I never knew Raoul's father, who died suddenly when I was only two. But it was my grandmother (strangely enough, I still refer to Raoul's mother as my grandmother) who cast the longest shadow over my early life, and over my mother's life too. This formidable, opinionated, vain and utterly snobbish woman had a huge influence over us, despite having an apartment in Paris and a sitting room of her own in the chateau. She was Veronique de Chagny, well known in the village and in Paris, and hostess of the most wonderful parties in her younger years.
She did not like Mother very much. That was clear to me from my earliest memories. Oh, she was polite enough and tried to teach her a few "accomplishments" such as embroidery, but her politeness was always accompanied by a condescending tone of voice, which irritated me.
"It can't be easy for you dear; you're not used to such a fine style of needlework. You're more used to darning your clothes, aren't you?"
She always gave Mother such a contemptuous look behind her back, a quick up-and-down glance which could wither the leaves on the trees. Every dress Mother chose to wear was the wrong one, her hair could always "do with a little trimming", she must hold her teacup this way, not that way, she must not read those silly novels any more... endless criticisms and fault-finding, sometimes well intentioned, I'll admit, but usually delivered in that patronising voice and with that fake smile that never reached her eyes.
She loved me, but that was when everyone thought I was Raoul's son, and the heir to his empire. My cynical side has long since realised that Mother had provided this heir and must therefore be tolerated, against Grandmothers' better judgement. I wonder what would have happened if I had been a girl? She did not hide her contempt for her son's choice of wife either. More than once I accidentally heard her criticising Mother to Raoul.
"A dancer! I still cannot believe it. Honestly, Raoul, you may as well have run away with the scullery maid!"
I thought of Marie, our plain, dowdy looking scullery maid and tried to stifle a giggle at the thought of my father running away with her. But then, thankfully, I heard him trying to stand up to her: "Mother, it has been seven years, and you need to accept that Christine and I are married! " I could just imagine the expression on her face.
"And anyway" he reminded her, "You like opera! And ballet too – you were always going to some kind of production when I was a child."
"Oh yes, I like ballet. Indeed, I like ballet dancers – but on a stage, not at my dining room table!"
And that was the end of the argument.
But it was clear. Raoul may be her son but he had embarrassed her by bringing home an "unsuitable" bride, thereby bringing shame on the family. And she never let him forget it. Nothing he ever did was good enough after that. His sisters had managed to marry well, she reasoned, so why couldn't he? All the eligible young women in the area! All that his father had told him about the importance of marrying well! She harped on and on to him about his wife, and indeed, other subjects too, and he would often just leave the room in despair, heading straight for the drinks cabinet.
Mother never once complained; at least not in my presence. Whenever I sought her out to sing with me, she was always cheerful and eager to join me. But by the time I was eight, Grandmother was finding reason to criticise this too. Well, she needed a new subject I suppose.
"Gustave is spending far too much time with you, Christine. He needs to spend more time with his father. You'll make a right Miss Nancy out of him".
"He enjoys his music, Veronique. We both do.."
But the older woman was determined and spent a long time in Raoul's study, persuading him to see her side of the argument. Probably for the sake of a quiet life, my stepfather agreed to take me hunting.
Now this was the last thing I wanted. I loved all animals and could not bear the thought of chasing some terrified fox or rabbit for miles until it was utterly worn out and torn to pieces by dogs.
"Please, I don't want to go" I pleaded with Mother, who realised that I was too young for such an activity.
"He'll be at the back with Baron de Roquefort, he won't see anything", Raoul assured her. But I pleaded with them both and eventually Mother won the argument.
When Raoul's friends and neighbours arrived, for it was a large hunting party, they teased him about the fact that I preferred playing the piano and singing to their kind of pursuits.
"What kind of boy are you raising, de Chagny?" the Baron laughed. I did not like the Baron. He had a loud voice, always slapped me hard on the back when he met me and laughed too loudly at his own jokes. "That wife of yours will ruin him, you know! I couldn't wait to go hunting at his age!"
