Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris (36 page)

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Château Life

Pond. How disappointing! I found a pond full of sludge festooned with lots of ducks. I was becoming disillusioned about the region, which I had imagined as an enchanted province. Everyone was sick with fever.

Each one was bony and skinny. The culture is so backwards, you would think you were in some primitive country. The peasants are shabby and live miserable lives in their huts. They do not take care of themselves or their health or the lives of their parents. For example, there was a sick seventy-six-year-old man living near us. His family had not sent for the doctor because that would cost money. I asked the doctor to go check on this poor old man.

He went immediately.

‘Always the same story,’ he told the daughter who was there. ‘‘I am sent for when it is too late.’

‘ Oh! Monsieur le médechin, too bad I don’ know this morning!’’ she said.

‘ Why?’ said the doctor.

‘‘Because I d’have bought some bodkins to bury my papa with.’

‘ That is all right,’ said the old man to his daughter, ‘‘you will find some on the mantle in a little canister.’

They just let themselves die. They all have a field, a meadow that they rent. The poorest of them have some possessions. They shorten their lives so they can amass more and they let themselves die rather than deplete their money.

The little money Lionel gave me was used for alms. I could not witness this misery without feeling sad. If you did not see them where they live, you were not so shocked. For example, on Sundays when the bag-piper passes, everyone goes out. The girls wear a white headdress and a silk apron. The lads, as they are called, wear a burlap shirt, sometimes a very clean jacket, and a large black felt hat with wide brims. They pair up and follow the music to the town square where everyone dances.

Then the bourrées begin. There is no letup from noon until six o’clock, when, finally, all you can see is a cloud of dust.

The next day in the square there is a sunken area where the dancers had been. The men, who deprive themselves all week, drink four liters of wine on Sunday.

Sometimes I paid the player. Lionel allowed dancing in the garden.

It was quite a feast. I would dance the bourrée or the boulangère. Even though I had strong legs, the villagers were giving me some competition.

The foreman had three daughters. One was named Justine, a small

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Château Life

thirteen-year-old brunette. I showed her how to embroider. In the evening we played with a kite.

The gardener had two daughters. One of them often came with us.

She was sixteen. She was as strong as I and my size. Her sister was epi-leptic. Her family kept an eye on her, and there was always someone with her. One day I went into her room and saw, near the fireplace, seated in a large chair, an adorable creature. I spoke to her, but she did not answer. Her sister ran in from outside.

‘ Oh! Excuse me, madame, she will not reply; she is an imbecile.’

   . . .

Winter was coming. Lionel relished the thought that soon he would be able to go hunting. Aside from a few little lovers’ quarrels, our time together was passing rapidly. His Paris friends would come see him.

He went to a great deal of trouble to welcome them and that cost a lot of money.

One day he told us during dinner, ‘‘If you wish, tomorrow, we shall hunt hares on the heath. Céleste will come too.’

Everyone was delighted. Especially Montji, the painter who had done Lise’s portrait and later mine. He did not handle a horse as well as a paintbrush.

At five o’clock everyone was ready. The saddled horses were pawing the ground in the courtyard. Montji, who when he came to the château did not expect to be riding a horse, had not brought anything to wear.

Lionel had to lend him some boots, a jacket, and trousers. They were all one size too large. His cap fell over his eyes. He was riding Henriette, a small ticklish mare that, since she had been ridden by the foreman, wanted to stay close to the dogs.

Once we had reached the end of the central alley, which was one league long, we came upon a huge expanse; it was the heath, uncultivated lands that belonged to Lionel. In other regions they are called the landes. It was a fantastic hunt. The area seemed flat like a wide road, except for a few little ditches or furrows; in fact, one could see a hare or a fox from a great distance. The foreman let loose twenty dogs that began tracking and sniffing every clump of heather.

Reckless Montji let out a loud cry of joy. Seeing the dogs on a trail, his mare took off like an arrow. Montji was not expecting that. His cap flopped down over his eyes. Fortunately for him, the hare crouched low, the dogs lost the scent and came back over the false trail. Henriette stopped. Montji was pulling himself together when, having fortu-

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Château Life

itously found the trail again, the dogs darted off once more. Henriette joined the race again with the unfortunate Montji astride her neck, near the ears.

