The Mistress of Paris

by Catherine Hewitt

  Valtesse took Camille on as a full-time housekeeper and provided accommodation for her and the man she married, Louis Meldola, of whom Valtesse heartily approved.33 Mme Meldola, always such a loyal friend, would also prove an exemplary employee.

  Valtesse was thrilled with her palatial new home, and her staff. Now, she was the ultimate Parisienne. But still, something was missing: no palace is complete without a throne. So, once the house was built, Valtesse immediately commissioned furniture designer Édouard Lièvre to create the most ornate, luxurious bed that her male visitors would ever have laid eyes on.

  The huge Renaissance-style bed was modelled on the ceremonial beds used in the medieval period by eminent figures (often royalty) when they received visitors to their bedroom.34 The bed was made of beech and gilt bronze and was over four metres high. The bedposts at its head extended upwards and supported a large, rectangular canopy that hovered nearly three metres above the head of the bed, atop of which sat a dome covered in luxurious blue fabric. The canopy was decorated with golden vases and intricate floral trellis work, amidst which the letter ‘V’ could be seen at regular intervals. Valtesse was especially fond of the figure of a faun, which she called her ‘crafty little deity’. All around the top of the bed, the creatures’ faces smiled down wickedly, unnerving visitors. From the support of the canopy, generous swathes of blue velvet cascaded downwards to form magnificent curtains which fell around the head of the sleeper. The ornate bedhead was topped with a flaming perfume burner. Beneath it, a circular plaque contained a pair of chubby golden cupids standing either side of Valtesse’s spectacular coat of arms, in the centre of which was moulded a bold letter ‘V’. The bed’s circular footboard – a tantalising threshold between Valtesse and her male visitors – was decorated with a chain of flowering thyrsus, while more cherubs, fauns and flaming perfume burners completed the decoration on the bedposts.

  Valtesse was elated. ‘Is it not a beautifully designed piece of furniture,’ she enthused, ‘an example of true nobility, such as were found in the ceremonial bedchambers of times gone by, when the levees brought courtiers and supplicants together around a queen’s bed?’35

  The expense shocked even the most extravagant members of Valtesse’s entourage. Friends marvelled at ‘Valtesse’s beautiful bed of many-coloured bronze, that famous bed which cost fifty thousand francs’.36 This would be equivalent to just over half a million pounds in modern currency. It was an investment Valtesse considered carefully. She took her work seriously. The bed’s splendour and imposing form declared, silently yet irrefutably, how she wished to be seen and treated. Valtesse had set out to be worshipped; now she had a throne from which to greet her subjects.

  Once a poor linen maid’s daughter on the backstreets of Paris, Valtesse had earned herself an elevated social rank, a throne and a palace. All required ongoing maintenance if she did not want to return to squalor. She needed a constant flow of generous subjects. Her craving for power was never satisfied, her passion for beautiful objects smouldered incessantly. Now, she knew exactly which circles to mix in to feed both desires.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Union of Artists

  Since Valtesse first sat as a child watching Corot in his studio, she had been infused with respect and passion for art. Many of her early life lessons were delivered from a painter’s perspective. Corot’s teachings had shaped the way she perceived the world around her. He had explained the life of a painter, shown her the beauty to be found in nature and taught her the value of art.

  As a barmaid, Valtesse had often served artists. They were curious characters, fascinating in their bohemianism. An artist could sit for an entire evening, absentmindedly sipping a single drink while he absorbed every detail of the smoky, bustling surroundings and busily recorded his observations in a sketchbook. Later, Valtesse’s debut in the theatre reinforced her contact with painters. They lurked in the shadows of the theatre wings, their hazy silhouettes could be glimpsed sketching energetically in the orchestra pit. It was here that artists like Degas found their greatest inspiration. Courtesans and artists were alike in many respects: a courtesan used her knowledge of society to climb; an artist, to comment. But both had perfected their trade by standing on the fringes of society and observing. Artists were a familiar breed to Valtesse. They were unpredictable, exciting, dangerous – and to Valtesse, their work was compelling.

