The Mistress of Paris

by Catherine Hewitt

  Valtesse abandoned the stretch of land to the west of Nice as a potential site for her new home, mentally moving her search closer to the city itself. But as she listened more attentively to conversations in Paris, a clearer picture began to form; for many, Nice was a mere adjunct to the celebrated, more glamorous city of Monte Carlo in the principality of Monaco.

  ‘Of all the winter seaside resorts on the Mediterranean,’ Parisians were informed, ‘Monaco occupies the top place by virtue of its climate, its diversions, and the elegant pleasures that it offers its visitors who have turned it into the meeting place of the aristocracy.’16

  Monte Carlo’s varied offerings meant that the face of the typical tourist varied considerably. Invalids coming to benefit from the health-giving properties of the famed waters of Nice and Menton often ventured along the coast to Monte Carlo to marvel at the breathtaking scenery and enjoy the free concerts. Then every year, pilgrims travelled to the little Gothic chapel of Sainte-Dévote to pay their respects. But the elegant crowd and the aristocrats – the society Valtesse enjoyed – came with a different itinerary in mind. It centred entirely on pleasure.

  Ever since the English introduced the vogue for sea bathing in the early 19th century when they began visiting the northern French coastal town of Dieppe, the practice had ingrained itself in the French mindset as a pastime which was at once restorative and fashionable.17 By the 1880s, Monte Carlo’s seafront was lined with luxurious hotels, each unique in character, alike in elegance, and catering to the most demanding tourist’s slightest whim. And at whatever hour a visitor like Valtesse chose to step outside her hotel, she could be sure of finding entertainment and pleasure.

  The great opera house had been designed by none other than Charles Garnier, the creator of Valtesse’s imposing staircase, and when it opened in 1879, the venue quickly earned itself an unrivalled position as the place everyone went to see first-class plays and operas performed by some of the greatest theatrical names in Europe. There was the bustling flower market, a feast for the senses, with its colours, fragrances and the sound of lively chatter as gossip passed between elegant shoppers. Tourists could stroll along the seafront, pausing in one of the busy little cafés to rest their feet, quench their thirst and watch the world go by.

  But the irresistible draw for the more daring visitor was the city’s glittering casino. An adrenaline-charged haven of pleasure for some, a breeding ground of ‘deadly evils’ and a ‘plague spot’ for others, the casino was undoubtedly the two-sided jewel in Monte Carlo’s dazzling crown.18 The ornate, columned frontage of the grand building commanded reverence. Once inside, and beyond the imposing gilded vestibule, men and women could relax in the plush salon or install themselves in the reading room. But the anterooms were merely a polite precursor to the main attraction: the gambling saloons. When a visitor felt that fortune was smiling on him – or he could merely wait no longer – he could venture across the vestibule, present his visiting card to the doorman and try his luck in one of the games rooms.

  No room was more awe-inspiring than the grand games room, with its beautifully painted walls, Moorish ceilings, and polished floors.19 Inside, drawn blinds and curtains reduced the lighting to a sombre glow, and there reigned an eerie silence. Around the tables sat men of all ages, old women, young women, and, as one appalled English visitor observed, ‘even ladies’.20

  The atmosphere was intense. ‘You cannot fail to be struck by the extreme quiet among so many people,’ marvelled one visitor. ‘Everyone speaks in whispers. There is a certain solemnity about it, the same as that felt in a church.’21 For a courtesan hoping to attract benefactors, it was indeed something of a pilgrimage. The casino was a rich hunting ground, teeming with wealthy, important men; all had come eager to spend money and hoping to win more. Every horizontale arrived dressed in her most flattering, head-turning outfit and her finest jewellery, with the sole objective of upstaging her competitors.

  The casino’s critics held it responsible for all manner of social ills. Their argument was strengthened by the high concentration of prowling lionnes like Valtesse, as well as the staggering number of suicides reported in Monte Carlo each year. But for its patrons, the casino was an institution, and for every tale of ruin and destitution, there was a success story of some lucky soul whose financial prayers had been answered at the gambling tables.

