September 17th 1892: Erik
On the journey to the opera there was only one question on my mind: Did Christine know what made me worried? When we had been at the table, I had sometimes had the impression that she knew about everything. After all, she had taken my hand and muttered: ´It'll be all right´. It was possible that it had referred to something else, but I couldn't imagine what that could have been.
Somehow she must have known I had overheared her conversation with her friend. Well, given the fact that she was aware of my excellent hearing, that was hardly surprising. Yet even if she had noticed I had eavesdropped on her, could she also know my thoughts about the subject? Could she sense my worries about not being good enough for her? And if she could, what did it mean for me?
I threw her a sideways glance, and she leaned against my side, snuggling up to me closely. Involuntarily I gave a content little sigh. It just felt too good not to enjoy it. Perhaps I would disappoint her, but that moment hadn't come yet. In the minutes while we drove to the opera I was simply happy. And since that didn't happen too often, I had to make the most of it.
When we arrived at the front of the opera, I gave the butler a sign to continue to the Rue Scribe entrance. The absence of the chorus girls meant fewer curious people than usual, but I couldn't afford to be careless. Entering the opera through the main entrance with Christine and Philippe could have caused a scandal. It was not as if I'd mind a scandal – I had been part of more than one – yet I had to consider my beloved's reputation.
I left the coach first and helped the two others out as well. Briefly I discussed with Jacques at which time he'd fetch us. I told him to drive straight home and make sure no one had opened a door or a window in the meantime. Then we approached the entrance. I was about to pull the key out of my pocket when I had an idea.
"Why don't you open the door, Philippe?" I suggested.
"With the key or without it?" the boy gave back, his smile telling me that he already knew the answer.
"What would be the point in doing it with the key?" I asked. "Anyone could do it like that. Show your mother what you've learned."
And that was what he did. Without hesitation he took out the small, wire-like object I had given him for such occasions and started working, slowly and methodically. Not even ten minutes later the door was open. Philippe turned around and gave us a triumphant smile.
"That was amazing, my boy!" I exclaimed. He had never been able to do it that quickly before. Admittedly that door wasn't very hard to open, compared to a few others inside the building. Still it was a very good achievement for a child.
"Yes, that was… amazing," Christine murmured, yet her voice gave away that she wasn't impressed at all. I couldn't understand her. Didn't she see what a talent her son possessed? Didn't it make her proud? It certainly made me proud. I felt closer to my boy than ever as we made our way into the opera, Christine following us.
I had been right: The fact that there was no rehearsal for the dancers didn't change a lot. The same people as usual rushed through the corridors, muttering to themselves or shouting instructions to those running behind them. Yet what I had initially thought to be a disadvantage was actually rather positive. No one paid attention to us. Seeing Philippe and me together was completely normal by now, and nobody stopped long enough to recognise Christine, let alone to wonder what she was doing here.
"What a lesson will we have today, Uncle Erik?" the boy asked.
""I haven't made up my mind yet," I replied. "It depends on what is going on here at the moment. If nothing interesting is happening, we'll go down to my house and study there. Your Maman could also get a cup of tea. But let's have a look around first."
The others nodded, and we continued our way to the heart of the building, the stage.
We hadn't seen any people with obvious eachaches yet, so I assumed Signora Marchesi had not started singing. I heard the faint sound of the orchestra, growing louder with every step we took. Then the sound stopped, only to start again a moment later. The orchestra was indeed practicing. I soon recognised the piece as a part of the second act of the current opera, and it still didn't sound much better than on the first night. I'd have to write a note to the conductor soon.
Yet at the moment I had other things to do. Writing notes was an excellent pastime for evening spent alone, but now I had company. We made our way past all important rooms and places at a leisurely stroll. Again, nothing happened that could have caused gossip. The people who walked past us either didn't notice us at all, or else they saw me first and chose not to have seen anything.
While we were walking, I pointed out various things to Philippe: tools that were lying around carelessly instead of having been put away properly, two stagehands smoking behind the stage. It were little things, yet I hoped they'd help him develop a sense of what was important. Even those little things could cause accidents which could ruin the opera. At the moment my boy was still too young to see those big connections, but one couldn't start early enough.
Philippe seemed to be very interested in everything I showed him. Antoinette was not the only one who was a pleasure to work with. Both children had a thirst for knowledge that amazed me. Yet Philippe had a certain quiet that made him even more appropriate to become my heir. I myself did have the ability to speak up, but I only did so if it was necessary. Sometimes being the quiet observer was very good as well.
My only worry was Christine. She was walking next to me, yet it seemed as if she'd have rather been somwhere else. I couldn't even tell whether she was listening to my explanations. Every now and then I tried to make her join the conversation, but my success was limited. A brief nod or one or two muttered words were the only response I received. Perhaps I should have tried harder, yet at the moment Philippe was my pupil. It was he I had to teach.
After about half an hour we came close to the stage again. By now, the sound of the orchestra had died away, which was good given the fact that the old mistakes had still been audible. Instead, there was obviously someone sitting at the piano now, doing a couple of warm up exercises for his fingers. Since the player would certainly not be needed to accompany the dancers, this could only mean one thing: The diva would start singing soon.
"I guess Signora Marchesi will begin to practice any moment now," I told the others. "Would you like to listen to her a little? Sometimes pleasure comes from feeling superior to others…" I winked at Christine. Maybe this would make her more cheerful. I was even willing to make a few rude remarked, just to see her smile. Of course that would have to happen in a very low voice, so that Philippe wouldn't hear it. That was not the kind of thing I wanted him to learn from me.
Christine shrugged.
"Yes, we could do that," she replied in a voice that sounded far from excited. Yet I wouldn't give up that quickly. I was determined to cheer her up. Quickly I pulled open the door leading to the auditorium, bowing deeply as she walked past me. Yet she didn't even seem to notice it. No smile appeared on her face, no friendly word came over her lips.
I led the others to the first row. Box Five would have been more comfortable, yet for just a few minutes this would be enough. A moment after we had taken our seats Signora Marchesi entered the stage. She wore a bright blue dress and had wrapped herself in a scarf that was just a shade lighter. I couldn't help feeling reminded of the chorus girls' blue faces and chuckled slightly. Philippe on my left side gave the same sounds, yet Christine's face remained serious.
Since the pianist had just made a break, we could be heard rather well in the empty auditorium. The diva marched to the front of the stage and peered down at whoever dared chuckle about her. Her eyes narrowed.
"You…" she said.