The Mistress of Paris

by Catherine Hewitt

  In Nice, Valtesse could continue to enjoy the lifestyle to which Offenbach and Millaud had enabled her to grow accustomed in Paris. Of course, theatre trips, fine dinners and such pleasures required money. Luckily, Millaud, who had stayed in Paris, was in a position to provide it.

  But alerting Millaud to her financial needs was not straightforward. Communications between the capital and the rest of the country became hampered once the siege set in. Resourceful Parisians began using balloons to pass messages to and from the capital.35 When trial runs proved effective, the Minister of Posts in Paris set up a balloon post, and two or three balloons would take off each week to transport messages around the country. But the balloons required vast quantities of gas, and they offered only a one-way method of communication. This problem was eventually overcome by a more lowly method of transportation: the carrier pigeon.

  The government established a microphotography unit in Tours and later in Bordeaux, and messages were shrunk down into minute form so that several could be sent with just one pigeon. So successful did the concept prove that the service was opened to the public at the beginning of November.36

  People were soon eagerly dispatching messages to Paris. The situation was critical, and before long the service was inundated. Conversation in the provinces centred on the developments in the capital, and every day provincials scoured the regional papers to bring themselves up to date with the current state of affairs. Food and morale were running low, the press reported. Citizens were starving. Violence could erupt at any moment. There seemed to be no end in sight. Those with loved ones in Paris faced the very real possibility that they would never see them again.

  On 9 December, Valtesse dispatched a message to Millaud by pigeon. ‘Received money,’ she wrote, ‘am in good health.’37 Her location in Nice gave her another advantage, too: she could report to Millaud as to the well-being of his parents. On 31 December, she assured him: ‘Your parents are well, love you, am well, need nothing.’38

  When she posted her messages to Millaud, Valtesse also wrote to another man. It was Richard Fossey. ‘I send you all my heart, am in good health, in a good situation.’39

  Fossey had returned to France, and Valtesse knew to address his message to a residence in Montmartre. She had another correspondent at this address: her mother. ‘All my heart for Dick, you, Pâquerette, Emilie,’ Valtesse wrote to Mme Delabigne as the year drew to a close.40

  Messages dispatched by pigeon were sent in desperation. Senders were restricted to twenty words per dispatch.41 At 50 centimes a word, it was an expensive procedure. Words had to be chosen carefully. People only sent communications they considered absolutely necessary. Valtesse made no reference to the reasons for Fossey’s return to Paris or the arrangement that had led to him sharing a postal address with her mother. In a time of national crisis, she had two priorities: maintaining communication with Millaud (and his money), and sending what she believed could be her last ever message to her family (even her younger sister Emilie, with whom her relationship was fractious at best) and to her first true love.

  In Paris, the war ground on. While Valtesse celebrated the New Year in Nice, diners in Paris feasted on cuts of elephant from the local zoo.42 On New Year’s Day, the local paper in the city Valtesse had made her temporary home told its readers:

  We had intended to summarise the events that have marked the gloomy year of 1870 in this article; but when we began this painful resumé, we lost courage. Why think back on this sombre past when it is only the future that should concern us? The year 1871 begins more promisingly.43

  It was an optimistic New Year’s greeting. In reality, the Prussians still held Paris in a vice-like grip. ‘Never since there was a Paris has Paris had such a New Year’s Day,’ lamented Edmond de Goncourt.44 ‘Cold, bombardment, famine: these are the New Year’s gifts of 1871.’45 It would be ill-advised for Valtesse to return to the capital yet. The city was in chaos and deprivation, and Valtesse was building a career based on pleasure – other people’s and, ultimately, her own.