After some great feints the dogs caught their hare stiff from the race.

We returned around eleven o’clock. Lunch was cheerful at the expense of Montji who would wince when he sat down.

Hunts through the forest are quite different. I thought I knew how to ride a horse, but I was wrong. In the Châteauroux forest six leagues from the château, the hunt was for boars. The foreman, his dogs, and his post horses left the night before to sleep near the gathering place. The foreman got up at three o’clock and went through the woods with his bloodhound. As for us, we had to get up at four. On those days Lionel would shave, don white velvet trousers, soft leather boots, a buff colored vest, a dark blue frock coat with crimson velvet cuffs and short cape, a gold belt, an ivory handled knife, a black velvet cap, a French horn, and the attire was complete. He looked very handsome in it. The white tie was de rigueur. Once the hunt was underway, he did not have much to do with me. His full attention was devoted to Saint Hubert. The morn-ings were cold. We would leave either in a landau or on horseback. At nine o’clock we arrived at the Trois-Fouinots, a magnificent junction in the forest where we would meet. The trees there are gigantic. It is a woodland whose timber the government reserves for its navy ships.

At each corner of the crossroads, three dog keepers guarded a relay of twenty dogs each. Four servants held the reins of the saddled horses.

They all wore livery emblazoned with Lionel’s coat of arms. All the forest wardens were gathered around a fire they had built for us.

Eight roads circled the junction. Lionel often said, ‘‘Do you not see anything coming?’’ To one of his queries a guard replied, ‘‘Here comes Pinoteau.’ He was the first foreman. All the dogs’ ears pricked up. Pinoteau arrived being pulled by his bloodhound on a leash.

‘ Well,’ asked Lionel, ‘ do you have a good trail to report?’’

‘‘M. le Comte knows quite well I do my best. It rained last night and the paths are wet. I found a herd, but my dog lost its scent. I saw the tracks of a young boar. It went in circles all night long, then at dawn it went in the direction of the Saint-Maur woods.’

‘‘Fine,’ said Lionel frowning, ‘‘if La Feuille (that was the name of the second foreman) was no more successful than you, I shall not have a hunt.’

 , ’ 

La Feuille arrived.

‘‘M. le Comte, I spotted a five-hundred-pound lone boar. I found it

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Château Life

at the wallow, behind the guardhouse. My dog was pulling hard enough to cut my hands. It was going toward Ardentes. I circled its territory, and I am certain it is still there.’

Lionel jumped on his horse.

‘‘Hark!’’ he said. ‘ Get the dogs ready! Watch your relays!’’

At that moment all the dogs began howling with impatience. They were struck with a few lashes of the whip, and the pain drew a few cries from them, but they continued yapping even louder. Lionel motioned for me to follow him. I followed him. What a crude form of recreation this is! Dashing through the forest, sinking deep into ruts, my horse sunk in up to its breast, being whacked in the chest by limbs. . . .

By evening, the monster had been forced out, but it had confronted the hounds. Four were killed and six wounded.

We returned to the château dead tired. I cried for the dogs. I began to hold hunting and boars in horror because I saw them as rivals.

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26

o

Richard

Stormy and Endangered Love Affair—Flowered Homage: Returned to Sender—Secrets among the Masters and among the Servants—The Critic Apologizes—Victorine and the Bottin Address Almanac

  into the forest took place three times a week. For a while I went along so I would not be alone, but they were too strenuous for a woman, and, because of my health, I had to give them up.

I spent almost all my days and evenings alone in a large living room where the wind blew through the many openings.

I told Lionel, ‘‘My friend, I am bored. Could you not stay with me more often? I do not like the country; I am used to the bustle of Paris.

To agree to live here, I must love you a lot. If the time you spend here allows you to save money, I shall be patient, but hunting makes you incur tremendous expenses.’

‘‘Why do you stay? Am I keeping you here against your will? I love hunting, and I intend to go on hunting for as long as I wish. Those who are bothered by this are free to go. As for admonitions, I do not tolerate them from anyone.’

I left the living room and went to my room. He had never addressed me in this fashion.

    

He followed me and surprised, asked, ‘‘But what are you doing?’’

