It was night when I was awakened by the melancholy wail of the violin. I knew not where it came from. It seemed to come from everywhere. My fellow dancers didn't seem to hear it. Some rolled in their sleep but didn't wake. They were heavy sleepers, and why wouldn't they be? Their bodies had grown accustomed to the early practices and late bed times. They needed all the energy they needed. I was still new, barely a month and a half since I was recruited.
The music seemed to come from everywhere. It seemed to fill the entire opera house. I felt like crying. The violinist seemed to be pouring his entire soul into his music. I had never heard any of the opera's violinists play so beautifully. I needed to find the source of the music. Not even Johan, the handsome violinist in the orchestra played so beautifully.
As quietly as I could, I put on my slippers and a lit candle. The opera house was dark, darker than the night outside. Terror seized my heart when the tales of the opera ghost filled my mind. However I reminded myself that the ghost never harmed the dancers. Scared them silly yes, but never touched them. I made my way out of the dormitories and followed the music where it seemed loudest.
I passed joseph Buquet's room. The lights where on and soft moans seemed to be coming from there, I wrinkled my nose in disgust. He must have gotten another dancer to sleep with. I had often complained to la Sorelli that she must speak to the managers about Buquet. He mustn't be so near our rooms. I tip toed past his room quietly until I reached La Carlotta's dressing room…well, former dressing room. The Spanish singer had demanded a larger and more lavish room.
I pressed an ear to the door. Yes, this was the source of the music. By then the violinist had started to play a happier melody. I so dearly wanted to know who this violinist was. Slowly I tried the knob on the door and found it unlocked. I opened it slowly and stepped in.
The music immediately stopped.
"Hello?" I whispered, "Monsieur Violinist? Please do not be frightened and continue your music. It is a very lovely melody."
The musician did not respond. I began to wonder if I had imagined the music, or if my unannounced presence had offended the violinist.
"I am terribly sorry if I have offended you sir," I said, "I merely wanted to know who it was that played such beautiful music."
There was no sound. No plucking of the strings or anything.
"I see that my presence is unwelcomed," I said turning, "I will leave you now."
I turned to leave, hoping the violinist will continue his song when I had left his room.
"Wait," a voice said.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned, but I found no one in the dressing room.
"Please don't go," the voice said again.
There was a sort of pleading in his voice. I knew it was a man now. My mind tried to place the voice, but failed.
I blushed and said, "You have a very good talent with the violin, sir."
"Thank you," he said after a moment.
I placed the candle down on a table. I was truly the only person in the room save for my reflection in the mirror, but that didn't really count. I wondered where the voice came from. I remembered Christine's stories of the angel of music. I wondered if this was the same angel she spoke about.
"Won't you please continue your song, sir?" I asked sitting down on a chair.
"If you wish it so," the music started again.
I recognized it. It was from one of the operas, I didn't know the name, but I did know the music. The violinist paused. I wondered if anything was wrong.
"Forgive me, Mademoiselle," he said, "but what is your name?"
"Marie, Monsieur," I said. "Marie D'Carte."
"Mademoiselle D'Carte" he said, "do you have any recommendations this poor violinist could play for you?"
I thought about my favorite songs until one came to mind, "Pachelbel's Canon."
The violinist was silent before he began to play. The aria that filled the room was Pachelbel's Canon and at the same time it was not. I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Tears blurred my sight. It was such a beautiful song. When he finished, I clapped enthusiastically.
"That was beautiful monsieur!" I said, "You have a talent for the violin."
I imagined he bowed or blushed.
"And you are quite the dancer," he said, "I have seen you when you practice and perform. You are even better than La Sorelli herself."
I laughed.
"Have I said something funny, Mademoiselle?" he asked confused.
"I am not a good dancer, monsieur," I said, "The ballet mistress says that I have two left feet and dance like a calf in a meadow."
"Bah!" he said, "Madame Kent knows not of what she speaks. She would not know a good dancer if she was standing in front of her. You should not listen to her."
"You are too kind, monsieur," I said bowing my head, embarrassed.
We were silent for a moment.
"It is getting late, even for you, Mademoiselle D'Carte" he said, "You should head back to you rooms."
I glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly two in the morning.
"Good bye monsieur," I said.
I heard his farewell as I headed to the dorms. Buquet had finally gone to bed. I climbed on to bed quietly. The violinist had begun to play a soft lullaby. I smiled as I let the music lull me to sleep. That night I dreamed of my sweet violinist.