Thank you for reading up to chapter 10!
A little about this story and its origins: I love history and Phantom. So, I wanted to see how I could combine my knowledge. I learned about Bernard Bailyn's work during one of my graduate seminars (I am an American History MA student). I wanted to apply some of the ideas I learned there onto this platform. Bailyn developed Atlantic History, focusing on the US's relationship with global networks instead of just looking within US borders. Already, you've probably clued into the fact that this story stretches across the Atlantic- Gianna's Americanness and Erik's Frenchness coalescing in Italy. If you remember the date from the first chapter, you may predict what war will happen next... The story will mainly focu/s on Erik and Gianna growing up and their relationship development, but these historical ideas have informed this story.
What's amazing about is how global it is… looking at the reader stats, people from all 6 habitable continents are reading this (thank you!) Anyway, thank you again for looking into this story. Please consider a review!
Erik
A tall, well-dressed man leaned against the doorframe. A manager? Would they connect us to the earlier incident? We were not so difficult to identify. I braced myself.
"Bravo!"
"Who are you?" I demanded in French.
He replied quickly, schooling the shock in his eyes. "No need to be so testy. I am merely a passing admirer, a fellow night owl, if you will."
"Why are you here so late?" Gi scrambled up to stand by my side. A strange feeling passed over my chest.
"I should be asking the same of you. And with a mask? One would think a criminal is in their midst."
"A singing criminal? I doubt it." Gi said.
"Ha! Quite right. You are a funny girl." I struggled to decipher the accent. It was Eastern. Hungarian?
"Thank you. It was my birthday, and my brother and I were enjoying some fun. It is well past midnight, so we will leave now."
"Leave? Why leave? With such an incredible performer, you two should be going to the réception."
"Réception? Where is it?"
"No." I held my hand out.
"But-"
"I said no." We needed to get back. Who was this ridiculous-looking man? His eyes rested on Gi a bit too long for my liking. I stood up straighter.
"You cannot say no to royalty."
Whatever game he played, I would not join. "Yes, we can, whoever you are. Goodnight." I grabbed Gi's hand, but this royal blocked the only exit.
"I can pay."
"Why would we want your money?"
"Those trousers are a bit short for you, are they not? A new pair would do nicely. And you, Signorina, perhaps more private bathing quarters?"
Gi blushed fiercely, staring at the ground.
"You have no business preventing our leaving." I made to move, but he still blocked our path. Trapped. I did not want Gi to witness violence again, but if necessity begged…
"I apologize. My manners are truly abominable. We may have started on the wrong note. Ha." At my frown, he sighed. "What you two did with Carlotta was rather funny. She deserved a good spook. Not your fault she could never handle a… joke." He smiled wide, his teeth white and perfect and with matching dimples. "My name is Prince Mikhail Alexei Vasilyev of Moscow."
"A prince?" Gi lifted her hand in greeting.
I snatched her hand back. Americans were so impressed by the slightest flourish. "He is not of the royal family- Russians have a loose interpretation of the word."
"Why so angry, monsieur? I would not lie to you."
These aristocratic airs tired me. "What do you want?"
"A smart one, I see. I will be clear. I want you to come to this little gathering. I was assigned the task of providing entertainment. She had, well, a difficult night, shall we say."
"And you want me to..."
"Sing, of course." At my reticence, he added, "The girl can come too. Birthdays are occasions of celebration, are they not? What better way to spend the night than at a lavish event? You two are certainly dressed for it."
His eyes skated Gi's body. What a slimy, pig-headed, foppish, disgusting...
"Please, can we go? It sounds so exciting! And we can find my uncle!"
"Our uncle." Why did she have to spit out every word she thought? I had never known a more open person, to my detriment in this case.
"You are seeking a family member? Ah! I am well connected here; perhaps I could aid in your search."
"Perhaps," I said, not intending to take his help. Some disgustingly floral smell wafted off of him.
Gi's eyes rounded. "Please, brother, oh please, I want to go!"
Who but Gi knew how to wring any answer out of me that I did not want to give?
"Where is it?"
"Not far, San Marco."
I sighed. "Two songs."
"Clever boy."
"I will work for no less than 50 francs."
"Very well."
Vasilyev's carriage confined us for only a few minutes. Gi attempted to talk, but I hushed her after a few basic pleasantries. She did not need to talk to him. My knee could not stop rocking against the creaky wood. I hated entering situations unfamiliar to me. And with Gi? How would I protect her if something went wrong? The pocketknife pressed against my calf. We arrived by gondola at a tucked-away villa. Its stucco detailing boasted exquisite craftsmanship, and the water lapped softly against brick, which had been scrubbed of moss and mildew. Candles twinkled through windows, and laughter drifted through the open panes. Gi's excited twitching did nothing to calm me as I clutched the soft silk of my cloak.
Vasilyev exited the gondola and offered his hand to Gi. I knocked his ringed hand out of the way, helping her myself.
