luxuryflower: (fill up your cup)
2015-10-18 09:26 pm

at first glance, it's all pranks








Marguerite Gautier from John Neumeier's ballet Lady of the Camellias,
based on Alexandre Dumas fils' book by the same name.

Canon Point: After Marguerite has agreed to leave Armand and returns to the Duke in Paris.





All major plot points and characters are portrayed
in accordance with the Royal Danish Ballet's 2012/2014 performances,
with only minor and additional details taken from the book.

I'm open to feedback
- and any comments on how I play Marguerite can be left on this entry.







Disclaimer: This is a roleplay journal.
No copyright infringement intended. No profit made.
PB is Susanne Grinder who belongs solely to herself.

luxuryflower: (cause i'm never gonna stop)
2015-10-17 11:41 pm

contacting




My good Madame, my good Mademoiselle, my good Monsieur - currently I am not in any position to answer your call, however much it pains me and however important your business may be. Inevitable it is, though, that I will notice your attempt at reaching me and rest assured that I am not the sort of person to leave anyone unattended, coldly and precariously, so do beep -- (Time was not on her side, how rude.)

VIDEO | AUDIO | TEXT | ACTION




luxuryflower: (is strictly up to you)
2015-10-17 11:40 pm

permitting




OOC PREFERENCES:
• CONTACT METHOD: PM to this account or, if you're on my timeline, via [plurk.com profile] onlyfalling.
• THREAD-JACKING: Always welcome, as long as the entry/thread is marked public.
• FOURTH WALLING / CANON PUNCTURE: I'm open to it, but I would prefer to be contacted beforehand, so we can work something out.
• BACKTAGGING: I try to backtag into forever myself, so go for it!
• AVOIDED TOPICS: None that I can think of at the top of my head, but I'll let you know immediately if something makes me uncomfortable.


IC CHARACTERISTICS:
• PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Female. Early twenties (24, currently). Marguerite is tall and slender, with long chestnut hair that waves slightly when worn loose, although she most often styles it in a bun at the back of her head or in corkscrew curls that fall around her shoulders. After becoming Jean Louis' mistress, her style of clothing has changed from the traditional early 19th century style she wore upon her arrival to modern 21st century clothing, all of it very expensive and luxurious. She's somewhat fragile to look at due to her former exposure to tuberculosis (that has now been healed in game), but still altogether feminine and very attractive.
• DEMEANOR: Coquettish playfulness is the part of herself that Marguerite shows to the world most often, the side of her that loves pranks and games and dancing. The side that laughs and teases and indulges in life. However, there's another side to Marguerite as well. The side that has been hurt by love, the side that is afraid of death and loneliness, the side that feels worthless after having been sold and bought so many times. These two very different aspects of her always seek a balance that is difficult to strike and although the carefree side of her wins the honour of being put on display most often, it is the other, much heavier side of her that weighs her down.
• ABILITIES: Marguerite is an ordinary human being, but due to her profession, she is a master out in the art of seduction and knows what men want, being able to provide as well.
• OFFENSIVE SUBJECTS: Being a courtesan, the sensitive subject of prostitution will inevitably come up and be touched upon, both in narration and in direct speech. If this makes you uncomfortable, Marguerite is possibly not the character for you to interact with.


IC PERMISSIONS:
• MENTAL/MIMICRY: Marguerite is pretty smart and doesn't let herself be used or manipulated with without at least being aware of it and to some degree, allowing it. Therefore, please discuss it with me before attempting to do any mindfucking business with her.
• VIOLENCE: In general, I'd say, no problem. Marguerite has dealt with violent men before in her career as a courtesan, but I'd like to keep the violence within human strength, something that she can respond naturally to. This means that I'd prefer her not to get into fights or other violent situations with supernatural beings.
• MAGIC: She doesn't have any problems with magic. She isn't incredibly impressed with it either, but she thinks it's definitely interesting, so go ahead and use it around her.
• DEBATE: Marguerite is a sweet-talker. Part of her profession is to make the man she's with feel like the cleverest and most sophisticated man out there which she's incredibly good at, always saying what her men want to hear and only - at times, when it slips - speaking her own mind. On the hand, she can be incredibly, yes, almost brutally honest and will not back down in a discussion that she deems important enough.
• HUGGING/KISSING/PHYSICAL AFFECTION: Marguerite is all about the physical contact, it's what she gets paid for. She's a very physical person herself, hugging and kissing (in the French manner, cheek to cheek) most people whom she considers acquaintances or friends. Thus, any physical shows affection are bound to make her respond doubly and if you're a man, she might very well think that you're planning on courting her or buying her.
• SHIPS: Marguerite/Armand is the canon ship that I steer by. Even now that Marguerite is developing something that could become an affection for Jean Louis Duroc ([personal profile] napoleonical), it is always in the light of what she experienced with Armand. With Marguerite, I'm open to sexual/romantic relations both to men and women, since I don't see her as someone who would inhibit herself sexually.
• OTHER / NOTES: Nothing as of yet.



