The Mistress of Paris

by Catherine Hewitt

  The affair was a magnificent coup for Valtesse. Offenbach was a celebrity. He was powerful, charismatic, wildly sociable and notoriously generous with his money. She had set out to rise in society; connecting herself to Offenbach, her goal had been achieved. She continued to harbour great venom towards her rival, though, and based a fictional character on Zulma some years later:

  In the neighbouring box, a most ugly creature was prancing around: Zuléma Tonneau, who gained more from her ugliness than her colleagues did their beauty. Zuléma’s nose is quite a burlesque poem. She powders it like a Louis XV wig, paints it, highlights its shadows, admires its reflection in a little hand mirror, anticipates all its needs, pats it, strokes it, delights in it, and lets it make her way in the world. Oh yes, Zuléma has a good nose. She may only have one, but people say that it does the job of four!7

  The new couple made a striking pair. Though visibly ageing, Offenbach’s dark, beady eyes still exuded energy, animating his fine, birdlike features. His wiry frame never weighed more than 50kg, and the nervous energy which positively crackled through it gave him a remarkable intensity.8 With his trademark moustache, sideburns and spectacles, he had a permanent aura of refinement and dignity – even if his eyes had grown sunken with age, his hair was thinning and he was plagued by gout (and not rheumatism as he had first believed). Valtesse, meanwhile, was fresh and bright, with clear skin and enormous blue eyes that sparkled teasingly. Impressively for her age, she could converse informedly on a range of topics; and once Offenbach began leading her into more elevated circles, she quickly realised that she must educate herself, and started to read widely. When she spoke, whether about the latest morsel of Parisian gossip, or one of the classic works of literature she was now discovering, her dainty smile radiated quiet self-assurance. Valtesse was confident in her beauty and triumphant in her conquest.

  Offenbach was careful never to publicise his affairs; he knew how fond his friends were of Herminie. But the liaison did not stay secret for long. And to those in the know, the people Offenbach trusted, he could present Valtesse with his head held high. She was the perfect trophy mistress.

  Throughout the early months of 1870, Valtesse’s new lover was insatiably busy. While La Princesse de Trébizonde and La Romance de la Rose were still drawing eager theatregoers, Les Brigands was delighting audiences at the Théâtre des Variétés, with Zulma in the lead role. Offenbach had been planning to go to Vienna in the first months of the year. However, he changed his mind at the last minute when a charity performance of The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein starring his protégé, the singer Hortense Schneider, was scheduled to take place in Nice. When he received a telegram from the star, Offenbach immediately arranged to travel to Nice to conduct the performance in person. It was impossible to ignore how pale and gaunt he looked, and people were alarmed when he had to stand down after the first two acts feeling unwell. Undeterred, Offenbach was soon back in Paris hosting a gala supper at the Grand Hôtel to celebrate the success of La Princesse de Trébizonde and Les Brigands.

  The gala supper was a star-studded event, to which Valtesse was naturally invited. If the presence of Zulma gave the evening a sour edge, there was consolation in the opportunity it provided to rub shoulders with the uppermost of Paris’s influential elite. Tout Paris, that superior stratum of fashionable society, was there in all its glory. As Valtesse scanned the room, she could see journalists, the music publisher Brandus, Robert Mitchell, editor of the political paper Le Constitutionnel, the great actress and courtesan Blanche d’Antigny, and Hortense Schneider herself.9 Between the courses of a sumptuous dinner, Offenbach, dressed in a black suit and white tie, delighted his guests when he stood to deliver a witty speech entirely in German. Champagne flowed late into the night and the evening was declared a resounding success. A military captain named O’Donnell enjoyed himself so much that he announced he too would throw a ball at the Grand Hôtel so that the same guests – particularly the ladies – might repeat the experience.10

  With the gala supper complete, Offenbach was immediately back to work, toiling over another comic opera, Fantasio. Then there were the usual dinners and restaurant visits: Offenbach was a loyal patron of the fashionable eating establishments Bignon, Noel et Peters, La Maison Dorée and the Café Riche, and commandeered a regular table in each.11 There were also soirées and invitations, on top of his regular Friday night gatherings and time spent with the family. Though it was in his nature to be sociable, Offenbach was exhausted. His health was suffering.

