Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (30 page)

Two of Lionel’s friends came to see me a few days later.



Lionel

‘‘Well,’ one of them told me, ‘‘Lionel just inherited. That is good for you!’’

‘‘For her? That is not certain,’ said the other, whose name was Georges. ‘‘He is going into mourning in the country, and now he must think about getting married.’

‘ You have seen him?’

‘‘Yes, at church,’ replied the first one. ‘‘He really loved his father, but nothing better could have happened to him.’

‘‘Is it ever a good thing when one’s father dies?’’ said Georges looking at him.

‘ Sure, when a person has debts! His father had an income of four hundred thousand pounds, but he is leaving four or five children. . . .

Do not let go of this, Céleste.’

First of all, I had understood one thing only, that he was leaving. The last sentence brought me back to my senses. I straightened up to tell them that I did not love him for his fortune. They laughed in my face and left saying, ‘ Still, do not let go of this, Céleste!’’

I was stunned. To take one step toward him was not possible without seeming to have an ulterior motive. And yet, I had moved because of him. I had furnished a new apartment. To please him, I had gone to considerable expense. He did not know that, and I would not have told him for anything in the world.

He left town without saying good-bye. I was devastated. I did not even know his address. I only knew that he had retired on some land that he wanted to keep as his inheritance.

, ,   

I went back to see Frisette. I told her, ‘‘I want to forget him. He is an ingrate. Come with me, let us party and have a good time.’

We spent our nights gambling.

Georges came back. He found me so sad, so changed, that he felt sorry for me. He told me, ‘‘If you love him so much, write to him. Here is his address.’

I started ten letters, which I tore up. No, I would tell myself, when I shall have money, lots of money. If he came back and saw the destitution around me, he would think that it was out of need. He would throw me a few louis coins and leave again.

I gambled everywhere, at other women’s houses, at tables d’hôtes. But gambling did not agree with me. I met a young, handsome, rich, kind,



Lionel

Russian prince! He loved me, even though I did not hide my indifference toward him.

When I had paid off my most urgent debts and had a little money put aside, I wrote Lionel:

My dear friend, in writing to you thus, I do not wish to level reproaches at you so you would pay attention to me. I have loved you, and a love like mine is most insignificant. You had a right to trample it.

You trod on my heart. Since your departure, I have been losing myself in gambling establishments, killing my memory of you by wearing myself out.

I was mad to love you so much. I knew you could not keep me. With a little reasoning on my part, I could have healed myself. Heedlessly you crushed me. That was mean! I have a better opinion of myself. I did not know I was capable of so much love.

I need nothing. I am almost rich now. I wish you all the happiness in the world, and I forgive you your neglect.

I sealed this letter and posted it. I began to count the number of hours it would have to travel. I placed my hand on my heart at the instant he was to receive it the next day. I hid my weakness from everyone.

I spoke of him only with Marie, my maid, this girl who had saved my life.

I had not requested a reply but I was waiting for one.

The next day Marie came into my bedroom. There could not possibly have been an answer already, yet I looked at her hands.

‘ Oh! Excuse me, madame, this is what is happening: I have a sister who is seventeen. She came to Paris to learn a trade, but she ran away.

I do not know what she did, but she has been arrested. My mother sent me a power of attorney to secure her release from prison where she has been locked up. She is coming out tomorrow. She wanted to enter a house. My mother would not let her.’

‘ She did the right thing.’

‘ I wanted to ask madame if it would be all right to let her stay in my room until my mother comes for her. She will to go back to work at Choisy-le-Roi.’

‘‘My poor Marie, I have no objections. But she must never come down to the apartment. My situation is too shaky for me to receive openly a woman in an irregular situation.’

Augustine—that was her sister’s name—got out the next day and came over. She was tall, thin, almost blond. I thought that maybe cooped

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Lionel

up alone in a cabinet on the sixth floor she would be bored to death. I told Marie to keep her in the kitchen during the day; she could do some mending; I would give her so much a day and she would be fed as well until she could find a position.