luxuryflower: (and let's drink the wine)
2015-10-17 11:13 pm

personally








Marguerite Gautier loves a great many things. Extravagant dresses and expensive perfumes. The bonbons Count N. always fetches for her when she's at the theatre. The many balls she attends and the attention that is bestowed upon her when she's at them, but above all else - more than dresses, perfumes, bonbons and balls, Marguerite loves life. Fate, however, is both unfair and unkind, having destined the 21-year-old woman to die sooner rather than later, from the consumption passed down to her by her mother. This awareness of her own mortality, the recognition of her impending death and the underlying hopelessness it causes in her lies latent in all her actions, from her fondness of games and her outward appearance of gaiety to her insistence on not committing herself to any one man out of love. Life is simply too short for Marguerite to gamble her comfortable living for the sake of promises that she has seen broken time and time again, leaving her somewhat of a cynic in regards to the circles she frequents in general and men in particular.

Outwardly, however, she's a woman of coquettish charm and cheer. She's considered the most beautiful of the Parisian courtesans and only the men in possession of the means to sustain her (for she is indebted beyond measure) are allowed to enjoy her company. It's shown that she likes to play pranks on people when she is first introduced to them and this is the treatment Armand Duval must undergo as well. Perhaps especially, seeing how he is neither a duke nor a count and possesses no wealth worth of mention. His reaction of dismay, however, intrigues Marguerite. An intrigue enhanced later by his compassionate love confession. Many men have confessed their love to Marguerite during her career as a courtesan, but none have loved her for longer than their future brides or wallets allowed it. So she has chosen to accept the state of affairs and decided to be a realist about it, rather than a romantic - and she wants Armand to follow her example. For both their sakes. But unlike Count N. and unlike all her other suitors, Armand doesn't obey Marguerite's every command. He persists and it's this persistence which awakens something in her - something which has lain latent like her disease, if not perhaps with it. A need to be loved fully and wholly. A need to be seen as a woman, not merely as a beautiful courtesan. As Armand says he will. As he says he does. In her position, a desire of that kind leaves a woman very vulnerable and Marguerite the Realist consequently doesn't (dare) loosen the reins too much. Although she does agree to become Armand's lover, she insists that it be completely on her terms: She continues her life as before and he mustn't ever hold her lifestyle against her or be jealous of her other lovers.

In the beginning, it's within this framework their affair plays out. Marguerite dallies from one party to another, dances at one ball, then the next. She gladly accepts the Duke's diamonds and Count N.'s expensive bracelet - though, only the Duke is rewarded her full attention. Count N., whom she can't stand, is shown the much more cruel side to Marguerite - the side that will ensure he can't find a seat next to her or locate her in the crowd, the side that will make her slap him when he displays his jealousy too violently. The difference between how Marguerite treats those who have her favour and those who don't is tremendous, Count N. and Armand being the two best examples. While she awards Count N. with nothing but scorn for his unfailing adoration and many valuable gifts, she happily meets up with Armand in between all these parties and social events. Armand, whom she has already developed a strong attachment to - due to the fact that he makes her feel great joy, makes her feel young and very much alive from the throes of passion - although she still hesitates to call it love. Did she truly love him, she would not live the way she does. She would not force him to see her with others and she would not give herself to anyone but him either.

