Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (24 page)

I opened my eyes, I got on my knees, then stood up. I ran my hand over my right thigh and pushed people away. I wanted to walk to make sure I had no broken bones! I managed to walk but with agonizing pain and leaving a trail of blood behind me.

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A Chariot Race

To reassure them, I saluted the spectators who had just displayed such a keen interest in me. I took a few steps with some help, then I collapsed.

I was revived, then bled twice. The blood was not coming out. They bandaged me and placed me in a barouche.

Once I had been taken upstairs to my bed, I was seized by a fever.

To prevent the chariots from skidding in the curves, studs had been put on the wheels. One of these wheels had run over my thigh and had left a purple ring of flesh around it as wide and thick as a hand. My knee was dislocated and water was building up on the cap. Over the bone was a two-inch gap that must have been caused by one of the horses’ shoes as the animal was struggling.

The Hippodrome doctor prescribed compresses and rest. I survived his prescription for six days without improving.

A young man came to see me. He had witnessed the accident, and although he did not know me, he had been checking on me. He told me that I was not receiving proper care and that he would send over the best surgeon in Paris.

The next day at nine in the morning a fat man arrived. He went straight into my bedroom. I asked him what he wanted.

‘ Come on, remove the bandages on your leg. I was sent by M. Gustave de Bel. . . .’

He pressed on my knee so hard I screamed. He examined my red swollen wound, which had partially closed up.

‘‘Who is the idiot taking care of you?’’ he asked placing two fingers on each side of the scar.

I thought he was going to squeeze. I took both his hands in mine.

‘ Now, do not be childish. Do you wish to keep this beautiful leg?’

My bedroom door flew open, and I saw my mother in tears.

‘ Maman!’’ I said, forgetting the doctor who, taking advantage of my distraction, parted the flesh that was starting to close up.

He was handed a towel, which became stained with dark blood. As soon as I had caught my breath, I pulled my leg away.

He began to laugh at my anger and told me, ‘‘You really hate me, right? Well, I am not here to be liked. I want to make you well. Now, I must check the bone and burn the flesh.’

‘ Never!’ I told him. ‘ You will never touch me again. I would rather die.’

‘‘Now,’ said my mother, ‘ be brave!’’

I was ashamed of my weakness, and I placed my foot on his knee. He picked up a scalpel, spread the flesh apart, and lightly scraped the bone.

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A Chariot Race

‘ That is enough for today. We shall continue day after tomorrow. You need to put an oilcloth under her and a wooden rod on top of her knee.

Then you need to go get a still. Fill it with ice, which will slowly melt on her leg, night and day.’

My mother saw him out. I asked her how she got my address and who had told her I was sick.

‘‘In my neighborhood there is a woman who sells seats at the Hippodrome. One day she gave me two tickets. I wanted to see if this Céleste everyone was talking about might not be my daughter. Every other day I received news of you, but the last six days I could not stand it anymore. Rosalie told me that your leg would have to be amputated. Here I am. Do you mind?’’

‘‘No, on the contrary.’

‘       ?’

My mother moved in with me. I did not dare ask about her personal life.

My companions came to visit me. Angèle was one of the most solicitous.

My fat surgeon was true to his word; he came to burn me a second time.

During his last visit he told me, patting my cheek, ‘‘Well, my child, the wounds are pink. You are saved. It is so hot, I was afraid gangrene would set in. If at all possible, give up this profession.’

‘ Sir,’ I said, ‘ how can I repay you for the care you have given me?’’

‘‘You do not owe me anything. I am no longer practicing. It took an incident like this to get me out. I am too fat; I cannot climb stairs anymore.’

He left without giving me his name, and I never learned it.

My mother was advising me to quit the Hippodrome. And B

was urging me to give up such a dangerous profession.

I promised them to quit at the end of the season if I did not get a raise.

I began by walking around my room, then I went downstairs. I rode to the Hippodrome in a carriage. I had been replaced; they barely remembered me!

