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Chapter 14
Madeline came to visit early one morning, so early in fact that I was startled from sleep by her poking me in the arm.
She apologized when I nearly fell out of the bed, but I was far too pleased to see her once more to be upset over her starting me.
Almost a week had passed since I had seen her and I missed her company more than I expected. Perched beside me, she assumed her motherly role without missing a beat and made certain I was properly fed before she rattled off her duties for the day.
"How are your feet?" I made sure to ask once she took a breath.
"Good enough for rehearsals," she said.
I couldn't tell by her tone if she was glad to be back on the stage or disappointed in returning so soon.
"My mother is sending a trunk of my brother's clothes," Madeline said, abruptly changing the subject. She took a sip of coffee and stared at me. I nodded in return, having no idea why she had shared this information.
"The clothing is for you," she said.
"Oh." I stared at my cup of coffee, which I did not particularly care for, but sipped nonetheless because I dared not hurt Madeline's feelings. "That is very generous."
Madeline smiled and shook her head as she looked me over. "I have truly missed seeing you," she said as she placed her hand over mine and gave it a gentle squeeze.
My heart swelled at her words and soft, motherly touch. Each time she paid me a compliment or looked me in the eye, I felt no different than anyone else in the world. She made me feel ordinary-and out of all the feelings I had experienced in my brief lifetime, I enjoyed feeling like an ordinary boy.
"And I have good news for you," Madeline said with a sly smile before she took another sip of coffee and eyed me over the rim of her cup.
I immediately sat up straighter and felt static in my veins. "The performance," I said, eagerly awaiting her words.
She nodded. "Two pieces of good news, actually."
"Please tell me." If she made me wait a moment longer I would most certainly implode from excitement.
"There are still rumors of a ghost in the theater, so for the time being, one of the opera boxes is out of commission. The box door was locked from the inside during the last performance, which no one can explain, so Cathedra will not perform unless the curtain for the box seats are closed and the seats blessed."
"Box seats," I said. I had no idea what that meant, however, in my mind I envisioned overturned boxes serving as seats.
Madeline nodded. "No one will go near Box Five until a priest has blessed the seats, which I heard will not be until opening night for the press. I suspect this will be used for publicity."
I didn't care one bit if I shared the box with a ghost. I merely wanted to see a live theater performance.
"And your other news?" I asked.
Madeline's smile widened. "I do believe your cousin is a patron of the theater."
Her words caught me off guard. I had all but forgotten my cousin Joshua Kimmer and now that Madeline had possibly found him, I didn't know what to think.
"A patron?"
"Yes, he has season tickets for all performances in the orchestra section, stage right I believe."
"How did you discover this?"
Madeline shrugged. "There was talk of inviting the most generous patrons to a ball after opening night as well as a special performance by Senora di Carlo at another time. He was on the list, near the very top. Why, the most prominent families are the Bernards, Prideux, and of course the Marquis de Chagny, but Kimmer was listed after our top three donors. There was a second name with it, a business partner, perhaps. I believe the name was di Cambri? Does that sound familiar?"
I shook my head. Other than my brief time spent with my uncle, I was far removed from the rest of my family.
"There is a good chance I've met your cousin before and did not remember him or perhaps he only recently became a supporter. There is a list of hundreds of patrons and of course, the secretary has the list."
I nodded and considered her words, wondering what a wealthy patron of the arts would think of his deformed, lowly cousin now living beneath the Opera House as a fugitive. I knew little of my blood relative and suspected he knew very little of me as well. Despite my uncle saying he had sent word to his son of our arrival, I wasn't sure I wanted to impose upon him, particularly if he was a top donor to the arts. It was difficult for me to imagine anyone accepting me at all, but a man of higher station particularly seemed impossible to gain favor.
Madeline frowned. "I thought you would be happier."
I forced a smile, afraid I would disappoint her. "This is good news."
Her eyes narrowed. "You do not want to meet him, do you?"
"I do not know if he would want to meet me."
Her gaze flashed momentarily to my scars and she pursed her lips. Without a word, she looked away and laced her fingers together.
"You are family," she said at last.
I wasn't certain if she meant me and my cousin or if she was referring to the relationship that had developed between us, but I did not ask for clarification. I hoped she meant I was like family to her.
When I offered no reply, she looked at me again and tilted her head to the side. "If you would like, I will speak to him first, perhaps get a better idea of his personality." She grinned playfully. "And I will box his ears if he is ill tempered or seems cruel." She made a fist and shook it with a laugh.
