Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained

Paradise Lost

After washing their faces in the small sink in her maid’s room, Aimée dressed while Paul Barry waited on the landing. They caught a fiacre and went to his studio, where he changed clothes and picked up his papers while she waited in the fiacre.

Léonie’s portrait was there to greet him and a flood of dolor rushed through his mind and body, making him tremble. He covered it with a cloth thinking “I have to get rid of this, I can’t bear seeing it every day. What should I do with it though? Perhaps send it to her parents? Later though, no time for that now.” Paul told the driver to go to the American Express office at 54 rue des Petites Écuries, where he withdrew enough cash to be able to pay for the rent on a new studio. He was glad that the fiacre didn’t go past the Couronnes Métropolitain station, and already had sworn to himself that he would never descend into one of the stations again, it would be like a descent into hell. He would always travel by fiacre. Even seeing the Métropolitain station signs was enough to revive memories of the fire and smoke and his dying wife.

From the American Express office, they walked until they found a nice looking café restaurant on the Rue de Paradis to have breakfast, “Le Paradis Perdu”. For Paul it was normal, but Aimée had never been in such a nice place before. They ate almost in silence, Paul lost in his thoughts about the fire and Léonie’s last words to him, pleading with him to carry on without her. After seeing his depressed state the night before, Aimée understood and didn’t try to make conversation, just enjoying the fine table that was laid before her. It was Paul who finally broke the silence. “I’ve never slept in such a small room or in a single bed with someone. I need company right now, perhaps you could live with me? I could give you your own room.”

“Thank you for your generosity Paul, and thank you for respecting me last night. You’re a real gentleman, not like the men I’ve met since I started waiting tables. I wouldn’t want to be a burden on you, I’m just a poor girl and I wouldn’t know how to act around high class people. They never taught us anything like that at the Public Assistance.”

“It won’t be any trouble at all Aimée, believe me. I’d like to help you and you can help me just by being near me. We can’t have you working in bars anymore though.” Paul thought of a way to help her save face, “I imagine that they certainly taught you to cook and clean house at the orphanage?”

“Bien sûr. We had to do all of the cleaning and cooking. The wards do all of the work as soon as they’re capable. For 11 years I slaved in that horrible place.”

“You can work for me as my housemaid and cook. I’ll pay you well, and it will be good for both of us. If you agree you can start immediately, you won’t have to return to work tonight. You told me Saturday nights you work all night, so tonight is a good time to stop. Have men ever assaulted you there?”

“Yes, I’ve even been beaten. I got my face all bruised up by a drunk client once. They made me stop work until the bruises went away, and they didn’t even pay me for the time I missed.”

“You see? It’ll be much better for you. So are you ready to start work for me?”

Aimée couldn’t believe her good fortune. She had just been kind to a stranger and God had rewarded her immensely. Once again with a beamy smile, even brighter than when he’d suggested breakfast, she nodded her agreement.

“That’s settled then. I’ll pay you 480 francs a year, that is 10 francs every week, and you’ll have your own room, meals, and Sundays off. How does that sound?”

All she could to was nod and smile, incapable of expressing her contentment with words. She was only paid 4 francs a week at the bar (plus tips, which didn’t amount to much), and her room cost her 2 francs a week.

“We haven’t even had proper introductions; we hardly know anything about each other. My name is Paul Jerome Barry, I’m 23 years old, I’m from Long Island, New York, I’m a painter. My late wife Léonie was an artist too. We studied together, and were just married in June. We came straight to Paris and set up our studio in her old neighborhood, where the fiacre stopped this morning. You already know that she died in the fire at the Couronnes Métropolitain station 5 days ago.” Tears are coming into his eyes. “Tell me about yourself Aimée.”

“My name is Aimée Fay, I’m 18, I’ll be 19 on October 6^th. It will be a year since I left the orphanage. I took the first work I could find and rented my room with an advance on my wages. The owner of the bar arranged it for me. He’s been mostly nice to me, but sometimes he’s mean, especially when he’s been drinking. He won’t be happy that I’m leaving.”