This infuriated me so, that I insisted on being given my costumes and my horses for the next performance.

As I climbed into my chariot, mended as I was, I became very emotional. I was much applauded. I lost my head and stopped at the second lap.

That almost caused another accident. The chariot behind me was about to climb over mine.

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A Chariot Race

I told my mother that if she wanted, as soon as I had a little money, we would go hide out somewhere. She agreed.

The season was over. I asked for an appointment with the director to find out if he wanted to hire me for two years and give me a raise.

‘‘Why would I give you a raise? Do you not manage your own affairs? What do a few hundred francs more or less mean to you? I plan to decrease the personnel; I have more women than I need.’

He did not hold me back as I went home in despair.

My mother was consoling me and said, ‘‘Was there not a fire? . . .

Maybe it is financial difficulties that make them ungrateful.’

I dried my tears and took a carriage to go pick up my things. Until the last minute, I had hoped they would keep me on. But nothing, not even a polite good-bye.

 

To distract myself, I went out into the world. Sometimes I would go see Lise, sometimes, Lagie.

Several times I ran into a short blond man with a ruddy complexion who gave himself military airs, swore, drank, bantered, raged, quarreled, and was rarely polite. His name was Deligny.

I disliked him so much that I never went in anywhere without inquiring whether he was present so I could avoid him.

He noticed my aversion and tried every way he could to run into me so he could pester me.

And so, whenever he gave a dinner party, I would be invited and I would not be told he was there. We would quarrel all evening.

He bragged that he had never fallen in love and that he was rough with women. They say that love often arrives holding hate’s hand. That is what happened.

He would drink less in front of me and would almost become charming. He was teased a lot, but his feeling was becoming strong enough to overcome the gibes.

One day my mother suggested, ‘‘You should open a business and I would run it. It would give you a position, and I could stay near you without being a burden to you.’

I liked the idea. I gave notice to the landlord. My mother looked for a shop and found one at  Rue Geoffroy-Mary.

I rented a residence at number , almost across the street.

While we were packing up, I received a letter from The Hague. It was from the baron, the man my fake sister had sent to me.

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A Chariot Race

In this letter he explained that he had just been very ill and my presence would speed his recovery better than all the help from the medical community.

A trip to a foreign country seemed like an excellent preparation for the business career I was planning to start. My mother accompanied me to the railroad station.

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14

o TravelImpressions

Cold Season, Icy Welcome—Love in Puritan Country—

Boredom Worse than Winter

   courteous when they travel. Yet there are many who, when they see a woman in a coach, flee, saying, ‘‘Let us go to another, we would not be able to smoke.’

Two young men, about to enter the coach where I was, closed the door to go look for another one. After searching the train, they came back because they did not find any empty seats. I could see by the faces they made that they wished I would go to the devil. I could have reassured them since I smoked cigarettes, and cigars did not inconvenience me in the least. But I took pleasure in teasing them.

One of them tried to soften me up by telling a racy story. I replied with sharp yeses and noes. He was put off and did not address me anymore.

My companions spoke quietly to each other, then settled in to sleep in their corner.

I was not sleepy and I wanted them to keep me company. This was just the moment I had reserved for a grand way to cheer them.

‘‘If you gentlemen wish to smoke,’ I told them, ‘ please do so. I like the aroma of tobacco.’

All at once they rummaged through their pockets and did not thank me until they had broken off the small end of their cigars with their teeth.

To show their appreciation, they went so far as to bring me sweet water and cookies back to the compartment I had not wanted to leave.

At first they were intrigued about my identity. Then, once they recognized me from the Hippodrome, they became cheerier and less hesitant.

My maid was snoring louder than the locomotive. She kept falling over on her neighbor, who finally wedged her with his cane and coat.

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 ,  

It was bone-chilling cold.

Like everyone who has never traveled, I was all decked out, corset and all, as if I were going to a wedding, so that by morning I was dead tired.

I went to the Hôtel de la Poste in Brussels. I slept for several hours.

