Can-Can, II   By Melissa Tawn   When you can’t can-can, what can you do?

(author’s note: This is a direct continuation of Part I, which has to be read first.)

CHAPTER 1. THE END OF A LIFESTYLE

It was not a good performance. Although the vast majority of the audience were ecstatic at Marie Lachaud’s dancing, as usual (but then some of them were so drunk that they would go wild over a dancing iguana), those cognoscenti who were Moulin Rouge regulars realized that the night was far below par. Even The Dwarf left his usual place right in front of the stage and retired to the bar, disappointed and disgusted, before the act was finished. As Jean removed his makeup he realized that his forehead was burning up, just as Brigitte’s had been earlier that day. He barely managed to turn off the gas lights and lock the stage door. Instead of heading to meet the others at the parliament, he went directly to his bed and lay there, trembling, until he fell asleep.

When Jean woke up, it was noon. He was late for Brigitte, and very worried about her health. Quickly, he dressed and went over to her room. When he came there, he was surprised to find all the members of the Rue Cadet parliament there, many of them in tears. One of them took him aside and broke the news to him. “Mimi, cherie, your elder sister Brigitte passed away during the night. She didn’t show up for work as usual, and so we went to see what was wrong. We found her in a very bad state, and managed to pry that old lecher Dr. Maheux away from the bar at the Moulin Rouge and bring him here. By the time he arrived, it was too late — she was gone. Dr. Maheux says it is most likely the influenza which has been sweeping Paris for the past month. He says that hundreds, maybe thousands, have died from it, but the government has ordered the newspapers not to print anything, supposedly to prevent panic but more likely to prevent anyone from questioning the competence of the health authorities.”

Jean looked blank. He tried to cry, but no tears seemed to come. Then he fainted.

When Jean awoke, he found himself lying in Brigitte’s bed, with one of the whores from the parliament sitting by to his side. “You have been sleeping for over 24 hours, Mimi” she said and kissed his forehead. “You had such a high fever, we were afraid that you were on your way to join your sister. Come, let me help you up.” Gently, she helped Jean to his feet and guided him down the hallway to the toilet common to all of the rooms on the floor. Afterwards, she heated some soup on the burner, and fed it to Jean slowly. She put her hand on Jean’s head. “Your fever seems to be lower. You will recover.”

Jean lay in Brigitte’s bed for two weeks, while the whores took turns feeding him and caring for him. They also brought him the news which was creating a sensation at the Moulin Rouge — the great Marie Lachaud had disappeared! She hadn’t shown up for work one day, and nobody knew where she was. Even M. Oller, the manager, had no idea where she could be. He explained to The Dwarf, and others, that he knew no more than they what Marie’s real identity was and where she lived. She had her own key to the back door and arrived early; she was paid every Monday in cash, and c’est tout. She had not given any explanation or excuse for her failure to report to work and, after a week, M. Oller reluctantly ordered the posters of her to be taken down, and be replaced by those announcing another dancer, Olivia d’Evian, who took her place (no pictures yet).

Needless to say, all of the music hall was abuzz with rumors as to what happened to Marie. The general belief was that she, too, was a victim of the influenza epidemic. It was pointed out that several workers at the Moulin Rouge, including two barmen, a waiter, and the stagehand Jean Daumer, were all known to be ill (the whores had reported Jean’s illness to M. Oller, in order to insure that he not be fired). The other barmen and waiters had taken to wearing gauze masks when they served the public. Several of the regular patrons had failed to appear and one of them, retired General Raynaud, had been buried only the day before in a formal public funeral — although the official reason for his death was listed as heart failure, rumor had it that he in fact died of influenza.

Others speculated that Marie had finally been caught by her husband/lover/father/mother superior and prevented from coming. The Dwarf drank himself into a stupor for four days in a row, but now seems to have recovered enough to make sketches of the new leading dancer, for a possible new set of posters (and another hefty commission).

