December 1921 ~ August 1923

December 21.

Just had a visit from Flossie and the Duchesse de Clermont-Tonnerre. They were on their way back from Robert de Montesquiou's funeral which took place at Versailles. Plenty of visiting these days: Madame de La Beraudiere has bought my lovely eighteenth century pastel. Lady M, who lives here at the Hotel de Croisille, has asked us to tea. She is a Shakespearian being imbued with a thousand dramatic essences. She married a rather half-witted young Lord who, she says, did not consummate the marriage and dumped her here. She runs madly back and forth to Paris, raging and scheming, in order to recapture a gaga husband who is not in the least interested. A little Jew from the City came on the scene in the role of secretary to her father-in-law and has completely set this rich and noble family by the ears. When the old lord died he left him as much of his fortune as he could. Not satisfied with that, the young man seduced the widow and the imbecile son. He has declared war on the young rebel wife. It is a depressing story. I used to know that young man, rather a good-looking boy with a head of silky blond hair like Absalom's, blue eyes, an innocent expression, tenacious, intelligent and - I am very much afraid - quite without scruples. About twenty-years-ago Jacques, the maitre d'hotel at the Carlton in London, came up to me at lunch one day and said: 'Oh Madame Liane de Pougy, you could win me a horse! Mr - has promised that he will give me the horse he rides in Hyde Park every morning if I introduce him to you. It is such a beautiful horse, worth two hundred or two hundred and fifty pounds !' - 'Jacques - bring the young man over to my table at once!' Five minutes later the boy was sitting beside me, I was tweaking his beautiful hair and ordering him to send the horse round to Jacques at once, which he did. In those days he was still wet behind the ears, but he had a bold and optimistic view of the future.

Madame de Clermont-Tonnerre, nee Gramont, told me that young Lady M is demented and quite dangerous; in their circle they call her 'Little Madame Landrue'. I shall disengage myself gradually - I don't like crazy people.

Flossie was affectionate. We drank tea, gossipped and talked about the Duc de Gramont, le be Agenor Madame de Clermont Tonnerre's father. He was married three times and his wives were a Wagram, a Rothschild and a ravishing Italian beauty forty-five years younger than himself.

1922

January 6.

I can't resist the pleasure of quoting the pretty turn of phrase used by Duchess Elisabeth de Clermont-Tonnerre when she was giving her opinion about me: 'Where I expected to find no more than a whiff of scent, I found fresh air.'

January 27.

It is a long time since I wrote. Naturally life in Paris was charming and eventful. Every evening fatigue threw me onto my bed, quite overcome. There was nothing for it but to pack our bags and return to the inhospitable fold provided by the Helou ladies.

I stayed for Flossie's Friday. Madame Fabre-Luce was there, prepossessing and blooming and determined not to leave my side. Duchess Elisabeth arrived later, forced her way through the crowd, smiling from afar, with her hand outstretched, declaring: It's for your sake that I'm here.' Auric was there, and Madame Claude Farrere, alias Roggers, with whom I have had a coldness. The other ladies' friendliness infected her and she had quite a long and amiable conversation with me, very nearly confiding in me. Salomon appeared for a moment, kissed the tips of my fingers and slipped away, Andre Rouveyre joined us, then André Germain. Pierre Drieu La Rochelle was introduced to us: he is very agreeable and could claim successes in other lines beside poetry. Jean de Gourmont was there, shy and nice. We outstayed the crowd and had dinner with Flossie. It was eight years since I had dined out. I survived this debauchery very well, only to renew it on the Sunday evening at the Duchess's, a ravishing little Directoire house on the rue Raynouard, modernized with the most perfect taste. After dinner mattresses covered with velvet and cushions were spread on the floor of a little Chinese room, intimate and warm, and I was persuaded to lie down. Flossie, whose eye trouble was making her feverish, came and lay beside me and the Duchess sat close to us and quizzed us gaily.

