The Mistress of Paris

by Catherine Hewitt

  At last, having made his way through the palace, Zola finally came face-to-face with its queen. The woman standing before him challenged all his preconceptions.

  As Valtesse and Zola beheld each other in the reception room, the dinner guests knew that they were witnessing the meeting of two of the most dynamic minds in Paris. Both were intelligent, both were masters of linguistic eloquence – and both could use words as an instrument of destruction. It promised to be a spectacular show.

  But a crucial difference divided the novelist and the courtesan: their attitudes to sex. Valtesse’s sexual energy was expended daily, and in the most experimental of ways. Meanwhile, Zola’s remained carefully contained, jealously guarded, finding an outlet only in food and in his novels. His childless marriage perplexed his colleagues, particularly when he insisted so publicly on the importance of children. Then his single-minded pursuit of the family’s maid, Jeanne Rozerot, some years later, and the swift appearance of two children, strengthened adversaries’ accusations of sexual repression.15 Valtesse’s dinner guests were in no doubt: the atmosphere in the dining room was going to be charged that evening.

  Once the guests had taken their places around Valtesse’s dark wood dining table, service could commence. As the scent of the different dishes announced the arrival of each course, and the sound of cutlery on china accompanied their consumption, the diners had ample topics of conversation. But Valtesse’s admirers reported witheringly that Zola’s contribution was minimal.16 With unwavering self-interest, he busied himself taking a sheaf of notes, interrupting the discussion only to enquire how high the ceilings were before attentively recording the response. Valtesse would neither confirm nor deny the tale. On the other hand, since Zola had only dined at the home of one courtesan while researching his novel, his impressions of Valtesse and her hôtel particulier were soon known, and in the most public of ways. Through Nana, nosy Parisians were treated to a guided tour of Valtesse’s home.

  Not only did Zola decide to locate Nana’s mansion just a few streets away from Boulevard Malesherbes, but his fictionalised description provided a startlingly accurate portrait of Valtesse’s living quarters. The novelist found the space in which he ate to be ‘magnificent’, a ‘very high-ceilinged dining room hung with Gobelin tapestries and having a monumental buffet graced by antique faience-ware and wonderful old silver’.*17 The table was ‘resplendent with gleaming silver and cut-glass’.*18 The guests at the small dinner party Nana decides to give in chapter ten of the novel dine on the kind of fine dishes Valtesse approved of, beginning with soup, then moving on to roasted meat, truffles and finishing with fruit for dessert, with plenty of champagne being enjoyed throughout.

  But if Valtesse and Nana’s home environments were alike, the hostesses differed markedly in character. After his evening at Valtesse’s, Zola was inspired to depict Nana’s guests discussing literature, politics, society, horseracing and crime. Valtesse could converse knowledgeably on any one of these topics, and she adored the races. However, when Nana participates in the intellectual sparring that takes place at her dinner party, she exposes her ignorance. By contrast, Valtesse was widely considered to be a woman of ‘rare distinction, remarkably intelligent, highly cultured, possessing an exquisite taste in art and literature, great wit and a fine literary skill’.19 The idea of showing herself up as Nana does would have horrified her. In Valtesse’s world, it simply never happened – she made sure of it.

  Frank exposure of social inferiority, as exhibited by Zola’s fictional hostess, also shocked Valtesse to her very core. Overwhelmed by the wealth – and debt – that now surrounds her, Nana takes comfort in nostalgic reminiscences of her past with her childhood friend Satin. Over dinner, the women speak openly about their poverty, and Nana’s father’s alcoholism, causing the other, socially superior diners much embarrassment. No dinner party of Valtesse’s would compel guests to shift uncomfortably in their seats. The thought of her past sullying the self-image she had worked so diligently to fashion appalled her. Throughout her life, Valtesse remained vehemently ‘controlled, self-contained, reserved’.20 An intensity and a magnetic inner strength flickered behind her bright blue eyes whenever she fixed people with one of her penetrating stares. ‘I am myself,’ she insisted, ‘without a past, without a history, having come strangely into the world which I find strange.’21

  Even Valtesse’s closest friends still had no idea that their companion had had two children.22 Mystery was an essential part of Valtesse’s image and she was a master at retaining it.

