My Life in Paris HTML version
Title: Une vie française. (My Life in Paris)
Author: Anna Belle
Fandom: Original, Historical
Summary: Nobleman Jérome Sautier tells Madame Constance about his life in Paris and
reveals when and why he crossed the borderline forever. Early 19th century setting.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction.
Written in 2007
Une vie française. (My Life in Paris)
by Anna Belle
I did not answer immediately when Madame Constance asked me what I felt addicted to in
life, what I felt addicted to in Paris. My life in Paris appeared to be the very usual life of a
very usual nobleman. What did I feel addicted to? No suitable answer came to my mind. My
life had never been in any way a common life. And never had I been a common nobleman.
I had come to Paris in 1807, without hope and expectations for the future. My life had been a
failure, a tragic misguided waste. I hardly noticed the beauty of this splendid town. For years I
had longed to see this place. Paris. When I had spoken of Paris, I had spoken of liberty and
independence, of progress and improvement. Of an open mind. Of a new age. Now I had
finally realized that I had been mistaken. Bold thoughts. Enthusiastic thoughts. Immature.
Thoughts of a madman.
I winced at these thoughts. Madame Constance watched me curiously. “A slight headache,” I
said lightly and gave her a smile. My thoughts went back to a time when I had felt perfectly
happy. Genuine truth or mere self-deception? Who would ever understand the pain I was still
I looked at Madame Constance with darkened eyes. “Well, first, I think Paris is a good place
to forget about worries.” And leave behind your life, I added to myself. Constance raised an
This city, by no means, was a place of progress and advancement. It was a place of folly and
silly amusements. At one of these parties I had met Madame Constance, a noble woman with
an almost fatal addiction to curiosity and inquisitiveness. Soon I was her favourite and finally
she became a very good friend of mine.
Again I met her eyes. She smiled encouragingly.
Well, what was I addicted to in Paris? The social gatherings that took place in Paris every day
and night? No, I did not take interest in these places of exalted gossip and idle talk and their
constant visitors. In the beginning I had merely felt bothered by their questions. Later I felt
bored. Now I amused myself with their pride and vanity. It was a game with rules, and I stuck