A Hint of Mystery

I found Madam Giry a lady to be reckoned with; I admired her for it. The arts, particularly ballet, were not an easy field in which to maintain respectability, but I was sure that there was comparably little of the dissolute behavior so common among chorus girls in Madam Giry's dancers.

She was a direct woman. She immediately told me what would be expected of me, and I was grateful to have such a steady person as my superior. I believe I made as good an impression on her as she did on me for she showed me to my room herself.

"I hope you will be happy here." Madam Giry gave me an appraising look as she said this. "You seem a sensible young woman, and I would not have it otherwise. My girls can be a superstitious lot at times. I, therefore, insist that those around them have a good head on their shoulders."

I laughed and assured her that I was not inclined to superstition.

"I am glad to hear it. Your references speak highly of your playing. I look forward to hearing you. I will leave you now to organize your things, but I will be back in half an hour to take you to the practice room. That should give us about 15 minutes to go over some of the music before the girls come for practice. Will that be adequate for you?"

"Yes, thank you Madam Giry."

"In half an hour then." She left with a stately nod in my direction.

I looked around my little room. I was glad I did not bring more of my possessions. The room felt claustrophobic enough with nothing but a bed, a small wardrobe, and a desk set in it. I opened the wardrobe and was relieved to find a mirror on the inside of the door: I would be able to fix my hair before Madam Giry returned. I decided to unpack first.

I was soon as settled as I ever would be, my hair was back under control, and I still had almost 10 minutes before Madam Giry would return. I sat at the desk and scribbled down a few notes to a melody that had been in my head since the evening before. I hoped I would have access to a piano at other times than when I played for the corps de ballet. I simply composed better when I could let my fancy wander over the keys.

I mentally shook myself. I was not here to compose. I was here to play the easy little rhythmic pieces that the dancers warmed up to; maybe I would sometimes be allowed to play parts of the ballets they would be dancing on stage, but that would be all. I tried to make my mind accept this, but it would not. Composition was as necessary to me as breathing. Music flowed in my vanes more surely than my blood did. If I could not compose, I would die. The rejection, time after time, of my beloved pieces hurt, but so long as I could go on composing them I could go on with life.

"Besides," I spoke aloud to the empty room, "not all of your pieces have been rejected." My mind immediately squelched the optimism in my voice. I had had a few of my simpler pieces published in a "collected works by various composers." I tried to be cheerful about this. But there were symphonies and operas and grand masses of my creation that would never have the life they deserved because I was a woman. The world would reject some of the most incredibly beautiful sounds yet written because their composer wore a skirt. It was sickeningly unfair, but there was nothing I could do about it.

I was awakened from my self pity by Madam Giry's assertive knock. She was precisely on time. I was not surprised. She gave an approving nod when I told her I was ready, and we set off for the ballet rehearsal room.

"I fear it will take some time for me to learn my way about," I said as we climbed yet another staircase.

"It will take time, yes, but not so much time as you are fearing." my indomitable companion replied. "I should think you will know your way to and from the rehearsal room, the auditorium, and the café by the end of the week. As for the rest of the house, well I only know of one who really knows all of the opera."

"And who is that?" I asked, quite intrigued by the spectral tone this otherwise grounded woman employed.

"It is unwise to inquire about him. Although, you will find out soon enough I should think."

Walking down the dim passage she seemed a different person from the practical woman I had met. The way she had just spoken gave me an irrational urge to look over my shoulder for goblins or phantoms. I was about to inquire further when she opened a door and announced: "here we are."

The practice room was spacious and brightly lit by windows high in the walls. It immediately dispelled the dark thoughts Madame Giry had inspired. The room was completely lined in mirrors, even the two walls that supported barres. In the corner nearest the door, where it would be quite out of the way, stood a piano. I approached it, and played a brief piece from memory. I was able to ascertain that the piano itself was in fair condition, but that it was a fraction of a half-step flat. That would make no difference to the dancers, and it did not matter that it would pain me.

Madam Giry gave me the sheet music for the warm up music the girls were accustomed to. I glanced over it with a slight grimace. It was becoming increasingly clear that my job would hold no challenge, accept that of gracefully playing on an out of tune piano. We then moved on to look over the music they would be dancing to on stage.

The Opera Populaire was putting on Hannibal. The corps de ballet would be primarily slave girls. I was not a devotee of that particular opera; it had some pretty bits, but there was little to distinguish it musically from any other opera of the time. I tried to gain control of my thoughts. I reminded myself that it did not matter what I thought, that I would have to become less musically sensitive and just play what I was told.

I played through the piano arrangements of the main sections of the ballet, and my opinion of the opera and the tune of the piano were both confirmed. It was right as I finished that the first couple of dancers arrived. They were both very pretty girls of about sixteen or seventeen. One was a blond, the other a brunette.

Madame Giry introduced them as Meg Giry, her daughter, and Christine Daae. They seemed like nice girls, and my original impression of Madame Giry as someone who made the arts respectable was momentarily confirmed. The next group of girls to arrive, however, made me think that maybe not all the dancers were respectable. I was introduced to a girl named Lizette, who had a definite lustful sparkle in her eye, and another named Jammes, whom I believed could be quite as promiscuous if given the opportunity.

It was a credit to Madame Giry, however, that all of the dancers were present for rehearsals to begin exactly on time. It was tedious for me, but time did not drag as I feared it would. The hour passed by in what felt like an hour. The girls were then allowed a rest before they continued. After their half-hour pointe warm up, they launched into a run through of the main ballet sequence for Hannibal.

When they finished, it was time for lunch. I was just folding down the piano's cover when Meg Giry approached me. "Mlle. Sauvon?" I looked up. "I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me and Christine? Maman never takes lunch in the café, and it is somewhat difficult to find your way at first."

"Thank you, Meg, I would love to, if you're sure you don't mind?"

"Not in the least, we were hopping you would!"

Over lunch I found Meg and Christine to be what they appeared at first sight: sweet, unassuming young girls. Meg was clearly the talker of the pair. Christine seemed at times quiet to the point of withdrawn, but she could express herself with spirit when the topic appealed to her. When Christine did speak, I was struck by her voice. The natural quality of her voice was very good. She also had a certain tone to it that made me think she had vocal training I wanted to ask about it, but was not sure how without appearing a little strange. I decided to stick to the obvious, and it was clear that a sisterly affection subsisted between the girls. I asked how long they had known each other, and from the answer I understood why they appeared as sisters: they had known each other most of their lives.

Meg told of the beginning of their acquaintance with great spirit. I noticed that Christine seemed to want no part in the narrative herself. I gathered from Meg that Christine had come to the opera as an orphan. I did not wish to cause her pain but I had to ask the question that had been nagging at me since I heard her name.

"Are you any relation to Gustave Daae?"

A soft smile touched Christine's lips as she answered, which assured me I did not commit a great faux pas in asking. "He was my father."

"I am surprised, then, that you dance rather than indulge in the musical side of life. It would seem that legendary talent like the famous Daae would be passed down!"

Here, it appeared, I had made a faux pas. The two girls exchanged a look, and it was Meg who spoke next on a completely unrelated topic. While I continued to uphold my end of the conversation, I found myself wondering about some of the oddities of my new acquaintances.

Looking back, I think my intense interest might have arisen from a need to keep my mind off of my own disappointments. Whatever the reason, however, I found myself looking forward to discovering why Christine would not talk of her possible musical talent and, perhaps even more so, who that mysterious "one" was who knew all about the opera, and seemed to have the power to turn practical Madame Giry into some sort of sibyl.