by Roland Perry
Numbers soon increased. To Céleste’s shock and surprise, a well-known up-market prostitute (or lorette), Louisa Aumont, arrived. She was twenty-eight years of age, stiff-backed, haughty and assertive. What she lacked in looks she attempted to make up for with extravagant grooming and expensive clothes and jewels. She and other women selling themselves for sex in Paris’s demimonde fell between the street prostitutes and brothel workers, and the grand dames of commercial sex, the courtesans. And similarly to a courtesan, the lorette was a kept woman, set up in a private apartment by a businessman, professional or wealthy student. Louisa was typical in that she slid across the boundaries of social acceptability and stigma, and no one dared challenge her morality. Lorettes looked down on prostitutes from the brothels, and Louisa was particularly contemptuous towards them. Louisa knew Céleste and saw her as an up-and-coming younger rival. She wasted no time in badmouthing her to Adolphe within earshot of his friends and Céleste herself.
‘Didn’t I ask you never to invite such women?’ Louisa asked. ‘Especially that one!’
Adolphe did not say a word on Céleste’s behalf. This infuriated Céleste, especially as she realised that Louisa was in a relationship with him. Her presence and attitude made it clear to Céleste that it was Louisa who had been limiting Adolphe to sporadic visits and no commitment.
‘If you don’t dare to defend me,’ Céleste said to the now-flustered Adolphe, ‘will you at least have the courage to come away with me?’
Adolphe didn’t wish to leave. In a dramatic moment, he was making his choices and letting Céleste know he was more attracted to, and even in love with, Louisa. Stunned and humiliated, Céleste made her exit. She waited in the street for more than two hours, but Adolphe did not come looking for her. Fuelled by emotion, primarily anger at that moment, she began the twenty-kilometre walk back to her Paris apartment. Céleste felt terribly let down. She was in love with Adolphe and had thought this reciprocated. She now realised this was wishful thinking.
This sudden rejection hardened her. She had escaped the dead-end brothel system but had failed to find employment in the theatre. She could look for mundane or menial work, for example as an embroiderer again. But Céleste had been exposed to wealth, glitter and the more privileged classes. She could not imagine herself ever going back to a factory, working long hours in some tedious, repetitive job that earned her a pittance and kept her in poverty.
Céleste vowed to steel herself against all feelings of love towards men like the charming, philandering Adolphe. Instead, she would educate herself as much as possible. She would concentrate on learning to read and write properly. She would acquire knowledge and new skills that would lift her above the likes of Louisa Aumont. Along the way, she would get even with that pompous woman. This new, vindictive streak would propel her, even though, as she dragged her sorry self in the dark and cold through the outskirts of Paris, she did not quite know how.
CHAPTER 9
Dancing Destiny
Céleste knew that she could never return to a brothel or work the streets. Yet she acknowledged that she still had to make a living by selling her body. With the disappointment over Adolphe, she fell into being a lower-ranked lorette, with her own modest room to ply her trade. She knew she could not yet aspire to being a courtesan. First she would have to move up the scale of lorettes, and to do this she would have to attain notoriety, although not too much to attract the police; or she could try somehow to achieve a measure of fame. Céleste still dreamed beyond the life of a courtesan—to become a performer of some sort, with the theatre at the pinnacle of her ambitions.
She gravitated naturally to the dance halls of Paris, which were open to young men and women of all classes. Céleste loved the glitter, action and glamour, and she was typical of the patrons. The most popular place in 1841 was the Bal Mabille, a modest open-air garden off the Champs-Élysées, which had been set up by Monsieur Mabille a decade earlier. It was a place to eat, drink, dance and be picked up, or to pick up. Bal Mabille was open every night and it was cheap, so Céleste could afford to go alone or with girlfriends. The press loved to report on its goings-on. Few weeks went by without the newspapers referring to someone dancing there. It was not the most fashionable place, not the place for the super-rich and aristocracy, but it attracted so many colourful and interesting people that the press had to report on it if it wanted to keep a finger on the pulse of Paris in this era of growing liberation. Here at Bal Mabille, artists of all art forms, including dancers, came to show off their skills, and the painters came to set up their easels or to gain inspiration for depicting the City of Light.
