I am continually asked by readers for photographic accompaniment to the veiled snippets of autobiography I present here on Open Salon. To that aim, and in order to salvage the visual record from decrepitude, I submit the following selections from family photo albums unearthed several months ago at Libellules — my childhood home on the outskirts of Paris.
A perusal of daguerrotypes, cartes de visite, antique walnut stereoscopes and polaroids released many a memory from the festering lockbox of the mind, which I propose to share with you now.
The series, A Life in Pictures, will be presented in installments.
Part One: Childhood.
Myself in a baby carriage. c. 1887
The nimble handmade lace which adorns the parapluie
fascinates me, especially when I learn it has come
from a convent in le Puy. As an infant,
I adore detail work.
Maison des Libellules, on the
outskirts of Paris. c. 1880
"Home"
The governess, Mlle Auchon. 1890
I admired everything about her.
In La Ville-Lumière there lived a maid,
Who once was a governess,
For one great day in a humble life,
She thought, had seen her blessed!
The sailor boy who'd read her note,
Who'd plucked it out from the sea,
And routed the Spanish Armada - 'Thanks
To Napoleon, and me!
Who once was a governess,
For one great day in a humble life,
She thought, had seen her blessed!
The sailor boy who'd read her note,
Who'd plucked it out from the sea,
And routed the Spanish Armada - 'Thanks
To Napoleon, and me!
The author on a childhood visit to the
Bois de Boulogne in the late 19th century.
A stop at the ménagerie left me sniffling;
I was soon to realize I was allergic to animals
and other commonplace entertainments.
I would have nothing of stuffed or wooden toys;
instead, I was obsessed with fine artworks,
cambistry, precious gems,
subtle sartorial distinctions
and literature.
Mother, a great and vivacious beauty. 1891
Depicted with one of her favorite jewels.
For as long as I can remember, any discussion
of mother has been strictly verboten.
Father, The Marquis Chariot,
Noblesse de chancellerie. 1895
"Held me at arm's length"
Father's foundation in Switzerland
The Chariot Institute at Shush Castle. c. 1898
Here, under imposing gothic spires, studies are
performed on the criminally insane. Many modern
modalities such as lobotomy, shock treatment
and waterboarding are based on The Chariot Method.
Childhood sweetheart, melting first love,
the Comtesse de Boulainvilliers. 1894
Enjoyed many childhood games on the estate grounds,
sweet fantasies in which she employed vast and subtle
psychological characterizations to embroider
her roles as "princess" or "fairy". Fell down a well,
but the body was never found.
Cemetery and chapel on the estate at Libellules. 1892
Where the Comtesse and I spent countless childhood hours,
capturing and cataloguing insects according to a classificatory
system based entirely on the structure of the mouthparts.
Maypole at Libellules. 1893
Perceptive readers will recognize the Duc d'Auvergne,
the Marquess de Mercœur, Vicomte d'Alençon,
Baroness de Clermont-Tonnerre and the
Comtesse de Berry among the noceurs, several
of whom tragically met their end at Libellules.
A favorite snapshot of the governess. 1896,
taken by the author at age 10.
It was around this time I developed a keen interest
in The Fine Arts, spending innumerable private
hours with Mlle Auchon, who tirelessly
indulged my most strident artistic directions.
Classmates at L'École des Roches, Paris. 1899
Bourgeois bullies and nouveau riche daemons, all.
will focus on student days,
youthful adventures, romantic interludes
and first marriage.
PLEASE NOTE:
With an eye to propriety,
will be available by password only,
which will be emailed to
commenters on Part One.
. . .
© Monsieur Chariot 2011
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scottcvoss
the_beheld
Authenticity
Foolish Monkey
Procopius
Susie Lindau
Salon.com
Comments
You are like one at
'The New Yorker'
I recall the cartoon of two miserable folk who are in a upscale saloon (Palms) Manhattan.
The two are gloomy.
"Two roads diverged in a wood,
and I chose the one that said this`
`
Mergers, acquisitions, incredible bonuses. But. sometimes a human being just wants to weep if eye see them whine. I have a brother-in-law who was a Wall Street bookie. He juggled books and when he aged he was riffed.
It's pretty pitiful.
yes eyes bulge '$'.
Eyes are shallow.
I'd rather brag my
dentist, plumber,
taxidermist, hog`
all work for Salon.
huh?
Oops?
Have garage sales.
Crime Don't Pay.
Why sell Garage?
Sign reads:
Yard Sale Today.
Sell doughnuts.
No sell Ya yard.
Who's behind?
No tell readers.
It behind editor?
Please no tell us.
Red Flag X-'R'at.
Rated? ''R' broke.
Where we find a`
`
Governess, huh?
She wash clothes?
She's sure cute too.
I hope it didn't bruise his feelings.
He releases stress (Kerry?) by asking
Gabby Abby (James Levine?) questions
Does Kerry Relaunch anyone else @ OS?
`
Relive stress by opening 12- dill pickle jars.
I really have been seeing the Great Heron.
The Heron flies like Woody Woodpecker.
A graceful wingspan is simply breathtaking.
Job's Whirlwind sweeps us up on somedays.
IF we get through stuck pickle jars we be okay.
Let's Hope. My dear Monsieur loves Opera too?
I heard James Levine interviewed. He's fabulous.
He directs The Boston's Symphony Orchestra etc.,
He directed the Metropolitan Opera for forty years.
I listened to James Levine and will never be the same.
He's in almost constant pain. His back aches all the time.
I got to wash some more dirty shirts. It's sunny and clear.
It's a clothesline hanging day. I need Kathleen Battle's help.
