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Post by Cendrillon de Beauvais(D) on Feb 28, 2006 8:50:30 GMT -5
M’lady Escrivante
I just wanted to express my admiration for your book, which I finished late last night (or do I mean early this morning?) having received it by a happy accident from my bookseller instead of the twenty seventh volume of a history of the Wars of Drujan. I do not know how he could have come to make such an error but perhaps he thought I would benefit from something less dreary. Truly, if one evidence of the futility of, well, everything those would be the books to provide it.
But your book, ah, a different matter altogether. You must forgive the clumsiness with which I express myself – I am far more accustomed to imbibing the words of others than offering my own – but I very much enjoyed your story. You write with such passion that your words seem almost to burn with it. I find the idea of that mystic all-transcending lover that life and destiny draw one inevitably towards utterly bewitching; however I am afraid it is a dream that fades with the fervour of youth. All the same, you reminded me of dreams I have put aside and for that I thank you.
I shall watch your progress with interest; you have a great talent.
With all best wishes, Cendrillon de Beauvais
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Post by Cendrillon de Beauvais(D) on Feb 28, 2006 9:53:31 GMT -5
M’lady Escrivante
Please – just Cendrillon, if that is not too audacious of me. The title is something of an ill-fitting honour, for it was fashioned for an altogether different man, my elder brother in fact. Thank you for taking the time to write back to me. I’m sure you must feel the call of many words, so I am honoured you could spare some for me. In truth, I must confess nothing short of relief to have received your novella in place of a turgid account (shush – I know it was critically acclaimed but I find the density of the prose somewhat off-putting) of a war that seems to teach nothing of humanity but that we are doomed to the eternal repetition of our errors and failings.
As far as your ability to compete is concerned, do you know the bookseller (I shall not name him lest you judge him for incompetence) tried to take my copy of your book back because another customer wanted a copy? I was quite assertive with him and wrote a very sternly worded letter back for nothing in the world could convince me to surrender your beautiful book for another volume of those dreadful wars.
You do write kind things of me – but I’m afraid I must accuse you of flattery for if I have a reputation for anything it is only for my reclusive and eccentric nature. Indeed, I am a little wary that you know of me at all. Regardless, I think you are perfectly correct when you say it possible to be learned without being intelligent; some of the most frustratingly idiotic people I know happen to be very learned men.
I wish you good look with your next novella; indeed you must not think of rushing yourself for the sake of your public. The imagination is not a petulant child to be bullied or coaxed. Let the embers of your inspiration illuminate the page in their own time and way. And let me assure you that of everything I have read of late, nothing has given me greater pleasure than your letter.
With admiration, Cendrillon
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Post by Cendrillon de Beauvais(D) on Mar 1, 2006 11:35:33 GMT -5
M’lady Escrivante,
I am honoured beyond the power expressing it that a lady of your passion and eloquence could think of me as a friend – indeed it has inspired me with a new confidence towards my letter writing, which I have always considered sadly pedestrian. This may seem a strange question to ask a member of the de Mornay family and I hope I do not trespass upon old ills but have you ever encountered a volume of Thelesis de Mornay’s private correspondence? Her letters are much less readily available than her other writings, for I think they were published against the wishes of her estate and are often quite fragmentary; that was such a troubled time after all. But she writes with such exquisite grace. I think I see something of her in your own style. But I have let myself become side-tracked. I suspect my letter writing must speak better for me than I do for myself, for I’m afraid there is little about me to recommend myself to your friendship or your good opinion, but I am so glad to have them I cannot bring myself to disabuse you of your regard.
As for my family, if you have heard of me, you must have heard of the tragedy that befell my father and brother in the last war. My brother was everything a family could desire in an heir. I am not. But what of your own family? I see you are following in your great aunt’s footsteps? She was a remarkable woman.
Rude, presumptuous, arrogant? You could never be any of those. And I remain,
Just Cendrillon
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Post by Cendrillon de Beauvais(D) on Mar 2, 2006 8:50:41 GMT -5
M’lady Escrivante,
You are too kind and you make me feel less ashamed of confessing that your letters are the high point of my day – to the extent that I seem to structure my life around the possibility of receiving one, not, I hasten to add, that I’m pressuring you into writing more. The elegant lines of your script across the page please me like the smile of an old friend.