  Now, Valtesse had the means to purchase art of her own. When she saw a painting or a sculpture she admired, it could be hers. To Valtesse, this was unequivocal proof of her success. With money to spend and a handsome hôtel particulier to fill, Valtesse set out to capture the bounty of the Parisian art world.

  By the 1870s, the Paris art scene was undergoing a radical change. In the face of the archaic conventions that had governed officially sanctioned art for centuries, a controversial group of new artists had burst on to the scene and were challenging the accepted norms of representation. They were young, their ideas radical and their paintings revolutionary. The dull repertoire of uninspiring, distant historical events and myths had ruled for too long; highly finished paint surfaces, flawless physiques and unspoiled landscapes were an outrageous lie. Now was the time, the young painters insisted, to tell the truth, to show contemporary life as it really was.

  At the centre of this loose-knit group of artists and writers was a notoriously rebellious painter: Édouard Manet. Manet was ‘of medium-size, small rather than large, with light hair, a somewhat pink complexion, a quick and intelligent eye, a mobile mouth, at moments a little mocking’.1 When he spoke, he was ‘overflowing with vivacity, always bringing himself forward, but with a gaiety, an enthusiasm, a hope, a desire to throw light on what was new, which made him very attractive,’ remarked a colleague.2 Around Manet, the atmosphere was electric. Manet was determined to fashion a place on the cultural scene for contemporary life, and his passion was contagious. His goal was soon adopted by the comrades he gathered around him, many of whom would become part of one of the most groundbreaking movements Western art has ever known: Impressionism.

  The Paris Salon was the great event of the artistic world in 19th-century France. For months before, painters would be hard at work perfecting canvases, while art enthusiasts talked of nothing else. Meeting the exacting standards of the intrinsically conservative Salon jury and having a piece accepted to the annual exhibition was the ultimate accolade, the goal of every artist aspiring to greatness. It brought the artist public recognition and the reassurance that his career would be secure for the following twelve months.

  But suddenly, Manet and his colleagues had turned the art world on its head. The Salon was transformed into a battleground. Paintings became weapons.

  Manet was known for ruffling the feathers of the official Salon jury. In 1865, he had rocked the art world by exhibiting his painting of a courtesan, Olympia, at the Salon. From her reclining position, Olympia stared out at the viewer confrontationally. She was unashamedly naked, disarmingly self-assured and daringly contemporary. The public hurled abuse in the gallery. The critics were outraged. Her body was filthy, complained one. She was ‘neither true nor living nor beautiful’, protested another.3 Worse: she was a courtesan. ‘What is this odalisque with a yellow belly, ignoble model picked up who knows where, who represents Olympia? Olympia? What Olympia? A courtesan, no doubt.’4

  It was just the kind of controversy Valtesse relished. The idea of a common person – a prostitute no less – being elevated to celebrity status appealed to her. It mirrored the trajectory of her own career. Despite his close acquaintance with Manet, Valtesse’s great friend, the journalist Richard O’Monroy, objected when she professed herself an admirer of Manet’s work. Did she not find Manet’s use of the coloured tâche disorientating, O’Monroy probed? Had she not observed that his paintings required the viewer to stand back and look through their cupped hand as though it were a spyglass?

  Valtesse disliked being challenged on her tastes. She was resolute: she admired Manet’s c
ause.5 Besides, he was wildly fashionable. The excitement Manet had injected into the 1870s art scene gave it a magnetic pull for her. It was a world brimming with influential figures, new ideas, passion and excitement. An artist could appear from nowhere overnight and soar to the height of fame and fortune – just as Valtesse had. Then one disappointing canvas could bring his career crashing to the ground in an instant, and he would never be heard of again. It was an exhilarating blend of creativity and precarious fortunes. Valtesse longed to be part of it.

  However, in her path lay an intractable obstacle. It was long established, woven into the very fabric of French society: the 19th-century art scene was a steadfastly masculine environment. Women artists could display works at the Salon, but their efforts were seldom taken seriously. ‘Women have never produced any great masterpieces in any genre,’ declared one critic in the 1880s.6 ‘There are no women of genius’ was Edmond de Goncourt’s view.7 A woman had one purpose and one purpose alone: to bear and raise children.