  Though there was little leisure time to spend with a mistress, for Valtesse Offenbach made the time. In March 1870, he decided to treat her to a trip away. He would take her to Italy.

  It was almost certainly the first time Valtesse had travelled abroad. Although political and military tension had coloured the relationship between France and Italy in the past, Italy remained one of the most highly regarded destinations for those with means to travel. ‘Italy is the classic land of travels,’ exclaimed one guidebook author in 1864.12 ‘It is the garden of Europe and the home of the arts […] Everything there attracts attention and excites curiosity.’13 From the beautiful landscapes, the mild climate, the churches, museums and art collections to the lifestyle, fashions and people, travel writers flooded the French mindset with the wonders of Italy. And there was no more popular time to visit than in the spring at the time of the Carnival and Holy Week, ‘the two moments which are the richest in entertainments designed to please the eye’.14

  Valtesse had good cause to be excited. Quite apart from the new sights, sounds and smells to be discovered in a foreign country, she would be travelling as the lover of one of the most celebrated composers in Europe. If, as one journalist declared, Offenbach was the Empire, then Valtesse was now its mistress.15

  To the fashion-conscious Parisienne, Italy was the ultimate travel destination. A lady’s appearance during her stay was of the utmost importance. As the arrival of railways made it possible to travel more frequently and further afield, fashion responded to women’s changing habits. A woman embarking on a trip abroad could consult fashion journals and guidebooks to familiarise herself with what to take, and more importantly what to purchase and bring back. Tourists travelling to Italy in the early months of the year were advised to take warm winter clothing: ‘After sunset, the temperature gets considerably colder, and it is a sorry traveller indeed who walks around in a summer jacket.’16

  With a trip from Paris to the connecting city of Turin taking only 22 hours in the 1870s, rail was the most practical means of travelling to Italy. But even once the couple arrived, excessive walking was unlikely to feature in the itinerary; Offenbach’s gout led him to seek out carriages whenever possible.17

  Still, Valtesse had spent enough time among coquettish actresses to know that a person did not travel to Italy to remain cooped up. Italian cities were rich in enticements to tempt the discerning Parisienne consumer. French travellers complained bitterly that Italian merchandise was overpriced, but Valtesse had a weakness for beautiful things, and she especially loved Venetian glass and delicate Italian lace.18 She knew first-hand the time and labour a simple lace ribbon demanded. In her mind, those luxury items represented the ultimate in refinement and good taste, everything she sought to possess and project. Jewellery, clothing, hats, gloves and, particularly, exquisite tableware and objets d’art made her blue eyes sparkle. Offenbach was happy to oblige her whims.

  When word of her husband’s illicit romantic break reached Mme Offenbach, she was unsettled. Usually so resigned to – or at least discreet about – her husband’s extramarital dalliances, Herminie felt strangely uneasy about this new young girl. She hastily made the necessary travel arrangements and set off for Italy in pursuit of the couple.

  By the time Mme Offenbach arrived in the hotel foyer where her husband and his latest love interest had checked in, Offenbach had already spent a fortune on his 21-year-old mistress. The papers back in Paris did not report what took place when the maestro
and his lover were confronted by Mme Offenbach. But an account of the explosive scene Herminie created at the hotel soon reached the Parisian police, who reported the incident in their records. The confrontation was, the report declared, nothing short of a scandal.19

  Valtesse withdrew gracefully. It was common knowledge that Offenbach and Herminie enjoyed a solid relationship. Offenbach had converted to Catholicism in order to marry Herminie, and she had stood loyally by him throughout the many trials he had faced in his career.20 He respected her immensely and he valued her opinion, always rewriting anything that did not meet with her approval.21 The couple had five children, and had worked tirelessly to build a comfortable existence. Even Zulma had been unable to tempt the composer away from his wife for long. Furthermore, age and ill-health were beginning to take their toll. Both the man and his financial resources were already spread desperately thin.