“You don’t even need to tell him. We’ll move you out of your room at the same time that I move my studio. I have to find a new studio today. Let’s go, we have a lot to do.”

Paul left a generous tip and asked the waiter where they could find a real estate agent in the neighborhood. Paul figured that it would be an advantage to be within walking distance of the American Express office. They set out and found the agency, at not 5 minutes’ walk. The agent had many apartments available, and he asked to visit a few. After the visits, Paul settled on a large sunny one on the top floor at 10 Cité Paradis that suited his purpose well. It had a good southern exposure and an elevator, which was not yet a common convenience in Paris. He paid three months’ advance rent and the security deposit. Next he got a nearby mover’s address from the agent. By the end of the day, they had both moved into Paul’s new studio. All of Léonie’s belongings were left packed and put in the storage room, along with her wrapped portrait. He kept all of Léonie’s paintings, but destroyed most of his own, not being satisfied with them.

The next day was Sunday, and Paul reminded Aimée that it was her day off.

“Do you mind if I spend it with you?” She asked timidly, explaining, “I don’t have anywhere to go or anyone else to spend the day with.”

“I’m just going to relax at home today, you’re welcome to stay here if you like, but I forbid you to work.”

He took her to breakfast at “Le Paradis Perdu”, where they would become regular clients.

While they were eating, Paul asked his new housemaid, “Do you know what the restaurant is named after?” She shook her head and he continued, “It’s a famous work of poetry by John Milton, written over 2 centuries ago, in 12 books. It’s the story of Adam and Eve; you know the biblical version, n’est-ce pas?”

Back at the studio Paul wrote three letters: to William Chase, Robert Henri, and his parents, filling them in on Léonie’s passing and giving them his new address. When that was done he decided to paint. He thought that perhaps keeping busy would help him get over his sorrow. Since Aimée was staying all day at the studio, he asked her, “Would you like to be my model? I’ll pay you for it.”

“But you forbade me to work today.”

“So I did, but it’s just sitting, it’s not like you’re cleaning or cooking. I’ll pay you 10 francs.”

“A weeks’ pay for just sitting? You’re not serious, are you?” Aimée couldn’t believe it.

“Absolutely serious, you’re very pretty you know.”

“For that much money, maybe you want me to pose naked?”

Paul laughed, “No, don’t worry, it’s just for a portrait.”

She changed into her best clothes, which were nonetheless very simple; a white cotton shirtwaist with lace sleeves and neckline and a dark grey plaid skirt, and reclined on a velvet divan, her long black hair flowing freely in a cascade over her shoulders and breast. Paul gave her a book to read, Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, and set to work, but after four hours of sitting he wasn’t happy at all with the aspect of the painting, even in it’s rough form. At around 2 pm they took a break over wine, bread, cheese, and fruit. At around 7 pm, dusk fell and Paul didn’t have any sunlight to work by. He stepped back and threw down his palette and brushes in frustration. “It’s no good! It’s hideous! I’ll never be able to paint again! I’m ruined as a painter! What in the Sam Hill am I going to do now! I’ll never be able to match Léonie’s portrait, the only chef-d'oeuvre I’ve ever painted!”

Aimée tried to sooth and reassure him, speaking softly, “I’m sure it’s not so bad, can I have a look?”

Her efforts only aggravated Paul more, “No! No one will ever see this monstrosity!” As he said this, he took a turpentine soaked rag and wiped all of the paint off of the canvas, just as he had two years earlier at his first attempt to paint Léonie. Aimée didn’t even get a glance at it. He put two 5-franc bills on the gueridon beside the divan saying, “Here’s your pay.” then grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the apartment, meaning to leave her there, but she was worried and followed behind him.

“Paul, where are you going? Please, let me come with you.”

He gave in to her pleading eyes, realizing his unintended offence, “Alright, I guess it won’t hurt. I need to get out.” A passage of Milton’s Paradise Lost came into his mind; it was Satan who said, "Only in destroying I find ease to my relentless thoughts.”

They caught a fiacre and he told the driver to go to the Moulin-Rouge. In the fiacre, he apologized, “I’m sorry Aimée, I didn’t mean to be rude. Let’s forget about it, alright? I won’t ask you to pose for me again.”

