"As I said, it’s little more than gossip. But I know Philippe, and he would not have mentioned the tale if he did not believe there was some truth in it," I replied, offering a teacup which was silently declined.
"So Auguste Lefčvre grows weary of the theatre. That could prove rather annoying," he scowled.
"I’m surprised to hear you say that. You’ve no more love for him than I."
"Granted, but I don’t relish the idea of having to break in whatever fool he chooses to succeed him." He began to pace the room, his restlessness indicating his concern.
"You never know. Perhaps Lefčvre will select someone competent enough to manage the Opera without your aid."
"And maybe I’ll turn into a handsome prince," he replied sarcastically. "But there’s more to the issue than authority. If Lefčvre selects someone who’s determined to be independent, the…compensation I’ve been receiving would be in jeopardy."
The salary…I hadn’t thought of that. If Erik didn’t get his twenty thousand francs a month, he might not be able to recompense me for my services. The money I’d already earned from him had been well invested, and at that time could easily have done without. But instinct told me that if I refused payment he might consider it an act of pity and would be offended. "At any rate, it’s too early to do anything about it," I concluded.
"True. Keep your eyes open, though…if Lefčvre is thinking of selling out, he’ll have a few prospective clients poking about the place." He drew his cloak around him, signifying his intent to leave. "Don’t expect to hear from me—"
"—Until after the first of the year." Once again I felt that mixture of guilt and sorrow as I wished I could invite him to share our table at Christmas. But even if I believed Erik would set aside his pride and mistrust long enough to accept the offer, there was Meg to worry about. I never for a moment forgot how dangerous Erik could be, and it seemed the less my daughter knew of the whole affair the better. And so I held back the aching regret that would dampen my holiday cheer… "Good day, Monsieur. If I hear anything more, I’ll be sure to let you know."
He laughed softly. "If Lefčvre does mean to retire, I hope the new management has no intentions of bringing in a new mistress of ballet." A glitter of mischief flashed through his eyes. "I should be quite incensed with anyone who tried to replace you."
I kept my ears attuned to the backstage gossip, but for the moment the tale of Lefčvre’s prospective abdication remained just that. Which suited me just fine, for I had my hands full as it was. One of the dancers in the chorus had made herself a nuisance from the moment she signed her contract: defying authority, bullying the younger dancers, and setting the girls against one another. All my previous attempts to quell her rebellion had been in vain, as had my pleas for her dismissal. Furthermore, with the turning of the year came the annual change of guard in the company as new dancers came in while the older ones moved on to other projects. There was a mountain of paperwork to attend to, and with Philippe away most of it ended up on my desk. I had only begun to make sense of the pile when a knock at my office door interrupted me. It was soon followed by Meg and the fellow who oversaw the storage and dressing areas—Jean-Luc, I think his name was.
"Please, Madame," he said in the respectful tone that my age and position seemed to demand, "but Miss Meg informs me there’s been a bit of trouble with dressing-room assignments. One of the girls has no roommate."
"Unless I’m mistaken, we have an even number of dancers," I replied, not bothering to glance up from the contract in my hand.
"Indeed we do, but…well, the thing is, Violette commandeered one of the larger rooms and convinced two of the girls to room with her, leaving one girl stranded. Nobody told me about the whole affair until your daughter came to me, and we thought you might offer a solution."
"Violette," I spat the name with vehemence, "I might have known." I set the papers aside looked at the two of them over my folded hands. "Have none of the other girls offered to give her a place, then?"
"I did," Meg piped up, "But she said it wouldn’t be fair, I was a principal and I had a right to my own room. I told her it wouldn’t matter to me; I don’t take up all that much space…" She shook her head, her jaw setting in anger. "I’m not sure, she doesn’t talk about it much, but…I don’t think this is the first time the other dancers have made trouble for her."
"A new girl? Rather shy and quiet, not given to gregariousness?" Meg nodded in response. "The sort of person Violette delights in making a target of, I fear. Where is she now?"
"Outside. I’ve tried to get her to talk to you, but when she wouldn’t I decided to go to Jean-Luc."
I snorted. "Am I such an ogress that the child fears to come into my presence even when she’s been wronged?"
"Oh no, Mama, nothing like that! It’s just…there’s something rather resigned about her, as if she’s given up on happiness altogether."
"I see." Reticence is not a helpful trait in our profession, and I felt an instinctive empathy for this girl who sounded so lost in this harsh world. "I think I should like to speak with her alone, if you don’t mind. What is her name?"
"Christine Daaé."
Daaé…where had I heard that name before? "Show her in, please."
Meg and Jean-Luc left the office, and after a muted conversation behind the door, it opened again to admit a dark-haired girl about a year or two older than Meg.
I remember the first thing that struck me about her was her rather unique air. She certainly was not the vivacious sort of person who most often enters the theatrical profession, but neither did she have that quiet arrogance that I’d observed in more solitary performers. There was something ethereal about her, a combination of her delicate bearing and distant eyes that suggested she was attuned to mysteries unknown to most mortals. In a less enlightened time people might have thought her enchanted, or perhaps a witch herself.
"Come in, Christine," I beckoned her forward. The name Daaé had been nagging me with its familiarity, and I finally matched it to the memory of a quietly passionate man with gray-green eyes much like those now before me. "Are you by any chance a relation of Josef Daaé, the violinist?"
