Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (39 page)

I always tried to get to the bottom of his thoughts. When you are jealous, you look for the truth until you find it, and then you are ten times more miserable.

‘ Since you care so much for this château and for these lands, go ahead, accept a marriage that will make you twice a millionaire.’

He held his hands out to me saying, ‘‘You are right. I am mad. I have been offered a marvelous proposition. I turned it down because of you, and you are so bored here and would be happier in Paris among the people who love you and surround you. I am giving you back your freedom. You can leave whenever you wish.’

‘‘Have me taken into town tomorrow.’

I returned to my room resigned, but as I was getting my things ready, a great storm was raging in my heart.

‘‘He should not have accepted and should have dropped everything to come live with me if he really loved me.’

I would not come down for dinner, and the next day, at ten o’clock, I asked for him.

‘‘How are you this morning,’ he said to me in a calm tone, which he might have been faking.

‘‘I am ready. Try to make this separation the last one. With each of these separations, my love cracks and eventually it will be reduced to dust. See to it that yours, if you have any, wanes with mine, because a lack of education left me with a untamed tendency toward evil. The day I shall stop loving you, you could be killing yourself at my door, and I would walk over your body to step outside.’

He did not detain me. He said adieu with a determination never to see me again, I think.

 ,   

I returned to Paris in despair, as always; and yet, I had to make a decision. I had to take care of myself, of my future, and that of my godchild, Solange. I received news about her; she was doing fine.

I decided to get work in the theater. I made several futile attempts. I had been told to go ask M. Mouriez, director of the Folies-Dramatiques, but he had a reputation for being fierce, and I was afraid to face him.

I decided to write to him. He let me know through his stage manager

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Dramatic Follies and Folies-Dramatiques that he would see me the next day. Everyone knows that he is one of the best theater administrators in Paris. He made his fortune by paying his actors well, the opposite of many others. His advice, although a little blunt, is always good. All his former performers speak well of him.

So I went to his office. He looked at me sideways, because he was writing, and said, ‘‘You have never acted?’’

‘‘Yes, monsieur, I have, but very little and not well. I was in a play at Beaumarchais and one at Délassements.’

‘And so you would like to be here? I must warn you that you will have to work and be on time.’

‘‘If you want to try me out, you do not have to pay to start.’

He jumped in his chair and replied dryly, ‘‘Mademoiselle, I do not hire for nothing. I pay the people who serve me. Someone brought me a parody of The Wandering Jew; you will debut in it. There is a part for a Bacchanalian queen. Will that do?’’

    

I left elated. I wanted to shout to the passersby: ‘‘I have been hired at the Folies! I shall be paid and I was told they would furnish the costumes!’’

At that moment I was on Boulevard Saint-Denis where Richard lived.

I could not think of anyone more interested in me, and I went up after inquiring whether he was in. Although his apartment was very attractive, it was on the sixth floor, and when I reached the fifth I was overtaken by the fear that he would refuse to see me. I went back down to the second, but I felt my precious contract in my pocket, and the strong desire to show it off returned, so I went back up the stairs without even breathing. Richard opened the door.

I began to talk like a magpie. I had so many things to tell him that I went on for twenty minutes without his understanding a word. He looked at me with a surprised look.

‘‘I thank you for thinking enough of me as your friend to come tell me what might have happened to make you so happy.’

He seemed quite cold. I remained ill at ease.

‘‘But tell me how is it that you are free?’’

‘‘It is not difficult to guess. Lionel sent me away with orders to leave Berry within twenty-four hours, and the ten hours for the train ride were included. Now that I have an engagement, I shall be able to hold out more firmly. I shall never leave Paris again.’

‘‘You!’’ said Richard sorrowfully. ‘All he will need to do is give you a signal and you will go back.’

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Dramatic Follies and Folies-Dramatiques

‘‘It looks like this is hurting you, and yet you do not love me anymore, right?’’

‘‘I thought that was so; I did everything to make it so. You were wrong to go into the theater; you will end up spending more than you will earn.’

