The Mistress of Paris

by Catherine Hewitt

  Valtesse had fashioned a self-image and it was promoting her across Paris with remarkable efficiency. ‘Is she really “de la Bigne”?’, ventured one journalist. ‘It does not matter. She is Valtesse and “Ray of Gold” – and that is enough.’10 Now, she was worthy of any prince.

  But however concerted her efforts, the past could not be erased. She still had two daughters whose care continued to be overseen by her mother. And both children were sickly. Valérie-Albertine seemed permanently unwell, and even Julia-Pâquerette had lately fallen ill – alarmingly so. It was decided that she should be sent to a clinic for treatment.

  Friends said that it was Fossey who, discovering the girls to be in poor health on his return from Algeria, suggested that the grandmother take them to live with her in the country. Country air was said to hold no end of health benefits, and Valtesse approved the project.

  The arrangement suited Mme Delabigne as well. After her post as a domestic help for Doctor Jobert de Lamballe was terminated in 1867, Mme Delabigne had found a position as a supervisor in a girls’ boarding school in Paris, run by a Mme de Barral.11 The job brought some security, but Mme Delabigne was now in her fifties and had no spousal support. The prospect of leaving Paris with an increased monthly allowance for taking full responsibility for the girls was appealing.

  Mme Delabigne left the capital with her granddaughters and moved west of the city, closer to her native Normandy, settling in the village of Limay near Mantes. The extolled benefits of country living had a pleasing effect on Julia-Pâquerette, whose health was soon restored. But Valérie-Albertine’s condition was less responsive. She died soon afterwards.

  Valtesse never spoke of her feelings when she learned of her daughter’s death. Her friends and general acquaintance were still unaware that she was a mother. That was how she liked it. She had become an expert in concealing her emotions. The life Valtesse had created in Paris demanded her undivided attention; her security depended on it. That world was all-consuming and it could crumble if she did not nurture it. It was her cocoon and she immersed herself in it, refusing to leave.

  Valtesse had the Prince de Sagan, her other lovers and Paris’s insatiable social scene to occupy her. Few capital cities were as rich in diversions and, with the prince, Valtesse’s attention was absorbed as she hungrily tasted them all.

  The Prince de Sagan was especially fond of horseracing. He was a member of the infamous Jockey Club, an exclusively male club that was one of the most prestigious in Paris. Capitalising on the wave of Anglomania that was sweeping through Paris in the 1830s, the Jockey Club was founded with the official purpose of encouraging and improving horse breeding in France.12 In practice, the club and its smart headquarters on the corner of the Boulevard des Capucines and the Rue de Scribe provided a social distraction for some of the richest, most fashionable sporting gentlemen in Paris. Admission had to be granted and membership was exorbitant. However, the financiers and industrialists who joined calculated that the benefits and prestige justified the expense.

  Cards, horses, duels and most of all gambling were common interests. When entertainments were wanting, members could be found smoking and sipping brandy as they placed titillating bets on the speed of their horses, the chastity of their wives or even the probable death dates of their fellow members.13 But by far the most enticing advantage of club membership was the access it granted to the society’s private box at the Opéra. The seats boasted one of the most privileged views of the stage – and gave men easy access to the stage door and the dancers’ dressing rooms beyond.

  The Jockey Club were notorious for their love of women. Rumour had it that every member had spent a night with the fiery Italian courtesan La Barucci.14 La Barucci was no fool: with their wealth and distinction, Jockey Club members made enviable catches. Some courtesans refused to even look at a man if he were not a member. Valtesse was well aware how auspicious her relationship with the prince was.

  As a woman, Valtesse was denied access to the club headquarters. But she could attend the races.