"He’s—that is, he was my father," she whispered, the shimmer of unborn tears in her eyes.
I was taken aback by her sorrow. The man had passed away nearly three years ago, if I wasn’t mistaken; surely her grief should be less intense by now… "I’m sorry," I said for lack of better comment. "Meg and Jean-Luc tell me you’ve run into a bit of difficulty with the room assignments."
"I’m so sorry, Madame…I never meant to cause you trouble—"
I cast a bemused glance at her. "And whatever makes you think that the affair is your fault?"
"Because it is." Her voice, soft and uncertain though it was, had a distinct vibrancy to it.
"I’ve never gotten on well with people my own age. Once or twice…but generally I just can’t seem to manage it. I do try, Madame, really I do…but I just can’t talk to them, I always feel the things they speak of are silly or—" She colored unmistakably. "I probably shouldn’t say…"
"Inappropriate?" Shock passed across her face and I laughed. "My dear, I was treading the boards before you were born. I know all too well the sort of topics backstage conversation can run to." I leaned forward, a sympathetic smile touching my lips. "You mustn’t believe that just because a ballet chorus must be uniform onstage, that means they must conform in every matter off of it as well. Nobody expects you to follow the crowd against your own inclinations—Meg, for example, seems disposed to like you as you are."
"Meg’s too kind altogether," she demurred. "But it’s more than that. Mme. Giry," she looked pleadingly at me, "you’d tell me if something was wrong with me, wouldn’t you? If—if I were clumsy and weak and didn’t belong in the ballet, you’d say something about it?"
I frowned. "Christine, have the other girls been saying such things to you?" She didn’t reply but the misery in her eyes told me I had aimed true. "You should have come to me about this," I continued sternly. "The others have no right to make those insinuations. You have as much right to be here as every other girl; otherwise, you would not be here at all."
"Sometimes I wonder if there was a mistake during the auditions…after all, I don’t fit in here…"
Such abject diffidence! I didn’t know whether I wanted to embrace her or shake some strength into her spine. The poor child didn’t appear to have an ounce of self-worth within her; it was a miracle she’d made it to the Opera at all. She needed something to bolster her strength, a way to banish her fears and give her respite from the intense scrutiny she imagined.
And I had an idea on how to do it. "We do not make mistakes here," I informed her, and summoned Jean-Luc and Meg back into the office.
"Monsieur," I addressed the former when he entered, "is room one-twenty-six still unoccupied?"
"Yes, of course," he said with surprise, "but—"
"Good. I think it shall suit Mlle. Daač quite well." Christine gasped and looked at me in confused amazement.
"Well, if you think it’s best, but…" he came close and moderated his voice so the girls wouldn’t hear, "…you know what they say about that room…"
"Of course I do, and it’s unwarranted. Make the arrangements, please."
Jean-Luc gave me an I suppose you would know that look and sighed, "Very well, Madame," leaving me with Meg and Christine.
"Madame, you really shouldn’t," Christine said. "I don’t need my own dressing-room, and besides the honor should be reserved for—"
"Let’s have no more of that talk," I admonished. "If none of the other dancers will willingly room with you, then this is our only logical alternative. The room in question is off by itself, I’m afraid, and not on the wing where most of the ballet chorus is quartered. But it’s quite comfortable, and I think the privacy will do you some good."
"The girls are going to be a bit angry about this, I fear," Meg postulated.
"I think they would be angry regardless of what I did, but that is beside the point. If they’re displeased with it, they have only their own selfishness to blame, and I intend to make sure they understand that."
"I don’t know how to thank you," Christine murmured, modestly casting her eyes down.
"You can start by believing me when I say you’re not here by accident, and you shouldn’t have to suffer cruelty from your peers."
"Come on, then," Meg said as she coaxed Christine out of the chair, "I’ll help you get your things in order."
"Thank you." Christine paused, then turned to me with pensive eyes. "Mme. Giry, that man looked rather peculiar when you mentioned the dressing-room…"
"Oh, that. A bit of a superstition, I’m afraid. There was an unusual incident in that room a year or two back, and the rumor started that the quarters were unlucky. But don’t worry about it," I added gently, "I can assure you there’s nothing there that need concern you." Actually, this was only a partial truth. The dressing room did have one distinction: the mirror within concealed one of the many secret passages Erik used to navigate the Opera unnoticed. The "incident" in question involved a dancer who had decided to ignore the interdiction on men in her quarters, and invited her patron there for a tryst. Unfortunately, Erik didn’t know the room was occupied, and…I’m not entirely sure what happened, but the girl demanded new accommodations, her lover went elsewhere for his entertainment and Erik refused to discuss the event altogether. As I left Christine in my daughter’s capable hands, I made a mental note to warn Erik of the arrangement, so that he wouldn’t catch another girl unawares.
Please, monsieur, spare me your accusatory glances! I chose to assign Christine that room because it was large enough to make her feel comfortable and welcome, and simple enough to prevent excessive jealousy from the other dancers. I did not, even unintentionally, spark that chain of events which engulfed our lives. That came soon enough on its own. And if I hadn’t chosen that particular room for Christine…well, in all honesty I don't believe it would have made any difference. Erik would have found another way. He always did, you know.
Go on to Chapter 11
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