Well, finally I started with the translation of my story about the Moulin
Rouge. Since it takes a certain time not simply translating the story but
trying to write it down "anew" in another language with other sentence
structures and so on, I'll publish the story in several chapters. So don't
you worry, the story isn't over yet… For those who cannot wait 'til the
next chapter and are able to read german, just write me a short message and
I'll send the original version to you.
And don't be so rude if there are mistakes, I try to do my very best…
-------Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, though I made up some names for some courtesans, but to Twentieth Century Fox, Baz Luhrmann or whoever.-------
Satine
It was evening, and it was raining, when I found her, a little girl, cowering in a corner, holding a little, wooden doll tight, as if she feared, I could take it away from her. Her red, waved hair stuck on her face, wet because of the rain, tangled and neglected, and her bright, blue eyes looked frightened when I leaned forward and let the rain stop by holding my umbrella over her. Her whole body was shivering, the thin dress she wore was muddy and torn, keeping off neither wetness nor the cold. Her little fingers clenched even tighter around the puppet when I stroked her head carefully, but she did not fight when I lifted her up and carried her away on my arms.
"Monsieur", she whispered timorously.
I smiled. "Don't worry, my little girl. I will take you away from here."
She didn't have a name, but there was no problem finding one when I looked at her after Marie had let her having a bath, had dryed her and had given her new clothes. Her hair was shimmering, her eyes were shining, her skin was light and soft, she was sparkling like a diamond, beautiful even now, although she could not be older than ten years. Nearly reverent I whispered: "Satine…"
Blue eyes looked at me, asking, then she smiled, and I had a feeling as if the sun was sending her beams through the grey sky hanging over Montmartre and bathing that girl in her warm light.
I kneeled down before her and touched her cheek softly with my fingers. "I'm Harold", I said, "and from now on, you are Satine, and you're living here with me and Marie."
She nodded. Then she looked around. "Where's Sarah?"
Marie gave her the wooden doll, and Satine cuddled her.
"Shall we go and look whether we find such a nice dress for Sarah like you are wearing it, little Satine?"
The girl exulted and hugged Marie impetuously. "Yes, oh, please, yes!"
Marie smiled. "Well then, come with me."
I gazed after them when they vanished into the costume room, and again, a smile appeared on my lips. She was like a little angel, so fragile, so beautiful, an angel, fallen down from heaven to light up my life, the life between the worlds, in the underground, far away from the sun. Everybody seemed to believe that life on Montmartre was full of joy, that the bohemian's awareness of life was enjoyable in its original form. Well, that might have been true; for those, who could effort this way of life, at least. We, who stood on the stage, night by night, in order to avoid the nothingness, were far away from this ideal. We lived for the show, and the show had gained control over us. And now heaven had sent me this angel, a ray of hope in the darkness of Moulin Rouge. In this moment, when she disappeared together with Marie, I swore to myself to do everything possible to give her a better life than we all lived. I swore to myself that I would never sold her to men.
And god knows, I didn't want to break that oath.
And don't be so rude if there are mistakes, I try to do my very best…
-------Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, though I made up some names for some courtesans, but to Twentieth Century Fox, Baz Luhrmann or whoever.-------
Satine
It was evening, and it was raining, when I found her, a little girl, cowering in a corner, holding a little, wooden doll tight, as if she feared, I could take it away from her. Her red, waved hair stuck on her face, wet because of the rain, tangled and neglected, and her bright, blue eyes looked frightened when I leaned forward and let the rain stop by holding my umbrella over her. Her whole body was shivering, the thin dress she wore was muddy and torn, keeping off neither wetness nor the cold. Her little fingers clenched even tighter around the puppet when I stroked her head carefully, but she did not fight when I lifted her up and carried her away on my arms.
"Monsieur", she whispered timorously.
I smiled. "Don't worry, my little girl. I will take you away from here."
She didn't have a name, but there was no problem finding one when I looked at her after Marie had let her having a bath, had dryed her and had given her new clothes. Her hair was shimmering, her eyes were shining, her skin was light and soft, she was sparkling like a diamond, beautiful even now, although she could not be older than ten years. Nearly reverent I whispered: "Satine…"
Blue eyes looked at me, asking, then she smiled, and I had a feeling as if the sun was sending her beams through the grey sky hanging over Montmartre and bathing that girl in her warm light.
I kneeled down before her and touched her cheek softly with my fingers. "I'm Harold", I said, "and from now on, you are Satine, and you're living here with me and Marie."
She nodded. Then she looked around. "Where's Sarah?"
Marie gave her the wooden doll, and Satine cuddled her.
"Shall we go and look whether we find such a nice dress for Sarah like you are wearing it, little Satine?"
The girl exulted and hugged Marie impetuously. "Yes, oh, please, yes!"
Marie smiled. "Well then, come with me."
I gazed after them when they vanished into the costume room, and again, a smile appeared on my lips. She was like a little angel, so fragile, so beautiful, an angel, fallen down from heaven to light up my life, the life between the worlds, in the underground, far away from the sun. Everybody seemed to believe that life on Montmartre was full of joy, that the bohemian's awareness of life was enjoyable in its original form. Well, that might have been true; for those, who could effort this way of life, at least. We, who stood on the stage, night by night, in order to avoid the nothingness, were far away from this ideal. We lived for the show, and the show had gained control over us. And now heaven had sent me this angel, a ray of hope in the darkness of Moulin Rouge. In this moment, when she disappeared together with Marie, I swore to myself to do everything possible to give her a better life than we all lived. I swore to myself that I would never sold her to men.
And god knows, I didn't want to break that oath.