  In 19th-century Paris, the horse races were a great social occasion. The race itself was merely a convenient pretext; like the theatre and England’s Royal Ascot, the racecourse was the place to see and be seen. ‘The races, which for a long time have been the meeting place of elegant society and magnificent teams, can be divided into spring races, summer races and autumn races,’ explained one guidebook in the 1870s.15 The Prince de Sagan was a devoted spectator of all the big Parisian races. There was the Grand Prix de Paris with its 100,000-franc prize at Longchamp (the racecourse made famous by the paintings of Édouard Manet and Edgar Degas, and later by Émile Zola’s novel Nana).16 The Grand National took place at Auteuil in the week of Pentecost, and no fashion-conscious Parisian would miss the Concours Hippique – ‘the great event of the moment’ – in the spring.17 And perhaps most importantly, there was the Jockey Club prize, which was held every May at Chantilly, the racecourse the Prince de Sagan had purchased.18

  The races opened Valtesse’s eyes to a colourful new world. From the thrill of being seen and admired to the reassurance that she was forging contacts in the best circles; from the anticipation as the bell rang to announce the horses’ arrival and the flutter of the starter’s red flag to the surge of adrenaline as the horses thundered away from the starting line and the explosion of applause when a favourite horse won; the races had everything to appeal to Valtesse. They were exhilarating. She attended as many as possible.

  At each race, Valtesse studied the elegant crowd mingling around her. She listened attentively to their conversations, taking note of their views, their political opinions, the current literary and artistic debates. Then she mimicked the behaviour she observed, so that she blended in seamlessly.

  In such circles, it was becoming increasingly fashionable to own a country property. ‘Paris smothers, it searches the wider horizon,’ wrote P. Juillerat in 1861.19 In the second half of the 19th century Parisians’ insatiable appetite for leisure and diversion combined with the expanding rail network and an economically favourable climate to propel Paris’s rural suburbs to the height of popularity. What could be more pleasant, manuals and guidebooks enquired, than to travel just a short distance on the train and discover the countryside, nature in all its glory, and an array of pleasant diversions?

  Parisians were charmed by the carefree existence the countryside offered. For many, a day trip satisfied the whim for country air. But for others – notably the moneyed upper classes – a second home in one of the quaint little villages around Paris was deemed the only civilised way to appreciate the beauty of the countryside. Formerly the prerogative of just a small elite, country homes were being purchased by a growing number of middle-class Parisians.20 City dwellers spent the summer enjoying the charms of the countryside, with all the benefits of an entertainment schedule that, aside from the surroundings, scarcely varied from that of Paris.21

  The idea of a rural retreat captured Valtesse’s imagination. Her apartment in Paris was handsome, but if she owned a country property, she could travel there whenever she had the urge. She could escape Paris and reassert her independence. Its decoration would provide an outlet for her creative flair. She could invite just who she pleased, and she would appear terribly grand. Besides, her fortune would now easily cover the expense. Valtesse’s mind was made up, and in 1873 a property became available which exceeded her wildest hopes.

  The large house was situated on the outskirts of Paris.22 It boasted a picturesque countryside setting, bright and elegant living quarters, and a beautiful, sloping garden. And it was all to be found merely a short train or carriage ride from central Paris, in a town already familiar to Valtesse: Ville-d’Avray.

  As she signed the rental agreement, Valtesse realised a childhood dream. At that moment, something of the young Louise Delabigne stirred beneath Valtesse’s gilded exterior. She became the proud occupant of a spectacular property, worth in the region of 40,000 francs (approximately £500,000
in today’s money), in the pretty town of Corot’s enthusiastic tales which had so enchanted her as a little girl.23 And her new home was located just around the corner from the former residence of one of her literary heroes, the supreme Honoré de Balzac.

  A short walk from the Parc de Saint-Cloud, but seemingly far away from Paris, the property was arranged over three floors. An imposing gate led guests up a sweeping drive on the right-hand side, from which the verdant garden with its pond and the graceful – sometimes erotic – statues Valtesse had installed could be viewed to their best advantage.

  ‘I hate the dark,’ Valtesse once confided to a friend.24 Her new property catered perfectly to her taste. Enormous windows brought sunlight flooding into the ground floor spaces, with the pièce de résistance being the large reception room, which boasted spectacular views of the garden. The top floor was ideal for staff, while Valtesse selected the room opposite the stairs on the middle floor as her bedroom. Grand, light and airy, the spacious room opened out on to a long balcony at the front of the house, from which Valtesse, with her back turned defiantly away from Paris, could look down and admire her rolling garden and, beyond, the trees and hills of Ville-d’Avray.

