City of Light, Angel of Darkness

The day after their wedding, Paul and Léonie Barry set out on their Honeymoon voyage to Paris, not to return to the USA. For Paul, it was the adventure he’d been anticipating for half his life and for Léonie the return she’d been longing for since her family had immigrated and settled in Manhattan three years earlier.

Paul had insisted that they only take two suitcases each, because they could buy everything they needed for their new life when they arrived. Léonie didn’t have any difficulty putting everything she owned in two valises, with the exception of her artist’s material, which she left behind. Paul had bought a small portable watercolor set they both could use if they wanted to paint something on the way.

They set sail in a first class stateroom (paid for by Paul’s father) on the luxury ocean liner Deutschland on Thursday, June 4^th, 1903, at 10 am. It was the fastest four-stacker in the world and had won the Blue Ribband award for record speed on its transatlantic crossings. At 22 knots cruising speed, she would arrive in Cherbourg, France in only 5 and a half days.

William M. Chase and Robert Henri came to the dock to see off their two students, and Gustave and Yolande Bellamy were also there with all of Léonie’s younger brothers and sisters to bid them farewell, Maman in tears and Papa holding his back, both sad about the parting and at the same time overjoyed that their 21-year-old daughter was returning to their beloved homeland. They knew she was homesick and hadn’t been happy in New York, with the exception of her scholarship at the Chase school and meeting Paul there. Imploring the sky and folding his hands in prayer, Gustave whispered a prayer for his daughter, crossing himself as he finished with “Amen”. There were last kisses and hugs all around between the Bellamy family before the “All on board!” sounded out from the ocean liner’s loudspeakers.

Robert Henri gave some last advice and a few names and addresses in Paris to Paul to help them get settled and meet some of the famous artists. Chase and Henri had already given diplomas and letters of reference to both the young artists.

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart William, for your generosity in granting me a scholarship, and for bringing us together. I can’t express how grateful I am. Your guidance and support has been wonderful, and the time we spent with you will always be some of my best memories.” Léonie said with a smile, her eyes wetting with emotion.

Paul added his words of gratitude, “Indeed, William, we owe you so much. You too Robert, you’ve taught us so much more than painting. You’ve both taught us to appreciate music and the beautiful things in this world. We look up to you and hope to become masters in your footsteps.”

The crossing went without any major difficulties. The prodigious power of the Deutschland’s engines caused vibrations and some of the passengers complained, but this didn’t bother the newlyweds in the slightest. The first class dining room had an enormous skylight, called by some the world’s most beautiful, above the dining salon, music room, and grand staircase. There were parties, dancing, and galas every night, much to their delight. It was a perfect departure for a new and exciting life in the City of Lights. 

After landing in Normandy, they boarded the train to Paris, Gare Saint-Lazare, which took another 7 hours, and checked into the Terminus Hotel next to the station. They got a good nights’ sleep but were both too excited to waste a minute of their first day together in Paris. Léonie had so many places and things that she wanted to show Paul they hardly knew where to start. The Subway in New York had not yet been built, but there were already two Métropolitain lines in Paris, and the line 2 ran straight to the Bellamy’s old neighborhood. Leaving their things in the hotel, they walked from Saint-Lazare to the nearest Métropolitain station, Rome, and got off 10 stations to the west at Belleville. It was a beautiful day, and Léonie was thrilled to show him all around, stopping frequently to chat with old friends of the family. They visited her grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. She related news of her parents and told everyone that they were looking to rent a large studio where they could live and work. They picnicked and had a rest at the Parc des Buttes Chaumont before continuing their tour of the area. Paul didn’t regret the two years that had spent taking French lessons from Léonie, end even less the choice that he’d made to marry her. They were a perfect couple. The Parisians he met knew straight away that he was an American from his accent, and in fact this was an advantage. The stereotype of the rich American played in his favor, and in his case it was true. Léonie, for her part, felt that she had won it all. She was back home and comfortable in every way. If she’d returned to France on her own without having wed Paul, perhaps she’d have sailed 3^rd class and had to struggle to find work when she arrived, staying in a cheap boarding house or with friends. As it was, they could afford a nice big studio where they could paint all day without having to worry about where the next meal was coming from.

