Notes

I awoke the next morning refreshed. I had not slept so well in quite a long time. I was glad the evening had ended with Christine singing my work rather than with my irrational panic in the piano room. I was determined that this evening no such emotional surge would drive me from the room.

I readied myself for the day with alacrity. I was looking forward to discovering what new traits of character would surface in my companions today. I arrived at the ballet rehearsal room with 5 minutes to spare. Madame Giry and Meg were the only others present. I had heard the low hum of their voices as I approached the door. They stopped talking the moment I entered, however. There was an awkward pause that told me their earlier conversation was not meant for my ears.

"Good morning, ladies!" I said brightly hopping to lighten the strained atmosphere.

"Good Morning," they both replied.

I walked over to the piano and began pulling out the various music I would need for the morning. I was secretly hopping that the ladies would resume their conversation. I was disappointed when, instead, the door to the room flew open and a group of chattering ballerinas entered.

"Really," I told myself, "since when are you so insatiably curious!" It was a trait in my character that was becoming more and more dominant every moment I spent at the opera. Another wave of girls entered, and the rehearsal began, once again, exactly on time. I was interested to note that Christine was not present. I wondered if she was late or if she was simply not coming. I had suspected that the Giry women were discussing her when I came in, and now I was sure of it.

At the morning break, which was only fifteen minutes long, most of the girl simply sat in groups with their backs against the wall. I was, therefore, surprised when Madame Giry hurried from the room. I was even more surprised when the fifteen minutes were up and she had still not returned. It was clear that the dancers were even more appalled than I.

Madame Giry was only about two minutes late, but the extra time was passed in silence. Worried or puzzled looks adorned the faces of the ballerinas, except for one or two of the boldest who looked amused. Finally the door opened and Madame Giry entered. The girls were all on their feet, and Madame Giry headed to her usual place at the top of the room. While she was passing me, however, she bent slightly and said under her breath, "Please remain behind for lunch." That was all, but there was a tension in her voice that could not be ignored. I wondered what I had done.

I was still debating what on earth she could wish to discuss with me when she dismissed the class for lunch. I had done nothing wrong to my knowledge. I decided I should just have to wait to hear what she had to say.

When the last girl had left Madame Giry closed the door. She looked at me searchingly for a moment, then finally spoke.

"I have a letter for you."

Was that all? It was a bit soon for me to be receiving letters here, but it was certainly nothing to cause such concern. I was about to speak when she held up her hand to stop me.

"Before I give it to you, I must explain a thing or two."

I was now both confused and intrigued. I waited for her to continue.

"The letter is from the Opera Ghost. I can see you are skeptical." And indeed I was. I had contained my laugh, but only just barely. I was about to respond as best I could when she again stopped me with a gesture.

"I know neither of us really believes in ghosts. I dare say that you have already heard some of the wild tales that go round concerning The Ghost. Naturally most of them are merely the product of overheated adolescent brains. But before you discount the whole thing completely, be assured that the Opera Ghost really exists, and that it is not wise to cross him."

I really had no way to respond to her. She was my superior; I was still not accustomed to the ways of the opera. I supposed that this was some sort of prank, but I was completely unsure of how to deal with Madame Giry. She was so earnest. She must have a strange sense of humor, to always give the impression of solemnity, and yet take such delight in silly practical jokes. Because I was so unsure of my footing, I decided it would be best to simply play along for now. I took the letter. The seal was a ghastly skull, and the paper was that of a house in mourning. The script was unusually formed and in red ink. Here is what I read:

My dear Mlle. Sauvon,

Brava! You are, indeed, a rare talent. I received immense pleasure listening to you last night. It is a shame you had to play on that reached instrument. I am having it replaced today.

That said, I must ask that you do not interfere with Mlle. Daae. She is at a sensitive spot in her career, and must remain focused on what it before her. I understand your sensibilities as a composer must have been extremely gratified by having an angel sing your music, but it is not to happen again, unless I give you explicit permission. I should hate to have your own career at the opera cut short, not the least because I should miss hearing you, so I must insist that my instructions are followed to the letter.

