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Cycle

Foreword:  This story was quite difficult to translate.  It relies heavily on rhythm and atmosphere, and this proved harder than I thought to render adequately.  My humble apologies…  I tried hard not to “lose” too many elements of the original.

Disclaimer: The characters of Berubara obviously do not belong to me.  However, the other (Julien, Emilie, Martine and Ludivine) are mine, and I can do whatever I please with them.  There!

Note:  This is very different from what I normally write.  It all started as a conclusion to “Patience” (believe it or not!), and, as it seemed more and more alien, and that I couldn’t stop half-way through, I decided to make it a strange little tale, to stand alone.  I am still wondering how I thought about all this.

This year of 1865 already spelt great success for Julien Remison.  Having finished first of his class in his Surgical studies last year, he was very thankful to the lucky star that had seen fit to have him been born at the right time, and allowed him, poor son of a farmer of the Gers area, to take up his studies in Paris hoping for a career which already spoke of greatness.

He had joined the Liberal Movement and felt very loyal towards this Emperor who seemed intent on “liberating France” from all its past formalities and inequities which had survived the numerous changes of Regime the country had seen until then.

France, at this point, was watching with a kind eye these very welcome liberal reforms and Julien idly thought that, when he would have acquired a solid status in the Medical Profession, he could himself set up his own syndicate and glide smoothly from Surgery to Politics…

At least, so were the dreams of a Nineteen year old man, full of hope, clad in his only, already threadbare, nice black suit, who could not afford to often escape from the small room he had managed to rent in a large Old Style mansion not too far from Versailles.

The only shadow in this glorious picture seemed to be Emilie.  He had met the one who would always be his beloved when he was hurrying home one night, riding his old black mare.  His schedule was pressing, and the distance from Paris important, but he knew that his Surgical Practice, next year, would take place in Versailles, and that would be close enough.  Moreover, he required space with his equipment and his books, and he much preferred the calm countryside to the incessant buzzing of the Parisian streets.  Finally, the room, quiet and spacious, was also inexpensive…

He might be studying Medicine, but we was nevertheless not blind to a good commercial transaction.

He had remitted the money for his deposit to a Notary, and he was doing so each month for his rent.  He never saw the owner of the mansion, nor did he know his name.  This was part of their arrangements and, judging from the price, it was also worth this eccentricity.

This mansion, this castle rather, which must have been splendid in its time, now seemed somewhat decrepit, and, at nightfall, rather bleak.

It was for this precise reason that Julien had been hurrying on, this night, to come back to his room before the end of daylight.  When the old mare suddenly jumped back, he had then noticed the frail young woman, thrown on the ground, that he had nearly run over.

When she did not raise, Julien jumped off to turn over the small frame, lost in a modest and old fashioned Pastel crinoline.  As he brushed back the luxurious locks of dark hair, he saw, then, the most beautiful face he had ever seen:  her skin was white and delicate, her mouth pink as a ripe fruit and her eyes!  Sparkling emeralds.  Still, being almost a doctor himself, he could not but notice that this pale complexion held much to fatigue and deprivation.  These magical eyes looked on with a striking intensity and he felt already lost.

It was thus that he made his decision.  Holding her firmly in his arms (for she was barely fighting), he set her down on the back of his trusty Caline.  The mare, very good natured, did not move when he got on, as well, and resumed her way to the mansion.

"- You live at the Jarjayes Mansion" Said a crystalline voice.

It was the first time that Julien ever heard her voice.  It seemed alien.  Pure, silken and soft.  Did it not sound sad as well?

"- I did not even know the name of this place as such, I have to admit.  I could not find it onto any document and nobody around here could or would give me any details.  You are from around here, I suppose?

- From here and there, she said in the same gentle and clear voice.  I have travelled a lot... But I know this place very well.  It was magnificent... once."

And she did not utter another word.  Julien guided her to his room, above the dark staircase, then he came back to take care of Caline.  The other occupants of the house must have been in, for everything was clean and in its place.  But, as usual, he never saw nor heard anybody at all.

He brought back up a bowl of soup.  Emilie, as she had introduced herself, seemed to be famished and exhausted.  She drank the thick liquid ravenously and then came to rest on the bed, sitting.  Her features then seemed more refined and even more beautiful, and her eyes were shining like faraway stars.  Julien, hypnotised by these jewels, came to sit next to her.  She did not move.

"- This room, she said in her silken voice, is a servant's room.  But servants were treated well, here.  And this room belonged to somebody very particular."

Julien had taken her hand in his, whilst listening to the words.  Her hands was as cold as ice.

"- There was a lot of pain, in this room... a lot of joy, too!"

With these words, the young woman seemed transfigured.  The first smile, as gentle as dawn, had crept up on her berry lips.  How Julien was dying to lay there a kiss...