Paul opened an account at the American Express, and within a week they found a studio in the Cité Leroy, just off of the Rue des Pyrénées and near the Rue de Ménilmontant. In the days and weeks that followed, Léonie took Paul all over Paris visiting the museums, galleries, and attractions, and their love grew more and more each day as they settled into their new life together. They couldn’t have conceived a more beautiful scenario.

The first Tour de France bicycle race started on July 1^st, but the two lovers were too occupied to care about it. Paul did Léonie’s portrait, much in the style of Robert Henri’s portrait of Leora Dryer, except that she was sitting, wearing the first dress he had bought for her in Manhattan, and for once he was really satisfied with his work. The love that had grown between them made all the difference, and the canvas was charged with emotion. It was by far the best work of art he had ever produced.

Then there was Bastille Day, with fireworks at the Champ de Mars lighting up the Eiffel Tower and “Vive le 14 juillet!” sounding out everywhere in the streets. Paul bought Champagne and Black Current liqueur and Léonie showed him how to make Kir Royale.

One of the places they frequented when they weren’t busy in their studio was the Place du Tertre, near the The Basilica of Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre, where many painters worked and met. Robert Henri had given them the address of Raoul Dufy’s studio, at 12 rue Cortot, near the place du Tertre. He was an impressionist artist that Robert had met when he was at the École Beaux-Arts in Paris. Raoul had just exhibited his work at the Salon des Artistes Indépendants in Paris earlier that year, and his work had also been at the Exhibition of French Artists in 1901. Paul and Léonie had a long visit with him on August 10th, admiring his work and noting the resemblance to Henri’s “Snow in New York” that they had seen at his vernissage at the Macbeth Gallery in Manhattan the year before. Among many scenes of both rural and city life, there was a watercolor of the Gare Saint-Lazare that Paul particularly liked, having come into the City of Lights there. He offered to buy it, but the offer was left hanging.

After spending the day with Raoul, they started back home early in the evening, catching the Métropolitain at the station Anvers on the line 2. Just after boarding, the train started smoking on the climb towards the next station, Barbès. Everyone had to get off the train while the mechanics tried to fix the problem. They all got back on board, but the problem just got worse. Once again, they all had to get off at the next station. Finally, they were on a packed train at Coronnes, one station before their stop at Ménilmontant, when, for some reason, the smoking train pulled into the station ablaze. With heavy black smoke billowing out into the underground station, there was a general panic and many of the passengers couldn’t find their way out. Léonie wasn’t as strong as Paul and already had some respiratory problems. He carried her as she gasped for air, but the day was fateful, and as she was succumbing in his arms he pleaded to her, “Please don’t leave me alone my love, I couldn’t bear it.” And then imploring the sky, “Please Lord, don’t take her from me!’ With her last breaths she whispered, “Carry on Paul, if I don’t live, you have to live for me. You mustn’t let yourself fall into despair.” Eighty-three other passengers were taken by the Angel of Darkness that evening.

In a state of shock, Paul nonetheless kept his wits, sent a cable to Mr. Bellamy in New York, and went to see Léonie’s family in Paris to inform them of her passing. At the request of her relatives in Paris, he arranged and paid for her funeral. She was buried in the Père-Lachaise cemetery, not far from their studio. He managed to get a grave plot not far from the tomb of Gustave Caillebotte, a painter who supported the impressionists, and who had been buried there less than a decade before. He stayed for a long time at her grave, politely refusing the offers of Léonie’s uncles and aunts to come to dine with them, being void of all appetite, for food, drink, or company.

Back in their studio, seeing her portrait made the loss even harder. Paul had never been a very religious man, but until now, he had always believed in a benevolent God. Now he was overcome with doubt. “If God exists, why did he take Léonie away from me? What did I ever do to deserve this? I’ve been a good man, I’ve never done anyone any real harm, not intentionally anyway.” The questions continued to batter his brain as he left the studio, roaming the streets aimlessly. He stumbled upon a bar and entered, went to a secluded table in a dark corner, and drank as he had never drunk before, trying to drown his sorrow. All the memories of the times spent with Léonie flooded his mind, from the first time he saw her at the Chase school almost 2 years ago until her last day just a few days earlier; meeting her parents for he first time, his French lessons with her, their first Opera together with Mr. Chase and the front row seats at the Carnegie Hall concert with Mr. Henri and the vernissage for his first one-man exhibition at the Macbeth Gallery, all the painting classes with both of their teachers, their summer together a year ago at Chase’s Shinnecock Summer School of Art, all the times they had lain in bed tempted but remaining virtuous, their first discussion about marriage on Labor Day morning, not yet a year ago, when he had said that he would never get married “Was it a mistake? She would still be alive had they not married and come to Paris together!”, their wedding and their first amazing night of ecstasy when they were finally able to unleash all of their passion without restraint, the Atlantic crossing, all of the days spent visiting Paris and just being together in their studio…and of course, her portrait. “What should I do with it? I don’t think I can bear seeing it all the time. I can’t even stay in that studio, it was ours, it will never be just mine. What in the Sam Hill am I going to do without her? She told me to carry on, but how can I?”

