If Huysmans' "À Rebours" introduced the world to decadent writing by way of its novel's morbid, dandyish young anti-hero Jean des Esseintes, Bourges gives us his opposite, in the form of the entitled, opulent buffoon Charles d’Este, the disgraced, aging Duke of Blankenburg. Both novels have a similar aesthetic, investigating beauty in a pre-World War I world of decay, but they're almost mirror opposites in some ways.
Where des Esseintes delights in intellectual and aesthetic indulgence, seeking out Parisian underworlds in drugs, parties and unrepentant debauchery, the Duke is debauchery itself, at times a cruel despot to his family members and employees, at other times a clown, a coward and a cuckold, building new houses and suing his architects along the way.
Where Des Esseintes takes solace from the decay and dissolution of the modern world in classical beauty and forbidden activities, the Duke is simply in decay, surrounded by the trappings of wealth and the world he inherited and railing against the modern world, with its new aesthetic and middle class, its Americans and — in a bit of surprise at the end of the book — its Jews.
Bourges' writing lingers on the architecture, the scent of perfume and the feel of the fabric, but it's almost completely barren when talking about the Duke and the book's many other characters, making it a little difficult at first to tell them apart. It seems fitting by the book's end, though, when you realize the Duke's attention has always been devoted to the luxury -- and much less the people -- that surround him.
Decadent contemporaries like Huysmans, Rachilde and Barbey d'Aurevilly delighted in the societal collapse they saw around them after the Prussian War. For them, it was a time of possibility, and they went straight at challenging prevailing sexual mores, gender assumptions, aesthetics and ideas. Bourges' book, which predated "À Rebours" by just two months, is mocking, but less playful than his contemporaries. The fall of the French aristocracy that the Duke's fall seems to represent has a kind of bitter, tragic feel to it. But as the two or three lines of shocking antiSemitism at the book's end remind us, there's very little about the twilight of "God-given" social supremacy that feels tragic to modern readers.