  Still, when the charged atmosphere around the tables grew too intense, gamblers could step outside into the bright sunshine and meander around the casino gardens, or perhaps listen to one of the free concerts that were performed nearby. Tourist guides eulogised the gardens, ‘a true marvel by virtue of their layout, the care with which they are tended, the varied scent of the trees, the quantity and beauty of the flowers and their magical appearance.’22

  On the beach just beyond the casino, a vast space was dedicated to Monaco’s famous pigeon shoot, which every year drew crowds of sporting enthusiasts to the edge of the ocean. Along with the races in Nice, the pigeon shoot was one of the highlights of the winter season, and its progress was closely followed back in Paris. The enterprising Chemins de Fer de Paris à Lyon et à la Méditerranée offered Parisians an open-ended return train ticket to attend both events.23 The ticket was valid for twenty days; a traveller could take up to 30kg of baggage, and, for a supplement, even upgrade to a luxury carriage complete with bed and private salon. A first-class ticket cost 190 francs, just over £2,000 in today’s money.24

  Monte Carlo buzzed with fashionable people and entertainment, while its proximity to Nice meant that, if she were based there, Valtesse would still be able to attend the famous flower festival and visit friends like socialite Blanche Duvernet who had purchased holiday retreats in the town.25 Monte Carlo’s casino was especially tempting. Many a courtesan had made her name there. The stakes were high, the men rich and powerful and the adrenaline rush addictive. Valtesse was decided: if Monte Carlo was where Europe’s aristocracy and trendsetting elite went, then that was where she must go too.

  Valtesse had plans drawn up for an ostentatious luxury villa on the Avenue Monte Carlo (now the Avenue d’Ostende), just a few minutes’ walk from the casino and the seafront.

  The villa began to take shape, but it was a ponderous project: perfecting a building that met Valtesse’s lofty standards would take time. Valtesse wrestled with her impatience to move into her new home, which she felt certain would be spectacular. In an effort to distract herself, she divided her time between Paris and Ville-d’Avray, making the occasional foray further south, to the fashionable spa town of Bagnères-de-Luchon on the Spanish border, for example, which offered a tantalising reminder of the southern way of life and a taste of the pleasures to come. A short stay in Bagnères-de-Luchon a week after her 40th birthday was a pleasing antidote to a landmark that made Valtesse uncomfortable.26

  In the first few weeks of 1889, Valtesse began her usual preparations for her annual trip to the Riviera. However, this year there was added excitement in the air as she selected the clothing she would take with her on holiday; now, Valtesse was closer than ever to possessing her very own property on the Riviera.

  She returned to Paris in April satisfied, and in plenty of time for the usual spring line-up of races and opening nights. She was content, having completed her Mediterranean stay in Nice with her friend Léontine Miroy.27 But friends’ homes and grand hotels, however luxurious, could not equal the thrill of being the chatelaine of one’s very own villa.

  When Pâquerette, now in her twenties, announced her engagement to a respectable young railway company employee, Paul Jules Auguste Godard, Valtesse’s hunger for the excitement of the Mediterranean only intensified.28 Now, she could leave Paris and enjoy herself, content that society would no longer hold her responsible for another’s well-being. She was more anxious than ever to start spending her breaks on the Côte d’Azur in her new seafront property.

  Fortunately, from May, a new diversion presented itself, gripping Paris’s attention and sweeping Val
tesse along with it: the Exposition Universelle of 1889.

  The exposition was not the only world fair Paris had hosted, nor was it the first to take place under a Republican regime. But it was symbolically important: 1889 marked the 100th anniversary of the French Revolution.

  The public commemoration of that notorious period of social unrest alarmed certain European countries still ruled by monarchies, reducing the anticipated number of participants. Nevertheless, as preparations came together, everything boded well for a successful, innovative exposition and Parisians eagerly awaited the grand opening.

  The exposition was established at two sites, with fine arts and industrial exhibits on show at the Trocadéro and the Champ de Mars, while the Esplanade des Invalides housed a colonial exhibit and several state-sponsored pavilions. There were sensational displays of artistic skill, architectural dexterity and scientific genius, and as national and international visitors flocked to the city to marvel at the wonders, Paris basked in its own glory. And of all the exhibits, by far the city’s proudest was the awesome iron structure that, for months, Parisians had been watching creep up the skyline of the Seine’s left bank: the Eiffel Tower.