  And yet while Nice could offer luxurious living, it was in Paris that reputations were forged and the best contacts made. Now that she had decided herself on her profession, she could not afford to grow complacent. Competition was fierce. She must always be thinking ahead. As she was entertaining one man, she should be calculating where her next source of income would be coming from. Besides her own comfort, there was the upkeep of her daughters to think of. Valtesse knew that to reach the glittering heights of notoriety, a woman had to be tough. Her friends were struck by her stoical, single-minded approach to her career: ‘A courtesan must never cry, never suffer […] She must stifle all sentimentality […] I have a soul of iron […] I will tolerate no obstacle in my path.’46

  As soon as it was practical, Valtesse knew she must return to Paris.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Lioness, Her Prey and the Cost

  As the new year began, Paris and its glittering high life remained out of reach. Further problems were brewing.

  It was not until the end of January 1871, after the Prussians had begun bombarding the city, that France’s president, General Trochu, finally accepted that he must ask Bismarck for an armistice.1 The defeat saw France’s loss of Alsace and Lorraine, and was crowned with a humiliating 50 billion franc war indemnity.

  Parisians were furious. The new Republican assembly (led by Trochu’s successor, Adolphe Thiers, from February) was greeted with hostility. Before long, revolutionaries set up a rival regime in Paris which became known as the Commune de Paris. The Commune brought together a colourful medley of parties, from veterans of the revolution of 1848 to radical feminists. Their interests were diverse, but their grievance the same: all were profoundly dissatisfied with the government of Paris. With the Commune having set up its headquarters in the Hôtel de Ville and Thiers’s party based in Versailles, the tension broke into civil war.

  With no time to recover from the Prussian siege, citizens watched in despair as the streets of Paris were reduced to a scene of devastation and destruction once more. Buildings including Thiers’s private house and monuments – most poignantly the Vendôme column, erected by Napoleon Bonaparte to celebrate his victories of 1805 – were brutally demolished. Violence swept across the city and, in one of the most barbaric acts in Parisian memory, the Archbishop of Paris was taken hostage and executed. Barricades were erected and buildings mercilessly burned to the ground. One of the most devastating sights people recalled was the burning edifice of the Tuileries Palace as it lit up the sky with a sinister glow. Paris was in chaos.

  Finally, Thiers’s army succeeded in entering the capital and, after a bloody confrontation that would become known as la semaine sanglante, emerged victorious against the Communards. By the end of May, the conflict was over, but the cost had been horrific: an estimated 20,000 Parisians had lost their lives and the city’s landscape was altered beyond recognition.

  The Paris Valtesse beheld in 1871 was a mere skeleton of the vibrant city she had left. Buildings were in ruins, the remains of barricades littered the streets, and every now and then the unnerving creak of a house beginning to collapse could be heard. But despite the devastation, the capital’s migrants were impatient to return home. As soon as peace was declared, Parisians flooded back to the capital they had abandoned. ‘This evening you begin to hear the movement of Parisian life which is being reborn, and its murmur is like that of a distant high tide,’ wrote Edmond de Goncourt on 29 May 1871.2 ‘The clocks no longer strike in the silence of the desert. […] On the paving stones which have been replaced a swarm of Parisians in travelling clothes taking possession of their city once again.’3 The capital began to buzz with energy.

  By June, Paris’s regeneration was under way and the citizens who had fled were returning in their masses. Their city was battle-scarred, but it was still standing, resilient and proud. Soon, Parisian life was resuming its old shape. ‘Crowds reappear on the boulevard des Italiens, on the pavement which
was deserted a few days ago,’ remarked Edmond de Goncourt. ‘This evening for the first time it begins to be difficult to make your way through the lounging of the men and the solicitation of the women.’4 Paris was reborn, and after months of deprivation it was ravenous for pleasure. Valtesse was ready to take advantage of the situation.

  A courtesan, Valtesse once explained to a friend, was outside society and its pettiness. ‘What independence, what intoxicating liberty!’ she enthused. ‘No more principles, no more morals, no more religion … A courtesan can do anything openly.’5 Valtesse declared that as a courtesan, she had no more duties, not a single responsibility, except towards herself and her desire. This was what attracted Valtesse to the profession.

