Most novels don’t need an introduction. You open the book, BAM, CHAPTER ONE: It was a dark and stormy night and there you go, your sexy super spy is learning important life lessons at her grandmother’s funeral. The Super Abridged Marie Antoinette Saga is not most novels. It’s an attempt to resuscitate one of the most thrilling series of novels by one of the form’s most gifted geniuses. See, Alexandre Dumas was a very good writer, very prolific, almost TOO prolific. He ruled over an era of story-telling like some kind of mad Stephen King monster and would usually be busy writing two or three novels at once- thanks to the help of “collaborators” (read: office bitches). At the same time, Dumas churned out plays (that thing they had before movies!) and ran newspapers (that thing they had before blogs!). The man’s stake in literary history is unassailable: if you haven’t read “The Three Musketeers” and “The Count of Montecristo” I don’t know whether to pity you or to envy you- what adventures to discover! Those books are alive and well and still vital, and if you haven’t yet, I recommend you run and pay tribute to a great master by reading them. It seems like there’s a NEW edition of them every other week.
But what about the OTHER hundred or so novels Dumas wrote?
You may scavenge for old editions here and there in old leprous libraries, but all you’ll get for your efforts is a mean stare from a librarian and the bubonic plague from pages that have clotted together. Although great hits in their time, even fans admit most of Dumas’ books could use pruning, refining, and SUPER-ABRIDGING. That’s where I stumbled in drunkenly, as I usually do. I fell in love with Dumas’ fantastic series of Marie Antoinette novels, chronicling the French Revolution, and I was so drawn to it: “There’s GREAT STUFF HERE, why isn’t this a perennial best-seller?!?” The answer was fairly obvious: because it’s hard to find, musty, and a million pages long. I couldn’t get a sensible person to download it into their Kindle. I tried to push the book on my friends, and they all were like: “OMG, will these long carriage rides ever END?”
And then the ghost of Dumas, (he insists I call him Alex), came to visit by the Miami shore.
He looked portly and quite content with his afterlife, but a little disappointed that only two out of his many many best-sellers were still being milked for what they were worth all over the world. (There was an anime version of “The Count of Montecristo” not too long ago, and the Academy Award winning “Slumdog Millionaire” centers on a reference to “The Three Musketeers”.) He said to me: “What about my other babies? My AWESOME series of novels about the French revolution, for instance? History hasn't changed. The poor are still repressed and waiting to lash out, the stars still dazzle in their fancy carriages, everyone's still gossiping about pretty girl doing naughty things, and there's still a conclave of powers that be directing the world in ways you don't ever suspect.”
I said: “I know, believe me, I know a great series of books when I read them! But truth is, some of it kind of sounds like you were pumping up the word count, and cribbing from encyclopedia articles, and not caring too much about editing. I don't blame you! You didn't have TV and the Internet to compete with. You could write a whole chapter about how Louis XV used bear fat on his mustache and people would be enthalled because they didn't have to Twitter halfway through thr chapter!
Dumas got flustered, (you don’t want to see a French ghost flustered): “It's true, people can't read anymore, too many shiny lights around, but Hans, you have to help me out, get these stories out there again! For the people! I have to believe that when it's all nitty and gritty people still like to sink deep into huge immersive worlds of power and sex and love and betrayal and justice and history and shocking plot twists, don't they?"
I was like: "Mostly they want vampires, wizards and hot, ass-kicking babes, sorry."
Dumas: "WELL, but here's Joseph Balsamo! He's dashing and immortal and hypnotic and practically a vampire! And Althotas is a bearded Dumbledorish wizard who intends to reveal the secrets of life and death! Also, why would anyone want hot, ass-kicking "babes" when instead they can have smart seductive women who can make entire kingdoms fall with devastating commentary?"
Dumas' ghost was very un-hip and he knew it and was all mopey about it, and I felt BAD for him, I said: "Hey, I feel you, Alex. I'm going to keep on telling the stories to my friends, in their language, and in an abridged manner, and in my own way. And instead of having a dusty old historical migraine, together we can shine a new bright neon light on this amazing world you've chronicled, a world of powerful passions and mysterious magic and big-ass 18th century swords. Yes, it's history, and you're living its effects today, and the fate of the world is on the balance."
And then Alex and I just started to really enjoy ourselves in the process of re-telling one of the greatest stories ever told, that of the BIRTH OF THE MODERN WORLD, and we played with the story a little (and sometimes a lot). I think something new and a little quirky but all full of heart came about.
I hope you will enjoy this ride,
Hansel Castro, July 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
PROLOGUE
Here we go:
May 1770! Germany! Left bank of the Rhine! Mountains that disappear to the distance like a herd of buffaloes riding into the mist, (how poetic). Highest of all is Mount Thunder, garlanded with gothic ruins, and creepy as all hell. Riding up a steep incline we see a man in an Arabian horse named Djerid, (the horse, not the man. The man’s name is a mysteeeery. For now.) The man is in his early thirties, of a dark complexion, (perhaps Italian?). He has a finely formed foot. People used to care a lot about "finely formed feet" and "shapely ankles back then."
After arriving at an EXTRA-creepy place in the mountain, the man gets off the horse, puts his sword in the saddle, and unloads his pistols (sexy!)- obviously he’s advertising to any unseen spies that he’s unarmed. Whatcha know, as soon as he takes a few steps further up, shadows detach themselves from the general darkness and lead his horse away. A magical torch appears in the air before him, guiding him on, very will o’ the wisp.
“All right,” says our man.
“Shut up or we’ll kill you,” says a voice behind him.
“…” wisely says our man, and allows the unseen specters to bind his eyes with a wet linen.
He reaches out like a blind man, and grips the bony hand of a SKELETON!!! YIKES!!! Our man does a magnificent job of not freaking out, latches on, and he keeps on walking. The blindfold falls off. BAM! He’s at the summit of Mount Thunder.
************************
The summit of Mount Thunder! “In the midst of a glade formed by larches, bare with age, rose one of those feudal castles which the Crusaders, on their return from the Holy Land, scattered over Europe. The gateways and arches had been finely sculptured, and in their niches were statues; but these lay broken at the foot of the walls, and creeping plants and wild flowers now filled their places.” It’s a Gothicky sort of place.
Our traveler sees before him a phantom in a shroud. CREEPY! The phantom draws a sword from the folds of the shroud, and swings it towards a bronze gong. Stones part, lights go up around the castle’s courtyard, three hundred similarly shrouded specters gather in a circle around our man. Before him, a throne of stones. Here speaks the presiding phantom:
“In the name of the Crucified Son, swear to break all bonds of nature which unite thee to father, mother, brother, sister, wife, relation, friend, mistress, king, benefactor, and to any being whatever to whom thou hast promised faith, obedience, gratitude, or service!”
