The Mistress of Paris

by Catherine Hewitt

  Valtesse was strategic in her choice of partners. Entertaining a regular chain of high-profile lovers enabled her to maintain her lavish lifestyle. The names of countless prominent figures were associated with her in the 1870s. Besides Prince Lubomirski and General Commandos, statesmen such as Pierre Waldeck-Rousseau, writers including the novelist Octave Mirbeau, the painter of military scenes Édouard Detaille and the younger painter Henri Gervex were all seen coming and going at Valtesse’s address.21

  Yet discretion was her calling card. Valtesse never publicly identified her lovers. People whispered that she had even received visits from Emperor Napoleon III before the war when she was still new to the profession, and that she had been a regular guest at the Tuileries; questions about the supposed affair merely aroused an enigmatic smile. Valtesse became adept at teasing the public’s hunger for gossip. She realised that, used wisely, the Parisian imagination could be a formidable marketing tool.

  Men returned to see her time and time again. Lovers often arrived to find Valtesse pacing the length of her boudoir, deep in thought, a cigarette between her lips and her hands thrust into the pockets of her sumptuous black silk dressing gown, which only a costly jet pin kept from slipping to reveal her breasts.22 But cool and reserved though she appeared, Valtesse had learned much during her time in Paris’s demi-monde. She knew exactly how to ensnare a man – and his money. Her glacial exterior was sharply contrasted by a well-versed sexual repertoire. The duality made her irresistible. No accessory or request fazed her; she knew the value of assuming sexual authority. At times, her work could be disgusting, but Valtesse had grown skilled at affecting ecstatic pleasure whenever a fat, panting, sweaty client’s wealth gave reason to suppress her repulsion. And she became known for one feature in particular, something people spoke about in hushed voices and which brought curious men hurrying to see her: she was always ‘ready to make love’, and could do so without foreplay.23

  Valtesse’s approach to her suitors was businesslike and rigorous. Her men were divided into three categories.

  In the first group were those who were permitted to take her to the theatre, the opera and concerts and, of course, to buy her gifts. But to such men, she acted merely as an escort; she refused to sleep with them.

  This additional privilege was only granted to a second, select group of men. The price they paid was accordingly higher. And Valtesse attached a proviso: men who enjoyed this advantage were forbidden to speak of their experiences.

  Valtesse distinguished a third category of client, too. These men formed a very particular group. They could be seen with her in public. They were permitted to sleep with her. And they paid little, or sometimes nothing at all, for the privilege.

  It was a puzzling concession, since Valtesse had reached a point in her career where she could command a high fee for her services. She explained her methodology to an acquaintance: ‘I could not deny my poor friends such a pleasure.’24 Though proud and stoical about her liaisons, Valtesse harboured an innate sympathy with essentially good souls to whom life had dealt an unfair hand. She understood their suffering; she had shared it.

  However, poverty alone did not grant a man access to this group. Valtesse allowed into it any man she felt attracted to. If he wore a uniform and a moustache, he was likely to find favour with her.

  One of Valtesse’s amants de coeur was Edmond Comte de Lagrené, a diplomat. His father had been an ambassador, and in 1862 Edmond too joined the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Although he had worked abroad in such far-flung locations as Peking and Moscow, Edmond could not boast a sizeable fortune. He was permanently frustrated that his modest financial means led the great courtesans to pity rather than respect him. The authorities took a dim view of his conduct. He was, the police recorded, ‘notorious in the demi-monde for living off women’.25 But Valtesse was empathetic. Besides, men with exotic Eastern connections always fascinated her.

  Valtesse had a particularly soft spot for her old gentleman. Every Sunday at two o’clock sharp, he would arrive and be granted half an hour of pleasure for a token of a coin or two.26 Provided she did not make an unreasonable amount of these concessions, Valtesse knew she could afford herself such whims of the heart. The financial rewards she reaped from men like Commandos and Prince Lubomirski were ample compensation.