It sounds as though you have quite a family. What, if it is not an impertinent question, brings you to the city, and will your sisters, at the least the elder ones, be pursuing you to the social sphere? And as for my own family, please I do not deserve your sympathies. In truth … in truth – oh how difficult this is to confess – I was not close to my father and brother. Of course I lament the tragic waste of their lives but, for myself, I do not grieve. My life is rather quieter without them. By Elua, what a truly terrible thing to say. I hope I have not horrified you with my want of feeling. My mother feels their loss keenly. My brother, Leon, was a remarkable young man. He was everything a father could desire in an heir. He was raised to it, excelled at it. I am not suited for his duties, although I do fulfil them as best I can. And hopefully I shall not drive the estate into ruination and despair.
Oh, before I forget, a thousand thousand thanks for your Great Aunt’s letters. I shall treasure them and you may count upon my discretion. I feel truly privileged to been able to read them. Of course I have previously encountered fragments but nothing that does them justice. They comprise some of the most beautiful writing of our age, I think, offer such a delicate portrait of the truly remarkable woman behind the history of which are all so familiar. I particularly liked this passage – I’m afraid it is rather melancholy in nature.
“It is too easy to forget that which warms, also burns. Falling in love? It is like setting your own hands on fire because you’re afraid of the dark. But, of course, I’ll do it again, and again, again. Because the dark is very dark. They talk of being consumed by love. It’s no inferno. You just give a little too much to every person who touches you and, eventually, there’s nothing left.”
As ever, Just Cendrillon
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Post by Cendrillon de Beauvais(D) on Mar 2, 2006 10:43:52 GMT -5
My tempestuous friend,
Ah, your letters and your professions of friendship mean so much to me, I can only hope to live up to them. Heaven knows where amongst these scribbled words you have contrived to form such a good opinion of me but it benefits me nothing (and, indeed, could lose me a great deal) to dispute it. Indeed, if an encounter between us was not certain to be a catastrophic disappointment for you (so much so that, quite frankly, I’m terrified to meet you), I’d be half-tempted to fall behind with my letters in the hope of drawing you to my side. But my dear friend it is entirely unnecessary, your pen already holds me hostage.
Again, I must thank you for your kindness and understanding. But I do not think my emotions hide from me, I truly think they are not there. Not to speak ill of the dead, but my father and brother did little to inspire them. And I shall keep your heretical sentiments on the nature of family to myself, not least of all because I should not like to see you come to a sticky end but also because I quite agree with them. I have not found my family yet. Perhaps I never will, despite the duties I owe to my name.
You have plans to travel? How brave of you. Where will you go? I tend to feel anxious if I stray too far from my library. But I must confess to a murmur of self-pity since it would seem my only friend in the city is destined to leave it so soon after arriving. You speak … I mean write … very fondly of your sisters. Although if they are all as adventurous and strong-willed as you, I can understand your mother’s nerves. Possibly I was a changeling; I seem to have inherited precious little of typical Beauvais characteristics.
The quote I chose was unusually melancholic. I think it was from one of the darker times of her life and, for the most part, her sentiments hard more in common with yours than mine. You phrased it very beautifully by the way – I fully expect to see those words in print before the year is out.
Ever your, Cendrillon
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Post by Cendrillon de Beauvais(D) on Mar 3, 2006 10:35:13 GMT -5
My dear friend,
Another delightful letter from you; I am beginning to wonder how I used to get through my days without them to divert and cheer me. Although I very much appreciate the thought behind your invitation, I’m afraid I must cry off like the abominable coward I am. It’s not that I am terrifying (or even 20 feet fall), it’s just that I’m disappointing, and I would hate more than anything to disappoint you. I think I must have a rather reclusive nature, and I am much more at my ease surrounded by the whisper of pages than the conversation of people. I hope you can forgive my eccentricities but since you profess yourself my friend I am sure you would not wish to put me in a position liable to make uncomfortable.