Céleste saved her hard-earned francs and bought herself the best dress she could afford, along with a colourful bonnet and a fashionable tartan cashmere shawl. She and girlfriends paraded in front of the male peacocks. They set the pace in elegant attire for the hopeful young students, cabbies, barmen, café waiters and bank clerks. If ever there was basic egalitarianism in France, this was its microcosm. Desperate, brave, young and daring Mademoiselle Vénard high-stepped into it. Prominent in the crowd were the lorettes such as Louisa Aumont. Céleste had never learned to dance the polka, which was the favourite step of the era at the sophisticated salons of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. The Bal Mabille version was livelier and technique-free, which gave it a vitality and improvisational quality never seen at the salons. Girls with lithe bodies and good legs lifted their skirts high and kicked out. They stayed with the rhythm, yet created steps and movements unique to Bal Mabille. Céleste played with her own version in private and had a vision of performing brilliantly in front of Louisa, Adolphe and his friends.
Bal Mabille had its stars, the couples that everyone came to see dance this exciting variation on the balletic but unemotional waltz. The others followed them like crowds surrounding a street brawl. Céleste observed them with an almost uncontrollable feeling of exhilaration. If she could be in such a couple, she would have her first brush with fame. Such dancers often made the papers, or were sketched by the artists. Where other fans clapped and cheered, Céleste was memorising steps and body contortions. She took special note of one outstanding couple, who always attracted the biggest crowd. The man, Brididi, worked at Bal Mabille and had generated the new craze. He was short with elastic legs and whirring arms. His partner was short, dark and demonic in her movements. He had christened her ‘Queen Pomare’ after the monarch of Tahiti, which the French had recently colonised.1 Her real name was Lise Sergent. She was a musical all-rounder who played the piano with skill and sang with panache.
One evening, Brididi and Pomare parted not long after their initial dance, and Brididi began to scour the crowd for another likely young woman.
He had seen Céleste often in his audience of admirers, and approached her, along with two other girls and three men, who were asked to join him in a quadrille, a French-style square dance for four or more. When Brididi asked her to be his partner for this experiment, Céleste told him, ‘I’ve never done this before.’ He could see in her face she wanted to try, regardless of the big crowd that would soon surround them.
‘I’ll teach you,’ he said with a confident smile. Céleste handed her shawl to a girlfriend, revealing her short-sleeved silk dress. When the dance began, all eyes soon turned to Brididi and his unknown, alluring new partner. This was different from her athletic, balletic but fun dancing at La Chaumière. Céleste moved forward. The crowd clapped, cheered and urged her on. She squatted at first like a Highland dancer, then stood erect and did her trademark unrefined high kicks, while lifting her dress for a flash of her long legs. Her movements were quick. She was light on her feet. Brididi made a clapping, encouraging gesture with his hands and beamed. He conducted her as they moved around. After ten minutes of this more sedate quadrille trial, they were the only two still dancing.
Céleste showed the zest, vitality, timing and daring that Brididi was looking for. He took a strong liking to her and invited her and Maria la Blonde, also a would-be lor
ette, whom she had befriended inside Saint-Lazare, for a late meal after the Bal Mabille show. They were joined by others and the celebration of the new dancing union went on until 6 a.m. The next day Brididi visited Céleste and had no trouble in persuading her to come to his house so he could teach her the polka. Buoyed by the previous night’s experience, she applied herself with unbridled enthusiasm. By the end of a gruelling five-hour session, which went on until 9 p.m., they were both satisfied that she could handle every leap and spin. Céleste drove herself on and on until even Brididi called a halt. She knew that her rival, Louisa Aumont, was very good at this dance. She had not seen her at Bal Mabille, but she knew she would at some point.
Céleste returned to her own room, exhausted but thrilled with the events of the day. She and Maria turned up once more at Bal Mabille, although Brididi had not promised Céleste he would invite her to dance the polka.