Our man: “Okey doke.”
The phantom: “From this moment thou art free from the pretended oath thou hast taken to thy country and its laws; swear thou to reveal to the new head whom thou acknowledgest all that thou hast seen or done, read or guessed, and henceforward to search out and penetrate into that which may not openly present itself to thine eyes.”
Our man: “What you said.”
President Ghost asks: “Why have you come before us?”
“I want the hand of iron to stifle tyranny, the sword of fire to banish the impure from the Earth, the scales of adamant to weight the destinies of humanity.” All this for Christmas.
“You must first pass the trials,” says President Ghost.
“Trial away,” says our man.
Shrouded shapes push forth a naked man, bound and gagged.
President Ghost: “He broke the oath, betrayed our secrets.” PG slices the naked man’s throat with a dagger. Our man doesn’t flinch. PG: “This is the fate of traitors.” Our man: “Gotcha.” PG: “Not bothered by this?” Our man: “Not even a little.” PG: “What if I ask you to drink his blood FROM A SKULL?!?” Our man: “I got thirsty climbing all the way up here.” They bring him a skull, full of gooey goodness; our man laps it up. The shrouded attendants are impressed.
PG: “So you will obey our orders?”
Our man: “Yup.”
PG:“Take this gun.”
“Okay.”
“Put it to your head.”
“Right.”
“Shoot.”
BANG!
Except there’s no bang. The gun wasn’t loaded. Everyone’s impressed at our man’s humongous lead balls, but he throws the gun down and says:
“Look, you humps, I know all the society’s secrets, I know you are not ghosts, I know the gun was tricked, I know that ‘kill the traitor’ show was fake, and the “blood” I drank was wine, so let’s move on from the rituals, shall we?”
A hush: “Who ARE YOU?”
Our man: “I AM HE WHO IS.”
Tables turned. Our man points at the leading ghosts, knowingly identifies them as representatives of Sweden, Spain, England, Germany, and the about-to-be-born America. We are in the presence of a cabal: THESE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO REALLY RULE THE WORLD. It’s like Haliburton, but in 1770.
Our man says: “The reason we are all here today is because something momentous is about to happen, and I have come from the East guided by a mysterious faith.”
President Ghost: “An angel told me this would happen in a dream.”
Our man: “What were the signs?”
PG: “A diamond star, and on it, three letters, L.P.D.”
In a theatrical gesture, our man opens his coat, and sure enough, in his fine Holland shirt there’s a diamond star, and the letters L.P.D.--- What DO they mean?
Three hundred shrouded cabal members bow to him: “Master! We obey!”
************************
Our man then gives forth this beautiful speech:
“The sources of great rivers are sacred, unknown. Like the Nile, the Ganges, the Amazon, I know where I’m going but not where I come from. All that I can reveal is that when the eyes of my spirit first opened to external things I was in Medina, the holy city, playing in the gardens of the Mufti Salaaym. He was a venerable man, kind as a father to me. Thrice a day he left me, and then came another old man, whose name I pronounce with gratitude, yet with fear. He was called Althotas, and him the seven great spirits had taught all that the angels know, in order to comprehend God. He was my tutor, my master, my friend. He is twice as old as any of us.”
This sage Althotas character has certainly turned our man on to some strong mind-expanding shit:
“At fifteen I was initiated into the mysteries of nature. My master, pressing his hands on my forehead, made a ray of celestial light descend on my soul; so could I perceive beneath the seas the wondrous vegetations which are tossed by the waves, in the giant branches of which are cradled monsters unknown. All tongues, living and dead, I knew. I could speak every language spoken from the Dardanelles to the Straits of Magellan. I could read the dark hieroglyphics on the pyramids. From Sanchoniathon to Socrates, from Moses to Jerome, from Zoroaster to Agrippa, all human knowledge was mine. I penetrated the secrets of the Copts and the Druids. I gathered up the seeds of destruction and of scarcity.”
“When I was twenty, Althotas gave me a little vial and said: ‘Nothing is born, nothing dies- the cradle and the coffin are twins- once man rises above life and death he shall be equal to the gods. Immortal. And in this vial is the drink that grants immortality. DRINK UP.’”
Our man was quite naturally scared shitless by this kind of talk, but he drank and saw that “I was lying on a pile of sandal-wood and aloes. An angel, passing by on the behests of the Highest, touched the pile with the tip of his wing, and it kindled into flame. Yet I, far from being afraid—far from dreading the fire—lay voluptuous in the midst of it, like the phoenix, drawing in new life from the source of all life. Then my material frame vanished away; my soul only remained. It preserved the form of my body, but transparent, impalpable; it was lighter than the atmosphere in which we live, and it rose above it. Then, like Pythagoras, who remembered that in a former state he had been at the siege of Troy, I remembered the past. I had experienced thirty-two existences, and I recalled them all. I saw ages pass before me like a train of aged men in procession. I beheld myself under the different names which I had borne from the day of my first birth to that of my last death. You know, brethren, it is our faith, that our souls, those countless emanations of the Deity, fill the air, are all, and are formed into numerous hierarchies, descending from the sublime to the base; and the man who, at the moment of his birth, inhales one of those pre-existing souls, gives it up at his death, that it may enter on a new course of transformations.”
See, this is why I love Dumas. His characters are always on some mighty powerful hallucinogenics. He ain’t some stuffy dead white guy. He’s all about mind-expansion.
Anyway, back to our ENLIGHTENED man:
“When I awoke, I felt that I was more than man —that I was almost divine. Then I resolved to dedicate not only my present existence, but all my future ones, to the happiness of man.”
HIPPIE!
Anyway, he relates how as a youth Althotas took him on an amazing psychedelic journey from the Tigris to Palmyra, Damascus, Smyrna, Constantinople, Vienna, Berlin, Dresden, Moscow, Stockholm. Petersburg, New York, Buenos Aires, the Cape of Good Hope, and Aden, and taught him about “one God who, by the aid of angels, his ministers, has made the universe a harmonious whole, and to this whole he gave the great name of Cosmos. Religions are unimportant rituals, attempts at understanding the Glory of that Power.” Our man has seen human minds evolving through time, tending onwards, towards happiness and liberty. “I saw that prophets had been raised up from time to time to aid the wavering advances of the human race; and that men, half blind from their cradle, make but one step toward the light in a century. Centuries are the days of nations.”