We received a letter from her mother announcing her arrival very soon. I would be glad to see Augustine leave. There was something dishonest and impertinent about her, and she was lazy. I had bought some Indian fabric for dresses. We had a devil of a time getting her to make hers.

     

It was Augustine, returning from an errand, who brought me Lionel’s letter that the concierge had handed her.

My dear Céleste, I did not reply to your letter sooner even though I wanted to very much. You must not hold it against me. I have to take care of matters too serious to neglect. I must sacrifice my current pleasures to my future position. I am happy to hear you are affluent. I know the one whose happiness I am condemned to envy, but he will never be as happy as I was with you.

If, as you state, you have some affection for me, you will take good care of your health; it is dear to me.

I am waiting for one of my friends. My old manor will frighten him, it is so dismal. Nature and the countryside are magnificent, but I believe these are beauties he will have little use for.

I am living in one of the old towers of Château Magnet. My window looks out on lovely meadows in bloom. Through them runs the Indre River.

The horizon all around is closed off by splendid woods and forests.

Anyway, my dear child, my life is now quite different, and I am trying to forget a past that is too enticing.

Adieu, my dear friend. Take good care of yourself. Save a nice corner for me in your memory.

All my love.

Lionel

This letter was burning my fingers and my eyes. I searched for a tender word, but all I found was indifference and reasoning.

Marie came in and announced that her mother was arriving in two days.

Her sister had gone out without telling her. She had taken Marie’s prettiest bonnet and her silk pinafore. Marie was worried, and for good

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Lionel

reason, because Augustine did not come home. Her mother arrived.

I believe it was her arrival that had made Augustine flee. The poor woman, who had not seen her daughter in a long time, left downhearted for Choisy-le-Roi where Augustine was expected.

Three days later Marie brought me a letter that she had just received.

On the outside were the words ‘ To Mademoiselle Marie, care of Mademoiselle Céleste.’ The return address was ‘   ’-.’’

Mademoiselle, would you please come by within the next twenty-four hours to identify the body of a person named Augustine . . . who died yesterday at four in the evening.

We hired a cab. At l’Hôtel-Dieu, I presented the letter.

A young woman had been brought in two days ago and had died the next day.

We walked through a glassed-in terrace and went down a few steps.

As the crypt was being opened, I could hear a strange sound. The waters of the Seine were lapping against the rampart; it sounded like voices whispering. The door was open and a damp cold met our faces. The guard lit a weak candle on the stairs. Only one side of the crypt was lighted by a basement window. On the right as we came in, here and there on both sides, were what looked like stone beds. Some were flat, others formed rather high domes.

‘ This way,’ said the guard, his hand cupping the flame to protect it from the draft.

At the fourth bed the man stopped, handed me the torch, and lifted the dome. It was a wicker lid covered with an oilcloth.

‘ Oh! Madame,’ exclaimed Marie, squeezing my arm, ‘ this is not my sister.’

I brought the light closer to the corpse of a woman dried up by disease. She was a skeleton covered with an almost blue skin.

‘‘I am certain she is here,’ said the man, ‘‘I made a mistake.’

He lifted another lid and said, ‘‘Look at this one.’

Marie let out a loud scream. She had just recognized her sister! She picked up the young woman in her arms and was talking to her. I wanted to take her away.

‘‘No, leave me, I do not want to leave her. Augustine! Sister!’’

She was shaking the corpse whose head was limply bobbing. It was a gruesome sight. The body was covered with large black blotches, her hair, cropped short, made her look like a boy. I could not get over the sight. I motioned to the guard to pull Marie away from there. I led her away from the crypt in spite of her reluctance.

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Lionel

I asked where she had died. I was sent to Sainte-Marie. I wanted to know what her ailment had been. A nun walked up to me and drew me into a corner.

‘‘I did not want to relate in front of a relative how this poor creature was brought to us. She was picked up by a sentry at the Ecole tollgate.

