Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (40 page)

His apartment was on the mezzanine floor. I saw his face behind a curtain; he was waiting for me.

‘‘What,’ he said, ‘ a woman as elegant as you takes cabs? Your lover is not very generous. You had it better when you were with me.’

‘‘You wrote me to tell me this; it was not necessary. Maybe I am not given much, but I am not asking you for anything.’

I walked toward the door. He called me back and said, ‘‘Fine; you are in a bad mood right now. Forgive me and let us make peace. I love you enough not to lose sight of what interests you. I know you went back on the stage. That is a pedestal. How are your finances? Oh! Do not get angry, I want to help you. A girl like you cannot go out on foot, the police could arrest you. I am going to give you a carriage.’

He walked toward me. His eyes were fiery, his lips white. He was scaring me.

He continued, ‘‘You see, I did have something to tell you. I want to tell you that I feel only loathing for you. An honest man cannot love a creature like you. I was mad to have taken you to the château of my an-cestors. Because of you I have lost esteem in society. What did you give me in exchange? A wilted body and a vile soul. That is what I wanted to say to you. You can repeat it to M. Richard.’

He pulled the curtain back to let me out.

Blood had rushed to my head and was blinding me. Anger overcame me.

‘ So, you had me come here so you could insult me. And by what right, if you please? You should be ashamed of how you just reproached me, because I have not hidden from you the fact that I am on the register, but I can look straight into your eyes with a clear conscience. You have taken me, left me, then taken me again and left me again. You did not want me anymore, and another man has loved me. Is that a crime?

You throw me out and another man has the temerity to take me in!’’

I ran out, unable to breathe. In the carriage I burst into tears. I rushed to Richard to tell him everything that had occurred. He sympathized and gently faulted me for going.

I went home hot with fever. Lionel sent for me, probably regretting the pain he had caused me. I refused to see him. Soon after, he showed up. He closed the living room door and sat next to me. I got up and

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Proud Women, Passionate Men

opened my armoire. I took out all the jewelry he had given me, and lift-ing the box over my head, I threw it across the room with all my might.

The box opened; the diamonds, the emeralds, the pearls went flying all around.

‘‘You are mad!’’ he said kicking the box.

‘ That is correct! Yes, I am mad with rage; I hate you. I no longer have anything of yours, so get out.’

Thank goodness I had just sat in a chair. He rang and had a glass of water brought to me.

‘‘My presence should not irritate you, Céleste. Yesterday I was on my way to see you, since I made this trip to Paris for the sole purpose of being near you; then I met M. Richard. He was coming here, and I lost my head. When you came over I was still in that mood.’

He tried to take my hand, I pulled it back. Excited by anger, I shouted,

‘ Oh, God! Make me die now! Oh! I would kill myself to be rid of you and a world that is making me pay too dearly for my disgrace. Go away, and leave me alone. I am cursed.’

Lionel got on his knees and tried, with kind words, to calm the sort of delirium that had swept over me.

‘‘Forgive me. I swear to you I shall never do this again.’

   

I spent all of the next day in bed. He never left my side.

I received a letter from Richard:

I waited for you all day. Obviously you do not know what it is like to wait when you love as much as I love you. Céleste, I have loved you because I thought you had a kind heart. Have pity on me. If I cannot see you tomorrow, I will do something drastic. I am well aware that you do not love me as you love him, but I have a right to your friendship. You cannot reduce me to despair; I would give my life to spare you a tear.

Richard

His entreaty was so sweet that I could not possibly ignore it. Yet I hated lying. The stratagems I would have to use made me hesitate, and I told Lionel, ‘‘My friend, I am going to the theater where I am expected.’

Once on the boulevard, I turned around to look at my window. He was there and watched me until I was out of sight.

When I arrived at his apartment, Richard had a large box near him.

He had written several letters and was still writing.

‘ Oh! It is you!’’ he said standing up; he was so pale I felt sorry for him.

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Proud Women, Passionate Men

‘ Thank you for coming. What pained me the most was dying without seeing you again. As you can see, I spent the night writing.’

