Chapter One
France,
1881
"All ashore!" came the
much-anticipated call of the first mate aboard La Dame Blanche, a monumental ship arriving from New York
City in France. The call was echoed in
French by the second mate, for those returning home.
"Finally," on the main
deck of the ship, Jenny sighed to herself, slinging her battered sack over her
shoulder and following the mass of weary passengers crowding to get off the
accursed ship and touch dry land for the first time in over two weeks. She clung to the outside railing on the
deck, mildly afraid that one violent shove from someone nearby could send her
toppling overboard into the cold water below.
She giggled nervously. Of all of the silly things to be worried
about when entering a foreign country where she knew not a single soul and
carried next to no money in her pocket!
And had no lodgings for the night to boot! Evidently the long journey had left her just a little on the
inane side, but who in their right mind wouldn't be? She was a country girl at heart, accustomed to the wide open
spaces of meadows and fields, and had spent the past several weeks feeling
dangerously claustrophobic while trapped onboard the floating dungeon, often
confined below decks with the rest of the poor. Apparently the ship's crew had been told that the sight of the
destitute offended the more well-to-do passengers.
As if to prove that point, a nearby
woman dressed in expensive jewels, silks, and furs glanced at Jenny with an air
of condemnation, obviously outraged at having to share space with the grubby
farm-girl. Jenny met her gaze evenly
with narrowed eyes, impudently shrugging at the rich snob as though she was the
one at fault. Thankfully, before the
woman could form any kind of verbal or physical reply, the crowds began to move
towards the bridge being lowered to the docks for disembarking.
Having no specific plans, besides
getting to Paris before sundown, Jennifer took her time in getting off the
ship. Once her feet finally made
contact with terra firma she occupied herself with milling about aimlessly
through the streets of the coastal French city, admiring both the few
similarities and the many differences between her current location and the
small towns she'd encountered in the States.
Merchants were everywhere hawking
their supplies and wares and Jenny visited nearly every cart, her mouth
watering over pastries and her under-developed vanity wishing for a pretty new
ribbon or hairpin. Little shops of
every kind fringed the outskirts and interiors. There was a butcher shop with rabbit, beef, pork, and anything
else she'd ever heard of hanging in the windows, a book store with hundreds
upon hundreds of freshly-printed volumes piled high; everything from history
texts and math books to collections of fairy tales and most recent novels. Further in, tiny houses bordered the narrow
streets on either side, looking for all the world like the gingerbread concoctions
she and her grandmother used to make for Christmas. Not one house matched its neighbor in color or form; a tiny
cottage of beautiful oak with white gables and a shackled roof of dark brown
resided happily right next to a huge house of mansion proportions,
white-painted shale with purple-mauve accents and sparklingly clean
windows. Yet despite their contrasting
styles, they coexisted together in perfect harmony, as well put-together as a
Mozart symphony.
The seductive, lilting French she'd
admired in her mother's singing now surrounded her, just as melodious spoken as
it was sung. Every sight, sound, and
smell demanded her immediate, undivided attention at once. Even the dull, brown cobblestones of the
pavement fascinated her to no end. Time
flew by in record speed and Jenny soon found herself exhausted and wide awake
all at once with pure inspiration, wishing with all of her might that she had a
paper and pen handy to draw all of the sights that met her dazzled eyes.
Once the crowds had dispersed hours
later, Jenny fished out the paltry amount of money she had managed to save and
bought a coach ticket to sophisticated Paris from this charming, provincial
village. As soon as she was safely (if
anyone could call the rickety thing anything even close to safe) aboard the
carriage, excitement chased away all possible thoughts of sleep, despite the
resounding snores of her four fellow passengers.
How could anyone possibly sleep with
Paris only a two-hour journey away? she wondered. Politely refraining from disturbing her
co-travelers, she closed her eyes and mentally replayed the long and tiring
journey from Ellis Island, New York to France.
New York had not been all that
different from its nearby sister of Philadelphia; the same dirty alleys right
next to stunningly beautiful theaters or churches, the same occasionally rude
and obnoxious people, the same general disregard for the well-being of
others. She had been glad to escape her
dingy lodgings in Manhattan and board the ocean liner bound for Europe at Ellis
Island. She smiled, thinking that if she ever went home again,
there would be a rather large, completed landmark to greet her. A gift from France herself, hundreds of
people were toiling daily on a huge statue being built to celebrate the
centennial of the American Revolution and to welcome immigrants to The Land of
the Free. Liberty Enlightening the
World, they called it, although many referred to it simply as the Statue of
Liberty. That had been the only real
highlight of the metropolis of New York City.