Your obedient servant,

O.G.

I flushed. So Christine was involved in this as well! After I had agreed to keep her secret she could not trouble herself to keep mine. She was no better than anyone else. She just had to mock me for having an unattainable dream. Then I thought back to how she had sung my music. There was no mockery there. She had been captivated by the sounds, I could tell.

I looked up at Madam Giry. I knew my confusion was shown in my eyes. "What are you playing at, Madam Giry?" I asked with rather more hurt in my voice than I intended.

"You must believe me, Lucette: I do not even know what is in that letter. I went to check on Christine at break, she is…unwell today, and I was given that note addressed to you. That is why I have been so concerned. What does the Opera Ghost want with you?"

I looked hard at Madam Giry. "You were right when you said I do not believe in Ghosts. It is clear, however, that, whatever you may say, you do believe in them."

"I do not believe in ghosts. But I do believe in the Opera Ghost. I have seen too much to doubt his existence; and I am not the only sensible person who knows it is wise to follow his orders."

"If there are practical consequences to not following the orders received from this 'ghost,' I should think someone had best bring in the law." I was still convinced that either Madam Giry or Christine or perhaps both were behind all this.

"That is impossible! No one knows where he can be found or what he would do if he discovered that the management had called in the law!"

"If one called in the police, I'm sure he would be tracked down in a matter of days. As to what he would do, well if he really is such a mad man, I'm sure the police have dealt with this sort of thing before, and would know to be discrete."

Madam Giry simply shook her head, and it occurred to me that perhaps she was the 'madman,' in which case it would probably be best for me to hold my tongue.

"Lucette, there have been…accidents in the past when his orders were not followed. I want you to be careful. Whatever it is he asks of you, just do it to the best of your ability."

The talk of "accidents" frightened me a little, and there was such sincerity in Madam Giry's voice that I decided for now, at least, to simply play along. "As it so happens," I stated in a confident voice, "the note does not ask me to do anything. It merely asks me to refrain from doing something I am not likely to do anyway. You need have no worries on my behalf."

Madam Giry looked so genuinely relieved that I put more faith in the authenticity of the letter than I had before. I would not let it bother me. There was a slight threat at the end, but up to that point it was the sort of polite note a parent might send a teacher regarding their child. I was not likely to have another opportunity to have Christine sing my music, anyway, and that was that.

There was just one thing more that I felt I simply had to address for the time being: "If you don't mind my asking, Madam Giry, how did you come by this note? I understood that very few people had actually seen this phantom of yours."

"I simply come by them: sometimes they are left on my dresser, other times they simply fall in front of me."

I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing. By the pained look on Madam Giry's face it was plain that she knew how ridiculous she sounded. I was beginning to think that she really was innocent of the plot, and just someone else's pawn. But whose? Christine's? I found that hard to believe. I certainly had enough food for though.

I glanced at the watch pinned to my blouse, and realized that the whole interchange had taken longer than I thought. I was not likely to get any lunch now for the café would be full at this time. Madam Giry seemed to read my thoughts for she invited me to her room for tea and fruit cake. I accepted her invitation. For some bizarre reason, the thought of an 'Opera Ghost,' even though I was sure he was flesh and blood, intrigued me. I was as determined as ever to know more.

The rest of the day passed much as it had the day before. By the end of rehearsals my untrained eye could detect no flaw at all in the dancing. I glanced at Madam Giry, and she seemed pleased as well.

"That will do for today girls," she called slightly earlier than last evening. "Remember we will be warming up at one o'clock sharp tomorrow! I know it is later than our usual but we must be punctual. We will then join the rest of the company on the main stage. You must stay for the entire rehearsal. I will have no repeats of last season, understood?"

The girls all looked suitably impressed, and a few of them voiced their understanding. Madam Giry dismissed them. The room emptied and I was once again alone with Madam Giry.

"I hope, my dear, that this situation has not disturbed you too much?"

