Part One
Chapter One
It is cold after a fire. All the warmth in the air is sucked out and used in the blaze leaving a chill in the air. I sat silently in the stalls of the Opera Populaire and pondered this as I wrapped my silk kimono tightly around my shoulders. I had chosen a seat which wasn't scorched at the very back of the theatre. Tears silently rolled down my face as I stared at the stage.
Not long after the chandelier had crashed and Erik disappeared with Christine into the depths of the opera house, I followed the angry mob only to find a forgotten masked in Erik's 'house'. Erik had gone. The sensation of loneliness was soon going to take over me, I knew it. Questions raced through my head, how could he do this? Why did he do this? However, it didn't matter how long I wandered the catacombs or cellars of the opera house, I would not find the answers I seek.
Making my way back I watched the bragade du feu battle with the blaze. The heat stung my eyes and the smoke clogged my throat as I found a safe passage out. Huddling in the cold street in nothing but my Don Juan costume with Meg and Madame Giry I watched and waited silently knowing there was nothing I could do. The flames crackled engulfing the building in vibrant light.
After hours of a raging battle, the fire was dead. There was no choice but to enter the building. I ran my finger lightly over a seat at the back of the theatre as I wandered through the stalls. The stench of smoke invaded my nostrils and ash particles stung my eyes. I looked down at the seat, only a few hours ago a member of the Tout-Paris sat here, where was she now?
Life would never be the same. The Opera Populaire would never regain the popularity it once had. We would never regain the joy we once endured. I wiped the tears from my cheeks only to make room for more to fall. What had happened? How could Erik, the man I had come to love and trust do this? I sat in the seat with the image of a young masked man, hunched over a small pipe organ smiling slightly at me. How could he do this? I asked myself again. The knowledge he could and did do this made my heart crumbled into a million pieces in my chest. I wanted to shrink into the darkness that surrounded me instead of facing the reality in front of me.
Madame Giry interrupted my sad train of thought when she notified me that one of the girls who lived and trained in the Opera Populaire with us was missing. The smallest child, Odette, had disappeared not long after the chandelier had crashed. Soon I was walking through the opera house (avoiding holes in the floor and cut off routes) trying to find the small child. Odette, I found out, watched me dance with great interest in every rehearsal. I never knew anyone watched me dance with such interest before.
I found the blue eyed five-year old curdle up in a ball under a trolley of costumes in one of the many costume rooms. She was shivering from the cold, her little eyes darting around in fright. I pushed away the clothes in front of her and scooped her up in my arms, she was very light. Something in her eyes told me that our world was never going to be the same again.
The week following the disaster the death toll was taken. Thankfully only a few wound up dead, however the big hit was the amount of people who left the Opera Populaire for good. Thirty-five people had left including the lead soprano, Carlotta, and Christine Daae, these people would never return to the Opera Populaire. Much to the despair of Andre and Firmin the Vicomte de Changy also withdrew his patronage. We had no money coming in and the costs to repair the Opera Populaire were substantial. Problem number one, we had no money. Problem number two, even if the opera house was repaired the leading soprano and tenor would have to be replaced. We were doomed.
"Monsieur Andre and I have come to the conclusion that the best option is to sell the Opera Populaire," Firmin declared wringing his hands in nervousness as the entire opera community sat in the usable part of the stalls. Rumors of our manager's intentions to sell had been floating around all week, the news, however, still felt like a heavy stone in my stomach.
"A prosperous buyer, Etienne Building contractors will soon own the Opera Populaire," Firmin continued. A ripple of complaint spread like a virus throughout the group. Was this the end?
"But monsieur, where will singers sing, where will the dancers dance, where will the children live," said an unfamiliar voice from somewhere behind us. As if instinct everyone turned around to find the silhouette of a rather short stocky man with broad shoulders, and a round bowling hat standing in the doorway.
"Pardon monsieur," Firmin said blinking wildly.
