The Mistress of Paris

by Catherine Hewitt

  With her androgynous appearance, Liane exemplified the chic elegance that was now steering fin-de-siècle trends. Her svelte body, long neck, arms and legs, and elongated, oval face made her look taller than she was. ‘Complexion pale and matt,’ Liane described herself, ‘skin very fine.’31 She continued:

  I use the merest touch of rouge, it suits me. Rather small mouth, well-shaped, superb teeth. My nose? They say it’s a marvel of marvels. Pretty little ears like shells, almost no eyebrows – hence a little pencil line whenever I want. Eyes a green hazel, prettily shaped, not very large – but my look is large. Hair thick and very fine, incredibly fine, a pretty shiny chestnut brown.32

  Her curious appearance made passers-by stop short and crane their necks for a second look. This power to arrest attention set Liane at an advantage in the sex trade. But she still had much to learn. Every new girl needed a mentor.

  Unbeknown to Liane, luck was shining on her in more ways than one when her friend agreed to accommodate her in the Rue de Chazelles. The Plaine Monceau was a sought-after district where many great courtesans besides Louise Balthy had made their home. And Liane’s road was only a few streets away from Boulevard Malesherbes. She had not long been in Paris when she crossed paths with Valtesse.

  When Liane and Valtesse met, the pair instantly warmed to each other. Liane was in awe of Valtesse’s success, impressed by her strength of character and willpower.33 And Valtesse, who always felt tenderly towards Parisians less fortunate than herself, softened when she met the spirited but unworldly newcomer to the profession. She admired Liane’s independent mind and was endeared by her inexperience.34 There was no question of competition; Liane’s brown-haired androgyny posed no threat to her own untouchable Pre-Raphaelite sexuality. Valtesse had made her career, and now she was nearing the end of it. And she liked Liane. The youngster was grateful for any advice or guidance Valtesse had to offer, and she stood to lose nothing by helping her enthusiastic neighbour.

  The pair quickly fell into a student-teacher relationship, with Valtesse coaching the fledgling courtesan in the ways of the profession. She taught her young protégé everything she knew, from how to secure a client, to managing her career and finances, and even techniques to employ in the bedroom.

  Visits to each other became a regular and keenly anticipated fixture in both women’s social calendars. Barely a week would pass when the pair did not meet at their usual hour of 6.30 to get ready ahead of a night out in Paris.35 While they perfected their hair and make-up, and sought each other’s advice on clothes and accessories, the women joked and laughed like schoolgirls, sharing shocking titbits about mutual acquaintances and lovers. When more serious questions arose, Valtesse resumed her pedagogical role, guiding Liane on any areas of uncertainty. Liane set great store by her mentor’s advice.

  If Liane were serious about succeeding as a courtesan, Valtesse explained, she must understand that dinners at Maxim’s, opening nights at the theatre and carriage rides in the Bois de Boulogne were not merely pleasant diversions to be enjoyed when and if she felt like it: they were essential. A courtesan must be seen. The profession demanded it.

  Liane heeded Valtesse’s advice. From the early 1890s, the elegant, dark-haired beauty was spotted everywhere. Mlle de Pougy was seen at the horseracing in Ville-d’Avray; in Paris at the theatre, concerts, the opera; in Nice. And just as Valtesse had predicted, the more she was seen, the more the press took interest in her, catapulting her to the enviable realm of Paris’s leading courtesans.

  But Liane’s unworldly, often naive approach to the business would have to change. Valtesse was firm about that. The young courtesan had to accept that she had embarked upon a precarious career.

  One day, when Valtesse and Liane were out walking, they were approached by a poor woman who reeked of alcohol.36 Her dishevelled appearance was startling, her rancid body odour sickening. She drew closer to Liane and Valtesse, her desperate hand outstretched, begging for money. As she lifted her head and her eyes met Valtesse’s, recognition flashed across her face. The women had met before. Valtesse realised that she had worked alongside the wretched woman when she first started out as a lorette. Where Valtesse had triumphed, the beggar offered a pitiful reminder of the fate which awaited less fortunate girls. Liane should learn from this example, Valtesse advised gravely. Theirs was a profession which left no room for sensitivity.37

  ‘What?’ Valtesse exclaimed in horror one day when Liane recounted one of her less lucrative tête-à-têtes, ‘he saw your legs and he did not pay? He must pay.’38 Liane would not repeat the mistake.

