La Belle Epoque

by Marc Daniel, translated from Arcadie by Marcel Martin

V

ART AND LIFE

Literature, important though it may be, can never exempt the social historian from having recourse to other more direct sources of information chronicles, mémoires, and news items. And if we are to attempt to learn something of the kind of life led in 1900 by the hundreds of thousands of "normal" homosexuals

those who were not particularly effeminate, who were not neurotic or lovers of adolescents who quite understandably did not attract the attention of writers, it becomes particularly essential that we close the books and look for our information elsewhere.

It is true that one does find, here and there in literature a character like the Princess de Guermantes' discreet usher in Proust's novel who, without even knowing him, falls so sincerely in love with the Duke de Châtellerault, but characters of this kind are few, and, in general, we have to be content with imagining this kind of person for ourselves.

As an example of a virile homosexual affection I am very fond of citing the passage in which Colette, in Ces Plaisirs, speaks of her re-

4

nowned friend, the poet, and of his companion, "le petit," a fine and radiant person. We should remember, however, that this text was written well after the Belle Epoque But I was particularly surprised to find a passage, almost equally beautiful, written by Charles-Louis Philippe, a man who was in no way homosexual. These memorable lines appeared in the August 1st issue of Canard Sauvage, 1903, in connection with the trial of Jacques d'Adelswärd-Fersen

I remember two hobos who, one autumn evening during my childhood, were sitting on the edge of a ditchbank. They had their arms around each other's neck and were holding each other close their hands were clasped and they were kissing. Life was for them a drudgery but their hearts were united. They had no wives, no mothers, no brothers consequently each was for the other a wife, a mother brother I was fifteen one learns a great deal at school. I understood. I hid behind a hedge so that they could not see me, and I learned how good it was that one man could be for another

a

These are men of noble hearts on whom Nature has played a trick and who bear this strange passion like a burden. They are in no need of prefaces by Rostand, nor do they need corsets, jewels, or black masses. They comport themselves with passion but with simplicity And who among us will condemn them? Who is