"Well," said the stranger walking down the aisle. As he came closer I could see that he had grey-blue eyes and wrinkles around them. He must have been in his late forties. "What will all these talented people do? All the people who rely on the Opera Populaire? What would you say if I offered you err, double what this building contractor offered," the man standing in front of us was our savior.
Firmin and Andre turned their backs to us and whispered to each other then turned around smiling falsely.
"If you would please come with us Monsieur-" Firmin said.
"Vernet," the man replied pleased.
"Monsieur Vernet, if you would please come with us we can continue this and draw up some sort of, err, contract," Firmin said smiling. The two managers led Monsieur Vernet out of the theatre. When their echoing footsteps had become quite everyone began to cry out in joy and embrace one another. Meg wrapped her arms around me and smiled as tears of joy trickled down her soft face. I looked to where Monsieur Vernet exited. This was a man who would change my life forever.
It was nine months before the Opera Populaire was in a proper state to perform. We all soon learned that Monsieur Vernet was more interested in giving the members of the opera house community a home and food on their tables than anything else. He took particular interest in me, saying he was fond of my dancing.
"Mademoiselle Baudeux, I am a huge fan of your dancing, when we get the Opera Populaire back into action I will give you solos in the operas, and you own dressing room and dormitory," he declared one day as I made sandwiches for the workmen with some of the other women, "I have plans for you. I shall make you a star," he said, his eyes twinkling.
Despite our new patron being the wealthy Vicomte Delpierre and his family, life was hard for those nine months. It amazed me how Monsieur Vernet could even get a new patron after the disaster. However, life was hard, food was rationed and I found myself giving part of my portion to the small girl Odette. She spent most of her days chattering away to me. She was really lovely.
However, soon income came rolling in. The Opera Populaire's first performance after the disaster and under the new management of Monsieur Vernet was a great success. Monsieur Vernet had been successful in finding replacement for those who had been lost as a result of the disaster. The production of 'Scheherazade' starred Mademoiselle Jeanne Solage, a southern girl not much older then me with an enchanting air about her. She had a good strong voice but occasionally she went sharp, and for some reason on the high notes. But her acting and angelic looks drew in the audience. Jacques Reys was the new leading tenor. He was perfect in every way. Dreamy chocolate brown eyes and curly brown hair, tall tanned body with broad shoulders and a voice that could melt the coldest of hearts. All the girls swooned over the Spanish god. His kindness and humbleness also earned him the respect of everyone around him.
Three years after the 'disaster' my life was completely different. By the year 1873 the Opera Populaire was once again a busy beehive of colour and life. A place where people could leave their drab Parisian lives behind and step into a costume changing their identity in an instant. I always thought that was the most magical thing about the opera. Everyone was happy once again, Monsieur Vernet had done miracles.
As he had promised me I was granted a large dressing room, much too large in my mind for a ballerina, with my dormitory next to it via an adjoining room. He spoilt me like a father spoils his daughter – I was never spoilt by my own father. Monsieur Vernet bought me beautiful dresses, chemises and corsets. As well as linen, make-up and ballerina practice dresses. In the opera's I was given extensive solos and duets between the arias and recitatives. Because of the solos and duets I acquired a popularity I was not familiar with. Flowers, letters, chocolates, champagnes all were delivered into my dressing room. A first this was a shock to me.
The thing I will always be grateful for, and Madame Giry too, is the ballet studio. Compared to the previous warm up room slotted tightly before the dressing and costume rooms and behind the stage with nothing but a few barres and the old piano tucked awkwardly into a corner, the new ballet studio was like heaven on earth. The large storage room below the stage had been converted into two rooms. The first was a small room below the trap doors the other was the large ballet studio. The walls were lined with mirrors and a barre was on each wall. The old dusty piano was replaced by a small wall piano that sat comfortably in the corner of the room. The floor was laid with polished floor boards and the ceiling had small gas lights and a small chandelier. I loved it so much.
It was a cool mid January morning in 1873 when Jeanne Solage had her greatest moment. A drama queen like none other, Jeanne didn't take my constructive criticism as well as others would. Blowing everything out of proportion Jeanne was known for walking out of rehearsals then only coming back after getting what she wanted – or so Monsieur Vernet said. She was a very stupid girl who forgot what she wanted almost as soon as she had been told she could have it.
