Wagner's Tristan und Isolde has been translated for the benefit of the readers – I imagine it sounds much better in the original German, but at least this way it is understanable! Please enjoy…and thank you so much for the reviews so far.
Silvia's slippered feet made little noise on the marble of the Opera's floors as she wended her way through the maze of hallways. Shadows danced in the corners, and a bell tolled solemnly in the distance. The Opera itself was silent, its denizens asleep – or at least, keeping themselves behind their bedroom doors.
Silvia passed by the silent doorways of the ballet dancers, noting with interest that a muted light leaked from beneath the entrance to the ballet mistress' room. She had spoken to Madame Giry only once, for the woman was often busy, and Silvia did not like the intensity of her grey eyes.
Turning from the hallway of doors, she continued on her way towards the entrance to the theater, her candle guttering in her hand. Easing the doors open on silent hinges, she stepped into the vast backstage area. The huge, heavy curtains draped like shrouds from the heights of the ceilings. They were drawn back from the stage, left in place from the rehearsal earlier that day; during the weeks of performances, they would be left closed in the evenings. But such little details were left until later: for now, the director was more concerned with line memorization and dancing technique.
Silvia was relieved to see that the curtains left the stage clear, for she did not have the strength to draw them back herself nor did she wish to alert anyone to her presence with the commotion it would make. Smoothing the skirts of her gown – she was wearing the dress Madame Pericot had sewn for the part of Margeurite – she stepped onto the stage. With her small candle she lit the candelabras at the corners, warming up her voice with scales as she performed the chore. The white silk skirts of her gown trailed after her, whispering over the black floor.
Returning to the center of the immense stage, she lifted her gaze as she had done during her audition to the rows of empty seats, knowing within a few weeks' time they would be full of opera-goers. A shiver of nervousness tingled along her spine, and with it one of elation. She began to sing, not a piece from 'Faust' but one from 'Tristan und Isolde', a lamentation. Were she performing the opera, her fair Tristan would be lying dead in her arms, his lifeblood pooling around them.
"Art thou dead? Tarry but for one hour, one only
hour. Such anxious days longing she watched, to
watch but one more hour with thee. Will Tristan
beguile Isolde of the one last ever-short world-happiness?"
She continued the verse, crouching as if she cradled a lover, infusing her voice with desolation and loss. The room echoed with the song, an effect that was eerie in the stillness. It would not be so amplified when the room was full of bodies, she knew, and worked to increase her volume.
She moved from song to song, lamentations and jubilant celebrations, songs of love lost and love found, avoiding only the duets. Her partner in 'Faust' was a charming gentleman by the name of Lucien Nivelle, but she did not know him so well as to invite him along on clandestine practice sessions.
Her candle was nearly burnt out when finally she halted, glowing dimly on the dark stage. With a small twinge of guilt she exchanged it for one of the newer ones in the candelabras at the side of the stage, not wanting to be lost in darkness on the return to her room.
Frowning, she fitted the new taper into her candleholder with difficulty, twisting it into place. A noise behind her interrupted her task, and the candle fell from nerveless fingers, winking out before it hit the stage.
Who prowls the Opera in the depths of the night? Silvia wondered, her fingers shaking as she cast about for the lost candle. The candelabras bathed the stage and seats with a muted glow, but did not reveal detail. Finding the taper, she lit it quickly and willed herself to complete silence, listening for any hint of a noise.
She stood in stillness for a long span of time, ignoring her trembling limbs, unwilling to extinguish the little light the candelabras provided her with. But she couldn't very well sleep on the floor of the Opera's stage, nor could she leave the candelabras to be a fire hazard. Steeling her spine and whispering a mantra of reassurance, she turned towards the first candelabra.
And found the candles blinking out, one by one, seemingly on their own.