  But for all the luxury and independence she was enjoying, Valtesse had to accept that as a courtesan, her life must be ‘a continual performance’.27 She could not afford to make enemies. Her success depended on being seen, and on altering her behaviour to suit the company she kept. She must appear bright and lively when her body ached with tiredness, sound interested in conversations she found dull, and feign pleasure at crude male caresses and sexual encounters which left her cold.

  Furthermore, as a courtesan, the law was an indomitable enemy. Before long, the police were alerted to the suspicious activity of the pretty former actress from the Bouffes-Parisiens. In 1872, Valtesse was listed as a courtesan with the police des moeurs.28 From then on, the file they held on her grew. And the year Valtesse’s name first appeared on the register, she also learned that a formal complaint had been lodged against her.

  In January, the police received a visit from an agitated lady who gave her name as Mme Crémieux.29 She wished to make a complaint. She had taken a lover – a confession that would hardly have raised an eyebrow with the police. But, she continued, the man in question had previously been the lover of a renowned red-headed courtesan: Valtesse. Mme Crémieux insisted that Valtesse had become so enraged when her lover left her for another woman that she immediately set to work seducing Mme Crémieux’s husband by way of revenge. Valtesse being a professional, M. Crémieux was soon her willing servant. Having won his trust, she encouraged his jealousy of his wife’s affair, so much so that his rage culminated in a violent outburst towards his spouse. A separation became the only possible solution. However, still not content, Valtesse was accused of having bombarded Mme Crémieux with threatening letters, and as an extra precaution, enlisted the help of a friend to follow the estranged wife.

  The police made little of the complaint. Paris was teeming with disgruntled wives. In practical terms, the accusation was a trifling matter for Valtesse – a nuisance, but no more. The police were already aware of her activity. With growing confidence, Valtesse learned that a prying officer could always be pacified when a woman knew how to work her charms. It would take more than a trivial complaint to sabotage her prospering career. However, even close friends described Valtesse as ‘haughty and proud’.30 Mme Crémieux’s argument was not incredible.

  Still, Valtesse was soon enjoying the attentions of a new primary lover, the elderly – but fantastically rich – M. Gunsbourg. Previously a banker in the Russian court, Gunsbourg furnished her with 15,000 francs a month (close to £150,000 by today’s values).31

  By the mid-1870s, Valtesse could feel satisfied with her burgeoning empire. She became an expert at managing her career, which ran like a well-organised military operation. Valtesse adhered to a meticulous timetable. Courtesans tended to rise late, but the remainder of the morning was ideal for dealing with accounts. It was a task about which Valtesse was punctilious. Then there might be couturiers, decorators, or furniture makers to see. Visits were made and visitors received in the afternoon. It was also essential that she be seen promenading in her carriage in the Bois de Boulogne on fine days, for as one contemporary guidebook author observed, ‘Where else can one see such a crowd, such society and so finely turned out?’32 Theatre visits, dinners and receptions were a necessity for which time must be made in the evening. And when she received her gentlemen – an appointment tended to last an hour – she rigorously timed the rendezvous to the minute. Once a suitor’s time had elapsed, she swiftly hastened his exit. Time, after all, was money.

  Valtesse had not long been resident at Rue Blanche when she managed to secure yet another, particularly powerful, benefactor. The Prince de Sagan came with a noble title, a vast fortune and co
nnections to the most esteemed sectors of Europe’s social elite. Although issuing from Polish aristocracy, the prince had been born and resided in Paris, where he was a noted member of high society. A true bon viveur – ‘notorious’, according to English papers – the prince adored the opera, particularly Italian, and was one of the most enthusiastic supporters of Paris’s musical scene.33 With his dignified moustache and his measured gestures, the prince exuded an air of gentlemanly elegance and studied refinement. His bright eyes seemed to smile, and women frequently fell victim to his charms. An ardent admirer of all things chic, the prince dined in the finest restaurants and hotels, favouring Claridge’s whenever he was in London, and he was intimate with members of royal and aristocratic families across Europe.34 He had joined the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Edinburgh for a splendid breakfast in the Pavillion Gousset during their visit to Paris for the 1867 Exposition Universelle.35 Before the war, he had regularly attended balls and soirées with the Emperor and Empress. And the prince’s fortune was prodigious: he had thought nothing of purchasing the hunting ground at Chantilly in 1860 when the estate was about to be broken up, acquiring the dogs, horses and attendants and paying compensation to the proprietors of the land, which amounted to a staggering 50,000 francs (over half a million in today’s money); such sums did not faze him.36

  The prince was a covetable suitor. His marriage to the Baron de Seillières’s daughter was no obstacle for Valtesse. The prince loved women, and Valtesse had mastered the power of her own charms. The Prince de Sagan joined the list of Valtesse’s most enviable conquests, and her fortune was soon reflecting the happy results of her success.

