Chapter 2 - (All Around Me Are) Familiar Faces
I can still recall the time all of my friends went to Paris with our parents for a week just to see Franz Liszt play the piano. After the concert, our parents would quickly drag us outside of the concert hall because a riot would suddenly occur after. Everyone would fight over Liszt's clothing, attempted to meet Liszt in person, and even try to touch the keys Liszt touched as well. I guess one of my favourite composers do leave ever-lasting impacts on people.
We were still playful little children back then. I remember those nights when I'd play Ludwig van Beethoven's "Bagatelle in A Minor" to lull my friends to sleep. It was the usual thing I would play during sleepovers like these. Even I would feel sleepy as well. The only thing waking me up is Louis trying to begin a conversation.
I will never forget that discussion.
"Gaston fell asleep under the piano again" young Louis said.
"He always does" I replied.
"Why do you think Beethoven called it 'Für Elise'?" he asked. "I mean, who is Elise and why is she so special for Beethoven to dedicate this hypnotic piece to her?"
I lowered the tempo a bit to make room for my thinkers to work. (Yeah, I called my conscious and subconscious 'thinkers' before.)
"Maybe Elise is his girlfriend" I replied, "And that he wrote this to show her how much he loves her. Or maybe Elise is his mother, for her to know how much Beethoven is thankful for all the work she gave just to see her son become a star. Or Elise could be his cat, and that he wrote this bagatelle to thank his cat for being there when Beethoven needed a companion. Or Elise could be his favourite flower. Elise could be anyone he dearly loves. It's why he made this bagatelle: "For Elise". It's a sign of gratitude for everything everyone done for him."
Louis nodded.
"Hey, Jean" he said, "Do you dream that, one day, you will become the next Ludwig van Beethoven?"
"Maybe" I giggled. "I could be Liszt or Chopin instead. We may never know."
"And Gaston? What do you think of Gaston?"
"He'll make a wonderful maestro."
"What about Georg over there? What do you think of him?"
"The next Niccolò Paganini, I presume?"
After that answer, he became silent for a while. Then he spoke again.
"And me? What do you think of me?"
I instantly stopped the piano, thought about it, and looked straight into his eyes.
"Dear Louis de la Croix" I whispered. "What I am saying right now are just mere assumptions. It's up to you to know what and who do you think you are. It's you who will write your autobiography, not me, and not anyone else."
After that moment, reality flashed back.
"G…Gaston!?" I told the man who told me to speak in front. "Is that you?"
"After all these years" he replied, "Your assumptions were right all along."
I knew his personality would never change.
"My goodness!" I exclaimed. "You look astonishing!"
"Took me years to get this face pumped up and working" he said. After that, the whole audience broke into laughter.
You see, Gaston Ignace de Agustín was not that kind of a person we know today. Before, he wore glasses, he had freckles on his cheeks, his hair was always frayed, his voice sounded squeaky, and he has this 'humdrum' personality no likes except us, who find everything he does interesting to our eyes. Now, he is a stunning aristocrat, a talented maestro, a skilful violinist, and a wise teacher. He has that grey hair which evokes that majestic, Beethoven-like aura, he has a voice full of authority and respect but a face full of playfulness and light-heartedness, and also he wears a classy suit, a monocle, and the "Officier Ordre des Arts et des Lettres" embedded onto his suit, which was given to him by President Maurice last year.
"Gaston, believe me" I said after I stopped laughing. "I really did not notice that you were the conductor in front."
"Neither did I notice that it was you all along to whom this party was dedicated to" he replied. "I mean, shouldn't all of us be wearing hand costumes for such an occasion like this?"
The whole audience broke into hilarity again.
While I'm still catching my breath, my eyes glanced across the hall full of familiar face. One of them managed to catch my attention.
"Georg? Is that you?" I said.
"No" he replied. "I'm just another finger in your hand."
While everyone is breaking their lungs out, let me tell you about this Georg
His real name is Karl Georg Adolf von Drumpf. I'm guessing that you hypothesised that he is a German. Apparently, your hypothesis is correct. He and his family came from München (or as I and Louis would call it, "Munchin'"). They moved here in Marseilles because it appears that his dad has some sort of a business here. His family lived right next to Louis', while my family lives to the left of Louis.
When we were kids, I and Louis would tease him because we were such bullies back then and that we always see Germans as weird people with weird moustaches. Georg would say something like "When I grow up, my grandson will make a nation great! And you will wish that you were my grandsons." And then I'll reply "Yeah? What nation? America—land of idiots?" Louis would support me by saying "America, of course! With what? A small loan of a million francs!?" Then I and Louis would roll over the grassy backyard as we laugh loudly as Georg would give us that frown we hate. But even though we act like a pleb to him, we're still friends at the end of the day. Nothing changes, only our bond strengthen.
"How are those Paganini hands doing?" I asked him.
"Better than your hands, I should say" he replied.
And another laughter from the audience filled the room.
Before I went with my mini-speech, I calmed myself because, you know, I can't speak when I'm in the bloomy mood.
"Okay" I said after regaining myself, "So, first, I can't tell you how happy I am to see you all here just for you to celebrate my return and success in my education. First, I'd like to thank Louis de la Croix, one of my best friends, to conduct this party. I was surprised when he told me that he invited everyone I knew, from childhood to Parisian life. In fact, he even invited Monsieur Pierre Nicolas Maximiliem, my fourth grade Math teacher! I'm so grateful that I have him as my friend. Second, I'd like to thank everyone who put a lot of effort in making this happen. Some of you came from really far places. Even my friend John Henry Normington from Edinburgh came just to celebrate makes me feel how special this event is."
I waved to the man standing way at the back of the audience.
"Good evening, lad" I said.
"Pleasure evening to you too, mate" Henry waved backed.
"The pleasure's all mine, Henry" I replied. "What am I about to say again? Ah yes. Thank you everyone for making this event a night to remember. I will always treasure this moment until Louis would burn my corpse and throw it into the Mediterranean. And to that…"
I raised my wine cup overhead.
"…I say 'Vive le France'!"
Everyone raised their wine cups as well.
"VIVE LE FRANCE!"