After lunch I walked around the city. I had imagined that Brussels would have a certain cachet. I came back to the hotel disillusioned, and then I took the wrong train to Antwerp.

I arrived very disconcerted. I asked where I could find the steamboats that go to The Hague. I was addressing a tall puffy-cheeked man who let me repeat my question three times, then finally indicated that he did not understand.

An employee came to tell me that the steamboats were not running because of the ice and that they would start up again in a couple of weeks. I took on airs of importance and said that I was expected for business that could not wait.

‘‘Lady! There are some carriages, but you will be very uncomfortable.’

He pointed out the Hôtel du Cheval-Blanc.

I was shown to a room with two beds for me and my dimwit maid, whom I had to wait on.

A fat girl came in to light the stove. Imagine, a coal fire in the middle of a bedroom. The stovepipe was stopped up, and I spent the day with the window open, dancing the polka to keep warm.

I ordered some food, and I was brought some beer.

I had reserved two corner seats on a hackney. A man as tall as a small leaf came to join us.

We had to switch conveyance ten times. We would leave one carriage to get into a skiff that would slide between ice breaks. We would get on another crate, then another small craft amid dangers and commotion.

The small craft we got on was a sort of large raft with pointed edges in the front and steel-shod like an ice skate.

We had just picked up another traveler. He was in a carriage made just like the vans that take money to the bank here.

He got out of the front compartment, helped unharness the two horses, and had the carriage carefully loaded on the skiff. He was speaking Dutch with the sailors. We started to move. We could hear only the cracking of the ice.

My maid was dead with fear and cold, and I was not very confident.

‘ Come on, be brave!’’ I said. ‘‘You only die once. This vehicle reminds me of a casket placed here for that purpose.’

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Travel Impressions

The young man said in very good French, ‘‘Mademoiselle is right, it is a casket, but it is not empty.’

‘‘Not empty?’’ I replied. ‘‘But does that mean we are traveling with a dead man?’’

‘‘My father, mademoiselle,’ he said, removing his travel cap.

I was ashamed for the lack of restraint I had shown and for my cheerfulness. I did not dare move anymore.

Swearing, our sailors picked up some steel hooks and worked at pushing back enormous ice blocks.

Once we had returned on land, we got back in a carriage.

Two horses were harnessed to the young man’s vehicle and he walked ahead of it with reverence.

We went through Rotterdam. All I saw were road markers, chains, and fences. The countryside was flooded, and the water that covered the fields was frozen. Here and there children were ice skating. A few leagues from The Hague, the scenery became livelier. The meadows were covered with skaters. The women were carrying round baskets on their heads, sweaters in their hands, and were gliding like swallows flying low. That is how they travel to visit each other from one town to the next. How lovely! I was enchanted and I wanted to try.

We stopped at an inn. I sent for some skates, and there I was, trying.

For my first attempt, I fell flat on my face. For the second, same thing. I had to give up. When it was time to sit down in the carriage, I regretted not having given up sooner.

Finally we arrived. I went to the Hôtel de l’Europe. The Hague is a very gloomy city. French women traveling alone are not very welcome unless they are sixty years old.

People looked at me and hesitated. I almost did not get a room.

   

I was led to the second floor to a very clean room. Another, plainer one was connected to it. Each one had a little stove waxed like a pair of boots. I made them turn red.

I wrote a note to my friend, who was feeling better. He was on duty and could see me for only a short while that evening, and then, with great precaution.

He arrived looking over his shoulder like a tracked man, had me speak softly, and begged me to remain incognito.

The next days I visited Scheveningen.

When I arrived on the beach, I walked in the fine yellow sand as

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Travel Impressions

close to the water as possible. When I turned around, I saw maybe two hundred men all dressed alike: yellowish trousers and jackets, wide-brimmed hats, like our market porters. I had heard that women had been abducted in boats; then, after their belongings were stolen, they were thrown into the sea. Thank goodness a golden-haired Dutch woman appeared and I felt emboldened.