Valtesse’s pain and sense of injustice drew out the ruthless streak she had had to learn to survive on the streets. Some years later, she put her emotions into the words of her fictional heroine, Isola:
I do not love nor do I wish people to love me.4
And:
I will take your husbands, your brothers, your sons and your lovers just as it pleases me […] With your fortunes, I will buy myself family, parents, friends, children, the world if it takes my fancy.[…] I must acquire riches if I am to restore my honour.5
Valtesse was under no illusions; she was living in a man’s world. ‘It is always the way,’ she grieved, ‘they kill the fatted calf to celebrate the return of the prodigal son […] For a daughter, it is different; she is rejected, damned.’6
Valtesse was justified in her grievance. A deep-rooted gender bias underpinned 19th-century French society. Only a few years earlier, Flaubert had horrified his readers with the critique of the bourgeois marriage and the woman’s lot he presented in Mme Bovary (1857). Behind the public outcry lay unease; the novel had trespassed uncomfortably close to the truth. Flaubert’s anti-heroine laments:
A man at least, is free; he can explore each passion and every kingdom, conquer obstacles, feast upon the most exotic pleasures. But a woman is continually thwarted. Both inert and yielding, against her are ranged the weakness of the flesh and the inequity of the law. Her will, like the veil strung to her bonnet, flutters in every breeze; always there is the desire urging, always the convention restraining.7
People knew that Emma Bovary’s situation was more than a fantastical creation. Valtesse was feeling the legacy of years of female subservience.
The Revolution of 1789 had the long-term effect of emphasising family values and differentiating more clearly between the roles of the sexes.8 Order in society, it was felt, started with order in the home. Marriage was therefore vitally important. Under the ancien régime, the family had been characterised by its patriarchal character; marital unions were guided by family ambition and financial concerns rather than love, and primarily designed to produce an heir.9 Women were placed under the legal authority of their husbands once married, and divorce was prohibited. For all the challenges it had faced following the Revolution, the authoritarian, paternalistic family model was far from obsolete as the 19th century dawned. And throughout the century, it was women who most felt the effects.
By the time Fossey abandoned Valtesse, social discourse was calling for a more affectionate family model and greater equality between the sexes. But change occurred only slowly. Throughout the 19th century, a single female courted social disapproval. She was viewed with suspicion – she might be a prostitute, or, worse, a lesbian. If she wished to be thought respectable, a woman could not attend all the entertainment venues men frequented and she was advised against going out in the street unaccompanied. A working woman’s wages were a fraction of what a man earned. Her principal vocation was to become a good wife and mother. As such, a woman was answerable to her husband. It was not until 1881 that a married woman was allowed to open a bank account without her husband’s permission, and it would be a further 25 years before she could spend her salary as she chose. Traditionalists of both sexes agreed: any lot other than marriage was simply ‘abnormal’.10
A woman had two ways of conducting herself in this male-orientated society: either she conformed to its rules and conventions or she refused to submit to them and instead turned them to her advantage. Only one path guaranteed social approval. But the other was often a woman’s sole chance of attaining independence.
Valtesse knew that marriage was now out of the question. But she had to survive. She refused to continue life as a victim. The pain and anger of abandonment made her hungry for independence. This drive gave her the strength to renounce marriage and commit herself wholeheartedly to her social ascent. She wanted to be somebody. Her determination spurring her, Valtesse began her quest where she had already laid the foundations for her rise: the theatre.
Valtesse entrusted the supervision of Julia-Pâquerette and Valérie-Albertine’s care to her mother. It was a practical decision. The theatre was a world and a lifestyle that left no space for children. Mother and starlet? The one, unremarkable and emotionally generous; the other, glamorous and guarded – the two roles were simply not compatible. She knew she could not risk the existence of children tarnishing her theatrical persona. Their basic needs would be met but maternal affection was a luxury they would have to do without.
