Winter came and passed. The New Year began and spring crept up on us before we knew it. A time of love, sweet smells and flowers guiding your path; roses, peonies, and blue bells.
I sat in the park reading, “Little Women”, one sunny day, and picked the petals off of daises, “He loves me, He loves me not…” I came to the last two petals,” He loves me,” I had one more to go, “He loves me not,” I threw the petals up into the air and watched as they were carried by the wind. Jean-Robert and I were the best of friends and spent most of our days together. There was one day in particular: the first of February, my 18th birthday, Jean-Robert came to the door and knocked, I answered opening the door with a sweet smile; I wore a blue poplin dress; we linked arms and took a stroll in the snow, but before we left, Jean-Robert pulled me aside and pulled something out of his pocket, it was a gold locket.
“Oh, Jean-Robert, it’s beautiful. Thank-you!” I squealed as I saw the locket. “It was no trouble. I just had to put a few extra hours in to doing chores and other things of that sort for mother and the house,” he said. I blushed and smiled.
“So, what would you care to do today?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied.
“Mph”. He snorted as he thought of what to do. “Let’s go to L’etoile, and celebrate.”
“Genius!”
Off we went to the café, where we ate pastries and pasta, talking about the past and reminisced about Strasberg. “Remember when it was summer time and we built a tree house and pretended it was a ship, embarking on a grand voyage?” He brought up.
“Oh, yes! We put on hats and pretended we were settlers, running like mad chickens, in search of land.” I laughed seeing the happy days pan across my memory. “But, we can’t live in the past forever, Jean- Robert.” I alleged. He nodded, and played with his food. The merriment was done for the evening. The day passed and he walked me home, trudging through the crystal snow.
“Thank-you for today.” I told him once we had turned onto my street and our house was in view.
“You are welcome.” He said gruffly. I gave a weak smile. I knew he was sad but, Strasberg was gone, we were not little kids. We were in the real world where nothing was set in stone. “Well, good-bye. I will see you later, I suppose.”
“Goodbye.” I replied quietly, wiping my eyes to stop the tears from escaping.
******
I entered the present; Jean-Robert was walking towards me. “So, what are you doing today?
“Well, Genevieve and I have a performance of Giselle. Tonight at seven o’clock.”
He nodded his head. “I see.” Silence was around us, except for the robins chirping and the people talking as they strolled along the roadside.
“Well, I better go and get ready.” He held onto my hand. I didn’t have time for that. I continued to walk. He released my hand. Our friendship was headed for a rock.
The bell tower chimed seven; Genevieve and I were in the foyer de la dance re- adjusting our costumes. Mathilde, Olivia and I were making our way down the spiral staircase to the wings of the stage. We passed the shelves packed with extra pointe shoes.
“Marie, I am so excited! This is my favorite ballet to perform. I hope I do well.” Mathilde chattered to me. Mathilde had dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She had dark brown eyes as well. She knew how to put a smile on anyone’s face. She made you feel important. She could be a bit a clumsy at times thought, but who isn’t? I gave her a hug.
“You will do beautiful! You heard the praise Monsieur Green gave you. Do not worry.” I reminded her. Charlotte ran up to us. She was rosy cheeked and giddy. Charlotte was very quiet, almost mute. With her friends she talked openly and all the time. But in public she froze up. Charlotte would not stand up for herself when being teased. She had big blue eyes and light brown hair. She was tall but, it was almost as if she slouched down to not be seen. At times, she was glowing with happiness but other times; she was like a new born kitten; scared, vulnerable, something someone would feed on almost. Charlotte doubted herself, but I knew she could be great if she only tried.
I was one of the many Willis, young maidens who have died before their wedding days. Genevieve was the queen of the Willis, Myrtha. The story of this ballet is tragic, it is about a young maiden named Giselle, who is in love with a prince disguised as a regular peasant, but he is already betrothed to another. Giselle finds out about their marriage. She is heartbroken and devastated, thus, she stabs herself with her lovers sword. That is just the first act. In act two, this is where the Wilis comes in. Giselle is a spirit with them, her love comes to pay his respect, but the Wili makes him dance until dawn in an attempt to kill him. Giselle forgives him and orders the Wilis to let him go. The second act was next and we were proofing our costumes. They were snow white, romantic tutus.