  A rumour circulated that the house was originally constructed by Napoleon III as a venue for parties when he was in residence at Saint-Cloud. It was said that the philandering Emperor had housed some of his mistresses there, and people fancied that Valtesse might have been one of the party when she was a fledgling courtesan. Such frivolous gossip made Valtesse smile, particularly when it added piquancy and intrigue to her public profile. Speculation was a powerful marketing tool. She never satisfied the stories with a conclusive response.

  Thrilled with her new home, Valtesse decided to throw a lavish party to celebrate the anniversary of Napoleon Bonaparte’s birthday. Once invitations were dispatched, the event became the talk of Paris. Women worried over their toilette, men made sure that they were well versed in the current affairs and politics which would no doubt be discussed. Then, on the evening of Friday 15 August 1873, a carefully selected list of guests started arriving from Paris in anticipation of a spectacular evening.

  The occasion did not disappoint. Throughout the night, the hum of chattering voices and laughter emanated from the garden, while fireworks lit up the sky above the house. The police were soon alerted to the commotion.25 Determined to stamp out such politically driven frivolity, after the party they paid a visit to Valtesse’s friend, the actress Louise Mercey, and demanded that she give the names of each and every guest who had attended the party. Notes were scrupulously taken, and a record of the incident was grimly added to Valtesse’s file.

  Once afraid of the authorities, now Valtesse paid no attention. She was the favoured hostess, the dazzling star, and she was in her element. In any case, she slyly defended herself, were they not living in a republic now? Did the Republic not stand by the individual’s right to express an opinion on their own private property? There was little the police could do, and guests declared the party a fantastic success. Basking in the glory, Valtesse eagerly resolved to repeat the occasion the following year on the same day.

  But her new property was more than an extravagant fashion statement and party venue. It was Valtesse’s private, sentimental gift to herself. To her delight, she had not been in residence long when the owner agreed to sell her the house. She named it accordingly: ‘Rayon d’Or’.

  By 1875, Valtesse was on the crest of a wave. She had the prince, she enjoyed access to his connections, she possessed her very own house in the country and everywhere she went she was treated like royalty.

  Still, charming as a country retreat and a city apartment were, a queen is not a queen without a palace. Valtesse knew that – and so did the prince. So in 1875, the Prince de Sagan made an extravagant gesture. He provided the money for Valtesse to have built the most lavish, opulent Parisian home that her imagination could conceive.

  The fashionable architect Jules Février was employed to design 98, Boulevard Malesherbes.26 The boulevard had only been officially opened in the early 1860s, but already, the area had earned itself a reputation as being among the most sought-after residential quarters in Paris. Celebrated painters, writers, journalists, composers, actors and actresses clamoured to secure themselves a property on the street, and Valtesse’s new neighbours would include the military painter Ernest Meissonier and later his pupil – and Valtesse’s lover – Édouard Detaille, as well as the painter Henri Gervex, another of her lovers.27

  Quite besides Valtesse’s exacting standards, there were a host of practical obstacles for Février to contend with. Valtesse had set her heart on something grand, but the construction space was limited due to the site’s location on the corner of the Boulevard Malesherbes and the Rue de la Terrasse.28 Février’s final design overcame the limitations with finesse. No one was more pleased than Valtesse, and when she filled the property with hundreds of expensive statues, objets d’art, antiques, exquisite furniture and walls of books, the finished result made her radiant with pride.

  When a visitor arrived outside the smart, modern frontage of the sparkling Renaissance-style hôtel particulier, their carriage would be driven through the dark oak doors of the entrance way on the Boulevard Malesherbes.29 Guests alighted in the courtyard, while their drivers were obliged to exit through a second gateway which led out on to the Rue de la Terrasse; the courtyard was too small for a carriage to turn around. A guest who had been deposited passed under a wrought-iron canopy before stepping into the grand entrance foyer. Here the visitor discovered a startling contrast: while the building’s exterior was bright and modern, the interior was majestic, even austere, and furnished with rich, dark colours. The effect was similar to that conveyed by Gustave Caillebotte’s painting Young Man at His Window (1875), in which Valtesse’s street can be glimpsed over the shoulder of the model.

