Scandalous Count Lives Again

By Don A. Keister

Count Robert de Montesquiou (1855-1921) could look back a thousand years along a line of ancestors that included the historical original of Dumas's musketeer.

But although he fought two duels, he collected not swords but canes, along

with rare and curious books and art objects. With intelligence, taste, money and the entree anywhere, he was what Philippe Julian, French art critic, illustrator, novelist and biographer, calls him: Prince of Aesthetes (Viking; $6.50).

AS A CHILD, Montesquiou was surrounded by servants, relatives (mostly female), ancestral portraits and the fascinating accumulations of the past that had slowly silted up the family castles.

He became a precocious young dandy and leader of fashion. He made epigrams and verses, developed a pretty talent for scandalous anecdote and a gift for exotic interior decorating. He

dabbled in spiritualism, gave elaborate parties and ridiculed his guests to his intimates.

He patronized Whistler, Mallarme and Verlaine,

helped popularize Japanese art in the West, and was among those who created the vogue for the twisting, turning lines of Art Nouveau. He was very, very "in" as the 19th Century drew to a close.

Wilde may have had him in mind when he conceived Dorian Gray. Proust certainly modeled his Baron de Charlus after him, with, however, an important difference. Charlus is a roaring homosexual; the original was much more cautious.

ALTHOUGH he was attracted by handsome young

men-he made one of them his private secretary he avoided scandal. Pride, distaste, some fundamental fear of involvement saved him from the overt, but the frustration left him bitter, dried up, isolated. He fled from reality to words and pictures: "His licentiousness was only verbal.”

M. Julian sums up neatly: "The anguish of being forgotten which haunted the

poet's last years is that of a man who instead of living has given a good performance. This scandalous yet chaste man remains a two-

dimensional figure . . ."

Julian's drawing isn't always as sure as the quotations suggest and he is a little prone to preciousness. It is not his fault, however, that the translation often reads like a literal translation from the French. But there isn't yet a better book on this minor poet whom Proust transformed into a major character.