The arrangement suited both Valtesse and her mother. After leaving her post as a linen maid, Emilie Delabigne had been working in Paris as a domestic help for the eminent Doctor Jobert de Lamballe.11 However, the elderly surgeon passed away in 1867. Mme Delabigne received 5,000 francs by way of compensation, but her employment was abruptly terminated. The monthly supplement of Valtesse’s childcare allowance was welcome.
Henceforward, Valtesse rarely saw her daughters. She was determined: she was going to rise and Paris would be hers.
At the end of September, 1868, Parisians opened their newspapers to find an announcement publicising the reopening of the Bouffes-Parisiens. The theatre had temporarily closed in June for redecoration. ‘The refurbishments are now complete,’ declared Le Figaro. ‘Notable improvements have been made to the stage and the auditorium, which has been decorated with the utmost care, very luxuriously. Nothing has been neglected so that it calls to mind the elegant public who used to frequent this stylish theatre.’12 Other critics agreed: ‘The auditorium at the Bouffes-Parisiens is now one of the most charming and luxurious in Paris,’ eulogised another journalist.13
Theatregoers were burning with curiosity to see the revamped theatre. There was to be a new director and a revised cast. Excitement rippled through Paris as the night of the opening performance approached. And there, among the names on the list of the Bouffes’s regular cast members, was that of Valtesse. The theatre’s reopening was just the comeback she had been hoping for.
Still, she had to wait a little longer to be awarded a named part. She was not selected to appear in the four opening productions. But by October, she was back on stage. However, as her first performance approached, Valtesse noticed that an error had been made in the publicity for the autumn line-up. Le Figaro announced that one of the minor parts in the October production of Le Fifre enchanté and the role of Saturnin in La Chanson de Fortunio in November would be played by a young actress named Waltesse.14 The mistake threatened to delay even further the public recognition Valtesse craved.
It did not pass uncorrected for long. By the time she won the role of Berthe in La Diva the following spring, the paper had rectified the error.15 It was just as well, since the next production Valtesse was to appear in would get all of Paris talking. It was her first significant role. At last, she would be named in press reviews. But by far the most attractive boon was that it steered her directly into the path of Offenbach.
On Thursday 9 December 1869, La Princesse de Trébizonde premiered at the Bouffes-Parisiens. The show had been publicised for weeks before. The previous summer, it had met with enthusiastic applause when it was performed for the first time in Baden-Baden:
The orchestra was conducted by Offenbach himself, and it was marvellous to see this little man, standing behind the rostrum, conducting with that devil in his body which, in the words of Voltaire, is what makes genius […] After every act, the composer had to appear before the adoring crowd and be subjected to a thunder of applause.16
The show was a resounding success, and champagne flowed late into the night at the after-show party.
The Parisian public arrived at the Bouffes-Parisiens for the opening night primed with expectation. The crowd was ‘already intoxicated’ before the show, remarked one journalist.17 The production was bound to be spectacular.
The opéra bouffe told the tale of a travelling showman named Cabriolo who wins a castle, land and the title of Baron in a lottery, and arrives at the property to take up reside
nce with his troupe of performers. He brings with him a wax figure of the Princess of Trebizond, but since the figure’s nose is broken, the showman’s daughter dresses up as the wax figure and takes its place. The son of a prince falls in love with her and the tale ends with them marrying. The story was entirely fantastical, and the critics showed no mercy for the plot or the score. With its bouncy rhythm, ‘the music’, wrote the authors of the Dictionnaire des opéras, ‘is as unpleasant as possible’.18 Parisians loved it.
‘The performers make for a rather risqué troupe, I would not take my fiancée along,’ observed one audience member. But, he conceded, ‘the formula was foolproof: arrival of the father, dancing, singing, marriage. Pour onto it Offenbach’s music, serve up to an audience of cocodès and cocodettes; and you have a successful premiere.’19
The opening night was a sensation. The cream of Parisian society was there: counts and countesses, dukes and duchesses, colonels and their wives. There was the actress Augustine Brohan and the Romanian Prince Ghika. Nobody wanted to miss the first night. ‘People had fun, enormous fun,’ raved one journalist.20 ‘The corridors were full of people. You could barely move. The conversation was noisy and animated.’21
Valtesse played one of the twelve pages. When she stepped out in front of the audience for her first scene, she was dressed in a smart jacket, breeches and satin culottes. Her figure-hugging costume followed the shapely curves of her body, while the outline of her calves was suggestively traced by tight white stockings. Her hair was scraped back beneath a blonde wig for most of the performance; the production demanded it. But Valtesse made sure that the critics at least noticed her proudest asset.