  A flight of steps led visitors immediately up to the first floor, the ground floor being reserved for domestic staff, the kitchen, the washhouse and, leading out on to the courtyard, a fine stable. Guests were then shown into the grand sitting room, an imposing space in which nearly every available wall or corner was commandeered as an exhibition space for Valtesse’s growing collection of paintings, bronzes and sculptures.

  For more intimate gatherings, there was a smaller reception room. Its reduced size emphasised the severity of the decor, but it was furnished with equal creativity. There were beautiful Louis XIV armchairs in cherry-coloured silk, luxurious velvet-upholstered seats from the time of Philippe II, and a magnificent table encrusted with ivory and gold. Stained-glass windows designed by Duris flooded certain spaces with light and offset the richly coloured furnishings, striking just the dramatic contrast Valtesse had been hoping to create. And although the hôtel particulier was small, the extraordinary height of the reception rooms (5.6m from the base of the stairs) impressed visitors with the building’s grandeur.30

  When Valtesse felt a particular gathering called for a more relaxed atmosphere, she could show guests into the bright Japanese conservatory which adjoined the large sitting room, where in addition to a host of rare tropical plants she arranged bronze statues of Buddha, miniature pagodas and lamps.

  When dinner was announced, guests were shown through to the oak-panelled dining room, where they would be offered a seat at the square table in the middle of the room. It was a small table for the size of the space, but Valtesse always preferred intimate gatherings when she was hosting a dinner. The conversation was more stimulating. She rarely invited more than eight people to dinner.

  Valtesse prided herself on her table and the opportunity it afforded her to showcase her gleaming silverware and Venetian glass, while she and her guests enjoyed succulent dishes prepared by her cook. Valtesse’s guests were served the finest delicacies found in Paris. Poverty had taught Valtesse to appreciate the fine cuisine she could now afford. (Following the example of her former lover Offenbach, she was a loyal patron of Louis Bignon’s f
ashionable restaurant, the Café Riche, an establishment famed for its fine wines, rich sauces and elevated prices.)31

  The reception floor was grand – oppressively so when there were no guests. Solitude made Valtesse uneasy, so she lived principally on the second floor. It was here that the architect’s skill and finesse were shown at their most superb.

  Valtesse was determined that only the best would do. Obediently, the Prince de Sagan went to his savings. No expense was spared. The Opéra Garnier, designed by the architect of the moment, Charles Garnier, had just opened, sending waves of excitement rippling across Paris. Ever fashion-conscious, Valtesse decided that she would accept no other architect when it came to creating the imposing staircase between the first and the second floor.

  The grand pink marble staircase showcased Garnier at his very best. It included two complicated turns, and Valtesse placed a large mirror at its base, an ingenious ploy which created the illusion that the stairs were almost twice their actual length. ‘It looks like […] the sumptuous staircase of honour in some royal palace,’ one visitor marvelled.32 That was precisely the impact Valtesse had been seeking.

  Valtesse’s private apartments satisfied all her requirements. There was a kitchen and a dining room (both smaller and more intimate than those on the other floors), a smart dressing room and two modest-sized bedrooms for close friends. Then came Valtesse’s octagonal boudoir (which housed her favourite piece of furniture, her desk), and, finally, the most important – and secret – room of the house: her bedroom.

  Everything in the hôtel particulier was designed to impress, and the balance between luxury and good taste had been struck in perfect harmony throughout.

  Without doubt, she would require staff, and most importantly, a housekeeper for her new home. Valtesse knew just who to appoint. For all the glitter and dazzle of her new life as a courtesan, Valtesse had never lost sight of her provenance, nor did she forget those who had done her a good service. Going back to childhood, she had always been able to rely on her friend Camille. Camille had stood by her when she had nothing; now, at last, she would be able to repay the debt.