Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (19 page)

‘ Oh,’ she said, ‘ a bad dream. You know how I was taken away. My papers were checked, and nothing was found that could lead anyone to believe that I was an accomplice of these men. For some months there had been complaints that money mailed through the post office was not reaching its destination. A month ago a young man went to a post office to cash a money order. There was also a man present who, expecting some money, was filing a complaint. This man heard his name and was quite astonished to see the young man sign for him and hold in his hand

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A ‘ Queen’s’ Destiny

the letter of advice that he was surprised he had not received. The young man was arrested and searched. He had several opened letters containing money addressed to various people. He finally confessed everything.

They were a group of seven or eight. One of them was a postal employee.

That employee would steal each letter containing a check, and then the accomplices would claim the payment. You must have guessed who the postal employee was. You can understand the judge’s suspicions. It was believed that I was also an accomplice!

‘ The dates were checked, and it was evident that he was already doing these types of withdrawals long before he knew me. It is quite a tawdry affair. His father is one of the most important personalities in Toulouse.

What is going to become of me? I can never show my face again!’’



There was a knock at the door. I opened. It was a tall young man with blond hair.

‘ Is it possible to see Lise?’

‘ Oh! It is you, Camille. Come in,’ said Lise. ‘ Camille is no one,’ she told me, laughing.

‘‘No,’ said the young man. ‘‘I am nothing, and I wish that were not so, because you would not be here. Anyway, you are free. I am going, my guardian is waiting for me. I shall be back soon.’

And I heard him skip down the stairs taking four steps at a time, like a schoolboy.

‘‘Who is this young man?’’

‘‘He is just a child. He is nineteen. Everyday he repeats, ‘You see, Lise, I do not love you like everyone else. If I wanted, perhaps by pleading just right, I could have you. Well, I do not want that to happen; it would pain me to have to share you. I shall be your friend. Once I officially become an adult, I shall have a lot of money. Then you will be mine only. I shall make you so happy that you will not miss your past life!’ ’

‘‘Is it true that he will have a lot of money?’’

‘ Oh! He is the son of an extremely rich merchant. His father, on his deathbed, entrusted him to a guardian who will not let him have his money until he is twenty-one.’

‘‘Well! Your future is secured.’

‘‘Do you believe that?’’ She struck her chest, coughed, and said, ‘‘Do you hear that? I do not have long to live.’

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11

o TheHippodrome

Equestrienne—The Reverse of Fame—The Baron’s Narrow Failure—Timid Léon—Coin Toss for Me

   of equestrienne was just the beginning; now it was a matter of learning the skill. I had as many as two and three lessons a day, including one hour of French trot.

I did not have much time for my friends. Brididi was the one who suffered most from this neglect.

A song had just been written about Pomaré. It was attributed to a very witty man.1 It was sung to the tune of Rosita’s waltz: Oh, Pomaré, young and beautiful queen, Do not ever lose your zest and vigor.

May you forever reign over the cancan And may Chicard grow pale under your gaze!

Adorned with flowers, your Mabille throne Rests solidly on the shoulders of young revelers.

Better by far to rule here than on the island Where our colors will cease to shine.

I too had my poets. Brididi sent me an epistle in verse. Unfortunately he was a better dancer than he was a singer.

My work at the Hippodrome was taking me away from the world where I had met him.



Finally my big moment arrived. On opening day I was supposed to participate in three exercises.

The first one was a horse walk, the second a speed race, and the third a deer hunt.

I was the first to enter ahead of a row of four horses. I wore a Jewish-

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The Hippodrome

style costume like all equestriennes. I could hear my name making the rounds: ‘‘Where is Mogador?’’ ‘ Oh, there is Mogador!’’

There must have been at least eight thousand people present. All of elegant Paris was there.

The sun, which on that day was shining on the flashy decor, warmed everyone’s heart and cheered the audience, which was applauding wildly.

I was trembling, afraid I would not be able to hold on to my horse.