Brididi waited until the musical ensemble, at his instruction, started up a polka. He smiled, walked up to Céleste, bowed and reached for her hand. She had a sudden attack of nerves.
‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘I really can’t do this here.’
Some in the crowd urged her to try. Others began clapping. Brididi motioned for her to join him again, and with a kind smile said in her ear, ‘You were excellent last night . . .’
He was interrupted by Louisa Aumont, who was in the crowd with an elderly escort and had pushed her way to the edge of it. She had observed Céleste’s hesitation, and remarked loudly and contemptuously, ‘Doesn’t anyone know this dance?’
Céleste did not have to look around to see who had said it. That arrogant tone chilled her. Pretending not to hear, Céleste had all the motivation she needed. She propelled herself forward and exceeded even Brididi’s expectations. The applause was rapturous. An entertainer, if not a renowned dancer, was born. But even as the applause died she heard Louisa’s jealous remark, ‘How could anyone advertise themselves like that? What a horror!’
Céleste’s adrenaline was pumping fast after her performance. She waited until she was close to her tormentor, touched her arm, and said, ‘Good evening, Louisa dear. It’s a long time since you went to Versailles to see your lover Adolphe, isn’t it?’
Louisa went red. She tried to move away, saying, ‘I don’t know you!’
‘Oh, forgive me,’ Céleste said, smiling at Louisa’s partner. ‘I thought Monsieur was your father.’
This time Louisa was too taken aback to respond. She turned away, gripping her escort’s arm, but Céleste went on. ‘Apologies! I didn’t know this was Henri, the old owl you lie to about going to Versailles to visit your aunt. Three times a week, no less!’
Louisa tried to scuttle away, but the damage had been done. Her elderly benefactor was indignant. He stood his ground, looking first at Louisa, then back at Céleste, who turned on her most coquettish smile for him.
‘He’s not the old monster you paint,’ Céleste teased. ‘I think Monsieur looks very nice.’
He now seemed confused. Céleste curtseyed and moved off, laughing. Revenge was very sweet when served so decisively. She knew she had lowered herself to Louisa’s level, but any guilt dissipated quickly as she began another polka, which lured another group of spectators to her. She radiated energy and some observers rated her better than Queen Pomare. Men swarmed around her, begging for a dance.
Brididi made an off-the-cuff observation that the recently captured Moroccan fort of Mogador in Morocco would be easier to defend than Céleste from her bevy of admirers.2
‘In fact,’ he called to her, ‘I shall call you Mogador!’
Reporters and artists picked up on the remark. The press called her ‘Mogador’ and she had a taste of the fame she craved.
Now the big attraction was the weekly dance-off between the manic Pomare and the vibrant Mogador. But the latter was not satisfied or in any way full of herself. She had bigger aims in life and this success was just a stepping stone to somewhere else, somewhere grander.
Adolphe heard and read about his former girlfriend’s spectacular shows and, curious, he went to see for himself. He tried to speak to her, but she ignored him and the young doctor received his first dose of a woman’s scorn. She delighted in the attention of many men; some handed her bouquets right in front of Adolphe, who didn’t take it well. He tore up the flowers, indicating he was still in love with her. Céleste laughed in his face, but admitted in her memoirs that she still had powerful feelings for him. Nevertheless, she was going to make him pay with declarations, apologies and emotion, and anything else he might concede to her. To her satisfaction, Adolphe demonstrated a seething jealousy.
Later that night, he begged her to come back to him.
‘Please, Céleste, please,’ he said, ‘I love you. I made a terrible mistake in not defending you when Louisa was so insulting. What can I do to make it up to you?’
She considered him for several seconds before saying, ‘I’ll think about getting back with you on one condition.’
‘Yes?’
‘You make Louisa apologise to me publicly.’
In the heightened circumstances, Adolphe did not hesitate. He took Louisa over to Céleste.
