THE GREATEST THING YOU'LL EVER LEARN
Disclaimer: No characters, except Roxane and others I have created, are mine. Please R/R!
Chapter One
Satine's heart was not the only one Christian had stolen.
There was another, although he hardly knew it. He would see her at rehearsals, on the dance floor and nod politely, thinking her face too young and innocent to be in a place like the Moulin Rouge. But she was not so innocent as she seemed.
Her name was Roxane. A poor girl from Brittany with a prodigious talent for dance, Roxane de Remery left her family behind and moved to Paris at fifteen to study with the prestigious opera ballet. They groomed her to be the next star, so she gave no thought to what her future would be if things didn't work out just as she had planned.
And they didn't. Not exactly.
By her seventeenth birthday, Roxane's skill was catching the eye of the ballet's artistic director and choreographers. She was given the female dancing role in the Bluebird pas de deux in Sleeping Beauty. Roxane knew that if this performance was a triumph, it would vault her into the pantheon of prima ballerinas, and she would be dancing principal roles from now on.
But one evening, after the company had been at rehearsal for hours, Roxane and her partner, Julien, decided to stay late and rehearse their sequences for their principal pas de deux in the following night's opening performance. It had been a long rehearsal, and Roxane knew that her pointe shoes were too soft to dance the full pas de deux, but she hadn't prepared another pair, and decided that she could make it through one last run- through of the dance.
She could feel her toes begin to buckle as she did pique after pique, but instead concentrated on thinking about what would happen after tomorrow night. The roles she would have, the accolades she would receive. And she could finally move out of the cramped, cold room in the women's boarding house into her own apartment. Her shoes became more pliant, but she pushed them to the limit.
All these thoughts flooded through her mind as Julien triumphantly lifted her for the climax of the dance. He set her down into an arabesque, no harder than usual, but her shoes had become so soft, it was as if she wasn't wearing anything at all on her feet. She descended from eight feet in the air onto the foot that had been so praised for its abnormally high arch. There was a pop, and a shooting paint surged through Roxane's foot. It was broken.
Roxane collapsed to the floor, clutching her mangled foot.
"Oh God!" Julien exclaimed, running out the door to find help. Madame Natalya, the choreographer and a former prima ballerina, soon appeared, gauzy black dress trailing after her.
"Eet ees broken," she said in her thick Russian accent, sadness filling her eyes. Within minutes, the doctor had arrived.
"But, I have to dance on it tomorrow!" Roxane exclaimed futilely. Madame Natalya shook her head.
"My dear, you will not dance on it tomorrow night. I have seen breaks like this before. You may not dance on it again," she said gravely.
Roxane could feel her eyes well up. This couldn't be possible. She could sense Madame Natalya's dismay and disappointment. She should not have been dancing on such shoes. But for a girl with such talent, it was impossible not to pity her, for what could have been.
She arrived at the next night's performance with her broken foot tightly bandaged. Backstage, she saw her understudy putting on her Bluebird costume and burst into tears. Madame Natalya took her by the hand and led her to the box where the artistic director, Robert DuPont sat.
"Come," she said, "I haf spoken with M. DuPont. He understands what has happened to you, and will make an exception in your case."
Typically, an injured dancer would be dismissed from the ballet company; they couldn't afford to pay dancers who couldn't dance. But M. DuPont offered her a position as a costume girl, until her foot healed. Then, they would ascertain as to whether or not she could ever dance again and make a decision about her future.
For three months, Roxane worked behind the scenes, helping dancers into their costumes, mending hems and sewing buttons and beads on tutus. Her foot became stronger, and she finally was able to wear a pair of toe shoes.
The day came when she had to audition again for the company. She nervously entered the room where M. DuPont, Madame Natalya, and several other important members of the company would survey her progress.
Roxane started out slowly, hardly going onto her toes. She felt confident. Madame Natalya smiled and nodded slightly. Perhaps she had recovered from her injury. Roxane began to turn fouettés in front of her "judges". She smiled as she counted them off. Five.Six.Seven.Eight. She worked her way to the corner of the room, preparing for a split leap. As she sailed across the room, a feeling of exhilaration returned to her. She extended her right foot-the one she had broken-to show that it was still strong enough to support her.
But it wasn't. As she touched the ground, her foot buckled under her again. Those who were watching let out a gasp as Roxane struggled to her feet. She limped to the table where they sat, a look of anguish on her face.
"Please, let me try it again. I'm just a bit out of practice. I know I can do it well enough!" she protested. M. DuPont assented, pointing his head toward the floor, signaling her to try again.
