“This is Maisie,” Oscar called back. “She’s come to watch you perform, so you’d better not mess it up like you usually do, Alexandre!”

There was a lot of laughter from the others at this. They were all mounting now, and from another wing of the stables came still more horses, grey ones this time. They were very elegant and dressed in cavalry saddle blankets across their dappled backs. They had long free-flowing manes and sooty leg-stockings and dark eyes and muzzles. As I watched them take their places, ready to perform, the tourists gathered in the courtyard on the seats waiting for them to begin. I breathed it all in, the sounds and the smells and the sense of pure heaven to be in such a place. And when Claude took his place at the front of the parade and held me with his dark and intense gaze, I felt myself become lost in the mysteries hidden in those deep, black eyes of his. He was so beautiful, so powerful and so gentle at the same time. Of all the horses here at the Célestins, there was something special about him. He was the most noble horse I had ever seen. And at that moment, although I didn’t realise it yet, in the realms of the Célestins Garde, I had found what every artist needs. As Rose explained to me later in the diary, I had discovered something in Claude. He was to become my muse.

Chapter 6: The Stag and the Pheasant

August 24, 1852

Papa says all great artists have a muse: someone that symbolises ultimate beauty for them and inspires them to feel the emotions they need to create their art. Horses are my muse. Every day I find something new in them that I want to capture. Until now, my muse had always been Celine, but Papa forced me to leave the mare behind in the city when we left to spend the summer at Fontainebleau. Luckily our chateau here in the country has a stable full of horses I can use as my models if need be.