  Though vehemently criticised, few could deny that Gustave Eiffel’s bold architectural statement commanded respect. At over 300m high, in 1889 the tower was the tallest metal structure in the world. It took two years to build once the Burgundian engineer Eiffel won the state-run competition for its design. At the monument’s inauguration, Eiffel climbed on foot to the top of the tower and raised an enormous Tricolore flag, while Parisians gazed up in wonder as the great masterpiece of engineering glittered and twinkled with the glow of over 20,000 gaslights.

  As soon as it was opened to the public, millions rushed to see Eiffel’s awe-inspiring achievement and witness the unprecedented views over Paris for themselves. Among the celebrity visitors were Sarah Bernhardt, the Prince of Wales, the Shah of Persia and even William F. Cody, alias Buffalo Bill. Everyone wanted to admire the great structure and Valtesse was determined to be among their number.

  Valtesse made sure that her visit was recorded in the official register. On the day she ascended the tower, she signed the book triumphantly with a witty verse she had composed for the occasion:

  Every pleasure passes;

  Seize it while you might.

  It is always an advantage

  When you are caught off guard at night.29

  Valtesse’s visit to Eiffel’s grand edifice would be valuable preparation. At long last, towards the end of 1891, she received the news she had been waiting for: her very own feat of architectural genius was nearly complete and ready for her to move in.

  ‘The beautiful Valtesse de la Bigne […] has gone to oversee the construction of a villa which is said to be spectacular,’ Gil Blas informed its readers as the building work was in its final stages.30

  Villa les Aigles was a masterpiece of design and decorative finesse.31 Valtesse’s new winter retreat recreated all the luxury of her home in Paris, with the addition of fabulous sea views. Like an exotic, Far Eastern palace, the sparkling white villa boasted a grand, columned entranceway with an enormous Bonapartist bronze eagle stretching its wings above those who passed beneath. The windows to either side opened out on to column-fronted balconies, while the tall, dome-roofed turret on the right infused the building with all the romance of a fairytale castle. Valtesse had requested that her personal coat of arms be visible at regular intervals throughout the building. Inside, there were spacious reception rooms and bedrooms, and huge glass doors ensured that guests were never far from a breathtaking sea view.

  Villa les Aigles was everything Valtesse had hoped. This season, when she graced the Riviera’s social scene with her radiant presence, she could do so in the knowledge that every evening she would be returning to her very own luxury seafront property.

  Back in Paris, the villa was causing a stir. People were impressed and Valtesse glowed with pride. Villa les Aigles was declared ‘the most charming love nest, perched in a rock face’.32 It was the property Valtesse had ‘reserved for winter sojourns and sun-seeking expeditions when winter has donned its first coat’, Gil Blas reassured Parisians curious about the movements of their favourite politically minded demi-mondaine.33 Its ‘proud turrets dominate the permanently azure sky of Monte Carlo’, eulogised another journalist.34

  As the chatelaine of a smart new, palatial villa in one of the most fashionable tourist spots in Europe, Valtesse was in her element. Now, all that was needed to turn her house into a home was people and laughter. Valtesse set to work, inviting all her friends to come and sample the delights of the Riviera with her. She had perfected the art of events organising, and nothing gave her more pleasure than hosting lavish parties and magnificent dinners in her new property.

  Valtesse’s girlfriends could hardly wait to see their companion’s holiday home and taste the exotic Mediterranean lifestyle for themselves. Gabrielle de Guestre, Eva Mégard and Gabrielle Dupuy eagerly packed their suitcases, and the proud hostess arranged for the guest rooms to be made up.

