Mary and her mother, Katherine walked through the glittering gold and red lobby of their hotel. A carved, white marble fireplace mantle reigned over a cheery blaze and supported Christmas angel decorations. A pianist serenaded the guests with Silent Night and a spicy aroma drifted through the smoky air. Gentlemen dressed in tailored black tie and tails with silky vests chatted over brandy snifters filled with dark amber cognac. Ladies in satin and lace posed with fluttering fans on tufted chairs, their heads demurely bent toward companions. As the two women approached the mahogany and brass front doors, Katherine said in French to the doorman as he opened the massive portals and bowed.
“We need a taxi.”
“Certainment, Madame,” he replied.
As the taxi carried Mary and her mother slowly toward the Embassy party given for Americans living in and visiting Paris, the increasingly deep snowdrifts muffled outside street sounds. They watched the carriage’s progress past brilliantly lit cafes that cast inviting pools of warm light and boisterous cheer into the streets. The apartment windows were shuttered tightly against the cold. Black iron balcony railings carried caps of fluffy white, and bits of music escaping the cafes permeated the cab’s dark interior.
“You can see why they call Paris ‘The City of Light,’” Mary said, watching holiday sparkles dance across both white snow and black Seine waters.
Katherine nodded and said, "Christmas in Paris is miraculous, but almost any day in Paris miraculous."
At the Embassy, the women stepped out of their taxi and were drawn by the sounds of orchestra strings playing waltz music toward the brilliant light eminating through massive doors.
“What a wonderful welcome back to Paris!” Mary gasped. The ballroom was filled with people dressed in glittering evening clothes, chandeliers dripped sparkling crystals, and gold-framed mirrors lined the walls, reflecting warm candlelight and swirling dancers.
As they walked toward the buffet table, Mary suddenly reached out to tap a gentleman on the shoulder as he reached for a cup of eggnog,
“Well, for heaven’s sake! It’s Mr. Schussele!” She said, her old teacher from the Philadelphia Academy turned and his face beamed in recognition.
“Mary Cassatt, of all people. How are you? And how long have you been in Paris?” he asked.
“Just a few days. You must remember my mother, Katherine Cassatt,” Mary said as her mother nodded to her daughter’s former teacher.
“Yes, of course. It is such a pleasant surprise to see you here. Would you like some eggnog?” he asked, handing them each a cup. “So you crossed the Atlantic recently too?”
“Did we ever. I had the worst case of mal de mere the ship’s doctor had ever seen. I can tell you, Le Havre was a very welcome sight!” Mary laughed. “All I can say is thank heavens for steam. Two weeks of seasickness is bad enough, but I know I never would have survived two months crossing by sail.”
“Yes, it is a wonder of the modern age, what steam has done for travel. Are you doing the Grand Tour?” he asked, taking a sip of eggnog.
“No, actually, I’m here to study,” Mary said.
“And I’ll be returning home once Mary is settled here in Paris. We lived in Europe for four years when she was young. We did the Grand Tour then,” Katherine answered.
“Where will you be studying?” he asked.
“Since the École des Beaux-Arts doesn’t admit women, like the Philadelphia Academy does,” Mary said. "I’m looking to be taken on for private lessons by one of the Beaux-Arts masters. And of course, I’ll be copying in the Louvre.”
“Actually, I might be able to help you with obtaining private lessons. I recently made the acquaintance of both Charles Chaplin who specializes in teaching young ladies and Jean-Léon Gérôme. Either one of them would be a good private teacher for you. I hope you brought some examples of your work to show,” he said.
“Oh, certainly. I have a portfolio of sketches and watercolors as well as three oil paintings,” Mary said.
“I think finding a good teacher shouldn’t be too difficult,” he said. “As for copying in the Louvre, you will need to obtain a permit, but I’ll be happy to help you with that too. May I pay you a visit after the holidays to look at what you brought?”
“Absolutely, we’ll be staying at our hotel for quite a while yet. How gracious of you to help,” Mary said.
“Let me write down the name and address for you,” Katherine pulled a small pencil and visiting card from a tiny, beaded evening handbag.
“Are you planning on staying in Paris, Madame Cassatt?” he asked. "Surely you won't leave Mary here alone."
“I expect to be returning home sometime in late spring or early summer,” Katherine said as she spotted an old acquaintance on the other side of the room.“We have several friends here in Paris who will help us find a suitable living arrangement for Mary,”
“When I visit you I will bring the address of an art supply dealer, I have found to be good,” Mr. Schussele said. “Are you attending Christmas Eve services at the American Chapel? Perhaps we will see each other then.”
Katherine said, “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Just as a group of ladies approached the Cassatts, Mr. Schussele bowed and turned to join a group of men sipping cognac.
“Katherine Cassatt! How wonderful to see you again after all these years. And this couldn’t possibly be Mary grown up already!” effused one of the ladies, kissing Katherine and Mary in turn on each cheek, “bisous cheres amies!”
Ladies in pastel gowns with pinched in waists and layers of lace, ribbons, and beads waltzed in a blur of talcum powdered bare shoulders. Mustachioed gentlemen in evening attire swirled their partners as jacket tails flew out in their wake and black trousered legs disappeared and reappeared behind flowing silk and satin skirts as they circled around the room. With the shimmering and spinning sway on the crowded dance floor, few noticed the occasionally daring brush of bosom against chest or masculine hands sliding caressingly up and down tightly corseted backs. With the warmth and glow of hundreds of candles, blushes and flirtatious smiles went unnoticed by chaperones. Furtive masculine glances at uncovered feminine flesh eluded watchful maternal eyes.
Mary absorbed everything from the sidelines. She was elegantly dressed in a watery blue moiré dress with dark blue velvet ribbons and violets clustered along swags of silken layers. Her face was flushed and ruddy.
Tall, with an athletic figure, her head rose above that of most of the other women in the room and even some of the men. She scanned the dancers with protruding gray eyes. A strong jaw asserted her confidence and a smirk betrayed quiet amusement at the clandestine dalliances taking place before her. As old friends of her mother’s joined the group, Mary carried on the polite party banter expected for each renewed acquaintance, but her vision was never distracted from taking in the color, movement and theater playing out around her. A few times during the evening, the brother, son or nephew of her mother’s friends asked her for a dance. Mary always failed to demurely lower her gaze or pretend feminine modesty while they glided among the other dancers and she smiled to herself as she noticed their discomfort. Each young man escorted her with polished thank yous back to her mother at the end of the waltz. Mary sensed in the young men a relief that their social obligation were met. None asked her for a second dance.