“'Then,” says our man, “so much has not been revealed to me that it should remain buried in my soul; in vain does the mountain contain veins of gold, in vain does the ocean hide its pearls, for the persevering miner penetrates to the bowels of the mountain, the diver descends to the depths of the ocean, but better than the mountain or the ocean, let me be like the sun, shedding blessings on the whole earth.'
Okay, all-encompassing “history has led us to this point” speech is over. Our man says: “See why I’m taking over? I don’t care about your frat boy initiations. I’m going to use you. I’m going to change the world.”
He proceeds to make some eerily accurate Nostradamusy prophecies about the fates of nations (stuff even Dumas couldn’t have known, about Russia, for example). Finally, the big LPD secret is revealed:
LPD means: “LILIA PEDIBUS DESTRUE.”
My Latin sucks, but I think that means “Lily is going to blow up a schoolbus.” Other interpretations are welcome. The point is, he plans to bring down the French monarchy. Anyway, it’s so much frosting on the cake. He had everyone at hello. The cabal has found a man above all men.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the hero of the story that now begins. He jumps on his Arabian horse Djerid and rides off into the darkness.
Are you scared?
ABOVE: This is what Djerid looks like.
CHAPTER 1: THE STORM
Eight days later. An odd looking four-horse carriage is rushing towards gay Paree. Peasants gather in awe as it goes by. You have to picture this thing: Crazy horses in front, a cabriolet in front for the "postilions" (look it up).
Behind the cabriolet is the main carriage, huge, it sports the letters JB under a "baronial scroll". It's divided in two compartments. The front room is frilly and comfortable, the pimping limo place. Colored smoke emanates from a chimney in the back room, so we know it’s like a meth lab on wheels.
Got the idea? It's "PIMP MY RIDE- 1770."
Trotting behind is Djerid, that wondrous Arabian horse, so we know we can expect “He Who Is” to show up in this chapter. But before he does, a huge thunderstorm rips through the clouds. It’s raining cats, dogs, and the occasional goat. The postilions are like: “UNSAFE! Must stop.” But a commanding voice issues forth from the inside of the carriage: “You’re going to get a whipping if you stop!” It’s our man! The road is all muddy, the carriage is losing bearing, the horses are freaking out. Our man emerges from the carriage and forcefully leaps to the cabriolet, all John Wayne. He joins the cowering postilions. Still, it looks like the whole big thing is going to tip over and slide off the road. Talk about getting to the action scene right away! A feminine voice cries from the inside: “Joseph! Help! Help!” So, we’re going to call our man Joseph from now on. Joseph Balsamo. No, really, that’s his name. Or one of them.
The postilions want to bail but Joseph pulls out a gun which gives them a second wind. The carriage doesn’t keel over. But obviously somebody up there has it in for Joseph, because just when it looks like he might be back on track a big bolt of lightning comes down right on one of the four front-horses!
SPECIAL EFFECTS! HORSE ELECTROCUTED, DEEP FRIED! CARRIAGE CRASHES AGAINST HORSE’S BODY! WOMAN SCREAMS!
So we're definitely stopped. Joseph gets down and runs to see if the woman inside the carriage is ok. No, haha, kidding, he runs to see if his BEAUTIFUL ARABIAN HORSE is ok! First things first. Djerid is fine but wigging a little. A “broken voice” from the back section of the carriage, (an old man), grumps about the troublesome horse. Joseph enters the meth lab (the back room). What's in it? Meth, duh. And creepy vials and elixirs and bones and skulls. But that's all in the next chapter.
Behind the cabriolet is the main carriage, huge, it sports the letters JB under a "baronial scroll". It's divided in two compartments. The front room is frilly and comfortable, the pimping limo place. Colored smoke emanates from a chimney in the back room, so we know it’s like a meth lab on wheels.Got the idea? It's "PIMP MY RIDE- 1770."
Trotting behind is Djerid, that wondrous Arabian horse, so we know we can expect “He Who Is” to show up in this chapter. But before he does, a huge thunderstorm rips through the clouds. It’s raining cats, dogs, and the occasional goat. The postilions are like: “UNSAFE! Must stop.” But a commanding voice issues forth from the inside of the carriage: “You’re going to get a whipping if you stop!” It’s our man! The road is all muddy, the carriage is losing bearing, the horses are freaking out. Our man emerges from the carriage and forcefully leaps to the cabriolet, all John Wayne. He joins the cowering postilions. Still, it looks like the whole big thing is going to tip over and slide off the road. Talk about getting to the action scene right away! A feminine voice cries from the inside: “Joseph! Help! Help!” So, we’re going to call our man Joseph from now on. Joseph Balsamo. No, really, that’s his name. Or one of them.
The postilions want to bail but Joseph pulls out a gun which gives them a second wind. The carriage doesn’t keel over. But obviously somebody up there has it in for Joseph, because just when it looks like he might be back on track a big bolt of lightning comes down right on one of the four front-horses!
SPECIAL EFFECTS! HORSE ELECTROCUTED, DEEP FRIED! CARRIAGE CRASHES AGAINST HORSE’S BODY! WOMAN SCREAMS!
So we're definitely stopped. Joseph gets down and runs to see if the woman inside the carriage is ok. No, haha, kidding, he runs to see if his BEAUTIFUL ARABIAN HORSE is ok! First things first. Djerid is fine but wigging a little. A “broken voice” from the back section of the carriage, (an old man), grumps about the troublesome horse. Joseph enters the meth lab (the back room). What's in it? Meth, duh. And creepy vials and elixirs and bones and skulls. But that's all in the next chapter.
CHAPTER 2: ALTHOTAS
ABOVE: Althotas, Joseph Balsamo, and a skull from the touring company of “Hamlet”.Grumpy old man is Stephen Hawking! No, no, but he IS a brilliant old geezer, odd-looking and in a wheelchair that’s quite advanced for its time. His name is Althotas. No need for elaborate portrait: picture Dumbledore after the onset of Alxheimer.
Joseph enters the little room in the back of the carriage. It's everything you would imagine in an alchemist’s atelier, Skull/inker included. Joseph calls Althotas “master.” Althotas calls Joseph “Acharat”. This could get potentially confusing.
Althotas is being quite PMSy about the car(riage) accident:
“Get rid of that accursed horse in the next desert!”
Joseph: “A) NO. B) What desert? We’re in FRANCE now, you senile old man. and c) NO. I love Djerid.”