‘As you can see, I am packing my trunks. I shall leave tomorrow.’

‘‘Leave! But why?’’

‘‘Because for a remark that was accurate, you threw me out. Well, I am telling you again, this way of life is ruining you. You will not be able to continue without adjoining another fortune to yours; that means you

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Richard

will have to marry. Then you will send me away once I have become accustomed to this life. Bringing me here was a regrettable decision on your part. I do not like the country. It is a grave where my viva-ciousness is being buried. What interest could I possibly take in what is around me? What does it mean to me that the poplars are growing and earn twenty sous a year? My interest is dancing and the theater. I want to leave!’’

‘‘Your nerves are distraught. I did not understand a word you just said. I did not do anything to hurt you. I let you sleep in my mother’s bedroom, you, Céleste, who just a while ago would grow pale when looking at her own past in the mirror! Forgive me this word, but it was a profanation. My family is alarmed since they know you are with me.

Not a day goes by that I do not receive letters asking me to send you away. I do not have the courage to do so. You are my weakness. If I have any regrets, I forget them when I am kissing you. Do not make me unhappy; stay near me; no one will love you more than I. You miss Paris.

Well in a few days we shall go there. Please, unpack your trunk.’

For a few days I was quite gloomy. Marie, the servant I had had for a long time, was being courted by the butler. Lionel asked me to send her away. I did so regretfully. My life was becoming a voluntary constraint.

‘‘Well,’ Lionel told me, ‘ get ready, we are going to spend a month in Paris. I received some business letters.’

On the road, he told me he could not stay at my apartment because he was taking his cook and his butler with him.

‘ But . . . until you have found . . . ?’

‘‘I wrote ahead, and an apartment was reserved for me at the Cité d’Antin. I shall stay there.’

‘‘Now, tell me the truth. You do not know how to lie. Why are you going to Paris?’’

‘‘I am going to Paris to bring you back there, Céleste. I do not want to leave you, but I must pretend that I do. I must go out in society as my relatives wish. You shall go to balls on your own. Seeing us apart like this, they will believe we have broken up. You will come over every night, in hiding, and I shall give you one hundred francs every week.’

My blood was boiling. It was a separation again.

‘‘Fine! I shall do as you say. There is a ball at the Jardin d’Hiver Saturday; I am going.’ 1

I was seeking a maid who also knew how to sew dresses. A woman applied.

‘‘Make me this black crepe dress with five notched flounces, and on each flounce, three little satin ribbons.’

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Richard

I ordered a gold honeysuckle crown set in green leaves.

Lionel had seen me get dressed.

‘‘Here, something is missing from your attire.’

He handed me a box containing a magnificent diamond cross.

I took it without joy, even though it was quite beautiful. It was probably a good-bye gift.

‘‘Keep a place for me in your heart once you are back spinning in your pleasure circle.’

‘‘Would you like for me not to go?’’

‘‘No, go, you must. Did you let your friend know?’’

‘‘No, I am going to get her.’

‘ Then I shall take you there.’

All the way to Victorine’s doorstep, he had not said a word. Obviously he did not love me anymore. It was a polite separation.

He kissed me and left, saying, ‘ See you tomorrow.’

 :   

Once inside Victorine’s apartment, I began to cry.

‘ Oh, my!’’ she said. ‘‘You did not think he was going to marry you, did you? Find another.’

‘‘I shall never be able to forget him. If you only knew how much I love him!’’

‘ That is why he is leaving you.’

‘‘No, his affairs are in difficulty.’

‘ But, I thought he was rich! . . .’

‘‘Yes, he is rich, but he has expensive tastes and enormous expenses.’

‘‘He is rich, and he is not keeping you! It means he is more ambitious than in love. Stop caring about him and he will either leave you for good or will come back to you.’

We were on our way to the Jardin d’Hiver. The room was resplendent with flowers, lights, and diamonds. I had been out of circulation for a while and everyone took an interest in me. I did not want to dance, yet a tall, thin, blond young man invited me to dance with such persistence that I accepted. My dancer overwhelmed me with his attentiveness. I tolerated it in the hope that the game would continue to entertain him, that he would try to see me again, that Lionel would notice, and that jealousy would bring him back at my feet.