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Half-past five on an icy Paris morning. A sleet-laden wind howls across the black sky. Shivering in his study, Charles-Étienne-Louis Nuitter scribbles fast. He has been awake all night, amending, revising, working to a deadline.
Émile Perrin, the autocratic Director of the Opéra, wants Nuitter’s libretto for “Coppélia”, a new ballet by Arthur Saint-Léon, to music by Delibes. Two years ago, their ballet “La Source” was instantly popular. Since then, the theatre has had no major successes; the situation is becoming desperate. Perrin urgently needs another triumph.
It is 1868. The Paris Opéra is torn by rivalry and intrigue. Wealthy members of the arrogant Jockey Club roam the Foyer de Danse to prey on the pretty ballet girls. Under their patronage, established ballerinas wield enormous power, making extravagant demands on conductors, composers and choreographers. All the good male dancers have left, mostly for Russia — men’s rôles are danced by women en travestie. Meanwhile the claque, an organized gang of professional “influencers”, controls audiences and management. For the highest bidder they will scream, boo, applaud, shout and whistle, making or breaking careers overnight. Standards are declining, ticket sales falling, subscribers deserting the Opéra. The renowned Imperial Theatre is on the brink of ruin; only a sensational hit will bring audiences back. “Coppélia” may be the last chance to save the theatre from closure.
Sweating despite the cold, Nuitter scribbles his final lines, and throws down the pen, frowning. Not right – still not right. The Prologue and Act I are all narrative, folk-dance, and demi-caractère, but convention also requires classical showpieces. Saint-Léon is insisting on big group dances in Act II (Prayer, Dawn, Peace, Dance of the Hours). Nuitter dislikes these irrelevant interruptions, but he has no choice. The three men are due to meet Perrin today – the libretto must be finished this morning.
Freezing rain drums on the window like the rattle of distant musketry. He stretches cramped legs, peering out into darkness. Below, people scurry to hunt through piled refuse in the biting wind, scavenging for anything to eat, wear or sell. These are the chiffoniers, the starving rag-pickers of Paris, scrabbling like rats, just to survive. In this elegant capital of culture, letters, fashion and the art of living, nearly 800,000 people are officially classed as impoverished. A family with less than three francs a day is below the poverty line – soon they too will join the thousands of beggars combing the rubbish of the vast city.
A female figure hastens past, slim, upright and purposeful, ignoring the bawdy leers and lewd gestures. One of the ballet girls, hurrying to the Opéra school. These children leave their distant slum lodgings before dawn, walking for hours to class at the Conservatoire. Some of them are only eight – most are from poor families. They train and rehearse all day, then trudge homewards on aching feet, unable to afford transport. If they appear onstage, they receive one franc each and get home much later – this at a time when the audiences who come to ogle their pretty legs may hire a private box for the season at a mere 7,500 francs.
Nuitter looks down at the graceful, straight-backed figure. He would put her at about fifteen, maybe sixteen – in the classe supérieure, possibly even the classe de perfectionnement. If she is lucky, she will join the Opéra on three hundred francs a year (although with the right connections, some dancers can make thirty thousand). If the Opéra will not have her, she must try other theatres, or music-hall, or revue – otherwise she faces destitution and worse.
Nuitter rings for breakfast. His stomach is knotted — when food arrives he is unable to eat. Brandy gives him courage to dress and hurry to the theatre on the rue Lepeletier.
Perrin, Saint-Léon and Delibes are already there. Nuitter is relieved – they approve the libretto. Delibes improvises a theme tune for the toymaker, Dr. Coppélius – he wants to create a musical personality for each of the main characters, a radical and original notion. They discuss casting for Swanilda. Nuitter suggests Léontine Beaugrand, but Perrin will not even consider her – in any case, the choreographer insists upon his favourite, Adèle Grantzow. The rôle of Franz is entrusted en travestie to Eugénie Fiocre.
Rehearsal problems arise immediately. Saint-Léon is Ballet-Master of both the Opéra and the Bolshoi simultaneously; he also has other productions all over Europe. When he is available in Paris, Grantzow may be in Vienna, Brussels, Moscow or elsewhere; opportunities to work together on “Coppélia” are frustrated by conflicting timetables. Worse yet, Grantzow is injured, and frequently interrupts or even cancels rehearsals. Time drags on – Saint-Léon creates (and notates) the group dances, but there is almost no choreography to show for the principals.
