Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (28 page)

‘ Does this mean she is better?’ I said looking over this feast.

‘‘Yes,’ replied her mother, ‘ she is resting.’

‘‘Did she make her confession?’’

‘‘Yes, she saw her priest yesterday. That made her happy. She asked her sister for forgiveness.’

‘‘It is about time,’ said Eulalie. ‘‘I shall never forget what she did to me.’

 ,   

I went in Lise’s room. She turned to look at me with her dead eyes, made a sign of recognition, and sighed without saying a word.

I sat in a chair near her and asked her how she was feeling. She mo-



Lise’s Return

tioned that she was fine. She had wrapped her rosary around her arm.

Her prayer book was next to her.

‘ Oh,’ she said. ‘‘Listen.’

I leaned over because her voice was weak.

‘ I ordered my portrait from a poor artist. It is almost finished. No one will want it. Go get it and you can keep it!’’

She barely had time to tell me the name of the painter, Montji. Her voice failed her again. She pointed toward the Virgin Mary and kissed the cross of her rosary. She wanted to be alone.

The next day, when I returned, all the doors were open. Her soul had departed and a candle was keeping watch over her body. All those around her had dry eyes.

I kneeled at the foot of her bed, then I kissed her on the forehead, closed her eyes, and cut off a lock of her hair.

I did not go back home. I went to see Deligny, who, seeing my distress, did his best to distract me and comfort me.

The next day it was pouring down rain. I took a little surrey to Rue d’Amsterdam. Once I had arrived at Lise’s door, I heard the nailing of the coffin.

Her body was displayed at the door. The street was deserted in that area, the weather was horrible, and no one was going by. There were two people in her funeral procession: me and my coachman. When the last clump of dirt was thrown on top of her, a cross with her initials was dropped in.

Deligny was at my house. He chided me for going through so much trouble. I was crying for her and for me.

A week later I went to the cemetery, hoping to find a stone, several people. Nothing. And yet her mother, by paying fifteen hundred francs of her debts, had inherited some fifteen thousand francs.

I came back ten days later. The dead woman was as neglected as the sick woman had been.

I ordered a metal enclosure and a marble tombstone with these words: Here lies Lise . . . born  February , deceased  December

. Her friend, Céleste.

I went to see Montji. He let me have her portrait for two hundred francs instead of three hundred, which was the agreed upon price.

That is the portrait that hangs in my house.

These expenses inconvenienced me a lot, but I made them without regret. Deligny helped me.

A few small newspapers had the nerve to make a few jokes about this



Lise’s Return

sad and forsaken ending: ‘‘Much will be forgiven her because she loved so much.’ They should have stated: ‘ She might be forgiven because she died as a good Christian and because she suffered so much.’

She had indeed suffered much. I have never known anyone who was so afraid of dying. Because of her religious beliefs, however, she wanted to face her coming end. But nature won over her will. Often during the night she would call out for help. She would cry, ‘‘My God, let me live!’’

And then her feeble hand would reach out to no one in particular. The poor girl who was waiting on her, who was actually quite attached to her, asked for her severance pay so she would not be a witness to these agonizing scenes anymore.

Alphonse, who had recovered his desire to live, his cheerfulness in the company of this will-o’-the wisp, took the news of her death grimly.

He is probably the only one she did not send for. He is the only one who would have replied.



17

o DinnerattheCaféAnglais

Daddy Longlegs’s Rudeness—A Young Man Named Lionel—

First Stammering of a Tumultuous Love Affair

    rather odd news that affected me even more since it had some bearing on the ideas, feelings, and doubts painfully reso-nating within me since Lise’s death.

This bit of news had to do with the poor pianist who I had accused of unfaithfulness and myself of gullibility.

I was told that after our separation, H

had been miserable and

became ill. He left for Rome, became a Roman Catholic, and entered a monastery. It was difficult for me to believe that this decision could have been as a result of our separation. In any case, I replied to the person telling me this story that if I cursed all my friends as I had cursed him, the Church would owe me a reward. Deep down inside, I was more moved than I wanted to appear.

