"Goodbye, my little flower. I shall be gone only a few hours." Father said as he tugged on his coat.
"Where will you be going?" I asked as I cleared the table from our supper plates.
"Out for a drink. I won't be gone very long." I quickly put the plates aside to clean them later, then joined Father at the big wooden front door. "I'll see you in a bit, little one." He said before kissing my forehead. He took a few steps out the door, then stopped himself and turned to face me. "And remember: don't touch my violin."
"I know." I said quietly as I cast my eyes down.
"Good girl." He turned around again and walked out of the house. I shut the door before continuing to clear the table.
Once that was finished, I quietly walked over to Father's room and opened the door. Though I knew there was no need to be quiet as I was alone in the house, I always walked that way to Father's room purely out of habit. I reached for the candle that was kept on a table by the bedroom door and silently lit it. While holding the candle, I walked over to the violin case that was kept by Father's bed. As usual, I ignored the "Do Not Touch" note he always kept on the case.
I took the violin case back to my bedroom as I was more comfortable there and lit a lamp with the candle. I sat on my bed and opened the case and the violin's beautiful polished wood greeted me. I carefully took out the violin and bow. After carefully tuning each string, I eagerly put the violin on my shoulder. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pretended that I was performing in front of hundreds of adoring people. I put my fingers into position on the strings and skillfully began to play. Of course I was not as good a musician as Father, but I had been practicing for many years without his knowledge and have become very good at playing it. I would never tell Father, though.
Once I was satisfied with my playing, I carefully put the violin back in the case and in its proper place in Father's room. I blew out the candle after lighting more lamps around the house as the sky grew darker by the minute. I sighed to myself. Though I felt horrible for lying to Father all these years about his violin, it felt good that I was skilled at something.
I remembered with distaste of when Father had forced me to attempt many performing activities for women such as singing, dancing. . .even just acting. I was not even remotely good at those things. Even to this day I was inadequate in those areas. I knew that Father frequently wondered why I received no skills from my mother. She was a proficient singer and even performed at the grand Opera Populaire. She had tried to teach me how to sing, but did not force it upon me when it was revealed I was not good at it nor interested in it.
So Father would play his violin, Mother would sing along, and I would watch.
Father was very good at what he did. He also worked at the Opera Populaire and continued to work there to this day. Mother and Father would oftentimes remind me that they had met through work. They had made it sound so romantic that when I was younger, I would dream of meeting a man through work just like they had. As I've gotten older, I've realized how unlikely that would be. In order to meet a man at work, I first had to figure out what I was good at in order to get some work. Sure, I was good at the violin—great even. But who would want a woman to play for them? All the positions in orchestras were always taken by men. No one wanted a woman to play for them.
I supposed it did not matter anyway. No one knew I could play the violin well. Not even Father.
I start washing up the plates and utensils from supper.
"Bring me more tea, Emilie." Father grumbled as he sat at the kitchen table, eating his breakfast the next morning.
I stepped away from the stove and brought over the kettle and poured more of the hot beverage into his cup. Then I did as I did every morning. "Father?" I asked.
"Hm?" he grunted in reply.
"Is there any news about the Opera Populaire?" I was always fascinated by the opera house and always loved visiting the beautiful building. Although, I hadn't been to the Populaire in a long time.
Father pondered over the question and set down his fork. "No. . .I don't think there's any news." he said in a gruff voice.
To my dismay, that was his usual response. As much as I hated to admit it, I was entranced by the mysterious stories Father shared with me about the infamous Opera Ghost that resided at the Opera Populaire. I couldn't help but be mystified by the fact he was never seen by anyone, but could make such frightening events occur. How could someone be murdered or severely hurt and yet never catch the culprit? Perhaps he really was a ghost.
Father took a long drink from his cup and set it down again a few seconds later. "You know, there is some news, Emilie. . .Big news actually."
I stopped cooking more of the breakfast and immediately joined him at the table. "What is it?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager. Being too eager would only make Father annoyed and make him not want to share the news. I knew he was even more on edge this morning because he had been drinking last night.
"Auditions will be held in two days for musicians, singers, and dancers. Old Monsieur Lefevre, the owner of the opera house, has retired and two new owners have come. They want everyone to audition again and newcomers may audition as well." he said slowly. He gave a smug look as he said, "I won't have to audition again. Monsieur Reyer, the conductor, says he will secure a job for me because I am his best violinist."
The news took me by surprise. I would have never guessed that Monsieur Lefevre would have sold the grand Opera Populaire. Well. . .he was rather old.
"What are their names, Father?"
"Whose?"
"The new owners' names, of course!"
