High life
Hypocrisy rules
Taki
I don't know if Liverpool had a mistress — few weaklings do — but the Prince Regent had the Fitzherbert woman, and, of course, so did Fox as well as Sheridan. So why didn't a grateful nation answer her begging letter and throw £20,000 her way? Easy. When it comes to hypocrisy, Albion has always ruled the waves. Even if all her claims — she took credit for Nelson's victo- ries — were false, so what? She was his mistress and love of his life. Twenty thou- sand pounds, a vast fortune back then, was a mere bagatelle when compared with what Nelson did for his country.
Had Nelson been Italian, Spanish, Por- tuguese or Greek, Emma would have been well taken care of. This has to do with emotional truth, as opposed to factual truth. The former represents what is in one's soul, the latter is superficial, based, say, on a document or an agreement. The real Lady Nelson was Emma, no ifs or buts about it.
We Greeks are used to keeping mistress- es, but, unlike Nelson, the wife and mother of our children remains the love of our life. We also change the mistress rather regular- ly, after a generous pay-off, that is. Most of my married Greek friends have had mis- tresses throughout their lives, and very few of them got divorced. Ditto for my Italian and French buddies. Then there are the Americans. They marry their mistresses, as Henry Ford did, twice. And we all know what Sir James Goldsmith had to say about marrying one's mistress.
Speaking of Jimmy Goldsmith, the moth- er of my children and I went down to Bur- gundy last weekend and stayed with him in his Chateau de Montjeu. Now, I have seen a few grand houses in my time, but Jimmy's Ile wins hands down. Built in 1600, once owned by Talleyrand's uncle, it is a happy place, symmetrical, built on a human scale, and surrounded by the prettiest landscape in Europe.
Autun, the nearest town, is Talleyrand's birthplace and the true capital of Bur- gundy. This is due to its antiquity and authenticity. Talleyrand not only had many mistresses — three generations of the Duchess of Dino — he also loved beautiful things. Jimmy's paintings and furniture made the poor little Greek boy envious, a trait I never knew I suffered from.
The château has 2,000 walled acres inside and 3,000 outside. Throughout the three days I roamed inside and outside the property, I did not see a single guard, just a couple of peasants playing boules. I men- tion this because the Evening Standard once wrote that black-clad armed men were crawling about the place scaring the natives. The truth is different. The natives adore Jimmy as he has provided badly needed employment. His staff are the hap- piest I've come across, as well as among the nicest. Writing that black-clad gunmen sur- round the château is on a par with calling Max Hastings a gentleman. It is outra- geous.
However sad it is to see such rubbish in a newspaper, living well is still the best revenge, and my old friend Sir James is doing it as I write. Yes, he's very ill, and, yes, he's in pain, but we spent three days laughing and telling stories and not once did he utter a word about his physical con- dition. If only those who wrote so many untruths about him had a scintilla of his courage, who knows, perhaps one day they might even accomplish a scintilla of what he has. But I know my hacks. They will remain jealous, ugly, freeloading, and with their grotty little wives in their grotty little houses. For myself, I plan to return to Bur- gundy as soon as the invitation arrives.
Jeffrey Bernard will return next week.
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