Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (43 page)

He did not shake my hand. The window was open; after watching me leave, he closed it.



The Girl from the Provinces

The streets were empty. I dragged myself up to my apartment, my body broken. On my chest was a huge scar.

‘‘Now,’ said Louise, ‘‘you must go to bed, madame; I am going to fetch the doctor.’

‘‘No,’ I said, ‘ there is something I must do; I have to warn Richard.

Go to his house . . . and tell him to come over.’

   ‘ ’ 

When Louise returned, she told me, ‘ Oh! Madame, M. Richard’s concierge would not let me go up; he said, ‘There is no one home . . .

M. Richard just went out with Madame.’

‘ ‘But,’ I replied, ‘Madame is at home. . . . She is the one who sent me!’

‘‘He remained speechless for a moment then said, ‘Good gracious! I just did something dumb; she is not the one who was upstairs!’ ’

I went to bed and cried profusely. When I ran out of tears, I reviewed the events.

‘‘Nothing!’’ I told myself, ‘‘I have nothing left. Lionel was pitiless with me. And Richard is withdrawing his friendship.’

Louise came into my room and said, ‘‘Madame, the nursemaid is here with your godchild.’

I said, ‘ Oh! Have her come in; she is in time to remind me that maybe no one loves me, but she has no one but me in this world.’

My little girl was brought to me. She seemed as delicate as a flower.

Yet the woman taking care of her said she was in good health. The poor angel responded to my caresses with caresses.

Louise came in to ask if I wanted to receive M. Richard.

I sat in the shadows so he would not see my face.

‘‘Well! Your dinner at the Maison-d’Or went on quite late?’’

‘‘No,’ he said, ‘‘I came home at midnight. You know that wherever you are not, I am bored.’

‘All right,’ I said, ‘ enough acting and pretense; tell me the name of the one who consoled you during this long and sad night?’’

‘ Oh! Céleste,’ he said dropping to his knees before me, ‘ forgive a moment of infatuation; during this dinner, I lost my mind, and you had hurt me so much! . . . Oh! this woman. . . . She is the one who enticed me.’

‘‘I asked you her name.’

‘ Oh! Céleste, Céleste, you are without pity, you have no heart. Her name is Adèle Célier.’

I said, ‘ Oh! I have seen her twice. She is a pretty woman, tall, blond, right?’



The Girl from the Provinces

‘‘I shall kill myself if you do not forgive me.’

‘‘Now, I have already asked you not to say such stupid things to me.

Leave, and on your way down order my carriage. Come back for me at nine o’clock; I want to go to the Ranelagh.’

I dressed in my most beautiful clothes; I put on rouge to conceal my pallor. I rode in a barouche so splendidly decorated that everyone would say as I passed by, ‘‘How happy this woman is!’’

When I arrived on the Champs-Elysées, many people seemed surprised. All my acquaintances knew what had happened the night before, and everyone wanted to see the woman who drove Mogador to stab herself, and Lionel was making many jokes at Richard’s expense.

  ,  

One morning Lionel showed up.

‘‘I have come to see how you are doing.’

‘‘I am fine. So you are not afraid of me anymore that you are coming back?’

‘ No,’ he replied. ‘ Do you want to offer me lunch? The table is set.’

‘‘I am sorry, but I am expecting someone.’

‘‘Well! You will see him another time.’

‘And what will you do in return?’’

‘‘I shall dismiss my roomer.’

At those words, my heart jumped.

‘‘Fine! We have a deal.’

Richard rang, I went to the door, and I asked him not to come in.

‘ Go,’ I told him, ‘ find your Mlle Adèle. Lionel is here. Today—I can tell you the truth—I am not giving in to my heart, but to my pride.’

‘Adieu. You shall never see me again.’

Lionel tried to justify himself.

‘‘Yes,’ he said, ‘‘I still love you a little, but I am the only one to do so.

I do not know what you have done to the women, but they all hate you.

Judith wrote to me, she cannot stand you.’

‘‘My dear friend, I do not know what Mlle Judith bases her comments on. I know her only by sight.’

Lunch was served. Lionel was so cheerful, I was hurt.

‘All right, I am going to give this woman some money, rent an apartment for her, and I shall come pick you up at six for dinner.’