‘Redheaded like one of Titian’s Virgins,’ one critic reported. ‘But that is as far as the resemblance goes. Very shy – on stage. Hides behind her colleagues. People sat in the orchestra pit complained about it. Distinguishing feature: wears a blonde wig.’22
Valtesse was forging herself a reputation. If her acting failed to impress, her charms were winning her admirers nonetheless. And she took full advantage of the attention; after all, her survival depended on it. When she left the stage, she shed her coy persona and became bolder and more flirtatious. She had good reason to grow in confidence: on the opening night, she had the personal encouragement of an experienced theatrical impresario – Offenbach himself.
Throughout the show, Offenbach could be seen gesticulating vigorously, agitating his arms with incredible energy. Valtesse and her fellow performers were spurred on by his passionately delivered stage directions. ‘My dears,’ he could be heard shouting, ‘remember the break! One, two, three! That is it, very good!’23
As the final curtain fell, thunderous applause erupted from the auditorium, and theatregoers filtered out of the Bouffes-Parisiens drunk on good feeling and frivolity.
‘Offenbach is ecstatic,’ one paper subsequently reported. ‘The day before yesterday, La Princesse de Trébizonde took 4,750 francs at the box office, more than any performance so far at the Bouffes.’24
That performance did more than boost the audience’s spirits and box office takings. It afforded the performers the privilege of an acquaintance with Offenbach and the opportunity of working closely with him. This intimate relationship between maestro and cast proved a turning point for Valtesse, professionally at first – and then rather more personally.
Offenbach studied the newcomer in the chorus closely. He could see that she was eye-catching. Critics might disparage her talent, but the public found her delightful. Their opinion mattered. It was decided: Valtesse should be given the chance to shine. La Romance de la Rose was scheduled to open shortly after the premiere of La Princesse de Trébizonde, and the two productions would run alongside each other. Finally, Valtesse was awarded her first major role.
Taking musical inspiration from Friedrich von Flottow’s Martha, La Romance de la Rose told the tale of an American widow, Mistress Johnson, who is seduced by a beautiful voice that she hears singing one day. She mistakenly attributes the voice to a musician, when it actually belongs to his friend, a painter. The musician cannot repeat the performance, and the painter has a jealous partner, so he dreams up all sorts of schemes to sabotage the quality of the song and divert the widow’s interest.
Valtesse took the starring role of Mistress Johnson. She was required to sing a series of verses in a baffling Franco-English tongue with a heavy American accent. Quite apart from public stardom, the role gave Valtesse the enviable opportunity of bringing a smile to the composer’s lips; one of her verses opened with an English expression that had always tickled him:25
Oh very good!
Oh very well!
Joli, charmant, spirituel.
Oh, sire, c’était très bien très chic!
Oh! What is sweet love in miousic [sic].
Later in the performance, Valtesse’s soprano voice could be heard singing:
Monsieur, je suis veuve très riche!
Will you épouser moi, my dear?26
Reviews were mediocre at best. Critics complained that the music scarcely differed from Offenbach’s other operettas. As for its originality, the production was scorned as being ‘the most redundant in ideas’ of any show that had ever preoccupied the public.27 One critic was more generous:
This charming little vaudeville is performed with much talent by M. Hamburger, Victor, Mlle Périer, who has a rather small role, and Mlle Valtesse, who, for the start of her career, has shown proof of talent, grace and charm in the very successful role of an English [sic] lady.28
But such flattery was an exception. Reviews praising Valtesse for her acting ability were rare.