"When may I sit on the box?" I asked.
Madeline chuckled to herself and I felt heat in my cheeks as I realized I had apparently misspoke. "Forgive me for laughing. There is no box to sit upon. You will sit in a regular seat in an opera box. I forget you have not attended live theater before, at least not in a place such as this."
She explained how the theater was set up and gestured with her hands how there were a total of sixteen opera boxes, eight on each side of the theater.
"Who would normally have access to Box Five?" I asked.
Madeline swung her legs off the side of the bed and stood. "The Marquis de Chagny and their entire brood of children have paid for Boxes Four, Five and Six for as long as I have been here," she answered. "They could probably buy the entire theater and half of Paris if they so desired. They certainly have enough members of their family to run the city."
Her words intrigued me. "How did they come into such fortune?" I asked.
"Come to think of it, I'm not entirely certain, although I imagine for most people it's being in the right place at the right time."
"How many children do they have?"
Madeline looked at the ceiling and thought a moment. "Well, the de Chagnys have six daughters and one son, and their son Marius, the Comte, married a woman by the name of Margarita Lourette, and they have two sons, Pierre and Philippe. They look like twins, but they are three years apart. Both are very handsome," she added.
"Do you know them personally?" I asked.
"No, not at all. They are one of the wealthiest family in all of Paris," Madeline answered as though it were quite obvious. "In fact, the Marquis himself funded the entire-"
She stopped abruptly and looked away, appearing somewhat flustered. I stared at her, eyes narrowed.
"I beg your pardon?"
Madeline gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "He brings much entertainment to the city. They are quite generous, and while the family is unable to use their box seats, you could definitely-"
"Entertainment?" I asked, cutting off her words. "Such as the traveling fair?" My hands balled into fists and nostrils flared with a spike of anger that seared through me.
Without looking at me she nodded. "And Cathedra di Carlo, the Marmello sisters, our conductor, famous painters...The Marquis is a supporter of the arts and entertainment from all walks of life. I have heard he plans to donate his fortune to bring the Ninth Exposition to France. Can you believe it? Not a single person in the whole de Chagny family has the slightest hint of talent and yet they wholeheartedly support artists."
"They are the saints of Paris," I said sarcastically. Garouche had been quite pleased by the amount a benefactor had promised to pay for his show to perform a stint in the capital of France. He had a way of embellishing the quality of the performances to make it sound as though he catered to royalty when in reality the crowds were littered with street rats and their snot-nosed brats in small towns and the seedy outskirts of larger cities. What he provided was oddities, attractions in dimly lit tents that promised to horrify and intrigue.
I wondered if the Marquis had personally attended with his family-or if my own cousin had stepped foot in the tent.
Madeline rolled her eyes. "I should not have said a word." She thumped me on the arm. "And you should not be so quick to anger."
She was correct on both accounts.
"You should know the Marquis denounced the gypsies when he saw what sort of rubbish they wanted to pass off as entertainment." She paused and stared at the wrinkled bed sheets. "He heard the man running the fair was quite heavy-handed with some of the younger performers. They will not be permitted within the City of Paris ever again."
"They have been run out of many places."
Madeline did not seemed surprised by my words. "The only show worth seeing takes place right here in this building." She motioned for me to stand. "I will step out so you may dress yourself."
My eyes widened and lips parted. "Where are we going?"
"The theater, of course" she answered. "It's Sunday and most people are at church and out of the building for the day. We shall have the whole place to ourselves."
I practically sprang out of bed. Madeline giggled at my exuberance and tossed a pillow that had tumbled onto the ground back upon the bed. She walked out and promised to wait in the hall. Once I hastily dressed, I flung open the cellar door and Madeline jumped back.
"That was a swift costume change," she teased.
"I do not wish to waste a single moment."
Her face lit up. "To the best theater in all of Europe, Monsieur. Follow me."
I had no idea what to expect when setting my eyes upon the theater for the first time. Madeline led me down the servant's hall, her steps light and graceful and her face beaming even in the meager light. Once we reached the end of the hall, she paused and held her finger to her lips.
Breath held, I watched as she slipped out of the doorway. I caught a glimpse of a white pillar before the door shut, and one small peek at a world I longed to explore sent my heart racing.
"You there," I heard a male voice call. "What you be doin' here?"
Just as swiftly as my pulse quickened, I felt as though my heart would stop. Every fiber of my being turned rigid with the fear of being caught, and as much as I wanted to turn and flee, I recognized the voice and froze with my jaw clenched and hands balled into fists.