The gathering bustled with patrons. I recongnized several from earlier, but to an extent, they all looked the same. Candlelight shimmered off the men's white shirts, their heavier layers discarded. Young women chatted with port glasses sloshing in their hands. One waved it wildly, spilling over another woman's beaded neckline. She stormed off, fuming, while the other fell into a velvet seat and giggled. Men huddled together, lighting cigarettes, likely their most important task of the day, as they dealt cards on small tables scattered over the rich burgundy carpet. Servants collected the delicate crystal glasses lest someone knock them over.
These were patrons? These people did not deserve such music! They could not understand.
Aristocracy.
I regretted my agreeance to sing for these fools. I turned to tell Gi as much but stopped short when her smile widened. That one little tooth snuck out, and I could not ruin it for her. She made her way into the crowd like a fish to water.
"She will be fine." Vasilyev adjusted his cufflinks, dotted with emeralds. "These are my closest friends and associates." Someone began to torture an antique violin. An Opera party, and they could not gather one musician? I said as much, my anger lowering my inhibitions.
"It is mostly ballerinas and their- how do you say, patrons," He replied.
A young girl held a much older man's neck. She blew the hairs of his mustache. His hands strayed lower, pulling on a ribbon from her dress.
"That is sick."
"That is the way of things."
"Who's residence is this?"
"Some ballerina or another." His eyes scanned the crowd like a predator. What was he looking for?
"You do not know?" I needed to get Gi out of here. I stupidly brought fresh meat to the lions' den—the utter idiocy of allowing us to come here!
"She is well known and trusted, I assure you. A Venetian institution. You saw her tonight."
"Her name?"
"Camille Laurent." Indeed, I recongnized her name from the poster earlier today. I relaxed a little at the fact that the host was a woman. I found myself trusting them unconsciously, sometimes to my detriment.
"The Prima."
"Si." After a few beats, he added. "You will sing that same song as before?"
I shrugged.
He shifted strangely. "You are in good voice?"
"What are you rambling on about? I will be fine." I waved him off. Me? Nervous to perform? The idea!
"You have performed before?"
"...Yes." If by force counted.
His blue eyes narrowed, peering down at me. The man stood inches taller than me. I longed to reach my full height if only to best him. Giovanni always said I would grow taller in the upcoming years. Growing pains bothered me regularly, but I only took them as a good sign.
"You will do well to respect titles around here, boy."
"You are no prince of mine," I replied. What did I care about Russian aristocracy? My home country's government was just as abominable.
He leaned in, grasping my shoulder and whispering, "You are lucky your voice is as freakish as whatever you hide beneath that mask. Be ready in twenty minutes."
He strolled off, kissing a dancer on both cheeks.
Asshole.
The bothersome smoke brushed the insides of my lungs. Though I would never dare complain, their sensitivity troubled me in Giovanni's cellar. The masonry did not help much, either. My proximity to fresh air healed them quickly, yet the introduction of these stuffy conditions caused them to relapse. Vasilyev's eyes reached me whenever I coughed, like an owner whose horse limped to the starting gate.
I stuck to the sides of the rooms, eager to avoid him and keep an eye on Gi. She forgot about me, probably eager to be out of my presence. She chattered with other girls her age. No men spoke to her. Good. Light reflected off her hair, causing amber rivulets to flow to her waist. She wore it loose, unlike the other girls. Their thinness accentuated her stockier build, though she was no less lovely. Even more so. Though essential to their art, their waif-like bodies only reminded me of myself.
Vasilyev tapped his ivory-handled spoon against his glass, the crystal ringing. One girl squealed obnoxiously, her patron silencing her with a loud hush. "My good friends and hostess," He raised the glass upwards. "I have brought a surprise for you. As our prior entertainment has found herself… indisposed," Several guests snickered, "I have a voice that may challenge even her." People murmured. "May I introduce," he seemed at a loss, "your name, Monsieur?"
"Erik."
"...Just Erik?" He smiled at the crowd.
"Very well. May I introduce my new friend, 'just Erik.'"
I cleared my throat. "This is for my sister, Gi, whose birthday is today."
Why did I do that? I shook my head. Gi clapped loudly, though the guests gaped silently. A few murmured, chuckling. I straightened the clasp on my cloak and opened my mouth.
It only took a few bars for their faces to morph. Not that I was nervous. The power of my face was strong, my voice stronger. The melody weaved into their ears like silk. I did not care about these people. The undeserving rich! At least the ballerinas understood the demands of music. I centered my gaze on Gi, her lips parted, one hand resting near her neck. She should have a necklace. She was missing a necklace! She deserved a necklace. Every other lady had one here; why not her?
By the end of the piece, the mustache man patted his eyes with a crisp handkerchief. I began the following piece. We all stood there, the tension thick, until I bowed. Applause ensued, but I only cared about one listener.
Vasilyev grasped my shoulder, waving his glass high.
"Fine job, Erik, my boy. Though your desire to change the song frightened me, you pulled it off rather well."
His friendliness reminded me too much of Javert, and I shivered. Someone started up the violin again. Very poorly.
"My payment."
"All about business, I see."
"Now."
"I will give you the money, child, but do not make a scene out of yourself. Come over here."
"Why?"
"It is rude to flaunt money around others. Or do you not have manners?"
