A Night at the Opera Read online



  “A Night at the Opera”

  A Tragic Trilogy – Part I

  Written by

  Apollos Rivoire

  Copyright © 2015 by Apollos Rivoire

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition

 

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  “A Night at the Opera”

  A Tragic Trilogy – Part I

  Caitlin Cara Conner and Robert Wilson Coninghame were avid opera aficionados. Despite their nearby residences, their common ages, their mutual love of opera, and their shared pursuits of higher learning, they had no knowledge of each other. Their paths had never crossed.

  They were complete strangers, despite swirling around each other as itinerant souls in the same microcosm. The two were newly-fallen golden autumn leaves freely floating at opposite ends of a placid pond being gently nudged toward each other by the winds of life.

  Neither was aware of their approaching random encounter. Despite their common environment and interests, they may as well have been in different worlds, at least for the moment.

  It was an unusually pleasant summer evening, and the city was uncharacteristically calm and peaceful. The opera, “La Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi was being performed at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia. Robert was a student at the University of Pennsylvania studying architecture.

  In order to devote his undivided attention to the marvel of the performance before him without distractions, he preferred being an avid patron of the “Academy” in solitude.

  Even dinner was preempted for fear that this diversion would interfere with his enjoyment or worse yet, delay his arrival. For an opera lover like himself, a tardy arrival would be an unforgivable sin.

  He purchased a single ticket in advance for a seat in “parquet circle box number 17,” perfectly located, precisely centered in the theater to maximize his comfort, improve the view of the stage, and to amplify the full impact of the nuances of the music and the extravaganza.

  The box had comfortable parlor chairs insulating him from being sardined into the fixed seating below. He could avoid being crowded next to strangers and constantly being interrupted by those leaving from and returning to their seats – most unpleasant.

  The box was raised considerably above the main floor and there were no patrons in front. An isle two feet below and in front of the box assured an unencumbered view of the stage.

  The accommodation was not inexpensive, but he felt it was perfection and worth the expenditure for such unequaled comfort, visibility, and audio performance during the pageantry.

  The interior of the Academy of Music as seen from “Parquet Circle Box no. 17

  Photo credit: www.lfdriscoll.com

  That mild summer evening, Robert made his way to the theater as he had done so many times before, arriving in advance to absorb the magnificence of the theater in quietude. He always feared he would not arrive on time and miss part of the opera – in his mind, an unthinkable happening of major consequence. He recalled how he had been quite critical of late arrivals in the past. He thought how awful it would be to become one of “them.”

  He climbed the stairs, entered and approached the inside doors. Each time he attended and arrived at the main foyer, he observed how desecrating it was to see the vision of vendors selling their wares on makeshift tables in this sublime architectural space.

  He could not help but think of how Jesus reacted when entering the temple and seeing the crass behavior of the money changers in such a hallowed place. He realized that the analogy in his mind was a bit dramatic. He would probably miss the performance if he started overturning tables and expelling the vendors. He tried to put the hawking of merchandise in this grand place out of his mind, and advanced to his goal.

  The magnificence of the theater and its massive crystal chandelier

  Photo credit: www.lfdriscoll.com

  He had his ticket verified, escaped the confusion of the foyer, and entered the sanctuary of the hall. “Safe at last,” He thought. The peace and quiet in the ornate theater with its huge crystal chandelier and lavishly adorned walls and balconies was a welcome relief from the gauntlet he had just endured. He was pleased that he had arrived early.

  Without considering the splendor of the performance, the theater itself was worthy of his attendance. The 2,500 seat cultural icon had been in continuous use since 1857, when James Buchanan was president immediately before the Civil War.

  The spectacle of this magnificent facility and its longevity never ceased to amaze him. It was a huge space, but it felt extraordinarily intimate to him. It felt like home. It certainly was a worthy venue for an operatic performance. He considered himself a man who had been granted favor in life being able to attend.

  A greeter welcomed him and handed him an issue of the program for the evening. A smiling and attentive usher approached asking if he could assist him to his seat. Upon seeing his ticket, he commented on the fine selection he had made and led him to the nearby box.

  The generous box had six period parlor chairs sumptuously upholstered in velvet, three raised and three on a lower level. No one else was seated in the box. At this early hour it was not unusual that the box was without patrons even for an opera of such acclaim. The approaching start of the performance would certainly fill the theater.

  He thought, “How marvelous it would be to have the box all to myself – but not a likely prospect.” He secretly hoped for this to be the case so as not to be encumbered by the distraction of “company.”

  After he installed himself, even in the diffuse light, he could see his pocket watch given to him by his father read twenty minutes before eight. It was perfection – a voyage well traveled and executed. He was pleased with his accomplishment of arriving and being situated well in advance of the opera.