She had been forced to drink and had become mixed up in a brawl during which she was beaten. She came down with erysipelas and I had to cut her hair. She gave me your address saying she was a servant in your household.’

We left. Marie sent for her mother and arranged to meet her the next morning at ten at l’Hôtel-Dieu to see her daughter Augustine, who has been ‘‘very ill.’’

The scene was even worse than the night before. The mother was waiting for us at the entrance. I whispered to Marie to bring the clothes and to speed up the arrangements. I was trying to save time. A young boy came down, probably using some other stairs, and asked me, ‘‘Madame, do you wish to see the young woman before she is nailed up?’’

‘‘Who is being nailed up?’’ said the mother.

And she followed the boy before I could stop her. They were closing the lid when she arrived.

She threw herself on the man doing the work, pushed him aside, and tore her nails trying to remove the planks. They did not stop her, since, after all, she had a right to see.

Marie had her sister taken away, asking me not to abandon her mother who, at times, suffered from epilepsy and had just had an attack.

I took her away and she remembered nothing.

  : 

     

All these events had affected my health. My heart palpitations were getting worse. I had to send for the doctor. He prescribed rest and strong doses of digitalis syrup. I did only half of what he recommended. Instead of resting, I stayed up many nights. Winter had arrived, and I became seriously ill. I had to be bled. I took to my bed.

One night that I was thinking about Lionel, I picked up the bottle of digitalis tincture. Instead of drinking a few drops, which always soothed me, I swallowed the whole bottle. It did me great harm.

Everyone was saying that I would not last long, that I had been affected by Lise’s death. The people who came to see me attributed my decline to that. However, it was not the only reason.



Lionel

I knew that Lionel had rented a house for Zizi at Saint-James, and that, if indeed he had left her, he was still taking care of her. I wondered what this woman had that she was so fortunate! . . . One day that I was sitting in front of a fire in my room, trying to warm my body and my spirit, a double ring at the door shook the flames in the fire.



19

o

In the Country

To Berry—At Magnet—Disenchanted Return—

A Passport for Le Havre

‘     ,’ said Lionel, who was followed by a young man. ‘‘I was going to ring again! . . . We are frozen! . . .’

Lionel took me in his arms, kissed me, and drew me inside saying,

‘‘Permit me to introduce you to one of my country neighbors, one of my good friends, Martin.’

‘‘I am startled by your sudden arrival, I had no idea . . . !’

He gave me a sidelong glance and continued, ‘‘You are dining with us tonight? I am warning you that I am spending three days in Paris, and I am hiding out at your apartment. Do you still see Frisette? We must invite her so Martin will not be bored. Do you still love me a little?’’

He must have seen my reply in my eyes.

‘ There is someone at the door,’ he said laughing. ‘‘If it is my replace-ment, I am going to throw him out.’

And in fact it was Jean. They had met while traveling. Lionel greeted him in the most casual manner, offered him a chair, played the part of the host, rang for Marie, ordered like the master of the house. Poor Jean did not know how to leave. Standing near the fireplace, I did not know what to do with myself either. Finally, Jean departed as if he had come to visit a friend. Lionel was laughing his head off.

After dinner I left the room to give an order. I really wanted to know what he would say about me and could not resist the temptation to listen at the door.

‘‘What do you think of her?’’ asked Lionel.

‘ She is fine,’ replied Martin. ‘‘I like her better than the one you took me to see yesterday.’



 

Curiosity is always punished! So, he had gone to see another one before coming to see me. He was exhibiting his mistresses to a friend from the provinces. I did not want to admit that I had listened in, but I could not hide the change that had just occurred in me.

‘‘What is the matter, Céleste, you seem strange?’’

‘‘Me, strange, me, strange. . . . You are the strange one. What kind of provincial manners have you brought back from your province. You throw my friends out the door, and you say I am strange! I assume you can act like this when you are with Mlle Zizi, who is in your pay, but with me, it is rude!’’