Jean didn’t care. He would not go back to dancing anyway, he was sure of that. The whole adventure had started as a prank, which Brigitte had suggested to him. He had been working at the Moulin Rouge for a few months, and had plenty of time to observe the dancers from backstage. In Brigitte’s apartment, he showed her the steps of the can-can. While the dance is very impressive when seen from the audience (especially if the audience is rather drunk), it is in fact a simple dance to master. It did not take more than a few months of practice for Jean to be able to wag his legs and swing his body like a professional. “Mimi, you should try out as a dancer,” Brigitte teased him. You are better than half of the cows who are on the stage. At first, Jean just dismissed the idea, but Brigitte harped on it again and again until he finally agreed to come to the Moulin Rouge dressed as a girl and ask for a tryout. But he made Brigitte promise that this would be a secret between them. None of the other members of the parliament were to know.

Brigitte sewed a special dress for Jean for the occasion, which was padded so that he appeared to have a large bosom. She also “procured” at the Galeries Lafayette a pair of high-heeled shoes for him, and trained him in how to walk in them. Then, after fixing his hair just right, she had taken him to the music hall and introduced him to the assistant choreographer, who was also a client of hers. When he asked Jean what his name was, Jean blurted out “Marie Lachaud”, the first name that came into his mind. The rest, of course, is history. His audition was sensational and he was put in the chorus line. Within six months, he had moved to the position of lead dancer, and from there to stardom.

CHAPTER 2. THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER

Although Jean made a lot of money dancing, he did not change his way of life one bit. He gave everything he earned to Brigitte, who invested it in various stocks suggested to her by another of her clients, who worked at the Paris bourse and had access to considerable confidential information. Sometimes, the two “sisters” talked about their future plans and they agreed that when Brigitte reached the age of 30, she would retire from her profession and they would buy a building in Paris, which they would manage as a small rooming house or perhaps a restaurant.

Without Brigitte, Jean felt lost and confused. He had to decide what to do, and was unable to do so. His only support was the Rue Cadet parliament, and he decided to turn to them. When he felt himself ready, he dressed himself in one of Brigitte’s best dresses and, for the first time, walked the streets of Paris as a woman, alone. He arrived at the parliament just as the last of the whores had come in, and caused no little sensation. While they were used to talking to him in the feminine, and calling him Mimi, none of the others had actually seen him dressed as a woman. Needless to say, the whores were both shocked and delighted to see him dressed that way. “Brigitte told us that you occasionally dressed in her clothes,” said one, “but I never thought you would look this beautiful.”

“Well,” Jean said, “we kept it a secret, just as we kept the secret of the name I used when I was dressed like this.”

“Do you mean you didn’t call yourself ‘Mimi’?”

“No,” said Jean, “Mimi was my name when I was with you. At other times, I had a very special name, which I used until now. But now, I will use it always, in tribute to Brigitte.

“And what did you call yourself, if I may ask?”

“I am Marie Lachaud.”

A collective gasp emerged from the parliament, followed a stunned silence. Everybody looked at Mimi carefully and realized that , yes, she was indeed Marie Lachaud — without the dancer’s heavy makeup and costume. “So that is how Marie Lachaud entered and left the Moulin Rouge without being noticed! She was disguised as Jean! Formidable!” Everybody rushed to hug Mimi and kiss her. She had fooled everybody, including — and especially — The Dwarf.

Mimi then told them about the money that she had earned and Brigitte had invested for her. The amount that had accrued was quite large. However, she insisted that everything belong to all of them, and not just to her. The question was what to do with it. Mimi suggested that they buy a building and open a brothel, but — perhaps surprisingly — the parliament was dead set against it. They wanted something more respectable. After several suggestions were put forth and considered, one of the whores suggested that they open an art gallery.

“But we know nothing about art,” Mimi objected.

“We do know somebody who does, though; all we have to do is persuade him to help us.”

“Who is that?”, Mimi wanted to know.

“The Dwarf, of course!” shouted several at once. Suddenly everyone was very enthusiastic about the notion and erupted with ideas. An art gallery — why not? It would be called The Parliament of the Arts, and would be located right here in Montmartre. They would aim at the same clients that they met during the nights — rich young men who would be glad to pay a fortune for a picture of the woman with whom they had spent the previous evening. They would commission the paintings themselves. Everybody in the group agreed to pose for pictures, in the nude if necessary. Mimi would act as manager of the gallery and as the “front woman” for them all. The main problem was finding artists with real talent, and to do that they had to persuade The Dwarf to help them. For that too, they devised a plan.

