Suzanne and the prince made a curious pair, Gazi swarthy, taller than her (though not by much), Suzanne tiny in her thick stockings and horn-rimmed glasses, animated with nervous energy and increasingly given to dichotomous mood swings.
Gazi quickly developed a deep affection for Suzanne which bordered on idolisation. He near-worshipped her and was fiercely protective of the woman he viewed as his adoptive mother, his mémère (an affectionate infants’ term for grandma). Suzanne talked and talked about painting, guiding Gazi as he created scenes of Montmartre not unlike those of Maurice, while Gazi showed his gratitude by helping her around the house with chores.
Though ensconced with his paramour ‘Yvette’ in the apartment at the Rue Cortot, Utter was not about to let another man step into his shoes so easily.23 He could not be with Suzanne, but her character was so intense as to leave an uncomfortable chasm when they were apart. Utter asked his and Suzanne’s mutual friend, the Swiss-born painter Robert Naly, to keep a watch on his estranged wife. She had been picking up tramps and taking them home with her, Utter told his friend. He was certain she was using them to appease her still-rampant libido now that he had left. Naly agreed that he would do what he could.24
It was on one of his unannounced visits to see Suzanne that Naly, accompanied by Utter, found Gazi perfectly at home. The men were quick to throw him out. However, it was not long before Naly regretted his prejudice.
‘This Gazi was completely honest,’ Naly admitted. ‘He proved himself devoted to Valadon, so much so that Utter eventually accepted his presence, which was far preferable to that of tramps.’25
Gazi was a devout adherent of the Greek Catholic Church; Suzanne thought all religion superstitious nonsense.26 He tried to engage her in conversations about faith; Suzanne would not be converted. But theirs was a strange and mystical bond. It was as though two kindred spirits had finally found each other and had tacitly resolved to be together regardless of circumstance, creed or credence. With Utter gone, Gazi filled an aching hole for companionship and understanding, while Suzanne gave the prince a parental figure to cosset in her old age. Suzanne needed him as much as he did her.
Suzanne produced little during 1934, but she exhibited once again with the Société des Femmes Artistes Modernes, where her portrait of her mother was declared a masterpiece.27
However, fatigue and lethargy were weighing her down. The news that Miguel Utrillo had died in Sitges in Spain that year did nothing to restore her peace of mind.28 As 1934 progressed, she was growing noticeably weaker. Finally, in January 1935, the inner crisis reached a head: Suzanne’s body gave its ultimate protest.
Friends were dismayed when news broke that the great artist, Suzanne Valadon, had been rushed to the American Hospital in Neuilly following a severe nasal haemorrhage.29 It soon became clear that Suzanne was suffering with uraemia.30 She was also diagnosed with diabetes. At last, the nausea, the profound tiredness and all the other niggling complaints she had tried to dismiss made sense. But the maladies were already advanced.
One of the first to arrive at her hospital bedside was Lucie Pauwels. Later, Lucie insisted that it was Suzanne who, in her panic, had sent her driver to fetch her. Suzanne energetically denied the tale. Either way, when Lucie arrived, Suzanne was in a desperate state. Naturally, when she felt her body withering, her first thought was of Maurice.31
Suzanne was fiercely proud of her son, but she entertained no illusions: he was intensely needy. He could be wonderfully loving but was equally given to wild, unpredictable tantrums. Only when he was utterly absorbed in his painting – or engrossed with the train set which had been put in place for him at the Avenue Junot – could Suzanne be certain that he was at peace.
Lucie was moved by Suzanne’s upset. ‘What will become of him if I die?’ Suzanne asked frantically. ‘He needs a support, a great soul, he’s a child, Maurice is un enfant terrible.’32
It was at that moment, Lucie claimed, that she received her great awakening: Maurice Utrillo was the man she was meant to marry. When she received one of Maurice’s affectionate letters later that day, enquiring if she was still her ‘suave’ self, Lucie took it as confirmation of her epiphany.33
In the hospital, Suzanne proved a frustrating patient. She bothered the nurses, questioned the medication, and when she was finally discharged the relief was unanimous.34
Those who knew the Unholy Trinity told different accounts of the order in which events happened next. But on one point, everyone agreed: when Suzanne returned from hospital, she was wracked with indecision.