When I danced Giselle, I felt like I was great at ballet. I knew I was good at it, but I wanted to succeed, be one of the greatest. If I could not be a writer, I would be a ballerina, and vice versa. These were my options to fall back on.
“Places for the second act.”Cried the attendant; we rushed out quietly and took our spots, waiting for the heavy, red velvet curtain to rise so we could bear our souls into our dancing. “Remember what Monsieur Green said at rehearsals, ‘You must float. Make it look effortless”. The music started, the lights dimmed, and the curtain rose.
The orchestra struck up the notes and went full force, playing the score perfectly with long slow notes; they had an eerie sound to them. Genevieve called the wilis, over. Effortless, look like your floating on a breeze, a leaf in the wind. I thought. I took a deep breath to clear away the butterflies who danced all over my stomach. The curtain rose; slurred notes from the orchestra pit sounded our beginning. The corps de ballet started the chaine turns with two pique turns, finishing in third arabesque. I loved the part exceedingly. So much that I didn’t want the second act to end. But it eventually it did. And back in the dressing room, I stripped off my costume and bodice, to my corset and petticoats. I walked to the attendant and handed in my white, lovely costume. A poignant feeling washed over me. I wished that I could keep the costume and wear it forever.
“How many times have they been worn?” Asked the gray – haired old lady, referring to the white pointe shoes, “Seven”, I replied. We were supposed to wear them six times, then we could use them for rehearsal and classes; they were ours to keep. We earned them. She handed them back to me and shoed me away, calling, “Next,” in a cross tone.
****
“Are you going home right away?” I asked Genevieve as we crossed Place de l’ Opera. “Yes, probably, I was going to go and help mother with her sewing. Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering, I wanted to catch up with Mathilde, Charlotte, Antoinette, Susan and, Olivia, but I will see them tomorrow I suppose.” Genevieve hesitated before she replied of this,
“You may go and join your friends, but be home before nine o’ clock. No later.”
“Oh, thank-you, Genevieve, I promise, I will be home right on time!”
“Alright then, run along. And be careful!” She yelled as I ran to greet my friends at, ‘café de la Paix.’ Once I had gotten through the door, I heard my name being shouted by five different people- Susan, Mathilde, Charlotte, Antoinette and Olivia. “Marie, Marie, over here!” I paraded over to them. “That was amazing! The applause was deafening tonight. I have not heard one like that in ages.”Antoinette sighed, eating a tart of some sort. Antoinette was a great beauty. She had green eyes and auburn hair. She was tall and thin, as all of us were. She was quite nice but could sometimes forget her place.
“The feeling was like-floating. We should all be very proud.” Susan mentioned. “What is wrong, Marie?” Olivia asked, puzzled. Sweet Olivia, she was marvelous with blond curls framing her face, and pale skin with rosy cheeks. She was kind to everyone, except when things were not going well no matter what or she was very vexed. She loved to laugh and have fun. As we all did.
“Do you ever wish that we could just dance everywhere? Have no other worries about lessons or helping keep house?” I asked looking at each of my friends faces. Susan pursed her lips together. Olivia sat still and, the rest of my friends just stared at me, with sad, kind eyes. Dancing was a way to forget our problems. The night ended peacefully. We all laughed and chatted over silly things, ballet, and other things that consumed our days.
There was a period of silence as we ate our treats. I looked around the café. I scanned the faces and noticed Monsieur Degas sitting in a far corner. His face solemn and steady. He leaned back on the red velvet arm chair and had his left leg crossed over his right. He had no beverages or food, he was just there silently taking in everything. Monsieur Degas had his ever present sketch pad. I was intrigued to see him. Who was he sketching? I looked calmly around. He was positioned in a horizontal line. There was a young women sitting in a booth, slumped over her white blouse and amber red skirt. Her face was pale white. Her rosy mouth was set in a downward expression. Yet, she looked content staring straight at the opposite wall. As if she was imagining a tranquil place with no worries just lovely times; away from the pain in this world. Her brown eyes were glazed over. She had a small class filled with a green liquid. Absinthe. I wondered what caused her to be in that type of state. Monsieur Degas looked over my way. Our eyes met; I gave him a little smile. He did nothing of the sort. But he was pleased.