Althotas: “Well, but it kicked at the wall, and it ruined the elixir of eternal life I’m chemicating and now there’s water dripping down the chimney, why is there WATER dripping down the chimney? Is it raining outside? Why are we stopped? Who am I? I’m a MILLION YEARS OLD. If I don’t get this elixir right quick, I’m going to die. I’m missing a certain plant that Pliny describes. Find out from Lorenza in one of her trances where this plant grows.”
(Lorenza, we infer, is some sort of medium, and the woman that has probably fainted on the front section of the carriage. It’s the 1770s, a whole lotta fainting going on.)
Althotas is going on about how he needs to finish the elixir against all obstacles and how he has to suffer fools and how he’s a mad scientist that will conquer the lightning with paper kites and create something called Elektricitus. I think Joseph is being quite tolerant with his Ancient Sageness, who obviously has forgotten to take his medication. Joseph kindly reminds Althotas it’s time to drink up some more because Althotas’ left hand is twitching all weird-like. Mmmm, medicine. Althotas passes out. There, you’ve met the crazy wizard of our tale.
Just then something like the trampling of a horse is heard. A SHOUT OF ALARM! WHAT’S GOING ON OUTSIDE? Joseph hurriedly opens the carriage door and leaps out.
Oh, that Dumas, he sure knows how to end each chapter.
CHAPTER 3: LORENZA FELICIANI
Lorenza wakes up. Who's Lorenza? The fainting, neglected woman in the front room of the cabriolet. She’s about 23 or 24; “a brunette in complexion, but of that rich brown which is more beautiful than the most delicate tint of the rose; her fine blue eyes, raised to heaven, from which she seemed to ask counsel, shone like two stars; and her black hair, which she wore without powder, notwithstanding the fashion of the day, fell in jetty curls on her neck.”
That's her to the right, from a portrait of the era:
That picture is a bit of a spoiler because it goes ahead in time, but I wanted you to have an idea in your mind. Maybe have a cast. Like, perhaps you've pictured Joseph Balsamo as Johnny Depp in period clothes. He would do it.
Her? Who do you think would play this young Italian medium? A youngish Monica Belluci? Use your imagination. Anyway, that description of her is seen through the eyes of a youth that has come out from the side of the road to offer some assistance to the lady, since no one else will. The kid has a good eye, has seen the postilions wander off in the rain, is making a move on the pretty lady through the window of the carriage. Lorenza asks him if the coast is clear. The kid says it is, because he saw Joseph disappear into the back of the cabriolet. Well, what do you know? Our fainting lady slips out quick as an eel, steals Djerid, flips the bird at the carriage and says:
“I like that man, but I have to leave because I love my religion more, and that man is an atheist and a necromancer, and God obviously wants to kill him.” This is what it feels like when you hang out for too long with Christopher Hitchens.
Anyway, Lorenza is oudi, our confused kid gives out an effeminate shout of alarm. That’s what brought Joseph Balsamo out last episode, see?
That's her to the right, from a portrait of the era:
That picture is a bit of a spoiler because it goes ahead in time, but I wanted you to have an idea in your mind. Maybe have a cast. Like, perhaps you've pictured Joseph Balsamo as Johnny Depp in period clothes. He would do it.
Her? Who do you think would play this young Italian medium? A youngish Monica Belluci? Use your imagination. Anyway, that description of her is seen through the eyes of a youth that has come out from the side of the road to offer some assistance to the lady, since no one else will. The kid has a good eye, has seen the postilions wander off in the rain, is making a move on the pretty lady through the window of the carriage. Lorenza asks him if the coast is clear. The kid says it is, because he saw Joseph disappear into the back of the cabriolet. Well, what do you know? Our fainting lady slips out quick as an eel, steals Djerid, flips the bird at the carriage and says:
“I like that man, but I have to leave because I love my religion more, and that man is an atheist and a necromancer, and God obviously wants to kill him.” This is what it feels like when you hang out for too long with Christopher Hitchens.
Anyway, Lorenza is oudi, our confused kid gives out an effeminate shout of alarm. That’s what brought Joseph Balsamo out last episode, see?
CHAPTER 4: OUR YOUNG PHILOSOPHER, GILBERT
Gilbert is the curious youth’s name, he’s "about 16 or 17." (You would think Dumas could determine how old his characters are, but noooo, their birthdates are always tenuous.) Gilbert is “little, thin, and muscular. His black eyes, which he fixed boldly on any object which attracted his attention, wanted mildness, but had a certain kind of beauty; his nose, small and turned up, his thin lip and projecting cheek-bones, betokened cunning and circumspection; and the strong curve of his chin announced firmness.” Firm or not, he's easily alarmed, and rats Lorenza out as soon as Joseph Balsamo runs out of the carriage.
G: “Sir, the lady has fled with the horse!”
J: (infuriated) “Fuque!” (Pardon his French)
G: “She also said you were an infidel and God would punish you.”
J: (suddenly quite calm.) “Oh, well, never mind that, let’s talk about something else. Can you gimme shelter?”
G: “Mick Jagger."
J: "Shelter from the storm?"
G: "Bob Dylan. I could do this all day. The only place around these parts is the Chateau of Taverney, owned by the Baron of Taverney.”
J: “Show me the way.”
G: “Peter Frampton. Anyway, the Baron of Taverney won’t receive you. He’s as brutish as his 16 year old daughter, Andree, is beautiful. And I should know of his callous ways, because I have been raised as a quasi-servant in the Baron’s household. Not that I could ever be a subject to anyone becase I am free and proud and have been reading brainy books like “The Social Contract,” by Rousseau. What a writer, that Rousseau! It's not like the porno novels the Baron has in his library. Those are sent to him by his friend, the Duc de Richeliu.”
J: “I like how you awkwardly convey information necessary to the plot, Gilbert. So, er, does this Mademoiselle Andree read the porno novels?”
G: “NO!” *blushing*
J: “But you apparently did, otherwise you wouldn’t know their content.”
G: “Touche. But I’m not interested in such base material because I care about social justice and equality and I’m going to CHANGE THE WORLD... as soon as I get out of this shithole.”
They’ve arrived at the shithole in question. The Chateau has seen much better days. A dog called Mahon makes an appearance- apparently the Duc of Richeliu’s had a big triumph on the battlefield at Mahon, so the Baron of Taverney honored his old friend by naming the dog thus. (See, this is informative). Even though Gilbert has warned Joseph away, Joseph is determined to stay the night here. An old butler, Master La Brie, answers the door- not many visitors 'round here. This really is some slump of a Barony. La Brie calls for help from a girl called Nicole Legay- now, if my high school French is any good that name probably belongs to a pretty waiting maid who’s flexible with her affections, if you know what I mean. Nicole appears, gives Gilbert a meaningful look, (it means something, I don't know what, we'll find it out soon). She takes some of Joseph's luggage and is off again.