January 28. The day after our dinner party Duchess Elizabeth left for Austria to look for platinum and jewels which, it seems, can be bought there very cheaply and on which we can make a good profit. The Duchess pooh-poohs the current rumours about epidemics in Austria.

Eating out all over the place like this is very funny. Our friends were determined to put on a good show for us, and at the moment the most expensive thing is chicken. So we could be sure that every meal would include the appearance of a beautiful roast chicken. Georges and I couldn't catch each others eye without laughing; we really went off it. Finally, when I got an invitation I said: 'I must warn you, I'm not allowed chicken.' - 'How very odd,' people said. 'Chicken - the white meat, anyway - isn't usually forbidden.' Then I would tell my story and everyone would laugh.

On Wednesday, lunch with Balthy. Louise was very gay, she had been dancing until three in the morning. At present she is collecting blue and white from China and Persia. She has blinds made of ostrich feathers and cushions made of fur. I caught her in bed, having herself daubed with oil of turpentine by her masseuse as she reclined on pink crepe de chine sheets ! Nathalie came with Romaine Brooks to pick me up; they wanted to see her close to, and seemed disappointed. Romaine was sporting the Legion of Honour. Nathalie took me to Madeleine Vionnet, the great dressmaker of the moment. A plain dress of black crepe de chine, with no embroidery or decoration: 2,600 francs! 'What would its sale price be?' - '1,600 francs.' Nathalie was able to wangle it and got it for 1,000 francs. But that's still dear, for a reduction.

Then Flossie took us on to Madame R, who was giving a tea party in my honour. It was big, grand, cold and comfortable. I'm enormously fond of Madame R... but my Flossie! What a matchless creature she is, what a rare wit ! She has it and she inspires it. When someone said that her house was very dusty she answered: 'But dust is pretty, it's furniture's face powder.' We saw her little old mother, frisky, alert, sparkly. Georges is mad about her. An incredible youthfulness runs in her veins, shines in her eyes, curls her white hair and vibrates the feather on her hat. Long ago, in our wild young days, she disapproved of my relationship with her daughter. I can hardly blame her. We didn't stir up the past, pressed each others hands and paid each other compliments.

The next day, lunch at the Rouveyres, then on to see the Countess de La Beraudiere who was expecting us. Masses of wonderful things : Raeburn, Lawrence, even Greco - but everything liberally covered with... face powder!

February 2.

Duchess Elisabeth is a sensual, greedy, lovable child who uses all the gifts with which she is endowed to the top of her bent. When she laughs she stamps her feet as though she couldn't contain herself. Her hair springs up as though it were impossible to control it. She eats as though she were starving. No doubt she is a voracious lover. She has the most delicious thoughts: she ought to have them published. I have been told that she has shed bitter tears over Nathalie, but nowadays they have a very close and tender friendship.

February 9.

I have read some of the Almanach, given me by its kind author the Duchess of Clermont-Tonnerre. It is a jewel of a book, sensual, enlightened, even erudite, and above all full of poetry. One learns delightful things from it: that quails are highly immoral and will marry anyone, the best seasons for eating this, that and the other. She despises radishes, extols the poultry of La Fleche and the strawberries of Plougastel. She quotes Nathalie Clifford Barney, Renée Vivien and others. It is written with carefully polished wit. Even apart from her blue blood, this duchess is quite someone and I feel more and more flattered by her good opinion of me: 'Aha! Princess Georges Ghika, the most charming of letter-writers and perhaps of women!'

July 11.

Today I want to talk about my conquests. Rediscovered Nathalie comes to coax and caress me, and murmur 'My first love, and my last.' I see her bending over to enfold me, and it seems that I have never left her arms. Inconstant Nathalie, so faithful, in spite of her infidelities. She celebrates my body down to the waist. That is all that I allow myself to grant. The rest belongs to Georges and no one else in the world can touch it. The rest would make the sin too big; and anyway that rest is so accustomed to Georges that it throbs for no one but him...

July 21.