I hated my apartment, and, to avoid being there, I spent my nights out.

 ’ 

Deligny had returned to his dissipated life. I went along with him and was loud so I would not hear my sadness. My health had been acutely affected by my suicide attempt. One does not ingest the fumes from a bushel of coal without some consequences. I had a cough and a burning in my chest. I drank champagne to extinguish it.

Such a state of mind did not produce an even temperament. I bullied Deligny. To his demonstrations of tenderness, I would invariably reply,

‘ Today you love me, or so you say. But if I become ill, you will abandon me like a dog; if I die, you will not accord me one regret.’

In the end I would have benumbed myself to all feeling. One dinner followed another. I no longer slept but found rest in memories.



Dinner at the Café Anglais

In the chaotic midst of this crazy life, I had become friends with a small woman who had come to the shop. She was nice, witty, and un-concerned about tomorrow. This woman was Frisette, Brididi’s mistress. She had come to see me out of curiosity and had become attached to me. That way she could keep an eye on me to make sure that I was not involved with her dear Brididi, who, I believe, had totally forgotten me.

What I particularly liked about her was her kindness. She did favors for whomever she wished and hid the fact to avoid thank yous. If she had only six sous to take the omnibus, Frisette would give them to a poor person and would go about her shopping with a song on her lips.

I am not sure which one of us took the other to a dinner at the Café Anglais. I went out of idleness, not allowing myself to have fun. I had no idea that this evening would have a decisive influence on my life and would probably engender its denouement.

At this dinner I was in familiar surroundings. I recognized several people I had seen at Lagie’s.

My attention was first drawn to a tall, skinny, dark-haired and pale young man who seemed to be about thirty years old. His forehead was absurdly wide and high; his face was long, thin at the chin, his eyes were large and black, his nose was pointed, his mouth medium size, and his teeth rotten. . . . He was master of the feast and gave orders like a com-mander. He would reply to the women around him with the air of a protector.

While waiting for dinner to be served, he sat at the piano. He was a good musician, but he would contort his body and grimace too much.

His bony hands looked like spiders.

During dinner he picked on me. He was clever, but he was always talking about himself. According to him, he did everything better than anyone else. His title was the best, his fortune the largest; no one was as brave as he.

All this bombast was getting on my nerves. I had not replied to his provocation, but my anger was building up, and already I had given him a nickname, which I whispered to my neighbor. I called him Daddy Longlegs.

What increased my bad mood was that I was seated next to a very handsome man who was quite pleased with his own person; he was a dandy. Focusing on Daddy Longlegs’s sarcastic remarks, I was not paying attention to my neighbor’s pantomime, and that put him in a very bad mood.

Things were off to a bad start. I had not opened my mouth yet and I already had two enemies.



Dinner at the Café Anglais

I was the butt of all of Daddy Longlegs’s jokes. Anger finally got the best of me.

‘ Sir,’ I told him, ‘‘would you be kind enough to leave me alone? I have had to listen to your foolishness now for an hour. I am not afraid of spiders, but they disgust me, and when they come near me I squash them. So, you big Daddy Longlegs, put an end to this preoccupation with me!’’

The epithet of Daddy Longlegs immediately put the jokers on my side. They understood that the attacks at my expense gave me the right to a certain latitude.

My foe became furious. He did not expect such reprisals from one of those poor girls who usually lower their heads under the yoke of opulent self-conceit.

‘And who brought,’ he yelled,’ this . . . ?’

There was a deep silence. Everyone knew this was going to be entertaining.

    

It so happened it was the fad that during the dinners organized by this Daddy Longlegs there would be a victim to whom he could spout his vulgar diatribes. I had been chosen by him for that day. But with my disposition, he was out of luck.

My handsome neighbor was siding with my enemy and supported him with his eyes and gestures.

Frisette was the only one not amused by the scene. The poor child knew that a huge storm had been brewing in my heart. She came over to me and, in a low voice, begged me to leave with her. I replied out loud, ‘‘Why would I leave? The gentleman is at the end of his tether. If it were not for women like us, where would he be . . . at the zoo? . . . I have paid my dues by listening to him.’

