(ph: Robert Frank)
Muriel Errera’s house is next to the Royal Palace in Brussels.
She said she’d like to give a dinner party and would invite
whoever I wanted her to, plus, of course, her friends. Since I
was staying in the country south of the city, I asked whether
she’d like me to bring along some mushrooms. She said certainly.
I arrived at the party with several baskets. I forget what all
I had found, but one basket was nothing but Lepiota caps fit for
the people next door. I was taken in an elevator four flights
up to a small improvised kitchen. After making certain that
everything I would need for cooking was available I went back
downstairs. I met the guests and had some drinks and then, after
the first few courses, went upstairs again, this time to cook
the mushrooms. It didn’t take long. I got myself and the pans
into the elevator and pushed the button. I no sooner left the
fourth floor than the lights went out and the elevator stopped
running. I lit a match and looked for an emergency button, but
there wasn’t any. Feeling hurried, I began beating on the
elevator door and shouting. After quite some time, I heard some
voices, and after that the voice of my hostess. She said that
word was being sent to the contractor who had installed the
elevator and did I want something to read? I said that it was
quite dark and that I didn’t require any reading matter. The
contractor never arrived, but eventually all of the servants,
including the cook, the chauffeur, and the doorman, went down
to the basement and by their joint efforts sent me inch by inch
back up to the fourth floor. The first thing I did was to reheat
the mushrooms. As we walked downstairs together, Muriel Errera
asked me not to mention the incident to any of the guests. When
I arrived with the frying pans in the candle-lit dining room,
everyone was eating dessert.
- John Cage
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