This morning the painters finished dressing up the Petit- Clos. It was the least we could do for Gladness (the Duchess) and Harmony (Nathalie). Now we can face them without blushing.

August 22.

Yesterday I took them to see the beautiful cathedral at Saint-Pol, then to Penzé where we explored the mysterious alleys which I love so much. We greeted the tower of Berthe Bigfoot in passing and stopped at the illustrious calvary of Saint-Thegonnec. They bathed in the sea with Georges. The Duchess has a lovely swimming costume of violet wool. Undressed she is superb - dresses thicken her and spoil her shape. She soothed our siesta with the silvery accents of her flute. It was soft, pastoral, plaintive. She really does have tremendous style, always, in every one of her gestures, in her every attitude. Nathalie was sulking yesterday. It was obvious, so the Duchess made herself attentive.

After dinner we went up to my room. Georges and the Duchess smoked. I got into bed. Flossie came and lay down beside me... I committed the delicious sin of abandoning myself to her caressing hands while the Duchess and Georges went on talking literature with the utmost gravity. Nathalie and I were laughing like children at nothing and everything and it was infectious. The little Garat girl had come for the drive with us and was tired and happy, embarrassed at seeing us in each other's arms; she didn't know where to look, so then we teased her and she began to laugh with us. Goodnights were said. The Duchess came to sit on my bed for a moment. She was disturbed. She kissed the back of my neck, then my mouth.

August 23

Day follows day, fine, happy, golden within and without. Our friends are beautiful, cheerful, healthy, delicious and pleased with everything, all quite naturally, without effort or strain. At Santec we walked barefoot in the sea and the warm, soft sand. We drove back by the Isle of Sieck and by Saint-Pol, past the Danielou estate with the famous fig tree which spreads over six hundred square metres and is supported on ninety stone pillars. Our friends exclaimed: 'But it's a marvel ! People go all the way to India to see giant baobabs or to Africa in order to rave about enormous rubber trees, and this beats the lot!' When we got home they went swimming, with Georges. Wrapped in her white towelling robe, the Duchess is as attractive as ever. No one else has such a majestic walk. For breakfast I give them toast, warm brioches, milk bread with raisins in it, tea, the freshest butter and our famous Plougastel strawberry jam, served on Quimper china. They make short work of it. We never stop laughing, we understand each other, we blend and mingle. In the evenings... the plot thickens. The Duchess came to lie on my bed and Nathalie snuggled between us. Caresses, loving kisses. It was charming - perhaps a little nerve-racking. Camille kept her head turned away so that she should see nothing. Georges read poetry aloud. Nathalie remembered something Marguerite Moreno said when she was staying with friends in the country, on a rainy day. Someone had asked 'What shall we do?' In her melodious, beautifully modulated voice Marguerite let fall the one word: 'Fornicate.'

I love my friends. Surely, dear Lord, it can't be a great sin? It is You who sent them to me all open-hearted, it's You who made them so sweetly fond and sensual, it's You who make them lean over me with such tenderness - surely it is?

'The Duchess is flighty,' says Nathalie. 'Elegantly, indolently flighty.' What else should Gladness be? No doubt the tenderness displayed by Harmony is more penetrating. As for me, I am Abandon: joyful, strung-up, with - this morning - a headache, a back-ache and my head in a whirl. But still a haze of happiness covers everything brought to me recently by my friendship with these charming beings. It is, in fact, an exquisite occasion in which we are all delighting in our true affection for each other. The sin would be if there were dishonesty or trickery in it, if there were an ulterior motive - snobbery or gross sensuality - or if decisive gestures had been made. Whereas these delicate, tentative caresses, like inhaling the perfume of a flower...?

September 1.

Such a charming note from my dear little Duchess. In my answer I am doing as she asked and describing one of our days in full. What a charming thought!

September 7.

Everything the Duchess does is so charming - she has sent Georges a delightful poem celebrating our excursions in my beloved Brittany. It is very modern, and to tell the truth I'm a bit baffled by this kind of complicated thing which has to be read almost like a puzzle.

