MAXIMILLIEN de LA CROIX de LAFAYETTE The man behind the easel.
Maximillien
continues: “Here, I am, at the front door of the monastery. I used to like and
admire those magnificent cathedrals, the imposing and majestic facades of
churches and monasteries, the towers, the balconies, the huge bells, the big,
very big wall and ramparts stones, everything about those “religious”
buildings and edifices but, now, here, at the front door of the monastery,
about ready to get in and never to get out, and remembering what my aunt
Laure once said :” ship him to a priests school and lock him up there until he
forgets how the world was built”, yes sir, here at the doorstep of the
monastery, nothing appeared to me uglier and more frustrating than all those
magnificent buildings that I had loved so much in the past. They looked
terrible to me and probably I looked terrible to them. I was admitted.
Properly introduced to the abbot. And Au Revoir Gay Paris! Bye-Bye! The very
first two hours went well. No problem. But, I kept looking at the first and
nearest exit. The problems began 3 days later. I became fed up with the food.
The same damned boiled potatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, even on
Sunday. Puree potatoes or mashed potatoes for breakfast at 5:30 am. Boiled or
steamed potatoes for lunch at 1:00 pm. Baked or sautéed potatoes for dinner.
And if you are still hungry and you manage to get out of the dormitory without
awaking up the snoring novices and sneak into the kitchen to steal some
food…and slowly… slowly… carefully…silently you open the doors of the
refrigerators to grab something….two or three big uncooked heads of potatoes
will jump in your face…they are staring at you…wherever you go, there are
potatoes…all kinds of them! So I got fed up. I began to confuse the novices
with ideas and plans and incite them to rebel against the potatoes conspiracy…
the abbot…the priests… everybody, you name it. I hated those potatoes. It was
a potatoes conspiracy alright! The father superior and the monks found out
about how I felt about those potatoes and my counter-conspiracy. They issued
me one warning, later to be followed by so many. One week later, I began to
feel very bored and physically tired. The abbot will tell you otherwise. To
him, I was mentally tired and religiously bankrupt. Anyway, I began to think
about ways and means to make money so I can and get out of this lock-up. I
began to strengthen my friendship ties with one or two of the monastery
drivers in charge of buying and delivering groceries, goods as well as those
ugly potatoes to the refectory and kitchens. I had plans for that. Once I felt
that I have totally gained their sympathy, I began to initiate them to a great
business plan, which will generate a lot of money. Simultaneously, I was
discussing my plans with four or five not so bright novices who finally agreed
to carry out and execute my plans. We are in business! We are in the flowers
business. Big time. So I thought and the little I knew! The monastery had
beautiful gardens, full of roses, gardenia trees, “cyclamen” and a wide
variety of flowers and roses. I kept looking at those roses, and those roses
kept looking at me. I had to do something about those roses. They were my only
way out. Without those beautiful roses looking at me, I had no chance to get
out of my misery.
All
my gang and contra-band conspirators were convinced that, primo, it was not a
sin against God and the Catholic Church and the fathers and the brothers and
the father superior to steal a little bit…a tiny-liny-winy bunch of roses from
this sad garden and sell it at the nearby market in the village, because part
of the revenues will go directly to the refectory and kitchens operations, so
the head cook will have enough money to buy a better quality food and throw
out those bloody, God damned potatoes once and for good. Segundo: Hey, after
all, we are not stealing from foreigners or people we do not know. We are just
taking a few stuff from ourselves, since all of us were members of the same
family. This what everybody thought except “me”. I had one thing on my mind.
Sell those damned roses, get me a few Francs and get the hell out of this
place as fast and as soon as possible. The flowers operation began on Monday
evening by cutting the roses and hiding them in big water jars behind the
church depot where no body goes except the drivers I have recruited for this
mission. On Tuesday afternoon, we continued the second phase of the operation:
Keep on cutting more roses. On Wednesday at 4:00 am, the third phase of the
operation: Get up early before any body else. Wrap the roses. Get them in the
camion (an old miserable truck from world war one and may be much, much
earlier). Go back to sleep, as if nothing happened. Wednesday at 7:00 pm, is
the time for the last phase of the operation: Jump in the truck and take off
full speed en route to the market. Meet with the merchants, sell the roses,
get paid and returned to my most favorite place in the world, “The Monastery”.
(Yeah right!!!) On Thursday, early, early, as early as possible, flee the
monastery! So we did. It is Wednesday, 7:00 pm. Everybody is hiding in the
truck and so are the roses. With the beloved roses we drove out. Hit the road.
