His memoirs
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January 1928You and I had just spent the first day of January together at Henri and Renée Pelle des Forges’ home in Versailles. On a cold but sunny winter’s day my father Jean Poutet’s sister, Aunt Renée, had striven to make as pleasant as possible, in order to help soften the separation that You and I felt so apprehensive about. Mother set out my things in a pretty little room prepared for me. Mitchou my teddy bear, given to me for Christmas 1923, was placed on my bed. The time had come for us to separate. You would telephone within the week; from Aunt Marguerite’s in Paris where she would stay for a while. We would also meet again in two weeks’ time. Aunt Renée went with her to the station and I saw them disappear into the cold night into the fog that had fallen on the grey and sad city. It was one of two or three turning points in my life that had just taken place. Why are “the big people” unable to understand the despair of little boys? x x x
Uncle Henri had a very patriotic strain which he was unable to moderate under any circumstances. This caused him some difficulties when on certain assignments as military advisor to an Embassy abroad. At the declaration of war in 1939 he was captain of a ship in Toulon and, after the armistice, in an office working for the Naval Ministry in Vichy. In addition to his work at the Ministry, he collaborated with two newspapers. The “Gringoire”8 was widely read. As it was considered a collaborationist paper it placed him in an awkward situation with regard to most of his friends opposed to the German occupation. He no doubt suffered. Actually the articles he wrote contained encoded information destined for the Resistance and the Allies. He was denounced, arrested and deported to Auschwitz from where he would not return. Uncle Henri had a strong personality and a strong penchant for pretty women. His wife was accommodating; herself being very attracted by good looking men. I often heard her discuss with delight the beauty of Serb officers, memories of a stay in Yugoslavia. Uncle Henri took on an absent, indifferent, detached air, seeming for the moment to be out of it, like a seagull swooping over the ocean. My Aunt Renée was a strong woman with a complex, strong personality shown as much by her physique as by her character. Her megalomania was poorly hidden and sometimes led to uncertain behaviour or even immorality, which came to the fore in the aftermath of the war. This came to a head in an incident against her brother Jean Poutet, this dishonest episode will be related later. The history of the surname ‘Pelle des Forges’ is more amusing Uncle Henri's father was in fact Mr Desforges, who had married a young lady Pelle, originating from a village of the Hautes-Alpes: Aspres-les-Corps. My dear Aunt managed to persuade the administrations concerned, with all the trickery and stubbornness that she possessed, using every opportunity and shenanigan, eventually allowing him to manipulate the name to ‘des Forges’ and precede it by ‘Pelle’, thus creating a suitable name for a great career in the Navy, as well as obtaining acceptance into aristocratic circles. The qualities of this woman's intelligence were real. She possessed a strong general cultural sense. She prepared her eldest daughter for her baccalaureate in philosophy, enabling her to achieve a 'good' mark. This is probably anecdotal, but I've also seen her effectively helping her husband draft some tactful writing. Knowing the requirements and the attention to detail that Uncle Henri brought to everything he did, this was not easy. Aunt Renée was first and foremost a frustrated musician. Her piano performances of the classics clearly indicated a near professional talent. She also had a beautiful contralto voice with a wide range, encompassing an extensive repertoire. She was a soloist in the chorus of the Ste Chapelle. With her friend Madame d'Aboville, they enjoyed musical afternoons that enraptured me. In truth, Aunt Renée had a real feeling for acting, something she acknowledged and willingly confessed to. There is no doubt she could have been a great actress of tragedies or an excellent Tosca. Drama was, I think, embedded in her nature. As for my two cousins, they were older; Monique by three, and Anne by six years; they were more familiarly known as Monette and Nany. They were, the one as much as the other, very kind towards me, as were their parents, helping me to integrate into this branch of my paternal family. Until the war we would always maintain a loving relationship. Later they proved much less sympathetic, as issues of interest will become clear. But this is another story. x x x
Bizarrely, although I felt some respect for the splendid Louis XIV castle, I viewed it with some hostility because I could not bear that it be compared to that of “my” castle at Fontainebleau. It was explained that they were actually two great masterpieces, very different in style and scale and therefore not comparable in their magnificence. This suited me perfectly as both castles could be considered as equals.
