There was a girl
A very strange enchanted girl
They say she wandered very far
Very far
Over land and sea
A little shy
And sad of eye
But very wise was she
And then one day
A magic day
She passed my way
And while we spoke of many things
Fools and kings
This she said to me
“The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return.”
It’s been months since I have been able to look at the typewriter sitting on my table but the room is bare and there isn’t much else to look at. I’d made her a promise, to tell our story and now I feel like maybe I can finally do that, from the beginning.
The Moulin Rouge: A nightclub, a dance hall and a bordello ruled over by The Dean. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich played with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all these was the woman who I loved. Carmilla. A courtesan, she sold her love to men. They called her "The Sparkling Diamond." And she was the star of the Moulin Rouge.
The woman I loved is dead.
I first came to Paris one year ago. It was the summer of Love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, The Dean or Carmilla. The world had been swept up in a Bohemian revolution, and I had come to be a part of it.
On the hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre. It was not, as my father said a village of sin but the center of the Bohemian world. Musicians, painters, writers. They were known as the Children of the Revolution.
I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and that which I believed in above all things: Love.
Still to this day I can see my father in his library, a tall imposing figure. Face red with anger and his body shaking “always this ridiculous obsession with love!” but it did not stop me then.
There was one problem. I'd never been in love.
But an unconscious Argentinean falling through my roof would soon change all that.
** *** **
The roof creaked loudly above Laura’s head, dust falling from the ceiling and dancing across the air above her head. She looked up cautiously and jumped back in fright as a body fell through the wooden slats landing on her bed.
She had barely time to recover from the shock, the room still filled with thick dust when the door slammed open and an extremely short person stepped into her room. The dust was so thick she could not make out who the person was but that they were wearing a nun’s outfit was very clear.
“How do you do?” they held out their hand for yours. “My name is Henri Marie Raymond Lafontaine-Lautrec-Montfa.”
Laura shakes their hand, still too shocked to speak.
“I’m terribly sorry. We were upstairs rehearsing a play.”
They quickly let go of Laura’s hand and moved to the bed, the man unconscious on her bed.
** *** **
A play, something very modern called ‘Spectacular, Spectacular’, set in Switzerland. The Argentinean unconscious on my bed suffered from narcolepsy. Perfectly fine one moment, then unconscious the next.
** *** **
“How is he?” A head popped down from the hole in Laura’s ceiling causing her to jump back once more.
“Wonderful, The Argentinean is unconscious. Now the play will not be ready to present to the financier tomorrow.” Another head appeared beside the other.
“I still have to finish the music!” And another head.
“Someone else can read the part.” Lafontaine said beside Laura, the man on the bed completely forgotten.
“Where on earth will we find someone to play a young, sensitive Swiss poet goat herder?” Asked from above.
Lafontaine turned to look a Laura, a smile on their face, an idea in their head. A ladder was soon dropped down the hole in the ceiling.
** *** **
Soon I was upstairs, standing in for the unconscious Argentinean. Lafontaine had found some spare clothes to help fill in as a man. But it quickly became apparent that Spectacular, Spectacular was not quite as ready as they had made it out to be. There were artistic differences over Danny’s lyrics.
** *** **
The room was filled with cacophony of sound, the musical lead tinkering with several instruments at once. Their red, curly hair pulled up into a messy bun a frazzled look on her face.
“The hills animate with the euphonious symphonies of descant” Lafontaine tried to sing along to the music, trying new lyrics.
“Oh, stop! Stop that insufferable droning!” Danny yelled. “It's drowning out my words! Just stick to some decorative piano.”
“A nun wouldn't say that about a hill.” Lafontaine said, “How about, ‘the hills are vital intoning the descant’?” they suggested.
The Argentinean, Kirsch, jerked into consciousness "The hills quake and shake... The hills are incarnate
with symphonic melodies” and quickly fell backwards in consciousness once more.
Laura stood atop a ladder, palms itching and head swimming with words. "The hills..." she began but her voice wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the noise in the room.”The hills..." she tried again but still nothing.
Laura took a deep breath. “The hills are alive with the sound of music.” Her voice sang easily over the room, all falling quiet at her words.
“The hills are alive with the sound of music. I love it!” cried Lafontaine.
Kirsch again jerked up from the bed he had been placed on, “The hills are alive with the sound of music…It fits perfectly!”