  But if she valued discretion, Valtesse attached as much importance to etiquette. Nana’s approach to her evening is careless, setting her worlds apart from the woman Zola dined with. Valtesse prided herself on receiving guests in perfect style. In Isola, Valtesse described a dinner party thrown by the elegant Capucine de Vidouville. The scene was not written by a woman inclined to disregard accepted etiquette. Valtesse was profoundly sensitive to a hostess’s responsibilities.23 From the invitations and the flowers to the place settings and the menus trimmed with silver leaf, it was not in Valtesse’s nature to neglect her guests’ requirements.

  For Valtesse’s closest friends, such differences provided unequivocal proof of Zola’s ignorance. The red-haired beauty had entirely perplexed him. Valtesse simply failed to conform to his mental image of the typical courtesan. He did not understand her charm, her subtle complexity or, friends insisted, her intelligence.24 ‘She has depth,’ Félicien Champsaur explained, ‘and that is precisely where M. Zola got it wrong.’25 If Zola had been seeking a neat confirmation of a predetermined checklist of character traits, he would be bitterly disappointed by the woman he found in Valtesse.

  Still, once dinner was complete, the novelist was finally able to satisfy the real hunger that had led him to 98, Boulevard Malesherbes. Valtesse offered him a tour of the rest of the property. Zola did not waste a moment. As he followed his hostess around her home, every detail was recorded, each fine painting closely inspected, and all the sights and smells and muffled sounds duly noted. Zola’s colleague Paul Alexis revealed that his friend ‘was able to see everything, the layout of the sitting room which joined onto a greenhouse, the bedroom, the expansive space of the dressing room, even the stables, so that he could give an informed description of Nana’s home’.26

  Among the observations that were absorbed into Nana was Zola’s description of the house as ‘a palatial, Renaissance-style building with a fantastic interior arrangement of rooms and furniture, modern comfort in a setting of rather studied originality’.*27 He examined the ‘wonderful Oriental hangings’, with the ‘antique sideboards, and huge Louis XIII armchairs’.*28

  Furthermore:

  the steps under the grand glass awning in the courtyard leading up to the front terrace were carpeted, and once in the vestibule you were assailed by a scent of violets in the warm air trapped between the heavy wall hangings. The staircase was wide and lit through a pink-and-yellow stained-glass window which cast a pale, flesh-coloured golden light. At its foot, a carved wooden blackamoor stood holding out a silver tray full of visiting cards; there were four candelabra, each supported by a bare-breasted marble female, while the vestibule and landings were furnished and decorated with bronze figures, Chinese cloisonné vases full of flowers, divans draped with antique Persian rugs, and armchairs covered in old tapestry, forming a sort of entrance hall on the first floor.*29

  As Valtesse led the tour through the apartment, an unspoken question played on everyone’s minds: would Zola enjoy the privilege Dumas was denied? Would Valtesse take him into her bedroom? There was no predicting how she would react, and Valtesse knew it. She relished the power that brought.

  The prospect of fame and public attention, the thought that her bedroom might feature in the latest top novel, were powerful incentives to be more generous with Zola than she had been with Dumas. Besides, on one point at least, Valtesse and Nana heartily agreed; concessions could always be made ‘when a work of art’s invol
ved’.*30

  Thus the real star of Zola’s trip to 98, Boulevard Malesherbes, the object that soon had the whole of Paris talking, was Valtesse’s fabulous bed.31 There could be no better model for his character’s grand throne. People described it as the ‘vessel of Paris’, and the comparison between boat and bed appealed to Zola.32 He did not forget it. (Not long afterwards, he named his own rowing boat ‘Nana’.) Zola was determined to make Valtesse’s bed the star of Nana’s boudoir.33

  His hostess’s enthusiasm for her favourite piece of furniture was contagious. Zola decided that Nana too should gain as much satisfaction and empowerment planning the great commission as she will the finished item. Taking Valtesse’s bed as inspiration, but allowing his imagination to roam untamed, Zola described the bed as:

  utterly unique, a throne or altar where all Paris would come to worship her in her naked, equally unique, beauty. It would be made entirely of embossed gold and silver, like some gigantic jewel, golden roses hanging on the silver trellis; along the bed-head a band of laughing cupids would be leaning forward, surrounded by flowers and peering at the voluptuous delights concealed in the shade of the curtains.*34

  Delighted, Zola left Valtesse’s dinner party with both his spiritual and physical appetites satisfied. He had everything he needed to make Nana’s home recognisable as the spectacular residence of a leading courtesan. His notes collated and his creative juices flowing, Zola returned home to assimilate what he had seen. Now, the real work began.