The Baron of Taverney calls grumpily from inside: “Damnit, I don’t want any visitors! Can’t you get rid of them, La Brie, like we do with Jehova's Witnesses? Oh, well, whatever, let them in." And for the first time the Baron deigns to make an appearance: "Here, sir, this way, this way.”
Before entering the house, Joseph turns to see that Gilbert has scampered.
BELOW:
Joseph Balsamo is greeted by the Baron of Taverney. The baron is in his PJs.
G: “Sir, the lady has fled with the horse!”
J: (infuriated) “Fuque!” (Pardon his French)
G: “She also said you were an infidel and God would punish you.”
J: (suddenly quite calm.) “Oh, well, never mind that, let’s talk about something else. Can you gimme shelter?”
G: “Mick Jagger."
J: "Shelter from the storm?"
G: "Bob Dylan. I could do this all day. The only place around these parts is the Chateau of Taverney, owned by the Baron of Taverney.”
J: “Show me the way.”
G: “Peter Frampton. Anyway, the Baron of Taverney won’t receive you. He’s as brutish as his 16 year old daughter, Andree, is beautiful. And I should know of his callous ways, because I have been raised as a quasi-servant in the Baron’s household. Not that I could ever be a subject to anyone becase I am free and proud and have been reading brainy books like “The Social Contract,” by Rousseau. What a writer, that Rousseau! It's not like the porno novels the Baron has in his library. Those are sent to him by his friend, the Duc de Richeliu.”
J: “I like how you awkwardly convey information necessary to the plot, Gilbert. So, er, does this Mademoiselle Andree read the porno novels?”
G: “NO!” *blushing*
J: “But you apparently did, otherwise you wouldn’t know their content.”
G: “Touche. But I’m not interested in such base material because I care about social justice and equality and I’m going to CHANGE THE WORLD... as soon as I get out of this shithole.”
They’ve arrived at the shithole in question. The Chateau has seen much better days. A dog called Mahon makes an appearance- apparently the Duc of Richeliu’s had a big triumph on the battlefield at Mahon, so the Baron of Taverney honored his old friend by naming the dog thus. (See, this is informative). Even though Gilbert has warned Joseph away, Joseph is determined to stay the night here. An old butler, Master La Brie, answers the door- not many visitors 'round here. This really is some slump of a Barony. La Brie calls for help from a girl called Nicole Legay- now, if my high school French is any good that name probably belongs to a pretty waiting maid who’s flexible with her affections, if you know what I mean. Nicole appears, gives Gilbert a meaningful look, (it means something, I don't know what, we'll find it out soon). She takes some of Joseph's luggage and is off again.
The Baron of Taverney calls grumpily from inside: “Damnit, I don’t want any visitors! Can’t you get rid of them, La Brie, like we do with Jehova's Witnesses? Oh, well, whatever, let them in." And for the first time the Baron deigns to make an appearance: "Here, sir, this way, this way.”
Before entering the house, Joseph turns to see that Gilbert has scampered.
BELOW:
Joseph Balsamo is greeted by the Baron of Taverney. The baron is in his PJs.
CHAPTER 5: THE BARON OF TAVERNEY
ABOVE: The chateau of Taverney looks sort of like this, but crappier.
The Chateau is dilapidated, a square with towers at the corners. It has seen better days, and so has the Baron of Taverney. What a character! (Or a char, as RPGrs would have it.)
We meet him struggling between politeness and vexation, wearing his PJs, he’s in his early sixties, and the wig he has on has been burnt by candles.
When he finds out that Gilbert has led "The Baron Jopseh Balsamo" to his door, he sneers: “That rascally philosopher! An idle dog! Oh, sir, you’re wasting your time with us, this place is in decay.”
Meanwhile he’s abusing poor LaBrie, asking him to carry more and more of Joseph’s stuff into the chateau. Balsamo is not impressed by the hospitality but then OOOHHH Mademoiselle Andree shows up and Balsamo gets a boner. Let’s see: “She had dark auburn hair, of a rather lighter shade at her temples and neck, black eyes—clear, with dilated pupils.” I wonder why her pupils are dilated, I really do. “Her small mouth, formed like Apollo's bow, was brilliant as coral; her tapering hands were antique in form, as were her arms, and dazzlingly fair. Her figure, flexible and firm, was like that of the statue of some pagan goddess to which a miracle had given life. Her foot might bear a comparison with that of the huntress Diana, and it seemed only by a miracle that it could support the weight of her body. Her dress was of the simplest fashion, yet suited her so well, that it seemed as if one from the wardrobe of a queen would not have been so elegant or so rich.” Ok, in Dumas world, this clearly means YOU MUST DEVELOP A CHASTE CRUSH ON THIS CHARACTER. She’s the good girl.
“She’s perfection,” Balsamo corroborates.
With the creepiest of paternal admirations, the Baron of Taverney agrees: “Oh, she’s really hot, but those darn nuns at the convent where she was educated must have brainwashed her, because she’s kind of a prude. I need to get her to Versailles and introduce her to the nobles there, turn her into a goer, know what I mean, wink wink nudge nudge?”
Much shocked blushing from Joseph and Andree. The old man clearly wants her daughter to turn a trick so he can repair the stable, because money at the Chateau is not forthcoming. Hey, I told you, Dumas does not mess around. This isn’t the stuffy period piece you think it is. Not all the time, anyway. Adding to the sexual tension, in comes the pretty waiting maid, Nicole Legay, balancing the most scrumptious omeletes. I'll leave you on that. We're ready for dinner talk. And we're going to have an interesting conversation.
CHAPTER 6: ANDREE DE TAVERNEY
This chapter is all dinner talk, but heavy with subtext, things unsaid, stupid things shouted by the Baron of Taverney, and shocking revelations. While LaBrie is busy adding nails to the dinner table so it doesn’t crumble under the weight of two or three measly partridges, the old man is trying to attract attention to the saltcellar, (the only thing in the Chateau not rotting away). Andree is being distant and observes Joseph. Obviously the two of them belong to higher spheres. Nicole Legay is immodestly sashaying her goodies around the dinner table: “Oh, Monsieur Balsamo, let me lean over and hand you this wet hot bowl of soup.” The Baron of Taverney notices Nicole’s “hands” for the first time, (RIGHT!). “What pretty fingers you have, my dear,” and Dumas notes that the Baron’s money was squandered on running after “pretty fingers.”
