Le transporté (1/4)

In a bustling Paris of the early 1800s, a once‑grand hôtel on the corner of Rue Ménars and Rue Richelieu is being torn down, its elegant rooms giving way to new houses. Amid the demolition lives Lucrèce Dorio, a striking brunette celebrated as a living deity of the city’s fashionable circles. Her salon, arranged like a miniature temple of antiquity, brims with candle‑lit candelabra, curule chairs and portraits of heroic officers that stir both admiration and melancholy. Through vivid descriptions the narrator paints a world where mythic allusions mingle with the everyday chatter of courtiers and artists.

The narrator, a close friend and self‑styled “moral physician,” presents the tale as a gentle remedy for those yearning for a different kind of transportation—an inner, consoling shift rather than a physical journey. As Lucrèce entertains guests such as the witty camériste Tullie and the enigmatic citizen Périclès, a subtle tension builds around her restless spirit and the whispered rumors of a looming change. The first act sets the stage for a portrait of Parisian decadence, intrigue, and the fragile hope of renewal.