Céleste busied herself at the chateau as her life changed from party girl and courtesan to almost being a squire’s wife. She gave it her own twist by setting up an embroidering frame at which she worked most days. She also did good works in her unofficial role, giving away gifts of her handiwork, sweets and luxuries such as sugar to poor local children. When the hunting season began she accommodated Lionel’s wish to entertain many guests at the castle. Despite her industry as embroiderer and hostess, she had plenty of time for relaxation and developed a passion for reading. The Chabrillan library was extensive, with all the modern classics. Céleste became immersed in the complete works of George Sand, especially because this woman had been the lover who jilted Alfred de Musset.
It was an inspiration if not an epiphany.
Céleste already had a store of life stories that could match that of any writer. As the months rolled by, reading became the mainstay of her rural existence, which had begun to bore her. Lionel was in his element, still living well beyond his means. Her boredom and his delusional lifestyle began to irritate her. She started to question the way he was throwing away money on hunting and all its extra expenses, particularly the free-loading guests, who consumed his wine and devoured his food night and day when they weren’t chasing wild boar and deer. This turned into a nag. They began to argue.
For a time Céleste avoided being alone by joining the hunting, which occurred three times a week. She was up there with the best of the male riders, but after a while the physical strain became too much and the effort affected her health. She and Lionel were becoming estranged, as Céleste spent most of the days and evenings alone in a large, draughty living room. She finally was her direct self.
‘I’m bored,’ she told him. ‘Couldn’t you be with me more often? I don’t like country life; I’m used to the bustle of Paris.’
‘Why do you stay, then? Am I keeping you against your will?’
‘I’m here because I love you a lot. I agree to stay because the time you spend here is supposed to save you money. But hunting incurs tremendous losses.’
‘I will go on hunting as long as I wish! If you’re bothered by this you’re free to go. As for admonitions, I don’t tolerate them from anyone!’
It was the first time he had spoken to her with vehemence. It hurt Céleste, who had his best interests at heart. But this had been the most defiant rejection of her solid advice yet. He followed her up to her bedroom and was astonished to see her begin packing her trunks. He wanted to know why she was leaving. She replied that he was effectively throwing her out for the good and accurate advice she had given him.
‘I’m telling you again,’ she said. ‘This way of life is ruining you. You won’t be able to continue without adjusting another fortune with yours.’
He stood there frowning and mute, like a spoilt boy who refused to face facts.
‘That means you’ll have to marry,’ Céleste went on. ‘Then you’ll send me away.’
‘Your nerves are distraught,’ Lionel said, veering away from the point.
‘I don’t like the country!’ Céleste repeated more forcefully. ‘It’s a grave where my vivaciousness is being buried. What interest could I possibly take in what’s around me?’
‘I do nothing to hurt you!’
‘Yes, but what does it mean to me that the poplars are growing and earn twenty sous a year?’
This angered Lionel.
‘I let you sleep in my mother’s bedroom! You, Céleste, who just a while ago went pale when looking at her own past in the mirror.’
She ignored this comment, which was not the first I-dragged-you-out-of-the-gutter barb from him.
‘My interest is in dancing and the theatre,’ she said. ‘I want to leave.’
Lionel divulged that his family was alarmed that Céleste was living with him.
‘Not a day goes by that I don’t receive a letter asking me to send you away,’ he added, going red. He paused, caught his breath and said, less aggressively, ‘You’re my weakness. If I have regrets, I forget them when I’m kissing you.’
She felt conflicted.
‘Please don’t leave me!’ he implored her. ‘No one loves you more than I do.’
She hesitated.
‘I’m going to Paris in a few days. Wait and go with me.’
‘Alright,’ she said, without enthusiasm.
In the few days she waited, her maid, Maria, was found to be courting one of Lionel’s butlers.
‘You must fire her,’ Lionel insisted. ‘She led him on. He’s a simple soul.’
‘It takes two to dance the polka.’
‘Fire her! It’s bad form to have staff carrying on like that.’