With regard to your travels, it seems I must reconcile myself to your absence but I shall look forward to hearing all about your adventures – for I’m sure you shall have some. You strike me as just the sort of person to whom adventures happen. I, on the other hand, am quite determined to avoid them. I do not think travel and I would suit.
Your musings on the act of writing made me remember something I read quite some time ago, although I’ve forgotten exactly who it was who wrote it – I suspect a philosopher from Hellas – and now I come to think of it I’ve forgotten the exact wording as well (I have an image of it existing on the lower left hand page of an olive bound book somewhere in my library. Hm. Helpful). Sorry, I’m incoherent. But the saying went: “How can I know what I think until I say it.” For you, of course, it should go: “How can I know what I think until I write it.”
I would love to read your next book whenever you happen to write it. But my eyes are so far from impartial as to be positively rose-tinted when it comes to you.
Your cowardly but devoted correspondent, Cendrillon
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Post by Cendrillon de Beauvais(D) on Mar 7, 2006 5:48:48 GMT -5
My Jess,
Ah yes. That thrice-accursed fete. How I am dreading it but my mother is insisting that I attend. And my mother can be very insistent. I’m sure they can be very enjoyable events – and I’m sure you are the sort of the person who could enjoy herself anywhere – but my disposition is so ill-suited to sociability, flirtation and merriment that I tend to find them an exercise in courage and endurance. And part of me cannot help but think, circumstances being as they are, that now is a time for mourning and contemplation not wild parties and debauchery. But possibly I’m just using the political climate to make excuses for myself.
I should probably think about hiring an adept to accompany me and lend me valour (and, if necessary, provide a physical shield for the Duchesse L’Envers who is as vicious as a feral cat) but I simply can’t face it. The idea of paying a beautiful woman to tolerate my company and pretend to admire me for an evening offends my pride. So if your eye should fall across any lonely, ill-favoured gentlemen lurking behind pot plants and hovering in corners – it will probably be me. I have no idea how I would even begin to recognise you, unless there are any trees in the ballroom you can sit in. Do you really read amongst the branches? How perfectly charming.
I am sorry for your sake that your minor adventures (I would hate to think of you captured or caught up in a war – but perhaps you would flourish among pirates?) have been curtailed but for my own I am glad. With your letters to lend sparkle to my days, this is turning to the loveliest winter of my life. I shall selfishly pray for spring frosts and even blizzards.
I hope your characters have ceased their dancing
Your earthbound Cendrillon
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Post by Cendrillon de Beauvais(D) on Mar 7, 2006 12:43:28 GMT -5
Dear Monkey,
The world holds still for no man, not even a king … I somehow wish that were not the case. It is astonishing to me that everything seems to go on exactly as before, Evangeline L’Envers will still be spiteful, the rest of them will be gossipsome, and I will be thoroughly out of place and miserable. One would think the marks of a man, and such a man, upon the world would be indelible; but the memory even of greatness fades like a spring frost leaving only tears behind. What hope does that leave for the rest of us mortals? I fear my quiet life leads only and inevitably to an unvisited tomb. Forgive me, impending festivity makes me melancholy.
I hope all goes well with your adept; you seem to possess a happy talent for making friends wherever you go (possibly this will not help you in the career as a dastardly pirate you seem so determined to resist). As for me … if you are so determined to search me out I suspect you will have no difficult finding me. I am far from becoming to behold and will have made no attempt whatsoever to fit in with the theme of the fete. Or you could always ask someone. I’m sure the kinder ones will point towards the shy young man with the unfortunate scar, the less kind to the hopeless fool in the corner.
Since you are so reluctant to be a pirate, we shall have to find some other adventure to send you upon. Perhaps your flaming Eiran hair will encourage some primitive people in the middle of nowhere to worship you as a Goddess? How does that sound? But you must not let me selfish whining keep you from your journey. I will hold off on the blizzards and keep my sorrows to myself; indeed to know that you are happy is joy enough for me.
Ever your Cendrillon
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