Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (21 page)

‘‘Well, go! I am not keeping you.’

My quarrels with Léon were scenes in three episodes. First he was impertinent, then he became smug, and finally he surrendered.

It was now the smug cycle.

He looked at himself with an air of satisfaction. He examined his trousers purchased in London, his tasteful vest, his impeccably cut frock coat. Pretentiousness and simpering airs in a man have always repelled me. I remained icily silent.

Meanwhile I had removed my crate, cut the ropes, and demolished my garden.

‘‘Why do you work so hard at removing these flowers?’’ asked Léon.

‘‘Because I received notice to remove them.’

‘ From whom?’’

‘ The police. I have my reasons for not wanting to be fined.’

‘‘You do not have any money? I would be happy to be your banker.’

I told him I was going to the Ranelagh the next day. He sent a carriage for me.

I went to pick up Lise at the time agreed upon. She told me that young Camille had come to see her and that he was still the same.

‘‘Well, good! I have confidence in him.’

‘‘Yes. He always tells me, ‘I would not want you for anything in the world.’ I tried once to make a liar of him, and he ran like Joseph.’



Lise’s Yellow Dress

‘ Try to hold on to that devotion!’’

‘‘By the way, what about you, what are you doing about Léon? Why is he not going out with you?’’

‘‘Because I do not want to anymore. The other day at eleven, I was going to the Hippodrome and he offered to accompany me. I pointed out to him that someone might see him, that it would not look good for his family. He put on an insouciant air and said he was not afraid.

Once we were near Rue de Chaillot, he let go of my arm and began to run as if a thief were after him. A few people came up to me to find out what was going on. Since I was embarrassed, I also fled. Once back home, I found him on my doorstep, his hands in his pockets, and he was whistling. ‘My dear,’ he told me, ‘I saw my mother and my grandfather walking toward me. I would have been in fine straits if they had seem me with Mogador on my arm!’ That is why we shall not go out together anymore.’

    

We made a splendid entrance. I did not have on a yellow dress, but my waist was so slender that everyone was remarking about it out loud.

Since then Lise has been tightening herself because it really hurt her feelings.

The evening was filled with laughter. People were beginning to get used to us. The upstanding women looked at us without too much anger. The young lions were still shunning our quadrille and refused to pair up with us for fear, they said, of making a spectacle of themselves like Brididi. They would position themselves a little farther away. But they got bored, even stopped dancing under the pretext that the shouts prevented them from hearing the beat. They ended up vying with each other to dance with us.

A big dinner was organized. Several carriages followed one another, and we arrived like a wedding party at the Café Anglais, which rocked all night to the sound of our laughter, our cries, and our songs.

Pomaré would often glance my way with envy. I had a pretty voice and the charm of youth. She was hurt by the compliments I received.

At this dinner was a young man called Gustave whose preoccupied look I had noticed.

‘‘But what is on your mind?’’ his friends would ask him.

‘‘I am thinking about this poor Alphonse who is lonesome while we are having fun.’

‘And who is this Alphonse?’’ I asked.



Lise’s Yellow Dress

‘‘He is a man of talent.’

‘ He is sick?’’

‘‘No, but he suffers from ennui.’

‘‘We must descend upon him.’

‘ That is an idea. . . .’

The next day we received an invitation from M. Alphonse R

had been suggested to him that he invite a few friends. He gave a tea party just to see us. He had been told so much about our joyous spirits that he let himself be coaxed.

We arrived with Lise at nine in the evening at Rue de La Bruyère.

The host was tall, thin, with pale hollow cheeks. He walked toward us, thanking us for sacrificing one evening to his shadow, invited us to sit down, and offered us fruits, cakes, and tea. Then sitting down in a chair, he remained motionless.

His friend Gustave was near him. A mother would not have been more attentive.

‘Alphonse, what are you thinking about? You promised to be cheerful. It is time to get la Reine Pomaré to sing.’

Lise heard him and, deeming this fashion of disposing of her a little cavalier, frowned. M. Gustave jovially went up to her.

‘‘Mademoiselle, would you be kind enough to sing something for us?’’