He showed me the letters, then he opened the box, took out one of the pistols it contained.

‘‘I fear only one thing, that I would miss.’

I ran over to him.

‘‘Put this pistol back in its box, Richard!’’

‘‘I am madly in love with you; you cannot love me. So, as you can see, I have to die. Who will miss me? My father was poisoned in Mau-ritius when I was twelve. My mother died when I was fifteen. No one will shed a tear for me. I am leaving you everything I have. No one will ever love you the way I love you.’

As he was speaking he was handling his pistol. I heard a sound; he had just loaded it. I threw myself on him. He pushed me back, the pistol went off to the side, and the bullet hit and broke my portrait.

Alarmed, his butler entered.

‘ Oh! Monsieur, forgive the intrusion, but this discharge. . . .’

‘‘It is nothing,’ said Richard. ‘‘I was playing with my pistol and the shot went off by mistake.’

When he was gone, Richard looked at my portrait. The bullet had torn the forehead.

‘‘I swear, Richard, that I am your most devoted friend. If I had met you sooner, oh, how I would have loved you! All this will change. Perhaps we can leave together. . . . But do not drive me to despair. I shall come see you.’

I went home moved by this incident.

A few days went by like this. Lionel knew me too well not to notice the change occurring in me. One morning he said, ‘‘I am leaving tonight.

That should make you happy, since your freedom is so dear to you! I wanted to give you something before leaving, but it is not ready. You will probably receive it tomorrow.’

‘‘But, my dear friend, I do not need anything. You should not have spent your money.’

‘ Oh, yes, my child. Your theater is far away, so you need a carriage.’

    

   

This double life weighed on me so much that for the first time I greeted the news of his departure without regret. And besides, at the word ‘ carriage’ my imagination was aroused. Lionel left that evening. I spent the

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Proud Women, Passionate Men

next day looking out the window. At four o’clock I saw an adorable little surrey stop at my door. A man jumped from the seat, a piece of paper in his hand. I had a caller. The carriage was for me. It was drawn by a pretty bay horse. The harness bore my number. On the door panel there was a small garland that went around my initials with this motto: Forget me not.3 The surrey was painted bright blue and the interior was lined in silk of the same color. I walked around it ten times. I climbed in it on one side and got out on the other; I touched the ivory ornaments; I opened and closed the windows; I looked at the passersby with pride.

Lionel had rented a stall at a stable on Rue Rougemont. The coachman, dressed in English style, had received orders to arrive at four o’clock, the customary time for carriage rides. I quickly went upstairs to dress. I was so thrilled, I put on a green dress, a red shawl, and a yellow hat. I must have looked like a parrot. The two-hour ride through the Bois de Boulogne seemed very short to me. Everyone would let out

‘ oh’ and ‘ ooh’ when they saw me.

Once I had exhausted the gaze of all the passersby, I went home. At the corner of Rue de la Madeleine, I saw Richard. Oh, dreadful flightiness! My first reaction was one of vanity. I nodded to him and signaled for him to come closer. But my carriage did not seem to please him as much as it pleased me. He walked away gloomily.

Once back home I dressed in a less showy way and decided to go, on foot, to pay Richard a visit.

Instead of complimenting me on the beauty of my carriage, he coldly said, ‘‘How much income have you been provided with to support this kind of life?’’

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30

o

London

Between Two Love Affairs—My Name and Forty Thousand Francs—I Did Not Want to Get Married!—Exchange of Diplomatic Notes between Two Agonizing Hearts

    the nursemaid unannounced. I entered the house and found, alone in a cradle, a poor little creature so pale, so weak that she seemed on the verge of death. I recognized her clothes as the ones I had bought for my godchild. The nursemaid was in the fields. She came back a half hour later.

‘Are you mad leaving this child alone? I certainly pay you more than I owe you.’

This woman gave me the worst of explanations. The husband had come in a few minutes after his wife and seemed at least as embarrassed as she. The baby began to cry; the nursemaid rocked her.

‘ But,’ I said, ‘ she must be hungry.’