Joseph brings up Gilbert, (who is coincidentally right outside, spying on the whole scene through a window- this, we will learn, is Gilbert's favorite hobby.) Joseph is obviously curious about the youth’s potential, but the Baron of Taverney dismisses Gilbert:
“Bah! He’s a philosopher! A dreamer! In my day, no one thought about anything! We believed in God and the King, and that was that. Nothing to it. These days people READ! And what do they read? Sentiments like this:
"Monarchy is an institution invented for the corruption of the morals of men, and the purpose of enslaving them! or else this; If the power of kings comes from God, it comes as diseases and other scourges of the human race.
"What nonsense!" Goes on the Baron. "What’s the point of questioning the monarchy's divine right? Now my own son, PHILLIP,” (new character alert) “is telling me that religion is an oppressive lie and that we are all brothers, and that NEGROES have SOULS! When they are obviously monkeys! I ain’t related to no monkey!”
(Yes, the Baron says this horrible thing. Dumas’s grandmother was a black slave, and although it wasn’t something he liked to bring up all the time, he obviously had a sensitivity towards slaves and “colored folk” because being of mixed race himself he KNEW that, yes, gasp, black people had souls. He's no Dr. Martin Luther King, but for a rich and famous French person who "passed" for white in the 1800s, Dumas was very brave to denounce slavery and racism and write a whole novel, "Georges", devoted to the topic.)
Anyway, at this point, the Baron is frothing at all these crazy commies around him, and he looks exactly like the anti-evolution evangelical dude in the Borat movie who shouts: “I ain't related to no monkey!” right before showing his high intellect by “talking in tongues”, (a.k.a. having a spastic fit). While everybody around him is all embarrassed, The Baron of Taverney goes on a rant about: "What’s the world coming to, what with the blacks and the women and the jews and the chinks and the fags and the atheists and the scientists and the fish sellers, I hate everybody who's not me or the King! With all this talk of PROGRESS and SCIENCE and DEMOCRACY and TOLERANCE and LOVE the world is going to end up being some sort of good place to be in!!!"
(There's nothing to worry about, Baron de Taverney! I’m more than two hundred years in the future, and I’m telling you, people are actually working hard to get dumber! It’s hilarious! Nothing has changed! I just found out the other day that in England they STILL believe in "Kings"! CRAZY! So settle down.)
ABOVE: This is what the Marechal of Richeliu looks like. He's a big player, about to be name dropped again.
Joseph talks the Baron down by asking about Philip, the strapping young scion of the Taverney family who’s working for the Marechal de Richeliu. The Baron of Taverney loves to name drop Richeliu, and reminisces on a battle of his youth. This is when things get freaky.
Taverney: “Me and Richeliu go waaaaay back, we met at the siege of Philipsbourg in 1742.”
Joseph Balsamo: “Oh, yes, I had fun at that one.”
Taverney: “Hmmm. That was thirty years ago. You look like you’re thirty NOW. You weren’t there.”
Joseph Balsamo: (demure) “Oh, I so was.”
Taverney: “Stop it, you’re confusing it with some OTHER siege of Philipsbourg. I was there as a young man, helping Richeliu during a shoot out.”
Joseph Balsamo: “Oh, yeah, that’s right, I remember you, you were wearing that retarded green hat and your horse was colored so and so and…”
Taverney: “Shut up.”
Joseph Balsamo: “I told you I was there.”
Taverney: “You couldn’t have been more than two or three years old.”
Joseph Balsamo: (very seriously) “I was 41 then, a soul in the body of a Viscount Jean Des Barreaux. That’s how I saw you at the fight. Right before a cannonball took off my head.”
Taverney: (shits his pants.)
Andree and Nicole and La Brie and Gilbert and the cat are all freaked out.
At this point, a mysterious drowsiness descends upon the party, and Andree gets all languishy and sleepy. She feels a heaviness upon her bosom and Nicole comes to assist her to bed and then she unlaces Andree’s corset and liberates her breasts and applies some soothing oils. Next chapter: GIRL ON GIRL!
No, psych! Instead Andree, compelled by a weird moist magnetic urge, goes with Nicole to play the clavichord in the music room. Gilbert the Peeping Tom runs to spy on the corresponding window.
Joseph also seems to follow the departing Andree with his eyes. Content with the impression he’s caused, he declares:
“Like Archimedes always said: Eureka!”
“Archimedes? Who’s that?” asks the ignorant Baron of Taverney.
“Oh, just my college roommate. From 2000 years ago.”
DUM.
Joseph brings up Gilbert, (who is coincidentally right outside, spying on the whole scene through a window- this, we will learn, is Gilbert's favorite hobby.) Joseph is obviously curious about the youth’s potential, but the Baron of Taverney dismisses Gilbert:
“Bah! He’s a philosopher! A dreamer! In my day, no one thought about anything! We believed in God and the King, and that was that. Nothing to it. These days people READ! And what do they read? Sentiments like this:
"Monarchy is an institution invented for the corruption of the morals of men, and the purpose of enslaving them! or else this; If the power of kings comes from God, it comes as diseases and other scourges of the human race.
"What nonsense!" Goes on the Baron. "What’s the point of questioning the monarchy's divine right? Now my own son, PHILLIP,” (new character alert) “is telling me that religion is an oppressive lie and that we are all brothers, and that NEGROES have SOULS! When they are obviously monkeys! I ain’t related to no monkey!”
(Yes, the Baron says this horrible thing. Dumas’s grandmother was a black slave, and although it wasn’t something he liked to bring up all the time, he obviously had a sensitivity towards slaves and “colored folk” because being of mixed race himself he KNEW that, yes, gasp, black people had souls. He's no Dr. Martin Luther King, but for a rich and famous French person who "passed" for white in the 1800s, Dumas was very brave to denounce slavery and racism and write a whole novel, "Georges", devoted to the topic.)
Anyway, at this point, the Baron is frothing at all these crazy commies around him, and he looks exactly like the anti-evolution evangelical dude in the Borat movie who shouts: “I ain't related to no monkey!” right before showing his high intellect by “talking in tongues”, (a.k.a. having a spastic fit). While everybody around him is all embarrassed, The Baron of Taverney goes on a rant about: "What’s the world coming to, what with the blacks and the women and the jews and the chinks and the fags and the atheists and the scientists and the fish sellers, I hate everybody who's not me or the King! With all this talk of PROGRESS and SCIENCE and DEMOCRACY and TOLERANCE and LOVE the world is going to end up being some sort of good place to be in!!!"
