March, 1901--

And so my story ends.
But, in truth, it ended a long time ago. It ended when the Moulin shut down, it ended when Satine died, it ended when Harry left. It all ended then.
It's all over now. Everything has died with Satine. The Bohemian Revolution, Christian's love, the Moulin Rouge. Myself. Everything's changed. I've changed.
It is sad to think that after all my trials, after everything I did to save the Moulin, I ended up exactly where I feared I would. Was it all for nothing? Did I fight, did I cry, for nothing? Mon Dieu, say that that is not the truth. Say it! If it is, if I really did fight for nothing, I do not know how I'll be able to live with myself.
Did I cause the death of the Moulin Rouge? No, at least, not by myself. In a way, we all did. It just couldn't survive, the way we treated it. Satine's stubbornness, Christian's risk-taking, Harold's relaxed attitude...no, there was no way our home could have survived. And it makes me sad to know that.
Señor José went back to his brothels in Buenos Aires. Marie left for Austria, leaving no address. The Englishman has left for his homeland. As for the Four Whores, I am the sole remaining one. Môme Fromage died shortly after the Moulin closed. Her heart just couldn't stand the strain. China Doll drank herself to death within two months. Arabia, as far as I can tell, was last seen at the border with a gentleman of ill repute. I do not know if she is still living.
I can barely say the same for myself. I am alive, certainly, but I do not truly know if I would call it living. I go from day to day methodically, my mind blank as I seek work, stand in line for charity, have a drink to ease my mind. No, it is not living. It is surviving.
I saw mon petite capitaine only three months ago. Mes amis, you would not recognise him now. I hardly did. He looks the same way he always did, of course, nothing's changed there. The same smile, the same laugh, the same tottering gait. But something has died in him as well. The end of the Moulin was much more for him than the closing of a nightclub. It was the end of his dream, of his Bohemian Revolution. Satine, the selfish hag, took it away.
Henri told me the take more care of myself, to not let despair claim me as it had him. He cautioned me away from his life, from the same dreams that caused his downfall. I suppose I really must be more careful with myself these days, for his sake as well as mine. If I might confess something I have told no one else, mon petite capitaine left me with something besides his wisdom, something that grows inside of me with each passing day. I certainly hope, mes amis, that you understand my meaning, for I promised him that I would tell no one. He wants it that way. He says that it is best that his story ends with him. I do not know if I agree.
And so my story ends, mes amis, with the end of one life and the beginning of a new one. How will I cope, how will I survive? I do not know yet, I am afraid, but I will think of some way. I have to. Perhaps my journey will be one of fortune, or one of failure. It is too early to tell.
So, with that, I end my account.

Adieu, my friends, I go off to glory.