Prelude: Pre-Introductions

It has become somewhat traditional for Aurel Hansen to visit Paris each summer, to see the seasonal ballets. It first served the purpose of staying in touch with faraway friends, now he feels inspired by the charming atmosphere of the city, the smell of lavender and the warmth of boulangeries and bakeries. He spends weeks among friends, staying in inexpensive hotel rooms or in his companion’s guest rooms, perusing French markets in the day, sitting in mezzanines in the evening, entranced, and returning late at night to a glass of wine and disheveled piles of handwritten notes. His notes take up such an amount of space in the room he has simply opted for them to become the room. Crumpled papers sit on every available chair and desk, and even on the foot of his bed.

He is a great lover of wine and when he is offered invitations to theatrical social conventions, by theatre proprietors he has become familiar with or has performed favours for, he goes for the art, conversation and wine.

He discusses poetry, politics, history, music, and anything else en vogue.

Some years well into his tradition, he receives a card bearing the date and time of a celebration for the opening of a particular ballet, one he has yet to see, and a personal note from the theater’s owner, a man he has contacted many times before, whom he holds in high regards, musically.

He is vexed as to the nature of the celebration, but finally decides upon his second most formal suit, and attends with a rose in his lapel, his smallest notebook tucked safely in his vest pocket. He fiddles with his handkerchief in his coat pocket when he arrives, being swept by the doorman into the opulent theatre lobby, where he receives his ticket gratis and is guided to a private box seat. From his vantage point he can see the great red velvet curtains, their golden tassels, and the collection of brass and wood instruments in the orchestra pit.

The ballet is a masterpiece, he copies down notes of masks and a madrigal for which he wonders if he could receive the sheet music, and what the price of said music would be. He notes down the scene in which it plays before returning his attention to the stage.

The audience is beyond polite, the theatre echoes with applause. He expresses his appreciation, then retrieves his coat from the staff and exits the theatre.

The address for the celebration, a dinner with entertainment, is not far from the theatre. When he arrives at an old townhouse, seemingly divided in two, but renovated internally into one mansion, he is discombobulated by the sheer panache of it.

The staff are dressed in red, they greet his at the door and whisk him away to a parlour where a number of other guests, bedecked in glamorous and colourful suits and gowns that makes him feel not quite colourful in his deep blue pinstriped suit, mill and converse with glasses of champagne and wine.

He turns down the offer of champagne, but receives a glass of wine from the nearest waiter.

He finds himself speaking with all manner of folk, professors and former dancers, artists and archaeologists. He has yet to see Mr.Beaulieu himself, though it was he who sent Aurel the invitation, but he is preoccupied when the ballerina he saw on stage glides into the parlour from a hallway dusky with moonlight, a glass of absinthe in her hand, and smiles warmly at the entire company.

He compliments her on her performance, paying special attention to the way she seems to float, as though her feet beneath the hem of her silver gown do not quite touch the floor. She is incredibly graceful, and her laughter ripples through the party when she jokes that she feels more at home on stage than in such crowds, but the Beaulieu’s would simply not abide her absence at a party thrown specially for the show.

Dinner is served much later than most expect, and while he is not starved he is quite glad to see the first course. The ballerina, Emily, sits several seats away, giving the waiter a polite non-answer when he asks if she is hungry, but manages to betray that she is famished and would like more of the offered cuisine.

The food is exotic, pies with strange spicy meats, in sauces of curry and mango and coconut, with unrecognizable flavours beneath. They often explode with some strange taste that nobody may guess.

Dessert is the same, many share spoons of flavoured ice or mousse and while flavours such as cinnamon and chocolate are obvious, there are sweeter or bitterer undertones.

Aurel especially enjoys the wine, and drinks much more of it than he intends. Emily argues he is more relaxed, and he winds up discussing old French minuets with a retired composer, while they examine a wall lined with artifacts post-dinner, the other guests reclining and lounging in the ballroom with brandy, coffee and tea.

The Beaulieus make an appearance. Ms.Beaulieu is dressed splendidly in a violet gown edged with gold that is quite fashionable without lacking invention. Mr.Beaulieu wears a green suit, bright as emeralds, with a gold vest beneath and continually smokes cigars throughout the remainder of the evening, ones that burst with plumes of rainbow smoke so he is almost always visible by the smoke rising above the crowd. Their daughter, Sage, who does not resemble either of them with her strangely dark hair an contrasting skin and who cannot be more than eleven or twelve, is introduced as well, but she seems to vanish within the crowd, making few appearances or simply remaining more observer than participant in the unfolding events of the evening.

Mr.Beaulieu, currently the theatre proprietor, makes a lengthy speech thanking everyone involved in the ballet, praising its success and Emily, who reluctantly stands by his side, rising en pointe then executing a graceful curtsy for the party. He lifts his glass and those with glasses follow his example, toasting and sipping their drinks.

The conversation is quite mellow after the speech, many guests depart, bidding adieu as they return to their homes and beds. There is much bother in locating and sorting coats, but after some confusion almost everyone is gone.

Aurel glances at the clock, realizes the late hour, and supposes, absently to his companions, that he must be leaving. He is staying in a hotel and is in no danger of waking any friend he may otherwise be staying with, but he would like a chance to read over his notes before bed and if he has had a productive night, the sky will be light when he extinguishes the lamps and takes to bed.

He locates the Beaulieus and they insist on escorting him to the front door.

As he leaves he asks Mr.Beaulieu about the wine, for he has drunk many glasses, and it was quite delicious. The gentleman disappears for a moment as Aurel hovers in the lobby, then returns with the name of the wine, the vintage noted as coming from a vineyard in Corsica he has never heard of.

He thanks them for the invitation and the celebration, remarks how ardently he enjoyed the ballet, and he hopes he will see them again soon. They thank him for attending and close the door once he leaves.

He tucks the note with the wine vintage scrawled on it in his pocket, where he does not touch it again for some time.

Text by Lucie MacAulay