Author's Note: Fondest greetings to you all. I merely wanted to remind everyone that I cannot claim any ownership on any character that you recognize here. In that light, I'd also like to add that I can claim all ownership on the characters that you do not recognize.
The Patron of the Opera – Prologue
"Bonjour, Jean-Phillipe. Brandy or a cigar?"
"What in Hell's name are you thinking!"
"I merely offered a brandy..."
The tall, lanky, young man was scarlet with rage as he paced the office floor, waving a thick musical score above his head.
"The patrons will be infuriated if our company intended to include that in our season! What in heaven's name made you even consider such a thing?"
Poligny, a middle-aged and rotund gentleman, casually leaned back in his chair nursing his glass of brandy and smoking a cheap cigar.
"I chose it because it has been the latest rage in all of the houses in Europe...the Opera Populaire cannot be outdone by the Brits now, can we?"
"But sir...Baron Harrington is British! May I remind you that he financed the production entirely from his own private funds! The London opera certainly didn't pay for the privilege to perform it; they were paid to do it! And let me not forget to mention that it was composed by an unknown and obscure composer and completed by a woman with absolutely no professional musical training! What does that tell you about the quality of this piece?"
Sighing once again at his subordinate, Poligny took another puff on his cigar, stood, and poured himself another brandy. After downing it, grimacing as it burned its way down into his gut, he turned round and fixed the other man with a glare; a glare that would've been intimidating if only he hadn't been sporting a drunk's nose and standing a head shorter than his colleague.
"I am well aware that our patrons appreciate the finer points of grand opèra, but I think that we all could do with a bit of a change for part of the season...a bit of fresh air if you will. Perhaps it would do us good to try something a little more light and pleasant than that dreadful Faust that we give each time."
"But Faust is a masterpiece!" the lanky man cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "Faust is exactly what we should be giving, not this contemporary crap!"
With that comment, he flung the score to the trash bin where the manuscript promptly came unbound. As its contents flew everywhere, Poligny made a rather comic sight as he flung himself down on his knees in an attempt to retrieve the scattered pages, spilling the remainder of his brandy over the paperwork on his desk and carelessly tossing his cigar away.
"Well, this piece may be contemporary, but it most certainly is not 'crap'. As it is, this piece has been...bloody hell, get down here and help me, you idiot...um, where was I? Oh yes, it has been recommended to me by some of the finest minds in the musical world and I refuse to be a hypocrite and not give credit...oh no! Catch that one before it goes in the hearth! There, all better now. Now where was I? Oh yes, I must give credit for talent when it is due. The Opera Populaire has a reputation to uphold and we must be always willing to acknowledge musical talent, even from the strangest sources. Now why don't you just relax a bit, Jean-Phillipe? The show will only run for a week and then we're back to Faust and all of those gloomy pieces that you love so dearly. And since Baron Hortison is funding some of the production, I don't see why there is such a problem. Surely this small show cannot be taking too much from the Opera's coffers and..."
"But that is exactly my point, M. Poligny!" Jean-Phillipe cried as he stomped his foot in anger, barely missing Poligny's sausage-like fingers. "In this contract, you've agreed to cover the costs of the costumes, sets, and almost every other fee for the opera. The only thing that Harrington - oh, and it's Harrington, by the way - is covering are the publicity costs! Why on earth did you ever sign this bloody contract! We will almost certainly be operating at a loss and that's even before the patrons begin pulling out their investments!"
Poligny picked himself off the floor in a less than graceful movement and once again, poured another brandy from his decanter.
"As I said earlier, Jean-Phillipe, it was advised that I assist Baron Huntington..."
"Harrington!"
"Right...Harriton and his lady composer in every way possible. This opera was recommended to me by a very reliable source and..."
Jean-Phillipe's angular face, which had been a bright hue of scarlet, now began to turn to a dark shade of plum as he puffed out his cheeks in exasperation.
"A reliable source?" he spat. "Reliable source! Is that what you call that bloody extortionist!"
Poligny, who had been red and panting from his exertions only seconds earlier, paled as his eyes opened wide and he began to stammer. "You must not insult the Ghost...it is ill to insult the Ghost. You should fear for your life if you do so! The Ghost knows all and he'll..."