“Oh! We should go and hear some music. A band is playing in the park!” Mathilde suggested. I could tell that she was trying to break the silence but, it was hopeless. It was a comfortable silence. One that reflects the relationship of people.
We walked home together. It was around eight thirty. We were all tired but could not contain our elation. We hugged each other and said that we would see them for class the next day. I dragged my aching body up the marble steps, into the house and quietly got ready for bed. Crawling into my soft bed I was soon flooded by the calm, serene call of the nightingale. Before I knew it, it was six in the morning and I had to drag my body out of bed and resume the same day as always. Going to ballet class in the morning, have a break and find some time to get lunch. Then going back to afternoon rehearsal. Finally, posing for Monsieur Degas. His painting was coming along fairly well and a few times, Mademoiselle Mary Cassatt had visited. They talked of art exhibits, her new projects. “Marie, Olivia!” Antoinette and Susan shouted at us from the side door, as we approached the Palace Garnier. “We have a new ballet student!”
“What!” Olivia and I shouted together.
“Yes, and she is from Imperial Russia!”
“What!” We rushed, all four of us, to the ballet studio, down the long, dim lighted, corridors to the studio to protect our rights. Her name was, Margot. She had jet black hair and was tall. She had great technique and was well turned out. But, with that in mind, we got along with her as best as we could. Beside all of that, dance class stayed the same as always. We began with, plies, bending down mid- way, the up again, and finally all the way down, repeating in first, second fourth and fifth position. Finally, floor work. We were working on battements and petite allegros. At the end of class Olivia, Antoinette, Susan, Motile, Charlotte and, I linked arms and walked down the street and go have lunch at the café. “If you ask me, she does not seem like much of a dancer; I don’t think she will make it to examinations.” Antoinette said as we skipped along the sidewalk. We were arm in arm, linked like paper dolls. I shook my head, “No one asked about what you thought of her, now did we?” I rebutted. She was silent for a moment, “All I am saying is that, I don’t think that she was trained properly. The great ballerina’s are the ones who practice and try to improve and beat all the odds, no matter what!” She remarked with a smile. We all smiled at that, seeing that we all wanted to be the greatest ballerina France had ever produced. We were quiet mice as we thought of our ballet careers.
“I think she is nice,” Olivia said, awakening the group from our daydreams. “Yes, she is, at least, she seem like she is, I have not been able to say ’hello’ to her.” I replied. The rest nodded. We sat down at a table and began talking again. “So, what happened between you and Jean-Robert?” Susan asked. I sighed, “It’s just, he doesn’t care for my dancing and I can’t live without it.” Everyone was silent; they gave me sympathy with their eyes. I looked away from them. We placed our orders and waited.
“Oh, guess who called yesterday?” Susan asked. I shrugged. No one else tried to answer. Susan sighed, sounding annoyed. “Monsieur Smith. He is from England you know. He is very kind. I quite prefer him myself.’ She said, taking a sip of water. “We had best get back to the Opera House, or we will be late.” Charlotte told everyone, looking at the grand clock. We paid for our small meal of pastries and clams and scurried out to reach our afternoon classes.
I returned home tired and sad, Jean-Robert sat on the steps, waiting-for me. “Hello”, he said. I gave a weak smile. “Look, I know I made you mad and I am sorry, please forgive me.” He pleaded. I didn’t answer, but tried to get passed him to the steps, he blocked me. “Please.” He whispered. “I have to go.” I replied. He let me pass and I slipped away into the darkness of the halls. That night, I could not sleep so instead I counted the seconds between each of Genevieve’s snores. I had gotten ten seconds each time. I soon got bored with that game and rolled onto my side, looked out the window and stared at the huge orange moon; looking like a huge pumpkin, fat and full, shinning with all its profound glory. I was awake with thoughts of my writing, dancing and future parading though my head, swirling and leaping about; the thoughts would not let me rest. But I never thought of what would become of it.
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