My body was leaning forward when I felt a sharp blow on my back, and I heard M. Laurent Franconi admonish me, ‘Are you going to stand like that? Straighten up, please.’

I jerked myself erect.

‘ Good! Now we look like a broomstick,’ he told me. ‘ Sit deep in your saddle, body straight but not stiff, elbows in, head forward. Press your fingers gently . . . good! And do not be afraid, you have a good horse.’

He patted it on the neck, then, walking by some man, he told him,

‘ This one is my student. She is doing fine, but she has been studying for only two months.’

This compliment pleased me but did not stop my heart from beating so hard I thought I would stop breathing.

‘ Go!’’

My horse took me away. I rested against his neck, like jockeys do.

I spoke to him out loud and he speeded up. . . . I was about to overtake my companions, maybe even win the race! I made my horse swerve toward the rope in a curve. . . . I cut in front of the one nearest me and passed her! I let my horse take the lead and I spurred his left side. I squeezed my knees tighter. I went around one more time. I was stopped and handed the bouquet. I had won! My instructor shared my joy.

Once off their horses, my companions tried to pick a quarrel with me. They insinuated that I had almost knocked them over, that it was against the rules to cut in front. . . . I think they were right, but I dismissed them and went to dress for the hunt.

I mounted a stable horse named Aboukir. I made him prance.

A deer was released.

This hunt attained the sort of success the organizers of this spectacle probably had not imagined. When the dogs were loosed, instead of rushing after the deer, they began to run in all directions, committing acts of impropriety on our dress hems and our horses’ legs. We were doubled over with laughter. Finally the deer was put on the right track and the dogs followed the trail.

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The Hippodrome

The deer, tired, retraced its steps and strode toward the dogs. Now they were being chased!

After the performance I was more triumphant than a conquering general. I was holding my bouquet in my arms so everyone could see it.

   

Back home I asked my doorman to put up a notice; I could not live so far away. The next day I found a little fifth-floor apartment at  Faubourg Saint-Honoré. It had a room with two windows facing the front, a room facing the back, and a kitchen.

I started a little garden on the gutter, which jutted out about a foot.

I no longer saw Denise and Marie. Their lives were not any more moral than mine, they were just mingling in other circles.

During the worst time of my life, I had met a tall girl to whom I gave a bit of advice that I always practiced.

I know that an elegant life of vice is still a life of vice, but I always thought that, even when a woman is wicked, it is to her advantage to seek the company of cultivated men. The ideal would be to be good, but, when that is not possible, it is preferable to be the mistress of a man of good taste rather than a boor, of a witty man rather than a dullard.

This discrimination has allowed me, in spite of my moral decadence, to enjoy the pleasures of the mind, the refinements of art, and to form among the upper echelons of each social group propitious connections and durable friendships.

The woman to whom I gave this advice had known how to put it to good use. She had met a wealthy man who, of the opinion that her neck and her arms were too long, covered them with diamonds to hide this deformity.

Under the pretext that we were neighbors, she invited me up to her place and spent the day showing me her valuables.

She had a great passion for actors and spent all her evenings in little theaters. It is said that she had dropped many a diamond from her bracelet in the dressing rooms of her favorites.

She invited me to have dinner with her and then see a play that night.

She said she would lend me a shawl to keep me warm. This kindness touched me and I said to myself, ‘ She is indeed a nice person!’’

I was quickly disabused of this notion. She could not go to the theater alone; she had to have a companion. She could not wear all her shawls at once; she had to have a mannequin.

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The Hippodrome

She took me to dine in a small restaurant on Rue du Temple. There were many actors, and they approached our table. We were served some soup. I was about to start eating when, holding my arm back, she told me in her boisterous voice, ‘‘Be careful, you are going to stain my shawl!’

I turned purple. That was her only reason for lending it to me.

She still continued to try forming a friendship with me. To further enhance this friendship, she even came up with the craziest and most eccentric idea: she would introduce me as her sister.