  While Zola drafted, reread and altered his text, Valtesse was left wondering how her dinner party and her cherished home would be shown in writing. She disliked uncertainty. It made her uneasy. Fortunately, Zola worked quickly when inspired and the reading public were clamouring to begin his next book. Within months, the publication of Nana was announced.

  Nana whipped Paris up into a positive frenzy. Never before had a novel been hyped as fervently. It became the fashionable topic of conversation long before it appeared in print in October 1879. ‘The name is plastered on every wall in Paris,’ Henri Céard informed Zola, ‘it is verging on obsession and nightmare.’35 Paris’s reading public were growing impatient. On the day before it was finally released as a serial in Le Voltaire, Le Gaulois dedicated a massive quarter-page advertising slot to the novel.36 ‘Nana’ was printed in large letters across the paper’s back page, and on the front, readers could enjoy a celebrity feature on Zola and his preparation for the novel. The next morning, Le Gaulois proudly announced on the front page that they too would be serialising Nana at the same time as Le Voltaire. Such a move was extraordinary. Finally, on page two, readers could at last begin the first instalment of the long-anticipated novel.

  Paris’s reading public rushed to buy their copy of Le Voltaire or Le Gaulois. Familiarity with the story became a necessity in social circles. Everyone was talking about it.

  Zola fully expected a backlash. The subject matter was undeniably risqué.37 However, the novel’s steamy reputation worked in his favour: sales of the serial rocketed, exceeding Zola’s wildest hopes. To hit sales of 4,000 copies was considered a great success at the time; when Nana appeared in book form, it sold 55,000 copies overnight.38

  Soon, the critics’ responses flowed forth. Naturally, the subject matter was far from salubrious, but the damning responses centred more on Zola’s inaccuracies and naivety. Many seconded Aurélien Scholl’s view: an hour in the wings of the Variétés and a dinner with Valtesse hardly qualified the author to cast judgement on the demi-monde.39

  Zola’s earnest hunt for models for Nana had not gone unnoticed by the eagle-eyed public. People immediately spotted Blanche d’Antigny and Cora Pearl. How insulted the late Blanche would have been, exclaimed Georges Ohnet, to be cast as the foolish Nana.40 Nana was not modelled solely on Blanche, Le Gaulois wisely countered: she was a composite creation.41

  Still, for many readers, there could be no doubt: Nana was Valtesse. Valtesse was the only courtesan Zola had met and dined with in her own hôtel particulier. Word spread rapidly.42 The reading public immediately began combing the text in search of parallels.

  Those who knew Valtesse did not have to look far. Nana and Valtesse’s pasts were uncannily alike. Both had an impoverished upbringing with flawed, promiscuous maternal role models. Valtesse’s close and influential associate Jules Claretie would have recognised the significance of Nana’s First Communion in L’Assommoir, which establishes her anticipation of gifts and love of material things.43 Claretie had never forgotten the moment he first set eyes on Valtesse at her own First Communion.44

  But there were further, more profound similarities, too. Readers of Isola would remember how quickly the work environment robbed the anti-heroine of her innocence.45 Similarly, Nana owes her street-wise nature to the experience of her first job. The resonances between Valtesse’s debut in Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld and Nana’s first performance at the Variétés as the star of The Blonde Venus struck many as more than a coincidence. Like Valtesse, Nana’s looks were all critics could find to recommend her.46 Sharp readers were bound to make the link.