  A courtesan must safeguard her fortune, Valtesse insisted. And she led by example: when one of her male acquaintances, the wayward son of a powerful businessman, Henri Desgenétais, died unexpectedly, Valtesse publicly announced that the deceased still owed her money, a staggering 25,000 francs (more than half what her bed had cost).39 She did not hesitate to take the matter to court, where she produced a letter from Desgenétais – a very affectionate letter – ardently promising to pay her the said sum forthwith. The court dismissed her case: the letter proved nothing, it could just as easily have been written in response to a request for money on Valtesse’s part. Financial exchanges between courtesans and men fond of pleasure were never straightforward – or clean.

  Valtesse let the matter go. An independent woman must reconcile herself to the occasional loss, she taught Liane. But she must always fight to win. It usually paid off. On another occasion, Valtesse had set her heart on an elegant overnight bag containing gold and silver appliances.40 When her supplier, M. Sormani, delivered the item, it came with a hefty 11,000-franc price tag. It was fine but costly, and Valtesse inspected the bag to ensure that she had invested wisely. She was horrified: the set was missing a thimble, a candle snuffer and a curling iron. What use was a travel bag without a curling iron? Sormani hastily made the necessary amendments, but presented her with a bill for an additional 430 francs. Valtesse was outraged, particularly since the scissors were blunt and the curling iron useless. Valtesse’s refusal to pay saw her in court again, and to her delight, the supplement was reduced and the supplier punished with a fine. A woman must not allow herself to be walked over, she told Liane.

  Liane watched and learned. With Valtesse’s patronage, she started to believe that anything was possible. ‘A special mention for Liane de Pougy and Valtesse de la Bigne,’ one society page commended; they had ‘raised the flag of Cythera and held it with true Parisian flair’.41

  Valtesse maintained that every courtesan needed a trademark. Liane chose the pearl. Pale yet luxurious, the jewel’s smooth simplicity perfectly captured the image she wanted to project. The press rose to the bait: ‘The beautiful Liane […] wears […] a pearl in her ear – in one ear only. Now, people only refer to her as “the lady with the pearl”.’42

  Valtesse’s wisdom and experience helped Liane lay the foundations of a fine career. She appeared briefly at the Folies Bergère, but she hardly needed the exposure now; Liane knew she had no talent, and in any case, everybody was already talking about her.43 Liane reduced the disbelieving Marquis Charles de Mac-Mahon to tears when, on his request and with perfect composure, she listed her previous amorous conquests, many of whom the horrified Marquis knew personally.44 There were 43. At the time, it was an outrageous lie, but Liane soon fulfilled the prophecy. She was courted by playwrights, princes and dukes, and people whispered that Offenbach’s librettist, the portly Henri Meilhac, had paid 80,000 francs just to gaze greedily at her naked body. ‘The greatest beauty ceases to exist beside you,’ he had enthused.45 Valtesse’s tutelage had paid off – and Liane knew it.

  ‘In life,’ Liane recalled Valtesse saying, ‘I ask only beauty and pleasure, and no obstacle shall stand in my way.’46 Valtesse left Liane in no doubt: a woman was responsible for her own contentment. ‘I am happy because I wish to be.’47

  However, Valtesse’s lessons fell short when it came to her student’s culture. Despite her best efforts, she fa
iled to instil her own deep appreciation of art in her pupil. Liane liked to read and she cultivated the conversational knowledge of the arts that her profession demanded, but fashion and people interested her far more than paintings. Valtesse reconciled herself to the fact that she would never be able to debate the finer points of a Da Vinci or a Botticelli with Liane. But on one expression of creativity, Valtesse insisted that Liane take note: a courtesan’s surroundings were as important as an actress’s stage set. The boudoir was an extension of a lady’s appearance and personality – and like her, it must ensnare, seduce and vanquish.