Marie was given her marching orders. It hurt Céleste. The woman had been loyal for several years. Now she was being banished for an affair, which made Céleste feel guilty about the double standard.
She remarked mournfully in her memoirs, ‘My life was becoming a voluntary restraint.’
On the way back to Paris, Lionel admitted he was using the opportunity to take Céleste away from his estate to pretend to his family that he was leaving her. The pressures, he explained, were intense and he had to ‘go out in society’ as his family wished. He was taking their relationship underground; he would rent his own apartment and see her once a week. He said he would give her money on each visit.
Céleste accepted this haughtily. She hated this sudden relegation of her relationship with Lionel to that of a courtesan, but she agreed to it for the time being. She reflected that he had declared his ongoing love and at least she would see him regularly. She decided that she would go to a Saturday-night ball at the Jardin d’Hiver, a glitzy place on the Champs-Élysées.
He stayed with her during their first days back in Paris. On the night of the ball he watched her dress.
‘There’s something missing from your attire,’ he said, handing her a box containing a magnificent diamond cross. Céleste took it but with no joy. She believed it was a goodbye gift, a thought supported by his next remark.
‘Keep a place for me in your heart once you’re spinning in your pleasure circle.’
He drove her to the home of Victorine, a friend who was accompanying her to the ball. All Céleste could think of was picking up an admirer handsome enough to make Lionel jealous.
As usual she had no trouble.
One young man asked permission to call on her the next day at 4 p.m. He sent ahead a big bouquet of flowers with a note. Céleste left them on the table and Lionel saw them when he came over just before 4 p.m. He read the card.
‘This gentleman is the son of a stockbroker,’ he commented. ‘He’s very nice, but they say he’s dumb. Not your type.’
The doorbell rang at the expected time. Lionel took the bouquet, opened the window that looked down into the street and dropped it right on the head of the caller. The embarrassed young man turned, went back to his carriage, rubbing the top of his head, and was driven off without looking back.
Céleste was pleased. It suggested that Lionel was jealous and still loved her. But the next night he took off for a ball of his own, and from midnight onwards Céleste suffered at the sound of every carriage clip-clopping by.
When he was out the next day, she found the key to his desk, opened it and found letters from his mother.
Are you finally done with this woman? I hope you are not seeing her anymore. Think of your future. Mademoiselle de Brillard wishes nothing more than to marry you. But she wants to make absolutely sure that you no longer have unfortunate liaisons.
Céleste also found an unfinished letter from Lionel addressed to an uncle of the woman in question.
In asking for the hand of Mademoiselle de Brillard, I know what I am committing myself to and I am too forthright a man not to fulfil my duty. As for Mogador, it is possible that I was seen speaking to her in the street. The poor girl has not done me any harm, and I don’t know why I would pass by her without looking at her.
Dear friend, you know what my life as a bachelor is like. One must find distractions. I found this one. What do you want me to do? One does not drown the girls one has lived with. As soon as I am married I shall leave with my wife. Do what you can to get Mademoiselle de Brillard to decide.
Céleste cried. She placed the letters back in the desk and locked it. Later she could not resist taunting Lionel with the letters’ contents. He turned pale.
‘I’m yielding to the wishes of my relatives about Mademoiselle de Brillard,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Why trouble you with something that has no hope of working anyway?’
‘I don’t believe you!’ Then she asked, ‘What did you mean when you wrote “if only one could drown the girls one has lived with, things would be easier”?’
‘I didn’t say that. How dare you read my personal mail!’
‘All’s fair in love and war.’
‘Letters not addressed to you are sacred.’
‘Don’t deny your real emotions and talk such rubbish.’
‘We should never see each other again,’ he said. ‘I’ll settle 20,000 francs on you and return the furniture you bought for the castle.’
The next day he sent the few items she had at his apartment with a cold note repeating his final pledges. Céleste cried continuously in an emotional outpouring over this apparent end of the affair, although deep in her heart she did not believe it was over.
Both liked histrionics. Céleste was more determined and better at it.