That evening I went to the music hall after Meg pointed me the correct direction. I slipped on one of the school uniforms. Meg had said that if you were meeting with a teacher of any sort you should wear the uniform. Strange rules I thought but I didn't care. It was simply grey pants and darker grey blazer. It was believed that talent was more important then how you dressed. Presentable but simple and ready for the world of business.
I slipped into the building easily enough and found the room. I was 10 minutes early and so I sat down by the piano. I knew some teachers hated students playing the piano unaccompanied but I needed to. I hadn't touched an instrument in so long.
I decided to play Debussy's Reverie. It was one of the first songs my father ever taught me. Suddenly I heard a door slam behind me. I bolted from the piano as if it was on fire.
"Please continue," my teacher said in a commanding voice, "My apologies for my loud interruption." So I did. Bu it was not thinking on the music. I was digesting what my teacher looked like. He was maybe in his 30s but dressed like someone from a much older time. A lovely full suit and a cravat. He was dressed as if he were going to a concert. There was a slight accent she detected as French. He had black hair neatly combed but what struck her was his mask. Today someone might have a skin-toned mask but he had a white mask covering the right side of his face.
When I finished he clapped slowly. I curtseyed because I didn't know what else to do.
"You were early," he commented.
"Yes sir. My parents always taught me to be ten minutes early to any occasion," I mumbled.
"Wise words. Lateness had become the latest accessory," he laughed dryly, "In this room you will not mumble. You will speak clearly, with purpose and loud enough. You will find I have some hearing loss. One does not make friends with organs and pianos and not lose some of their hearing."
"Yes sir."
"Was that Reverie?" he said thoughtfully.
"Yes sir," I said clearer.
"I knew you were gifted in voice but I was unaware of your other abilities. Pray tell what are your other musical talents?" he said pulling a chair closer to the piano
"Well, I am trained on piano and violin. But minimal training on the flute, guitar and harp," I said shyly.
"Who taught you?"
"My father Gustav Daae," I said. I hadn't said his name in so long.
"Hmm, he taught you well. If you were allowed more then one focus I would train you more on piano but c'est la vie," he mused, "Now I have called you here so I might judge where your skills lie. Your audition showed promise but I like to see in person how my students sound."
"Okay. What song?" I asked.
"Something you are familiar with that shows off your range. I know you are a soprano," he said.
"Do you know Think of Me?"
"I know all of the classical works. When you're ready," he said turning to the piano.
I sang. I was a bit shaky. Mother made me stop singing when I was at home. She said it was because the neighbors complained but I think it was because it reminded her of my dad. Not that she would ever admit it.
I finished and my teacher made no expression. I was unsure if I did well.
"Did I do well?" I asked.
"Your voice is certainly lovely but you are not in correct form. Your diction was sloppy and you sing without confidence," he judged. Harsh. I had not expected the critique to be so harsh on my first go at singing.
"Oh," I slumped my head.
"Stop it! That is part of the problem, stand up straight and own your mistakes. If you constantly slump it is no wonder you slump when you sing," he said sternly.
"Yes sir," I said standing straighter, though I would have liked to hide. I was never unconfident but his presence startled me. I wasn't used to singing on the fly.
"You best know that our lessons will never be just 3 hours. They may go longer or shorter so it is best not make plans on lesson days. Also, if I see fit I may slot you in for more lessons on the weekends," he said.
"Now I want you to do your scales for me start at G and go up like normal," he said as he pounded out the scale.
He kept me in there for over an hour. I thought I had come for a simple introduction. Over and over doing scales never critiquing but silently judging me. Finally he released me. But he had not given me his name.
"The school does not allow any mystery. Monsieur Ange," he said simply.
"So how did you meeting go?" Meg asked when she saw me climb the stairs.
"Strange. He talks in a weird way, much older. But he said out lessons will often go longer than 3 hours and he might fit me in for more classes with him," I moaned. I loved singing with all my heart but being trapped with the same person worried me.
"Yeah, mom says he has odd habits but not to judge because he is a genius," Meg shrugged, "I'll never understand him."