He left. A few minutes later, I was handed a letter from Richard: I told you, Céleste, that I shall never see you again. One of my friends is going to California and I am leaving with him. I deceived you about my



The Girl from the Provinces

position: I am ruined. I have barely enough money left to pay for my trip.

Losing you is the only thing that makes me unhappy. Adieu, I love you. I have never loved nor shall I ever love anyone but you. . . .

This news terrified me. I would have been indifferent to his departure, but his ruin frightened me. I wrote to him to offer him what I had.

My maid was told that he had left his house that morning. Remorse ate at my heart. Lionel was as much the cause of this distress as I was.

My head on fire, I waited until six o’clock. It finally arrived and Lionel did not show up.

Seven o’clock!

‘ Louise, a coat, a hat.’

Once on Rue Joubert, I found the valet.

‘‘Where is your master?’’ I asked him.

‘‘He went out, madame; he is entertaining. He told me he would be back at eight.’

‘‘Fine; and was this woman with him?’’

‘‘Yes, madame.’

‘‘Where are her things?’’

‘ There, in the dressing room.’

I went into this room where I found a large trunk and dresses scattered about. I had everything put in the trunk, and I ordered the valet to take that to the Hôtel des Princes. He obeyed.

‘‘Now,’ I said, ‘‘it is the three of us. But first the two of us.’

Then I opened his pistol case with the firm intention that, if he did not do what I was going to demand, I would blow his brains out and then kill myself. Luckily for him I could not find the cartridges, because when his carriage stopped I went to the window and saw him come out of an open phaeton and take this woman in his arms to help her out.

Oh! I am certain that I would have killed him, and that he would not have made it upstairs. I was particularly skillful for a woman; I could score nineteen bull’s-eyes out of twenty when I shot. My hand was cold, but it was not shaking.

I was waiting for them in the living room, which was all lit up for the evening. The walls were covered with embossed white and gold leather and the furniture was upholstered in green brocatelle. This apartment had been decorated for Mlle Rachel.

     

He came in and looked stunned. No one had dared tell him I was there.

‘‘Well! Does my presence surprise you? Had you forgotten me?’’



The Girl from the Provinces

His companion entered. I addressed her, ‘‘Did he not tell you that he had gone to see me this morning and was supposed to pick me up for dinner?’’

‘‘It is true,’ said Lionel, ‘ but then I thought that I could not dismiss Madame in one day, that it would take time to find her lodgings.’

‘ Oh,’ I replied, ‘‘well, well! But it seems that you found her at the Hôtel des Princes, and it does not take very long to go back there. I just had her trunks brought there!’’

Lionel was completely nonplussed.

‘‘Now really, Céleste, I promise you that Madame will leave tomorrow. I am expecting guests.’

‘ Oh! So you are expecting guests, well! I am going to provide them with a real party.’

The girl from the provinces said to me, ‘‘But if Monsieur does not love you anymore and if he loves me. . . .’

‘‘I do not know you, mademoiselle.’

‘ I am madame.’

‘ Too bad for you!’’

She began to cry.

‘All right,’ I told him, ‘‘I do not wish to put Madame outside at this late hour; follow me.’

He gave her a few kind words of consolation, excused himself for his weakness, and ordered his servant to tell all his friends that the party was postponed for a week.

On the way back to my house we were silent.

The next day this woman wrote to him at my home asking him for money. He sent her some to get rid of her.

I went with him to make sure she was really gone. The apartment was empty, and, as a souvenir, she had taken an enormous pâté de foie gras.

Later on the girl from the provinces found so many consolers that soon she became, like me, one of those sad celebrities, one of those women who devour fortunes and futures.



33

o DeathThroesofaFortune

Mlle Page—A Dangerous Woman—Another Missed Marriage—The Theatrical Demoiselle and the Indigent Aristocrat—Lionel’s Prose Is Better Than Murger’s Verses

   Lionel was entertaining. The stakes were high; he was losing. Although he was a good sport about it, I noticed little beads of perspiration on his forehead.

By the end of the party, he had lost eighteen thousand francs. His possessions were mortgaged, and all he could find were usurers who charged twenty-five percent.

