Memoirs of a Courtesan in Nineteenth-Century Paris by Celeste Mogador Page A
Authors: Celeste Mogador
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is always the one,’ said the singer.
Rose untied a little package and threw her a checked cotton scarf.
. ,
I had arrived at night. Someone came to get me for questioning.
‘‘Farewell,’ said the beggar. ‘‘You might not come back if your mother is there.’
I was led down some stairs, and at the bottom I recognized the door through which I came in and the lobby where I had waited.
There were two municipal guards and three women. I was placed next to them.
‘ You are going to be in charge of six,’ said the guard.
I approached a guard and asked him, ‘‘Where are you taking me?’’
He laughed and did not answer.
Thérèse
I asked one of the three women.
‘ To see the doctor,’ she bluntly answered.
I looked at this woman and her two companions. One had tousled gray hair sticking out from under a kerchief; she was taking tobacco and smelled of brandy. The other, who was saying she would rather be at the school gate than here, wore a red and green dress and a bonnet covered with flowers. The one who answered me must have been about thirty years old. Her attire was decent and elegant.
Just then the guard entered and two other women were following him. I recognized Thérèse. I was about to go toward her when I saw her look the other way. I understood that I should not speak to her. I waited.
We lined up, one guard in front, another behind, and we were led outside.
The entrance was full of people, men and women. They were probably waiting for those they knew to come out.
The thought of walking through this courtyard with municipal guards, like criminals, of hearing these women insulted, hearing myself insulted, made me want to die of shame, so I hid my face in my hands, a gesture that drew gibes.
‘ Oh, that one is ugly. She is hiding her face.’
We had walked across the courtyard and were at Rue Jérusalem. A group of women accompanied by municipal guards were coming out of an alley and we waited for them to come out before we entered. We were led up two flights of stairs and were brought into a room where there were again more women. It had four walls with benches all around and a window that looked out on a dark courtyard. Thérèse came over and sat next to me. She advised me, ‘ Tell M. Régnier what I told you and he will send you to your mother’s.’
I watched this blend of pain and joy, tears and cheer. Some came in laughing.
‘ I am acquitted.’
‘‘I am leaving tonight.’
They took messages from the others who came back crying.
‘‘I shall be transferred tomorrow. I got two months.’
I saw another one, pale, beaten down, who was telling one of her friends, ‘‘I am sick. I am going to the hospital.’
Some poor wretches would gaze at all of this without emotion, remorse, or pity.
Bursts of laughter would respond to complaints, curses, and such
Thérèse
cynical words that the guard threatened those who uttered them with solitary confinement if they continued.
Two of these women were drunk and did not seem to want to stop.
Thérèse was called. Then the door opened again without my noticing it. My name was called. Thérèse was brought back in and someone said,
‘ The little one first.’
I ran toward the door.
‘‘Whoa! My pretty, not so fast,’ said one of the guards.
We were in an office that served as an anteroom.
Someone rang from the next door, and I was led into a room where there were a lot of cardboard boxes and a large desk. A man was seated behind it. Without looking up, he told me, ‘‘Well, come nearer!’’
Twice he asked my name without my being able to answer. He decided to look at me and, probably noticing that I was in no state to speak, he said more gently, ‘ Calm down. . . . You were arrested yesterday with a bad woman who was giving you shelter so she could corrupt you. What did she advise you to do?
Rose untied a little package and threw her a checked cotton scarf.
. ,
I had arrived at night. Someone came to get me for questioning.
‘‘Farewell,’ said the beggar. ‘‘You might not come back if your mother is there.’
I was led down some stairs, and at the bottom I recognized the door through which I came in and the lobby where I had waited.
There were two municipal guards and three women. I was placed next to them.
‘ You are going to be in charge of six,’ said the guard.
I approached a guard and asked him, ‘‘Where are you taking me?’’
He laughed and did not answer.
Thérèse
I asked one of the three women.
‘ To see the doctor,’ she bluntly answered.
I looked at this woman and her two companions. One had tousled gray hair sticking out from under a kerchief; she was taking tobacco and smelled of brandy. The other, who was saying she would rather be at the school gate than here, wore a red and green dress and a bonnet covered with flowers. The one who answered me must have been about thirty years old. Her attire was decent and elegant.
Just then the guard entered and two other women were following him. I recognized Thérèse. I was about to go toward her when I saw her look the other way. I understood that I should not speak to her. I waited.
We lined up, one guard in front, another behind, and we were led outside.
The entrance was full of people, men and women. They were probably waiting for those they knew to come out.
The thought of walking through this courtyard with municipal guards, like criminals, of hearing these women insulted, hearing myself insulted, made me want to die of shame, so I hid my face in my hands, a gesture that drew gibes.
‘ Oh, that one is ugly. She is hiding her face.’
We had walked across the courtyard and were at Rue Jérusalem. A group of women accompanied by municipal guards were coming out of an alley and we waited for them to come out before we entered. We were led up two flights of stairs and were brought into a room where there were again more women. It had four walls with benches all around and a window that looked out on a dark courtyard. Thérèse came over and sat next to me. She advised me, ‘ Tell M. Régnier what I told you and he will send you to your mother’s.’
I watched this blend of pain and joy, tears and cheer. Some came in laughing.
‘ I am acquitted.’
‘‘I am leaving tonight.’
They took messages from the others who came back crying.
‘‘I shall be transferred tomorrow. I got two months.’
I saw another one, pale, beaten down, who was telling one of her friends, ‘‘I am sick. I am going to the hospital.’
Some poor wretches would gaze at all of this without emotion, remorse, or pity.
Bursts of laughter would respond to complaints, curses, and such
Thérèse
cynical words that the guard threatened those who uttered them with solitary confinement if they continued.
Two of these women were drunk and did not seem to want to stop.
Thérèse was called. Then the door opened again without my noticing it. My name was called. Thérèse was brought back in and someone said,
‘ The little one first.’
I ran toward the door.
‘‘Whoa! My pretty, not so fast,’ said one of the guards.
We were in an office that served as an anteroom.
Someone rang from the next door, and I was led into a room where there were a lot of cardboard boxes and a large desk. A man was seated behind it. Without looking up, he told me, ‘‘Well, come nearer!’’
Twice he asked my name without my being able to answer. He decided to look at me and, probably noticing that I was in no state to speak, he said more gently, ‘ Calm down. . . . You were arrested yesterday with a bad woman who was giving you shelter so she could corrupt you. What did she advise you to do?
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