The Satyr and Bacchante

I'm feeling excited this afternoon. I finally have some new material for The Appassionata. It's not the very, very beginning, which will still be a prelude woven into the fabric of Père Lachaise. I'm not ready to write that piece yet. But what I am able to write is the opening action —in time—in Paris. Originally the book opened in 1830, but since going to Paris I've known it had to start earlier. The Appassionata now opens in 1824—the year Géricault (and Lord Byron) died.

It opens just after Géricault falls from his horse and is being carried back to his studio on Rue des Martyrs. And now I know who is there with him. The scene takes place just south of Rue Bréda, which is the street where the prostitutes worked.

What's got me excited is I've found the connection between this new material and what I've already written. It's through a young Louise Farrenc and Mademoiselle Juliette Drouet, Victor Hugo's soon-to-be mistress. Juliette was an eighteen year old model in 1824, working for the sculptor James Pradier. Pradier is famous for his sensuous erotica that was mostly sold to private clients. He was, however, well-trained and has work in the Louvre. His Satyr and Bacchante is especially respected—something for which Juliette modeled.

Pradier was Juliette's first lover and there's even evidence that she may have been attempting to get close to Hugo at Pradier's request in order to help his career along. Hugo met Juliette at the staging of one of his plays—a couple of years after Hernani and after The Hunchback of Notre Dame had made him incredibly famous and quite powerful.

I've placed Juliette at the scene of Géricault's fall—which happened at Place Pigalle, right near the top of Rue des Martyrs. Several things make this reasonable: First of all, Juliette lived in the area. Secondly, there was an informal arts market at Place Pigalle where artists went to look for models. Juliette would likely have spent time there looking for work or just paling around with other models. It was a step above prostitution although there was cross-over. And Pradier, who paid for Juliette's apartment and paid her expenses—what all these young women were hoping for—had his studio in Nouvelle Athènes. That's the connection I was looking for and just found.

Pradier had a reputation as a dandy. There's a quote about how he got up every morning to head for Nouvelle Athènes and returned home every night by way of Rue Bréda. He was married and also the father of Juliette's one child, a little girl named Claire who was born about 1827 or so, about the same time as Louise's daughter Tori, in fact.

Which brings me to Louise Farrenc. Louise is also on Rue des Martyrs the day that Géricault falls from his horse. She's 20; Juliette is 18. Louise is already married, but Tori won't be born for two years. Aristide is just establishing his publishing business, Éditions Farrenc. They live over the publishing shop not far from Rue des Martyrs, but in a better part of town, closer to the Grand Avenues and the well-established wealth of Paris.

Louise has been on Rue de la Tour des Dames at the home of Mlle Duchesnois giving her daughter a piano lesson. Louise promised Aristide she would not walk home. The area is not one in which a woman of her position should be walking, especially alone. But Louise is intimidated by this celebrity who has money and fame, so rather than push Mlle Duchesnois to provide a carriage ride home, she walks.

And in so doing, crosses paths with Géricault. He's being carried on his cloak, which is being used like a stretcher by Delacroix and Pradier. This is Géricault's third and final fall. (He fell three times over the course of about two or three weeks and then, really, never walked again.) Louise has her nose buried in the piano music she's carrying in her arms. In fact, she's composing a piece of music in her head, thinking grand thoughts about being a composer when she rounds the corner and basically collides with Juliette Drouet who is gingerly leading Géricaults high strung Arabian stallion.

The music flies in the air. The horse rears brakes lose and races down the street. Everyone stops in confusion. What happens in the middle of all this is that Pradier recognizes Louise. Not because she's a composer, but because she's the little sister of Augustin Dumont, Pradier's peer, yet another sculptor. Géricault too, has seen Louise before—in the Louvre. She came with her brother to the Salon where The Raft of the Medusa was exhibited. Géricault is conscious, and when Pradier and Delacroix go after his horse, he calls Louise to his side and asks her to perform what is an almost impossible favor. He asks her to get word to Alexandrine of his injury.

The reason it's almost impossible is because Alexandrine's husband has forbidden any contact between them. Alexandrine has given up their son to adoption and she is sequestered in her home near Versailles, forbidden even any news of Gericault. If anyone recognizable tries to get word to her, they will be stopped. Louise has a chance because she won't be suspected. He begs her to use stealth and find a way to have a private conversation with Alexandrine. Louise is stunned by the request, but, in spite of all her misgivings—including the fact that Aristide will never allow her to undertake such a task—she agrees to try.

Scene One; Chapter One. I have my new beginning.

A couple of final notes: Géricault also created some of that "private art" for private clientele. Pradier found him the clients. He, like Liszt and Berlioz, actually took to the streets during the 1830 July Revolution. And finally, in one of those little sign-post things—Pradier is buried at Père Lachaise. So he's in. Basically, I'm weaving together the stories of several women here. Louise and Tori are two of them. It's not clear to me yet how large of a role either Juliette or Alexandrine will have, but they're both part of the glue. Hugo will have a larger part, and clearly Delacroix's role has grown.

My biggest challenge is going to be keeping the material under control. I've got enough story for several books—but I only want to write one about this time period, so I've got to make some choices. This opening is the first. It limits Géricault's presence, but allows him into the story.