He laughed again as I dutifully came towards where he was sitting, shook his hand and greeted him as I had been taught, but I could not wait to get back to my music.
Later on, there was a huge argument in Raoul's study about the day.
"He's far too young for something like that!" my mother protested.
But my stepfather was determined to show some backbone in front of his domineering mother and immediately argued back.
"He needs to spend time with other men and to at least show an interest in such events. He will be hosting these parties when he is older, after all! He must get used to the way we live!"
But thought of hosting parties for people like the Baron did not appeal to me in the slightest.
I had nothing in common with Raoul's friends or their children. The girls I met at Mothers' friends' houses were silly, giggly little things who talked incessantly about dolls and their latest dress. The boys laughed at their music teachers and looked forward to becoming the lord of the manor, or joining the army, or studying for the professions. More than anything, I wanted to be a musician or an inventor. Or perhaps an explorer.
When one of the boys of my acquaintance heard me composing, during a visit to our home, he asked me sullenly,"What tune is that?"
"Just something in my head" I replied distractedly.
"In your head?" he sneered. "You're so strange. Why are you always playing that stupid thing? It's not even time for your music lesson!"
"I like playing the piano. Sometimes notes will just... come to me. From nowhere. Or perhaps from somewhere deep inside.. And I have to play them, to put them together. It's strange but I can't control it.. "
My voice trailed off and I looked up to see my companion staring at me as if I had grown an extra head.
Even Louis thought I was strange, when I tried to explain this to him. He was fun to play with but he never understood what went on in my mind, all the strange melodies that haunted me, unlike anything else I had ever heard.
More than anything, I wished my father would share my love of music. Once when I was playing I caught him looking at me strangely. Suddenly he cleared his throat, shuffled uncomfortably and rose to leave.
"Father, come and play this tune with me", I asked him.
"You know I can't play the piano, Gustave"
"But I'll teach you!"
"I have some business to take care of in the study. P-perhaps later."
As he left, I realised that he was not merely uncomfortable but scared. But why? Why wouldn't he let me show him a few simple notes? I wanted desperately to share my favourite pastime with him, for us to do something creative together. But he would never even listen to me sing or help me design a toy – another ambition of mine. He was more interested in going to his club in Paris or playing cards with various friends of his, particularly in the two years before everything ended.
Even these so-called friends often teased Raoul about his bride. I now realise that he lost a lot of friends over his marriage and endured negative comments from the ones who remained. Having to constantly defend himself, both at home and elsewhere, must have been draining. More often though, they teased him about me.
"Where did you get Gustave from? He's nothing like you, is he? Such a strange child. In a world of his own" they would remark.
Perhaps I was. But I was hungry – hungry for adventure, to create, to explore. Whether it was buildings in Paris or the forest adjoining the estate, the world outside fascinated me. At night I would gaze out of my bedroom window. The world is so different at night, cloaked in darkness. The moon, the stars, the stillness of it all… And yet not all life is still. Some creatures only come out at night, and that too intrigued me. I dreamed of sneaking out of the house one night, alone, to visit the forest and watch the foxes play together in the moonlight, or see badgers, or hedgehogs. It was a secret dream of mine for as long as I could remember. It awakened such a deep longing in me that I could not explain, and fed my endless fascination with the darker side of life.
Animals were another thing that I loved. Injured kittens, stray puppies, even my pony, I felt drawn to all of them. I hated seeing an animal or bird suffer. In addition to hunting, Raoul would sometimes go shooting with the gentlemen of the area, and that was another activity I hated. I cringed as I heard the gun go off, even if it was from a distance and ached for the bird that had fallen to the ground, a mess of blood and feathers. I was glad when this took place on another estate, for not only was it distasteful to me, I hated having to endure the Baron and his raucous laughter.
