Bon Courage

Big Day: I went out in the morning and didn't come home until almost dark. It threatened rain all day, but mostly I missed it and walked outdoors. In the morning I spent several hours going through the Musée Carnavalet, which is dedicated to the history of Paris, including a whole floor on the French Revolution. Most of what's in the museum is art from the period: paintings, sketches, journalism reflecting the times.

I found some great pictures of Paris in my time period, a couple of them were very large. I didn't get many pictures because, again, flash is not allowed and they keep the rooms fairly dim in order to protect the work. This one is looking toward Paris from Montmartre with all its windmills—wish I could walk through that world.

I also found a picture of Delacroix that I really like. It's a flattering portrait by Charles-Emile-Callande de Champmartin. I couldn't get a picture because of the lighting so I downloaded this one. Interestingly, de Champmartin also painted an image of Georges Sand that I like and the picture I saw in the Hugo museum of Hugo's mistress, Juliette Drouet—again a picture I found very compelling. I can't find anything on the Internet about him, but obviously he knew many of the people I'm writing about.

And here's one of Proust's writing pens and notebooks. It was sitting beside his bed. The museum had a small room appointed with all of his belongings. I get very excited about Proust. I confess I haven't read much of his writing, but I did read the opening of Swan's Way and was really blown away by the description of his childhood fears. It moves so slowly that you've got to have the patience of a saint to stick with it... but what I read has certainly stayed with me... like some exotic perfume.

The rooms dedicated to the Revolution were compelling. My current theory on the Revolution goes something like this: the people rebelled against the tyranny of the King and basically succeeded, but the most radical element of that rebellion took control and engineered The Terror—killing anyone and everyone who stepped out of line or questioned what was happening in any way.

Napoleon rode into the middle of all this and presented a strong, even hand. Essentially, there was a military takeover of an oppressive civilian government. At first Napoleon was a hero, which is why people like Lord Byron were enamored of him. Then he decided he was the reincarnation of a Roman Emperor and should rule all of Europe. Very disappointing. He invaded everyone until finally he was defeated by foreign powers and France ended up where they'd begun—with a King.

I'm really trying to understand The Revolution because it's the backstory of my novel, recent history. Many of the people in my book lived through some or all of it. I need to understand how it shaped their thinking. I need to understand how, even today, it shapes French thinking.

After several hours in the museum, I walked over to the Place des Vosges. I seem to be drawn there. I went back to the same café where I had escargot and had a salad topped with chicken and Parmesan cheese. It was excellent. I spent some time watching the people and then took the Metro to the Louvre and Palais Royal. I didn't go into the Louvre, just explored the streets and the architecture of the area because several important scenes in my book happen there, including the scene I was working on last night, when Louise and Aristide arrive at the Comédie-Française to see Hugo's Hernani.

I went into the Comédie-Française. This is where Moliere made his name and indeed, I bought tickets to see a Moliere play, The Miser. I did it all in French. I communicated the date I wanted the tickets, the price category for the seats; I used a credit card—the whole deal. This was the French National Theatre; they were not interested in doing business in English.

I got intimidated at first and had to sit down and think about what I was going to say, but then I saw a high-tech display on the history of the theater and it was highlighting the performance of Hernani I'm writing about. That impressed me so much I decided I had to buy tickets, so I figured it out. I confess I was down right thrilled when I walked out, tickets in hand. (I bought two because my friend Toni is coming for a visit in a couple of weeks and that's when we're going.)

After leaving the theatre, I stopped to listen to a chamber orchestra of street musicians who were fantastic and to watch some crackerjack roller bladers before walking the Louvre's courtyards. Columns and arches everywhere. It's intimidating to think about trying to describe the grandeur in words. It seems hopeless. I walked all around the area, much the same walk I took with my class a couple of weeks ago. It was easier to take it in the second time around. I'm to the point that I can put the geography together in my mind now. It's becoming familiar.

Eventually I left the Louvre to the south and walked along the Seine toward the Ponte des Arts, a bridge that Liszt and Berlioz cross early-on in my book. I really like the picture I got of the bridge as I approached it.

It's a pedestrian bridge and always has been. It's not the same bridge that was there in 1830, that bridge was damaged and pulled down in the 1970s, but it is similar and in the same place—looking toward L'Académie Française. A gypsy tried to scam me with a gold ring, which is the most recent permutation of their shtick. They pretend to find the ring right in front of you and ask if it's yours, then they offer to sell it to you for "cheap." Or something like that. I frowned and looked angry, like I knew what she was up to. She disappeared quickly.

When I got home, I stopped at the café that's right next door to my apartment and the waiter who has been trying to make my acquaintance for awhile now, was working. We shook hands and talked a little. He speaks no English and I told him that I can barely speak French. We seemed to have a conversation that I mostly didn't understand, but he flattered me with words of encouragement and when I left, told me "bon courage," which more or less means "good luck," but uses "courage" instead of "luck," sort of like saying may you have courage, I think, or maybe, may your courage serve you well.  It was fun.