Seeing how she vividly remembers that on the first night they met, they were at the theatre for the opening night of a ballet performance of Manon Lescaut, Marguerite feels ardently that she must hold on to the belief that Armand will eventually leave her in the same manner every other man has. Because already on that very night, Marguerite knew she would never want to be like Manon, no matter how similar their situations seemed on the surface. Given the opportunity, she would not betray true love for the sake of riches. She would never cruelly lie in the face of such honest intentions. She simply would not allow it to become so. Would not become that sort of woman, not towards any of her lovers and now? Especially not towards Armand.

Thus, despite nursing very warm feelings for him, she makes no promises of her own, but neither does she deny him the full extension of her passion at the moments when they can be alone together. In this way, Marguerite avoids, from her own perspective, at least, making a liar of herself while at the same time maintaining her living standards as they have been up until this point, with the financial support and careful attention of the Duke. Armand standing on the sideline. Hidden. Her sweet and very public secret.

Naturally, as she should have realized, this particular arrangement can’t continue forever. While in the countryside, living in a house rented and paid for by the Duke himself, her hedonistic lifestyle and her duplicity in regards to her love life finally take consequence. Unexpectedly, the Duke shows up, catching Marguerite with Armand and giving her, in return, the choice – between him and his money or Armand and his love. One might not have expected it of her, but after several days in the lull of her own emotions, free of expectations and free of charge, Marguerite has tired of being a thing, sold and bought constantly. Thus, she makes the choice no one would perhaps have expected of Paris’ most expensive courtesan – she takes off the Duke’s diamond necklace, throws it before his feet and lets her actions speak for themselves as she pulls Armand and his love closer, wrapping his arms around her waist once more. Yes, Marguerite has made a choice. A choice in regards to her own happiness, for the first time ever taking it into consideration beyond mahogany furniture, silk dresses and porcelain from the far East. She wishes, rather than to live excessively, to live loved. Truly loved. Truly loving.

And for the duration of a brief interlude, she is happy.

Until, one day, reality comes knocking on the door of the small cabin in the countryside. Armand’s father seeks her out with a stern and yet, heartbreaking request. An order, rather. Stop this foolishness with my son or you shall be the downfall of his innocent sister as well. Oh, Marguerite is prepared to fight and to fight bravely for her relationship, the one she has chosen, with the only man to ever choose her, but Monsieur Duval is unrelenting and in the end, she cannot bear the thought – of ruining the future of a girl whose face must look like a feminine version of Armand’s and whose innocence mirrors Marguerite’s own, from ages long gone. She accepts. She accepts that it was never in her place, as a courtesan, to experience the happiness that Armand has bestowed upon her. Because a courtesan never owns herself, she has sold herself too many times for even a single, small piece to be left. Of her heart.

Once Monsieur Duval has left, Marguerite packs all her belongings and follows him. Back to Paris. Back to the Duke. Writing Armand a note that will ensure that he never, never again loves her with the pure love that wasn’t hers from the beginning and shall never be hers again.



luxuryflower: (it doesn't make much sense)
2015-10-16 12:17 am

historically








Everything takes its beginning one evening at the Théâtre des Variétes, in the spring of 1843.

Both Marguerite Gautier, who has risen to become the most infamous courtesan in Paris at the time, and Armand Duval, a modest lawyer by comparison, have turned up at the theatre in the company of friends in order to enjoy a ballet performance of Manon Lescaut. Armand has admired Marguerite from afar for a while and when his admiration becomes impossible to ignore, his friend Gaston Rieux – who already knows Marguerite well through his affair with her friend, Prudence Duvernoy, another courtesan – offers to finally introduce him to her.

Thus, before the performance (which offends Marguerite greatly, having to witness Manon’s infidelity towards her devoted lover and which moves Armand equally, as he sees himself possibly reflected in the fate of Des Grieux) takes its start, Armand is presented to Marguerite by Gaston. As is her habit, she decides to play pranks on him. When he bends his head to kiss the back of the hand that she offers him, Prudence is quick to extend her hand instead. And when he makes to take a seat next to Marguerite, one of her suitors swiftly moves the chair away from underneath him, causing him to tumble to the floor. In response to both pranks, his reaction is one of great dismay and affront – a reaction that intrigues Marguerite. Throughout the performance, her attention keeps returning to him from across the room. The result is that once the curtain falls, she extends an invitation for him to join her in her apartment along with Gaston, Prudence and Count N. An invitation that he gladly accepts.