  Valtesse was not prepared to fight for a man in such conditions. It would be futile. There was her pride to think of, too. But more than that: the affair had brought her to a pivotal moment of self-realisation. It was not the life of an actress, or even a composer’s lover, that she yearned for. She wanted more.

  On Offenbach’s arm, she had tasted riches and all the luxury, power and material security it could bring. She had begun to live the life not of the shop girl she had been, but of the elegant ladies she used to serve. The composer had introduced her into the circles in which those incredible creatures, the courtesans, moved. Her eyes had been opened to the world they inhabited. Blanche d’Antigny, Cora Pearl, Hortense Schneider: Valtesse had watched the best of them command an audience with just a look. She had heard the swish of their rich skirts as they passed, been dazzled by the glitter of their diamonds. Courtesans were the focus of all eyes as they drew up in resplendent carriages. Then they made their exit gracefully, leaving only the lingering souvenir of their perfume and a longing for their return. Princes, noblemen, bankers and men of letters competed for their attentions. They dined in grand restaurants and enjoyed an endless flow of costly gifts.

  Cora Pearl was said to have inspired a present of a box of marrons glacés, in which each sweet delicacy was individually wrapped in a 100 franc note.22 Another lover presented her with an enormous silver horse that turned out to be brimful of jewels. Blanche d’Antigny’s smile could light up a room, and she was rewarded with showers of diamonds, a gem with which she became firmly associated.23 The spirited Hortense Schneider boasted a chain of aristocratic lovers, and her carriages were the envy of all those who promenaded the leafy avenues of the Bois de Boulogne. So plucky was Schneider that she even gained access to the Exposition Universelle through the entrance reserved exclusively for royalty.24 These women had everything. The courtesan possessed grace, charm and, above all, utter confidence in her own sexual magnetism.

  Valtesse saw that all this was now within her grasp. She had learned how to please a man sexually, mastered the techniques needed to arouse him, the irresistible feminine touches that would keep him coming back time and time again. Why should she not enjoy the benefits that skill could bring? As a grande horizontale, she could possess it all. So Valtesse made a life-changing decision: she would become a courtesan.

  Becoming Offenbach’s mistress had gained her the recognition needed to launch herself in this new career. The experience had required her to smooth her rough edges, and quickly, in order to fit in. Valtesse now saw her separation from the composer in strategical terms: it was both prudent and essential. Besides, she had promised herself that she would never again become dependent on any one man. That was too dangerous.

  Valtesse returned to Paris and a new life began.

  As 1870 unfolded, Paris looked set to continue in the affluent, fashionable and glamorous manner of the previous decade. Sounds of discontent could still be heard among the working classes, and the Emperor’s foreign policy left many people uneasy. It was true that nothing had yet matched the spectacular climax of the 1867 Exposition Universelle. Nonetheless, for the bourgeoisie and the upper classes, daily life was still firmly structured around balls, parties and entertainment. Extravagant living remained the norm.

  Valtesse knew that the arts played a starring role in this social comedy. Offenbach had served a valuable purpose; he had catapulted her to the realm of minor celebrity and gained her access to the arts scene. She would now use her improved status to pursue powerful contacts within this sphere. All were potential benefactors.

  Valtesse returned to the Bouffes-Parisiens to complete the season in La Princesse de Trébizonde, and she read for a part in the forecasted production of Mam’zelle Moucheron (which, in the event, would not premiere in 1870 after all). However, for her the attraction of the theatre was no longer the glamour of being an actress. Her interest was motivated by the advantageous connections she could forge.

  Before long, Valtesse’s strategy bore fruit. By the middle of the 1870s, she had found a new lover and benefactor. Albert Millaud was a well-regarded playwright and journalist for Le Figaro, as well as being the son of the banker, Moïse Millaud, who founded Le Petit Journal.25 The young Millaud had everything Valtesse could wish for: money, power and a strong connection to the arts.