Father looked up at me angrily. "Don't raise your voice at me, Emilie." he warned. "My head hurts enough already." He scratched his chin as he thought. "Their names are Richard Firmin and. . .Gilles Andre. . ." he trailed off as he looked over at the steaming stove. "Don't let the food burn!" he barked.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" I quickly stood and returned to the stove to tend to the burning food.
"You wouldn't have to be sorry if you weren't such an idiot." he grumbled.
I brushed off his comment and thought everything over for a brief minute. ". . .Father?" I asked hesitantly.
"What?"
"Why do only men get to be musicians in the orchestra?"
He sighed heavily. "The same reason men build buildings and roads and why men take care of the lights and backdrops and such on the stage. It is just a man's job. Just like it is a woman's job to cook and sew and clean."
I thought some more. "But. . .why do men and women get to be dancers and singers at the Populaire, but only men get to be musicians?"
He rubbed his eyes in annoyance. "Women just can't, alright? There are some things only men should do and things that women shouldn't do."
"But—"
"No 'but's, Emilie! It's not like you have any chance of working at the Populaire anyway. Not with your insufficient skills. Stop asking me questions. Now, pour me more tea."
"It's not fair!" I complained to my dearest friend, Gabrielle, the next day as we walked to the market with our baskets in our hands.
"Since when did you want to be a musician, Em?" she retorted with a giggle.
"I don't. . .but I'm upset about the principle. Why can only men be musicians?" I groaned. "Why can't men and women play in the orchestra? Do they think women can't be as good musicians as men? That's so unfair!"
Gabrielle merely gave a shrug.
As we rounded a corner, we reached the market and the tall Opera Populaire building came into view a few blocks away. I sighed. "Could you imagine working there?" I asked as I pointed to the tall structure. "My father has taken me there a few times. It is so beautiful inside the opera house!"
"I wonder what it would be like to perform there on the stage. . ."
"Well at least you have a chance to work there one day. You dance beautifully. And do not try to deny it!"
Gabrielle's cheeks turned pink. "Well, I was well taught." she said sheepishly. "You know my mother was a dancer and she taught me at home since I was little."
Gabrielle danced incredibly well, but was always modest about it and never showed off. It made me jealous that she was so good at it, but I could never be mad at her because she was extremely humble about it and would never make me feel bad about my own lackluster skills.
We both stopped at a vendor's stall and briefly looked at the produce before a sudden thought popped in my head. "Oh, Gabrielle, you must audition!" I said excitedly.
She put down the fruit she had been examining and picked up another. "Audition for what?"
"Did you not hear the big news? Monsieur Lefevre, the owner of the Opera Populaire, has sold the opera house and two new owners have come! They will be holding auditions for singers, dancers, and musicians tomorrow! Everyone who already worked there must audition again and they are allowing newcomers to audition as well! Isn't that exciting?"
"Wow! Do you really think I am good enough to dance at the Opera Populaire, Emilie? I've never performed anywhere as elegant as the Populaire before. . ."
"Yes! I do! You're a fantastic dancer!"
Gabrielle giggled and said, "I think you are more excited about this than I am. . .I don't know about this. I've never danced in front of anyone besides you, Mother, and Father. . .what if I make a fool of myself?"
"When will another opportunity like this one arrive? You must at least try! You said you wondered what it would be like to perform on the Opera Populaire's stage. Well, here is your chance! You'll regret it if you pass up on this opportunity!"
She laughed. "Alright, alright! I will go audition! You're right. . .this chance may never come again." She put the fruit she had been inspecting in her basket. "Well, you can tell me more about this later, alright? We should get our groceries before our families complain we've been taking too long."
"Yes, you're right. I'd hate for my father to get angry at me for taking too long at the market again. . ."
"Well, come on, then." Gabrielle gave me a playful shove. We giggled and continued to browse for produce.
As I lied in my bed that night thinking to myself, I wondered what I was to do with my life. I was already nineteen. I couldn't live with Father forever. Heaven knew he was getting old and wouldn't be around for long. How would I ever get a husband? I hardly knew any men my own age. Another issue on my mind was where was I to work? I wasn't adept at anything. At least Gabrielle had her dancing that she could pursue. . .
Though I was extremely happy for her talent, it was hard not to be envious. She would probably go on to be a talented and adored dancer. But what was I good at? I sighed as I tossed and turned in bed. I realized I could do not do anything right. I was skilled at nothing. . .Nothing, that is, but the violin. Oh, why must I be a woman? If I was a man, I could audition to be in the orchestra without running into any problems.
At this point, I came to the conclusion that I didn't care. I was going to that audition and I was going to play the violin. So what if I was a woman? If I had to dress up like a man just to audition, then so be it. Women could play just as well as men could. I would take Father's violin, dress up like a man, then go to that audition. When will I ever get another chance to play the violin at the Opera Populaire? Like I said to Gabrielle: when will another opportunity like this one arrive?