She sings `O, Come Down Sweet Chariot. We suffer enough!
Behave...
&
*
Stuck?
Try`gin?
Kerry?
It would appear that you have observed, and perhaps plumbed the profundity of the beautifully presented posterior of your most pleasant governess. It is appreciated that you share such with we, mere scribblers of OS, unlettered in those fine arts of which you are undoubtedly a master.
Or, should you prefer the American dialect: "Nice ass on the chick, man!"
;-)
.
My dear Mlle Bleue ~ I do seem to recall you from an incident at Maypole, Libelulles, 1985. To this day, I maintain I was nowhere near the crenellations when the accident occurred!
My dear Mlle Abby ~ I am saving you a piece of the Bûche de Noël this year. Délicieux comme péché !
My dear M. James ~ Two roads diverged in a wood, and I blundered into the marécage.
My dear Mlle Greenhorn ~ you are confusing me with a distant cousin who met tragedy at Libelulles last summer, choking to death on a hambone at picnic.
My dear Mlle Rising ~ For the record I consider pornographic entertainments vulgar, writhing tributes to over-exuberant, pagan, reproductive deities!
My dear M. James ~ I have submitted several hundred, intimate, handwritten notes to M. Levine, to request he guest-conduct The Orchestra Lamoreux. I have yet to hear back.
My dear Mme Kelly ~ It may be in your best interests to know that as a child I was under the psychoanalytic care of one of Freud's first female followers, Madame Docteur Hermine Hug-Hellmuth, who almost died one autumn at Libelulles on a mysteriously poisoned lollipop.
My dear M. bbd ~ In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
but for the crooked smile
of your most secret heart.
"As an infant,
I adore detail work." - Who doesn't, at that age?!
Thank you for another truly delightful post, and I eagerly await the second.
This is brilliant, MC! Just brilliant.
Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.
My dear Mme Riordan ~ A laughter which echoes late at night through the dark chambres at Libelulles.
My dear M. Heart ~ Any discussion of Mother is strictly forbidden!
My dear Mlle Babe ~ Enthusiasms, unchecked can be a dangerous thing.
My dear Mlle Salzberg ~ Spoken like the enfant aventureux du Salon!
My dear Mlle XL ~ Mlle Auchon served as muse to many youthful, artistic ruminations! Thank you for your exuberant commentary, my dear.
My dear M. bbd ~ Très élégant en effet !
My dear Mlle Myriad ~ As I child, I employed cuteness to cloak many a dark arrangement.
It is an endless ocean,
with no beginning or end.
Imagine,
a suspended ocean,
riding on a cushion of ancient secrets.
All souls have drowned in it,
and now dwell there.
One drop of that ocean is hope,
and the rest is fear."
My favorite Rumi poem. I hope you are well M. Chariot
My grandmother once said of a woman we knew,"Evangeline is rather too rich a morsel for everyday life."
Your rich morsels, in contrast, leave us, your admirers, hungry for more.
Round the griefs of the ages. . .
a fascinating account!
r
the tricky rate.
r again
My dearest Mme Riordan ~ Our lover's tears, moistening the grounds for the coming Spring!
My dear M. Trudge ~ One does what one can to encourage academic achievement, erudition and Victorian encyclopaedism!
That would be M Pixie sil vous plait.....
.
My dearest Mlle Latethink ~ Thank you for your thoughtful encouragements! You know, several favorite persons indicated the exact same email problem this evening. The technologies! Henceforth I shall be sending notes by post, in my usual florid longhand.
i love them all, each and every one, and the vivid remembrances that accompany them. Huzzah!
My dear Mlle Dianaani ~ It is my aim to clarify, as precisely as possible, exactly what happened during that difficult era. Family attorneys insisted upon it. No ambiguities!
rated
My dear Mlle Linnnn ~ One key to my longevity has been a willingness to take champagne whenever and wherever I am the subject of a toast! Salud!
My dear M. Sheepdog ~ Despite my best efforts and the services of several public relations firms, lurid stories regarding the stalking of my person by a famous Hollywood actress have been impossible to suppress.
But I have to ask -- are there extant photos of your trial and incarceration for . . . well, I'd rather not say. But if there are such photos, will we see them in Part Two, or perchance will there be a Part Three?
My dear M. Now ~ Grinning is forbidden at table at Libellules.
My dear M. Mishima ~ Since you have (innocently? I think not) arranged to bring the episode to the attention of interested parties, details of my misbegotten stay in the state penitentiary will be covered in Part 3. Thank you.
PS Brilliant, you are a connoisseur, Monsieur.
♥R
My dearest Mlle Caprice ~ I am thrilled to see you on Open Salon and thank you for your fanciful reflexion!
My dear Mlle Hagood ~ One is prohibited from discussing Mother casually.
My dear Mlle Who ~ To my discriminating palate I attribute at least a decade of eating disorders.
a password s'il vous plaiz?
But, so happy to see you had Mlle. Auchon to soothe you in troubled times!
She married Daniel Morales, 13 years her senior, in January 2006 in a private ceremony. Morales was convicted in 2002 of impersonating a federal marshal to steal money and drugs from drug dealers.
Although Jessica's parents Cissy and Chip McClure separated and divorced in the years after the rescue, they remained united in their determination to make Jessica’s childhood as normal as possible.
My dear M. Tawls ~ Your password - should you decide to use it — is: "Nebuchadnezzar's Whore-pipe!".
My dear M. Tingey ~ The well near the family cemetery on the estate at Libellules was the scene of some of the era's most ghastly… accidents.
Mademoiselle