Roxane assumed the correct position and began another series of split leaps. Her left foot held her up just fine, but again, the right foot buckled, and she tumbled to the floor. She looked up, as if imploring them to give her another chance.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle Roxane. Would you please excuse us for a few minutes," M. DuPont said, his voice betraying trepidation and distress.
Roxane hobbled to the hallway, where she sat, not even bothering to remove her pointe shoes. Madame Natalya emerged a few minutes later, gesturing for her to enter the dance studio. A chair had been placed opposite the table where M. DuPont and the others sat.
"Please, have a seat, Mademoiselle Roxane," M. DuPont said politely. After a pause, he began speaking. "When you came to us, you had the potential to be one of the greatest dancers this country, and certainly this company, has ever seen. We want you to know that we are keenly aware of your exceptional natural talent." He paused. "But an injury such as this one is irreversible. The doctor has told us that it is doubtful your foot will ever return to its former state, or that you will ever be able to dance at the level you were once capable of. I am sorry, Mademoiselle, but there is no way that the company can continue to employ you, if you cannot dance. I do regret this situation, but I am afraid there is nothing more I can do. I wish you the best of luck, and trust that you know that all of us here mourn the brilliant dance career that could have been. Now, you must excuse me. Good day." M. DuPont and the others rose and left the room. Roxane remained in her chair, completely numb. Once they had gone, she put her face in her hands and wept.
Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulders. She looked up. It was Madame Natalya.
"There is somewhere that you can still dance," Madame Natalya said, taking the despondent Roxane by the shoulders. "You will have to expect a slight.decline in reputation. But I am confident that they would be interested in you. And, my dear, if you are good at it, you could make more at this job than you every could at the ballet."
"Where?" Roxane implied.
"Harold Zidler is an acquaintance of mine. Do you know him?" Roxane shook her head. "He is the proprietor of the Moulin Rouge."
"A nightclub?" Roxane exclaimed. "But the dancers.they aren't just dancers!"
"No, my dear. They are courtesans. Like I said, you would have to expect your reputation to fall. But what other options do you have Roxane? The company certainly cannot employ you. Would you rather return to your family's farm in Brittany and tend goats for the rest of your life. You were made for something more than that. At least you will still be able to dance."
Roxane weighed her options. Madame Natalya was right. She did not have many to choose from.
"Very well. I will meet this Zidler."
Three days later, Roxane made her way to the village of Montmartre and the Moulin Rouge. She had never even laid eyes on the nightclub or the village. She sidestepped past whores and bohemians made woozy and delirious by too much absinthe to the Rue Pigalle, where the red windmill greeted her. It was daytime, so no one was inside or milling about the exterior. She explained to the doorman who she was, and he led her to Zidler's office.
"Monsieur Zidler?" Roxane said shyly. The large leather chair facing the wall turned around. In it sat the infamous Harold Zidler. He was not, as Roxane had imagined, frightening or menacing looking. He was a portly man with wild red hair and moustache who talked with great flair.
"Mam'selle Roxane!" he exclaimed, jumping from his chair. "Ah yes, Natalya was right. Quite lovely."
Roxane blushed and turned away.
"Ah, ah, ah," Zidler clucked his tongue. "We can't be shy here. When a man tells you how lovely you are, you must encourage him. Make him think he'll get something for all his flattery."
"Madame Natalya told me that I could find employment here, as a dancer," Roxane said shyly.
"As a dancer, yes, yes of course. But surely Madame Natalya also told you that you would not only be dancing," Zidler responded with a slight laugh.
Roxane looked down, nodding.
"We all must make sacrifices for our art," she said resolutely. Zidler understood, and pitied this girl, who was willing to give up so much, only to keep her dream alive. She reminded him of Satine, when she was younger. Innocent but still worldly, and deeply wounded somewhere inside.
"Yes, yes, my dear, sometimes we must," he said. "Well, I think you would make a lovely addition to our little.coterie. Can you begin this Saturday? I'll have Marie find you a costume. What do you say we call you?"
"Call me?" Roxane asked, confused.
"Well, yes, all the girls have names other than their owns. Personas, if you will. There's Arabia and China Doll.Travesty, Babydoll, and of course, Satine. What should we call you?"
"I don't know," Roxane said quietly.
Zidler looked at her pensively.
"Well, you were a ballerina. But we couldn't call you 'Ballerina', too general. What roles did you dance before you.uh.came here?"
Roxane's face lit up at the mention of her past.