‘‘You know,’ I told him, ‘ my grandfather is rich; he ran a hotel for fifty-five years. His property was just expropriated by the government, so he has some cash. If you wish, I can have him lend you twenty thousand francs.’

He accepted. I got him twenty thousand francs in income coupons from Spain. But he gambled again and lost part of the money he wanted to return to me! Every day it was dinners and parties. I no longer opposed his extravagances; I shared in them, and sometimes I even encouraged them. Adorned with his gifts, radiant in my conceit, I wore his ruin like a trophy.

 

He gave a masked ball. It was splendid and pleased me greatly because it gave me the opportunity to become friends with young Page with the dark languorous eyes. I was also delighted to get to see up close such famous and prominent persons of the stage as Mesdames Octave, Nathalie, etc. Nathalie had come looking for distraction after the end of a love affair; she sprinkled her tears over the ball. Up until now I had



Death Throes of a Fortune

only seen Mme Octave on the stage; it was during the days of her great success in Property is Theft.1

I watched these women attentively. I noticed in particular a charming girl from Bretagne. She was the young Durand, a pretty girl with a nice figure. During a quadrille, I was the vis-à-vis of a tall and beautiful person. I was told, ‘ That is C

, an actress from the Variétés.’

The dance ended at the other end of the living room. Lionel ordered a window opened. Mlle Page had just fainted. The heat had made her sick. I took care of her. She told me as she left, ‘‘I would appreciate it if you would come see me.’

‘‘Poor Page!’’ said a short woman I had not noticed. ‘ She wears her clothes too tight.’

These parties Lionel gave were very expensive. He had ordered an eight-spring surrey and he gave it to me.

I went to see Page and made her my friend. Time went by, and Lionel was not returning the money I had lent him. I was beginning to worry, but I accompanied him on the road to ruination.

  

Lionel had some business in Berry and was away for two days.

I was engaged at a women’s dinner given by a rather famous actress.

The dinner was catered by Potel et Chabot. There were eight of us. We all exchanged polite remarks; we put on airs like grand ladies to make up for having eaten potatoes in our youths. I had eaten as many as they had, but I did not know how to pick up a pince-nez to look in my plate; I did not at the slightest opportunity drape my arm like a garland or position my hands as if catching a butterfly.

During the whole dinner the topic of conversation was means and stratagems for snaring money from men who become blinded by passion.

Once back home I fell asleep, dizzy from all I had heard. My soul was not sufficiently polished to prevent bad advice from quickly sprout-ing there.

‘ Oh!’’ I told myself, ‘‘I have also been around. Deligny is in Africa, Richard in California, and Lionel is ruining himself. She who bears the name ‘kept woman’ is a heart’s leech, a soul’s usurer.’

It so happens that, since the day I tried to kill myself at Lionel’s, the devil had captured my heart. I had become mean and ungrateful; I had an excuse for everything. Finally I acquired the unfortunate reputation of being a dangerous woman. I was faulted less for that than for dancing



Death Throes of a Fortune

and being called Mogador. If a young man courted me or spoke to me, his parents would make him leave. I was proud to inspire such terror.

  

I went to see Lionel. He was back. He had not been able to procure any money and was trying to sell his lands because he was in debt for almost three hundred thousand francs. Although they were worth eight hundred thousand, the interest was eating up the revenues. He had been offered six hundred thousand francs, but he turned that down. I asked him to reimburse me the money I lent him for his gambling debts. He could not.

‘‘But I would like to have what you owe me, or a security, in case something happens to you!’’

‘‘I cannot give it back to you right away; I would have to sell.’

His attempts had been in vain. He was deeply depressed.

After dinner I asked him if he wanted to go out.

‘‘No,’ he replied, ‘‘we must talk. You are right to think about the future, but I am a wretch for taking this money. I am going to try to get married, otherwise I would have barely enough left to live after the sale of my lands. I cannot give you a mortgage because my lawyer and my family would soon find out, and they would think it was a gift. Here is what I propose. I am going to give you bills of exchange and as soon as I can, I shall pay them back. I have to go to Lyon in a few days, and I cannot keep this apartment. Tomorrow we shall go see the landlord and I shall ask him to keep you on as tenant in my place. You will come live here.’