Detaille’s precise and meticulous nature permeated every area of his life. His colleague Gustave Goetschy recalled affectionately: ‘Detaille […] is regularity and punctuality itself […] De Neuville calls him The Wisdom of Nations, and teases him sometimes for being like a housewife.’18 Detaille’s day was regimented down to the last minute. However, time was always made for leisure; the artist loved concerts, balls and the theatre. Fortunately, his circumstances meant that he need never deny himself such pleasures. His family were rich and his paintings sold easily. Financial worries were unknown to him.
Though he lacked Guillemet’s impressive literary knowledge, Detaille’s success, fortune and dashing appearance made him instantly attractive to Valtesse. For a woman passionate about art and with a soft spot for the military, there could be no better suitor than this smart man who had been a student of the great painter of battlefields, Ernest Meissonier. Detaille needed little persuasion to start a relationship with the charismatic red-haired beauty. He fell deeply, helplessly under her spell.
Valtesse and Detaille began to spend more and more time together. The methodical, self-controlled artist was smitten. By the middle of the 1870s, he had fallen into a pattern of paying Valtesse regular sums of money and visiting her in Ville-d’Avray. He recorded the dates – though never the details – of their encounters in the diary that he kept religiously. His visits to Valtesse (whom he familiarly referred to as ‘V’) became more frequent, then almost daily. As the visits increased, so did the money disappearing from Detaille’s account. It was a formula Valtesse lived by. The artist paid for her coachman, domestic staff and a host of other household expenses.
Detaille’s dedication was unwavering, so much so that he became a subject of light-hearted ridicule among his colleagues. Another of Valtesse’s close friends, the painter Henri Dupray, delighted in cruel teasing, and urged Valtesse to join him in a practical joke. ‘That cheeky so-and-so,’ recalled Edmond de Goncourt, ‘got Valtesse, Detaille’s mistress, to send him a soaking wet shirt, which she claimed in his absence, had become saturated with Dupray’s sperm.’19
But Detaille’s love for Valtesse was impervious to public humiliation. He even painted her. Detaille only ever painted men, military scenes and battlefields, yet for Valtesse, he made an exception. She stands in the front line of the crowd in his great work, The Passing Regiment (1875).20
The illustrious courtesan and the mild, methodical artist struck some as an odd pairing. However, there was a deep understanding and respect between them. They were the same age, both sociable yet private, passionate while self-controlled. Each had something to offer the other. Valtesse was beautiful, creative and clever, and she allowed Detaille, a man whose entire creative oeuvre was dedicated to men and war, to explore the tenderness of physical love with a woman. For Valtesse’s part, besides the money and the status, the power and the pride Detaille gave her, his paintings were sought after. He was pleased to offer his mistress as many works as she desired, and Valtesse contentedly added nearly 50 paintings, drawings and watercolours to her collection. Detaille’s dignity touched her own reputation. But most importantly, he treated her with respect and demanded little in return. Of all Valtesse’s lovers, Detaille came the closest to understanding the woman behind the myth. Their relationship continued throughout the 1870s.
With his success and reputation established, Detaille needed little assistance in his career. However, while she was seeing Detaille, Valtesse met another painter, one with whom she could play a very different role. In Henri Gervex, Valtesse saw a chance to assume a position of power.
Gervex was younger than Valtesse by four years. With dark features which betrayed his Italian heritage, he was handsome, talented and poised on the threshold of a brilliant career. Born to upper working-class parents, Gervex and his two brothers grew up in Montmartre. In 1871, Gervex was accepted to study under the prestigious academic painter Cabanal at the École des Beaux-Arts, and just three years later he won a medal when he entered his painting Satyr Playing with a Bacchante to the 1874 Salon. It was the start of an illustrious career.21
But when Gervex and Valtesse first met, the painter was still a relative newcomer on the Parisian art scene. There was much to learn. Paris was brimming with excitement and new experiences, and the young man was eager to sample them all. In 1876, he made the acquaintance of Manet, an artist he greatly esteemed, and Degas, who found the youngster’s enthusiasm amusing. Before long, Gervex met a host of other avant-garde painters as well. Henceforward, his work hovered between the academic style learned during his training and the Impressionistic approach of the colleagues around him.
