Intersections

Aurel Hansen is surprised to find a gentleman already waiting outside of his workshop in Denmark when he arrives, at much too early a time for social calls or potential customers. The gentleman looks rather exotic for the grey suit he wears.

The gentleman explains he has contacted Hansen on behalf of his employer, a theatre proprietor who has expressed interest in Hansen’s work since seeing it in a Parisian gallery.

The proprietor’s assistant is investigating a small whimsical music box inlaid with a filigree of leaves and sleeping woodland creatures when he proposes the project to Hansen. The theatre proprietor would like to commission Hansen for a series of pieces with original music.

“The music must be very subdued. Like the last notes of a song before one falls asleep. Like a lullaby.”

“You would like a collection of lullabies?” Hansen asks.

“It is not an exact comparison,” he tells Hansen. “Rather music that is so subtle it appears effortless, as though it originates from nowhere.”

Hansen inquires as to the use of the music, if the gentleman would not mind. The gentleman replies that of course he does not mind, and that the music will create ambience for a pre-existing exhibition.

“Why would you require a music box?” Hansen asks. “Instead of a band or ensemble?”

“Because the music must come from a concealed source, yet it must also be clear so that it can be amplified. Your music boxes are perfect for such a function, sir.”

As he considers it Hansen fidgets with a snowflake glittering within an open box on his worktable, turning it on its axis, producing out of time forlorn notes as it rotates gracefully.

Hansen receives some constraints as to musical style, and is told that though the boxes will be concealed, they must be made in only silver black and blue, in case the music boxes will be hidden in plain sight. There are some size constraints, small enough to be portable in pockets or purses, but not so small as to affect the quality of sound.

Though Hansen does not remember the words being said in any specific context or conversation, the assistant informs him the aesthetic quality must reflect the moon.

Mr.Tamas assures Hansen that he will be in contact soon. He leaves a business card for the music box maker, the back printed with an address in London for the pieces to be shipped too. Hansen shakes the gentleman’s hand and bids him a good day.

A week later he receives a letter readdressing the criteria for the pieces, a date of completion for each, the latest one being a few months away, and a vast amount of money for pieces, parts and services.

Hansen begins the next day, putting aside various other projects, personal and commissioned, though he does hire an assistant to complete the most basic of work for them, and focusing on the blueprints of such mysterious and magical boxes.

Over the weeks that follow numerous drawings of stars and animals appear. Hansen spends equal amounts of time on the boxes and their design as the figurines that will inhabit them. He finds amplifying sound difficult, and takes apart many of his own music boxes and adjusts pieces and arrangements to experiment. Once he has worked out the scope of the technological aspects he focuses on the details of the box, the accents in mother of pearl and silver and black glass, the snow-white phoenix that will come to life and flap its wings as the box opens, or the coal-dark hydra that rears its heads to a melancholy aria. The sheet music comes last, strangely. He feels the music must fit the boxes, and for some months following his piano is often heard in the deepest hours of the night, his window open and white curtain billowing like a ghost despite the cool night air. He watches the stars while he takes breaks, between composing sonatas and romances.

Carving out pieces, balancing cogs and gears and weights, and writing sheet music take little time once Hansen has a clear-cut and precise idea for each box. They are not completed for a month, but he finds he is still weeks earlier than the date of completion.

He wraps them in three sheets of paper each, concealing precious stones and tiny dancers, a menagerie of silver and black animals, a harlequin juggler and a contortionist reminiscent of the one he spotted during his last visit to Cirque de la Lune. He sends the parcels together to the address in London, and returns to his other projects.

Only a week following the shipment of completed boxes Hansen receives a letter from Mr.Tamas, passing on his employer’s, a Mr.Sarastro’s, compliments at the artistry and craftsmanship of the music boxes. The letter is accompanied by a large sum of money; enough to travel quite far or even retire. Hansen saves the majority of it for later, though he indulges on a case of wine from his favourite winemaker in Corsica.

Mr.Tamas does not write again.

Text by Lucie MacAulay