Even the Eiffel Tower, so hated by Parisians, fascinated me. "How was it built?" I would ask Mother. "How did the man who built it make it so tall?" "Why is it that shape?" "How are all the girders put together?" Poor Mother!
"I'm not sure, darling. Perhaps your father will know" she told me kindly. But my heart sank at those words, for I knew he would either have no interest in the matter or no patience to explain it to me.
Mother was wonderful in the way she read to me at night or told me her stories. But she had only a scant education and often seemed baffled by my questions. She was certainly not ignorant either, as Madame Giry had taught her girls all she knew about the various pieces of music they danced to, and about the lives of the composers. She also encouraged them to read "improving" novels, which always featured characters that learnt valuable "moral lessons" over the course of the story. In any case, Mother always tried to help, by asking Prof Chapelle to explain something to me or perhaps finding a book about the subject in question in Raoul's study.
"You are such a special little boy" she would tell me admiringly, as she listened to me play or after I described my lessons to her. And yet, although she always showed an interest in the books I was reading, she must also have felt that I was soaring up to heights where she could not follow.
As well as parties and balls, my mother had to be "at home" to the other ladies of the parish, all the bored wives of local aristocracy and gentry who were not quite sure how to relate to her. Some were like Grandmother, others were awkward and embarrassed around her and others, I'm glad to say, made attempts to be friendly and were actually interested in her past. Madame de Laurent was, unfortunately, of the first category and I have yet to meet a more spiteful woman than she.
I think I was about eight when this particular incident happened. I had been summoned to the drawing room after my lessons to play for our visitor. When I finished and stood from the piano, she applauded and praised me gushingly, calling me a "wonderful, wonderful boy". Mother, of course, was as proud as ever. I sat down again on the piano stool as they chatted, waiting to be excused, but soon Madame de Laurent had launched into a tirade about one of her new maids who was apparently completely useless and I was forgotten. So I just sat there, staring at the floor and trying not to eavesdrop.
The maid, Agnes, entered with tea and dainty biscuits. She seemed distant and put the tray down clumsily, making a clattering noise. The biscuits slid off the plate on to the tray and a little tea spilled from from the teapot.
"I-I am very sorry, Madame", she muttered.
I knew her mother had died recently and that she was not her usual self at the moment. As she attempted to lift the teapot, Christine replaced the biscuits on to the plate and wiped the spillage with a napkin.
"It is all right, Agnes, please don't worry. We will pour the tea ourselves."
"Thank you, Madame", she replied, her voice more steady this time, before leaving the room quickly.
"Such an incompetent girl", Madame de Laurent remarked contemptuously. "She took so long to bring the tea too. You need to take a firmer hand with your servants, Christine. There is no respect for us any more"
"Oh, Agnes is usually very efficient-"
"Usually" is not good enough. We have the same problem among my staff and I don't tolerate it. Servants nowadays think they are your equal, that they can practically sit down with you at the dinner table. It wasn't like that years ago."
She sipped her tea with surprising delicacy before resuming her diatribe. "When my mother was a child, her father took a whip to the stable boy's shoulders, for his impudence. He was never impudent again, let me tell you. Of course you can't do that these days, can you? They'd go straight to the local constable."
"Indeed..."
I was shocked at this story. And even more shocked by the way my mother seemed to accept it. Later, when our visitor had left, I made my way to the sitting room, lost in my thoughts, where I began playing half-heartedly with my tin soldiers. I could hear Mothers' rapid footsteps as she made her way down the carpeted hallway, after seeing off her "friend". She entered the room, quickly closed the door behind her and, to my surprise, thumped her fist on the wall!
"Horrible, horrible woman!" she snapped. "How I didn't tell her to -"
Then, seeing I was watching her, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and slowly resumed her usual composure. With a smile, she asked me what I was playing. Back to normal, in other words. But for just a moment I had had a glimpse behind her mask…