my secretary buried in her schoolwork. I can sense her excitement to be going to France this summer as part of her education; merci Dieu that she is learning French cooking and not this Nouvelle Cuisine I've been hearing about.
Still, knowing this (even though I shall be "along for the ride" as she so colloquially puts it) is a strange feeling. No one will be there that I know. We shall not get to Versailles, in all likelihood; Axel, Louis my husband and Louis my son, and my dear Madame Royale are God only knows where. If we are extremely lucky, we shall see the Louvre again, but even that thought is bittersweet. The fact that the Tuileries as I knew it is gone "for good" may be all for the best. It was from there that my dear, wrong-headed, great-hearted Axel tried to save us, you know. Such a disaster, and yet... every thought of him, and my family, remains dear to me.
I miss them. Time hangs heavily...
In the course of human events, there are few things that would bring the dead back.
This morning, I found myself awake after a long dream of peace, beset by that old cantankerous strumpet, American politics. I came to with a dizzied brain, as though my body had been undergoing intense subterranean revolutions for some time. I come to you all from a much smaller, meaner past, when men were men and women weren't. The green and salad days of America are well and truly finished, and nothing I wrote seems to have taken any effect.
Change in Washington? We've been calling for that for as long as I can remember, which, excepting the years following my venture into Mexico, is nonetheless longer than most of the eels in the District can boast.
What I would like to know, to begin with, is what my fellow deceased make of it all.
And what the blazes is meant by "Watergate?"
Like many of my fellow undead my typist has been increasingly distracted by her school work. Naturally, I have been encouraing all endevors however it has left me out of contact with the majority of all of you. I will be changing my contact information so that I may be more easily accessible. That being said...
I highly recommend this program. I'm very pleased with it's thorough report of my achievement and notes as opposed to my life. (Why is everyone so obessed with my personal life anyway?) Like many who have posted before me I find it so queer to hear my words in someone else's voice. But that is my only complaint...and they keep mispronouncing my first name but I won't mention this. *Aside to typist* Stick in one of those faces so people will know I'm making a joke.
;-)
Excellent. *to the crowd* So, what new endovers have you been exploring since I last departed?
I believe it is customary to make an introductory post, and so I shall introduce myself accordingly.
Good evening, my name is Samuel Clemens Mark Twain Thomas Jefferson Snodgrass. I am something of a writer, and I enjoy conversing with a wide range of individuals, having had the good fortune to meet many remarkable people in my travels. If any of you have questions, I would be more than delighted to answer them.
(A new figure has appeared in the café: a small man in brown and green robes, drinking wine.)
I am Liutprand of Cremona, a priest of the Lombard race. In my time I was a chancellor, deacon, bishop of the holy church of Cremona, and thrice ambassador to the Greek emperor's court at Constantinople. You would not believe, O company, the injustices to which the lying, cowardly, effeminate Greeks subjected me and my party! O the tales I could tell you! O the misery I felt at the failure of my mission! And as long as anyone keeps reading my books, I will never, ever get over it.
Tell me about yourselves, my fellows so that I can talk more about myself and my most august emperor, Otto.
Greetings my fellow departed!
I trust we all thoroughly enjoyed the holiday season (due to the fact we're all still recuperating, if nothing else). And speaking of having a good time...
My typist is traveling to Paris soon to attend a reading of a play she has written (about me, actually, but that's neither here not there). I have given her my own recommendations but I was wondering what advice you would offer about enjoying The City of Light If You Don't Count Lyon.
I know many of you have lived in the capital like myself and/or had frequent business there. Beyond recommendations, what memories do you have of her? What stories can you tell?
Limiting myself to my artistic memories (because the political ones often involved boredom or death threats)(or both), I remember strolling from my apartment at 26 rue des Plants to brothels all-night establishments that provided both artistic models and private rooms, I remember the artists and parties of Montparnasse (and only wish I could remember more of them), I remember fielding death-threats for my close friend and patron Pierre at the chamber of deputies in '34 and being prefect-napped to Paris by the Prime Minister when it looked like I was going to single-handedly swing an election in my department...
My apologies. Politics really does creep into everything sooner or later, doesn't it?
