Jardin Royal des Plantes Médicinales, Paris Wednesday, April 1, 1723 The plant was in the wrong place, and it bothered him. Bernard was inclined to suspect his brother of a practical joke. Plants do not spring from the air, after all, and this plant had definitely not been here the… Read more »
Paris, December, 1943 December in Brittany is bitterly cold and damp. The days get dark early, the sky is continually overcast, and the wind whips the sea into rough, choppy waves, bent on dashing the small fishing boats against the cliffs. Even those who are lucky enough to stay… Read more »
The archangel Michael does not look much like his statues. Not the one in the Fontaine Saint Michel, certainly, though Michael has always liked the different colours of marble, despite what people say. Not the gilded one on the spire of Mont Saint Michel, either, with the dragon that is… Read more »
It was a damp, chilly day, just after Christmas, and those who were unfortunate enough still to be out in it were walking briskly, heads down and hands huddled into their coat pockets, eager to return to their homes. A few people were still out and about near the… Read more »
Paris can be terribly humid in June. The temperatures are not so very high, but there are days when the air itself becomes oppressive, sucking energy from one’s body with every step. Inevitably, it is always on such days when the rubbish collectors choose to go on strike, rendering… Read more »
Yes, that is a black pudding attached to my nose. You may laugh now. Really, I mean that. Laugh now, and laugh long and well, and be sure to make the most of it, because this is the only chance you will get. Everyone gets the opportunity to laugh… Read more »
Neither of the LeBruns have ever been particularly artistically inclined. Madame’s mémère did fine embroidery, and had tried to teach her granddaughter, but Madame had never had the patience to learn. Nor did she have a gift for painting, though she quite liked pottery, the one time she tried… Read more »
There was nothing there but a flash of yellow close to his ankle. He remained motionless for a moment. He did not cry out. He fell as gently as a tree falls. There was not even any sound, because of the sand. The little prince had been very certain that… Read more »
Prince Charming was kidnapped on a Tuesday. Cinderella was sitting in the solar with her step-sisters, sewing the final beads onto her wedding dress, when the messenger burst in, red-faced and breathless. He fell to the floor at her feet, in a posture of desperation. “The Prince has been taken!”… Read more »
Mary’s mother has taught her to be wary of angels. “Fear not,” Anne says. Her Aramaic is slow, and strangely accented, but she has told this story so often that it comes without pause or hesitation. “He told me that, when I first saw him. ‘Fear not, for you… Read more »