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Every Sunday we went together to mass. The choir was great. I specially liked the male voices (which continues to be the case), I believe women voices need to be exceptional to be melodious. Leaving the Church, a very pleasant weekly ritual took us to the “Three Tricks”, the best pastry shop in town; so called because above the main door was a large painting of three monkeys feasting on various cakes. Well-off families were often seen here. It was an opportunity for a good gossip and to see the excesses of the ladies. The winter was very cold, ice covered all the fountains and ponds. From the main façade of the palace one has a beautiful perspective of the Grand Canal, which although wide, maintained an average 20-30 cm thickness of ice which attracted skaters, however in some places it was much less thick, and some drownings or crowd related accidents had occurred. A large safe area was now marked out and my cousins and I took the opportunity to try skating. It was a wonderful discovery. In February, I was to have the immense joy of spending three days with Mum in Paris at Aunt Marguerite’s. I liked the warm and comfortable atmosphere of her apartment and above all, the loving serenity of our Aunt. My affection for her was even greater when I heard by chance in the chit-chat of conversation when she kindly told You that she should perhaps not have to live separate from me. But I had known for a long time that Mum had made this decision “for my own good”, I could not doubt her or resent the fact. During the night it began to snow heavily and the next day You and I went for a long walk, well dressed and shod. She told me lots of stories about Mauritius and Madagascar. I suspected that there was a little embellishment, nevertheless these stories thrilled me. You was a great storyteller and furthermore she expressed herself well, and spoke in a very pleasant way. Just as with “the big folk” that is to say adults, she used a wide expressive vocabulary, fair and precise terms well suited to the subject, and with intonations that enraptured me, I occasionally caught a little creole accent creeping in, with the same accent that Uncle Cham, Aunt Yvonne and Aunt Marguerite spoke with, and also Cham’s childhood friend Alice of whom I will speak later. Sometimes, instead of a story, You recited a poem. At Barbizon, at a very early age she had given me the taste for poetry. Even if I did not always understand the meaning of some verses (perhaps in some cases she deemed it not useful to linger), I loved the rhythm and music that it evoked. Usually we chose a poem at random from one of the three anthologies of French poets she liked best. They were mainly of the period 1860-1915 and had been given to her by Jean Poutet during their “blue” period. Both had lightly noted in pencil their favourite poems with a silhouette of a bird in flight, and sometimes two, depending on the beauty of the verse. Subsequently I used these signs to indicate my appreciation of other poems. And it is not without emotion even now, that from time to time I delve back into these volumes. They form part of the rare things that once belonged to mum, and were stored in an outhouse belonging to the Bard family at Sanary, which I retrieved after the terrible bombing of August 13, 1944, when You, Roger, Dany and Poune their daughter, who had gathered there, were all killed. My return to Versailles was less sad than I thought it would be, because my heart and spirit were recharged by the memories of these three wonderful days with You, our lovely Aunt and great-Aunt. if a little spleen came to fog my thoughts I would draw randomly on these memories and the sun would shine again. Those around me ensured that nothing came to hinder my wellbeing.”. I knew the Castle, its beautiful parks and ponds. We then went on to the Grand, and Petit Trianon. Whilst I could admire the first for its size and its beautiful forms, and also for its maze nestled at the bottom of the grand staircase, so full of mystery for the child that I was. But my favourite was the Petit Trianon, for its elegant setting, the charm that it exuded, and the history that permeated it At Aunt Renée, when we returned, I stated that it was there that I wanted to live. She gave me a quizzical look which I took to be of affectionate surprise, which no doubt to her, was probably seen as a contradiction At the same time, I did not hide the sadness I felt at the thought that a pretty Queen, loved so much, lived at this beautiful site before wicked people came to behead her. My little head had mixed thoughts, but I loved to linger there x x x
Sometimes, instead of a story, You recited a poem. At Barbizon, at a very early age she had given me the taste for poetry. Even if I did not always understand the meaning of some verses (perhaps in some cases she deemed it not useful to linger), I loved the rhythm and music that it evoked. Usually we chose a poem at random from one of the three anthologies of French poets she liked best. They were mainly of the period 1860-1915 and had been given to her by Jean Poutet during their “blue” period.
