I stayed busy over the next few days. I confessed I was eager to learn but I had no idea how much there was to learn. First there were the inner workings of the opera's vast wardrobe department. . The existence of the many cellars beneath, five as I was informed, fascinated me There were thousands of costumes already owned, many that were in storage in the third cellars. That didn't include the dozen of new ones being made for the new production. Madame LeRoy was not just a simple wardrobe mistress. She was overseer of every and any aspects of costuming at the opera; from seamstresses making new costumes to the laundry department. On top of that, she was also designing the new costumes for Orpheus.
She earned my respect for not only being a powerful woman, but mostly for her attentive consideration as I adjusted to my new job. During my first few days of work, she took great care and attention to get me situated and comfortable in my position.
I was also aided by Genny, who took it upon herself to introduce me into her social circle at the opera. It came as no surprise how popular she was. She was friends with the principle ballerina, La Sorelli, most of the male vocalists, members of the orchestra and the young girls of the corps de ballet. The ballet girls were especially fond of her, finding a cozy sanctuary in Genny's dressing room to laugh and gossip.
Rehearsals started later that week. I spent less time with Genny and her friends, as the artists and the crew were separated by their work. I could hear the chorus while I sat in the sewing room, hemming skirts. The music of the principle singers joining their voices in the Gallop made a raucous noise that I could hear in the costume storage areas under the stage.
After rehearsals, Genny filled me in on the day's events, without prompting. She took delight in discussing the over the top behavior of the diva La Carlotta. Carlotta was playing the role of Eurydice, an important role capturing both the hearts of Pluto, Orpheus, and Jupiter. However she was upset with having to share any amount of stage time with the other two sopranos, Madame Emeraude with the lead role of Public Opinion and Genny in the role of the playful goddess, Diana.
"Today she demanded M. Gabriel change the libretto to make Eurydice a goddess. Poor Gabriel stumble to explain that there wasn't a logical place in the libretto to causally announce that Eurydice was a goddess. Unless he wrote a new line, music and everything." She recounted, fixing her hat before getting ready to leave for the day.
"What happened after that?" I asked.
"Carlotta's face went as red as her hair. She starting cursing in Italian, and flinging her music about. Even M. Fonta could not settle her down. She muttered how Offenbach was a half wit and if we changed the libretto, no one would care if it was right." Genny gaily repeated in a tone and accent that mocked the diva's own.
My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten anything that day. So I spoke to cover the noise. "Is she always that testy?"
"Christine, she is like this all the time!" she laughed. "She couldn't stand the fact that my character is a goddess, even though she has the leading role. Mme. Emeraude became so annoyed that she started to tease her. She told her that our audience would know the plot and know that there is no such 'goddess Eurydice'. Carlotta stated our audiences were buffoons and stormed out!" Genny continued to chuckle, but I didn't find it very amusing.
"Sorry, but I find it rather shocking for a lady to behave that way." I admitted. Genny grabbed my hand and gave it a little squeeze.
"Don't worry Christine. You are not the only one who thinks so. It is best to keep your distance when it comes to La Diva." Genny checked the mirror once more. "Ride home with me today Christine."
"That's not necessary. You know I live so close…"
She pulled on my hand and flashed me a smile. "Ride with me anyway!" she exclaimed in a childlike manner. I agreed and gathered my things to leave. Genny turned to lock the door to her dressing room. "The only reason we put up with Carlotta is because she draws in the crowds…" she muttered as a final explanation. We made our way down the hall, but only after a few steps she stopped. She turned to me, all the childish expression gone from her lovely face.
"But she won't always…" she said in a hallow tone.
"Genny?" I was confused.
"She won't always draw in the crowds. One day people will finally tired of her and it will be me they come to see on stage. Me. Soon I will be the prima donna."
I looked around, a little embarrassed in case anyone could have overheard us. Genny's brown eyes look hazy as she spoke and once more she reached for my hands, her grip tight.
"I have been promised it." She pulled me by my hands closer to her. "Don't worry Christine. Soon they will come to see you as well."
I tighten my shawl around my shoulders and thanked the driver one last time, before the de Chagny carriage took off. I opened the door to Madame Valerius' home, looking forward to nothing more than a warm fire and decent meal. I hadn't yet received a wage and had no money of my own to buy lunch while I worked. I had dreaded someone overhearing my stomach's grotesque growls and discovering my secret.
I was delighted to feel the heat of the fire gently touch my face as I walked inside. "Good evening Madame." I called out.
"Christine?" I heard her soft voice called from the sitting room. I eagerly made my way there, smiling to see my kind guardian sitting in her favorite evening chair. Madame had been unwell for so long. A rare summer cold had seized her body in the past few months, confining her to her bed. So I was very glad to see her in better health and spirits.
A large grey blanket covered her legs. I noticed a knitting basket on the floor near her chair and a set of needles in her lap. Her eyes were far too weak to do any sort of embroidery or needlework anymore. I was rewarded with a smile when I entered.
"Ah Christine. Good evening." She greeted. I longed so much to collapse in the chair beside her. We could talk about our day until out eyes grew heavy and we both feel asleep by the fire.