On the one hand, Lucie Pauwels was a strong woman who, once she had set her feathered hat at a man, would protect and care for him to the death. It would take that unique kind of stamina to weather Maurice’s alcoholism and his mood swings, and to nurture his gift. Then there was Utter. Suzanne knew that nothing would hurt him more than stemming the flow of money he still enjoyed from Maurice. How would he keep his mistress? Suzanne could think of no sweeter revenge.
But to be left entirely alone was unthinkable. It was frightening. To lose her only son – and to such a woman, in whom Suzanne could not help seeing a resemblance to the wide-hipped female figure who often appeared in Maurice’s pictures – it was more than she could bear.35 It would take little encouragement from Utter for her to withdraw her consent.
But it was too late: Suzanne’s acquiescence, if only fleeting, was all the clearance Lucie required. As soon as Suzanne was discharged, Lucie was on hand to help. Once the invalid was safely reinstalled in her bed in the Avenue Junot, Lucie and Maurice took dinner together – and by the end of the meal, he had proposed.36
Now that she had established herself as Maurice Utrillo’s fiancée, Lucie began to frequent the Avenue Junot on a regular basis, Maurice being unable to go out alone. However, when she discovered Suzanne’s ambivalence regarding the union, and wisely reckoning on Utter’s opposition, Lucie decided that there was no time to lose. She headed straight to the Avenue Junot with her nephew Robert in tow, determined to hasten a conclusion. But when the door opened, she had a shock: it was André Utter – and he was primed for a fight.37
Utter tried to bar her passage, but few people expelled Mme Lucie Pauwels successfully. A furious row ensued; names and accusations were hurled. Maurice was to be sent to Lyon to stay with friends, Utter declared, and there was nothing Lucie could do to stop it. As the shouts became louder and the gestures more frantic, Suzanne ran to an upstairs window: ‘Help, murder, murder!’ she screamed.38
Maurice was distraught. ‘They want to take me far away from you,’ he wailed to Lucie, ‘but don’t worry, I will be your husband; I love you, I love you Lucie!’39
Terrified, tearful and distraught, Lucie left the Avenue Junot shaken.
But she was not to be dissuaded so easily. Lucie vowed that she would have this man as her husband, and even Suzanne’s friends assured her that, knowing the Unholy Trinity’s temperaments, a little time would guarantee her a warmer reception at the Avenue Junot.40
In the meantime, Lucie was determined to confront André Utter. She found him in a restaurant, La Bonne Franquette, not far from the Rue Cortot – and there followed one of the most explosive showdowns the residents of Montmartre had ever witnessed.41 Utter accused Lucie of pursuing Maurice for his money; Lucie retaliated that Utter had been living off his earnings for years. In the end, Lucie was the first to get up and leave. But she was not vanquished; whether secretly relieved at the lifting of his stepfatherly duties or too much in love to fight with his usual vigour, André Utter accepted that he had met his match. Once his opponent had stormed out, he turned to the audience of customers and offered a dramatic digest: ‘The firm of Utrillo has changed hands.’42
When Lucie returned to the Avenue Junot, some said Suzanne reiterated her enthusiasm for the marriage, her anger having been rekindled once she learned that Utter had taken his mistress on a cruise.43 Others maintained that she had again declared the union impossible and when Lucie told Maurice
to leave with her, issued her son with an ultimatum: ‘Her or me.’44 Suzanne’s feelings about the marriage oscillated so precariously that nobody, least of all Maurice and Lucie, could be certain what she thought. And that, explained the painter Jean Dufy, brother of the great Raoul and friend of the family, was the problem: when Suzanne supported the marriage, Maurice believed his mother no longer wanted him.45 Then when she vacillated and turned on Lucie, she merely pushed Maurice (who hated confrontation) into the safe arms of the woman who just moments ago, she had praised to the skies. Leaving with this formidable, elegant and great lady who was offering him care and security was the most attractive option available.
