Colette: her step-son's view
Nigella Lawson
Colette Joanna Richardson (Methuen £12.95)
`What glosses or commentaries does a Colette book need?' wrote Henry de Montherlant in his Carnets; the same ques- tion could well be applied to Colette herself. The woman who, as a child, firmly resolved not to learn how to write, later revelling in `such an absence of literary vocation' has herself told us — and how much better than could any biographer all we should want to know. Apart from the novels, her letters and writings from Les Vrilles de la Vigne to En Pays Connu docu- ment her life scrupulously.
Born in Burgundy in 1873, youngest child of `Sido' and her second husband, Jules- Joseph Colette, she spent a happy childhood in a home crammed with animals, flowers and maternal devotion until her marriage to the walrus- moustached and entrepreneurial Henri Gauthier-Villars (Willy). He had made a name for himself in literary Paris by publishing writings on diverse subjects, signed 'Willy' though in fact written by a number of more talented writers paid a pit- tance for their 'collaboration'. Colette join- ed their circle with the appearance of Claudine a recole, followed by three se- quels, all under Willy's name only. Their enormous success led Willy to promote himself as Claudine's creator and Colette as the real-life model. The actress Polaire was brought in, dressed-up exactly like Colette (her calf-length hair now savagely bobbed at Willy's order), and the wheels of the huge publicity machine, well-oiled by Willy, were kept turning: 'Willy writes articles on Mme Willy, and Mme Willy writes articles on Willy, and they both write articles on Mme Polaire, and Mme Polaire writes ar- ticles on both of them, or else each of them
writes articles on themselves.'
Having separated from Willy, she went to live with the androgynous Marquise , Belboeuf (Missy), the high-priestess of test, bian Paris, and having managed to shoc' even the soi-disant bohemians, she als° began to increase her literary reputation* In 1912 she married Henri de Jouvellhe, (Sidi), by whom she had a daughter. t divorced him 13 years later having had 'Pi affair with Bertrand, his son by his 10. marriage. Her disastrous failures in her Iov' affairs were balanced by her literary 514; cesses, but her meeting with 'the Os young man', Maurice Goudeket, who Of to be her third husband, marked the end° her problematic relationships with rriell'a At her death, she was hailed as one 01`_4-. greatest French writers and she was ace(%) ed a state funeral, but as a divorcee, C.1:193: ette was not permitted a church bullif, Despite her family's request, the Se' c important dignitaries of the Church wer immovable. • ,A red In her lifetime Colette was considered not merely a great writer but a emblem of France: 'solid Colette w"5 offers us succulent salads with raw orli°11i, and does her shopping in sandals i Hediards'. She constituted a popular icie3v, Joanna Richardson generously ackn°lit ledges these former tributes to Colette. P e what gives her own book its `10icibtly authority' is information supplied ,5 Renaud de Jouvenel, another of Coletteh, step-sons. Some readers will be trouble the extent to which Miss Richardson 11
relied on him. ises
Just as Colette lovably epito,-n— de something very French, Renaud ty, Jouvenel is a vivid reminder of that Petto minded, snobbish Frenchness that °be. turn anyone into a violent francoP11°, is Renaud de Jouvenel sees Colette's rinve's,,,e a single-minded attempt to wreak rev on the illustrious Sidi: 'In Julie de Carneilhan she denies my mother the title of Comtesse and speaks of the Carneilhans as minor squireens raising horses and pigs on some ruinous estate.' One can almost hear M. de Jouvenel's voice squeaking in indignation over Colette's heinous disrespect for his pedigree: 'And- she does not know in the least how to make a real Comtesse talk, or describe how she lives.' Renaud muses on the reasons for his father's marriage to Colette: 'He was of such a different order [from Colette] that I cannot make out what pleased him, con- temporary aesthetics apart, in this literary debutante . perhaps he had repressed Plebeian instincts.' As for the request for a church burial, Renaud finds it 'a monumental gaffe . . . in bad taste'. Renaud de Jouvenel is quoted so often and with so little modification by the author that he seems to take on the role and assum- ed.significance of a mediaeval author. Sure- ly h is obvious that such a rabid enthusiasm for behaviour comrne it Jaw at the cost of all else, says a great deal more about Renaud de Jouvenel than his step-mother, arid is unworthy of so prominent a place in what is to be 'the first serious full-scale biography of Colette'. bIt would be difficult to think of a boring ookon Colette; it would be equally dif- to think of a book that could say an, ything new about her Miss Richardson's select bibliography' mentions over 200 titles. Her own account is interesting, it is informative, but it isn't meaty. The book's Physical appearance and structure is off- Putting: each chapter is divided into tiny sections heralded by an ornamental motif, a. nd often less than a page in length; information is conveyed in a series of note- like bursts. One feels pushed about rather than absorbed by the prose. Judgments are accorded in clipped deliveries — `L'Ingenue Libertine lacks verve; it is plainly written to satIsfY the commercial appetite for the audacious' — rather in the manner of a Spectator 25 June 1983 on the illustrious Sidi: 'In Julie de Carneilhan she denies my mother the title of Comtesse and speaks of the Carneilhans as minor squireens raising horses and pigs on some ruinous estate.' One can almost hear M. de Jouvenel's voice squeaking in indignation over Colette's heinous disrespect for his pedigree: 'And- she does not know in the least how to make a real Comtesse talk, or describe how she lives.' Renaud muses on the reasons for his father's marriage to Colette: 'He was of such a different order [from Colette] that I cannot make out what pleased him, con- temporary aesthetics apart, in this literary debutante . perhaps he had repressed Plebeian instincts.' As for the request for a church burial, Renaud finds it 'a monumental gaffe . . . in bad taste'. Renaud de Jouvenel is quoted so often and with so little modification by the author that he seems to take on the role and assum- ed.significance of a mediaeval author. Sure- ly h is obvious that such a rabid enthusiasm for behaviour comrne it Jaw at the cost of all else, says a great deal more about Renaud de Jouvenel than his step-mother, arid is unworthy of so prominent a place in what is to be 'the first serious full-scale biography of Colette'. bIt would be difficult to think of a boring ookon Colette; it would be equally dif- to think of a book that could say an, ything new about her Miss Richardson's select bibliography' mentions over 200 titles. Her own account is interesting, it is informative, but it isn't meaty. The book's Physical appearance and structure is off- Putting: each chapter is divided into tiny sections heralded by an ornamental motif, a. nd often less than a page in length; information is conveyed in a series of note- like bursts. One feels pushed about rather than absorbed by the prose. Judgments are accorded in clipped deliveries — `L'Ingenue Libertine lacks verve; it is plainly written to satIsfY the commercial appetite for the audacious' — rather in the manner of a laconic but well-informed schoolmistress. Each Page is dotted with little numbers (the Product of scrupulous and conscientious study) referring to the multitude of notes at the back of the book. Commendable I'm sure, but it is tiresome to be turning so very frequently to the back only to find out from which of the many published biographies the Information was gleaned. And by the way, Michael de Cossart's book on the (Musical) salon of the Princesse Edmonde Pool, of Love.
Pool, of Love. HHColette was praised by the novelist Abel et-maim for having 'instinctively, the word whIeh makes us feel what she feels, see through her eyes'. It is a rare and difficult talent to portray. In this book the support- Ing characters seem to constitute an animated tableau vivant, against which, in- explicably, the depiction of Colette pales. For her creative genius, the real poetry of Colette, her life, read Mes ApprentissageS, Stab Le Pur et l'impur, Le Fanal bleu anything, but read her.
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