  In such a society, the female Impressionist painters were caught in a difficult position. A single woman – one who valued her reputation – could not go alone to cafés, bars, restaurants, theatres or walk in the streets. In short, unaccompanied women were excluded from all the venues that formed the mainstay of the Impressionists’ repertoire. Artists like Berthe Morisot and Mary Cassatt were obliged to draw subject matter from their immediate surroundings – the domestic environment. They were never shown in the Impressionist group portraits.

  Women’s position in relation to the official art bodies was scarcely more favourable: there were no women on the Salon jury until 1898, and the prestigious École des Beaux-Arts only accepted its first female student in 1897.8

  However, there remained one way for a woman to involve herself in the art world and to assert her independence and status: she could become a collector. From Queen Christina of Sweden to Catherine the Great of Russia and, particularly, Empress Josephine, the wife of Valtesse’s great hero Napoleon Bonaparte, some of the most powerful women in history had been collectors.9 So influential was Empress Josephine’s patronage that she launched the careers of countless artists, and by the time she died, there were over 3,000 objets d’art (including paintings by old masters and contemporary artists, sculpture, furniture and other decorative objects) held in her collection at Malmaison. Josephine was a woman Valtesse could respect.

  Collecting offered a woman like Valtesse a way to empower herself, to claim an identity. The collector must have focus, dedication, negotiating skills and an innate love of the chase – all essentially masculine qualities, currency with value in a male-dominated market. Collecting gave a woman a voice in a world cacophonous with male discourse. The possibility excited Valtesse; she wanted nothing more.

  However, she first had to overcome a practical problem: that of how to gain access to the spaces in which artists moved. This was not straightforward. The most exciting artistic gatherings took place in a decidedly male environment: the café.

  When the day drew to a close and the fading light made further work impossible, Manet and his friends from the artistic and literary world would patronise Paris’s burgeoning café culture. From the end of the 1860s, the artist and his entourage congregated twice a week at their favourite drinking establishment, the Café Guerbois in the Batignoles quarter of Paris, where they had two tables specially reserved.10 ‘Nothing could be more interesting than these causeries with their perpetual clash of opinions,’ Claude Monet recalled later.11 The gatherings at the café ‘kept our wits sharpened’, Monet explained, ‘they encouraged us with stores of enthusiasm that for weeks and weeks kept us up, until the final shaping of the idea was accomplished. From them we emerged with a firmer will, with our thoughts clearer and more distinct.’12

  These were just the kind of lively exchanges of ideas and stimulating discussions that enthused Valtesse. Attending a café unaccompanied posed less of a risk to a demi-mondaine’s reputation than it might to that of a bourgeois lady. However, the meetings remained frustratingly inaccessible to Valtesse. Women were systematically excluded from these serious, intellectual debates on the role and function of art. Exclusion of any kind irritated Valtesse. Exclusion of women infuriated her.

  Still, Valtesse had learned that direct confrontation was a futile response to sexual injustice. She knew she must work around it. So she followed the example of other self-aware female artists and art lovers. Using her contacts, she secured herself an introduction to another type of event, one even more to her taste: the artist’s evening soirée.

  Many notable artists, including Manet, hosted regular evening gatherings in their homes or studios in the 19th century. Friends and associates with connections to the art or literary world came together and joined in discussions on the serious matters of painting, politics and literature, as well as the more frivolous areas of society and current gossip. Among the most fashionable private artistic gatherings in the 1870s were the Wednesday evening soirées that the Belgian painter Alfred Stevens and his wife held in their grand home on Rue des Martyrs, just a short carriage ride from Boulevard Malesherbes.13

  Stevens had made a name for himself with his paintings of fashionable Parisiennes, and his resulting fortune had translated into a beautifully furnished, 300,000-franc hôtel particulier. Guests arriving at the Stevenses could be sure of a warm welcome; the couple received cheerfully and spent liberally. Number 65 was the place to be seen, ‘the very essence of good taste’.14 With its fashionable oriental decor and the impressive display of paintings by artists familiar to Valtesse (notably her beloved Corot), Stevens’ residence provided the ideal backdrop to inspiring conversations about art and literature. The magnificent view of Stevens’ famous garden – an urban oasis with its pond, lush green lawn, tree-lined pathway and unusual, spherical metallic garden sculpture – merely added to the guests’ sense of comfort and well-being.

