COLETTE launches its Parisian beauty store.

Sidonie Gabrielle Colette , known as COLETTE (1873.1954)

Autographed letter signed to Hélène and Philippe Berthelot.

Eight handwritten pages written on two different papers with different formats and letterheads.

Two quarto sheets with letterhead from her Parisian store Colette.

A two-page octavo volume with the letterhead of the Hôtel Claridge. No place or date [Paris. June or July 1932]

« … I don't know how to love much… »

A delightful and tender letter from Colette, successively mentioning the health of Lord Cat (the nickname she gave to Philippe Berthelot), the opening of her beauty shop in Paris, her ex-husband Henri de Jouvenel, her daughter Colette-Renée, her strawberry-raspberry crops, and her love of cats.

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"My dearest and perfect Helen, I so wanted to write to you! But I was afraid of writing at the wrong time—I was afraid of disturbing Philippe's peace. Everything about your letter makes me happy: you thought of me and Philippe is better! I'm writing to you on my business paper so that you'll—finally!—take some consideration for me, and to make Philippe laugh."

Yes, I do think he doesn't take kindly to any hygiene discipline that isn't that of the "Lord Cat." But the Lord Cat himself loves the meadows, their scent, and deigns to walk on his delicate cat feet. The thing is, Philippe is terribly young, and his wildcat rhythm knows only two beats: impetuosity, then stillness; then leaps, then deep sleep… Dear Hélène, you see how I meddle in commenting on your Philippe! It's because I don't know how to love little , and I wonder—and I ask you—if you will come to Les Aigues at the end of the summer?

It's hot, it's Paris. Yes, the shop is doing nicely. I have the wisdom to be passionate about every face I make up. My success lies in subtle makeup for the city. In just three weeks, I already have subscribers—can you believe it, grateful subscribers. And people from the provinces and abroad are starting to take notice…

As I write this, the mail is being brought to me. I open a letter from a stranger named Jelinek. He's delighted to hear I'm opening a beauty business, and he reminds me that I knew him "at the Osuskis', then in Prague, at the castle." It's our friend Claire, of course. But if Jouvenel marries four or five more times, all of us ex-wives will need a very conspicuous badge and a number embroidered on our backs , a sort of stylized prison uniform.

My charming daughter is in the Limousin region, and she writes me letters in which I recognize her father's wit—a compliment I pay to my daughter. My goodness, how easily I write to you, and to say nothing at all, as if I were writing to you every day! I make no apologies for it. Everything is easy with those we truly love.

When do you think Philippe's health will allow you both to be free?  How are the cats coping with your absence? The little gray creature, who doesn't tolerate mine so well, is on my desk where she's comfortable, where I'm uncomfortable. She's encroaching on my work and writing paper. It's stormy, and through the window comes the scent of strawberries in pots ripening on the balcony. They're an old variety of musky strawberry-raspberry that I'm propagating with difficulty and success. In a corner at La Bretèche, I already have fourteen pots…

Dear Hélène, dear Philippe, this letter is as empty and tender as I am myself this evening , please forgive me. Consider only the tenderness, which is great, ancient, and yet so fresh. I embrace you both with all my heart. Your Colette.

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Particularly sensitive to the field of perfumes and beauty, Colette regularly wrote about the sensuality of scents and the aesthetics of colors.

Thanks to the financial support of the Princess de Polignac, she was able to realize her cherished project: opening a beauty salon. The inauguration took place on June 1, 1932, at 6 rue de Miromesnil, in Paris. Applying makeup to her clients herself, the enthusiastic Colette also offered her own cosmetics and perfumes: " I have never held women in such high esteem, in such admiration, as since I have seen them up close, since I have held, bent over under the metallic blue light, their faces, revealing their secrets, rich in expression, varied beneath their graceful wrinkles, or new and refreshed by having momentarily shed their foreign complexion." ( Makeup in The Tendrils of the Vine ). Unfortunately, the business venture was a failure.

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Philippe Berthelot (1866-1934), an eminent French diplomat, was close to the artistic and literary world. He fervently participated in the promotion of the Arts in France and helped many writers, creators and artists such as Paul Claudel, Saint-John Perse, Paul Morand, Jean Cocteau, Raymond Radiguet, Coco Chanel and Colette.

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There's no need to elaborate further on Colette's love for cats. Let's simply note that in 1921, Philippe Berthelot gave her a female serval from Chad, named Bâ-Tou: "  She raised her eyebrows at the sight of me, jumped to the ground, and began her feline stroll, from door to window, from window to door, with that way of turning and changing feet, against the obstacle, which belongs to her and all her brethren. But her master threw her a crumpled ball of paper, and she began to laugh, with an enormous leap, an expenditure of her unused strength, which showed her in all her splendor. She was as large as a spaniel, with long, muscular thighs attached to a broad loin, a narrower forequarters, a rather small head, topped with white-furred ears, painted on the outside with black and gray designs reminiscent of those that decorate the wings of twilight butterflies." A small and disdainful jaw, whiskers as stiff as the dry grass of the dunes, and amber eyes framed in black, eyes with a gaze as pure as their color, eyes that never wavered in the face of human gaze, eyes that never lied… One day, I wanted to count the black spots that embroidered her coat, the color of wheat on her back and head, ivory white on her belly; I could not.

“She comes from Chad,” her owner told me. “She could also be from Asia. She’s probably an ounce. Her name is Bâ-Tou, which means ‘the cat,’ and she’s twenty months old.”