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Nany, my eldest cousin, lorded it over us, Monette and me, because her parents had granted her permission to participate in this gala evening; her first. Monette and I were allowed exceptionally, to stay up until ten o'clock, provided that we remain as discrete possible. Among the first arrivals came my Uncle and Aunt’s closest friends: the d'Aboville. It was with Madame d'Aboville that my Aunt enjoyed the musical afternoons that delighted me so much. They were a family of giants, well known in Versailles. Their two sons Jean, twenty-two years old was the elder and Alain nineteen years. With their father they all three exceed one metre ninety-five and their mother was one meter eighty, pretty impressive, but they were all good looking and charming. Alain, it seemed, was the darling of girls of all ages. His keen intelligence, his humour, his antics and his great kindness, made him a very attractive boy and some mothers thought him an ideal partner for their daughters. A few years later Alain took a decision which would cause many to shed a tear. He would answer to only one call; that of Our Lord, and he joined the Benedictine order to become a humble monk. I was very impressed by the spectacular arrival of an Admiral displaying his best uniform flanked by several naval officers. My Uncle understood the courtesies required in this world of his but he gave nothing more. He would never be a “careerist”, and I always admired this trait in him. On the other hand my Aunt gave her all, paying special attention to the Admiral whose wife came to temper her enthusiasm Among the guests Monette and I looked in the crowd for a distinguished, good looking boy, who, although very famous, had retained his sense of modesty and shyness and was surrounded by admirers. He had just completed a fabulous tour of the world by plane in the company of another famous airman Dieudonné Costes. His name was Joseph Le Brlx10, originally a naval man who later became a great pilot of world famous rallies. He was only twenty-eight years old and disappeared three years later attempting a flight from Paris to Tokyo. Colonel de la Roque arrived and a great silence descended in the crowd. He had behaved in a remarkable way during the 1914-18 war and was a very good friend of my uncle. He was highly influential in the world of veterans and in political circles of the right. He would become President of the Croix de Feu, and then the OGP11. It appears that he lacked that extra push which would have permitted him; with the popularity he then enjoyed, to defeat the Popular Front. This episode provoked one of Uncle Henri’s rages. Both of them resisted the German occupation, each in their different way. They were both deported. François de la Roque was able to return, but his health was severely impaired and he would die in 1946 at the age of sixty-one. His daughter Nadine was a great friend of Monette. I found her to be unattractive and was not very friendly with her. I very much regretted this stupid behaviour when she died of leukaemia five or six years later. I will relate later the circumstances of my encounter, and my friendship, with her brother Gilles forty years later. It was now ten o'clock and my cousin and I had to go to our rooms as agreed; however the hubbub of voices reached us and this was soon replaced by music. I recognised the waltzes of Chopin, probably played by my Aunt, then her beautiful contralto accompanied by Madame d'Aboville. Finally we heard a beautiful tenor voice interpreting the Invitation to the Baudelaire Travels, with music by Duparc. I recognised the voice of the soloist of the choir of our parish. The great silence that followed the departure of the guests woke us up, Monette and me, and we ended up barefoot on the threshold of the now empty grand salon now sad and full of unpleasant odours. Aunt Renée saw us, and while the staff were busy putting all in order, kindly allowed us have nibble of two or three canapés along with a drop of champagne. Her somewhat vague look and her high pitched chuckle took us by surprise. No doubt I have dwelt longer than I should on this evening, the first to which I was able to partially attend, a foretaste of many where it would be a matter of participating rather than attending. It was as a child of seven or eight years that I began to discover a new, altogether surprising, world. I believe that from that night my relationship with the adult world began to change. In some ways I began to perceiving flaws in their life, subsequently this grew to be more obvious, and I felt some disenchantment. x x x