Once in Marguerite’s apartment, a general state of merriness unfolds. Gaston and Prudence do not see themselves shy of being intimate in public, while Count N. desperately tries to catch Marguerite’s attention. Feeble attempts quickly shamed as he is denied even a seat next to her. All of Marguerite’s attention is on Armand. When the gramophone is brought out and Gaston and Prudence begin to dance, Armand and Marguerite slowly draw closer together, initiating a conversation which is soon interrupted by Count N. who whirls Marguerite into a waltz. Once more she refuses him, continuing the dance with Armand instead. Jealous beyond measure, Count N. drags her out of Armand’s arms and tries to resume his courtship, but the motion is so violent that it sends Marguerite into a violent coughing fit. She slaps Count N. and runs into her bedroom to be alone. While there, she goes to look at herself in the mirror – and faced only by the sight of her slowly worsening consumption, she falls into despair.

Armand follows, however. Despite Nanina’s, Marguerite’s maid’s efforts to keep Marguerite’s privacy intact. Finding Marguerite lying on the divan, Armand takes her hand. She quickly snaps out of her depression and tries to uphold her usual façade of coquettishness, but her constant coughing breaks the illusion and Armand isn’t swayed by it. Instead he throws himself at her feet, declaring his love for her – something which makes her laugh at first, but the earnestness with which the declaration was uttered also awakens an urge in her. A long-forgotten one. Or long-ignored. She tries to dissuade him, presents him with reality: That she is a courtesan with many lovers and if she were to take him for a lover as well, he would only be one of many. That, in any case, his love is only temporary and will last only until his family wants to see him married. That he doesn’t have the means necessary to uphold her livelihood. She tells him all of this, honestly and openly – and yet, Armand doesn’t give up on his claims of true devotion. In the end, Marguerite decides to use the final trump card. She reminds him that she is ill, that she is dying and will not live long. As if to prove it, a violent coughing fit shakes her body again. Armand’s response is to kiss her. Uncaring of the possible consequences. At this moment, everything changes for Marguerite. This young man who has no money has yet made her feel more alive than any one of the richest men that she has known as a courtesan. Knowing well that all her logical reasons still apply, Marguerite decides to follow her heart with caution. She will become Armand’s mistress, but only on the condition that she can continue her life as before and, even more importantly, that he doesn’t hold her lifestyle against her. As with her invitation earlier that evening, Armand accepts without question.

What comes after is a string of parties and balls where Marguerite dances with her many suitors until her feet are sore. Where she adorns herself with the Duke’s (her richest and most influential lover, serving as her patron) diamonds and even accepts a valuable bracelet from Count N., although her gratitude to him is shown with another of her many pranks, cruel as it may be to hide from him in the crowd. Yes, Marguerite’s life continues much as it has always done, with the one exception that in between each social event, she meets with Armand and lives, high on passion.

Eventually, in order to accommodate her health, the Duke rents a house in the countryside and brings Marguerite with him, to enjoy the peace and quiet that is to be found there, in a village that undoubtedly presents a scenery much alike the one from which she originated. Unbeknownst to him, however - as soon as he turns his back on her and returns to Paris, Marguerite invites all her friends and Armand amongst them to leech off of his benevolence, bringing her former lifestyle out into the fields surrounding Bougival. There, one fine day, the Duke finds them, playing their favourite games. Marguerite in Armand's arms, the very image of her loose morals, if not an image of her true love. He forces her to finally make a choice, to choose him and his diamonds or to choose Armand and with him, a definite lack of riches. The woman, Marguerite, not the courtesan makes that final decision. She chooses Armand, her lover, her love. Left behind by the Duke and by their acquaintances, bared suddenly to the core, the two bask in their genuine love for each other. Perhaps despite, perhaps because every of their unfortunate circumstances, everything seems idyllic. Like perfection.

A perfection shattered when one day Armand's father shows up at the door, insisting on seeing Marguerite. Allowing him an audience, they meet each other as rivals to Armand's alliance and his father angrily, desperately attempts to threaten Marguerite to end her relationship with Armand, a relationship that is destroying his image and with it, the image of his family. His innocent little sister's chances of striking a good match, if not (least of all) Armand's own chances of doing the same. Marguerite faces the implied accusations with strong pleas as to the earnestness of her love and devotion for Armand, begs his father to believe her when she says that she loves him more than her own life. It is this argument that he turns against her, then - asks her to let Armand go, in the name of her love for him. To give him the opportunity of a normal life. Defeated, Marguerite agrees to do so and gratefully, Armand's father leaves her with the recognition that he believes in her pure love for his son.