‘‘No,’ said Lise rather dryly. ‘‘I am much less interesting than you think.’

M. Alphonse R

joined his friend in such a gracious manner that, in my opinion, it would have seemed in poor taste to require more coax-ing.

‘ Oh,’ I told Lise, ‘‘you cannot refuse now.’

‘ So it is for you?’’ she asked Alphonse.

She sang with incredible exuberance and verve. Alphonse appeared to be having a great time. Lise, who was as whimsical as the moon, had forgotten her moment of ill humor.

There was music. A short young man sat at the piano. Hearing his first notes, I detected a maestro. He was blond; his hair was frizzy and his eyes were blue. His hands were flying over the keyboard with incredible delicacy and nimbleness.

When he finished playing, unanimous applause rang out.

I took advantage of the noise to ask M. Gustave who this young man was.

‘‘He is H

the composer, H

the young prodigy! 2 I shall intro-

duce him to you.’



Lise’s Yellow Dress

He walked over to him, took his hand, and brought him to me. I thought I saw M. H

blush.

‘‘I am grateful to my friend,’ he told me in a slight German accent that was not at all unpleasant, ‘ for bringing me to you. Since the first day I saw you, and that was quite a while back, I wanted to get to know you.’

I asked him with some concern where he had seen me.

‘ Oh, I saw you on horseback, and my heart has been racing with you since that day!’’

He said good-bye and left.

M. Gustave told me quietly, ‘‘He has a lot of talent, but he would have even more if earlier his parents, who are Jewish, had not worn him out to exploit his aptitude. At the age of eight, he was giving concerts.’

‘‘What, he is Jewish?’’ I said with a slight feeling of revulsion.

I know that it is not debatable, and that I, more than anyone, have no business being prejudiced, but nevertheless as a child I hated Jews.

There were many of them in the neighborhood where we lived. My mother always had reason to complain about them. When I lived Rue du Temple, a Jewish family lived on the second floor and I often played with the two children. On their Sunday, which is our Saturday, Jews must not touch money. They would ask me to start their fireplaces and do their shopping. The eldest daughter died. It was a Friday. I went in on Saturday as usual. I heard voices. I looked through the glass door and saw the dead girl naked as a worm. Her mother was washing her face and her chest. Her little sister was washing her feet. I did not understand the customs of this religion, but the event frightened me.

Poor H

invited everyone to spend the evening at his house, Rue de Provence. Everyone accepted. To tease him, I told him that I had an engagement.

‘‘In that case, let us do it another day,’ he said so loudly and so quickly that I regretted refusing.

‘‘No, I shall cancel my dinner and I shall go to your house.’

He implored me, ‘‘Do not miss it, that would hurt me greatly!’’

There was only one child of Israel in this group, and he was the one falling in love with me.

M. Alphonse wanted us to come over the next day. Lise definitely had found a potion against his sadness.

’ 

Léon came to see me; he was very pale.

‘‘What is the matter?’’



Lise’s Yellow Dress

‘‘Yesterday I had an argument at Tortoni’s. I have to duel tomorrow.’

‘‘You!’’ I said skeptically. ‘And why must you duel?’’

‘ Because . . . yesterday, there was talk of you . . . in terms that disgusted me. One of those men, whom I called a coward, had thrown a five hundred franc bill on the table saying, ‘Here is the key to her heart.’

I replied that I would use his bill as a weapon to smash his head.’

‘‘My dear friend, I do not want you to fight for me. He was within his rights to say this to you. I should have confessed to you what I have been. If you had known, you would not have replied.’

I was overcome by deep distress. We spent three hours crying together.

‘‘Farewell,’ he said as he kissed my hand. ‘‘If I am not here at eight, it means it is all over for me.’

He closed the door behind him. I threw myself on the bed in tears.

‘‘What a miserable creature I am! Oh, I am accursed! Léon! Poor child! He is going to be killed!’

I ran down the stairs. I went to see Marie. When I asked for her the concierge told me, ‘‘Her furniture was sold long ago. I do not know where she is.’