CHAPTER 3. PATRON OF THE ARTS

The next night, one of the whores took The Dwarf aside and told him she had a big surprise for him, if he would follow her after work. He did not believe her, but agreed anyway, since adventure was something he enjoyed and, in any case, he was still somewhat depressed. So, at 4:30 am, he was led to the back room of the café on Rue Cadet and there, waiting for him, was … Marie Lachaud. She slowly rose and kissed him on the forehead. “My dear Henri,” she whispered, “I had always wanted to meet you, but up until now — for reasons I cannot explain — it has been impossible. The situation has now changed. I have been very ill, as I am sure you have heard, and though I have recovered, I no longer have the strength to dance.”

Marie then outlined the proposal to open an art gallery, which she would operate. The gallery would specialize in paintings of various Montmartre ladies, which would be sold to patrons of the Moulin Rouge or their friends. Of course, they expected to exhibit many paintings by The Dwarf himself, and of any of his friends whom he would recommend. Indeed, if he were willing to act as official consultant to the gallery, Marie would show her gratitude by agreeing to pose for him (and him alone), though not in the nude, of course.

And it worked! On the face of it, the whole idea was outrageous — an art gallery managed by a male teenaged former street urchin who had been a famous can-can dancer but now dressed and acted like a lady of fashion, owned by a group of whores from the Moulin Rouge, with artistic direction by a dwarfed and drunken scion of one of the great aristocratic families of France. In practice, it worked wonderfully. The prostitutes of Montmartre who doubled as models steered their clients to the gallery and implored them to buy the paintings. The fact that the fabled Marie Lachaud was usually in the showrooms to personally greet the customers, and the high artistic standards guaranteed by The Dwarf’s careful screening of the painters, insured that The Parliament of the Arts did very well indeed. The paintings not only reminded the purchasers of the good time they had, they were also a sound investment. Soon The Parliament of the Arts was making much more money than the established galleries downtown.

Marie, as befitting her new status, moved from Brigitte’s old room to a large and comfortable apartment just off of the Jardin des Tuileries, which she soon filled with original paintings, including several portraits of herself painted by The Dwarf and his friends. She became a patron of such painters as Henri Rousseau, Georges-Pierre Seurat, and Vincent van Gogh — all of whom did her portrait at least once.

As the new century unfolded, however, the bohemian life of Montmartre slowly petered out. The beginning of the end was marked by the death of The Dwarf in 1901 -- from complications due to alcoholism and syphilis, which he caught from his mistress Rosa la Rouge. One by one, the whores from the Rue Cadet parliament left the profession, and sold their share in the gallery to Marie. With the money they earned, they were able to buy apartments for themselves and open small businesses of their own, ranging from patisseries to shops of one sort or another. One even became a school teacher.

Marie managed to keep the gallery going until the pan-European catastrophe known later as World War I, when it finally closed. She had invested her earnings wisely, and that allowed her to live on her income from them. She became famous as a patron of the arts, and encouraged many young painters who flocked to Paris, including a Spaniard named Pablo Picasso, who replaced The Dwarf as her friend and artistic advisor.

Over the years, many men tried to court her, but she would have none of them. There were rumors that she was lesbian, but nobody saw her with another woman either. After the war, she did become friendly with an American woman living in Paris by the name of Gertrude Stein, and through her with many of the writers who flocked to Paris after the Great War. However, their relations were purely intellectual. Though one of the formidable sex symbols of her age, Marie Lachaud in fact remained a virgin all of her life.

When the Second World War came along, and France was conquered by the Germans, Marie -- now over 60 years old -- put herself and her resources at the service of the Resistance. She was killed in 1942 when she ran into an ambush while driving a car full of explosives for the resistance fighters. The car was hit by a grenade and exploded. Her body was so badly mangled that her real sex was not identified. Later, the Gestapo searched and looted her apartment, destroying or taking many priceless works of art, including The Dwarf’s original posters of Marie dancing at the Moulin Rouge. None of them have ever been recovered.