OLYMPIA – a totally untrue story

“Tournier is downstairs, Madame Amélie. And look, he’s brought more roses. So beautiful. Even bigger than the last bouquet.’

‘Oh no, Colette, take them away. He knows how they affect me. What kind of mood is he in?’

‘Perhaps a little nervous.’

‘I think I may know why.’ Amélie sneezes noisily. ‘Well, he can wait.’

‘Perhaps it’s not the flowers that are the problem, but the kitten.’

‘Nonsense! I refuse to be allergic to my darling Gigi.  Where is she, by the way?

‘Right by your feet, but M’sieur Tournier won’t want to see her. When he brought her here, he told me he prefers dogs.’

Amélie sighs. ‘Eew, dogs! All that face licking and dirtying the pavements. So vexing. Cats are far cleaner.’

The maid shrugged. She preferred terriers to tabbies. Gigi was very irksome  – so very small and always underfoot. ‘Are you ready for him?’

‘I suppose. You’ve styled my hair, buffed my nails. Shame you can’t mend my headache.’

‘Madame, you can hardly turn him down.’

‘I know. Go get him if you must.’

Colette slaps the flowers onto a table, leaves the room and treads heavily down the stairs. ‘If I must?’ she mutters to herself. ‘Do this! Do that! As if I have any choice…’

Tournier waits in a lobby chair, knee jiggling with impatience. When he sees Colette’s nod he strides up past her and knocks on the bedroom door.

‘Come in,’ calls Amélie.

He enters and stands looking at her, frowning. She is arranged unclothed in the way he has always wanted, ready for him to untie the black velvet ribbon at her neck. It is his small, silly ritual of removing her last item of attire before touching her, but now he hangs back. 

‘Is something the matter?’ she asks.

‘I have news. About my wife.’

Anger explodes inside her. ‘Stop! You are back with her, yes? Do not deny it. I saw you myself entering her door yesterday. ’

‘It is hardly ‘her’ door, my dear. That is my house, paid for by my own efforts, and as my wife she has a right to live in it.’

‘Well, how very fortunate she is,’ snaps Amélie. Does he think this life of hers at his beck and call is somehow easy? That it requires no effort on her part?

He tries perching on the end of her chaise longue but she pulls away, her gaze so fierce that he stands again, stumbling over the cat. It hisses at him. ‘I’d hoped we could enjoy each other once more,’ he says, ‘but yes, it is true. My wife and I have reconciled. The flowers I brought –’

She snorts. ‘But why? I’ve told you how allergic I am.’

‘Really?’ He clears his throat. ‘Well, they’re meant as a thank-you and goodbye as I must tell you my visits have to cease.  Also, the fee I have been paying for your services will no longer be forthcoming.’  

Her eyes flare. ‘What? But you promised me security if I was yours alone!’ She leaps to her feet. Gigi scoots away in panic, black fur bristling. ‘I dropped all my clients for you,’ shouts Amelie. ‘How do I pay the rent now?’

Tournier’s face is stony. ‘No doubt other men will return. And there’s one more thing. I’d like the kitten back again. My wife has been pining for it.’

‘She was hers? You never said. Did your wife know she was here?’

‘Of course not. She thinks it ran away.’

‘How mean you are, M’sieur. I know you worship dogs. Giving Gigi to me was just a way of dumping her. She is not leaving here but you are. Now!’

He flees and she follows, grabbing the bouquet and ripping it apart. ‘Buy your wife a poodle instead!’ she shouts from the landing, flinging blooms with her naked arms. He scurries down the stairs, pastel flowers raining on his shoulders.

Waiting by the door, Colette can only think of all the stalks and petals she will have to sweep up. ©

Olympia – The True Story

This famous 1863 painting by Édouard Manet caused outrage when it was first shown to a scandalised public. It wasn’t so much that the model was nude – paintings of naked women had been around for centuries – but this was a modern look at an old tradition.

Unclothed females had mostly been portrayed as mythological heroines or virgins, but this 190cm-wide oil on canvas revealed a different kind of vibe. No coy smiles here. Manet called his model Olympia and gave her a bold gaze. Manet also put at her feet a dark cat whose yellow eyes echoed that challenging stare.     

Paris prostitutes often took on the names of classical Greek goddesses, but this pale nude was not a faux goddess but a real person. A talented painter in her own right, she often modelled for other artists. Her name was Victorine Meurent.

Alongside Olympia stands a black servant I’ve called Colette, but she was a real woman named Laure, also an artists’ model, who reflected France’s changing population. Slavery had ended 15 years earlier and people from the old colonies were now holding down a range of jobs in Paris. Laure was one of them. Manet wasn’t painting a classical dream but reflecting multicultural modern French life. It took critics a long time to respect this painting, but it’s a true crowd pleaser today at the Left Bank’s Musée d’Orsay.