Beauty

By: Linz005

 

I came to Paris to experience all the wonders of the Bohemian revolution and to find freedom, beauty, truth and above all things Love. If you are reading this it is likely that you know my masterpiece about love. It was our story, mine and Satine’s. I took to my type writer to write that story as she had asked when she died. I had loved her with all my heart and soul and it was she who showed me that I was indeed a child of the revolution. I find only comfort now in my writing. It has been two years now since I saw her first and nearly as long since I have been to the Moulin Rouge. My only contact with that vulgar place that lies only across the street from my loft in the Montmarte is through Toulouse. I have no desire to go there anymore. This however is not the story of how I met and loved Satine through everything. This is a story about beauty. I sit now at my typewriter to tell that story because she would have wanted it.

In the weeks following her death, I became practically a recluse. I left only during the day to get things like food and other essentials. At night I closed the window and tried to lock out the echoing music of the can-can that could be heard from the Moulin Rouge. When I heard it I heard only her sweet voice telling me to go on without her, but I had promised to love her come what may until my dying day. I had thought of many things I could do to end my suffering. At first I just wanted everything to end and thought of killing myself, but then her voice came into my head and I couldn’t do it. After that I had thought of returning to Britain and to my family. I thought I might have a chance to find a release from all my thoughts and a place I could be alone to revel in my pain without having Toulouse beg me to come with him to the Moulin Rouge. I yelled at him, begged for him to leave, and even threw him, literally, out of my loft a few times, but he always came back. I decided to stay in Paris though when I thought of my father and what he would say when he knew of all that had passed. With no other options I decided to stay despite my longing to be free of all my memories.

I almost never slept. When I did close my eyes for a few minutes I saw only her face and heard only her voice. I saw her lying in my arms after the Spectacular, Spectacular telling me she was dying and then I could feel her lifeless body lying in my arms. I no longer thought of myself as one of the children of the revolution. I wanted to be a member of the bourgeoisie, just another face in the crowd. I had no ideals anymore. I damned beauty, truth, freedom, and love to hell. The world had lost all its wonder when she died. It had only been wonderful when she was in my world. But I am getting off the subject. I do that often because every lucid thought I have somehow comes back to Satine, her death, and the pain I had after.

I’m sure you’re on the edge of your seat to know how this story is about beauty. Well lets just say that though I wished to shut it out, the world was still turning outside my door, and though I damned them to hell, freedom, truth, beauty, and love still flourished in that world and in my hear. I just needed to rediscover them. Toulouse began to come less and less. He had felt Satine’s death greatly too for he loved her in his own way. I only reminded him that she had died and I made him guilty because he was moving on with his life where I was stuck somewhere between life and death lingering in the past.

He brought me some food one day knowing full well that I only ate when he appeared in my loft handing me a plate of food. He never dared come at night because by then I was often drunk and would become violent when he begged me to go to the Moulin Rouge. Toulouse had immersed himself in his art painting wild nights at the Moulin Rouge in which the girls all looked like Satine's. He once again lectured me on why I should go out with him.

“Christian, I am not going to the Moulin Rouge. I want you to come with me. I have found the perfect landscape. I must paint it. Please…” He trailed off feeling defeated. He reached for the door silently.

“Wait, Toulouse. I will go. I do owe you after all. I mean you introduced me to her.” I looked away as tears welled in my eyes. Like I said, I seldom spoke or thought anything that didn’t come back to Satine.

“Wonderful, wonderful! Hurry!” With that he pushed me out of the door and led me to a magnificent field atop a large hill on the outskirts of the Montmarte. It was awe-inspiring. My eyes widened when I saw it and Toulouse knew he had reached me. I felt it again. It was the feeling that I had felt many times in my life. I felt it when I first realized I belonged in Paris as part of the Revolution and I felt it when I met Satine. As he painted I walked all over the field.

But even that did not restore my belief in beauty, it only opened my eyes. When Toulouse finished painting he slyly tried to get me to accompany him to the Moulin Rouge.

“Nothing will happen, Christian. You’ll have some absinthe, maybe dance with one of the girls. Everyone misses you, you know.” I smiled to myself when he said that.

“Toulouse, you said nothing would happen the first time you took me there and look at everything that has happened. I’m going home.” And so I left him in the street free to go his own way.

I opened the door to my dark loft that was lit only by the lights from the Moulin Rouge. In a dark corner I saw the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Outside my dingy loft, which had known only sadness for the longest time there bloomed a single white rose. It was in itself beauty and it was much like Satine. Through that simple flower I rediscovered Bohemianism and beauty after Satine.

 

 

HOME

Fan Fiction Index

Christian’s Garret

Give FEEDBACK Here!