‘‘You knew quite well, Richard, that there had been one fateful day in my life. I am forced to drag my chain without being able to sever it.’

‘ Oh! If I had use of my fortune, I would quickly erase this sorrow.

But stay with me, be patient, and soon. . . .’

   

I rehearsed at the Folies with Lassagne, an actor beloved by the public.1

He was talented but he was too sure of himself. He talked of opening a school to give lessons to Bouffé, to Arnal, to Odry.2

He took advantage of my self-consciousness on the stage to play tricks on me. He would add to his part. I would miss my cue and not know what to do. Just for effect, he would have had his best friend booed. M. Mouriez would speak to him harshly. Mme Odry asked him many times to stop what she called his ‘ stunts,’ or she would have him fined.

Among the women was Angélina Legros. She had been there fifteen or sixteen years and had become too worn to play her role well. In each novice she saw a rival. It so happened I debuted playing one of her parts. I needed to make female friends in the theater, and I had been naïve enough to count on her. I quickly gave up that illusion.

I knocked on other doors. I went to see Dinah, a pretty, rather silly little brunette. She had all the minor defects of childhood. I moved on to Duplessis. That one was hopeless. That left Frenex, an extraordinary creature, small, skinny, reddish blond hair, a nose like there are not many, teeth like it is easy to get with money, a large mouth, and albino eyebrows and eyelashes. The whole, painted black, white, and red, was tolerable. She was witty, she was cute, elegant, a good actress, capricious, and coquettish.

For her, a new friend was a conquest. So she gave me a very good reception. That lasted a few days.

She was unlucky in affections, and I felt the brunt of her bad mood.

Saddened by this break, I moved on down the hall to Léontine’s dressing room.

It is unfortunate that she can barely see. And for that reason she is forgiven a little foolishness. She cannot see herself well anymore, and so she gets angry that she is not given ingenue roles.

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Dramatic Follies and Folies-Dramatiques There are no foyers for the actors at the Folies, and backstage is so small that we wait for our stage entrance in our dressing rooms. These dressing rooms are as roomy and bright as the interior of a closed trunk.

I had gone to visit all these ladies, but to approach them was not so easy.

They had all exclaimed when they learned I was hired and I was going to debut at the Folies, ‘‘It is disgraceful to give us a Mogador as colleague!

What kind of respect will there be for the Folies actresses now?’

Only one of my colleagues gave me advice and was very kind to me: Mme Odry.

As for the men—Hensey, Coutard, Boisselot, Hoster—they were all very charming with me, and fought over the pleasure of giving me the advice I so desperately needed.

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29

oProudWomen,PassionateMen

The World of Gossip—A Good Reputation is Worth More Than Emeralds—Lionel in Paris—Love Resembles Hatred—Mogador Shot in Effigy—The Carriage Offered by Lionel Does Not Dazzle Richard

  diligently courted Mlle Ozy, then he suddenly stopped.1 She had inquired into the reason for such an abrupt cooling.

She hated me without knowing me.

One day Richard and one of his friends, the Count de B

, were

dining at my house.

‘‘By the way,’ said the Count, ‘‘I hope you are going to the ball at Ozy’s tomorrow because I am afraid I shall not know anyone otherwise.’

‘ I would go,’ said Richard, ‘‘if Céleste had been invited.’

‘‘Is that all?’’ said his friend, relieved. ‘‘I shall get an invitation for her; I just have to go next door.’

And sure enough, he was not gone more than a quarter hour. I went into my room, intending to listen in.

‘ So,’ said Richard.

‘‘Well! Dear friend, you did not tell me that you were intimate with her. She told me, ‘I do not mind if he comes, but I do not want to see Mlle Mogador. Horrors! This girl will never set foot in my house.’ ’

‘ Do not say anything,’ said Richard. ‘ Céleste must never know.’

I came back into the room pretending not to know. I promised myself that the proud Ozy would receive me within a week. Victorine knew her. I went to see her.

   

‘ My dear, yesterday I received a grievous affront. Someone requested for me an invitation to Mlle Ozy’s house, and the woman refused in

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Proud Women, Passionate Men

terms that wounded me. I want to know her and I want to be seen with her. Can you help me?’’

