“Paradise in Provence” by Hamish Bowles, was originally published in the September 2004 issue of Vogue.
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The guest book of Janet de Botton’s dazzling manse in the South of France says it all. Within its Florentine-paper bindings the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ anarchic Anthony Kiedis finds an unlikely page mate in the form of dream jeweler Joel Rosenthal of JAR. A sketch by Damien Hirst of a female torso, with fresh-hacked limbs sprouting fountains of blood, is a startling thank-you that jostles eulogies from some of the haute monde’s most exacting boldfaced names. But perhaps the rococo volutes of decorator and society scribe Nicholas Haslam’s script, wittily paraphrasing Cole Porter, best evoke the magic of the house and its chatelaine:
“It’s delightful, it’s delicious, It’s de South of France, it’s de paradise, It’s de Botton, it’s de-best, it’s de-luxe, It’s de-lovely—”
As her guest book suggests, de Botton is not afraid to mix it up. This stylish En-glishwoman is a discriminating art collector in whose London town house works by Francis Bacon and Chris Ofili make unexpected wall mates, and giltwood furnishings of royal provenance, signed by the great eighteenth-century French makers, join the monolithic marble seats of sculptor Scott Burton. De Botton is also smart as a whip—she has a professional bridge team that plays at championship level. She met her match in the charismatic Gilbert de Botton, to whom she was married for ten years before his death in 2000. Born in Alexandria, that subtle, cosmopolitan and mysterious city, de Botton was a visionary financier who shared his wife’s passion for art—he was the only man to have been painted by both Lucian Freud and Francis Bacon. The house’s library is a testament to his bounding erudition. “I spent hours up a ladder just looking at the titles,” says Haslam. “He had such an extraordinary breadth of knowledge.”
A decade ago, Gilbert de Botton discovered that the Burgundy château that had once been the home of Montaigne, the sixteenth-century essayist, was on the market. Seduced by the intellectual idea of re-creating a library worthy of its former resident, de Botton determined to acquire it. Janet, however, had no intention of spending her time in staid, inclement Burgundy, however storied the surroundings. Force of nature that she is, she prevailed, and the couple duly turned south in their search. The bastides of Provence are generally designed to withstand the rigors of the local climate; to keep their cool in the stupefying heat of summer and to withstand the tyranny of the mistral, the brutal wind that lashes the landscape at all times of the year. With protection in mind, the farmers plant barriers of trembling poplar trees to spare their crops, and cradle their houses with high walls that create shady courtyard refuges but obstruct the views. For a personality as outgoing as de Botton’s, however, this claustrophobic effect was not what she had in mind for a holiday house, and one estate after another was duly dismissed. Eventually, however, the couple discovered a bull farm, its 1,000 acres rolling from the tough, rocky wilderness of Les Baux, dotted with Saracen towers, to the reedy wilds of the Camargue below. On the plateau that divided these two very different landscapes sat a vast granary barn. Here, at last, was a building with a generous view.
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