‘ Oh! My goodness, madame,’ said the husband, ‘‘we did not dare tell you, but the child has been weaned because my wife is with child.’

‘‘You poor wretch!’’ I angrily exclaimed, standing up. ‘‘You are going to poison her with your bad milk, and rather than lose the money I am sending you, you are finishing her off. Go get a doctor.’

The doctor arrived a few minutes later.

‘ They are all the same; they wean them when they are three or four months old, and they feed them cabbage soup and potatoes like their pigs. They all end up with stones after a couple of weeks. This one has them, but you might be able to save her with proper care.’

I took my dear little girl away, and I returned to Paris by train, a bundle on one side, a bottle of milk on the other, and my godchild on my lap. I kept her with me three days, and after having found a good place for her, I occupied myself with my beautiful carriage.

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   

Lionel came to Paris. My life of deception was going to start again and it was frightening me so that I made a decision.

I went to see Richard and told him, ‘‘My dear friend, I have come to ask you for proof of your affection. Lionel is here. I would not be able to see you without fear. You told me that you had business in Belgium.

Then, go to Brussels. If Lionel leaves me, which should be soon, I shall go meet you.’

After a thousand objections, he promised to leave the next day.

Lionel had returned to his apartment on Rue Royale. His moods were exceptionally erratic. One day he would shower me with tenderness, another he would chase me away, then he would ask my forgiveness only to insult me once more. Each reconciliation was accompanied by lavish gifts. He gave me a lovely barouche lined in deep blue that belonged to him but that he had inscribed with my name. He also gave me two beautiful black horses that I had seen harnessed to his phaeton.

I owned one of the most beautiful equipage on the Champs-Elysées; I was covered in jewels, cashmere, and lace. Yet I shed many a bitter tear under my veil. Lionel was as incapable of parting from me as he was of making me happy. He would become raging mad when he realized that he could not evict my image from his heart. When Richard was in Paris, his presence infuriated him. When Richard was away, he was calmer, but he was less restrained and that was not any better for me.

Fortunately there came an occasion for us to see each other less and I grabbed it eagerly.

I was called to the theater for a new play called The Martyrs of Carnival. The theater annoyed him because I had to dance in all the plays. The poor walk-ons who earned twenty-five francs a month were happier than I.

Richard’s absence only endeared him more to me. It was not love but tenderness. My memory of him benefited from each sorrow caused by Lionel’s offenses. And then, Richard would write me such tender and affectionate letters!

At the same time that we were rehearsing The Martyrs of Carnival we were also rehearsing Blanche and Blanchette. In the role of the lover a dark, thin, handsome young man of extreme pallor was making his debut. His name was Alexis Didier.

Didier is that very sleepwalker that M. Dumas studied for so long.

He would stay close to me and we would talk together. . . . When the chatting would go on for more than ten minutes, I would get tired and numb!

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London

‘‘Please, leave me, Didier. People are going to say you are court-ing me!’’

‘‘Let them!’’

I would leave. When I had strolled around a bit, I would return to him. He would then laugh and say, ‘‘You see; you are the one seeking me out! . . .’ I would reply yes and not budge. Of course, people must have thought I was in love with Didier, yet that did not enter my mind.

     

One night at the theater I received a note; it was from Richard: I must see you tomorrow. . . . Come to my house, or I shall go to yours!

I went to see him. He seemed tired. He asked me to sit down and told me, ‘ Céleste, you will see how my love for you is part of my life! I have thought about it long, and this is what I am offering you: a happy, honorable future that will help you forget a past I shall never again mention! I shall give you forty thousand francs! . . . We shall immediately leave for England where I shall marry you without difficulty since I am English and have no parents!’’

I hid my face in my hands to weep.

‘‘But it is impossible! . . .’

He stood up like a madman. I drew him to me and said, ‘ I had no idea you were going to say something like this to me and I am dizzy. . . .

And besides, are you sure that can be done in London? Go there for two or three days and come back to get me once I have written to you.’

‘‘You are deceiving me, Céleste. You will not write to me!’’