  The host’s warmth and charm completed the evening. Stevens was a tall, handsome man, with broad shoulders and a fine moustache, which gave him an attractive, Mediterranean appearance. His face conveyed his open and kindly disposition, and with his good looks, sociability and fortune, Stevens and his wife made friends wherever they went.15

  At a gathering like Stevens’, Valtesse could sip champagne and share lively conversations with anyone from the artists Manet and Degas (who was godfather to Stevens’ daughter), to the writers Gustave Flaubert, Edmond de Goncourt and Alexandre Dumas fils. In this more private environment, women were welcome; Stevens was an enthusiastic supporter of female artists. Painters like Berthe Morisot and actresses including Sarah Bernhardt appreciated these intimate evenings. They gave bright women the opportunity to participate in the stimulating conversations from which they would otherwise be excluded.

  Valtesse adored artists’ evening soirées. She attended more and more. As one introduction led to another, she began to expand her social network, befriending artists and meeting influential figures. Valtesse realised that valuable knowledge could be gleaned at these gatherings. She could charm her way to advantageous deals over fine works of art. Her collection began to swell. Best of all, the art scene was teeming with men. They were men of talent, the sort of men typically associated with intrigue and passion. All represented potential acquisitions – and all were potential lovers. In this pool of paintings, money and men, Valtesse saw a marvellous opportunity.

  The art community warmed to Valtesse. Though cool and reserved on first acquaintance, she soon demonstrated her ability to work her way around a room effortlessly, talking easily with artists and connoisseurs alike. She proved herself well-read, versant in the current debates and artistic trends, and she knew just what to say and to whom. She had mastered the art of interspersing serious, intellectual conversation with sharp, dry humour. Her quick responses were delivered with a confident smile which lit up her face, emphasising her natural beauty. Her blue eyes sparkled brightly when she told people, laughing, that she did not seek to
recreate ‘modern style’ in her home; she was aiming for ‘Valtessestyle’.16 People could not help but adore her.

  Before long, Valtesse made the acquaintance of the landscape painter Antoine Guillemet. Of Normandy extraction and a faithful pupil of Corot, Guillemet had many points of contact with Valtesse. Tall and good-looking, with blue eyes, a square face, light brown hair and a dignified, triangular moustache, Guillemet had posed as the male figure in Manet’s The Balcony in 1869. The young man found great inspiration in the older painter’s work, and his painterly, impasto style bore the imprint of Manet’s influence.17 Vivacious and witty, yet modest and devoted to his friends, Guillemet immediately appealed to Valtesse. He was fond of society, and with his passion for literature, Valtesse found him a stimulating companion. But pleasant diversions aside, he was also a very useful contact. Guillemet’s good-natured disposition had won him an impressively wide circle of friends in the literary and artistic spheres. Valtesse was delighted when, through Guillemet, she obtained introductions to even more influential literary and artistic figures.

  But Valtesse saw no reason to restrict her affections to one artist. The 19th-century art world positively crackled with power, and Valtesse remained alert, never letting an opportunity pass her by.

  It was by moving in these circles that Valtesse’s path eventually crossed that of the successful painter of military scenes, Édouard Detaille. Tall and always elegantly dressed in smart, regimental clothes which recalled the figures in his paintings, Detaille, like Valtesse, could come across as reserved and cold to strangers. But those close to him knew differently: Detaille was bright and lively, and admired for his loyalty towards his friends. His attendance at a dinner or evening soirée guaranteed sparkling and engaging conversation, and his grey-green eyes danced playfully when he spoke, his voice quavering slightly. His brown hair and blonde moustache were always well groomed, and his fine features and healthy complexion gave him the advantage of appearing younger than his years.