"I was in the corps de ballet mostly. Although, I did dance the Bluebird pas de deux in Sleeping Beauty," she told him.
"Bluebird? Excellent!!" Zidler exclaimed. "Marie! Come, come meet our newest girl!" An older woman, whom Roxane supposed was the chaperone for all the girls, entered the room. "Roxane, this is Marie. Marie, this is Roxane, to be known hereafter as Bluebird!" Marie nodded politely to Roxane. She seemed preoccupied however, and soon rushed out of the room when loud coughing emanated from the hallway.
"Excuse me," she said softly.
"Well, she'll be back to help you with a costume. Something blue, I imagine!" Zidler laughed heartily, but Roxane could only smile slightly.
Just then, the door to Zidler's office burst open, and an extremely short man carrying a cane came bursting in.
"Monsieur Zidwer!" the man lisped. "I have here the first dwaft of 'Spectacular, Spectacular!' Would you care to pewuse what we have witten?" Noticing Roxane, the man took off his hat to her. "Oh, hello, mademoiselle. Allow me to intwoduce myself. I am Henri Marie Raymond Toulouse-Lautrec Montfla, at your service! But please call me Toulouse!" He kissed Roxane's hand grandly. "And might I have the pweasure of your name?"
"I'm Roxane," she said shyly.
"Ah, Woxane! Such a wovely name!" But before Toulouse could say anything further, Zidler interrupted.
"Toulouse, this is Roxane. She will be working here from now on. She used to be a dancer in the Opera Ballet," Zidler said diplomatically.
"Oh! Spwendid! You shall have to be involved in our pwoduction! I think you would make a lovely Swiss milkmaid! We are witing a twuwy stupendous pway set in Switzuhwand, upholding the Bohemian ideals of twuth, beauty, fweedom, and of course, the gweatest of all, love!" Toulouse exclaimed.
"Yes, Roxane, Toulouse and his friends are writing a play to be produced here in the Moulin Rouge," Zidler continued. "You see, I am trying to convert the Moulin Rouge into a theatre. But we can talk about all of this later. Roxane, please see Marie about a costume, and we will discuss things further on Saturday night! I will see you then, my dear!"
Roxane thanked Zidler for the job, and said goodbye to Toulouse. Walking home that night, she sensed that that her life had changed. But she had no idea how things were going to change even more.
Disclaimer: No characters, except Roxane and others I have created, are mine. Please R/R!
Chapter One
Satine's heart was not the only one Christian had stolen.
There was another, although he hardly knew it. He would see her at rehearsals, on the dance floor and nod politely, thinking her face too young and innocent to be in a place like the Moulin Rouge. But she was not so innocent as she seemed.
Her name was Roxane. A poor girl from Brittany with a prodigious talent for dance, Roxane de Remery left her family behind and moved to Paris at fifteen to study with the prestigious opera ballet. They groomed her to be the next star, so she gave no thought to what her future would be if things didn't work out just as she had planned.
And they didn't. Not exactly.
By her seventeenth birthday, Roxane's skill was catching the eye of the ballet's artistic director and choreographers. She was given the female dancing role in the Bluebird pas de deux in Sleeping Beauty. Roxane knew that if this performance was a triumph, it would vault her into the pantheon of prima ballerinas, and she would be dancing principal roles from now on.
But one evening, after the company had been at rehearsal for hours, Roxane and her partner, Julien, decided to stay late and rehearse their sequences for their principal pas de deux in the following night's opening performance. It had been a long rehearsal, and Roxane knew that her pointe shoes were too soft to dance the full pas de deux, but she hadn't prepared another pair, and decided that she could make it through one last run- through of the dance.
She could feel her toes begin to buckle as she did pique after pique, but instead concentrated on thinking about what would happen after tomorrow night. The roles she would have, the accolades she would receive. And she could finally move out of the cramped, cold room in the women's boarding house into her own apartment. Her shoes became more pliant, but she pushed them to the limit.
All these thoughts flooded through her mind as Julien triumphantly lifted her for the climax of the dance. He set her down into an arabesque, no harder than usual, but her shoes had become so soft, it was as if she wasn't wearing anything at all on her feet. She descended from eight feet in the air onto the foot that had been so praised for its abnormally high arch. There was a pop, and a shooting paint surged through Roxane's foot. It was broken.
Roxane collapsed to the floor, clutching her mangled foot.
"Oh God!" Julien exclaimed, running out the door to find help. Madame Natalya, the choreographer and a former prima ballerina, soon appeared, gauzy black dress trailing after her.
