His literary career opened with a volume entitled Les Chauves-Souris, consisting of verses in the most precious manner of the Decadence, remarkable for the expression of a legitimist's contempt for the Empress Eugénie, and an aesthete's cult for Ludwig II, the mad King of Bavaria. His next book was Les Hortensias Bleus; thenceforward these flowers, hitherto little known, became an aesthetic symbol comparable to the green carnation. Another book of his verses was entirely consecrated to the memory of Gabriel d'Yturri, who lived with him for twenty years in an intimacy which no other friend could pretend to replace. Le Chancelier de Fleurs, as it was called, was read aloud by its author to a carefully selected "compagnie de notables" at one of the most elaborate and superb receptions that he ever organized. It has not yet been printed except privately, but Montesquiou thought it his most important work. Lastly he wrote three books of war-poems, of which the first, Les Offrandes Blessées, induced a newspaper to call him the Rupert Brooke of France. He was in his sixties when he wrote it.
Most of the famous literary and artistic personages of his time were known to Montesquiou. He says little of the Impressionists, but he was painted twice by Whistler (and once by Laszlo). Leconte de Lisle, Mallarmé, Verlaine, Hérédia, Mirbeau, Bourget, and Barrès—he knew them all, and quarrelled with most of them. He fought a duel with Henri de Regnier. He introduced Duse to Bernhardt, and Ida Rubinstein to d'Annunzio. He was famous for the fastuous magnificence of his many entertainments. Some distinguished author would be the guest of honour; the saloons would be decorated with symbolic flowers; the more aesthetic inhabitants of the Faubourg, and the more presentable celebrities of the literary world, would be invited; and Réjane, Le Dargy, or some other star from the Comédie Française would recite stanzas written by Montesquiou in honour of the guest, who then usually honoured their author with a grateful accolade. Living in a more informal age, and belonging to a more self-conscious race, one finds it difficult to estimate properly the effect of such deliberate pomps. One has to suppose that the guests, whose behaviour was severely regulated, enjoyed them. In any case, what matter? "N'oublions pas," Montesquiou writes, "que je donnais ces fêtes à principe égoïste, moins pour satisfaire mes invités que pour me plaire à moi-même."
The Faubourg St Germain is a world apart. The minute particulars of etiquette which exercised the mind of Saint-Simon had in