Before Armand can return from his outing, Marguerite has had Nanina pack her belongings, everything that they have shared, but which was originally hers and with that, she returns to Paris. All she leaves behind for Armand being a brief note, telling him that she desires the lifestyle he can't give her and will now seek out the man who can. As such, once back in Paris, she begs the Duke for forgiveness and upon receiving his blessing, resumes her old life - as the courtesan who doesn't entertain any lover (besides the Duke) unless he doesn't stay beyond one night. As the courtesan who doesn't love, who doesn't believe herself worthy.

As the woman who has been once bitten, finding herself twice shy.



luxuryflower: (under the vine)
2015-10-10 10:04 am

musically








don't let the fruit rot under the vine
fill up your cup and let's drink the wine
better the devil that you know
your love for me will grow
- Like It Or Not, Madonna

there's only two types of people in the world
the ones that entertain and the ones that observe
well baby i'm a put-on-a-show kind of girl
don't like the backseat gotta be first
- Circus, Britney Spears

men grow cold
as girls grow old
and we all lose our charms in the end
- Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend, Marilyn Monroe

she was educated
but could not count to ten
now she got lots of different horses
by lots of different men
- Candy, Robbie Williams

boys may come and boys may go
and that's alright you see
experience has made me rich
and now they're after me
- Material Girl, Madonna

olivia says yes to your party
but to love she says no thanks
olivia she doesn't let anyone
into her heart not you either
-Olivia, Rasmus Seebach

i don't need love
for what good will love do me
- Diamonds Are Forever, Shirley Bassey

i'll take your love and leave my kind regards
but i never cheat at cards
- Dirty Dice, Katie Melua

roxanne you don't have to wear that dress tonight
roxanne you don't have to sell your body to the night
- El Tango de Roxanne, Jacek Koman & Ewan McGregor

and i drank up all my money
days get kinda lonely
you're gone and i gotta stay
high all the time
- Habits (Stay High), Tove Lo







alone no - alone yes
much more than on display
nefertiti you'll collect him
the unknown - it has started
- Nefertiti, Lars Lilholt

but who cares what the night watchman say
the stage has been set for the play
so just hold me and tell me
you'll be here to love me today
- Be Here to Love Me, Norah Jones

skyfall is where we start
a thousand miles and poles apart
where worlds collide and days are dark
you may have my number, you can take my name
but you'll never have my heart
- Skyfall, Adele

come what may
come what may
i will love you until my dying day
- Come What May, Ewan McGregor & Nicole Kidman


luxuryflower: (you can call me a s i n n e r)
2015-10-09 03:43 pm

the clientele




Marguerite works as an escort at the brothel, formerly Mae's residence, but currently with Arsalan Ahmadi/Mozenrath as her manager. Her services include not only sexual services, but also services that merely include company (like accompaniment to parties, a drink at the saloon, private visits to her room at the brothel, etc.), though Marguerite herself would naturally insist that it's not merely company, but rather company of the finest quality. As a note, it should be said that Marguerite accepts both women and men as clients, both for company and sexual services.

This post is a way for me to get an overview of the people that Marguerite has interacted with via her work at the brothel. Her clientele, so to speak. So if your character has at any point made use of Marguerite's services, be they sexual or not, I would appreciate it, if you would fill out the info in the text box below and leave it in a comment to this entry. Thank you.

All comments are screened.



luxuryflower: (please don't take offense)
2014-09-26 06:36 am

DRABBLE : patient








They will all say: Marguerite Gautier died alone, but it will be a lie.

Marguerite coughs up blood, Nanina bringing wet cloths to wipe her forehead with. It's a careful act, becoming ceremonial in its repetitiveness. She lifts Marguerite's head, presses the cloth to her face - her cheeks and her dry lips; relief from the fever burning in her veins. Marguerite grasps for her hands, blindly and doesn't see Nanina's smile, because it disappears quickly again as soon as it is Armand's name that Marguerite calls.

