Work Text:
July 12th, 1899
Dear Diary,
Although I do not write here much, I decided to bring my diary with me since I’ve decided to come to Paris for this year’s July 14th. As I had expected, it was full of decorations and high spirits. It seems that even though we lost many men and territory in the Franco-Prussian War just two decades ago, it does not seem to hinder the Parisians’ patriotic spirits at all. Maybe it just seems like a recent memory for me because my father was unfortunately killed during that war, as I’m sure many men were. But alas, we need to keep our heads up and celebrate the present and future of our nation.
I’m going to be staying here for a few weeks, so I’m borrowing a room in my cousin’s apartment. He says it isn’t much trouble but I do feel like I’m taking up a lot of space. Mostly because I’ve brought my many books and journals to keep me company. I’ll try to stay out of his way and let him have his space.
I settled in earlier this afternoon. It’s a very nice place. I’ll make sure to be gentle with its seemingly old interior.
I didn’t do much today. Mostly just arranging things in my room. My cousin seemed a little annoyed at the amount of books I’ve brought but he swears he isn’t bothered by it. Hopefully he’s being truthful.
It is 9 pm as of writing this. All the settling in tired me. I will retreat to bed now.
End of Entry.
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July 14th, 1899
Dear Diary,
The streets buzzed with people chattering and cheering. Celebrations in every corner of the city and the spirits seemed quite high. I went to hear a speech made by our president. It was a nice speech.
Apparently they’re going to be hosting a grand exhibition here in Paris next year as well. That seemed exciting. I don’t follow these news much,
But I did hear about the planning of this many years ago through word of my brother. I didn’t care for it then but now, I’m considering coming back next year for this exhibition.
Anyways, aside from all of that, I had an extremely… strange, I suppose you could say, experience.
While I was making my way down the streets of Paris later in the evening, I bumped into a man. At first, when he turned to apologize, he looked like any other man on the streets of Paris. But as I took a better look at his features, he seemed almost… ethereal, like an angel that had just graced the streets of Paris.
But he also had this… weird air around him. Like he was… non-human. It made me shudder slightly.
Then I realized I must have been staring for too long because after that, he waved his hand in front of me and asked if I was ok. I replied saying yes of course but, gosh, was it embarrassing.
He asked if I was from Paris, to which I of course said no. He then laughed and said, “Well, that makes sense.” Which confused me greatly. I asked him what he meant and he simply replied, “You seem enthralled. That’s usually the effect I have on people who've never seen me.” He then started playing with his hair which draped over his shoulder just slightly.
I pressed him a bit for some more answers but he simply just told me to ask a Parisian I know.
So, later that evening, I asked my cousin. I described to him the man’s long dirty blond locks that he seems to adore despite it being out of fashion by this time, his sapphire blue eyes, his small stubble along his chin and his fair skin that reflected the light almost ethereally.
My cousin let out a chuckle and replied, surprisingly casually, “The man you met is Mr. France.”
I was surprised he was able to deduct the person I’m talking about so easily, so I asked him how he was able to do it. He just told me that he’s always described as ethereal since the dawn of time.
Our conversation ended short however, as my cousin had work early in the morning the next day. He’s sleeping soundly in his bed now.
I’ll gather more information on this… mysterious “Mr. France” from my cousin tomorrow.
But it would be even better if I could bump into the man himself again.
Well, that’s all for today’s entry, I suppose.
End of Entry.
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July 15th, 1899
Dear Diary,
I was taking some pictures of the city earlier this morning and spotted Mr. France again.
I quickly approached him and he seemed startled by my hurriedness but he laughed it off. He then asked if I got my answer. He seems to remember me despite probably seeing thousands of people everyday, which surprised me greatly considering our short conversation.
I told him, “You’re France.” and he smiled and nodded. “Yes, nice to meet you.” He replied, shaking my hand, to which I realized I never introduced myself. He laughed at my realization and told me not to worry about such small things and to my surprise, he knew my father and grandfather, even though he looked about my age.
I then began asking him about himself, starting off small and building up to the big questions.
His answers to the smaller, more casual questions were pretty forward and to the point, but as my questions got deeper, his answers got more vague.
From our conversation throughout the walk, I learned that he enjoys gardens, art, fashion and food, amongst other things. I also learnt that he has a job in the military as well as in the government, although he’s called France, he doesn’t actually hold the highest authority in politics, and he does not wish to hold such power. His only wish is to be amongst the people and spend his days in splendid gardens, surrounded by loved ones, which I find endearing. But he did joke that he likes having power over his old friendly nemesis, England. Seems like there are more of these country men.
As I got to the existential questions, he started being vague and using metaphors. I asked him how he’s “France” and he simply answered, “Because I am the French people.” which confuses me, but I moved onto other questions.
I asked him how he knew my grandfather, considering my grandfather died even before I was born, and judging by his appearance, he could not have been older than 26. “I do not have the impending burden of the passage of time.” He answered.
If my interpretation is correct… he’s implying he… doesn’t age?
I asked him to confirm my interpretations but instead, he told me this:
“Think of me as a ship. The government is the sails, the people are the wind and the time is the sea. If there are people who take care of the ship, it can last forever.”
He then adds this: “Although, the ship can still crash ashore or sink into the waves below.”
To say I was puzzled by this would be an understatement. But that is also when he took off to meet someone else.
He bid me farewell and headed across the street towards what I assume is a government building.
There was a very pale man with snowy white hair and piercing red eyes waiting for him at the front of the building. The uniform he adorned was what I recognized to be German, and like Mr. France, the longer I studied him, the more ethereal he looked, it seemed like he might be another one of these country men.
Mr. France then took his arm and they both headed into the building, chatting like old friends.
That was also when I realized I had completely lost track of time, which is strange for me considering I carry around a watch and usually am very organized with the time I spend.
But it’s not that important. I’m on vacation, I don’t really have a workplace to head to anyways.
I decided to go relax at a café nearby and spent the rest of the day wandering around the city.
And then in the evening, I came home and here I am, writing all this.
I should go, my cousin has called me to eat dinner twice already.
End of Entry.
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