(There's nothing to worry about, Baron de Taverney! I’m more than two hundred years in the future, and I’m telling you, people are actually working hard to get dumber! It’s hilarious! Nothing has changed! I just found out the other day that in England they STILL believe in "Kings"! CRAZY! So settle down.)
ABOVE: This is what the Marechal of Richeliu looks like. He's a big player, about to be name dropped again.
Joseph talks the Baron down by asking about Philip, the strapping young scion of the Taverney family who’s working for the Marechal de Richeliu. The Baron of Taverney loves to name drop Richeliu, and reminisces on a battle of his youth. This is when things get freaky.
Taverney: “Me and Richeliu go waaaaay back, we met at the siege of Philipsbourg in 1742.”
Joseph Balsamo: “Oh, yes, I had fun at that one.”
Taverney: “Hmmm. That was thirty years ago. You look like you’re thirty NOW. You weren’t there.”
Joseph Balsamo: (demure) “Oh, I so was.”
Taverney: “Stop it, you’re confusing it with some OTHER siege of Philipsbourg. I was there as a young man, helping Richeliu during a shoot out.”
Joseph Balsamo: “Oh, yeah, that’s right, I remember you, you were wearing that retarded green hat and your horse was colored so and so and…”
Taverney: “Shut up.”
Joseph Balsamo: “I told you I was there.”
Taverney: “You couldn’t have been more than two or three years old.”
Joseph Balsamo: (very seriously) “I was 41 then, a soul in the body of a Viscount Jean Des Barreaux. That’s how I saw you at the fight. Right before a cannonball took off my head.”
Taverney: (shits his pants.)
Andree and Nicole and La Brie and Gilbert and the cat are all freaked out.
At this point, a mysterious drowsiness descends upon the party, and Andree gets all languishy and sleepy. She feels a heaviness upon her bosom and Nicole comes to assist her to bed and then she unlaces Andree’s corset and liberates her breasts and applies some soothing oils. Next chapter: GIRL ON GIRL!
No, psych! Instead Andree, compelled by a weird moist magnetic urge, goes with Nicole to play the clavichord in the music room. Gilbert the Peeping Tom runs to spy on the corresponding window.
Joseph also seems to follow the departing Andree with his eyes. Content with the impression he’s caused, he declares:
“Like Archimedes always said: Eureka!”
“Archimedes? Who’s that?” asks the ignorant Baron of Taverney.
“Oh, just my college roommate. From 2000 years ago.”
DUM.
CHAPTER 7: EUREKA
I was wrong, the lovely Andree is not playing a clavichord: it’s a harpsichord. There’s some sort of a difference.
BREAK FOR TILT # 7: This is a clavichord:
This is a harpsichord:
While the tinkling notes go on in the salon that neighbors the dining room, the Baron of Taverney tells poor servile LaBrie to prepare lodgings for Joseph Balsamo in the ominously dubbed “red room”. REDROOM! REDROOM! The red room is where Taverney’s currently absent lieutenant son, Philip, usually stays when he goes AWOL. Just so you don’t miss out on the wordiness, here’s what Dumas has to say about the room:
“An oaken bed with a faded green damask coverlet, and hangings of the same material looped up above it; an oaken table with twisted legs; a huge stone chimney-piece of the time of Louis XIII., to which in winter a fire might impart some appearance of comfort, but which now, wanting that, wanting all ornaments and utensils, wanting wood, and stuffed with old newspapers, only made the place look still more dreary. Such was the apartment of which Balsamo was for one night to be the fortunate possessor.”
While Nicole Legay and LaBrie try to air the stinky room, Joseph visits the comatose Althotas who is still hiding outside in the carriage (since he’s all crazy and crippled.) Now that I think about, Althotas is just like Fidel Castro! After checking up on His Sageness, Balsamo returns and gives La Brie a tip.
LaBrie reluctantly hmmms and haawws: “Excuse me, sir, but you have obviously made a mistake. You gave me a hundred bucks!”
Balsamo: “Oh, you’re right, my friend, thanks for telling me. I meant to give you five hundred bucks.”
DAMN! LOADED!
Once the super-happy Labrie bows his way out, Joseph peeks out of his window at a window on the opposite tower, where sexy little Nicole Legay is… OH OH, this is NAUGHTY!
“She was thoughtfully unfastening her apron, then she began to undo the buttons of her gown. From time to time she leaned out of the sill to see into the courtyard.”
“What a singular resemblance!” Balsamo murmurs to himself. To whom does he mean? There’s a secret here. Also, Nicole’s boobies are about to make an appearance.
Wait for it… wait for it…
Before Nicole slips entirely out of her gown, she remembers to blow the candle and her room is plunged in darkness.
TEASE!
Joseph stops masturbat-, er ,“inspecting the opposite window” and since his “interest” (penis) is still aroused by the house’s many “mysteries,” (breasts), he quietly sneaks out of the red room and goes back to the salon where Andree is still playing a haunting little tune in the clavichord. Or harpsichord. Or whichever it is.
Andree’s “white hands wander over the old yellow keys of the instrument.” A single candle lights the room. There’s a tall age-hazed mirror on the wall, and she blankly stares at herself in it while she keeps on playing some sad tunes that remind her of a childhood under green trees and by rolling rivers. All of a sudden she shivers as if some electric fingers have danced down her back and the music halts and then begins again, louder and more passionate. Something slides behind her on the dim mirror’s surface.
And Joseph Balsamo stands breathing down her neck, his dark velvet suit exalting “the ghastly pallor of his face”.
“What do you want?” She whispers without taking her eyes off the mirror.
He just smiles, waves a hand over her head and says: “Sleep! It is my will!”
And a helpless, obedient Andree leans her elbow on the harpsichord, drops her head in her hands, and closes her eyes.
But Balsamo does nothing ungentlemanly. He simply backs out of the salon, closes the door, and goes up to his red room.
We who stay at the salon see a small, stunned face peek through a window: it’s Gilbert, who’s witnesses this odd little display of Balsamo’s powers.
And who looks like he’s about to climb through the window into the room.
Gilbert seems like a nice guy, but is he going to protect poor Andree’s unconscious honor? Or is he going to be like a frat boy who’s just been left alone with his GHB'd date?
Only time, and the next chapter, will tell.