  Millaud showered Valtesse with gifts and money. Her lifestyle went from comfortable to semi-luxurious. The days of struggling appeared to be over, the anxiety of how she would pay for things gone. No more was she having to make tired dresses presentable for yet another wearing. The pangs of hunger that had gnawed her stomach as a girl were a distant memory. Dining in fine restaurants, elegantly dressed in the latest fashions, became her new reality.

  Valtesse was beginning to grow accustomed to her upgraded lifestyle when suddenly, in the summer of 1870, daily life in Paris was turned on its head.26 The rumblings of political unease that the capital’s pleasure-seekers had so gaily dismissed erupted into a full-scale war. In July 1870, a Prussian prince came forward as a candidate for the vacant Spanish throne. The threat this posed to the southern frontier horrified France. The country’s reaction was so fierce that the Prussian candidacy was withdrawn. With no assurance that a similar move would not be repeated, France declared war on Prussia on 19 July 1870. It was a fatal decision. On 1 September 1870, Napoleon III was defeated at Sedan and taken prisoner. The end of the Empire was officially proclaimed.

  Pinning the problems on the Emperor, people relaxed once more, confident that France could return to normal. But it was not to be. The Prussians stormed Paris, determined to bring the city to its knees. Reluctantly, the provisional government, now based in Tours, continued to fight. A full-scale siege set in, and for four months the country’s political upheaval penetrated every aspect of daily life in Paris. Communications were cut off; food shortages spiralled into starvation and citizens were reduced to eating cats and dogs. Once a glamorous centre of luxurious living, Paris was now a war zone ravaged by hunger.

  ‘We are moving fast towards starvation or, for the moment at least, towards an epidemic of gastritis,’ wrote Edmond de Goncourt on 7 January 1871. ‘Half a pound of horsemeat, including the bones, which is two people’s ration for three days, is lunch for an ordinary appetite.’27 The price of poultry and meat pies rose so much that few could afford them. Butter was a long-forgotten luxury.28 ‘Soon the animals observed that man was regarding them in a strange manner,’ observed Théophile Gautier, ‘and that, under the pretext of caressing them, his hand was feeling like the fingers of a butcher, to ascertain the state of their embonpoint.’29

  For the upper classes and the social elite, the besieged city was no place to enjoy their accustomed comfortable lifestyle. They had thrived on Paris’s rich array of entertainments; once war was declared, leisure was all but forgotten.30 Theatre audiences dwindled, and on 9 September, the préfet de police officially closed all theatres and entertainment venues. The Bouffes-Parisiens did not reopen for the rest of the war. Even when the concession was made in October that some theatres could occasionally show a performance, if
only to boost morale, auditoriums remained eerily empty. The gas lights that had illuminated Paris’s stages only a few months before were replaced by candlelight once more. At 10.30pm, a curfew bell rang out and put a stop to any performance that overran.31 The carefree gaiety of Paris’s social scene had evaporated. In its place was a mood of resolute seriousness.

  Pleasure-seekers with foresight fled before the city was completely cut off at the end of September.32 Valtesse was one of them. Abandoning her life in Paris, her friends, her mother and therefore her link to Pâquerette and Valérie (whose ill-health had made it necessary to place her in special care), Valtesse got herself safely out of the capital. By the end of the year, she was staying in Nice.

  The choice of Nice as a temporary refuge was fitting. The town had established itself as a fashionable winter holiday destination for the Parisian elite, and its popularity would soar as the century progressed.

  ‘Life in Nice is exactly like that in the capital,’ explained one contemporary journalist.

  Intelligent pleasures, charming walks, fashionable parties, balls, receptions, dinners, everything there has the character of the Parisian highlife, with the additional attraction of prodigious nature and an endlessly clear sky. […] Nowhere do you dine better than in Nice. Sovereigns, princes, great lords of every country have their dining habits copied.33

  With winters typically eight to ten degrees warmer than in Paris, multiple entertainments (not least its carnival) and a lively social scene, Nice became the favoured winter retreat of the Russian Imperial family, and regularly welcomed German, Swedish and Norwegian princes.34