  As soon as she was able to take her own apartment, Liane obediently decorated it in the utmost of luxury. Impressed by the throne-like ‘vessel of Paris’ in which her mentor entertained her lovers, Liane had a grand Louis XV bed installed in her home. She too took her holidays on the Riviera in a fabulous villa in Menton, aptly baptised ‘La Perle Blanche’.48 And just like Valtesse, she also began to host ‘five o’clocks’. They were soon among the most fashionable gatherings in Paris. Valtesse was proud to attend and admire her pupil’s progress. She watched with satisfaction as Liane worked her way around a crowded room with ease and social finesse.

  Through dedication and hard work, Liane became a successful courtesan in her own right and a revered fashion icon. She was known for her fabulous hat collection, and her favourite couturier confided that, in a single year, she spent 33,000 francs on dresses, coats and accessories.49 ‘Everyone is copying Liane de Pougy,’ the papers declared.50 Valtesse had nurtured a chrysalis, and now, an elegant social butterfly had emerged. Liane was the first to confess her natural vanity, but she knew she was indebted to Valtesse. Her gratitude was immeasurable. In Liane’s eyes, Valtesse was unique and irreplaceable. ‘A charming woman,’ Liane gushed to anyone who cared to listen, ‘very lovely, sensual and intelligent.’51 In turn, Valtesse’s affection and admiration for Liane increased as her career progressed. ‘She is a woman,’ Valtesse once said of her friend, ‘a supreme woman, who understands women better than any man could, and men better than any woman.’52

  Liane was regularly invited to stay with Valtesse in Villed’Avray and in Monte Carlo, and the women would write to each other when apart. A ball or concert would often conclude with the pair returning home together and dissecting the events of the evening late into the night. The next morning, ‘it was the custom to take breakfast in “the Golden One’s” bed,’ Liane fondly recalled. ‘An hour often went by in cheerful, affectionate gossip. She gave advice, she drew one out, and she kept her own secrets.’53

  Liane knew Valtesse to be guarded where her personal fears and anxieties were concerned, but she was taken aback to learn that her friend had concealed two pregnancies from her. And yet Valtesse was closer to Liane than to any other female. Liane brought her much more than just friendship. She offered the more intimate form of affection Valtesse had been denied from men. Valtesse craved that intimacy, but her natural wariness made her guarded. She would happily share her body, and Liane would begin to draw close emotionally too – but the deepest corners of her soul were out of bounds. ‘Love is like fear,’ Valtesse was once heard to say, ‘it makes you believe in everything.’54 As she saw it, a woman abandoned scepticism at her peril.

  But however fond Liane and Valtesse were of each other, there remained a bone of contention between them, one point on which Valtesse regularly scolded her junior. However hard she tried, and despite the demands of her profession, Liane was unable to suppress her insatiable sexual appetite for women.

  Valtesse was firm. As she saw it, the occasional dalliance with another woman was one thing; a serious and overt sexual liaison, quite another matter. It could cost Liane her career.

  While Valtesse constantly encouraged her towards wealthy male lovers, Liane began a passionate and very public affair with Émilienne d’Alençon. ‘She was my leading light in the ways of the theatre and of our pleasures,’ Liane later recalled.55 The pair began to spend more and more time together, until one day, Liane realised that, ‘with an impudence as great as her beauty she had moved in on me, had installed herself in my bed, at my table, in my carriages, in my theatre boxes – and all, I must confess, to my great pleasure.’56 Liane could not resist. Émilienne’s ‘lips were so soft’, she explained, her gestures, ‘so coaxing’.57 The women made no effort to conceal their mutual attraction, to the delight of Paris’s gossip columnists. The sensationalist press even published a humorous announcement of the couple’s forthcoming marriage and predicted the imminent arrival of their first child.58

