A Gift of the Finest Cotton

"Maman, tell me again about when Pappa taught you to sing," Belle Angelique says, sitting on the four-poster in the bedroom of the house beneath the Palais Garnier.

Christine stops folding freshly washed linens, crossing her arms across the bodice of the peach silk day dress, to ponder the question. "What story do you wish to know – I have told you so many?"

"Well, we live in the apartment on the Rue de Rivoli and we have the country house – but you still come down here sometimes," the nineteen-year-old says – toying with one of her raven black braids, plaited with blue ribbons matching her chambray dress. "It is so dark and dreary – why do you come back?"

"You were born in this room, young lady – this is where your pappa and I spent our first days together." A brief survey of their surroundings brings a smile to Christine's lips. "I have always found it quite charming." The slightest blush colors her cheeks – partly that she is discussing something so intimate with her daughter and partly due to her recollections of those first days.

Belle's eyes, so like her own, quiz her. "Did he teach you in this room?"

"No." Not music in any event.

Not much had changed here in the twenty years since the fateful performance of Don Juan Triumphant – the bedroom retained the Louis Phillippe furnishings – decorated in shades of blue. Ice blue damask curtains hung from the bed posts. The walls displayed similar draperies she assumed covered windows, but when examined, they were simply illusory, no windows were present – just more wall.

It was a replica of the room in the first home he built beneath the opera house– where she had taken her lessons, but it still surprised her to discover the small elements he introduced to make this home more normal – if anything in their lives or courtship could be called normal.

During those hours that would be daylight above ground, electric lamps would be lit in every room – not exactly like the sun, but bright and cheerful. In the evening, the lighting would be only in occupied rooms. When they moved to their home above ground, they continued to stay here when Christine was performing. After the children were born and it was not practical to move the family back and forth, the two of them would escape the world for a night…or afternoon.

"What then?"

"Sheets," she says. Who have ever thought one of her first recollection of the nights spent at the Maestro's home would be of sheets? And, yet, there it was.

"Sheets?" Belle picks up one of the pillow cases from the stack. "Like this?"

Christine nods. "Just feel the fabric – so soft and smell how fresh."

"All of our bedding is like this at home – I do not understand."

"This is Egyptian cotton – quite expensive and not something I was familiar with."

The girl cocks her head.

"I have told you how my pappa and I traveled and often slept in poor places – sometimes outside - bedding was seldom clean if present at all."

"Yes."

"While your Nanna Adele had a very nice home – the bedding was always clean, but scratchy." She sits down next to her daughter and takes the pillowcase, stroking it first with her fingertips, then presses it against her face.

"Your pappa had purchased the very best bed linens he could find for me and I remember how soft the fabric felt against my skin." Blushing again, she says, "There were nights when I removed all my clothing, even my chemise, so I could feel the sheets against my body."

"Maman – even before you were married!"

"When I was learning music I slept alone. Your pappa was always the perfect gentleman."

"I see him watch you sometimes – he may be glum or upset about something, but when he looks at you he becomes happy."

"He has made me very happy, as Andre will make you happy." Christine gets up and goes to the armoire. She returns to the bed with a single pillow case, handing it to Belle. "When I first came to live here, I embroidered our initials on all the linen. This is one of those pieces."

"It is beautiful – you did all the linen? I never knew."

"This case was on the bed the night of our wedding. Do you think you might like it to be part of your wedding gown – perhaps the underskirt?"

"Something old?"

"Yes – or blue…the stitching."

"I think that would be lovely."

"I shall be certain you have a lovely embroidered set of the Egyptian cotton sheets for your marriage bed."

"Thank you, Maman." Belle grins, eyelids lowered. "Andre will be so pleased – the sheets will make our wedding night all the more special."

"I only wish for your happiness."

"Oh, he has already made me happy." Belle's eyes sparkle.

"Indeed?"

Now it is her daughter's turn to blush. "I mean – he makes me laugh and he is so talented and clever…"

Chuckling, Christine tosses a towel at the young girl. "Now help me fold the rest of the laundry, so we can see the dressmaker for your fitting and bring her this little addition."