  But female independence came at a price. Valtesse knew in her heart that society could not be dismissed; it was the courtesan’s lifeblood. A fledgling courtesan must be seen out in fashionable circles. Only then would she be recognised as belonging to that social group. This was essential if she were to procure herself wealthy suitors within that sphere. Millaud’s assets and attentions could not be counted on indefinitely. Having laid the foundations of a respectable fortune, Valtesse was anxious that it should grow. La vie parisienne was re-establishing itself, and she had to secure her position within it. Being a courtesan meant playing a complex game of wit and strategy. Valtesse wanted to win. She made Paris’s revitalised social scene her chessboard.

  As the sparkle and animation was breathed back into Parisian high life, Valtesse returned to the theatre. But a transformation had taken place since her last appearance. No longer was the pretty redhead waiting nervously in the wings; now, confident and self-assured, she could be seen in the VIP section of the audience. She glittered with jewels, wore elegant dresses, and attracted attention wherever she went.

  By making regular public appearances, always impeccably turned out and entrancing onlookers with a sweet but knowing smile, Valtesse soon gained recognition as a prominent society beauty. All the society pages were interested in her. ‘That beautiful sunset, the radiant Mlle Valtesse’ turned heads when she appeared at a premiere at the beginning of March 1872.6 The following month, she was spotted alongside the celebrated courtesan Cora Pearl and the eminent banker Gustave de Rothschild at the opening night of La Timbale d’Argent at her old home, the Bouffes-Parisiens.7 In November, she attended a performance at the Vaudeville, and raised eyebrows by being seated ‘in what was formerly the Imperial box, if you please, with five ladies and a gentleman.’8 Valtesse had elevated herself and become part of Paris’s most glamorous social elite.

  Her physical appeal was indisputable. She dressed and moved with an understated grace, favouring dresses with intricate bodice work and high collars which gave her a proud appearance. She kept her makeup simple in an effort to look as natural as possible; a heavily powdered face and garish lipstick were hallmarks of the common prostitute. Once men were introduced to her and discovered that the cool beauty they had been admiring from a distance also possessed intelligence, charm and a lively sense of humour, they were smitten. With ‘small breasts, a flat stomach, sensual lips, her breath had a wonderful scent of sugared almonds, and something indefinable, a kind of fiery spice which drove a man wild.’9 Valtesse made herself intoxicating.

  Her efforts were soon reaping enviable rewards. Valtesse was not yet 25 when she caught the eye of a man who made Offenbach and Millaud seem paltry conquests. Her new admirer was far superior to a journalist or a composer: he was a prince.

  Prince Lubomirski belonged to one of the most ancient, noble families in Poland.10 The family wielded substantial political, economic and military power, and over the course of several centuries had established a sizeable empire. It boasted vast estates in Poland, Austria and France, and was associated with numerous profitable investments and charitable works. The Lubomirskis’ foreign residences ensured that the family maintained an esteemed profile across Europe, notably in the French capital. It was there that, having spent time travelling, Valtesse’s prince eventually chose to settle.

  The prince was an enthusiastic patron of the capital’s entertainment scene, and a familiar figure on the Parisian social circuit. He wrote and was passionate about the arts, attending theatre opening nights, concerts and balls, and he was often spotted dining at the fashionable restaurant Offenbach patronised, Bignon.11 His financial acumen was perhaps not his strongest quality; he had lost large sums, and his fondness for women was said to be the cause of his undoing. However, his family connections and inherited wealth provided something of a cushion. The prince was one of the most eligible suitors Valtesse could have won.

  Valtesse had become a society darling; her affair with a prince could not stay secret for long. The couple became the talk of Paris. The paper L’Événement delighted in publishing an extract from an album that the author claimed belonged to ‘Mlle. V’:

  Prince Lubomirski

  having gobbled up his riches

  takes a pretty mistress.

  Prince Lubomirski

  dismissing public thought

  to brunettes and blondes pays court.12

  Valtesse coolly dismissed the jibes. Her dignified mien and enigmatic smile fostered her public’s admiration and respect. But privately, the conquest was a source of deep satisfaction and pride. Valtesse was not in the least bit displeased to learn that, behind the closed doors of private salons, her name was being whispered in connection with nobility. Press attention was invaluable. Being seen out in fashionable society on the arm of the prince, exhibiting the lustrous jewels and diamonds he had bestowed on her, she could almost have been a princess.