Once the decision was made, Suzanne wanted the whole business resolved immediately. She complained to Lucie that Maurice had become complacent and rude towards her since their engagement, and that Lucie might as well take her prize and leave that instant. ‘Long live liberty!’ Lucie remembered her fiancé proclaiming as he followed her outside to a waiting car.46 Passers-by said the departure was made so hastily that Maurice was still wearing his slippers.47
Between the couple’s departure and their wedding, Lucie faced a ponderous task. She had already issued Maurice with a warning that his tendency towards excess must be addressed if their marriage were to be a happy one.48 She urged him to call on his faith for support. But Maurice’s alcoholism was a deep-rooted problem. Lucie realised that there were more immediate concerns to attend to.
For one thing, Maurice looked positively bedraggled. His clothes needed mending – or better still, replacing. Lucie also insisted on a church wedding, and that, she said, provided the motivation for Maurice to make his first Communion, since Lucie was given to understand that up until then, he had only been baptised.49 He had to present his military card to get married, and in the confusion at the Avenue Junot, it could not be located. (Anyway, Suzanne informed Lucie, when one owned a Panhard, a military card was unnecessary.) Fortunately, Maurice’s photographic memory and gift with numbers came to the fore; to Lucie’s delight, her husband-to-be could remember every detail on the card, including the all-important reference number. A replacement was quickly issued.50
The couple travelled to Angoulême, intending to return to Paris for their civil wedding ceremony in the middle of April.
As soon as news of the forthcoming marriage broke, it became the celebrity scoop of the moment. Lucie basked in her new-found fame, and Maurice’s profile soared. When the couple travelled to Chartres Cathedral shortly before their wedding to pray for marital harmony, a fleet of reporters followed them. René Barotte, who was writing a sensational article for the front page of Paris-Soir, was impressed when Maurice suggested to his fiancée that they light a candle in memory of her first husband. Lucie seized the opportunity of press attention to confide in Barotte, and insisted that she and Maurice had loved each other for a long time. When the appearance was over, a car drove the couple back to Paris. Maurice dozed, stirring only every now and then to mumble a demand for wine. Every time, Lucie gently calmed him and steered conversation on to another topic. Barotte claimed that Maurice returned that evening to spend the night with Suzanne.51
At least one falsehood could finally be dispelled after the trip: Barotte had watched in awe as Maurice sat down and sketched a magnificent landscape before his eyes, proof that his work was not executed by copyists as many people believed. But for the awkward alcoholic to marry such a formidable dame de lettres as Lucie Pauwels – could it really be true? Barotte was sceptical. ‘I will believe it when I see it,’ he concluded.52
He did not have long to wait. One bright spring morning less than a week after Barotte’s article appeared in Paris-Soir, Maurice and Lucie were married at the mairie of the 16th arrondissement under the watchful eye of the public. Jean Bloch, an old school acquaintance of Maurice’s from the Collège Rollin, performed the ceremony.53 The crowd of admirers was not as large as Lucie had anticipated, but people distinctly remembered Suzanne and Utter being present among the attendees.54
The following month, Suzanne exhibited The Casting of the Nets (1914) at the Salon de la Société des Femmes Artistes Modernes. The Petit Parisien praised the original draughtsmanship and constructional skills of an artist the journalist considered to be an excellent femme peintre, ‘one of the foremost of our time’.55 And that same month, Maurice and Lucie Utrillo posed on the steps of the church of Saint-Ausone in Angoulême for an official photograph as husband and wife.
The occasion was just the show of pomp and circumstance Lucie had hoped for. There were flowers, fine tapestries, organ music and even the Bishop of Angoulême, Mgr Mégnin, whose services were enlisted to bless the couple. Maurice wore a smart suit and hat, while Lucie made her grand appearance in a dark, figure-hugging dress and matching hat perched on top of her brunette coiffure, with long white gloves and an enormous corsage pinned to her bosom.56 In one hand she gripped a chic clutch bag, while her other arm was wrapped possessively around her new husband. The couple were flanked by the Préfet de la Charente (ironically, given his authoritative status and the bridegroom’s continued delinquency, Maurice’s witness), the sculptor Pajot (who acted as Lucie’s), the priest Mgr Gabriel Palmer and Lucie’s elderly mother.
Suzanne did not attend the religious ceremony. ‘I never believed that he could leave me,’ she said, falteringly, when friends called at the unnaturally quiet house to check on her.57 Suzanne had lived for Maurice and for her painting. ‘The umbilical cord between mother and son had never been cut,’ Lucie agreed, continuing proudly, ‘and I was the one destiny chose to sever this magnificent tie.’58
Suzanne had lost the person most dear to her. The question was: how long could she live sustained by art alone?
CHAPTER 18
Flickering Shades
Tou ce que chàbo ne duro pà.
(Things with an ending do not last.)
OLD LIMOUSIN PROVERB1
Early in June 1935, Mme Lucie Utrillo was at home at ‘La Doulce France’ when she received a letter.
‘Madame,’ it began:
Suzanne Valadon still suffering and having been obliged to have her gravely sick dog operated on, she has been unable to acknowledge receipt of the canvas which was sent to her until now.
As stated in her previous letter, she asks that you refrain from sending further canvases, because they will be returned to you.
She wishes only to be kept informed of any change of address should you move.
She hopes you are both in good health and sends you her regards.
Mme S Valadon2
Having settled her husband into his new living quarters, Lucie had been eager to dissolve the lingering ill-feeling between her and her mother-in-law, so had sent one of Maurice’s pictures as a peace offering. Suzanne had dictated her reply to a friend. The frosty rebuff in the third person could leave Lucie in no doubt as to the reception her gesture had been given. Fortunately for family equanimity, as Paul Pétridès observed, Lucie was of that curious breed ‘who are oblivious to what other people truly think of them’.3 She dismissed the rejection and began planning her next move.
It had been decided that M. and Mme Utrillo would make their home at La Doulce France. From there, Lucie could organise the sale of her apartment and take time to look for a more suitable home, somewhere closer to the commercial hub of the capital, yet sufficiently far from the temptation of Montmartre’s cabarets. The new Mme Utrillo prided herself that in all things but proximity to Paris, her property in Angoulême provided the perfect environment for a great artist.
Situated on the edge of the Charente River, La Doulce France was an imposing exercise in studied bourgeois elegance.4 The surrounding landscape comprised cattle-studded pastures, while the house itself was agreeable and decorated with an eye to first impressions. A fine collection of original paintings adorned the walls, while the house and garden were neat and maintained in regimented order. As a result, the outward appearance was perfectly in keeping with the image L
ucie wished to project and the lifestyle to which she had grown accustomed. It was an empty vestige; in reality, besides a car and a little savings, La Doulce France was all that remained of the comfortable existence Lucie had enjoyed with her first husband.5 Robert Pauwels’s business dealings latterly had been far from lucrative, and nowadays Lucie’s only luxuries were her treasured Pekinese dogs and her collection of hats.6 She entertained no illusions: she urgently needed to review her assets and lay foundations which would safeguard her future.
While her methods and manner could be faulted, Lucie’s understanding of Maurice’s needs was unimpeachable.7 As soon as they were married, she assumed the roles of matron, mother and manager, and excelled at all three.
Lucie saw that order, routine and calm were the conditions necessary to her great artist’s production, and she made every effort to ensure that such an environment was maintained. A quiet studio was set up for Maurice, and henceforward his day was structured around a strict timetable; he could be in no doubt as to what he was expected to be doing and when. Social engagements, such as meetings with dealers, were occasional. But one unmovable commitment was Mass on Sunday, which nothing was allowed to interrupt.
If Lucie had to go out, she left a responsible adult in charge. She accepted that sobriety was a wishful – even detrimental – aspiration. But from now on, Maurice’s wine was served watered and free access to alcohol denied. Moderation in all things, Lucie stipulated, was imperative.
With her charge corralled, Lucie could turn her attention to her managerial duties. She had only ever played a supporting role in her first husband’s affairs, but now she was called on to become the leading lady in a glamorous new business venture.8 Lucie performed her part as though she were born to it. She proved herself a shrewd and efficient businessperson, at least as effective as André Utter, and in many respects, more so.
Renoir's Dancer Page 33