Perrin grows restless. He needs this ballet onstage — the longer he waits, the more he frets. Eventually it becomes clear that Grantzow will not be dancing the première. Alternative casts are discussed and rejected; tempers fray, and a sense of doom settles over the project. The music is finished, the concept complete, sets and costumes underway and performances scheduled, but without Swanilda they have no ballet. Perrin and Saint-Léon hunt feverishly for a replacement; summer comes and goes with no solution in sight.
In desperation, the two men visit the school in the rue Saint Nicaise. There, against all expectations, they find pretty, vivacious Giuseppina Bozzacchi, come to Paris from her native Milan to join the cours de perfectionnement of the celebrated Madame Dominique. Saint-Léon and Perrin manoeuvre her out of the school and into the rôle. Rehearsals begin, and it is immediately obvious that Bozzacchi is everything they need for Swanilda – attractive, reliable, and technically accomplished.
The spring sun of 1870 warms Paris — in the theatre, there is cautious optimism. Little Giuseppina works tirelessly – Saint-Léon, commuting between Paris and Moscow, is delighted. Word is spreading; seats are starting to sell. On the 25th of May, the Opéra holds its collective breath as the Emperor Napoléon III, the Empress Eugénie and their entourage take their places in the royal box. Can the theatre really be rescued? Is it still possible? Will this ballet save them?
In the event, Coppélia is perfect. The music is wonderful, the choreography and production enchanting, and Giuseppina, completely at home on this famous stage, is suddenly a star. The critics predict a great future for this unknown girl, still only sixteen; within hours all scheduled performances are sold out. Life at the Opéra is sweet again – Perrin, basking in the glory of the moment, heaves a sigh of relief. Giuseppina’s triumph continues, performance after performance, right up to the end of August.
Meanwhile the outside world is changing. In Paris and abroad, political turbulence rumbles. In August, the Prussian King sees a long-awaited opportunity to bring the fragmented German states under his power. On little more than a pretext, he declares war on France. Prussian armies advance, easily defeating the French in Alsace-Lorraine, and pushing on towards the capital. At Sédan, Napoléon III is defeated and captured – his demoralised troops fall back on Paris, the Prussians at their heels. By mid-September, Prussian troops are blockading the city — its two million inhabitants are cut off from supplies.
Famine drives prices sky-high. People kill and eat their horses, dogs and cats. The finest, most expensive restaurants advertise rats and slaughtered zoo animals.
Anarchy reigns, and the Opéra closes. Perrin has been dismissed — there is no money to pay anyone. For dancers, living hand to mouth with barely enough to survive, this seems like the end of the world. For some of them it will be.
Autumn closes in — the plight of the population becomes desperate. Irregular salvoes of Prussian shells scream overhead as people stumble terrified and hungry through the city, searching everywhere for food. Among them is little Giuseppina. Only days ago her sparkling talent, optimism, dedication and courage saved the greatest theatre in France from oblivion; now she is begging for food in the street.
In crowded, insanitary, starving Paris, illness and despair are epidemic. Tuberculosis, diarrhoea, pneumonia and influenza rage though the helpless population. Weakened by malnutrition and disease, disfigured by smallpox, people begin to die. Giuseppina is exhausted, cold, hungry and terrified — inevitably, her immune system breaks down. This amazing, effervescent girl, so recently the darling of Paris, becomes infected.
Sick and desperate, she ís soon too weak even to beg. Curled up in her meagre lodgings, her body ravaged by the virus, she drifts in and out of sleep, defenceless amid freezing squalor, reality and dreams mingling and flowing into each other. In her mind, she is back in the Opéra. The theatre is warm and wonderful, she has her beloved costume, the music is magic, the audience is waiting. She lifts her head and stretches her beautiful feet. A flood of happiness washes over her, a radiant smile lights up her face, and Giuseppina Bozzacchi steps once more onto the stage – her stage…
On the 23rd of November 1870, not quite six months after her triumphant world-première in Coppèlia, the first Swanilda dies of smallpox, fever and starvation.
It is the morning of her seventeenth birthday.
(Author’s note: Giuseppina Bozzacchi is buried in the Cimetière de Montmartre. Her grave is identifiable by the code 12465909).
© Jeremy Leslie-Spinks
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