"Bouquet," Madeline said, her voice conveying every ounce of disgust I felt inside once I realized who addressed her.
"Come to see me, have ya?"
"I was looking for the Mistress," Madeline lied.
"Haven't seen her." Bouquet released a resonating belch. "Perhaps I could be of service to ya."
"I think not."
Another door opened and closed with a slam that made me jump. "Joseph!" a man yelled. "Get out of here with that bottle, do you hear me? What have I told you?"
"Sorry, sir, won't happen again," Bouquet shouted back. "I was leaving for the day."
"What are you doing here, girl?" the other man snapped.
I left my slippers behind," Madeline said. "May I search for them?"
The man let out an exasperated sigh. "You damned dancers always losing your shoes. Be quick about it! I don't want people wandering about the theater, do you hear me?"
"Yes, Monsieur Ciampa. Thank you."
Several seconds passed and a white-faced Madeline opened the servant's door, her eyes wide. "Sweet Jesus," she said under her breath. "That was not exactly how I expected this day to go."
My legs refused to work. "Are you certain we should continue?" I asked.
"No one will dare enter with Ciampa prowling around. He is the theater manager's son and if you did not guess by that brief exchange, he is not the most welcoming individual."
"What was he doing here on a Sunday?" I questioned.
"Probably looking for Bouquet. They suspect he is up to no good."
"He's still in the theater, is he not?"
"He will follow Bouquet, I think."
She motioned for me to follow her out of the hall and into the theater, and once I passed through the doorway, my mouth dropped open. The sheer enormity of the space left me awestruck and I had no idea what to take in first. The blood red curtain were partially drawn open, the shiny stage floor only partially visible. The rows of dark red seats and ornate matching carpet led to the orchestra pit and stretched back as far as I could see to several wooden double doors.
"The box seats," Madeline said as she pointed to the neat rows of compartments on the sides of the stage with their own curtains drawn.
This was indeed the gate to Heaven, I thought to myself. There were even angels painted on the high ceilings, the images aglow with the light of several small chandeliers surrounding a much larger glass chandelier sparkling high above the stage.
"Let's go up," Madeline suggested.
My mind could not process the whole theater, which was even more exquisite than Madeline had described. Mouth agape, I trailed a step behind Madeline, gaze sweeping the decorated walls in a desperate attempt to memorize each detail. Surely we traveled a path only taken by the upper echelon of Paris, each ornate detail made only for the eyes of royalty. I felt quite privileged to be in such a beautiful place, like I walked through a dream.
Three sets of stairs up, we stood before a golden braided rope with a sign that read No Admittance, which hung from the door handle.
Madeline defiantly pulled the sign from the door and entered the forbidden area with me at her heels. The room was quite dark, and had there not been a wall sconce just outside the door, I would not have been able to see Madeline directly in front of me. While I stood with my hands clasped behind my back, she pulled back the heavy black curtain and held it open for me to follow her.
"Box Five," she said.
Once the curtain closed behind me, we stood in almost complete darkness. The floor beneath the thick carpeting groaned as Madeline stepped forward and nudged a second black curtain before us open. With the second curtain open, we stared out into the empty theater together.
I truly feared breathing or moving a muscle as I wondered if this was nothing more than a dream. Wide-eyed, I drank in the ostentatious beauty of the gilded pillars, chandeliers, and expertly crafted woodwork. In my mind I filled each seat with prominent figures from around Europe dressed in their finest suits and dresses. I imagined ladies on the arms of gentleman making their way down the aisles to their seats with ushers leading the way. I could picture the conductor in the orchestra pit thumbing through music while the musicians tuned their instruments. Every inch of this building was dedicated to music and art in the grandest form. No wonder Apollo resided atop the building.
Amidst the beautiful chaos of performers and patrons, I pictured myself in a tailored suit, hair slicked back and violin in hand. Behind the heavy red curtain, a throng of actors and dancers waited for the show to start-including Madeline. I imagined her peeking out from behind the curtain and waving to me, a small gesture of encouragement from one performer to another. Home, I thought to myself. I belonged here in the swell of imagination. My heart beat faster, the music I composed in my mind curling through my thoughts.
"What do you think?" Madeline asked.
I turned toward her and our eyes met. My emotions soared and I was certain I had never experienced such elation in my lifetime. "I have never seen anything so beautiful. There are no words fitting to express how grateful I am to you for this opportunity. You have truly made me feel like a different person."