Gervex caught Valtesse’s attention. He was young, he was exciting and he was just starting out. Valtesse had grown accustomed to older men with established reputations, and she always softened when she met newcomers trying to make a name for themselves in Paris. Her interest was piqued.
It took little to encourage Gervex to join the list of Valtesse’s lovers. He was in his twenties, beguiled by the idea of women, and here before him was a sexually magnetic, clever, well-connected older female who professed herself fascinated by him and his work. Gervex found himself being invited to elegant dinners at Valtesse’s home. Seated in an antique mahogany dining chair and surrounded by splendid decor, he was served succulent dishes on gleaming silverware, he tasted fine wines from crystal glasses, and he met powerful individuals, many of whom could offer him commissions. And all the while, he could stare into his mistress’s eyes, content in the knowledge that he would soon be alone with her and she in his arms.
If Valtesse had little place among the subjects of Detaille’s paintings, Gervex saw sensual compositions whenever he looked at her. To him, she was a vision with her hair tumbling down to her waist as she refastened her corset the morning after a night of passion. He often asked her to pose for him, and she always consented; it flattered her vanity.
Although Gervex and Detaille were the most important of Valtesse’s artistic conquests, many other artists passed through the doors of her boudoir during the 1870s. She was enjoying herself. Her relationships with artists added colour and spice to her life; artists were rarely boring lovers. With satisfaction, Valtesse watched her art collection grow.
Now when guests came to visit, in addition to Valtesse’s acquisitions from Detaille, Gervex and their friends, they could behold paintings, watercolours, pastels and drawings by artists as renowned as Gustave Courbet and Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres. There were works by English painters, established French artists like Eugène Boudin, Gustave Jacquet and Etienne Prosper Berne-Bellecour, as well as up-and-coming ones, including Jean-François Raffaelli and Ferdinand Roybet. The collection was a perfect mirror of Valtesse’s tastes and character. Traditional, academic artists sat alongside avant-garde painters, with whom she sympathised, and whom she wished to support. The former conveyed her elevated status, connoisseurship and wealth; the latter declared her perfectly in touch with contemporary fashion. And there was always the chance that one of those bright young artists would soar to greatness. It was just the kind of thrilling gamble she relished.
Valtesse was once asked why she thought it was that so many great creative talents only achieved recognition posthumously. ‘You know,’ she smiled in response, ‘critics are gourmets and talent is a truffle that they enjoy digging up.’22 She was determined to stake her claim before the fruit was unearthed.
Valtesse’s connections in the art world meant that to her impressive collection of paintings she could add hundreds of costly objets d’art. She collected bronze statues, ceramic vases, plates, silverware, glassware and a host of other exquisite trinkets. Her most prized possession was a tall oval swing mirror (known as a psyché in French) in polished maple wood. It was decorated with gilded bronze, there were candleholders on either side, and on top stood a pair of winged statues representing victory. The mirror had been made for the celebrated beauty and star of the Comédie Française, Mlle Mars, and h
ad attracted public attention when it was mentioned in Thiollet and Roux’s Nouveau recueil de menuiserie et décorations intérieures et extérieures in 1837.23 When she purchased the mirror, Valtesse knew she was gaining more than a beautiful object; she was buying herself an association with the famous actress, reaping the benefits of another’s notoriety.
Valtesse was especially fond of Chinese and Japanese porcelain, and she purchased, and was given, superb examples of both. Few materials declared wealth and status as explicitly as porcelain. Historically, porcelain was revered and costly, and its acquisition consequently remained the prerogative of only the wealthiest aristocratic European families. The fashion for Japanese objects had taken France by storm in the 1860s, and it refused to loosen its grip in the 1870s. Valtesse’s japonaiseries were a triumphant announcement of her awareness of fashion. However, with her ancient Chinese porcelain, Valtesse conveyed another message. Most of her pieces were the genuine, imported material, not the European imitation of the sought-after, hard-paste clay. They were bought to impress. The pieces were Valtesse’s nod to France’s aristocratic past, a proud testimony of her wealth and a shameless act of self-glorification.24
Valtesse saw her art collection as much more than a diverting hobby. It was a commerce, a business, an industry. She considered her acquisitions carefully. They shaped her identity, they gave her status – and power. Most of all, the collection brought her equality. Her lovers were always benefactors; now, at last, she had become the benefactress.