Without realizing it, during the heat of this discussion, I had gained an ally who, touched by my courage, became interested in my cause and took up the cudgels for me.

He was a young man whom I had not noticed named Lionel.

‘‘Now really, gentlemen,’ he said in a soft and proud voice, ‘‘will you not stop this? There are two of you ganging up on a woman! One would already be too many.’

And, addressing Daddy Longlegs, whom he seemed to know quite well, ‘‘Dear friend, today I can recognize neither your usual good taste nor your generosity.’

‘‘Now,’ continued Daddy Longlegs, who could detect in this notion



Dinner at the Café Anglais

a means for an honorable retreat, ‘‘if I have wounded Mademoiselle’s ego, I am more than prepared to make amends. Since you have pledged yourself as her knight, you decide on the ransom.’

‘‘Fifteen louis!’’

‘‘Fifteen louis, so be it. She will have them tomorrow.’

‘ Tomorrow! That is quite late,’ said my champion.

‘‘I do not have them on me.’

‘‘No problem! Vesparoz will lend them to you.’

There was no backing down. Daddy Longlegs’s ego was on the line.

He rang.

Vesparoz, the café’s head waiter, came.

‘‘Bring me fifteen louis.’

A waiter arrived carrying a tray with the sum requested on it.

‘ Give this money to Mlle Céleste.’

Of course I refused to take it.

But my champion would have none of it.

‘‘Bring me this!’’ he told the waiter, and he put the fifteen louis on the table next to him. Then turning toward me, ‘‘My dear child, come sit next to me.’

I went willingly.

‘ Take this,’ he told me. ‘‘It is yours and you could not refuse it without offending me. Those are the rules of war. And now,’ he added, addressing Daddy Longlegs, ‘‘you can continue all you want, at the same price of course.’

He must have thought this was good advice because he got up and extended his hand to me. ‘‘Let us make peace,’ he told me.

There was no reason to hesitate anymore, and I graciously placed my hand in his.

      

When we left the table to play some music, dance, sing, Daddy Longlegs called me over to a corner near a window and confessed that he had caused this ridiculous scene just so he would have a pretext to make up with me. I responded coldly.

He became tender, caring. He was promising me the moon.

As for me, I had no desire to make up to that extent. I listened to him distractedly, but at the same time, I watched my ally with interest.

The latter noticed that he was the object of my attention and drew near us.

I then began to repeat out loud the tender words Daddy Longlegs



Dinner at the Café Anglais

had just told me softly. I intended to adorn myself with my victory, and in order to really confirm it, I replied to Daddy Longlegs, ‘‘I can see that you are more yourself again and I believe you are sincere. But I have known you only since yesterday, and I see no reason to continue our relationship.’

And I left him in the corner.

He picked up a bottle of champagne and drank it almost in one swallow.

Lionel did not take his eyes off him. As for me, I was following all of Lionel’s movements. When he was speaking to a woman, I wanted to place myself between him and that woman.

I sat down next to Frisette, and I got her to talk to me about him.

He was a twenty-year-old man, rather tall, of good and well-proportioned size, with a round face and lovely brown hair with a fine white part. His forehead was of medium height, his face was oval, his eyebrows were thick, and his mustache compact. His brown eyes were of ordinary size, but the look in them was deep and piercing. He had elegant manners and was impeccably dressed but without the rigid, awkward bearing many young men have.

His mind was quick. He gave me the impression of having a fierce nature, but one he knew how to tame, and that he could tone down his ardor with charming manners.

‘‘Without him,’ I told Frisette pointing him out, ‘‘I do not know how this quarrel would have ended. I am not sure that I thanked him.’

I wanted him to come talk to me . . . but he did nothing of the kind.

Dancing began, but he did not invite me to dance; yet he was looking at me.

The tall handsome man, my table neighbor, came up to me and loudly asked me if I wanted to escape with him. I got up without replying.