‘‘No, I do not see her anymore. But I am surprised by her scorn; her talent is like yours. As for the name of Mogador, you could do like her: change it. Alice Ozy is a nice name, but it is not her name. I believe she could receive you on an equal footing. In fact, right now she is associated with Rose Pompon. You must know Rose Pompon!’’

I went to see Rose Pompon, who proceeded to tell me all sorts of things. At her house was a woman who was her piano teacher; she sent her to convey her compliments to Mlle Ozy. I understood that this piano teacher could be useful to me. I asked her to come see me. She came the next day. She was about forty years old. She began to malign Ozy in spite of the fact that she was dressed from head to foot in clothes she got through Ozy’s generosity.

I said, ‘‘You see, madame, I have an extreme desire to make the acquaintance of Mlle Ozy. They say her apartment is quite sumptuous.’

‘And you would like to see it,’ she said with a slight air of superiority.

‘‘I must admit, that is why I went to see Pompon, but not being sure of her influence, I did not ask her anything.’

‘ Oh! You were right! Mlle Alice is sick and tired of this Pompon. She is a liar—constantly makes promises and breaks them. I am going to tell Ozy that you are always talking about her and of her affluence. Send her some flowers and within two days she will invite you to come visit her.’

And so, Ozy sent word through the piano teacher that I was being extravagant, that she had received from me a gorgeous basket, and that she would like for me to come over to see how beautiful it looks in her living room.

I did not wait for a second invitation, and I did not regret it. She was charming. The next day she sent word asking if I wanted to dine with her by the fireplace. My reply arrived with a superb bouquet. She gave me a complete course in philosophy. She talked to me about the Bible, the greatness and the decadence of the Romans, and their simple and modest tastes.

    

  

I received an invitation to her ball. What a great occasion to wear my emeralds! I was the first to arrive. Her apartment was flooded with lights and flowers.

Two women came in. She went to greet them. When she came back, I asked her their names.

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Proud Women, Passionate Men

‘‘Mesdemoiselles Ber

’

‘ They are sisters?’’

‘‘No, they are mother and daughter.’

The daughter was skinny and lanky as a beanpole. She was dressed like a child with a wide ribbon belt. She picked up a book and went to pout in the little living room saying that if she had known she would run into such bad company, she would not have come. I was the bad company.

Among the women who were in this living room, there was one in particular I liked. She was pretty and seemed quite pleasant. She was young Page.2 I did not dare speak to her. Ozy would not introduce her to me.

  

Richard came to see me; he was very pale.

‘‘What is the matter my dear friend?’’

‘All right,’ he said, ‘ do not lie to me. You saw him, did you not?’’

‘‘My goodness, but whom are you talking about?’’

‘‘Whom? Your friend Lionel of course, whom I saw this morning. He is in Paris.’

I could not reply; my legs gave way. Richard grabbed my arm and declared angrily, ‘‘You see, you do still love him, you are shaking.’

‘‘I never told you that I did not love him anymore. I told you that I would never go to his house again.’

He slumped back on a chair and burst into tears.

‘‘Now, really,’ I said, ‘ do not be a child; you know that I shall never take a step toward him. Why did you tell me you had seen him?’’

‘‘But I told you, Céleste, because he was coming in this direction, and I thought he had just left your house. I think he turned back and saw me come in here.’

Kind, devoted Richard; I was looking at him with fury. I wanted him out of my sight.

‘All right, Richard, go home. I shall go see you tomorrow.’

‘‘You are sending me away.’

‘‘No, my friend, I just want to be alone, I do not feel well.’

He spouted all sorts of reproaches. I ordered him to leave. He seemed crestfallen, but I did not pay attention. I was as miserable as he.

  

My maid brought me a letter; it was from Lionel and it read: I am spending a few days in Paris. If your work at the theater permits

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Proud Women, Passionate Men

it, come shake my hand. I live on Rue Royale, and I am inviting you to dinner. I need to talk to you.

I took a cab and went to see him.