"Eet ees broken," she said in her thick Russian accent, sadness filling her eyes. Within minutes, the doctor had arrived.
"But, I have to dance on it tomorrow!" Roxane exclaimed futilely. Madame Natalya shook her head.
"My dear, you will not dance on it tomorrow night. I have seen breaks like this before. You may not dance on it again," she said gravely.
Roxane could feel her eyes well up. This couldn't be possible. She could sense Madame Natalya's dismay and disappointment. She should not have been dancing on such shoes. But for a girl with such talent, it was impossible not to pity her, for what could have been.
She arrived at the next night's performance with her broken foot tightly bandaged. Backstage, she saw her understudy putting on her Bluebird costume and burst into tears. Madame Natalya took her by the hand and led her to the box where the artistic director, Robert DuPont sat.
"Come," she said, "I haf spoken with M. DuPont. He understands what has happened to you, and will make an exception in your case."
Typically, an injured dancer would be dismissed from the ballet company; they couldn't afford to pay dancers who couldn't dance. But M. DuPont offered her a position as a costume girl, until her foot healed. Then, they would ascertain as to whether or not she could ever dance again and make a decision about her future.
For three months, Roxane worked behind the scenes, helping dancers into their costumes, mending hems and sewing buttons and beads on tutus. Her foot became stronger, and she finally was able to wear a pair of toe shoes.
The day came when she had to audition again for the company. She nervously entered the room where M. DuPont, Madame Natalya, and several other important members of the company would survey her progress.
Roxane started out slowly, hardly going onto her toes. She felt confident. Madame Natalya smiled and nodded slightly. Perhaps she had recovered from her injury. Roxane began to turn fouettés in front of her "judges". She smiled as she counted them off. Five.Six.Seven.Eight. She worked her way to the corner of the room, preparing for a split leap. As she sailed across the room, a feeling of exhilaration returned to her. She extended her right foot-the one she had broken-to show that it was still strong enough to support her.
But it wasn't. As she touched the ground, her foot buckled under her again. Those who were watching let out a gasp as Roxane struggled to her feet. She limped to the table where they sat, a look of anguish on her face.
"Please, let me try it again. I'm just a bit out of practice. I know I can do it well enough!" she protested. M. DuPont assented, pointing his head toward the floor, signaling her to try again.
Roxane assumed the correct position and began another series of split leaps. Her left foot held her up just fine, but again, the right foot buckled, and she tumbled to the floor. She looked up, as if imploring them to give her another chance.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle Roxane. Would you please excuse us for a few minutes," M. DuPont said, his voice betraying trepidation and distress.
Roxane hobbled to the hallway, where she sat, not even bothering to remove her pointe shoes. Madame Natalya emerged a few minutes later, gesturing for her to enter the dance studio. A chair had been placed opposite the table where M. DuPont and the others sat.
"Please, have a seat, Mademoiselle Roxane," M. DuPont said politely. After a pause, he began speaking. "When you came to us, you had the potential to be one of the greatest dancers this country, and certainly this company, has ever seen. We want you to know that we are keenly aware of your exceptional natural talent." He paused. "But an injury such as this one is irreversible. The doctor has told us that it is doubtful your foot will ever return to its former state, or that you will ever be able to dance at the level you were once capable of. I am sorry, Mademoiselle, but there is no way that the company can continue to employ you, if you cannot dance. I do regret this situation, but I am afraid there is nothing more I can do. I wish you the best of luck, and trust that you know that all of us here mourn the brilliant dance career that could have been. Now, you must excuse me. Good day." M. DuPont and the others rose and left the room. Roxane remained in her chair, completely numb. Once they had gone, she put her face in her hands and wept.
Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulders. She looked up. It was Madame Natalya.
"There is somewhere that you can still dance," Madame Natalya said, taking the despondent Roxane by the shoulders. "You will have to expect a slight.decline in reputation. But I am confident that they would be interested in you. And, my dear, if you are good at it, you could make more at this job than you every could at the ballet."
"Where?" Roxane implied.
"Harold Zidler is an acquaintance of mine. Do you know him?" Roxane shook her head. "He is the proprietor of the Moulin Rouge."
"A nightclub?" Roxane exclaimed. "But the dancers.they aren't just dancers!"
"No, my dear. They are courtesans. Like I said, you would have to expect your reputation to fall. But what other options do you have Roxane? The company certainly cannot employ you. Would you rather return to your family's farm in Brittany and tend goats for the rest of your life. You were made for something more than that. At least you will still be able to dance."