They say: Marguerite Gautier died alone and perhaps she did, but Nanina was there.


luxuryflower: (c e l e b r a t e me for who i am)
2014-09-03 04:42 pm

DRABBLE : limited








She feasts, gorges mostly in an effort to forget herself. Not that Marguerite Gautier is unhappy, of course. No one could possibly be as happy as Marguerite, did she only not know about the fragility of happiness. It’s brittle like glass. Perhaps already broken. Because Armand loves her, passionately, sentimentally, moving her more than money ever could, but in spite of all her riches – the wealth which isn’t hers, but belongs rightly to her lovers, she cannot afford Armand. As such, they stand before each other, one equally unable to own the other – their bond all the deeper for it.


luxuryflower: (d i s l i k e me for what i ain't)
2014-08-30 10:42 am

APPLICATION : boomtown




Player's Name: S.
Are you over 16? Yes, I’m 26.
Characters Played Here:
Marcel | [personal profile] futuristical
Odette | [personal profile] whitish

Character: Marguerite Gautier
Series/Canon: Lady of the Camellias (Ballet by John Neumeier)
From When? After she has returned to Paris, leaving Armand behind in Bougival.



ExpandThe Lady of the Camellias )


luxuryflower: (all of my fruit)
2014-08-25 02:34 pm

DRABBLE : waste








What a waste of beauty, of pleasure, of happiness, they shall say when she is dead and gone. She knows. Because they pity her the life she has led, although they have benefitted from it fully. No, none of those men have the right to judge her, since they have slept with their heads on her breast, every single one of them. Slept so peacefully that surely, she owes them nothing. Neither any of the women, because she has shared her riches in plenty and been to them a beacon of style and attractiveness.

With her sweets and her camellias.


luxuryflower: (you'll be the snake)
2014-06-27 12:22 pm

DRABBLE : favourite








Armand is her favourite. Like the little doggy from her childhood was her favourite first.

Not too long ago, Marguerite would have claimed that all men were the same, but after having lived this moment – the afterglow of their lovemaking with Armand looking up at her (her Armand, young and foolish), she must realise that although many men have declared their love for Marguerite Gautier, none looked like that little puppy her mother took away from her before dying.

Kissing him, keeping her eyes open, she vows. Vows that no one will ever take Armand from her. Not even herself.


luxuryflower: (this is who i am you can like it or not)
2014-06-24 02:14 am

challenging








(25 Drabbles) TABLE SET #2
#01 - Waste #02 - Affection #03 - Normal #04 - Pleasure #05 - Shower
#06 - Risk #07 - Devastated #08 - Favourite #09 - Impress #10 - Life
#11 - Damage #12 - Explain #13 - Information #14 - Recover #15 - Dizzy
#16 - Regret #17 - Patient #18 - Limited #19 - Leave #20 - Pieces
#21 - Writer's Choice #22 - Writer's Choice #23 - Writer's Choice #24 - Writer's Choice #25 - Writer's Choice



luxuryflower: (better the devil that you know)
2014-05-23 10:14 pm

tidbits and pieces








But I warn you, I want to be free to do whatever suits me, without giving you the slightest information about my life. I've been looking for a young lover for a long time, someone who isn't strong-willed, who's loving but not mistrustful, who is loved by me, but who doesn't claim that as his right. I've never been able to find one. Men, instead of being satisfied with the favors one grants them after a long courtship during which they scarcely hoped to obtain that favor even once, expect their mistress to give them a full account of her present, her past, and even her future. Once they get used to her, they want to dominate her, and they become still more insistent on getting everything they want. If I decide to take a new lover now, I want him to have three qualities that are extremely rare: He must be confident, obedient, and discreet.




If you loved me, you would let me love you in my own way; instead you continue to see in me nothing but a girl to whom luxury is indispensable, and whom you believe yourself always forced to pay for. You are ashamed to accept the proofs of my love. In spite of yourself, you intend to leave me one day, and out of delicacy you make sure your behavior is unexceptionable. Fair enough, my friend, but I had hoped for better.