I tensed. Did everyone think me so rude? Unlucky for him, I cared not. "I do. I prefer not to use them."
Looking around, he gripped my shoulder again. I shrugged it off harshly, eager to get this over with. The idiot playing the violin failed to reach the G#. The note fell flat. I ground my molars.
I forced him to count everything in front of me. When the payment met my expectations, I pocketed the bag. The continued noises grated my ears. I strode over, bumping into several people, the tobacco smoke billowing dramatically. With the money in my pocket, I felt powerful. It was intoxicating. A drunken middle-aged man with a cigarette in his tiny mouth reclined on the tufted velvet couch. His inebriation allowed me to snatch the instrument nicely.
And I played.
Unlike my earlier performance, in which I noted everyone's wary and wondering looks, this time, I played selfishly. I molded the violin to me. It had been some time. I played languidly, then aggressively. The stuffy room transformed. No one stared at me. Surprisingly, performing like this rendered me invisible. People saw the music, my talent, perhaps. But they did not stare at me, though their eyes saw my form. Instead, they looked through me.
The unkempt horsehair snapped abruptly. The music halted.
The drunken man sloshed the amber liquid in my direction. "Perhaps a bit better than this old fiddler!" Laughter resounded. "Why so tense, boy?"
"I broke your bow."
"It is no great loss. You merely put the old thing out of its misery. She had better years with me, I am afraid."
Pleased at his self-awareness, I acknowledged him. His reddened eyes shone surprisingly clear. "You play?"
"Ha! It is questionable now. Alas, I used to. The music rejected me. Or perhaps I rejected it." His swollen red finger tapped the crystal.
"Arthritis?"
"Gout." He said resignedly. "Living fast, and all that."
"Do you regret it?"
His brows shot upwards, smiling. Did my manner show rudeness?
"On occasion such as this, yes. Seeing one such as yourself sparks envy, I must admit. The music flows from you. You do not need to ask it permission. These things flare, you see?" He showed his inflamed joints. "Dreaded pain. On some days, I can. You saw my attempt. The drink helps, though." He tilted his head back, swallowing. "My physician insists it only worsens it, however." His eyes locked on a grandfather clock behind me as it rang once. The crowd's volume rose. Someone dragged out an accordion. The chambers wheezed to life. "But mostly, I do not regret it. I have lived fully, taken advantage of my birth, and met individuals strange and incredible. The food and drink were no worse either. The music was a comfort for a time, but just a vestige of this life I will leave behind."
"You sound as if you will die soon."
He smiled. "I always had a flair for the dramatic. My wife told me several times."
How could music be relegated to the dustbin? It was…utterly…absurd! To exhibit candor of this sort bewildered me. Alcoholic vapors wafted off his ruddy face. A man of average looks with no discernable features. His normality made my chest ache. Would I possess this attitude if I looked normal?
"Music is immortal. People are not."
"You have had a difficult life."
"You do now know of my life."
His eyes were scanning. It was unnerving. "No. But there is a panicked air about you."
"Maybe you are just offput by my mask."
"Maybe. Though you're anxious, looking around like the British will bombard this place."
"There's aged port and candles everywhere- would hardly help any of us."
"I will save us from any fire." I sincerely doubted that if it were the case. He swayed to the terrible melody. "But ease up. It is your sister's birthday, after all." He winked. "it would do her no good to have a brother in his doldrums."
He eyed my mask, then my cloak. "You are interested in permanence, I see. It is an illusion."
How? Humans could transcend their insignificance through art. No other way existed. Brick and mortar, stone and slab, notes on a page- that is what lasted. Flesh and bone did not.
"I will never regret music."
"No- you misunderstand. But you will regret what you did not partake in far more than you did. I helped when I could and enjoyed far more than I deserved. The music gave me what I needed when I needed it. But, once I found life- people, experiences, friendship, I realized those far exceeded music in their significance."
"Music lives forever."
"There comes a time in all our lives when we must make space for new things. Hence I give you my violin. Hopefully, you will treat it better than I did."
"Sir, I cannot-"
"Nonsense. Do you think I need to be playing that? She deserves better."
Our conversation abruptly ended when Gi waltzed through a couple leaning doe-eyed. They scoffed at the intrusion, but she genuinely did not notice. I chuckled. "Erik! That was wonderful! You sounded beautiful! I've just had the most wonderful conversation." Noting the man, she stopped, "Oh, where are my manners? Mister, uhm, what is your name?"
At her use of mister, my acquaintance smiled briefly. "No matter. Simply an Opera lover."
"Well, Mr. Opera lover, please go easy on my dear brother. He is not the party sort."
Dear
"I did not mean to intrude on whatever serious matters you two are discussing. Good to meet you, sir." Freed from the language barriers of the past few weeks, she weaseled between conversations easily, entering and exiting like a seasoned diplomat. I looked at the violin, scratched but polished.
"Music did not abandon you. You abandoned music." I accused.
"Maybe so. And maybe it is what I deserved."
Gi danced, well more like swayed with another ballerina. The light reflected off her large smile, and the room brightened. Her hand clasped the other girl's arm. They laughed loudly.
She was so good.
Music was good, too. Music could give me anything.