"Yes, yes I know. The Ghost knows all. He kills all of those who defy him. The all-knowing, omnipotent Ghost to whom you pay a fortune each month! Why in Hell's name you need to pay a ghost, I will never know or understand. But to put the Opera's reputation at stake at the demand of some...some specter is ludicrous and insane behavior! I will not allow the honor of our company to be soiled by such actions. If you decide to persist in this endeavor, then you will do so alone and without my assistance. If you chose to perform this opera, I must resign my commission as your assistant."
Jean-Phillipe stood and fixed the manager with an angry and impatient gaze. Poligny looked down and sadly shook his head. Raising his hands in a supplicating gesture, he replied. "Jean-Phillipe, please...don't leave like this. This Ghost is bad business, I know, but he's right about everything. And I cannot go against the Ghost while I'm manager here. Please understand..."
"I am sorry for you, Monsieur. By all means, obey the Ghost if it suits your fancy and I hope that he never leads you to ill times. But regardless of that, I will not be around to see the end to which he brings you. Best wishes and bonne chance to you monsieur. May you have a successful season."
With that, Jean-Phillipe Marrsait took his hat and coat and walked through the door without a backwards glance. Poligny shook his head and, as liquor offers great aid to any problem, went back to his bar for another brandy. His secretary, a young woman with blonde hair, peeked into the room and whispered
"Excusez-moi, M. Poligny...will...will M. Marrsait be returning tomorrow? Oh dear!" she gestured frantically behind him. "Your desk, monsieur!"
The spilled brandy had found the cigar's flame and now several of the disorganized papers on the desk were alight. Using the first liquid at hand, Poligny tossed the contents of his glass on the flames. Later, Poligny was forced to admit to himself that strong liquor truly does not always solve every problem.
After resorting to using his wool dress coat to stifle the flames, Poligny and his secretary began to shift through the piles of half burned papers.
"M. Poligny, here's half a letter from the patron Comte De Varens...the bottom is scorched..."
"I bet that was important..."
"A missive from the Minister of Fine Arts..."
"Keep that! It is important..."
"...which is also half burned away."
"Damn...throw it away and tell him I didn't get the missive if he ever asks."
"The Opera budget and financial accounts from 1875 to the present..."
"Thank God we've got those..."
"...but we're missing records from 1875, 76, and 77..."
"That's okay, they're old anyway."
"...and we've some of 78..."
"Good, that's all we need!"
"...but January through November's papers are half burned at the bottoms and the tops are covered with the ink you threw after you threw your brandy to stop the fire..."
"Damn...throw those away then. Say they're in storage. I need a drink. What else have you got?"
"There's some of the records from this year, sir, but some of them were burned too..."
"Better yet, make up the missing parts for this year and put them in a new book. Call it Volume 2. Say that 1875-1878 are all in Volume 1, which is in storage. Hah, I am not a manager for nothing!"
"...and a letter from O.G. ..."
"Figures we'd still have that...keep it..."
"...a letter from your wife..."
"Burn it..."
"...and a letter from your mistress."
"From my 'Snugglecoups'? Hand it over! How dare you pry into my personal affairs, madame? Give me a brandy and get someone in here to polish this desk! And give me my coat too...it isn't too singed and I'm cold without the fire."
"I could build a new one for you, monsieur..."
"NO! It is not necessary...it isn't that cold in here anyway, not if I've my coat..."
Underneath the floorboards, the "Ghost" sat with a smile on his lips.
'If only I had known earlier how to be rid of him, I would've suggested that opera sooner!' he thought to himself. 'But really, Jean-Phillipe Marrsait was the most competent assistant that Poligny had employed in a long time...the company will suffer without his direction. Perhaps I should suggest someone when I speak with Poligny again; someone with as much organization but not as stubborn. Yes, that should do nicely...I shall have to think on it.'
With these thoughts, the "Ghost" or Erik, as he called himself, retraced his steps back home to his lair.
Two months later Guilliame Cusset, a surprising choice as Marrsait's successor, was appointed as Poligny's assistant and the schedule for the following season was announced. True to form, the patrons scoffed when they saw the unknown opera scheduled for a week between runs of Faust and the opening of Aida but with Guilliame's assurance and remarkable aptitude for salesmanship, none pulled their resources from the opera.
"Czarina Catrina", the first piece by an unknown American composer to be played at the Populaire, was announced to run in January of 1880.