Summary
A velvet-gloved bacchanal in a Belle-Époque salon: Fanny Legrand—once brush-stroked by every palette in Montmartre—drifts through Dechelette’s soirée like a cigarette ghost and collides with Jean Gaussin, a callow law student who still believes virtue is a statute. She is Sapho, the poetess of the demi-monde, whose every past caress is archived in scandalous ink; he is the blank page she decides to stain. Nursing him through fevered delirium, she installs herself in his garret, wallpapering the cramped rooms with whispered futures. Goudal the sculptor chips away at their idyll, brandishing love-letters that flutter like wounded doves and ignite the hearth—an omen written in smoke. Amid the soot-stained rescuers stands her father, a coachman whose cracked boots announce the abyss between her origin and her lover’s pedigree. Still, the lovers decamp to Chaville, adopt a foundling whose blood carries forgery’s taint, and picnic beneath arboreal cathedrals until Irene Bouchereau—respectability incarnate—offers Jean a gilded escape. Sapho tightens the velvet noose: a trip abroad, a child’s parentage unveiled, a final rupture scored by trans-Atlantic siren whistles. When the ship sails, only one shadow remains on the pier; the other is already erasing itself from the mirror.
Synopsis
During an entertainment given by Engineer Dechelette, the former model Fanny Legrand comes across Jean Gaussin D'Armondy, who is studying law in Paris. On the eve of breaking away from her, he happens to hear that she is no other than the celebrated Sapho, Sapho called on Jean from time to time at his student's quarters and after nursing him through a long illness, she succeeds in deciding him to keep her with him. Sapho is happy in finding a small apartment where they shelter their love. One day the sculptor, Goudal, lifted a corner of the veil that hid Sapho's past. This made Jean jealous and Sapho appeased him by the surrender of her old letters. The sudden blaze of those innumerable papers caused the chimney of the house to catch fire. Neighbors rushed in and among the rescuers, Sapho recognized her father, the old driver. Ashamed, she dreaded that Jean's refined nature would take umbrage at the new stain. The initial frail link has been turned into a solid chain that nothing can break. At times Jean is indignant and revolts, but Sapho always gets the better of him. After some high words with Sapho, and on the invitation of his uncle Cesaire, Jean takes a trip to his home. As soon as he returns, Sapho regains her hold on him. Rosario Sanchez, a former friend of Sapho, whom she has made stewardess of her mansion, invites Jean and his mistress to luncheon. On that occasion, Rosario introduces Jean to DePotter, the celebrated musician. Sapho's friends make fun of her disinterested love. Disgusted at his bondage, DePotter tells Jean, as an example of what he is to expect of the hard life he leads with Rosario. A few days later, it is decided to leave the mansion and go to live at Chaville, close to the Hetteman's. At the pressing request of Sapho, Jean adopts a child, in total ignorance that the child is the son of Flamant, condemned for forgery. That day, in celebration of their installation at Chaville, they all have a picnic in the woods. It is there that they meet Irene Bouchereau, niece of the family doctor. This causes a terrible quarrel, which is only stopped by the sound of Hetteman's horn. One day Dr. Bouchereau meets Jean in a train and invites him to his house. The young people are pleased with each other. Then comes Jean on the eve of marrying the doctor's niece. Sapho compels him to give up all thoughts of marriage. Recognizing that his life is irretrievably bound with that of Sapho, Jean announces to his family that he is going abroad with his friend. His family reproaches and even curses him, especially his father. However, he learns that his mistress has received a visit from her former lover, the father of the child, and maddened by jealousy he insists that Sapho go with him to America. Fortunately for him, it is she who leaves him.
Review Excerpt
"
Paris, 1913: electric lamps still flicker like nervous virgins, and cinema itself is a courtesan teasing the future. Into this half-lit bordello of invention strides Sapho, a film that dares to title itself after the ur-mistress of erotic verse. Yet the picture is no antiquarian postcard; it is a scalpel, slipped between the ribs of polite society, twisting until the audience gasps at how much of their own hypocrisy spills out.
A Canvas Splashed with Kerosene
Director Léonce Perret—never shy ..."