  As the affair flourished, Valtesse watched her fortune swell. The prince considered no sacrifice too great for his beautiful mistress. Valtesse was treated to fine dinners, as many trips to the theatre or the opera as she desired, and the most costly jewels and dresses money could buy. From the delicate lace collars she so favoured to diamond and pearl chokers, brooches and bracelets, through Prince Lubomirski Valtesse could have them all.13 She moved into an apartment in the Rue Saint-Georges and Paris’s gossip-mongers insisted that it came courtesy of the prince.

  Not even a prince can boast an inexhaustible income, though. Having denied Valtesse nothing, he eventually found he was left with nothing in return. Prince Lubomirski had ruined himself. He had compromised his entire noble fortune on a girl from the back-streets of Paris.

  The fairy tale was over, but there was no space for sentimentality. Valtesse had accepted the demands of her profession. Her livelihood depended on moving swiftly on to the next suitor. She saw men as stepping stones on a path that guaranteed her survival and success; once the support beneath her began to give way, she would spring lightly to the next foothold.

  Prince Lubomirski’s successor was also rich. He too was well regarded in Parisian society. But Valtesse’s new admirer possessed an additional quality to tempt her. In the American general, M. Commandos, Valtesse found an answer to both her desire for riches and her weakness for the military.14

  The general lived in the smart Hôtel du Helder off the Boulevard des Italiens. The hotel’s elegant decor and distinguished ambience had earned it an excellent reputation and an elite clientele.15 Its à la carte menu was considered among the finest on the boulevard, and contemporary travel guides declared its wine cellar one of the best in Paris. Few decisions betrayed class as explicitly as a person’s choice of restaurant in the 19th century. Patronising an à la carte dining establishment like the Hôtel de Helder won social respect. It guaranteed diners the impeccable standard of service usually reserved for royalty, and the assurance of being served the finest culinary delicacies available in the capital. ‘Listen to true gourmets,’ advised the writer of the Guide Conty, ‘they will tell you that à la carte restaurants are the only eating establishments to be recommended […] the prices in these restaurants are higher; but the service is better, the cooking more succulent, the wine cellar finer, the menu more varied and the portions
larger.’16

  Valtesse set great store by chic, luxurious living and social prestige. As for General Commandos, money was no obstacle when it came to pleasing his beautiful French mistress. In the space of six months, he spent over 60,000 francs on Valtesse (just short of £580,000 in today’s money).17 In addition to fine meals out, he lavished gifts on her. There were exquisite pieces of jewellery packaged in dainty boxes, and dresses hand-stitched from rich fabrics, carefully wrapped in crisp tissue. And in addition to the usual entertainments, presents and treats, Commandos had something special to offer Valtesse. It came with a 3,700-franc price tag. In October 1872, Valtesse became the proud leaseholder of a superb apartment at number 10, Rue Blanche.18

  Situated on the second floor, Valtesse’s spectacular new home comprised an antechamber, kitchen, sitting room, dining room, three bedrooms, an additional reception room with a fireplace, and – the height of modern advancement and luxury – two bathrooms and lavatories.19 The apartment was magnificent, and it was all hers. At last, Valtesse held the keys to her very own home, which she could decorate just as she desired.

  Valtesse was happily growing accustomed to the luxuries she had seen other courtesans enjoying. She had embarked on a complex game and she was winning – for the moment. If a young girl succeeded in this profession, the gains could be spectacular. But Valtesse knew there was a price to pay: ‘the day I became a courtesan, I erased every memory from my life, every attachment […] I renounced the so-called sensitivity of the soul.’20 She had to be tough. Expending her time on one primary lover was all very well while he was rich and besotted, but it was an approach fraught with risk. A man’s affections could turn at any moment. Worse: he could find himself bankrupt. Valtesse had learned that men were not to be relied on. Her strategy for dealing with this inconvenient truth was simple: she had relationships with several men at once.