1923

March 22.

Nathalie is miffed. She promised that she would come here with the Duchess at the end of March, and now she looks like going back on her promise. Having been offended, I wanted to offend in my turn. I wrote a very poetic letter to the Duchess suggesting that she should come with Mademoiselle Lefranc. Whereupon my Nathalie was stirred to wrath and wrote me a stern letter accusing me of not being pure gold. Nathalie is becoming cantankerous; it must be the change of life ; she bristles at the least thing, her voice goes arrogant and pompous. I had a taste of it on December 27th or 28th; it passed, obviously, but it happened. For four days I flinched away from her as though she were a red hot poker. I called her 'Extra-dry, for the American market' and for a time withdrew the sweet name of Harmony. She was penitent and found charming ways of making up.

I do like Nathalie, but she scares me and being scared does not suit me. The Duchess was exquisite from beginning to end of our stay in Paris. She came to cheer us up every day, telephoned every morning, gave a lovely luncheon for me, then a tea party with the famous Ricardo Vines who played me marvels by Granados and Albeniz and insisted that I should sit by him as he played. The Duchess took us - Georges and me - to the Vieux Colombier theatre to see le Carosse du saint-sacrementy the most delightful comedy in twenty years, and so well acted.

May 23.

I lunched with the Lazaruses in Paris. After lunch Georges went to the Gare Montparnasse to prepare our journey to Roscoff, while I escaped to my dear Duchess in the rue Raynouard. She was in - and without Nathalie ! The welcome she gave me was loving, joyful, tender, caressing. She was still my own Gladness. Dear, spontaneous, warm little Duchess. Her worldly duties are keeping her very busy these days, but she found time to tell me about the letters of Robert de Montesquiou and Marcel Proust, very curious letters. Montesquiou was so unkind to the gentle Marcel that it amounted to ferocity. It would be very interesting to see them. My Duchess has met Reynaldo Hahn, whom she likes very much. There were blue hydrangeas fading in her garden, and an African god commanded the entrance of the front court. She gave me some red roses. It's impossible not to love her! And how cross I am with naughty Nathalie, making me tell her lies like this, and avoid her! But I can't help it, I don't want to see Nathalie and they are always together. In the Duchess's bedroom I saw two pairs of slippers under a Louis XVI chest of drawers. I thought - the grey pair are Nathalie's, and I wanted to pull a face at them. Anyway, I showed Gladness my delight in being near her, in kissing her, in having her in my life, my thoughts, my heart. She was looking young and beautiful with a jaunty little almond-green hat, a chiffon scarf flung carelessly round her neck, a dark green satin Poiret-Egyptian dress embroidered in vivid colours. I feel quite impregnated with her tender warmth.

May 24.

At about eleven o'clock I was just going out when I heard the magisterial voice of Salomon Reinach asking if we were in. He is no longer banned. I opened the door, and my little Duchess who was hiding in the alcove flew into my arms! She brought me a bouquet of purple roses and the delight of her sparkling presence. She talked to me about all kinds of things. With her everything is quick, vibrant, joyful and colourful. Salomon was rather left out but was happy to watch, analyse, calculate.

June 7.

At last! And for months... months... months... How happy we are together in our loving solitude surrounded by the endless space of the sea outside our windows, the fresh air, the simple little house. Here all is repose; wounds heal; thoughts become harmonious; bitterness sweetens. We retain only that which is charming.

August 6.

Affectionate(likely a mistranslation) letter from Nathalie - rather affected, I think. Poor fat old Nathalie, grumpy and cantankerous. The Duchess has vanished into silence. I no longer feel that I'm the couple's 'beloved child'. They are intelligent women, sometimes charming, often amusing, very superficial. When you want to go deeper you find that these intoxicating goddesses are banal and ugly. After that you have to manoeuvre to keep a distance between you and the banality.

Source: Liane de Pougy, My Blue Notebooks. Trans. Diana Athill. Tarcher/Putnam, 2002.

#memoir #blue