Elise, the maid from Normandy who had been in the service of the family for more than 10 years, took me over completely. She looked after me with admirable dedication, kindness, patience and above all efficiency. Morning and evening she gave me a rub over my whole body with a strong, high-dose of spirit of camphor. We spent all out time outside in the fresh air and Elise and I become great friends. I told her that in Barbizon at “Les Glycines” we also had an Elise, very nice, almost as nice as her, but not quite. She assured me that all Elises’ were the same. Then, little by little, my little cousins gradually got better and I escaped, to the amazement of the doctor. Many thanks are due to my marvellous Elise. Two other notable events took place during my stay with the Pelle des Forges family at Versailles. Firstly the poisoning of the Swiss Lake, It was a beautiful body of water located below the Castle on the vast esplanade, at the bottom of a beautiful garden planted with orange trees, rightly known as the Orangery. Was it an act of malice or an unexplained natural phenomenon? The two hypotheses have their advocates with strong arguments, but without any evidence. The result, however, was very real. The surface of the Lake was white with thousands of fish floating belly up and emitting a stench that one could smell more than a kilometre away. Despite my young age, I felt as much sadness as a real animal rights protester of today. All Versailles was to be found around the Swiss Lake, thousands of hankies were shoved under noses to mitigate the smell. The crowd of people with handkerchiefs under their nose were as much of a show as the fascinating rotting object of curiosity. For me, it was the faces and the handkerchiefs which took my interest. The thousands of grimacing faces, clown-like, that fascinated me and also scared me a little at the same time. I read in them many various feelings: curiosity, sadness, anger, infinite goodness, but sometimes also a kind of unhealthy pleasure, badly hidden, evidenced by some when faced by a more or less dramatic event. A further step in my discovery little by little, of the world of the “grown-up”. I came to like a gentleman with a disfigured face - a “broken jaws ” who told me that faces do not necessarily convey the essence of a person, that beauty does not always express beauty. Just as Aunt Renee - whose ugliness disappeared behind her beautiful sadness, as if she had just lost a dear friend. This surprised me, but thanks to him I would no longer have any fear of disfigured people. But what a sight these countless handkerchiefs in their variety were; size, colour, texture and their aesthetics. From the huge, grimy check or dark brownish handkerchief to the small, refined elegantly decorated and embroidered ones taken from an impeccable white case by a gentleman with gilded glasses and a cane surmounted by a precious knob, or by the infinite number of handkerchiefs of all colours and uncertain cleanliness of the general Mr and Madame of this world. On the way back my mind kept thinking of rotting fish, grimacing faces and handkerchiefs of all kinds. That night, unusually for me, my sleep was disturbed and populated by bad dreams. The second event that occurred in the month of June, prior to our departure for the Midi, was an absolutely magical show: the night of the “Grandes Eaux”. On that night some of the most important and magnificent ponds and lakes of the Park were beautifully illuminated, in particular the fountains, some of which, such as The Dragon, rose to more than 30 meters. The play of light was expertly and artistically designed, and the show made a truly remarkable whole. This was my first night out, and it was for me a very real wonder, truly enchanting. I had the opportunity to see this same show thirty years later, no doubt was it artistically more sophisticated and technically more advanced, but I didn’t have the same poetry, the same harmony with Mansart and Lenôtre12. These two, if they had had the same technical means and lighting, what could they have achieved; certainly something sublime. x x x
Near the referee’s chair two other players watched them and, from time to time, exchanged some words with them relative to the game. They were Boussus, known as the “left-hander”, of the same standard as the first four, and a friend of them all and Alain Gerbaut, the famous navigator made famous by his solo trips around the world. He was an excellent player, but not at the same level of the others. I was so fascinated by this exceptional performance, given by these great champions who had come to this quiet corner to train for Wimbledon and the Davis Cup, that You had some difficulty tearing me away from the fence. This unexpected incident probably led to my great passion for tennis. Twelve years later the fortunes of life dictated