I smiled at her. "No, indeed! In fact I am more intrigued that ever by the opera house and its inhabitants. In fact I think I will do a little exploring before dinner."

She seemed relieved that I was not upset and I was again tempted to think that she was not behind the note. She affirmed my idea of exploring, but warned me not to go straying too far tonight as there were places that would be quite abandoned at this time, and I should have no one to inquire my way to the café should I become lost.

"And, whatever, you do," Madam Giry continued, "do not go into the cellars. They can be extremely dangerous."

"I assure you I will not go into the far flung areas. In all reality I would just like to explore the stage and wings, and maybe the costume room."

She seemed pleased with my response. She bid me good evening, and then left the room.

I sat puzzling over the keys for a moment, and then began to play the melody I had been working on yesterday. I wondered if the author of that letter really had heard me play. I did not think that anyone at the opera could know that I composed, unless they heard me composing. I remembered the terrible feeling that I was not alone in the piano room last night. I felt a slight return of the panic, but I forced it aside before it could again overmaster me.

No, in all likelihood, Christine had let slip to someone that I composed and that I was quite good. Once a secret was known by more than one person in the world of theater it was everywhere. No doubt this O.G. had heard it and decided it was a perfect opportunity to make his presence felt by the skeptical newcomer. "Why drag Christine into it then?" My mind answered right away: "he had to issue some kind of command—that was the best he could do."

I was not entirely satisfied by my answers, but it was enough to cheer me, and I set off to explore the opera house.

Even though I kept my word to Madam Giry and only explored the more populated areas of the opera house, I managed to lose myself, just a bit, at the very end of my exploration. I was able to find my way to the café, however, just in time to grab one of the last plates of food. I was thankful I did not arrive any later, for I was hungry. I noted with some amusement the look of relief on Madam Giry's face when she saw me. "Either she is innocent or she is the most remarkable actress employed by the Opera Populaire," I thought to myself.

I took a seat next to her and was introduced to those at the table: a more mature crowd than those I had eaten with last night. I felt it was good for me to be with those who did not indulge in the fantastic, especially as I was determined to brave the piano room on my floor tonight. The thought gave me a slight shiver, but I knew that if I did not brave it tonight, I never would. I would not be irrationally terrified of a room!

I did not linger over dinner, but neither did I rush. When I had quite finished I bid my fellow diners a pleasant evening, and returned to my room. I was annoyed with how much effort I had to put into being calm. "It's just a room!" I told myself, exasperated, "last night you were over tired and under the influence of those silly girls at diner. Let what happened be a lesson to you about letting your juniors guide your thoughts!"

I resolutely gathered my papers and my lamp, and made my way down the corridors. I paused for a moment and then threw open the door with confidence.

The sight that met my eyes made my head swim, and I had to lean against the door frame for support. Last night there had been a somewhat serviceable upright parlor piano standing in the middle of the room. Tonight there was a beautiful concert grand slightly to one side. There were candelabrums alight on both sides of the music stand and a small table was positioned to one side of the keyboard perfectly placed to hold extra paper or even to write the notes if that is one's style of composing. On this table was a vase of dark red roses and a note.

I stumbled over to this table, put the lamp down, and picked up the note. I shuddered when I saw the red wax skull grinning up at me. I opened it quickly. It read:

My dear Mlle. Sauvon,

As promised, I have disposed of that wretched thing you were forced to play upon last night and have had it replaced with one of my own choosing. I have tested it myself to assure that its pitch is perfect. There is no need for thanks; the utterly confused look on my manager's face when he received my request is all the payment I need. And then, of course, there is the pleasure I will receive listening to you compose on a truly worthy instrument. Do not trouble yourself on that score: I shall not disturb you. You will not even know that I am here.

Your obedient servant,

O.G

At the last line of the letter I grabbed my lamp and fled the room, not even caring that I left the candles lit. Now I was genuinely frightened. Who was this Opera Ghost, why was it that his every command was obeyed, and why did he take such interest in me?