"Good evening Christine." echoed a voice from behind me.
I went tense as soon as I heard it. The hands that now curled their way up onto my shoulder could certain feel how rigid my limbs were underneath. All my joy and happiness was sucked out of me in that moment.
I hadn't really wanted to work away from home. I would have been content to spend lazy days here in this quiet home, free of responsibility. But I couldn't. I had to keep away from this house as much as possible and the real reason for this was standing right behind me.
The hands on my shoulders closed around them tightly.
"My, Christine you are freezing." Frederich remarked in a tone that disguised his true intent. "You should really be wearing warmer clothes at this time of year." He finally walked around to face me. He extended his hand to me, hoping I take it, but he knew better. "Perhaps I could take you shopping for a new coat tomorrow." He offered.
"No thank you." I told him, my eyes averted from the lusty gaze I knew was upon me. He moved his hand forward and I took a step back. With his back towards Madame, blocking her view, he lunged forward and snatched my hand. He crushed it, as punishment for not taking it in the first place. I cringed.
"Come and sit with us Christine." He whispered.
The only negative side to Madame Valerius' wonderful generosity is that it extended to everyone, including the sinister man that stood before me. Frederich had been disowned by his parents. Their reasons were justified in the fact that their son drank and gambled away every sou they gave to him. His father turned him out on the street after being expelled from boarding school. Frederich somehow managed to steal money away from his parents. His father suddenly became ill and died, and Frederich kept attempting to swindle and steal more money from his now widowed mother. He had once bragged to me that it was almost a total of 50,000 francs.
Within a year of his father's death, he had gambled and spent all of his money. He came calling on his aunt, my guardian, down on his luck. He was a very good actor. The years of him conning his parents and friends had given him ample amount of time to practice. Madame Valerius took him in, giving him free run of the house. He had access to her savings and took anything he wanted.
He had made my life hell since he first came to this house. I could think of several names to call him. I could think of vile curses to shout at him. I could even imagine his death, and in what grisly manner it would occur.
These thoughts of mine frightened me.
At the opera, I was free. Free from looking around corners, free of leering glances. I worked to escape. But I always had to return.
Frederich release his grip and snaked around my side to take a spot by the warm and welcoming fire. His long arm stretched out over the mantel piece. Madame Valerius smiled, obliviously.
"Shall I call for Michelle to fetch you some coffee, Christine?" she offered
"Or perhaps some supper as well." Frederich remarked his eyes slanted under heavy lids as he addressed me. "Because I'm correct to assume…you haven't eat all day." He added.
I felt my stomach shake at the mention of food. I had rushed out this morning without any breakfast. I had only to glance into the dining area to see Frederich spread out enjoying his meal. It was a quick and easy decision to skip food to avoid whatever mean spirited words or abuses he had in store for me.
Even though my body desperately craved for something to eat, my will was stronger.
"Actually I'm not feeling too well at the moment. And I'm not hungry." I lied. "Perhaps it is the cold air. I think I should just retire for the evening."
Madame Valerius gave me a look of concern and stopped her knitting. "Are you ill, Christine? Perhaps you should have something to eat first." She insisted
"No, I'm just very tired." I explained trying to force a smile. "I'm just not use to all the hard work, I guess."
That seemed to satisfy her. She returned to her knitting. "If you say so, Christine. Have a good night rest dear."
"Thank you. Good evening Madame." I turned curtly to Frederich, in an attempt to be polite in front of my guardian. "Good night monsieur."
He smiled. "Good night, Christine."
I didn't waste any time exiting from the room. I hadn't even had time to take off my hat and I tugged it from my head as I made my way towards the stairs. As I past the doorway that lead into the dining room, I noticed the door to the kitchen was propped open. Michelle our cook had retired by this time, but always left a small candle in the pantry so we could help ourselves if we needed to. I noticed through the open doorway a bowl of fruit next to the candle.
Swiftly I walked over to it. There were mostly apples and a few pears. I palmed an apple and tucked the hand into the folds of my skirt. I turned to leave and ran into a hard body directly behind me. Its shadow blocked both the light from the hall and the one inside the kitchen.
Frederich.
"I thought you said you weren't hungry Christine." He remarked smugly.
My mouth went dry as I tried to find words to defend myself. If I ever screamed for help, he would be quick to deny it. His words ran much smoother than mine. He knew of this advantage, and took delight in my stunned silence.
"I wasn't…I only…thought." I stammered. His hand reached down to the one that held the apple. His thick fingers encased my own and he brought both hands up into plain sight. He kept bringing them closer, turning them around so my fingers faced him as he pulled them to his lips.
His tongue slid out and crudely licked my fingertips. I jerked back dropping the apple as I did so.
"Frederich, I am working hard to pay my way around here!" I said boldly, hoping my raised voice would at least alert Madame on the other side of the house. "I don't need to depend completely on your aunt's generosity, so if you don't want me to have any food from this kitchen, just say so."
