No Regrets - Carolyn Burke [80]
Although tempting, it is beside the point to speculate about their relationship had Cerdan survived. Piaf’s view of earthly love as akin to the divine is disconcerting to those who do not sympathize with her spirituality. But, whatever one thinks of her mystical bent, it is more fruitful to grasp what the loss of Cerdan meant to the singer’s imagination than to “demystify” her response—to see how it shaped the rest of her career and her rapport with the audiences who shared her grief. To this end, we may recall the Freudian notion of sublimation—the coping mechanism by which erotic energy is transformed into achievements like artistic expression. From this perspective, Piaf’s actions after Cerdan’s death may be seen as ways of refocusing her energy, comforted by the knowledge that, in their own way, her compatriots mourned the death of their hero along with her.
Piaf’s fans embraced her on her return to Paris. On March 13, she sang on national television. On March 14, 16, and 18, she performed to sold-out houses at the Salle Pleyel. The opening-night audience, which included Paulette Godard and Maurice Chevalier, was overwhelmed. “She brought to life all of suffering humanity,” a critic wrote. “Each time she comes back to us from America, we are astonished by her repertoire and captivated all over again.” Her entire show—lights, staging, orchestrations—was “perfection,” he continued, but it was her particular “genius” that made audiences feel that, though she had just returned “from the land of the dollar,” her songs exhibited the same humility she had always possessed. Audiences were gripped with emotion each time she sang “Hymne à l’amour,” from then on backed by a chorus of angelic voices: the song would come to have almost mythic status. “She’s no longer just a woman,” a teary-eyed spectator exclaimed, “she’s a god.”
Critics and fans alike turned to religious imagery to express what they felt. “Piaf is a fallen angel, a creature of heights and depths,” another critic rhapsodized. “Her story is simple: she begins with love and ends with death.” It was agreed that Cerdan’s name was not to be mentioned, but readers understood the reference, just as they grasped the critic’s allusion to the singer as Mary Magdalene. Over the years, each time listeners heard “Hymne à l’amour,” it became more deeply identified with Piaf as celebrant of the cult of eternal love.
By the end of March, when the newly consecrated diva left for two weeks at the Variétés Theater in Marseille, she had already begun gathering round her the entourage that seemed to offer her practical and emotional support. The large Boulogne residence bought for Cerdan in 1949 (where renovation was still ongoing) became the space in which she reinvented her “family.” Edith moved into the ground-floor rooms intended for the concierge, where she would remain even when the work was complete. Dédée Bigard worked in an office on the same floor; Aznavour, who occupied one of the maids’ rooms, joined Piaf’s staff as chauffeur, lighting man, and, within a short time, songwriter; other show-business friends moved in and formed a court around their hostess. Despite their reservations, members of her household had to accept Momone and her daughter, Edith, along with the séances to evoke Cerdan’s spirit.
On arrival in Marseille in March, Piaf met a man she took to be a kindred spirit—Tony Frank, the manager of the Variétés, who told her that he was having trouble keeping the theater afloat. They became lovers. She hoped that his idea of love accorded with hers: “I need to feel that those I love really need me,” she wrote after returning to Paris. “When a man, a real man, becomes a little boy with the woman he loves, it’s the most