She knew it was his sorrow that had made him fly into a temper, and so she continued her efforts to solace his troubled mind. They spent the night dancing and drinking champagne, and she felt that she’d been called upon by God to watch over him. When they arrived at Cité Paradis it was early morning. He slept late, but she woke and did her tasks, cleaning and preparing his meals.

In the days and weeks that followed, he never tried to paint, never mentioned the fit he’d thrown, and they went out often. The inevitable came to pass, and Paul’s instinctive sexual desire took hold. He quoted from Milton as he undressed her the first time “What hath night to do with sleep?”, and she gave in to him willingly. Aimée had already been mistreated by other men in her short time as a waitress, and found Paul to be different. Even if he appeared aloof and distant at times, she was sure that he was a good man underneath.

Meanwhile, Paul was floundering, always confronted with the same questions, and the seed of doubt about God that had been planted in his mind grew until he was sure that there was no life after this one, no heaven and no hell. He remembered more words of Satan in Paradise Lost, "The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.” And thought, “So very true, I’ll make my own heaven of this hell, and pleasure shall be my reward.”

Paradise Regained

Aimée was worried about Paul’s sudden refrain from painting and also curious about what he’d said when he had tried to paint her portrait; that Léonie’s portrait was the only chef-d'oeuvre he’d ever painted. While he was out and she was cleaning house, she went into the storage room and uncovered the large canvas to see the masterpiece with her own eyes. She was awestruck by its exquisite rendering, and this motivated her to do everything in her power to help Paul recover from his lapse. She wrapped Léonie’s portrait back up, being careful to leave it exactly as it was before. “What can I do to help him?” she pondered, but no answer came to mind.

As fortune would have it, the saving resolution came in a cable to Paul on Monday September 14th. His parents were on their way to Paris for a visit, and they would be arriving in two weeks. The news jolted Paul into reality. His parents had always supported him and believed in him. He confided his thoughts to Aimée, “What am I going to do? My parents will want to see my work, and I haven’t done anything since the fire a month ago.”

“I know that you don’t want to do portraits anymore, but you can paint other things. If you get to work now you’ll have something to show them.”

“You’re right Aimée chérie, you know that makes me think, my teacher Robert Henri had a great success with one of his paintings here four years ago. It’s called "La Neige", it’s a scene of the rue de Sèvres and it was bought by the Musée du Luxembourg. Léonie and I went to see it when we arrived in Paris. He had told us about it when he painted a similar painting of the snow in New York last year. That painting was also successful. I’ll get to work on city scenes. Thank you for the idea!”

Aimée was beaming like the first morning they had spent together. “Mr. Henri would be proud of you! I know you can do it! (Paul often spoke of his teachers, so she knew the influence they had on him) Did your parents say how long they’d be staying?”

“Two weeks, their boat leaves for New York on Monday the 12^th, so they’ll be here for your birthday.”

“You didn’t forget!”

“No, and we’ll make it one you won’t forget! Another thing, I’ve heard that there’s going to be a new artists’ Salon this autumn, from October 31^st to December. The vernissage is on October 5^th. If I work hard enough, perhaps I can exhibit! The idea of the Salon is to give a chance to new artists and make impressionism and similar styles more widely known to the public. I’m sure Raoul Dufy can help me to enter my paintings.”

For the next two weeks, Aimée prepared a picnic basket every day and accompanied him all over Paris, helping him to carry his canvases, as he put everything into his work. They left the house early and Paul worked until dusk, sometimes completing two or three paintings in a day. When his parents arrived on September 28^th, he had accomplished a considerable achievement, and there was still a month left before the Salon d’Automne.

It had only been six weeks since Paul had met Aimée and moved to the Cité Paradis, yet it seemed like a lifetime. Eating breakfast with her and his parents at “Le Paradis Perdu”, another verse from Milton came into his head, but this time it was from Paradise Regained, and it was the savior who spoke, “All things are best fulfilled in their due time; And time there is for all things, Truth hath said.”