  But Valtesse did not realise the full magnitude of her victory straightaway. That only became apparent later into the relationship. The prince was preparing a very special present. It would be the most incredible gift she had ever received – and it testified indisputably that she had joined the ranks of the greatest courtesans of her time.

  CHAPTER 7

  Names and Places

  Valtesse’s star had risen and was shining brighter than ever. In 1873, the police estimated her fortune to be in the region of 300,000 francs (nearly £3 million in today’s money).1 The following years saw it increase still further. Valtesse was a committed saver.

  She had reached the zenith of her career at a fortuitous time. Reeling from the shock of the siege and the Commune, post-war Paris had made itself drunk on pleasure. Aristocrats no longer ruled the city – the nouveau riche now reigned supreme. Money was there to be made and the entertainment industry ensured that it was spent. Status ceased to be determined by class. Wealth and social respect were available to anyone shrewd in their conduct and discerning in their alliances. Identity was a matter of personal choice. Culture could be acquired, connections forged, and a person’s past was whatever they claimed it to be.

  Perched high on the throne of the new social landscape was its queen: la Parisienne. This figure was a model for fashion-conscious women, the heroine of male fantasies, and an unofficial ambassador for France. ‘She is the glory, the renown and the raison d’être of Paris,’ proclaimed journalist and social observer Adrien Marx.2 ‘Paris would not exist without la Parisienne!’ She could be a member of high society or an actress, a countess or a kept woman. Her class was irrelevant; her appearance was everything. La Parisienne was the ultimate fashion icon. She lived in a chic apartment, surrounded by exquisite objets d’art and exotic plants. She was elegant and cultured, cool yet well-mannered. Women across the world strove to emulate her, artists from Manet to Renoir paid homage to her – and for a courtesan like Valtesse, la Parisienne was at once her role model and a standard against which she knew she would be measured.3

  The ingredients for success lay before Valtesse. But using them effectively and maintaining her position required hard work and dedication. She made it her daily occupation.

  Valtesse decided to modify her banal family name to the more aristocratic ‘de la Bigne’. She was now socialising with princes and dukes; ennobling herself reduced the unspoken gap between them. All around her, Valtesse saw her peers inventing patronymics. Courtesans were particularly known for doing so. In changing her name, Valtesse was following in the path of some of the greats, not least Marie du Plessis and Blanche d’Antigny. But the nominal alteration served another purpose, too: ‘de la Bigne’ was not just an empty poetic construction. The de la Bignes were one of the most ancient, noble families in Normandy, where Valtesse’s ancestral roots lay. The link to the esteemed family was pure invention on Valtesse’s part, but the implied alliance was both credible and priceless. By changing her surname, Valtesse instantly acquired a venerable ancestral heritage and a respectable past.

  Valtesse was delighted to see correspondence arriving bearing her new mode of address. She decided to complete the effect with a fitting title. No longer satisfied with ‘Mme’, Valtesse became ‘Comtesse’.

  Such was the climate in Paris at this time that it had become impossible to distinguish true nobility from noble-sounding self-creations. Titles, like surnames, were being fabricated on a daily basis. Society welcomed Comtesse Valtesse de la Bigne into its fold. Few questions were asked.

  So when Valtesse had a bouquet of flowers sent to the Emperor and Empress in Chislehurst on the anniversary of Napoleon Bonaparte’s birthday – for she had always admired the leader of the First Empire – the Empress Eugénie, no longer enlightened on the configuration of Parisian society, exclaimed in delight: ‘We have not been forgotten, even the Faubourg Saint-Germain has extended its regards. The Comtesse de la Bigne has sent us flowers!’4

  Valtesse’s new title was in perfect keeping with the image she sought to project. She presented herself as a woman of refinement and good breeding, cultured and surrounded by grandeur, yet who remained unknowable, untouchable – thus more desirable.