Then, as he was slightly turning to the face of the one who had just stolen his heart, she got up.

She walked up to a dark corner of the large room and got to her knees.  Julien was wondering about this, when he heard the light scraping of her nails against the wall.  He got up as well and reached closer.  The wall did not look as if it was made of stone in this place, but nobody would have been able to tell.

How could she have known?  And how could she know so much about this place?  Julien could not say, but she had hardly spoken to him and already he felt bewitched.

Finally, she removed from the hollow a small, modest-looking, metal box.  She set it down onto the study table and it was Julien who, almost trembling, carefully held up the lid.  The box was empty, save for a small locket.  Judging from the exquisite details from the jewel, it must have cost a fortune.  Gold, no doubt.

Visibly shivering, this time, Julien took hold of the medallion.

How his fingers, though slender and skilful during a surgical operation, now seemed rough and awkward around this precious marvel, shining despite its obvious age.

There was a hinge, there, and Julien carefully began to open the jewel.

The medallion sprang open easily, and a shining object escaped, rolling under the table.  With one move, Emilie extended her arm to reach for it.  It was a simple golden band.  She put it on her finger and noticed with a satisfied smile that it fit perfectly.

Julien was staring intensely at her, when she took out the ring and offered it to him.  He quickly looked at the object and noticed a discreet stamp inside the band.  It was a flower.  Precisely, it was a rose.

Emilie was now staring at him, a preoccupied look over her delicate features:

"- It is so you never forget, she whispered to him, promise-me that you will never forget.  It is thanks to them that you are here.  You know who they are... or you will soon.  It will change your life!"

Julien got scared, then.  She had said this with such a passion, and she was so close to him but he was not feeling any warmth.  She was not moving...  Suddenly frightened, he ran to the door, the ring and medallion still in his hand.  he ran out through the stairs and then stopped his foolish escape on the last step, and looked up: he could make up a vague light in the adjoining room, a room that must have belonged to one of the Masters of the house.

Without any thought, he climbed back the stairs and tried to open this door.  It was locked, and everything was cold and dark, now.

He made a few uncertain steps towards his own room and pushed open the door.  There was no trace of the young woman.  Did he not notice that she had come out of the room as well, or had he been too scared to even think rationally?

He came to sit down at his desk and set the gold band inside the box, who was laying still on his table, and decided to look more closely at the medallion, which he still held tight in his palm.

The locket was opening onto two portrait of the finest quality.  This must have cost the ill-fated servant an eternity in wages.  Julien hoped it must have been worth it!

The left-hand portrait was one of a woman bearing strength and righteousness, eyes of azure and hair of fire.  Her complexion pale and her features of a rare finesse.  On the other side (and Julien came to think that these images would kiss every time the locket was closed) was the portrait of a man with dark locks, with a gentle look, but decidedly intelligent and determined.  Eyes of emerald.

The discovery astounded him.  He looked again at the portraits...  The skin so white and the features so delicate, the burning emerald of the eyes...

Suddenly, he threw the medallion on the table and ran to his bed, collapsing.  Shivering, he laid down fully clothed and finally, eyes wide open, never made a move until morning.

1903

Martine Lemercier had waken up in a foul mood this morning.  Last night, Hubert, this worthless man, had come home drunk again, and she had to take care of the damage.  Now, she had to wake up early enough to take care of the little Ludivine.

Ever since she had started working as a Governess, she came to prefer this "adoptive" home to her own, and to this husband who seemed to only show up a few times a week to rest after drinking, and drink his wages, dearly earned at the factory, at the local establishment where he did spend most of his time...

"- Maybe they will start charging him rent!"  She thought.  And this finally elicited a small smile on her face.

She was then, as usual, walking with Ludivine, near the Royal Gardens.  Versailles had changed very much with the coming of the industrial age, but the majesty and splendour of the buildings and gardens had remained intact.

Walking slowly around the precious path, for a short while, the brave Martine felt like a Queen.  She was now in a much better mood, when she directed the little girl towards the Rue Tibault, where she religiously bought her daily Newspaper.

Her eyes got caught by a bold title, together with a large picture:

"The famous Surgeon Remison has open the Jarjayes Mansion to the Public"

The estate, bought quite some time ago by the famous retired Doctor, had been refurbished in the greatest secrecy, by this same strange man, who, despite numerous and famous opportunities, had never married and, apparently, only seemed to care about the history of the mansion's walls.

The picture showed a tall man, with greyish sideburns, posing in front of a large staircase at the top of which Martine could make up a large painting of a young woman warrior with golden locks.  The man was wearing a striking medallion, whose gold seemed to glow on the badly printed paper.

"- Well well, Ludivine, said Martine in a dreamy voice, what would you say to a visit to this castle?"

And she bent down to adjust the hat onto the head of the little girl, admiring her pale complexion and shining emerald eyes.

The End