He was sobbing, head on his folded arms on the bar table, when he felt someone touch him gently on the shoulder. “Are you alright?” came a soft voice. He looked up to see a waitress, a pretty young brunette of about 19, with a look of worry in her eyes.

“She’s gone. The smoke took her away at Corrones.”

“Your wife?”

“Yes, and my life.”

“I’m sorry. My condolences. I’m alone in this world too. My whole family died 12 years ago from la grippe. I was just 7. It was really hard for me. I was in an orphanage until last year.”

The bar was empty except for the bartender and the two of them, it was after midnight and Paul was the last customer. The waitress continued, almost at a whisper “We’re closing, you’ll have to go now.”

“But I can’t go home. It was our home and her presence is everywhere. It’s just too much to bear.”

“You’re American, n’est-ce pas? Perhaps you can go to a hotel?’

“Yes, I’m American. I don’t have my papers on me, and not much cash. I wasn’t thinking and left them at the studio, so I can’t go to a hotel.”

Comment tu t’appels ? Je m’appelle Aimée, ” She smiled timidly.

“Paul. Pleased to meet you Aimée. You seem to be a nice girl.”

“You seem to be a nice man too, and I feel sorry for you. Do you want to sleep in my room? It’s just a maid’s room, that’s all I can afford, but you’re welcome to spend the night if you wish.”

“That sounds better than spending the night on the street. Thank you Aimée, it’s very kind of you.”

“Wait for me outside until I come out.”

The cool summer night air helped to clear Paul’s head a little as he waited patiently on the sidewalk. They caught a fiacre to her building on the Rue Saint-Louis-au-Marais, and he noticed her perfume for the first time. Chèvrefeuille (honeysuckle). When they arrived, Paul paid the driver, and they climbed the back stairs up to the 7^th floor, where her maid’s room was, just under the slanted mansard roof. She lit the gas light, and bid him to enter. “You can sleep on my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” It was extremely small; one window, just enough room for a single bed against one wall, a nightstand, a cupboard on the other wall, and a small sink. There was a framed watercolor on the wall above the bed with the Eiffel Tower, one of the kind that the tourists bought for a souvenir. The toilet was on the landing, a shared one, Turkish style (a hole in the floor). “You can sleep on my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” Aimée offered.

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

“You’re my guest, I can’t have you sleeping on the floor.”

“If you’re not against it, we can both sleep on your bed. I promise I won’t do anything.” Paul was sincere.

“I was going to suggest the same thing, but it didn’t seem appropriate.”

“It’s settled then. I’ll look away while you change into your nightgown.”

Paul took off his jacket, shirt, tie, and trousers to sleep in his undergarments, and moved as close to the wall as he could. She turned out the light, and when she climbed in bed they still had to get close to fit on it. The warmth of their bodies kept both of them from sleeping. Aimée turned to face him and whispered softly “I’d like to help you ease your sorrow Paul.” She kissed his forehead tenderly, and they both moved to enlace each other. Paul let himself go and cried in her arms, and they both fell into a deep sleep. A few hours later Paul woke screaming Léonie’s name. Aimée comforted him until slumber returned.

With the morning light, Paul felt ready to face the world again. “Thank you so much Aimée. Do you work every night?”

“Six nights. I have Sunday off.”

“What time do you start work?’

“Not until six in the evening, until closing. On Saturdays that’s almost at daybreak.”

“So you’re free now?”

“Yes, I had planned a few things but nothing important.”

“I have to find a new place to live. And I’m hungry. Will you come with me? We can have breakfast together.”

Aglow with a beamy smile, she nodded her agreement.