There was pitifully little to
remember about her sea voyage and much she preferred to forget. She had been one of the lucky survivors of
the trip; several sailors and passengers had been tossed out to sea during the
violent storms of late summer and several more had died of various
diseases. For once, Jenny was thankful
for the bashful nature that had kept her away from every one else; for she had
come down only with mild seasickness early on and was spared anything more
serious. She had arrived alive and in
one piece, that was enough.
Sarah, her employer, had thought the
young seamstress insane for leaving her home and job in Philadelphia just to
travel all the way to Paris on a whim.
But Sarah was a happily married woman with a small son toddling after
her and a modest, if not wildly successful shop. She had never wondered about life elsewhere. "You've a good life here." she'd
said in her typically stern voice.
"What more do you want?"
What more, indeed? Jennifer herself didn't even know what she
sought. For Sarah's peace of mind,
she'd made up some story about wanting to see Paris with its lights and
music. Not entirely false, Jenny
reasoned; her mother's French blood filled her veins and made her long to see
Paris more than any other city in the world.
She could vividly remember the stories her grandfather had told her of
France's revolution in 1832 and of the family's journey to America later to
escape the Napoleon the Third's exorbitant rents and ruthless gutting of the
ancient city. Her paternal
grandparents' dreary remembrances of the foggy London and rainy Ireland were
somber and better left for later exploration; but Paris... Paris called to her
very soul.
Before long, Jenny couldn't help but
drift into a sound sleep, exhausted by the long journey. It seemed like only minutes later that the
horses' clippity-clopping hooves came to a stop, waking Jenny abruptly and
prompting her to look out the window, her green eyes going wide behind her
wire-rimmed spectacles. At some point
during the long over-night carriage ride, they had left the hills and valleys
of the seaside town behind and arrived in a city brighter than New York to
Jenny’s dazzled eyes. She was in the
very heart of Paris! People of all
kinds bustled everywhere; rich gentlemen and ladies in formal dress, more
shop-keepers and cart-merchants selling their wares, dirty children in rags who
picked pockets for a living.
As she thankfully extracted herself
from the ancient carriage with her heavy bag in tow, she couldn't help but
smile like a complete idiot. She was in
Paris and she didn't care that she had only six francs in her pocket and no
lodgings for the night! No cold, hard
facts could dampen her soaring spirits as she slipped right into the swing of
things, skipping down the Champs-Elyceé, taking any twist or turn that caught
her eye. Iron railing with exquisite
designs of animals or leaves and such guarded the houses of the wealthy from
any more than a look. Beyond that, the
castles that the nobility called home were even more gorgeous than she could
have ever imagined, older than any building in her entire country! Some were fashioned from solid grey-silver
stones that glimmered in the sunlight.
Others were graced with planks of painstakingly embellished planks of
hardwood, painted a bright white and decorated with gilded accents of gold.
Wandering closer to the heart of the
city, Jenny soon left behind the residential areas and came upon the one of the
countless marketplaces, like the one she'd encountered upon her arrival in
France, but far larger. She paused on a
particularly busy thoroughfare, bordered with shops and boutiques of every
kind. Dressmakers, hatters, cobblers,
bakeries, butcher shops, tailors, general stores... anything she could possibly
want could be found here. Slowly,
taking in everything, she walked down the sidewalk, devouring the sights of
wares in the window.
The dress shop at the end of the
cul-de-sac had her staring in the window like a child drooling over candy. Behind the glass was a display of an
exquisite ball gown in yards of foam green silk and ivory lace. It was a gorgeous confection with a
tight-fitting bodice with equally form-fitting sleeves that went three-quarters
of the way down the dummy's arms and ended in full swatches of delicate
Chantilly lace. The full skirt flared out in a graceful fall of frothy silk
over the petticoats and underskirts that filled it out. A gentle fall of the same lace fell to the
sides from the waist, creating a snowfall effect against the satin skirt. She'd never be able to afford it, she knew, no matter how long she
worked and there was no place she would ever have an occasion to wear it
anyway... but there was no harm in looking.
After a few minutes of intense daydreaming,
during which she imagined herself at a Royal Ball of Cinderella proportions;
she continued on her way, almost skipping back down the street and heading for
the clearly visible bell towers of Notre Dame cathedral. The sky never seemed bluer, nor the sun so
warm and bright, nor the breeze so fragrant.
This was the city of her heritage, the place that had called her from
beyond the great Atlantic... it was everything she'd ever imagined.
