I guess it was just one of those nights. Outside, flecks of snow drifted in the air like confetti, reflecting moonlight and imparting everything and everyone with the importance of slow-motion and gloss. Within, the theater’s balconies were made of chestnut and brass, and its seats were red velvet. As you walked into the grand hall, it seemed like walking in from the bluish night toward a coddling fire. That night the Saint Petersburg Dance Company was presenting its star, Maximoff Vladinsky, to all of France. His pirouettes were of such legendary beauty that Russian doctors began prescribing his performances for melancholics, impish babies, and infertile women. His body was an elfin ornament. His leaps made gazelles look clumsy. They called him Vlad the Regaler. The crowd was frothing. But that night’s performance of The Winter Mouse was in fact supposed to be Maximoff’s last on earth. At the very climax, when the title character (played by Vlad, of course) was rescuing the Summer Mouse from the halls of the Mountain Queen, a cord was to snap high in the rafters.