Because you were the only person who ever made me feel instantly that I could think and speak freely. Everyone who clusters around girls like me analyzes our every word, trying to draw consequence for themselves from our most insignificant actions. Naturally, we don't have friends. We have selfish lovers who spend their fortunes not on us, as they say, but on their own vanity. With men like that, we have to be lighthearted when they are joyful, in fine fettle when they want to have supper, in a skeptical mood when they are. We're forbidden to have any feelings of our own, on pain of being jeered at and having our credit ruined. We no longer belong to ourselves. We are not beings, but things. We are first in men's pride, last in their esteem. We have female friends, but they are friends like Prudence, former kept women who retain a taste for extravagance that their age will no longer afford them. So they become our friends, or, really, our dining companions. Their friendship goes as far as utility, but never reaches the point of disinterestedness. They will never give you any but mercenary advice. It matters little to them if we have ten lovers or more, so long as they get a few dresses or a bracelet out of it, and can go out in our carriages from time to time, and come to the theater and sit in our boxes. They get our bouquets from the night before, and they borrow our cashmere shawls. They never render us any services, however small, without getting twice what it's worth. You saw it yourself, the night when Prudence brought me the six thousand francs I'd begger her to go ask the duke to give me. She borrowed five hundred francs from me that she'll never give back, or that she'll make up in hats that will never leave their boxes. So we cannot have - or rather, I cannot have - any happiness but one, which is, unhappy as I sometimes am, in poor health as I always am, to find a man who is of superior enough character that he will not demand a full account of my life, and will love me more for myself than for my body. I had found that man in the duke, but the duke is old, and old age can neither protect nor console. I had thought I could accept the life that he wished for me; but what do you want? I was perishing of boredom, and as long as you're going to be consumed, you might as well hurl yourself into a fire, rather than slowly suffocate from coal smoke. So, I met you, you - young, ardent, happy - and tried to make you into the man I had longed for in the middle of my noisy solitude. What I loved in you was not the man you were, but the man you might yet become. You refuse to accept this role, you reject it as unworthy of you, you are a vulgar lover. Do as the others do - pay me and let's speak of this no more.




In a relationship such as ours, if the woman is to retain any dignity, she must make every possible sacrifice rather than ask for money from her lover and cast a venal character on her love. You love me, I'm sure of it, but you don't know how slender the thread is that secures the love people have for girls like me to their hearts. Who knows? Maybe on some day of irritation or tedium you might decide you perceive in our relationship some sort of clever calculation! Prudence is a chatterbox. What need had I of those horses! It was a savings for me to sell them; I can get along just fine without them, and I no longer have to spend anything on them. As long as you love me, that's all that I ask, and you will love me just as much without horses, without cashmere, and without diamonds.




I wept silently, my friend, before all these considerations that I had pondered so many times before, and which, in the mouth of your father, took on a more serious reality. I told myself all the things that your father did not dare say to me, and that were on his lips twenty times: that I was after all nothing but a kept woman, and that, whatever justification I gave to our liaison, it would always appear calculated; that my past life gave me no right to dream of such a future, and that I had been taking on responsibilities that my habits and my reputation could not guarantee. Finally, I loved you, Armand. The fatherly way in which M. Duval spoke to me, the chaste sentiments he evoked in me, the esteem that I might win of this loyal old man, yours that I was sure to have later - all this awoke in my heart noble thoughts that opened my eyes, and sent me into reveries of saintly vanity, unknown to me until that moment. When I thought that one day this old man, who beseeched me on behalf of his son's future, would tell his daughter to add my name to her prayers, like the name of a mysterious friend, I felt transformed, and I was proud of myself. The exaltation of that moment may have exaggerated the truth of these impressions, but that is what I felt, friend, and these new sentiments quieted the advice that my memory of the happy days I spent with you had given me.




December 20.
The weather is horrible; it's snowing. I am alone at home. For three days I have had such a fever that I have been unable to write you a word. Nothing new, my friend; each day I hope vaguely for a letter from you, but it doesn't come, and no doubt it never will. Only men have the strength not to forgive. The duke has not replied to me. Prudence has resumed her visits to the pawnshop. I never stop spitting blood. Oh! I would upset you if you saw me. You are very lucky to be under a warm sky, not surrounded as I am by an icy winter that weighs down your chest. Today I got up for a little while, and through the curtains at my window I watched the life of Paris passing by, the life I thought had ended. Some faces I recognised passed by in the street, rapid, joyful, careless. Not one raised his eyes to my windows. However, some young people came by and left their names. There was a time before, when I was sick, when you - who did not know me, who had received nothing from me but an impertinence on the day I first met you - you came to get news of me every morning. Now I'm sick again. We spent six months together. I had as much love for you as the heart of a woman can hold and give, and you are far away, ad you condemn me, and no word of consolation comes from you. But it is only chance that causes this abandonment, I am sure. Because if you were in Paris, you would not leave my bedside, or my room.