  It was the first of many fabulous Mediterranean holidays. Valtesse had reasoned that the coastline’s popularity could only increase, and her inkling was soon confirmed. Throughout the 1890s, doctors’ conviction that a change of climate was an unparalleled preventative for tuberculosis brought health-conscious city dwellers flocking to the Mediterranean coast. Then in 1895, Queen Victoria’s visit to Nice propelled the already fashionable Riviera to the very height of popularity. The Queen arrived in Cimiez in great state, bringing with her her own mahogany bed, her favourite Chinese porcelain crockery, a tea service, a writing desk, black toiletry bags, sheets and tablecloths (sent specially from Balmoral), and a grand entourage of personnel, which included her private doctor, five ladies in waiting, two grooms, and a fleet of domestic staff.35 Locals marvelled, while Valtesse and the fashionable elite studied the sovereign’s movements approvingly. That was how a dignified person should travel; that was real style.

  By the time the electric tramway to Cimiez was installed ahead of Victoria’s arrival, Valtesse’s Monacan winter sojourns had become a fixed part of her annual routine.36 The Comtesse’s departures from Paris were ceremoniously announced in the newspapers. Valtesse invariably timed her stays to coincide with the races and the flower festival in Nice, and she made sure never to miss the pigeon shoot in Monte Carlo. When in residence in the villa, her days were spent enjoying the town’s multiple diversions, while in the evenings, Valtesse would take in the delights of the opera, the theatre and concerts. The casino was a permanent temptation, but unlike so many courtesans before her, Valtesse never allowed the excitement of a bet to trounce her financial common sense. Her attachment to security prevented such an error. When she entered the casino, she intended to win – and success at the gaming tables was a narrow-minded interpretation of victory.

  Wherever they went, Valtesse and her girlfriends turned heads. When they were not enjoying all that the town had to offer, the women could be spotted on Valtesse’s sun-drenched balcony, surveying Monte Carlo, sipping coffee, smoking and laughing as though they had discovered the reflex for the very first time. Passers-by were charmed by their childlike enjoyment: the women were clearly close – very close.

  It was true. Valtesse found the presence of her female companions reassuring. Her girlfriends understood her better than any man could. But after a while, stories began to circulate and questions were asked. Why had Valtesse not married one of her rich suitors now that she was past her prime? She seldom appeared without a posse of her girlfriends these days. Gil Blas joked that only a eunuch could arrest Valtesse’s attention.37

  But it was not until Valtesse started to be seen out with a new, much younger female friend that public speculation turned into a more serious questioning of her sexuality. The woman concerned was a recent addition to Paris’s array of courtesans. She was young with a striking, androgynous beauty and she was heralded as the up-and-comi
ng star of the demi-monde. That fresh face was Liane de Pougy. Valtesse was her friend, her mentor, her idol – and then, her lover.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Feminine Touch

  As the new century drew closer, women were enjoying more power and opportunities than ever before. The 1880s witnessed the introduction of secondary education for girls and the reintroduction of divorce (forbidden since 1816), and for the first time, a married woman was allowed to open a bank account without her husband’s authority.1 Women had never known such liberty. Then, with the rise of the safety bicycle, the first two-wheeled vehicle suitable for women, freedom became a reality and female emancipation seemed an achievable goal.

  According to the popular stereotype, the ‘new woman’ rejected domesticity; she was educated and went to work. She had her hair cut short, she smoked, and she abandoned her corset and petticoats for knickerbockers and bloomers – the bicycle demanded it. Times were changing and male anxiety mounted.

  But for partisans of the conventional gender templates, by far the most unexpected and alarming twist in this tale of female empowerment was the rise of lesbianism.

  Parisians were first called to consider the practice of lesbianism in their midst in 1836, when Alexandre Parent-Duchâtelet published his groundbreaking Prostitution in the City of Paris.2 However, while it exposed the issue, the work, which was to become a sociological bible, remained limited as a reference source on lesbianism. Undiscriminating, society placed unwavering faith in the writer and drew what seemed a logical conclusion: lesbianism was the depraved and monstrous vice of prostitutes.

  For more than half a century, that view held firm, stimulating the imagination of novelists and titillating their delighted readers. From Adolphe Belot’s Mlle Giraud, ma femme (1870), to Zola’s Nana (1880), lesbianism was the theme of the moment, at once food for male fetishism and a sugar-coated vehicle for a moral.