Soon, without even realizing it, she
was singing; her favorite pastime that didn't require papers or canvas. It was no song in particular, just a
light-hearted tune that fit her mood.
Unfortunately, she forgot that in crowded cities one must look where one
is going and, consequently crashed headlong with a grumpy-looking priest in
somber robes of black.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Father!"
she apologized in well-taught French, despite a few errant giggles, as she
helped the elderly man regain his balance.
"Humph... young woman, I
suggest you watch where you're going." the priest fixed her with an icy
look, dusting off his cassock as if her touch were polluting.
"Well, I can't watch where I'm
going if I don't know where I'm going, can I?" she smiled good-naturedly,
beginning to hum again.
"If it's singing you want to
do, then go to the Opera, woman!" the priest retorted, stalking off in a
righteous huff, obviously annoyed by the carefree foreigner.
Jenny shrugged and then stopped for
a moment, thinking.
Well... why not?
She'd always wanted to visit the Opera ever since she'd heard of its
grand gala opening six or seven years ago.
She could audition for chorus or, at the very least, become a seamstress
or an usherette. It might give her a starting
point for her personal renaissance and help her find her feet in this busy
city. After all, if she was going to
start life over after losing her family, she had to hit the ground running and
not hesitate in order to look back.
With renewed purpose in her step,
she made her way towards Charles Garnier's masterpiece, the Paris Opera
Populaire, practicing a few scales and exercising her voice as she went. No maps were needed, for her long-time
obsession with Paris had made her devour any and all information, including the
locations of important places.
Consequently, she made it to the majestic building in record time and
headed up the stairs, trying to appear undaunted by the grandeur, which was not
easy to do. For one thing, the building
was absolutely enormous! There were
statues in every nook and cranny that had even a fraction of the space
required; the Fates, angels, demons, and the traditional comedy and tragedy
masks. The grand facade was reminiscent
of the carvings of ancient Rome and Jenny felt the distinct sensations of being
flung back in time.
She shook off all increasing
feelings of invisibility and marched up to the main doors as though she'd done
so every day of her life. Once inside,
however, she was completely overwhelmed.
Opulence and elegance was everywhere!
Gilded chairs and staircases, more marble statues of the many Muses and
Fates, and rich red carpets were everywhere!
Polished mahogany gleamed as though it were winking at her in
encouragement. But a thousand gilt
mirrors showed Jenny her own dirty and travel-worn reflection.
Hmmm... maybe this wasn't such a
good idea after all. Why would any respectable place hire a dirty
street-rat from America? She hadn't
even had one formal voice lesson before, only lax instruction from her
grandfather... and that had been years ago!
The sense of not only being insignificant, but also of being observed
prompted Jenny to start edging back the way she came. Perhaps it would be better to hit the ground running on street
level rather than in the clouds. She'd
be better off going to a little tailor's shop or something similar and getting
a job like her old one; a seamstress or something.
"Excuse me, can I help
you?" a gentle, female voice asked, startling Jenny.
"Oh! Umm...
maybe. They wouldn’t happen to be holding any sorts of
auditions, would they?" Jenny asked hopefully, feeling more than a little
presumptuous.
"You're in luck; they’ve been
hurting for cast members recently and will audition at any time. There’s a few other people already
auditioning if you want to join them." the pretty young woman smiled. "Shall I show you to the
auditorium?"
"Really? Um...yes, please." Jenny whispered,
realizing that now the decision was out of her hands. "By the way, my name's Jennifer... Jennifer Black."
"I'm Christine Daae."
"Daae? Why do I know that name..? Weren't you in Faust a few months
ago?" Jenny recalled paging through one of her friend's woefully
out-of-date French newspapers and seeing the name listed.
"Why, yes... that's me."
she replied with a modest smile, her expression one of surprise. “Although I’m amazed that you could remember
me just from that. I was only in it
once.”
“Oh, that must have been wonderful…
I've never even seen an opera, much less performed in one." Jenny
openly envied.
"Yes, it was thrilling. But, if you don't mind my saying, you say
you've never seen an opera... yet, you're trying out for one?" Christine
asked not unkindly.
"Well, my mother's parents were
French and they used to sing opera all of the time. My mother even knew a few arias... I picked them up." Jenny
explained.
"Ah, that explains it. Here we are; this is the auditorium. Just hand the pianist your music when it's
your turn. I wish you luck. I'll be in the back with the rest of the
company if you want to see me afterwards." Christine offered with a friendly
pat on the shoulder.
"Thank you." Jenny took a
deep breath and headed straight into the dragon's lair, instinctively crossing
herself as she went.