By the end of the 1860s, it was becoming increasingly clear: Valtesse lacked the talent required to become a star of the calibre of Offenbach’s renowned protégé, Hortense Schneider. But she had her looks and she now had Offenbach’s attention. She recognised that these were her most valuable assets. The time had come to capitalise on them.
CHAPTER 5
A Courtesan Must Never Cry
Valtesse did not continue in the role of Mistress Johnson in the new year; the actress Léa-Lini took over in 1870. Valtesse still had her minor part in La Princesse de Trébizonde, in which she appeared for the remainder of the spring. But winning a starring role was no longer her chief objective. Her focus had shifted to a more absorbing project: Valtesse had begun an affair with Offenbach.
Novelist and man of letters Arsène Houssaye recalled how Offenbach’s cheerful disposition tended to cloud over whenever he was troubled by one of his professed extramarital affairs.1 Even close acquaintances remained uncertain as to the number and importance of these liaisons, but their occurrence should have been no surprise; Offenbach was at the centre of a profession whose ground was notoriously fertile for passionate affairs. Despite that, his marriage to his wife of 25 years, Herminie, remained strong, the pair being bonded by mutual respect. Besides, his dalliances were mostly harmless flings. Their flame burned bright on ignition, but guttered quickly.
However, in 1863, a singer caught Offenbach’s eye in a way no other had before. Zulma Bouffar was young, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and vivacious.2 Offenbach made routine visits to the spa town of Bad Ems in the hope that the waters might remedy his rheumatism. It was during one of these visits that he first heard the haunting soprano tones of Zulma’s voice; she was singing at a theatre in Bad Homburg. Zulma had spent her childhood among travelling players. Encouraged by her father, she had titillated diners by singing risqué songs in restaurants from a young age, where she became affectionately known as ‘the Little Parisian’. Zulma’s childhood experiences resonated with Offenbach’s own: he too had been supported in his musical pursuits by his father from a young age, and he and Zulma had even performed in the same brasserie in Cologne as youngsters. Contemporaries found Zulma’s looks a little odd: her nose was awkwardly shaped, her face rather flat and her chin turned up.3 But with her bright blue eyes and charisma, her draw was magnetic. The fluctuating mo
ods of her passionate gypsy temperament only made her more appealing. Offenbach fell in love, and his creative zeal flourished.
Zulma was the most significant and long-lasting extramarital affair the composer ever had. She even bore him two illegitimate children.4 But however much Zulma captivated him, Offenbach’s heart remained devoted to Herminie. In August 1869, they hosted a memorable party at Etretat to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary. The superb dinner, masked ball and general good spirits of the occasion gave guests the impression of nothing but marital harmony.5
But just a few months later, La Princesse de Trébizonde and La Romance de la Rose began rehearsals. In the composer’s new love interest, both Herminie and Zulma encountered a serious rival. Valtesse was the fiercest competition either woman had ever faced.
When Valtesse and Offenbach first met, the celebrated maestro was 50. She was just 21 – barely a year older than Zulma when the composer had begun his affair with her. Valtesse could not boast Zulma’s fine soprano tones. But with her red hair and porcelain-white complexion, she too had a unique, arresting form of beauty, and she shared Zulma’s dynamism of character. Furthermore, Valtesse was younger, fresher; her energy was inspiring and her bright disposition infectious.
It was true that as a child, she had been denied the educational opportunities she had craved. It had been a constant frustration to Valtesse that her mother’s financial situation had made it impossible to indulge her love of books. The thinnest volume had required saving for weeks. Tuition had been unthinkable.6 But she had a naturally sharp mind and she listened attentively to the conversations she was now hearing around her, absorbing linguistic flourishes and turns of phrase that made her own conversation sparkle and conveyed her dry sense of humour. Such quick wit in one so young was as rare as it was attractive. Valtesse could smooth an ageing man’s furrowed brow. She could make him forget his worries. Offenbach fell deeply, hopelessly, under her spell.
The Mistress of Paris Page 6
