The Jean-Louis Benoît's mise-en-scène of "Le Menteur"
JulSoup thought (for herself) that to see this blogger of yours three times on the same week would be too much. The Winged-One, with perfect psychological balance, managed to decline without hurting any feelings. Inviting the Pinky Samosagoan didn't crossed my mind, her knowledge of French for a night at the visiting Comédie Française possibly not up to needs. And then the obvious choice crossed my mind: ClaireDeLune, the cute Franco-Spaniard I met a couple of months ago, who sells futons for a living. Surely, one whose professional worries are related with the comfort in bed would prove suitable for the bed manoeuvres of a XVII Century play? She agreed, smiling on the mobile phone, to meet me at the Zarzuela Theatre half an hour before the performance.
And that was how an innocent cultural trip turned into a dive in la noche madrileña. After dealing with "Le Menteur" and the lie-detector material of Dorante's hesitations between a blonde and a brunette (Clarice et Lucrèce) we could just have had a classical post-theatre supper (debriefing of respective evaluations, maybe some autobiographical bits invoked by Lucreces of yesteryears and more recent Clarices). In fact, we end up in a small group hopping from tapas bar to drinks bar, from drinks bar to club and from club to latenight club. Siestas and plenty of rest on a rainy Saturday and then, a couple of hours later, the carousel started all over again. More pre and after dinner drinks in a fashionable Moorish restaurant, more bars & clubs, with the night rushing to its end.
Nurturing my surprisingly mild hangover on Sunday, in bed, very late in the no longer morning, I kept wondering about what had I gained by my incursion into serious night-living... apart from keeping old reflexes of predatory smiles alive, I mean. Instant dopamine-mediated gratification driven by alcohol, the speeding tempo of dancing music and the sense of being witness to a secular tribal Mass? Socio-anthropological observation of the boy-meets-girl's patterns in a town where the seducing power seems to rest firmly in female hands? Speculation about how the night fauna of a given city might be an element on assessing the level of development of the respective society? (Comparisons involving the one and only night life of Moscow sprung to mind).
In the end a doubt persisted. How can one keep the motivation - at the respectable age of this blogger of yours - for an all-night outing? I realize then that to engage in this "voyage au bout de la nuit" week-end size I had to lie. To lie to others and to myself. To the smiling Clarice and to the hopeful Lucrece, or was it the other way around? Corneuille got it right in 1643, deception and lies are what you should expect when you are tempted by the twin beauties of the Place Royale. Youth and Passion, I mean.