A bit of Moon Maiden.
May. 22nd, 2009 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jolantruHe raised the paintbrush and drew definite strokes on his eyebrows, the reflection in the mirror doing the same. Stroke. Black arches, feminine and coquettish. Under the light of the lamp, he was transforming into a beautiful maiden. A moon maiden, illuminated by the false gas-lamp moon above his head. Then came the rouge brush and his cheeks become cherry-blossom pink, the color of a young innocent woman.
The bright red lip paint came last, lovingly applied on, reinforcing, enhancing. At last, the moon maiden was almost ready – she needed her white wings and her diadem. She donned them gracefully, looked at the mirror again and smiled. The stage would be her moon, her sky.
Henry picked the rest of his props up: a porcelain bowl filled with soap water and a wand. The moon maiden would create magic with it and charm the audience. With the audience’s applause, she would take flight.
***
Madam La Rue was a formidable woman. Solid as a barge, topped with brassy coiffed hair, her face a determined tilt, she terrorized all her apprentices. Ever fashionable as any Parisian lady of the day, she was always dressed in the newest fashion trend and rouged herself faithfully. Today, as she gave her lecture about comportment, she was in frilly black lace and tight corset, her bosom a deep cleavage and a-draped with her garnet necklace gleaming blood red under the lamps.
“You must walk like a lady,” her voice was a deep contralto and it frequently mesmerized the patronage of her salon. “Chest forward, do not slough --- Henri, you walk like a gorilla!”
The boy named Henri straightened hurriedly and walked as Madam La Rue had directed. He was new to Paris, his face a stranger’s face and his size a stranger’s build. Ironclad ships brought him here, through heaving oceans where he lost his meals over the railings and felt like he was dying. Steam trains carried him to unfriendly stations and he had walked through unfamiliar streets to Madam La Rue’s House.
He gave his name as Henry or Henri, as pronounced by Madam La Rue. His old name remained in China. Foo H-si was his given name by his parents and his grandparents, thrice blessed on the family altar and discarded the moment he boarded the Diana.
He knew his face was different. His body was different. When he wore the dresses, he found them difficult to wear them. When he tried to walk like a Parisian lady, he found it difficult, because Chinese women did not walk like them, unless they all walked on bound feet, mincing away with tiny steps. Paris prided herself as a cosmopolitan city, with many races and kinds of people converging on the grand old dame. Yet, his public appearances – in dapper coat and tailed pants – drew curious looks. He was a fashionable dandy and his face was different.
Yet, in Madam La Rue’s House, he wore another face. The face he felt most comfortable with. He did not think he would want to give a name to that face, because it was his and his alone.
“Henri!” Madam La Rue was not known to screech but when she did, all the apprentices listened. He certainly did, his reverie broken.
More walking classes. More social etiquette lessons. Madam La Rue’s girls – as she proudly asserted – were graceful, dignified and educated. Oh, she made them study. He excelled in sciences, especially when it came to nautical navigation, brought home strongly and crafted into his being during the arduous ocean trip. He tried his best at calligraphy and loved the classics. Of the magnificent library Madam La Rue had so painstakingly collected and arranged (she had a whole army of servants to help her), he loved the story of Silence the most, the tale of a female who became a knight.
After the lessons and classes, Henry liked to read the broadsheets and papers, marveling at the new inventions and discoveries made almost every day. Inventors were creating automatons, clockwork engines – things he wanted to see back home. He luxuriated in the warmth of the study, feeling comfortable for once in his lifetime. Yet, thoughts always turned to home and he grew sad.
The bright red lip paint came last, lovingly applied on, reinforcing, enhancing. At last, the moon maiden was almost ready – she needed her white wings and her diadem. She donned them gracefully, looked at the mirror again and smiled. The stage would be her moon, her sky.
Henry picked the rest of his props up: a porcelain bowl filled with soap water and a wand. The moon maiden would create magic with it and charm the audience. With the audience’s applause, she would take flight.
***
Madam La Rue was a formidable woman. Solid as a barge, topped with brassy coiffed hair, her face a determined tilt, she terrorized all her apprentices. Ever fashionable as any Parisian lady of the day, she was always dressed in the newest fashion trend and rouged herself faithfully. Today, as she gave her lecture about comportment, she was in frilly black lace and tight corset, her bosom a deep cleavage and a-draped with her garnet necklace gleaming blood red under the lamps.
“You must walk like a lady,” her voice was a deep contralto and it frequently mesmerized the patronage of her salon. “Chest forward, do not slough --- Henri, you walk like a gorilla!”
The boy named Henri straightened hurriedly and walked as Madam La Rue had directed. He was new to Paris, his face a stranger’s face and his size a stranger’s build. Ironclad ships brought him here, through heaving oceans where he lost his meals over the railings and felt like he was dying. Steam trains carried him to unfriendly stations and he had walked through unfamiliar streets to Madam La Rue’s House.
He gave his name as Henry or Henri, as pronounced by Madam La Rue. His old name remained in China. Foo H-si was his given name by his parents and his grandparents, thrice blessed on the family altar and discarded the moment he boarded the Diana.
He knew his face was different. His body was different. When he wore the dresses, he found them difficult to wear them. When he tried to walk like a Parisian lady, he found it difficult, because Chinese women did not walk like them, unless they all walked on bound feet, mincing away with tiny steps. Paris prided herself as a cosmopolitan city, with many races and kinds of people converging on the grand old dame. Yet, his public appearances – in dapper coat and tailed pants – drew curious looks. He was a fashionable dandy and his face was different.
Yet, in Madam La Rue’s House, he wore another face. The face he felt most comfortable with. He did not think he would want to give a name to that face, because it was his and his alone.
“Henri!” Madam La Rue was not known to screech but when she did, all the apprentices listened. He certainly did, his reverie broken.
More walking classes. More social etiquette lessons. Madam La Rue’s girls – as she proudly asserted – were graceful, dignified and educated. Oh, she made them study. He excelled in sciences, especially when it came to nautical navigation, brought home strongly and crafted into his being during the arduous ocean trip. He tried his best at calligraphy and loved the classics. Of the magnificent library Madam La Rue had so painstakingly collected and arranged (she had a whole army of servants to help her), he loved the story of Silence the most, the tale of a female who became a knight.
After the lessons and classes, Henry liked to read the broadsheets and papers, marveling at the new inventions and discoveries made almost every day. Inventors were creating automatons, clockwork engines – things he wanted to see back home. He luxuriated in the warmth of the study, feeling comfortable for once in his lifetime. Yet, thoughts always turned to home and he grew sad.