January 8.
I went out yesterday in my carriage. The weather was magnificent. The Champs-Élysées was full of people. You might have said it was the first smile of the spring. Everything around me took on an air of celebration. I never suspected I could find so much joy, sweetness, and consolation in a ray of sunshine as I did yesterday. I saw nearly all the people I know, still cheerful, still busy with their pleasures. It is only the lucky who don't know their luck! Olympia passed by in an elegant carriage that M. de N. had given her. She tried to insult me with a glance. She does not know how far removed I am from such trifles. A nice boy I've known for a long time asked me if I would have supper with him, and with one of his friends who wants very much to meet me, he said. I smiled sadly, and gave him my hand, burning with fever. I've never seen a more startled expression. I went home at four o'clock. I ate with appetite enough. This outing did me good. If only I would get better! How the vision of life and happiness in others rekindles the desire to live in those who, the night before, in the solitude of their souls and the shadow of the sickroom, longed to die quickly.




February 5.
Oh! Come, Armand. I suffer terribly; I am going to die, my God. I was so sad yesterday that I longed to be anywhere but at home in the evening, which promised to be as long as the night before. The duke came in the morning. The sight of this old man whom death has forgotten seems to make me die more quickly. Despite the burning fever that consumed me, I had myself dressed and driven to the Vaudeville. Julie put rouge on me, without it I would have looked cadaverous. I went to the box where I permitted you our first encounter. The entire time I kept my eyes fixed on the stall you had occupied that night, which yesterday was occupied by some rustic type, who laughed loudly at all the foolish things the actors said. I was taken home half-dead. I coughed and spat blood all night. Today I can no longer speak; I can hardly move my arms. My God! My God! I am going to die. I am expecting it, but I can't get used to the idea that I will suffer any more than I am already suffering, and if...



luxuryflower: (without the fatale)
2013-11-01 12:52 am

FIC : temperament








Tonight, it’s Lady de S.’s party that Marguerite is attending – an Easter party sporting masks and costumes, Prudence tagging along in the hopes of benefiting from the attention in which Marguerite never fails to bask. Gaston may be rich, but he is no gentleman (unlike Marguerite’s sweetest Armand) and even less of a Count. As a result, he can only sate Prudence’s hunger so much. The girl is a greedy one, after all… Someone calls out her name and Marguerite turns to face them, Count N. hurrying up to her and bowing gracelessly. The man may be of nobler breeding than half the guests tonight, but nothing in his demeanour shows it. She finds him utterly dull, nothing like Armand who is all heart and spirit. Her Armand --

“I’ve acquired this for you, my dear Marguerite,” the Count says, then. While fishing a beautiful gold-and-ruby bracelet out of his pocket. Immediately Marguerite’s somewhat cool exterior cracks and she offers him a benevolent smile, holding out her wrist for him to fasten it around. Oh, he’s no less uninteresting, simply because he produces precious stones and beautiful jewellery, but such objects do – all things considered – make life much more enjoyable. For a treacherous moment, her thoughts return to Armand who is waiting for her in his small, humble apartment and certainly, she will hurry to his side as soon as she has made her presence known here. She isn’t a colder person than that, is she?

She may be dressed up as Carmen tonight and Manon may be her sister in profession, but Marguerite would not cheat on a man to whom she’s declared her undying love or rob her lovers of their riches. All her suitors pay her creditors of their own free will and she has yet to confess her true love to anyone, for anything else would be senseless of a woman in her position. Her position as the most famous and beautiful courtesan in all of Paris. A courtesan who sports a lover who is in possession of no wealth from which she can profit, but who makes every cough which tears itself from her throat a little easier to bear.

Surely she isn't a colder person than that.