‘I want you to tell Céleste that I’m not your lover and never have been,’ he said, pointing at Louisa. ‘You also must say you’re sorry to have been so hard on her at that Versailles party last month.’
Louisa puffed out her chest. Her expression was defiant.
‘C’mon,’ he demanded. ‘Apologise!’
After a brief pause, she looked at the ground and then up at Céleste.
‘I apologise for hurting you. I regarded you as a rival.’ With a glance at Adolphe she mumbled, ‘We’ve never been lovers.’
Holding back tears, Louisa scurried off into the crowd.
Exhilarated with the triumph, Céleste kissed Adolphe.
‘We can start afresh,’ she said, ‘but I won’t let you forget how you humiliated me; how you forced me to make the long walk from Versailles to Paris . . .’
Adolphe hated her dancing at Bal Mabille. He begged her to the point of tears to stop, but she ignored him. She was not going to miss her encounters with Pomare, and the gratuities thrust at them for their tornado-like competitions. And Céleste loved the press coverage she was receiving. She and Pomare had backers who would sling them cash for performances. Bets were placed on who would attract the bigger crowds or cheers. One punter thought it would be a good idea if the two famed dancers actually met each other. Money was wagered on who would win a catfight. So it was arranged; however, although Pomare took herself very seriously, Céleste had a measure of humour and vision, even for one so young. She was never going to lower herself to hair-pulling, nail-scratching and biting.
They approached each other. The crowd of fervent supporters fell silent. Then a rhythmic clap began. Céleste stroke forward. Pomare, her black eyes tight and fierce-looking, came a few steps closer. They stood about two metres apart, like gunslingers waiting for one or the other to make the first move. A few catcalls split the warm night air. Céleste took a pace forward, smiled and reached out a hand. Pomare’s face relaxed. They shook hands. The crowd clapped and cheered.
Pomare leaned close and said, ‘Great to meet you. I always wanted to.’
‘Same here. I love your dancing.’
The Bal Mabille competition continued. Mogador and Pomare attracted equal numbers of fans and admirers some distance from each other in the crowded and now ultra-popular garden. They soon became firm friends and visited each other’s homes. Céleste was saddened to see that Pomare lived in poorer circumstances. There was no food in her room and Céleste learned that she had forgone meals to save money. Much of what she earned went to her mother to look after her child. The glitter and glamour on the surface amounted to little. In reality the impoverished life she was leading had etched itself into her lovely yet severe face and skeletal body.
That seminal summer and early autumn of 1842 ended for Céle
ste and Pomare on 30 September when Bal Mabille closed down. Both girls would be out of work. But they had both achieved the press notability they wanted rather than the notoriety. And Céleste had created a provocative, skirt-lifting, high-kicking dance, which would later be known as the cancan, meaning ‘tittle-tattle’ or ‘scandal’. She began it at the music and dance halls such as Bal Mabille, toyed with it often at La Chaumière and made some of the risqué movements her own. On occasions, Céleste went out of her way to wear long skirts, petticoats and black stockings. Her athleticism allowed her to lift the garments and kick higher than anyone else. After perfecting the leg movements, she added arm swings, featuring the elbows moving in and out from the waist. Many observers, including newspaper reporters, viewed the gyrations and skirt manipulations as amoral. The police prohibited it twice. Céleste was careful where she gave performances because she feared the police would use any excuse to send her back to prison. But her natural instincts, exhibitionism and courage to break social boundaries in art saw her perform the provocative dance as often as possible.
CHAPTER 10
Horsewoman Extraordinaire
Almost on the same day in late October, both Céleste and Pomare learned they would gain opportunities in the theatre as dancers. They celebrated with champagne they could not afford at the Café Anglais, which they both loved. Adolphe footed the sizeable bill, knowing he was still paying for his earlier humiliation of Céleste. It forced him to ask her if she would ever forgive him. She replied, ‘Never!’ She had the good doctor exactly where she wanted him and he had to comply with her wishes or depart. Her newfound fame had given her a certain sense of power. Adolphe could take it or leave it.
