Fate of the Moulin Rouge

by: angelstate

 

 

Part One

 

            The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub. A dance hall and a bordello. Run over by Harold Zidler. Where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved. Satine. A courtesan. She sold her love to men. They called her the Sparkling Diamond. And she was the star, of the Moulin Rouge.

            This is how my story began. My name is Christian. I remember the day I first came to Paris. It was 1899, the summer of love. The world had been brought up in the bohemian revolution, and I had traveled from London to be a part of it. I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and that which I believed in most, love.

 

 

Part Two

 

            I was at my typewriter one day when an unconscious Argentinean fell through my apartment roof. Well, it turned into conflict after conflict, and soon the residents upstairs, Toulouse, the Doctor, and Satie, wanted me to write their play, Spectacular Spectacular. I agreed after a while, and the only thing left to do was to convince Zidler. And to do that I would first have to convince Satine.

            Oh, I still remember the day I met her. The Sparkling Diamond. She was running through her routine, singing Sparkling Diamonds. I swear I fell head over heels......in love. Especially when we danced.

            Later we met again and she mistook me for the powerful Duke, and pretended she fell in love with me, after I just finished a dazzling performance just for her. Later that night I crept on top of the

Elephant and finally convinced her that love was fantastic. We both sung the Elephant Love Medley, with me persuading her love was all you need, pleading for her to love me, and she convinced she couldn’t afford to love. After all, she was a creature of the underworld. But I soon won her over with words.

 

 

Part Three

 

            The story is quite complicated, but we ended up having to hide our love from everyone, the Duke in particular. But we couldn’t bear it. On the night she was supposed, to, well, be with the Duke, she saw me from a tower on the streets below and couldn’t go through with her horrible task.

            I, for one, was glad. My heart had been ripping and searing in pain and jealousy. So when she came to my small garret in tears, I was relieved from my scorching pain.

            She no longer could hide our love, so I suggested we go away. She was a little hesitant at first, since she had grown up at the Moulin Rouge, but soon she agreed and hurried off to pack her belongings.

            I knew nothing of what went on while she was packing until much later. She was busy gathering her things when Harold came in and, when he discovered she was leaving, told her that if she left, the Duke would kill me.

            Satine however, though tears brimmed her eyes, screamed that she was leaving, no matter what. “We’re going away from the Duke, away from you, away from the Moulin Rouge! Goodbye, Harold.” And Zidler never told her. And I wonder to this day that if he had told her if things could have been different.

 

 

Part Four

 

            We caught a train that night and escaped back into my hometown in London. I paid for a room in a hotel that night. Normally I would have gone home, but I knew my father was raging with anger because I chose to leave London for Paris, so I did not see my father.

            I never fell asleep that night. I watched Satine. My sparkling diamond. There was finally no Duke to hide our love from, no fear of being caught together. I rolled over in bed and looked at Satine. She was sleeping peacefully, and it seemed she was smiling. I smiled myself at the thought of knowing she was happy.

       Then I drifted into another world of thoughts and memories.

            But back at the Moulin Rouge, things weren’t quite as peaceful. The Duke was raging with anger because of the fact that Satine had left. No, not just the fact that she had left, but the fact that she left with me.

            The Duke closed the Moulin Rouge, before the play Spectacular Spectacular ever had a chance to be performed. All the employees were fired and could only roam the sinful streets in sorrow. Like Satine, the Moulin Rouge had been their home.

 

 

Part Five

 

            Back in London, Christian sat up from bed and went to sit at his typewriter. A few minutes later Satine awakened and tiptoed over to Christian, clicking away at the keys of his typewriter. She gently touched his shoulder and giggled when Christian jumped. “Good morning, my darling poet.” Satine whispered. Christian smiled and quickly finished up his writing.

 

            Later that day Satine and I went to my father’s house, and after a lecture from my stern father, I introduced Satine. My father seemed to soften a little. We both stayed there for a week or so before leaving to Europe.

 

 

Part Six

 

            However, back in Paris, the Duke was not satisfied with the closing of the Moulin Rouge. He wanted me dead. If Satine would not be his, he swore to himself she would be no one else’s. And so he set off in search of us.

            Being the powerful man he was proved to be very helpful to the Duke. He was able to track Satine and I to London, though I was not aware of it at the time. He had finally spotted us boarding the train, but I had seen him just then as well.

            That panicky feeling rushed through me once more. I hated it. I hated the Duke. Luckily, Satine and I slipped away into the crowd. Once the train reached Europe, we hopped off the train and ran as fast as we could.

            The run turned out to be much helpful in losing the Duke, and also in helping us find our new home. The small house was for sale. I bought it as soon as I could and we rushed inside.