I pushed both my hands at his chest to make my way around him. Normally this would have done no good, for Frederich was far stronger than me. Only this time, he laughed at my actions and step out of the way himself. I charged out and up the stairs, but I didn't even make it to the first landing, before I felt Frederich's hand again on my own. He pulled hard and I fell back against him. The force he used could have knocked us both over. I gave a small cry and was instantly silenced by his other hand covering my mouth.
It stank of whiskey and tobacco. It felt dirty against my lips. I wanted to bite it, but I already knew that fighting back would make things worse for me.
"Christine…" he whispered. His brow was buried against my hair and his lips touched my ear as he spoke. "You are being such a silly girl." He heaved. "Everything in my house is at your disposal if you are willing to pay for it."
His free hand left my month and slapped against my right breast. Pain and shame burned through me as he slapped it again than squeezed it hard.
"Please…." I pleaded.
He murmured something incoherent into my hair.
"Please let me go Frederich. I will tell Madame." I whispered my only threat.
I felt the blood rush back to my hand and arm as he released it. I tore away from his grip and only looked back when I heard a loud crunch. Frederich was leaning against the wall, a smile on his face and the apple in hand with a large chunk missing.
He wiped his lips. "For now Christine…for now."
I didn't look back until I heard the familiar sound of my own door shutting and the click of the lock.
My back against the door and my arms spread behind me, I wept despite all my stubborn command to stop. My face was hot and every tear dripping down felt like steam upon me. Normally I would try to stifle my cries, but I was now too upset to care if I was overheard. My hands flew to my jacket; avoiding the spot where I had been handled as if it might burn me. I flung it into the corner. I managed to pull myself up to my feet and make the few steps over to my dresser. There was still water left in the basin and I splashed the cool liquid onto my face again and again. Anything to make the sting of tears go away. Finally I collapsed on my bed, my throat hoarse from crying.
The walls of my room were covered in bookcases, each one stuffed full with volumes of every subject. Madame's last husband, the professor was a great music scholar as well as man who knew the priceless value of books. Many happy hours were spent in his study reading books in quite company. All that had changed when Frederich had come to live here.
Not content with any of the other spare rooms, he set his sights on the Professor's study, moving in his possessions and causally tossing other things out. At that time Madame was bedridden with another bout of illness and couldn't protest. But I did. I collected the books and challenged him about his actions. I was braver then.
He coyly remarked that this was the finest room in the house and he as part of the family was entitled to it. Even then he had turned his attentions to me as the Professor's study was right next to my room. So I moved all the books and myself up to an attic chamber. It lacked the space and the lovely windows, but it had something my old room did not.
A lock.
I fingered the key to my room that I kept hidden in a deep pocket of my skirt. As far as I knew, I had the only copy. Madame had gotten better, but because of her age she remained on the bottom floor of the house. There she slept, ate and passed her time. She had no idea what went on above her head or behind her back.
My body longed for sleep but in my mind, the morning could not come soon enough. I would leave at dawn if I had too. Anything to get out of this room, away from this house.
Away from him.
My arm snaked underneath my bed, pushing aside the blankets to reach the floor. I didn't stop until they found their way to one of my most treasured possessions. Carefully I opened the battered case and removed my father's violin.
Years ago, when Genny and I were still children, my father gave violin lesson to Raoul, the young vitcome. During the summer, the de Chagny would visit the Valerius's cottage. My father went off with Raoul to practice violin, while the Professor accompanied Genny and I on the piano, teaching us all the words to the great operas. Yet I remember one evening coming to my father's room to complain that I had been his daughter all my life and he had never once offered to teach me to play the violin.
He had laughed at my remarked, but he did not mock me. He knew that even though my true gift was my voice, I should be allowed to study the other musical arts. So every day after our lessons and our supper, I would join in his room and cradling me in his lap, he taught me to play.
I was eager to learn but still unfortunately unskilled. My father's violin was too long for my short hands and the strings hurt my fingers. I cried one time because I cut myself on them. He cleaned my wound and then in a very serious manner, placed my hands up against my face.
"Can you feel your fingers against you skin, Christine?" he asked.
I nodded then he pulled down my hands and pressed his fingers into my small palm.
"Now feel mine. Can you feel the difference?"
"Yes my hands are soft, but yours are not Papa. Your fingertips are hard...like stone."
"That is why your fingers hurt. Mine have been so use to playing the violin that they have become rough and hard." he explained.
He pulled me into a warm embrace.
"If you wish to become a great musician my daughter, you will have to learn to make sacrifices. You voice will run dry sometimes. Your fingers will crack and bleed.. But if you are truly devoted to your music, if you truly have passion, you will find these things will no longer matter after awhile. They will become a part of you and a part of your music."
Now, I raised the violin to my chin and slowly brought the bow down. I played one of the few songs I could remember from my childhood. A lullaby my father would sing to me. After a few weak repeated strains, I began to sing as well as play.
New tear found their way across my face and I gave up. I could sing that lullaby but what comfort could it bring me now. I heard my voice all day. I wanted to hear his voice again. Hear his music.
Instead I had to content myself with my pathetic soft scratching on his violin