that I should work for two years under Borotra, while at the same time I became great friends with Yvon Petra, who was then the better tennis player. Sometimes they used me as a substitute when missing a fourth for a scratch double. It was a great pleasure for me despite the abuse that I had to suffer. It always ended with a cold beer. This birthday remains in my memory still. When it was necessary go our separate ways, I realized without doubt, that for the foreseeable future there would be a long 900 Kms between You and me. I became obsessed with these 900 Kilometres. It was the distance between Barbizon (Paris) and Roquevaire (Marseille) that Uncle Henri had told me it was when I asked him the question. I could understand 50 kilometres from Paris to Barbizon as we had many times made this trip. But 900 kilometres was immense and exceeded what my imagination could conceive. The 40,000 kilometres distance to Ecuador that my finger could discern on the map seemed unreal, but with a bit of thought I could understand it, but the actual 900 kilometres between You and me was a cruel enormity. This was the topic of my conversation with Aunt Renée returning from the train station where we had accompanied my dear mother. Not very convincing replies, true to say. I had to revisit You early in July again in Paris, before the big departure, for the different world of ‘La Provence’. Uncle Henri had an appointment at the Ministry and had taken me with him. You was waiting for me at the station, and we spent all day at her childhood friend Alice Rabah, Rue du Dr Blanche, in their villa, now demolished. The beautiful houses in this street near the Avenue Mozart have been replaced with large buildings; the developers have had their way with them; what a shame. Alice had a nice creole accent; more pronounced than You’s, retained from Mauritius or Madagascar, I never really knew which. I never knew her maiden name, which would have helped to place her country of birth. She first married a Mr Hanning whom I never knew, with whom she had two children: Pearly, the eldest, whom I met twenty years later in Buenos Aires, and Gerald who belonged to the same scout group as me, the troop called ‘Eclaireurs de Passy’, from 1930 to 36. Divorced from Hanning, Alice then remarried Mr. Rabah who was self-employed as an inventor, which was a precarious profession. Rabah was however a talented engineer, he was creative, and exhibited his works widely in many shows. His success was erratic, but they lived well enough from his work. In particular, he invented a loom which was a real success. From this second marriage Alice produced a son who was nicknamed Mouki (his real name escapes me) who was charming and at a very young age showed a real talent as a painter and sculptor. He obtained the 1st prize for painting at the great Rome exhibition. At the end of the afternoon, we had to leave the friendly Rabah family to find Uncle Henri at the station at the predetermined time. In the subway, to overcome our confusion, we talked a lot, above all promising to write frequently to each other about everything, relating every detail as extensively as possible. We even managed to laugh by recalling some incident of no importance which helped to keep our composure. At the station Uncle Henri, skilfully and tactfully shortened our goodbyes. On the way back to Versailles he paid particular attention to me with some skill, imbued with great tenderness. I was surprised and impressed to discover so much kindness and sensitivity in this naval man of rough appearance and cold temperament, so that my anguish was much diminished. I never had the opportunity to enjoy his company again as I did on this day. But I now knew that under this shell hid a heart of gold. During this half hour train journey I learned more about the Navy and sailors than I would learn in many years following, so he knew how keep my interest. PART III THE POUTET FAMILY Directory: wp-content -> uploads -> 2016 2016 -> 2017 afoCo Landmark Scholarship Program 2016 -> Instructions for the Preparation of Camera-Ready Contributions to the Conference Proceedings 2016 -> Step student Scholarships for Year 10-13 2016 -> The united church of canada 2016 -> Idan raichel biography – May 2016 Brief Producer, keyboardist, Lyricist, composer and Performer Idan Raichel 2016 -> An introduction to centre’s interventions expanding access to justice 2016 -> Sanchar Shakti 2016 -> Unit analysis should help here. We want number of bananas 2016 -> The Autobiography of Elder Joseph Bates 2016 -> The Great Heat and the Rhode Island Deep Water Bay Scallop (Argopecten irradians) Fishery 1875-1905 Download 1.3 Mb. Share with your friends:
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