Roxane weighed her options. Madame Natalya was right. She did not have many to choose from.
"Very well. I will meet this Zidler."
Three days later, Roxane made her way to the village of Montmartre and the Moulin Rouge. She had never even laid eyes on the nightclub or the village. She sidestepped past whores and bohemians made woozy and delirious by too much absinthe to the Rue Pigalle, where the red windmill greeted her. It was daytime, so no one was inside or milling about the exterior. She explained to the doorman who she was, and he led her to Zidler's office.
"Monsieur Zidler?" Roxane said shyly. The large leather chair facing the wall turned around. In it sat the infamous Harold Zidler. He was not, as Roxane had imagined, frightening or menacing looking. He was a portly man with wild red hair and moustache who talked with great flair.
"Mam'selle Roxane!" he exclaimed, jumping from his chair. "Ah yes, Natalya was right. Quite lovely."
Roxane blushed and turned away.
"Ah, ah, ah," Zidler clucked his tongue. "We can't be shy here. When a man tells you how lovely you are, you must encourage him. Make him think he'll get something for all his flattery."
"Madame Natalya told me that I could find employment here, as a dancer," Roxane said shyly.
"As a dancer, yes, yes of course. But surely Madame Natalya also told you that you would not only be dancing," Zidler responded with a slight laugh.
Roxane looked down, nodding.
"We all must make sacrifices for our art," she said resolutely. Zidler understood, and pitied this girl, who was willing to give up so much, only to keep her dream alive. She reminded him of Satine, when she was younger. Innocent but still worldly, and deeply wounded somewhere inside.
"Yes, yes, my dear, sometimes we must," he said. "Well, I think you would make a lovely addition to our little.coterie. Can you begin this Saturday? I'll have Marie find you a costume. What do you say we call you?"
"Call me?" Roxane asked, confused.
"Well, yes, all the girls have names other than their owns. Personas, if you will. There's Arabia and China Doll.Travesty, Babydoll, and of course, Satine. What should we call you?"
"I don't know," Roxane said quietly.
Zidler looked at her pensively.
"Well, you were a ballerina. But we couldn't call you 'Ballerina', too general. What roles did you dance before you.uh.came here?"
Roxane's face lit up at the mention of her past.
"I was in the corps de ballet mostly. Although, I did dance the Bluebird pas de deux in Sleeping Beauty," she told him.
"Bluebird? Excellent!!" Zidler exclaimed. "Marie! Come, come meet our newest girl!" An older woman, whom Roxane supposed was the chaperone for all the girls, entered the room. "Roxane, this is Marie. Marie, this is Roxane, to be known hereafter as Bluebird!" Marie nodded politely to Roxane. She seemed preoccupied however, and soon rushed out of the room when loud coughing emanated from the hallway.
"Excuse me," she said softly.
"Well, she'll be back to help you with a costume. Something blue, I imagine!" Zidler laughed heartily, but Roxane could only smile slightly.
Just then, the door to Zidler's office burst open, and an extremely short man carrying a cane came bursting in.
"Monsieur Zidwer!" the man lisped. "I have here the first dwaft of 'Spectacular, Spectacular!' Would you care to pewuse what we have witten?" Noticing Roxane, the man took off his hat to her. "Oh, hello, mademoiselle. Allow me to intwoduce myself. I am Henri Marie Raymond Toulouse-Lautrec Montfla, at your service! But please call me Toulouse!" He kissed Roxane's hand grandly. "And might I have the pweasure of your name?"
"I'm Roxane," she said shyly.
"Ah, Woxane! Such a wovely name!" But before Toulouse could say anything further, Zidler interrupted.
"Toulouse, this is Roxane. She will be working here from now on. She used to be a dancer in the Opera Ballet," Zidler said diplomatically.
"Oh! Spwendid! You shall have to be involved in our pwoduction! I think you would make a lovely Swiss milkmaid! We are witing a twuwy stupendous pway set in Switzuhwand, upholding the Bohemian ideals of twuth, beauty, fweedom, and of course, the gweatest of all, love!" Toulouse exclaimed.
"Yes, Roxane, Toulouse and his friends are writing a play to be produced here in the Moulin Rouge," Zidler continued. "You see, I am trying to convert the Moulin Rouge into a theatre. But we can talk about all of this later. Roxane, please see Marie about a costume, and we will discuss things further on Saturday night! I will see you then, my dear!"
Roxane thanked Zidler for the job, and said goodbye to Toulouse. Walking home that night, she sensed that that her life had changed. But she had no idea how things were going to change even more.