I went home hoping that Léon had returned. I opened my window and I spent the night looking out, listening.

The clock struck six in the morning. I had a chill. I went back to the window and saw a carriage coming down Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

I dashed down the stairs. I had reached the door as the carriage was stopping.

It was Léon!

I threw my arms around him. He pushed me toward the alley.

‘‘Mad woman! It is cold and you are wearing only a chiffon robe.’

‘‘I am so happy to see you! How afraid I was!’’

He entered, sat in a chair. He was in black evening dress, black trousers, black leather shoes, and stitched stockings. He was pale and he was cold. Finally, I asked him how it all went.

‘‘Well for everyone. We were both such poor shots that the witnesses were more in peril than we were.’

I asked him the name of his opponent. He refused to tell me, begging me not to speak of this encounter to anyone.

When I was completely recovered from my fright I saw several of his friends, who seemed to be totally unaware of this duel. I tried to get information. A quarrel in a public place rapidly becomes common knowledge. No one knew of it. I swore I would find out.



Lise’s Yellow Dress

The Hippodrome was putting on its last performances. Dead leaves crackled under the horses’ feet like ice breaking.

The day of the last performance it rained so hard that the clay soil turned to puddles of water at each end. There were few spectators, but when a performer is on stage, it only takes one acquaintance in the audience to encourage her. That day my friends were in the audience. I saw Pomaré. I wanted to win.

During the first round, we heard someone yell that a horse had just fallen. That did not stop us. I was in second place. The one in front of me was named Coralie. She was holding on tight to her reins and was not letting me pass. Her horse slipped up, but she went on. However, she lost half a second, which I took advantage of. We finished even.

There was a lot of applause. The others came out and we had to do another round.

I do not know which one bumped into the other, but in the curve both our horses collapsed. Coralie had fallen head first.

We were handed bouquets and we went back inside covered with mud and glory.

That evening I dined at the Café Foy with Léon and his friends. First we talked about my fall, then we teased Léon because we wanted to be funny at someone’s expense.

‘‘Well now!’’ I said. ‘‘We have dined together many times, and you always say the same thing. If Léon is not a master of the repartee, I want you to know that he is always master of the gauntlet.’

There was laughter, but it sounded forced. The one who seemed to be most affected was a blond young man who wore around his neck, in lieu of a tie, ribbons that he obtained from women as souvenirs, but which in fact he wore to save money. He was often found at the entrance of famous cafés. He was never hungry, but he went in on the pretense that he wanted to say hello so he would be invited to dine, and then he ate enough for four.

As an office clerk he earned twelve hundred francs. Thanks to his stratagem, he lived as if he had an income of one hundred thousand pounds. He never tipped his hat for fear of wearing it out; he would simply wave.

A Palais-Royal actress fell in love with him. One evening she asked him for two francs to pay for her carriage. A week later, she put her money on the mantle. He helped himself to his forty sous!

Impatient that Léon was not replying, I went on, ‘‘My dear, instead of losing your temper over a vicious remark about me and fighting a duel, you would do better to spare yourself these tasteless witticisms.’



Lise’s Yellow Dress

We looked at each other. I saw him turn purple.

‘‘Who? He had a fight! When? Where? With whom?’’

‘‘He never would tell me.’

Léon was livid.

He became the laughing stock of everyone and left for the countryside.

   

The duke was in Spain. I went places with Lise. The most enjoyable evenings were always the ones spent at Alphonse R

’s. His health and

enjoyment were returning. I absolutely loved this circle of witty people.

I listened. My mind was expanding through this contact, and I certainly needed this because I was so thoroughly ignorant; sometimes I would stop short in the middle of a word for fear of saying something dumb.

But the women were impossible.

One of them remarked that Pomaré was not pretty and that her front teeth were rotten. Hers were not much better. I asked my friend Hermance the name of this skinny beanpole who was so tiresome.

‘‘Her name is Lagie. She comes from Metz where the local garrison is going to miss her. She is totally fair regarding women; she maligns them all.

‘ Go tell her for me that I would like to meet her.’