They all looked expectantly up at Laura, urging her to continue.
“With songs they have sung for a thousand years.”
“Incandiferous!” Lafontaine said, turning to Danny, “You should write the show together.”
Danny could not believe the words she was hearing, she was the playwright. She would not share the limelight with some, child. “Excuse me?”
Nobody in the room spoke, they wanted Laura to write.
Danny quickly grabbed her things and stormed out the door. A ‘goodbye’ shouted through the door. Danny’s actions did not put a damper on the excitement that filled the room. Kirsch, now fully conscious pulled a bottle of absinthe from beneath the bed.
“Here's to your first job in Paris.” Lafontaine held out glasses to all in the room.
“Lafontaine, The Dean will never agree!” The musician said, accepting a glass.
“Have you ever written a play before?” The musician turned, questioning Laura.
“No.” She replied.
“The girl has talent! I like her.” Kirsch said, stepping close to Laura and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Nothing funny.” He continued looking down on her. “I just like talent.”
“With Laura, we can write the Bohemian revolutionary show we always dreamt of.” Lafontaine said.
“How will we convince The Dean?”
** *** **
Lafontaine had a plan. Carmilla. They'd dress me in a suit and say I was a famous English writer. Once Carmilla heard my poetry, she'd be amazed and insist that I write Spectacular, Spectacular.
But I kept hearing my father's voice: You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge as a cancan dancer!
** *** **
“I can't write the show!” Laura cried out, rushing through the room and down the ladder leading to her apartment.
“Why not?” asked Kirsch, kneeling down beside the hole.
“I don't know if I am a Bohemian revolutionary.” Laura replied, stopping several rungs down on the ladder, her voice small.
“Do you believe in beauty?” Lafontaine asked.
“Yes.”
“Freedom?” They continued.
“Of course.”
“Truth?”
“Yes.”
Lafontaine’s voice fell to a whisper. “Love?” they asked.
“Love? Love? Above all things, I believe in love.” Laura said, stepping high on the ladder, her voice growing stronger.
The faces above her smiled.
“Love is like oxygen. Love is a many-splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!” Laura finished, now closer to the room above her own.
“You can't fool us!” Lafontaine began. “You're the voice of the Children of the Revolution! We can't be fooled!”
** *** **
To the writer of the world's first Bohemian revolutionary show! That was how I was to spend my time in Paris, a task they had convinced me was exactly what I was meant to do.
It was the perfect plan. I was to audition for Carmilla and taste my first glass of absinthe. We were off to the Moulin Rouge. I would perform my poetry for Carmilla.
The Moulin Rouge was more magnificent then I could have imagined. The building screamed decadence through the streets, The Dean took every pleasure in creating a fantasy world for the rich. And his infamous girls, the ‘Diamond Dogs’ were not to be denied.
** *** **
Laura didn’t know where to look, the room was buzzing with sound and motion. The excited chatter of men in their suits as they eyed the dancers, the band playing, and the singing of the girls as they danced their way through the crowd and across the stages that surrounded the main floor. The lights were bright and the room glittered.
Laura allowed herself to be pulled along through the maze of men, fearing she would be lost without Lafontaine. The suit she wore was well fitted, the musician, Perry, had quickly been able to alter it to fit Laura better. Her hair had been tied in a tight bun so that it could be hidden beneath a top hat. Lafontaine’s plan involved a private meeting with Carmilla and it would be much easier if Laura could pass, however poorly, as a man.
The group found a table on the second floor overlooking the main floor.
** *** ***
Mission accomplished. We'd successfully evaded The Dean and found our way into the Moulin Rouge. And that was when I first saw her, The Sparkling Diamond. Carmilla.
** *** **
“There she is!” Lafontaine yelled over the noise tapping Laura quickly on the shoulder and pointing towards the stage.
Laura turned and her mouth dropped. From the roof, on a suspended gold swing, came Carmilla. It was obvious why she was The Dean’s favourite, she was the most beautiful woman Laura had ever seen in her life.
“The French are glad to die for love” Carmilla’s voice rang out across the room and a silence feel across the audience. She was captivating, every eye in the room falling on her.
Laura found herself leaning forward in her chair to get any closer to the woman descending onto the main stage.
** *** **
But someone else was to meet Carmilla that night. The Dean's investor.
The Duke.