifford Barney à dix-huit ans. Collection de l'auteur.
328 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 30, 1986
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
January 8, 2016
What can one say? There's never been a more outsized personality than Natalie Barney--until journalist Jean Chalon pushed his way into her aquarium-like, Paris drawing room, sat at her feet, grabbed her treasure trove of lesbian love letters...and never left.
("But Jean," says the octogenarian, re-reading a steamy correspondence that triggers total recall of the scandalous events culminating in a dramatic breakup, "who was this Jacqueline?")
Chalon thought Natalie Barney long dead when he was given the assignment to interview her for his newspaper. Reports of her death had been greatly exaggerated; she was only taking a nap in the hammock. He came, he saw, she conquered. Same old story.
Smitten, Chalon somehow gathered the presence of mind to observe his subject closely over many years of Wednesday afternoons. Their personalities seem to have merged as a result.
Chalon steals so many scenes and ignores so many others that I don't know where to begin in reviewing this book.
His distaste for Natalie's last lover is almost laughable. His lack of clear insight into important characters like Liane de Pougy are galling. And his willful neglect of perspective on so many topics, combined with his errors of omission which have only now come to light, are indefensible. Or are they only mirror images of Natalie's own flaws? If this is a portrait, it is a master work of Cubism. A genre Barney detested.
But who can fail to be captivated by this outrageous book about a gay man who remarks that he thinks he has become a lesbian as a result of spending so much time with l'Amazone... in thrall to a woman whose exclusively Sapphic sexual exploits were literally on the order of Casanova or Don Juan? Whose love affairs with the world's most desirable women routinely "lasted from Trondheim to Paris," as a more insightful biographer, Diana Souhami, put it with such wit, such style in Wild Girls.
Just as Barney was too sexy for her shirt decades too soon, the pairing of Chalon and Barney was decades too early for reality TV. And yet you feel you have a front row seat, page after page, from beginning to end.
Whatever the cause for the exasperating narrative gaps in the scenes and vignettes that punctuate Chalon's "portrait," you can really "hear" NCB's voice in many of them. Four stars right there. Priceless.
Was she a born lover making her own rules in a world that never understood her (or never could afford her?)? Was she a visionary peacenik high on p**** from the belle époque straight through to bra burning? Or was she completely without a moral compass, as novelist Sybille Bedford told the biographer Lisa Cohen, author of All We Know? Which was the real Natalie Barney?
You decide.
And although several of Chalon's (Natalie's?) memories and claims have been corrected if not discredited by other biographers, this book is still an important place to go for the broad brush stroke on the consummate American in Paris. We wouldn't have had Modernism without her. Another fact Jean Chalon forgot to mention.
("But Jean," says the octogenarian, re-reading a steamy correspondence that triggers total recall of the scandalous events culminating in a dramatic breakup, "who was this Jacqueline?")
Chalon thought Natalie Barney long dead when he was given the assignment to interview her for his newspaper. Reports of her death had been greatly exaggerated; she was only taking a nap in the hammock. He came, he saw, she conquered. Same old story.
Smitten, Chalon somehow gathered the presence of mind to observe his subject closely over many years of Wednesday afternoons. Their personalities seem to have merged as a result.
Chalon steals so many scenes and ignores so many others that I don't know where to begin in reviewing this book.
His distaste for Natalie's last lover is almost laughable. His lack of clear insight into important characters like Liane de Pougy are galling. And his willful neglect of perspective on so many topics, combined with his errors of omission which have only now come to light, are indefensible. Or are they only mirror images of Natalie's own flaws? If this is a portrait, it is a master work of Cubism. A genre Barney detested.
But who can fail to be captivated by this outrageous book about a gay man who remarks that he thinks he has become a lesbian as a result of spending so much time with l'Amazone... in thrall to a woman whose exclusively Sapphic sexual exploits were literally on the order of Casanova or Don Juan? Whose love affairs with the world's most desirable women routinely "lasted from Trondheim to Paris," as a more insightful biographer, Diana Souhami, put it with such wit, such style in Wild Girls.
Just as Barney was too sexy for her shirt decades too soon, the pairing of Chalon and Barney was decades too early for reality TV. And yet you feel you have a front row seat, page after page, from beginning to end.
Whatever the cause for the exasperating narrative gaps in the scenes and vignettes that punctuate Chalon's "portrait," you can really "hear" NCB's voice in many of them. Four stars right there. Priceless.
Was she a born lover making her own rules in a world that never understood her (or never could afford her?)? Was she a visionary peacenik high on p**** from the belle époque straight through to bra burning? Or was she completely without a moral compass, as novelist Sybille Bedford told the biographer Lisa Cohen, author of All We Know? Which was the real Natalie Barney?
You decide.
And although several of Chalon's (Natalie's?) memories and claims have been corrected if not discredited by other biographers, this book is still an important place to go for the broad brush stroke on the consummate American in Paris. We wouldn't have had Modernism without her. Another fact Jean Chalon forgot to mention.
June 19, 2013
This book is Jean Chalon's portrait of Natalie Barney, the undisputed seductress of the Fin de siècle, and beyond. Make no mistake about it, this is not a proper biography but rather a portrait, and more accurately a tribute. The author's adoration for his subject is clear and he makes no attempt to restrain himself. It seems Chalon too was seduced by Barney. He can however be forgiven for this, for his is in good company. After all, royalty, famous demimonde courtesans and literary legends too fell under her spell, and so it isn't surprising a young journalist would also. If you're considering reading this book and have not yet read a proper biography (Rodriguez) on the subject, I would suggest doing that before picking this book up. Despite the author's enthusiastic and compromised perspective, it is an invaluable work that offers insights others do not. Chalon knew Barney for 10 years of her life and was a close acquaintance. Personal letters given to Chalon by Barney are featured. First-hand quotes are included as well as stories found nowhere else. For anyone wanting to indulge themselves into Barney's life, wanting to learn more about this fascinating woman, should read this book. It is essential material. Chalon's enthusiasm and the translator's diligent efforts make this an easy, fast and enjoyable read.
March 28, 2020
A slightly biased (admittedly so) biography about a true original full of details and name-dropping and drama and brashness and brilliance. The author knew Natalie during the last 10 years of her life, was privy to her stories and memories, and became a trusted friend. It is only natural that, by and large, she is painted with a favorable brush for most of the quite true story. However, the author proves his mettle and, whether intentionally or not, does reveal her feet of clay every so often. Most of these instances are presented with an admirable lack of judgement. I must admit that the charm left the rose at moments during her obliviousness in WWII, her careless-ness with certain friends and lovers, her childish selfishness and generosity all at once. I liked reading about Natalie Barney and admire what she did and represented and how faithful she was to herself... But I know I would never have been able to tolerate being in her presence for more than an afternoon, rich and charming and brilliant as she was. Her life was amazing and full and never ever boring.
September 28, 2014
I think other people are fascinating. And this is a portrait of a fascinating person for sure. How often do you read about an outspoken and self-assured lesbian from the early 1900s? This book has a lot of author bias at play, but is still so interesting.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews