by Roland Perry
‘No, no,’ an amazed Peragallo said. ‘The money is yours until you receive royalties for the play.’
He had never had an author offer to repay the society before the play generated royalty income. Peragallo asked what her plans were, given the manoeuvring by the Chabrillans.
‘I have no choice,’ she replied. ‘I will go into theatrical management and produce my own work.’
Peragallo smiled. ‘You, Countess, are capable of anything,’ he said, ‘except dishonesty.’
CHAPTER 46
Author–Actor–Producer
Céleste went in search of a theatre and found the rundown, abandoned Folies-Marigny in the Avenue Gabriel off the Champs-Élysées. It had been made famous for staging operettas from 1855 to 1858. The great mime Deburau had then leased it for his shows from late 1858 to 1861. Céleste took over the lease for 9000 francs a year, with a quarter of that paid in advance. She went straight to work on repairs and decorations with a verve born of someone who believed she was always destined for the theatre world.
Her passion forced her to take one of the big gambles of her risk-prone, hard-working career. She sold her house at Poinçonnet, paid off the mortgages and other debts, and used the remaining 14,000 francs to renovate the theatre and set up her first production. Being a woman precluded her from going into theatrical management. She assigned a proxy, ex-journalist Monsieur Alain, who was rejected by the Minister for Arts, and judged by some friends she spoke to as an unworthy character. Undaunted, Céleste met with Prince Napoleon, who, like Dumas, had always supported her. He wrote to the minister, who granted the authorisation for Alain, along with a written warning of sorts: ‘I wish you every success and hope that you will have no regrets.’ It indicated that he expected a problem concerning Alain.
Céleste worked long hours in the weeks before the opening night to make it a full house. There was great support from her female friends of the demimonde, the courtesans and actresses with whom she had remained popular. Glamorous women, including the biggest names of the era, such as Adele Page, Augustine Bellinger, Cora Pearl and Anna Deslions, turned up looking their best. They competed with each other for press attention, wearing eye-catching dresses which left little to the imagination, extravagant hairstyles and expensive jewellery with diamonds predominant. They were accompanied by wealthy men, mainly from the elite and Lionel’s class, who, while looking good themselves, were mere escorts or accessories for the women. Céleste had engineered the appearance of these female superstars, knowing it would further upset the Chabrillans, especially as they would also know many of the male invitees.
The now 37-year-old Céleste’s first show, on 19 April 1862, was of three one-act plays. The lead play was a comedy, Bonheur aux Vaincus. The third play was set in Melbourne in 1853 and ended with a satirical song, which would not have had anyone in the audience rushing to make the next boat trip there:
Cursed, Melbourne, I have no regrets leaving you;
Never in my life have I seen a more dreadful country;
The north wind burns you; the mosquitoes are an absolute plague;
And I’ll spare you any mention of all those things that devour your skin;
No, no more travelling in those miserable faraway lands;
Let’s go back to shore, repeating this carefree refrain;
Viva la France! Land of happy days; Land of prosperity;
Land of love.
She was the producer, writer and star and took the name Madame Lionel. She would never have used Mogador, although that would have assured big box-office revenue, for even though Mogador was last at the Hippodrome in 1848, the name was legendary. Céleste had made a new reputation as an author, but not yet in theatre production. She would have loved to have used her name as a countess but did not want to further antagonise the already riled and vengeful Chabrillans, who had their spies everywhere and were already plotting ways to stop her current venture. The compromise of ‘Madame Lionel’ would have infuriated the family but left them no room to manoeuvre legally.
The family had been caught by surprise. The shows were successful and received fair reviews. Céleste moved on. She now sacked her proxy, Monsieur Alain—who was as incompetent as the warnings had suggested—and replaced him with a more reputable former theatre manager.
Around this time her relationship with Alexandre Dumas Jr strengthened. He was the same age as Céleste and making his own way in literature and the theatre. He had begun with a good run of books, twelve up to that point. His father gave him the same advice he’d given to Céleste: write plays, they were more lucrative. He, too, heeded his father’s words and by 1862 had had nine plays produced. He asked Céleste if she could release a leading lady, Céline Chaumont from her contract so that she could perform in one of his productions, L’Ami des Femmes. Because of her friendship with him and his father, she granted the big request.
‘I shall be eternally grateful to you for this,’ Dumas Jr told her.
Seemingly unstoppable despite the Chabrillans’ spoiling tactics, Céleste produced two of her comedies, On Guard and A Compromised Man, followed by a musical comedy, In the Breton Way.
Céleste’s creativity knew no bounds. She was invited to put on a one-act play at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées on 19 July, which she called En Australie (In Australia). In it she demonstrated a lingering negative feeling regarding her experiences Down Under, with the lines: ‘. . . the women are only appreciated when they are as strong as men. They saw wood, split logs, groom horses and do the washing and cooking for relaxation.’
It was condescending and a sharp generalisation, yet in some ways a fair comment about the pioneering life.
Next, she decided to produce operettas, given the earlier success of her theatre, the Foiles-Marignys’, in that field, and hired the conductor/composer Hervé. Hervé had been involved in a scandal in his private life and had recently been prevented from putting on his own shows. He was grateful to be employed by Céleste, who sympathised with his plight, which was not dissimilar to hers. She wrote her own operetta, Militairement, and hired another composer to create the music. This show was her biggest stage hit to date.
The Chabrillans had thwarted her efforts to publish books, but now they were confronted with a far more threatening situation. The theatre gave her more of the limelight, especially more attention in the press. The family had one nefarious line of action left: the press, who favoured her for her name and fame. The marquis bribed several journalists to attack her. Articles ignored the successful theatre productions and went for the man, and woman. The articles Hervé bracketed and Mogador as two of a kind—maverick, amoral and scandalous performers. The sordid elements of her past, right back to her days in the brothel and even prison, were raked over, distorted and full of inaccuracies. The orchestrated nature of the attack was obvious, with the ‘bought’ journalists taking on pseudonymous bylines such as ‘The Spider’, ‘The Scorpion’ and ‘The Mosquito’. The most defamatory article was from Monsieur Alain, her incompetent former front-man, who signed himself as ‘Bete aux Veines’ (bad—or stupid—to the veins).
This avalanche of criticism had an impact on attendances. House numbers fell and debts mounted. Céleste had had times in her life when she had been frugal or extravagant. She had turned Lionel’s affairs around several times and had shown a commendable, sensible fiscal prudence on those occasions. But now she was running a modest-sized operation in a fickle business. It put enormous stress on her to write, act and produce, the last being the most demanding of these jobs. She was responsible for the livelihoods of all those in her productions and she erred on the side of generosity in her terms of employment, fees and conditions.
Her venture almost collapsed and she was in debt for more than 12,000 francs. Her only assets were the scenery and costumes and the lease itself, which she managed to pass on for the amount of the debt. The new lessee also agreed to perform four of her plays a year for the next five years. Her agent said he would agree to
terms with her creditors, which meant she could take her production on a tour of Northern France in the hope of earning some revenue and clawing her way back from this precarious position. But the shows did not break even. When she returned to Paris her agent told her she was likely to be declared bankrupt.
Céleste felt defeated and in despair. The shame for her was too much. In the past, she had always found a way for her and Lionel to avoid such a calamity. She decided for the third time in her life to commit suicide. Again, she was methodical and clinical in her planning. She contacted her former lawyer and lover, Maitre Desmarest, whom she knew had become very rich since their affair. He was married but still infatuated with Céleste.
Desmarest had followed Céleste’s career in print, on the stage and on the Paris rumour grapevine. Consequently, she found it easy to tickle his ego and seduce him again. After just a few days of reviving their intimacy, she told him she was going on a long tour. Would he see his way clear to giving Anne-Victoire a modest monthly allowance, at least until she returned? Smitten again and even more dazzled by her than before, Desmarest agreed.
Céleste had reverted to her old Mogador ways, believing that all her actions in this instance were for the ‘greater good’. Her request was mere cigar money for Desmarest. Céleste had already paid for Solange’s boarding school for the next three years. Satisfied that she had not left anyone destitute, she went home to kill herself. She felt at thirty-eight that she had fought the good fight and now it was time to join her beloved Lionel.
She placed his portrait beside her on the bed and took an overdose of laudanum, an opium and alcohol solution that she used occasionally for pain relief and to help her relax.
The maid found Céleste unconscious and called the doctor. She came round to him forcing her to drink black coffee. Once more she had failed to take her life. The doctor attempted to explain it as being a result of stress and depression. In his experience, patients often mistakenly overdosed on laudanum because of its soothing qualities, which delivered a gently euphoric state.
CHAPTER 47
Working-class Revival
Céleste made a quick recovery and faced the apparently inevitable bankruptcy. One night, after meeting her mother for coffee, she wandered alone past the huge theatre on 94 Rue de Belleville and, reading the billboards, noticed that many of the cast in the current show had worked for her at the Folies-Marigny. She could not resist going in to see them before the show. They were all pleased to see her and introduced her to the theatre manager/director, Monsieur Holacher, who invited her to join them for supper after the show.
‘I’ve read The Gold Thieves,’ he said. ‘It’s a fine read. Loved it! Have you thought of dramatising it?’
Céleste told him of the Dumas script and the situation. ‘I must be honest with you. I’ve been blocked at every turn by the Chabrillans.’
‘I care not for social censorship or power plays by aristocrats,’ Holacher said. ‘I care for art, and your story is strong, intriguing and real. It’s fit for my theatre in this working-class district. It will be a hit.’
‘But the Chabrillans . . .’
‘Don’t worry about them. They can’t intimidate me.’
Holacher asked for Dumas’s script, which the renowned author had turned into a rollicking tale that would have resonance with workers and their wives. Holacher loved the script and saw the potential. He particularly liked that Céleste’s original work had female characters and she’d given them a more or less equal role in the story. Here was an aggressive melodrama that would appeal to both sexes. Inside forty-eight hours he had created a three-way deal between himself, Céleste and Dumas. The next day he began casting and offered Céleste a part, which was a shrewd move. It meant she would have a greater investment in the production and it would be a big marketing draw to attract a sellout audience.
Holacher convinced himself he would have a big hit on his hands. He spared no expense in re-creating an Australian bush setting, complete with campfires and horses and carriages.
The show opened on 24 May 1864 and once more Céleste’s demimondaine friends turned out in force to add some glamour. But this time, the numbers did not need boosting by fashionable mates and acquaintances. Every one of the 1600 seats was taken. People were let in the back of the theatre, swelling the numbers and box office for a record take for Belleville on an opening night.1
Céleste was more nervous than usual. Holacher whispered to her to peek around the curtain at the audience. She felt invigorated by the response, which was hugely appreciative. People reacted to every emotional high and low. At the end of the five acts, there was tremendous applause and cheering.
The crowd called, ‘Author! Author!’
Holacher stepped onto the stage and motioned for Céleste to come forward from the line of actors.
‘Madame the Countess, Lionel de Chabrillan!’ he announced.
The audience roared their approval. They knew her. Many would have read the memoirs, where she had been clear about her roots. Despite, or even because of, her title, they cheered louder. Céleste, Mogador, Madame Lionel, Countess. No matter how she was announced, she was one of them and a heroine. She was mobbed when, laden with bouquets, she left the stage door.
Céleste had never felt a more euphoric and alive moment than she did in the heart of Belleville that night. All the struggle and setbacks now seemed worth it.
Céleste braced herself for the reviews in the press. Would the journalists in the Chabrillans’ pocket repeat their murderous attacks? But the pernicious colour pieces of two years earlier, which had stopped her theatrical enterprise, were not repeated. There was nothing new to exploit about Mogador. Instead, there were surprisingly objective and universally good reviews. They were so strong that the repertory Bellevue Theatre decided it could not change its program, as it usually did, after a week. The Gold Thieves ran for a record five weeks.
This time Céleste took off afterwards on a provincial tour, not to salvage the situation, but to add revenue to the Paris production earnings. Her agent made sure that money kept flowing to her, including royalties, and ten per cent of the net profits, which was not as good as gross, but meant more than an extra trickle for her bank account.
The tour of the provinces was a winner, taking in another 9000 francs for her. Bursting with enthusiasm, she took the play abroad to Holland and Belgium, which added another 14,500 francs to her personal coffers.
Céleste’s fluctuating finances were on the rise again. Having just avoided bankruptcy less than two years earlier, at thirty-nine, she was financially secure for the moment.
As ever, she was generous to Anne-Victoire and straight after her international tour she visited her, where she was living in a modest home in Belleville, to give her some money. Céleste found her in acute distress. Vincent had died. Céleste was sympathetic until she learned that her mother had buried him in the family vault in the cemetery at Pré-Saint-Gervais. Céleste was angered and berated her mother. How could she, her daughter, ever contemplate being put to rest with the man who had frequently attempted to physically abuse her and who had split her from her mother? It was an idea that Céleste believed she would never come to terms with.
CHAPTER 48
Creative Transition; More Battles
Eventually, mother and daughter reconciled their differences and Céleste invited Anne-Victoire and Solange to live at the new property she had built at Le Vésinet, sixteen kilometres and less than a half-hour train ride north of Paris. Knowing the stormy history she had with Céleste, Anne-Victoire accepted but retained her home at Belleville.
Céleste demonstrated mixed emotions and some nostalgia concerning Australia by building the new two-storey home in the style of an outback squatter’s house, complete with shady all-round verandah, tin roof and corrugated water tank. She even went to the trouble of planting some fledgling gum trees in the hope they would one day stand tall in the forest surrounding the homestead. She would have loved to emulate
Napoleon’s Josephine by transporting kangaroos and other fauna from Australia, but decided that the cost was too high. The house’s registered name was ‘Chalet des Fleurs’, but Céleste nicknamed it ‘Chalet Lionel’.
Céleste had created a soothing atmosphere, conducive to her work and an improved mental and physical state, but it was often not a happy household. Anne-Victoire was now sixty-five and very much at odds with everything about Céleste’s lifestyle. The mother wanted her dinner at 5 p.m. and to retire no later than 7 p.m. Céleste would finish work at that hour after being locked away writing and researching for most of the day. She was a young-at-heart forty-year-old who still wanted to throw parties or hold stimulating dinners, often with people specifically chosen because they would argue with each other. This was the writer’s life she loved and it could not have been more contrary to her mother’s sedate lifestyle. Anne-Victoire disapproved of it all, disliked Céleste’s friends and was so out of her depth that she was drowning in her disgruntlement at them and their behaviour.
She reserved most spite for a young, brilliant composer, Georges Bizet, twenty-five, who lived nearby and whom Céleste befriended on her frequent train trips to Paris. Bizet was struggling after a dashing start to his career when, in 1857, he’d won the top music prize at the Paris Conservatoire, the Prix de Rome. After living in Italy for three years, where he’d spent as much time with whores as he did composing, he was living frugally in a hut and settling down to compose lyrical operas. They included La Jolie Fille de Perth, which had been adapted from Sir Walter Scott’s novel The Fair Maid of Perth.
Bizet would use any excuse to call on Céleste. He was besotted with her and she had invited him to play on her fine piano as often as he liked. She always encouraged artists, and despite Anne-Victoire’s complaints about the ‘noise’, he turned up, sometimes with friends, to play his compositions. Céleste had a good ear for music, which had been part of her life’s fabric, and she predicted Bizet would develop into one of France’s great composers. She invited him to her parties where singers and other composers performed, but he was shy and would disappear into the garden when called on to perform. Bizet felt more comfortable with just her company.