  From Paris, Henri Céard wrote to Zola who was staying in Médan: ‘there is ridiculous gossip circulating here about Nana,’ he fumed.47 ‘I was in a Franco-Russian salon the other evening where a gentleman, with absolute sincerity, claimed that Nana was Valtesse, and he cited the names of three or four other well-known Parisian ladies who are expected to appear in your next novel.’ ‘All the stories are untrue,’ Zola insisted publicly in Le Voltaire.48 His statement made no difference. The rumours continued.

  Meanwhile, at 98, Boulevard Malesherbes, Valtesse scoured the pages of Nana to locate the material she had supplied. She began to read. And as she did, she grew angry. How dare Zola? Her confidence had been grossly betrayed, and she was filled with remorse for having lent her property to such a classless novel. She was particularly incensed by the remark that the hôtel particulier had been embellished by ‘a few silly, sentimental touches and a bit of gaudy magnificence’ which recalled ‘the tastes of the flower-girl who once used to stand day-dreaming in front of the shops in the arcade’.*49 The liberties Zola had taken infuriated her. They made her nervous, too; her reputation was at stake. The public must not believe that she shared Nana’s poor taste or stupidity.

  Valtesse observed the commotion surrounding the novel. She was no stranger to public attention and gossip: she relished being in the spotlight – she had, after all, agreed to Zola’s request in the first place. But this attention was different. It posed a serious threat to her reputation. Valtesse knew that she must consider her reaction carefully. But time was of the essence; all eyes were on her.

  Valtesse made sure that her feelings were known. Publicly, her response passed from open disdain to derision. She would have no more to do with the deceitful novelist she had so cordially welcomed into her home. Zola was very naive, Valtesse told people, if he thought that a girl could become a sophisticated woman, an irresistible seductress, by employing such low means as Nana. She vented her anger to writer Harry Alis:

  These novelists, they used to think all courtesans were fallen women who wanted to redeem themselves … now they are all foolish women, beautiful and stupid as a lump of marble, who pass by like a curse, destroying, dissolving everything in their wake. How naive.’50

  With her friends, Valtesse laughed at the gross inaccuracies in Zola’s story. And she had plenty of support. ‘He knows nothing of the demi-monde which he talks about,’ Georges Ohnet complained. ‘He has never seen what he describes, so he describes it badly […] He insults all present-day courtesans.’51 The condemnatory reviews were encouraging. To Valtesse’s relief, her reputation emerged intact and she unscathed.

  As the next year, 1880, unfolded and the excitement surrounding Nana started to dissipate, Valtesse could finally relax back into her routine of dinners, soirées, afternoon teas and dances. Once the autumn drew to a close and Parisians started anticipating the festive season, the freque
ncy and number of these events seemed all the greater. There were invitations to reply to and outfits to be chosen, and tending to her social diary provided Valtesse with a full-time occupation. But then some news reached her: Zola, the papers announced, had decided to adapt Nana for the stage. It would open in the new year, in just three months time.

  Excitement began to mount. Who would be playing the title role? Conversation in salons hummed with the question. One name was on everyone’s lips. The speculation reached a climax when François Oswald mischievously remarked in Le Gaulois: ‘M. Chabrillat has just engaged Mlle Valtesse to play the role of the pretty young wench in Nana.’52 At lightning speed, the story travelled across the Channel, where news of Valtesse’s imminent appearance was reported in the Morning Post.53 When she heard the gossip, Valtesse knew an immediate response was required. She quickly composed a letter to the author of the jest:

  Dear Sir,

  To play a main part in Nana, I would need to be an actress; I am not, nor do I wish to become one.

  Be so good as to rectify this error in your paper to set my mind at ease.

  Yours, Valtesse

  Valtesse was determined: the public should be under no illusion that she endorsed her association with the foolish Nana. She was better than that. But curiosity is a powerful emotion, particularly where reputations are concerned. Not even Valtesse was immune. The public could yet interpret the play as a dramatisation of her life. It made her uneasy; it was too much to disregard as a trivial pest.

  With only a week until the opening night, Zola was immersed in correspondence and discussions involving the performance, when he received a note from Hennique:

  I have just received a message from Valtesse, who, not wishing to write to you herself, has asked instead if I could request from you two first-class seats in the dress circle for the opening night of Nana.