"There was a boy,
A very strange enchanted boy,
They say he wandered very far, very far,
Over land and sea.
"And then one day One magic day he passed my way, A while we spoke of many things, Fools and kings This he said to me. 'The greatest thing you'll ever learn Is just to love, and be loved in return.' "
Rain in Montmarte
The sight of the village of Montmarte is so different from that of only a year ago. Even though it was never greatly respected then, it bloomed while it showcased the magnificent Moulin Rouge, a place where men came to indulge their fantasies, and where one man fell in love.
Now, in 1900, there stand its remains, which are in perfect view of Spike Spiegel's window. Inside, Spike sits on the filthy floor, only staring at it, thinking of Julia.
"It has been so long, but the feeling doesn't go away. My past is full of so much that I wish to ignore, but you are the one thing that I can never forget."
After hours spent on reflecting, Spike finally raises his head and looks over to the window. He ignores what is outside and looks at the typewriter that sits there. As he begins to look away he remembers the last few moments that he had with the woman, and with that he picks himself up and walks over to it. He sits down on the chair beside it and prepares to type as he lights a cigarette and puts it to his mouth.
"The Moulin Rouge," he typed as he made a quick glance out the window, ". a nightclub, a dance hall, and a bordello. It was a kingdom of nighttime pleasures, ruled over by Harold Zidler. Here the rich and powerful came to play with young and beautiful creatures of the Underworld, and the most beautiful of all of them was the woman I loved, Julia, a courtesan. She sold her love to men, and they called her the 'Sparkling Diamond'. She was the star. of the Moulin Rouge.
"The woman I loved. is. dead."
Though he knew he would eventually write it, it was still hard to accept it, as she often made him feel like he was alive for the first time. He mustered up whatever was left for him to spare, and he began once more.
"I first came to Paris one year ago, in 1899. It was the summer of love, and I had known nothing of Julia, Harold, or the Moulin Rouge. The world had been swept away by the Bohemian Revolution, and I had traveled there to be a part of it. One a hill near Paris was the village of Montmarte. It was not like my father had said it would be. He called it 'a village of sin', but it was the center of the Bohemian World with musicians painters, and writers. They were known as the 'Children of the Revolution'. Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and at which I believe in above all things. love."
As he wrote, he thought back on his father words.
"Always this ridiculous obsession with love!"
Thinking back was very difficult and painful, but he managed to crack a little smile at the thought.
After taking a momentary inhale from his cigarette, he quickly continued typing.
"And then one day One magic day he passed my way, A while we spoke of many things, Fools and kings This he said to me. 'The greatest thing you'll ever learn Is just to love, and be loved in return.' "
Rain in Montmarte
The sight of the village of Montmarte is so different from that of only a year ago. Even though it was never greatly respected then, it bloomed while it showcased the magnificent Moulin Rouge, a place where men came to indulge their fantasies, and where one man fell in love.
Now, in 1900, there stand its remains, which are in perfect view of Spike Spiegel's window. Inside, Spike sits on the filthy floor, only staring at it, thinking of Julia.
"It has been so long, but the feeling doesn't go away. My past is full of so much that I wish to ignore, but you are the one thing that I can never forget."
After hours spent on reflecting, Spike finally raises his head and looks over to the window. He ignores what is outside and looks at the typewriter that sits there. As he begins to look away he remembers the last few moments that he had with the woman, and with that he picks himself up and walks over to it. He sits down on the chair beside it and prepares to type as he lights a cigarette and puts it to his mouth.
"The Moulin Rouge," he typed as he made a quick glance out the window, ". a nightclub, a dance hall, and a bordello. It was a kingdom of nighttime pleasures, ruled over by Harold Zidler. Here the rich and powerful came to play with young and beautiful creatures of the Underworld, and the most beautiful of all of them was the woman I loved, Julia, a courtesan. She sold her love to men, and they called her the 'Sparkling Diamond'. She was the star. of the Moulin Rouge.
"The woman I loved. is. dead."
Though he knew he would eventually write it, it was still hard to accept it, as she often made him feel like he was alive for the first time. He mustered up whatever was left for him to spare, and he began once more.
"I first came to Paris one year ago, in 1899. It was the summer of love, and I had known nothing of Julia, Harold, or the Moulin Rouge. The world had been swept away by the Bohemian Revolution, and I had traveled there to be a part of it. One a hill near Paris was the village of Montmarte. It was not like my father had said it would be. He called it 'a village of sin', but it was the center of the Bohemian World with musicians painters, and writers. They were known as the 'Children of the Revolution'. Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and at which I believe in above all things. love."
As he wrote, he thought back on his father words.
"Always this ridiculous obsession with love!"
Thinking back was very difficult and painful, but he managed to crack a little smile at the thought.
After taking a momentary inhale from his cigarette, he quickly continued typing.