  Her appearance was intrinsic to her image. ‘The cocotte knows that her toilette is her most powerful tool of seduction,’ explained Adrien Marx.5 Valtesse attended to it scrupulously. Being naturally creative and sensitive to aesthetics, she carefully picked out dresses that slimmed her waistline and showed off the natural curve of her hips. But while her lower half hinted suggestively at her feminine curves, there was a decidedly masculine quality to her look from the waist up. This served two purposes. Fitted bodices and high necks gave her a haughty, dignified air, which commanded respect; they also diverted the male gaze from her chest, for it had been said that ‘she has no breasts to speak of’.6 Valtesse abhorred criticism.

  She would often appear at a costumed ball dressed in male clothing. The opening night of Les Merveilleuses in 1873 was a star-studded occasion, and Valtesse’s outfit was the first of the ‘exquisite toilettes’ to which the reporter from Le Gaulois was drawn.7 She wore a sexy ensemble with a masculine twist, comprising a long black velvet skirt, a white satin waistcoat and a fitted black velvet jacket. She looked the perfect dandy, and people declared her to be ‘glowing’. Gender-blurring entertained Valtesse. It disconcerted and raised questions – and creating mystery was what she liked best. It made her feel empowered.

  But black was not Valtesse’s favourite colour. For a courtesan to secure her position among the greats of her profession, she had to make a lasting impression. Her audience must hold an image of her long after she had left. Many courtesans assumed a trademark, a personal quirk. Diamonds immediately called to mind the lovely Blanche d’Antigny; Cora Pearl ensured that her hair and the upholstery of her carriage were a perfect, matching shade of golden yellow. Valtesse followed suit.8 She adopted blue, one of the traditional colours of Paris, as her personal theme. She ordered clothing, accessories and furnishings for her home in assorted shades of blue.

  Then, just as the camellia had grown indissociable from Marie du Plessis, the violet was selected by Valtesse as her trademark flower. Its symbolism was no coincidence; apparently delicate, unassuming and reputedly shy, it was nevertheless the flower associated with Napoleon Bonaparte
, the powerful emperor Valtesse held in such high regard.9 Whenever an appearance demanded a bouquet or a posy, Valtesse’s florist received an order for violets.

  Valtesse made no secret of her Bonapartist leanings and surrounded herself with friends of the same persuasion. The world of politics was a rich fabric interwoven with power – and money. Beside the Emperor’s political convictions, his personal attributes – courage, determination and a boundless capacity to seize and maintain power – were qualities Valtesse held in high regard. Her correspondence was always written on the finest quality blue writing paper bearing the Bonapartist symbol of a golden eagle.

  Blue was regal and patriotic, and it enhanced the natural beauty of Valtesse’s eyes, but few colours conveyed sovereignty and grandeur as powerfully as gold. Bonaparte had understood that. Rare was the portrait that did not depict him adorned in the colour. Valtesse wanted to harness its connotations, so in 1874, she coyly assigned herself a nickname: ‘Rayon d’or’ or ‘Ray of Gold’. Royalty, power, the Sun King, Versailles, Bonaparte: Valtesse chose the name carefully for its multiple associations. It conveyed a certain romanticism. And it drew attention to her proudest attribute: her hair, whose red tones shone gold whenever the light caught it.

  Valtesse was turning herself into a commercial product. She was determined to secure her social position – and mindful of what could happen if she did not.

  ‘Ray of Gold’ was an admirable nickname, but Valtesse felt she needed a more concise soubriquet, too. It should convey strength, intelligence – in short, her very essence. Valtesse’s love of the classics led her to a name which doubled as a motto. Valtesse became the simple and superb ‘Ego’ (which she spelt Eɣω, using Greek characters). She congratulated herself, considering the notion inspired. She had her stationery, and even the ceilings in her home, embossed with the name.