Madeline beamed as though I had paid her the greatest compliment. "When the theater is dark and the stage is lit, silence falls over the whole auditorium for only a moment before the first notes flood your senses. There is nothing in the world like the exhilarating start of a show. I never tire of that sensation."
I thought of Daae's violin collecting dust within the cellar, and the woman who looked like a basset hound in the pub where I had mustered the courage to play before a small gaggle of musicians with my uncle's encouragement. The smoke-filled tavern was nothing compared to he this theater. Not even the brightly colored tents owned by the Garouche family could ever be as grand as this stage. Indeed, not a single person who had looked at me in horror would have ever suspected I would end up here, in the Opera House.
Indeed, I could not believe where I stood.
The spotlight had been mine for months in the showcase of oddities with its garish displays. I could still picture every detail of the first time I had been chained in a small iron cage, my wrists and ankles sore from the tight shackles. My neck hurt from the heavier bindings they had placed at my throat as though they feared I would escape. Each wound was fresh from the bruises against my knuckles to the welts on my back and stomach. With my knees drawn up to my chest, I took inventory of the cigar burns along the tender flesh of my neck and crook of my elbow.
Off-key music played outside the tent, accompanied by the combined scents of different foods and unwashed bodies of performers and patrons.
The straw was wet and moldy where I crouched in the corner, hood covering my ghastly face. I had the misguided notion that if I remained still no one would notice me. I had no idea I was the final attraction of horror for the endless crowds wandering through the tents, that people paid extra for a glimpse at the Devil's Son.
White hot humiliation seeped into the marrow of my bones the moment Garouche yanked off the hood and pulled my head back. Dozens of faces stared back at me through the bars, women gasped and men cursed and spit on me for what had felt like an eternity. There were so many of them, and each one was perfectly capable of reaching through the bars and grabbing me. After several weeks of men snatching me from the ground and driving me into the bars, Garouche was forced to provide a larger cage in order to keep me alive.
On that first night, however, nothing truly prevented any number of men from doing me harm. Pain resonated through my muscles and nerves, and after several long moments of being held up before the onlookers, numbness set in. Once they were satisfied and had thrown rotting pears and tomatoes at me, after Garouche beat me into submission for their amusement, the crowds dissipated and I crawled back into the corner and placed the hood over my face, my knuckles swollen and bloody from attempting to shield myself from each blow.
I had never experienced anything so humiliating in all of my life, and well before I had recovered emotionally or physically, a new stream of onlookers flooded the tent and the horror began anew.
That first time and each subsequent performance I wished to lay beside my uncle's body, close my eyes, and never wake again. Death had to be easier than this existence, lacking pain and misery. Over and over, from morning until late at night, the endless cycle of pain, humiliation, and numbness became my living hell, my purgatory for sins I had not committed.
I lived in perpetual terror. Each day I saw the sun rise, I could not help but feel a sense of deep disappointment as I knew what was in store for me.
"Are you unwell?" Madeline asked as she took hold of my arm just below my elbow. "Your complexion is sallow. You should sit a moment."
I inhaled sharply, my hands on the ledge of Box Five as a shiver ran up my spine. Cold sweat dampened my brow, which I wiped away with the heel of my hand. Taking a step back, I blinked and steadied my breath before I realized Madeline had taken a seat and was in the midst of a daydream.
Legs weak, I sat beside her and noticed a small brass placard with an inscription bearing the name de Chagny, the very man who had inadvertently funded my trip to Paris.
Rather than anger I felt a slight sense of gratitude as I understood without his funding, I could have been anywhere else. Perhaps my desire to join my uncle in death would have become a reality, but as I sat in the theater beside Madeline, I was-perhaps for the first time in my life-grateful to be alive.
"Your eyes change color," Madeline said softly. "Did you know that?"
I shook my head, having no idea what she meant.
"They were more blue-green the moment you stepped into the theater," she said. "When you are upset they are more green. Almost jade. I noticed this after we saw Bouquet in the hall." She leaned forward, and I knew without her saying a word that my eyes appeared green again.
"I will make every attempt to keep my eyes more blue," I vowed.
Madeline grunted and ran her hand along my shoulder as she smiled at me. One soft touch and I relaxed, the horrors playing out in my mind fading at last.
"Shall we leave?" she asked.
I shook my head. "A moment longer," I said. "Please."
Madeline sat back and sighed. "I do enjoy the view from here. Ah, to be a de Chagny! They have truly been blessed beyond words."