Valtesse was in her element, and her involvement in the art world did not go unnoticed. Her connections with painters led colleagues to affectionately dub her ‘l’Union des artistes’ or ‘the Union of Artists’.25 Her growing collection made her radiant with pride.
Such a powerful addition to her promotional arsenal should not be wasted. She had attended artists’ evening soirées and admired their collections; she coveted that glory for herself, and longed for people to be awestruck when they discovered her collection too.
Valtesse decided to start hosting a salon from her home. She made her project known in artistic circles and her venture attracted great interest, prompting contemporaries to liken her to a modern-day Aspasia.26 From then on, every Monday evening, the rooms of her grand hôtel particulier would come alive, with noted individuals engaging in lively debate about painting, society and politics.
And literature. For Valtesse realised that to stand out from other courtesans, this too should form part of her cultural capital.
CHAPTER 9
Words and Wit
Valtesse knew that beauty alone would not sustain public respect. As with a portrait, so for its subject: an attractive surface must be reinforced by integrity within. A courtesan needed to be cultured, and an expansive literary knowledge was essential.
Since Valtesse had first identified the need to educate herself when she began her affair with Offenbach, she had made her own edification a priority. Her childhood had left her hungry to learn. She had a burning desire to read and vast gaps in her knowledge to fill, and her bright mind gave her a natural propensity to flourish under her own self-tutelage.
Her mental faculties impressed her contemporaries. ‘She is a woman of unparalleled intelligence,’ explained Valtesse’s childhood friend, Jules Claretie.1 Her admirers spotted this immediately. ‘She is full of spirit,’ declared the journalist Félicien Champsaur. ‘To triumph, a woman must have a certain intelligence among her tools of seduction […] Valtesse already had a rich mind.’2 Fortunately, besides natural brilliance, Valtesse also boasted a will of iron; she was a diligent student.3
With practice, she had learned to write well, in an elegant, cursive style. She took an active interest in current affairs, studying the papers attentively and forming an opinion on the key issues of the day. Above all, she made a point of reading as widely as possible.
Books became her passion. She read voraciously, and the bookshelf in her boudoir reflected the same dichotomy of taste as her art collection. There were works by the classic French authors Montaigne, Rabelais, Saint-Simon and her hero, Balzac, as well as established contemporary writers including Mérimée and Alexandre Dumas fils. Valtesse was passionate about history and philosophy, and she pored over the writings of Voltaire, Michelet and Guizot. She became as versant in the works of Shakespeare and the Bible as she was in the rollicking, risqué, popular fiction of Paul de Kock.
Strong, independent women earned Valtesse’s particular respect. Feminine literature had declined after 1830, but from mid-century, a wave of female authors flooded the market in an effort to forge women a place on France’s literary scene.4 However, like female artists, women writers struggled to be taken seriously. Science reinforced dominant conservative views of women, promoting the theory that females were anatomically and physiologically inferior to men.5 It was argued that their brains were smaller, that they were intellectually deficient, and therefore emotional, sentimental and naturally predisposed to bear and raise children. Beware the woman who developed her intellectual abilities, warned conservative scientific discourse; her ability to breed would surely be impaired. Should women manifest signs of advanced intellect, ‘it is by some trick of nature’, concluded Edmond de Goncourt, ‘in the sense that they are men’.6
Misogyny disgusted Valtesse. The independently minded, trouser-wearing George Sand claimed a revered place on her bookshelf. ‘I know that my own greatest fault lies in the fact that I cannot submit to the least shadow of constraint,’ Sand wrote.7 ‘It is liberty that I long for. I want to be able to walk out quite alone and say to myself: “I will dine at four, or seven, just as I like”.’ How Valtesse knew that longing. It was what drove her.