Got to the market. Ready to meet with the merchants and cash in. The driver
Pierre-Robert suggested that it is safer and more profitable to meet first
with the man who is in charge of the whole sales distribution, before we meet
with the small guys. Done. I thought it was a great idea. I regret it later!
Pierre-Robert showed the way. He said to me: “Voila, go there, go talk to the
old man, he is in the office. Make a good deal for us, we will be waiting for
you here.”.
I went there. I entered the office or sort of an office to strike
a deal. And who do I see standing by the fireplace and waiting for me? The
monastery’s Father Superior and two bloody monks! None of the not-so-bright
novices who recently entered the monastery and joined my operation, including
myself, knew that drivers at the monastery are usually and always monks or
priests, and that Mister Pierre-Robert was nobody else than Father
Pierre-Robert! I was kicked out of the monastery the very following day at
7:00 am, never to return again. It took the Church people half of a century to
forget about the flowers operation, another half of a century to change their
mind and opinion of me. But, later, me and the Church we have become brother
and sister.I became very involved with the work of the missionaries in Africa
and in under developed countries and I enjoyed every single day I spent with
them in those foreign lands, every time they allowed me to do so, or every
time I was honored by their most welcomed invitations, but……… always and in
advance, they took all the needed precautions and necessary measures not to
let me see or pass by a rose garden!”
MAXIMILLIEN
NEEDED A MIRACLE…AND THE SHOW MUST GO ON!
Asking Maximillien if he had ever encountered difficult or embarrassing moments and experiences in life, he smiled, paused for a wile and said “Almost on a daily basis”. But, the experience, he would never forget is the one he had 73 hours before his show opened on stage at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, D.C., USA. This is how, Maximillien told the story. “Everything was going so smooth and without any trouble. I had a great team of the most brilliant people in show biz who diligently and with a great love worked for months and months on preparing, designing, overseeing, rehearsing and pre-producing “Marmara The Gypsy: The Story of Baroness Myriam de Rozska”, a world premiere musical melodrama I wrote, composed and directed at the Kennedy Center. We have been rehearsing every single night of the week for almost 3 months in Washington, D.C. and Maryland, and getting ready to open within 2 days. Ms. Sonya Wagner, my musical director, Dr. Evans, the orchestra conductor, Sam Mcloud, the arranger, Marty Rae, the production director, Mrs. Boray of Turkey, the dance choreographer, Peter Fannelli, the Lighting and Special Effects director, Mrs. Tehmina Khan of Pakistan, the wardrobe and costumes designer, Mrs. Tatiana Demian, the head Make-Up artist, you name it, everybody was pleased and ready to open the show, until an unexpected tragedy hit us all. A dramatic and most fatal incident that will kill the show and the whole production for good! Two days, before the show opens and while rehearsing for the last time before the on-stage-dress rehearsal, one of the co-stars of the play quit all of a sudden! He just walked out! Being a minor, a 10 year old boy (extremely talented and winner of several awards), his mother was waiting for him in his dressing room. Astonished and confused, I followed the kid to his dressing room…I wanted to know why is he quitting? As soon as I entered the room, his mother approached me just to tell him that her son is quitting unless I pay them more money…right now…this very moment…and cash! Marty Rae followed me, so did other performers. I let only Marty walk in, not anybody else, fearing gossips, rumors, talks, tabloid scandals or simply fearing that this incident may disorganize and confuse my performers. There were hundreds, over 250 dancers, singers, actors and actresses, some of them may not take well the heat. The kid’s mother insisted on cashing more money, that night, 2 days before the show opens on stage. Marty, a very bright, pragmatic, very diplomatic and experienced director in show business tried to make a deal…to compromise. I categorically refused to make any deal with the kid or his mother! I felt that this was a cheap shot; a betrayal, a threat, a black mail! A stabbing in the back…Politely, I asked the kid and his mother to leave. They did not expect this from me. Marty, with his New York accent said verbatim: ”Maxi, no kid, no show, you know that, what do you want to do now? Where are you going to find another kid…Jesus, we need a professional actor who is a 10 year old! And…if we get lucky and find somebody good, tomorrow let’s say…. how is he going to learn 50 pages of script in one day?! When the curtains hit the deck we are dead meat! Not yet Maxi, not yet…think…think…think big boy…do something…otherwise, hey, we have to start refunding all those people! My God, Max, it is a sold-out performance! We sold everything!”