  Valtesse observed the press coverage her protégé was receiving. She too appreciated female intimacy and could recognise a woman’s sexual appeal, but she considered Liane’s infatuation foolish. It was not jealousy or disgust or even a perverse desire to hamper Liane’s enjoyment that spurred her resistance; Liane, Valtesse believed, was wasting herself. Had her pupil not noticed how prematurely lesbians aged, she enquired? At twenty, their wrinkles were already starting to show, Valtesse insisted, lending her support to the cause of lesbianism’s adversaries. These women wore the mask of their vice. Liane should take heed; she had set foot on a slippery slope.59

  But if Liane’s relationship with Émilienne made Valtesse uneasy, the threat of the bubbly rabbit tamer paled into insignificance next to another of Liane’s great loves. In the 1890s, Liane became infatuated with a young American named Natalie Clifford Barney.

  Natalie came to Paris to study Greek in the company of her mother and her fiancé, the young Robert Cassatt, nephew of the Impressionist artist Mary.60 The marriage had been arranged despite – or because of – Natalie’s preference for women, in order to appease her father. Mr Barney was a traditionalist: reputations and opinions mattered. With white-blonde hair, bright blue eyes and heart-shaped face, Natalie was pretty. She was also persuasive, independent, determined, perhaps even a little foolhardy. Certainly, she worried Valtesse – enough to prompt her to do something which compromised all her principles.

  Valtesse was party to Liane and Natalie’s relationship from the start. The young American first encountered Liane when their carriages passed one spring day in the Allée des Acacias. The women’s eyes met and locked magnetically as their vehicles moved away in opposite directions. Natalie was speechless. Liane’s ethereal beauty and svelte physique were unique. She did not properly understand what a courtesan was, though reasoned that Liane needed saving. Obtaining Liane’s address, Natalie showered the object of her desire with flowers and letters until, finally, Liane agreed to receive her.

  With Valtesse sceptical and Liane always ready to have fun, the girlfriends concocted a sly plan. When the American ‘Miss’ (as Lianne and Valtesse called her) arrived – dressed as a prince – Liane’s maid showed her into the dimly lit boudoir, where Natalie could just make out a shadowy figure reclining seductively on a chaise longue.61 Natalie fell to her knees in respect. But as she lifted her head to behold her idol, she was filled with horror: the woman before her was not Liane – it was Valtesse.

  Hiding behind a curtain, Liane could no longer contain herself. She floated out like a vision, dressed in diaphanous white, and extended her equally pale, delicate hand, which gripped Natalie’s shoulder with surprising firmness. ‘Here I am,’ Liane breathed.

  Valtesse rose leisurely from the chaise longue. She had marked her territory. Natalie could be in no doubt of the central role she played in Liane’s life. Valtesse’s work was done. She made to leave, though not before inviting Natalie to come and visit her too. The young American might like to admire her famous stained-glass window – no doubt Natalie knew that she had been intimate with the Emperor? Her point crystal clear, Valtesse made her exit.

  One of Liane’s greatest and most tempestuous affairs had begun. Valtesse would need to monitor its development closely. She was not about to challenge Liane to end the affair – not yet. But nor would she allow her protégé to jeopardise the career they had toiled to establish. The American upsta
rt had no conception of what Liane risked; and Valtesse, no intention of making things easy for her. She needed little persuasion to collaborate with Liane the next time she wanted to trick Natalie – even if it meant compromising the mystery intrinsic to her success.

  One day, Liane brought Natalie (whom she affectionately nicknamed ‘Flossie’) to see Valtesse. When the lovers arrived, Liane recalled, ‘I […] went into a bedroom with Valtesse, locked the door and refused her nothing, highly amused at the thought of Flossie speculating and suffering on the other side of the door.’62 Afterwards, Liane was full of remorse. ‘I was unforgivable,’ she conceded, before adding of her relationship with Valtesse, ‘We were friends to the limit – both permissible and forbidden.’

  The women shared physical closeness, but while Liane wore her Sapphic heart on her sleeve, she was under no illusions: Valtesse had perfected the art of detachment where physical love was concerned; she had spent too long in her profession to do otherwise.

  The sun was about to rise on the 20th century, and Valtesse was now in her 50s. At her age, she had two choices. She could continue to expand her empire, or she could simplify.