On this cool day I was practicing a tango scene with my dance partner Andrea. He was a tall Spanish man who spoke little French. He was many, many years in my senior yet even though the wrinkles on his face spoke of age his body looked like that of a young male ballet dancer. I loved the tango. I had learned a little bit of it for 'Scheherazade' for some strange reason and since then became an expert. Andrea was a master at it and together our bodies flowed with passion, exuberated heat and made the audience quiver. I always imagined myself in a beautiful Spanish dress with red trim and a matching rose in my hair. I could smell perfumes I had never smelt, fruits I had never tasted, hear sounds never heard in France – sounds of the south. See colours beyond the imagination; feel warmth never felt - a completely new feeling for my senses. Dancing with me was a tall man with Andrea's costume on but his face blurred. I came to the conclusion that my true love would be my tango dancer.
Paradise was ruined when Madame Giry pulled me roughly by the arm up the winding ladder of stairs, through the backstage 'commune area' as we affectionately called the back stage waiting area, through the left wing onto the stage were Jeanne stood in a bright purple dress with a feather hat. Her arms were crossed and her blonde hair was in a bun on her head. She tapped her foot impatiently her blue eyes darting from side to side.
Also on stage was Monsieur Vernet whipping his brow thoughtfully, Meg who stood fiddling with her hair, Monsieur Reyer who paced (he was a man who got stressed at the slightest thing) and Jacques who mimicked Jeanne's position. As soon as I stepped out onto the stage Jeanne launched her ambush.
"That, girl, insults and mocks me at every turn!" she screeched.
"Oh please, not so loud, Jeanne, all of Paris doesn't want to hear your voice," I signed back rolling my eyes.
"See even now she mocks and insults me! Monsieur Vernet, she has a larger dressing room than me, more stage time, a higher pay and she isn't even the star! I think that in this situation I am the victim!" Jeanne pouted.
"She does not constantly mock or insult you, your dressing room is by far larger and more lush than hers and when it comes to stage time she spends most of it as a supporting act, and the pay is untellable. Jeanne, please don't go around making such rash commentary," Monsieur Vernet said coolly but Jeanne wasn't finished.
"I don't care! I am leaving the Opera Populaire I am sick of it! Three years of the same thing! I am moving to England with a new contract I am sorry Monsieur Vernet you will have to find another star – discuss my contract matters with my lawyer," she said softly and soon we watched her back disappear out the old oak doors. Her delivery of her resignation was so calm and quiet it frightened everyone in the room. People had begun filling in for the afternoon rehearsal and knew by Jeanne's quietness that she would never flounce in or sing of us again.
After the initial shock that our star had quit on the job panic flooded through the cast and crew, Monsieur Reyer having to sit down in fear of fainting. We would have to find a new soprano. Our new production of 'Carmen' opened in three weeks and it wasn't possible for our second soprano Danielle Lamar to play Carmen then our third soprano Lillian Fleurier to play Mercedes because then we would have no one to play Frasquita. Monsieur Vernet paced thoughtfully and Jacques came over to me.
"Well we certainly seem in a pit of trouble aren't we? Not to worry though Monsieur Vernet will figure something out," he said smiling. Even though there was reassurance in his warm voice I couldn't help but feel a nagging in the back of my mind, "It wasn't your fault Camille – just know that," he said placing a friendly hand lightly on my shoulder.
We sat patiently in the theatre whilst Monsieur Vernet and Madame Giry spoke rapidly in hushed voices. There were whispers spreading that it was my fault she left, but they were soon flattened with another whisper. Finally Monsieur Vernet faced now the entire cast with a smile on his kind face.
"I will leave tomorrow," he simply said, "But for now, let me introduce two new members of the production crew and our patron," It was only then that I noticed the three men at the back of the stage.
(A/N: Finally I got around to writing it! Horrid chapter – hope you enjoy, please review!)