"After your father, the famous violin player, passed on- you were left with only one option to make a living.
To work at the Opera De Populair, under Madame Carlotta.
Living in the basement of the Opera, one night while singing in what you thought...
After your father, the famous violin player, passed on- you were left with only one option to make a living.
To work at the Opera De Populair, under Madame Carlotta.
The Count De Chagney had heard you singing at a county club while passing on travels.
He was one of the opera's largest patrons, often sending women to the opera to receive singing lessons. He was attracted to the beauty of the face, not the voice.
Which was unfortunately the situation for many people who attended the opera, but not all.
Some attended the house with purpose that creators of opera intended. To listen to the beauty of the voices.
***
"Pardon me masseur, I'm supposed to see a Masseur Gerard Carrier. I believe he's the manager here?"
You had made your way to the Opera. It had taken a while and almost all of your father's savings. Which wasn't a lot of course, since working on a local farm was all one poor man could do in the country side.
The porter stood before you in a red and gold uniform, with a small gray mustache and slowly receding hair line.
"The Count De Changy sent me he said, Masseur Carrier could arrange for me to have singing lessons."
"Masseur Carrier has just been dismissed." He walked away without another word.
Apparently being a bellhop for the most successful opera lent no free time to speaking with the people who should, in the words of Marie Antoinette, "eat cake."
You watch him walk off, dumbfounded.
"Where did he find her?" A woman said, wrapped in a furry scarf. "Probably in a barn loft!" All of them snickered as they walked under the overhang, glancing back at you. "If only she knew who we were."
They all had lockets around thin necks, holding a picture of the Count.
***
Red and black fur trailed down the spiral staircase behind her. Madame Carlotta was her name and she had quite the reputation. Of a diva, is all.
"What are you waiting for?" She said in an Italian accent.
"Madme Carlotta!" Joseph Bouquetwalked along side her until she halted, annoyed by the distraction.
"One of the statesman said I should not go down there."
"Your listening to a state man? Maybe you don't want to work for me anymore at all!" She walked to the cellar door.
"No, no I do. So you want an inventory of what..?"
She opened the door with a sudden swing. "Of everything you can find down there. All costumes, all sets. I want to know exactly what it is we are inheriting."
Josephshuffled to the door and started the long decent of stairs.
Carlotta closed the door behind him, and continued on her way. The maids and workers curtsying and bowing as she passed.
***
The afternoon dragged on as you walked the outside of the Opera, thinking of what to do stranded in France.
The door boy knocked on the window as you passed, and walked around to speak.
"Maybe the new manager will help you, I can't promise you anything." Leading your dirty rag of a dress elsewhere. The sight of homeless folk wandering about would not be good for the Opera's business.
***
Mr Bouquet walked along the grate of a lighting bridge, tracing his fingers along railings. Writing down things on a pad of paper, with a pen that cost more than a full day's meals.
Suddenly, large wooden wheels started to spin. "Hello? Is anyone there?" He shouted out into the darkness.
He twirled around trying to find who had spun the circles.
Josephlooked up to the sound of a single footstep. What he saw, it could have been a man. But it was consumed by a larger cloak, where a face would rest- a skull took his place.
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The costumer yelled out in terror- and stumbled back. He would never be seen again.