She studied the memoirs of the great courtesan Célèste Mogador with keen interest.8 The veteran femme galante had invaluable advice to impart. ‘I always thought that, even when a woman is wicked, it is to her advantage to seek the company of cultivated men,’ Mogador reasoned.9 ‘I quickly realised that gallantry is like war; to win one must employ tactics […] The men who obtained the most from me were the ones who demanded the least.’10 They were wise words. Valtesse herself could have written them.
Valtesse’s library gave her a complete education. She followed no structure in her choice of volumes, but prized the quantity and variety of reading matter over all else. The breadth of knowledge she acquired astounded her acquaintances.
Valtesse developed informed opinions on everything she read, and she gladly shared her views. Close friends marvelled at her ability to focus exclusively on a philosophical debate or discussion when conversation took that course. She was, one companion remarked, ‘sensual and intelligent, making a distinct separation in her life between the pleasures of the body and those of the mind’.11 In Valtesse’s eyes, the salon was for intellectual sparring, the bedroom for physical pleasure. A lover might have his way with her body, but he could never alter her opinions.
Valtesse’s expansive literary knowledge was showcased whenever she attended a soirée or salon. The artistic and literary spheres were intricately entwined, and the more Valtesse circulated with artists, the more writers she met.
By the middle of the 1870s, she had formed an acquaintance with the journalist, art critic, novelist and playwright, Octave Mirbeau. Born the same year as Valtesse, Mirbeau was raised in Normandy, supported the Bonapartist cause and was committed to civil matters; he and Valtesse had much in common. They also shared a close acquaintance, the actress-turned-courtesan Alice Regnault.
Alice was notorious. Augustine-Alexandrine Toulet (as she was originally named) was said to have murdered her first husband, and by the 1870s she was using her beauty to ruin a chain of wealthy men. It was even rumoured that she was guilty of the ultimate 19th-century taboo: lesbianism. ‘She is a very dangerous woman for men smitten with her charms,’ warned the police, ‘they say she is capable of committing the most heinous crimes provided there is money involved.’12
Valtesse and Alice had many s
hared experiences. At one of Arsène Houssaye’s private parties at the end of February in 1875, the two women appeared together in matching outfits, an alluring masquerade costume known as a ‘domino’, which comprised a hooded dress and a mask.13 Mirbeau too was drawn to Alice; just a few years later, he would marry her in secret. But in the 1870s, the spell Valtesse cast was all-consuming.
Mirbeau found Valtesse irresistible. As they became more intimate, the writer’s devotion intensified. When he spotted an article in a Belgian publication which mentioned Valtesse, he immediately wrote to her, promising to copy it out ‘religiously’.14 Mirbeau quickly recognised that Valtesse appreciated witty, dedicated men. ‘I am sending two copies of this letter,’ he wrote on another occasion, ‘as one does an agreement of sale or a marriage contract … Would you oblige me with a little kiss? A good friendly kiss …?’.15
Valtesse remained reserved where her association with Mirbeau was concerned. He was not the only writer in Paris, and he was certainly not the greatest.
By far Valtesse’s proudest encounter was her meeting with the celebrated author, Alexandre Dumas fils. Son of the great Dumas père, the younger Dumas initially turned to writing to pay off his debts, and he found fame in 1848 with The Lady of the Camellias. With his skill as a playwright, he rose to become one of the most successful dramatists of the Second Empire.
Valtesse was a passionate admirer of Dumas’s work. The Lady of the Camellias was published in the year of her birth. She had grown up with Dumas, so she was thrilled when her first meeting with the literary star developed into a written correspondence. To Dumas, who found the feminine mind endlessly fascinating, the erudite, redhaired beauty was an enigma just begging to be resolved. He must understand her – but Valtesse thrived on mystery. Dumas relished the deciding word, but Valtesse was adamant that she should have the last. The pair became locked in a stalemate. Like partners in an intense dance, they appeared to move together, while each focusing single-mindedly on a personal battle for power. Neither would back down.
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