BREAK FOR TILT # 7: This is a clavichord:
This is a harpsichord: While the tinkling notes go on in the salon that neighbors the dining room, the Baron of Taverney tells poor servile LaBrie to prepare lodgings for Joseph Balsamo in the ominously dubbed “red room”. REDROOM! REDROOM! The red room is where Taverney’s currently absent lieutenant son, Philip, usually stays when he goes AWOL. Just so you don’t miss out on the wordiness, here’s what Dumas has to say about the room:
“An oaken bed with a faded green damask coverlet, and hangings of the same material looped up above it; an oaken table with twisted legs; a huge stone chimney-piece of the time of Louis XIII., to which in winter a fire might impart some appearance of comfort, but which now, wanting that, wanting all ornaments and utensils, wanting wood, and stuffed with old newspapers, only made the place look still more dreary. Such was the apartment of which Balsamo was for one night to be the fortunate possessor.”
While Nicole Legay and LaBrie try to air the stinky room, Joseph visits the comatose Althotas who is still hiding outside in the carriage (since he’s all crazy and crippled.) Now that I think about, Althotas is just like Fidel Castro! After checking up on His Sageness, Balsamo returns and gives La Brie a tip.
LaBrie reluctantly hmmms and haawws: “Excuse me, sir, but you have obviously made a mistake. You gave me a hundred bucks!”
Balsamo: “Oh, you’re right, my friend, thanks for telling me. I meant to give you five hundred bucks.”
DAMN! LOADED!
Once the super-happy Labrie bows his way out, Joseph peeks out of his window at a window on the opposite tower, where sexy little Nicole Legay is… OH OH, this is NAUGHTY!
“She was thoughtfully unfastening her apron, then she began to undo the buttons of her gown. From time to time she leaned out of the sill to see into the courtyard.”
“What a singular resemblance!” Balsamo murmurs to himself. To whom does he mean? There’s a secret here. Also, Nicole’s boobies are about to make an appearance.
Wait for it… wait for it…
Before Nicole slips entirely out of her gown, she remembers to blow the candle and her room is plunged in darkness.
TEASE!
Joseph stops masturbat-, er ,“inspecting the opposite window” and since his “interest” (penis) is still aroused by the house’s many “mysteries,” (breasts), he quietly sneaks out of the red room and goes back to the salon where Andree is still playing a haunting little tune in the clavichord. Or harpsichord. Or whichever it is.
Andree’s “white hands wander over the old yellow keys of the instrument.” A single candle lights the room. There’s a tall age-hazed mirror on the wall, and she blankly stares at herself in it while she keeps on playing some sad tunes that remind her of a childhood under green trees and by rolling rivers. All of a sudden she shivers as if some electric fingers have danced down her back and the music halts and then begins again, louder and more passionate. Something slides behind her on the dim mirror’s surface.
And Joseph Balsamo stands breathing down her neck, his dark velvet suit exalting “the ghastly pallor of his face”.
“What do you want?” She whispers without taking her eyes off the mirror.
He just smiles, waves a hand over her head and says: “Sleep! It is my will!”
And a helpless, obedient Andree leans her elbow on the harpsichord, drops her head in her hands, and closes her eyes.
But Balsamo does nothing ungentlemanly. He simply backs out of the salon, closes the door, and goes up to his red room.
We who stay at the salon see a small, stunned face peek through a window: it’s Gilbert, who’s witnesses this odd little display of Balsamo’s powers.
And who looks like he’s about to climb through the window into the room.
Gilbert seems like a nice guy, but is he going to protect poor Andree’s unconscious honor? Or is he going to be like a frat boy who’s just been left alone with his GHB'd date?
Only time, and the next chapter, will tell.
CHAPTER 8: ATTRACTION
What young Gilbert is about to do may very well seem creepy to those whose minds have never been clouded by desire. But let’s reserve judgment and empathize a lot: he has been raised under the shadow of Andree’s haughty beauty. He is servant and she is mistress, (in the old sense of the word) He is TOTALLY crushing on her. Isn't it natural that seeing her now, mysteriously asleep, he sneaks through the half open window into the salon and slowly approaches for a closer look? And that upon seeing her beauty, he is a little tempted to kiss the hem of her skirt, and then having lowered himself by her side and brushed his lips against the fabric, he boldly aims for more?
He’s shaking as he does it…His heart is going a million miles an hour…
He kisses her HAND.
And she wakes up.
And he freaks out!
It’s all clear on his head: she’s going to scream her head off, they’re going to kick him out of the Taverney household, he’s going to wander the roads of France, reading his Rousseau right until the moment he passes out on a ditch somewhere.
ABOVE: Titillating depiction of a gentleman bedecking a lady's gloved hand with saliva. Photograph Courtesy of the Spice Channel's Archives.
Andree looks down at Gilbert.
But she doesn’t scream.
She doesn’t say anything at all, really. Stands up, majestically walks out of the room.
Gilbert is mystified… He walks after her ready to apologize, afraid she’s going to tell her father, but instead she walks right by her father’s bedroom door. It strikes him: she’s sleepwalking. Hypnotized. She’s seeing nothing. She’s a puppet.
And what is she doing, where is she going?
Right up to the red room, where Baron Joseph Balsamo awaits.
And Andree does one of the most scandalous things a nice young girl can do in the 1770s, right above giving you a glimpse of her ankles: she quietly sneaks into Joseph’s bedroom while Gilbert is watching.
This is WAAAAYYY too much for the poor boy. Kissing a girl and then having her walk right off into some other guy’s room? Gilbert understandably crashes to the floor as that door closes.
Who knows what perversions will take place inside the red room?
We will. Next time.
He’s shaking as he does it…His heart is going a million miles an hour…
He kisses her HAND.
And she wakes up.
And he freaks out!
It’s all clear on his head: she’s going to scream her head off, they’re going to kick him out of the Taverney household, he’s going to wander the roads of France, reading his Rousseau right until the moment he passes out on a ditch somewhere.
ABOVE: Titillating depiction of a gentleman bedecking a lady's gloved hand with saliva. Photograph Courtesy of the Spice Channel's Archives.
Andree looks down at Gilbert.
But she doesn’t scream.
She doesn’t say anything at all, really. Stands up, majestically walks out of the room.
Gilbert is mystified… He walks after her ready to apologize, afraid she’s going to tell her father, but instead she walks right by her father’s bedroom door. It strikes him: she’s sleepwalking. Hypnotized. She’s seeing nothing. She’s a puppet.
And what is she doing, where is she going?
Right up to the red room, where Baron Joseph Balsamo awaits.
And Andree does one of the most scandalous things a nice young girl can do in the 1770s, right above giving you a glimpse of her ankles: she quietly sneaks into Joseph’s bedroom while Gilbert is watching.
This is WAAAAYYY too much for the poor boy. Kissing a girl and then having her walk right off into some other guy’s room? Gilbert understandably crashes to the floor as that door closes.
Who knows what perversions will take place inside the red room?
We will. Next time.
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