            We had little with us, just a small bag each, Satine’s precious bird and my beloved typewriter. The house was bare except for the beds in the bedrooms. Satine happily claimed her room, and I took over the room just down the hall.

 

 

Part 7

 

            That night I was awakened from my sleep by the sound of faint coughing. I silently opened my door and padded down the hall to Satine. Knocking on her door, I asked if she was all right. She claimed she was, and, having sensed the worry in my voice, added, “I’m sure.”

            Later that same night I again awoke again to not only coughing, but wheezing as well. My heart tightened in fear. I rushed down the hall, knocking on Satine’s door. The coughing and wheezing continued. I opened her door slightly. “Satine?” I whispered. I gasped when I saw her.

            She lay slumped over on the ground, shaking and shuddering with each forceful cough. It appeared she had fallen out of bed. I rushed to her, and almost screamed when I saw the bright red blood running down her chin and in the handkerchief in her hand. The coughing had stopped.

 

 

Part Eight

 

            Hours later, I lie awake in bed, thinking. Satine had insisted she was fine, but I could not sleep. It suddenly occurred to me that Satine had  been coughing since I knew her.

            On the night she was performing while I was there, she had gasped for air, passed out, and fallen off the trapeze, which was a good eight feet in the air, right in the middle of her Sparkling Diamonds routine.   

            Luckily she was caught by one of the employees, and everyone thought it was part of the performance. I recalled several other occasions when she would lose her breath, cough, or faint. I began to worry. But I soon drifted off to sleep though it was against my will.

            Several days passed, and Satine continued to have coughing spells. I finally made up my mind to have her checked by a doctor, just in case. On my way into town, however, I was stopped from behind. I turned around.

 

 

Part Nine

 

            The Duke. He had a smirk on his face that disgusted me. He began pulling me with him towards his driver, but Satine needed help. I punched the Duke and he stumbled back in shock. He was bruised and slightly cut when he ran off, swearing he would be back.

            I was shook up, but I managed to consult a doctor. At home, the doctor inspected Satine and soon came out of her room. “Well?” I asked, my fear showing in my eyes. The doctor looked at me and sighed. “Mademoiselle Satine is dying.” The words hit me like a cold sharp pain. I choked. “D…Dy...Dying?” I stammered.

            There was nothing to be done. I could only sit and comfort her. I told her softly of the painful news when the doctor had left, and silent tears fell from her usually bright eyes. I had never seen her like that. So defeated, so helpless…so slowly dying.

 

 

Part Ten

 

            By now it was 1901, with no progress in recovery, even though the doctor was doing his best. She would only live a few more weeks, if even that long, the doctor said. I cried for so long after hearing that. How was I supposed to live without Satine?

            I stayed by her side at all times. One day she had a violent attack. I rushed to her, trying to soothe her, but fate had already begun to take over. She struggled to speak, and succeeded in making me promise to write our story, and I cried. Her last words were full of meaning and sincerity. “I’m so sorry, Christian. You’ve got to go on. You’ve got so much to give. I love you.”

            And with that she laid lifeless in my arms. Tears streamed down my face continuously. All the glamours and materials in life faded. The love of my life was taken from me in only seconds. I felt as if my own life was over.

 

 

Part Eleven

 

            Days passed, and I stayed locked up in the house. I missed her voice, her laugh, her smile. I wept bitterly for days. Then a sharp rap sounded upon my door, shattering the miserable silence that hung in the air. Wiping my tear-streaked face, I opened the door and almost burst out crying again.

            The Duke stood at my door. I felt like destroying him. I blamed Satine’s death on him alone. Instead I stood silent, avoiding the Duke’s cold gaze. He struck me and I fell to the ground. “Where is Satine?” he demanded, his voice icy. I gritted my teeth but stayed crumpled on the ground. I told him of Satine’s painful fate through sobs.

            He believed me only after ransacking my house and searching the entire city. He finally spat at me with satisfaction, apparently believing my loss was enough misery for me. And it was more than enough misery.

 

 

Part Twelve

 

            I moved back to my old garret in Paris, and found the deserted Moulin Rouge across the street. The hole in my roof was still there from the Argentinean’s fall. For months I did nothing but weep and suffer. My friend Toulouse still lived upstairs, but not even know I had returned.

            I still miss Satine to this very day. She was my joy, my muse, my life. She completed me. Without her I am nothing. Only a penniless writer, a penniless poet. It haunts me how life is taken away. Death. Fate. No longer was Satine, nor the place she loved existing. The fate of the Moulin Rouge. The fate of Satine.

            Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. And then, one not-so-very-important day, I sat down at my typewriter and I wrote our story. A story about a time. A story about a place. But above all, a story about love. A love that will go on forever. The end.

 

 

 

 

 

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