In reality, she latched on to me because my name was Mogador.

A few days later ‘ my sister’ asked me to accompany her to an actors’

soiree. She generously put her whole wardrobe at my disposal. I refused.

She then came up with a little scheme. She bought me what I needed and told me, ‘‘Here, all this is yours.’ So of course I thought she was giving it to me. The offer included a nosegay, long gloves, and a carriage rented for the night.

A few days later she handed me an invoice for one hundred francs! I made her wait. She became angry and made a scene in front of everyone.

One day I was at the theater in a loge with six other people. She asked to come in and demanded out loud, ‘‘Hey you, when are you going to pay me back?’

One of the persons there asked me how much I owed her and paid my debt for me. From that moment on, there was a complete rift between us.

She would go around saying, ‘ ‘My sister’ and I are mad at each other.’

 ’  

I had learned some new routines at the Hippodrome. In particular there was an obstacle race that almost had dire consequences for me. I was riding a lovely and highly spirited chestnut mare. She would tremble a whole hour before going on, and when the gate was opened, she was already in a full sweat.

One day she had puffed herself up while she was being saddled. No one checked on her before the start. Once we had taken off, I felt myself tilt to one side. I wanted to stop, but I was right in front of a hedge. She jumped. I tried to throw myself to the side so I would not be dragged under her feet. I fell on the track, past the hedge. All those who were coming up behind me jumped over me as well as the hedge.

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The Hippodrome

Those few seconds were frightful for me and for the spectators. I had sprained my foot.

There was talk of nothing but our bravery. We were forging on with truly frightening boldness. Often the audience would yell, ‘‘Enough, enough!’’

Every day there were accidents that should surely have resulted in a death. Well, instead we would merely suffer a few bruises.

The ever growing number of my admirers represented a much more formidable danger for me. I was neither so kind nor so stupid as to give myself. I quickly realized that gallantry is like war; to win one must employ tactics. I have always been capricious and proud. Among the women who are prone to say ‘‘yes,’ no one enjoys saying ‘ no’ more than I. That is why the men who obtained the most from me were the ones who demanded the least.

Most of them would send me go-betweens. In a single week I was visited by countless numbers of women who would come tell me of my conquests and try to negotiate alliance treaties. But I refused to have anything to do with these women. And so, furious, they would go back down the five flights of stairs. When they reported on their mission, they were not believed, because, I blush in admitting this, the conquest of Mogador seemed so easy.

I was glad that I chose to act as I did. Opinions about me began to change. I was continually courted but now with more delicacy.

A young Dutch baron was among those whose emissaries were so poorly received. He told of his defeat to ‘ my sister.’

‘‘Introduce yourself on my recommendation,’ she told him with her usual self-confidence. ‘‘You will be assured of an excellent welcome.’

He believed her and came to see me.

It was at an inopportune time: I still held the flowers of triumph against my breast. But he handled the situation intelligently. Guessing my true feelings for ‘ my sister,’ he admitted to me that he could not stand her, and he said so many bad things about her that I began listening to him. I held a few spiteful opinions that were begging to be uttered.

With the help of malicious gossip, the baron left with my permission to return.

It is possible that once again, in spite of myself, I would have yielded to the indirect influence of ‘ my sister.’ But the baron was abruptly called back to The Hague.

I went back to my work at the Hippodrome.



 

The fashionable young men, or those who aspired to be, had their own entrance next to the stables. One of them was attentive to me with stubborn perseverance. He was a thin, dark-haired young man, very meticulous in his dress. He was always staring at me but he had never dared speak to me.

I asked one of my friends, ‘‘Who is this young man who faints every time I miss a step?’

‘‘My dear,’ replied Hermance, a pretty, petite English girl who wore a wig, ‘ he is the son of a pharmacist.’

‘‘If you do not give him a little help,’ another one said to me, ‘ he will never dare speak to you. He is very rich. His father is an important manufacturer of locomotives!’’