  While he relaxed, he recalled from one of his architectural history courses and from reviews he read about the theater that the public was impressed with the building but there were many critics of the obstructed view seats. He could see that there were a number of structural columns in front of some of the seats that generated the complaints.

  Certainly, those would not be seats he would prefer. But, while purchasing tickets these locations were clearly marked and sold at a considerable discount of seats without obstructions. He thought it would be quite an opportunity for opera lovers with modest means. An apparent drawback of the theater was turned into an opportunity for some.

  These critiques were most disturbing for an architect-to-be. The architects LeBrun and Grunge completed the building in 1857. The completion was so long ago it was before electricity, the internal combustion engine and the development of modern materials and construction methods.

  It was designed for the performance of music as its name implies. They had no insight as the multitude of uses the structure would be required to house. And yet, it had done so with perfection. Surely, their achievement was monumental.

  Would they have even imagined that it would be used this moment for Robert to relax and contemplate the subject of their expertise? But still, the uninformed among the patrons apparently had little appreciation for their skill and their vision. It was a phenomenon that he was to find was not entirely confined to the practice of architecture.

  It would seem that th
e discipline would demand great preparation and skill, skill that would not always be fully acknowledged, rewarded, nor appreciated. Rather than let this discourage him, it made him more intent to redouble his efforts to excel in his chosen profession.

  He thought, “One cannot gauge his accomplishment in life for fear that he might be criticized by those of little knowledge or appreciation.” Where would mankind be if others before me were to be so influenced?” He was pleased that the structure designed so long ago had served as a backdrop and inspiration for at least one person’s enlightenment. “Bravo, LeBrun and Grunge,” he thought.

  The orchestra’s discord during their pre-performance preparations waned to effectuate complete silence. Exactly one minute later the glittering crystals of the opulent chandelier disappeared into the darkness as the lights dimmed further.

  The conductor glided into the room and took his customary bow amid the audience’s acknowledgement of his arrival at the acme of his craft. He raised his baton. With command and grace the performance commenced with the moving overture to the opera.

  Robert exclaimed, to himself, “Of course, this would be another memorable evening of witnessing the pinnacle of mankind’s artistic genius in my own private viewing space.” “How fortunate am I?”

  The Academy of Music - The second story grand balcony access foyer

  Photo credit: www.lfdriscoll.com

  All too soon, the remarkable overture ended, the curtain rose, and the silence in the theater was overcome with the ambiance and frivolity of a lavish party in Violetta’s Paris salon as Act I began. The darkened theater came alive with the reflected light of the scene and the animation on the stage. Every one of his senses was immediately and pleasantly aroused. This is why he had come.

  A few moments after the start of the act, Robert became aware of a disturbing rustling behind him. Apparently a patron was arriving late and invading his private domain. His mind immediately reflected, “How uncouth of them, indeed.” A mild sense of annoyance enveloped him as he prepared to express his indignation to the invader. He further thought, “After all, maybe I am not as fortunate as I thought this evening.”

  With considerable displeasure, he reluctantly diverted his attention from the performance to the most unwelcomed intruder. His irritation vanished like a wisp of smoke in a strong wind at the sight of an extraordinarily beautiful young woman revealed by the light emanating from the stage.

  She was impeccably dressed and coiffed. Quiet elegance would describe her, yes elegance. The effect of the vision was only enhanced by her polite demeanor and sincere apology for her late arrival and the disruption she had caused. For the third time in only a few moments, he had to reconsider the status of his good fortune that evening.

  Robert could not comprehend what was happening. What would have been an annoyance on any other evening had become an obsessive distraction. Perhaps, obsessive attraction might be a more accurate description of his condition. The entire first act of the performance was artistically a loss, a blur for him. He had not seen nor heard a bit of the magnificence displayed before him – he could only think of the splendor sitting beside him.

  His awkward and obvious glances did not go unnoticed but they were returned, not with disapproval, but rather with mildly flirtatious geniality. When he was not looking at her, he was thinking about her. What had come over him? He thought, “It appears that opera had met its match; I am so sorry Giuseppe.” “Am I such a fickle patron of the arts that in a matter of moments I have been nonplused by another master?” It would have appeared to be so, dear Robert.

  He welcomed the end of the first act and the accompanying gradual illumination of the theater. He secretly hoped this change of venue would return him to his customary self-control and sobriety. That thought was dashed as the torment only increased when he realized the darkness had concealed an even greater beauty and sophistication than he witness in the dim illumination during the performance.

  What would he do now? He was a babbling mess and she was a vision of composure and grace. Speaking of the obvious, about why they both there that night, to witness the glory of the opera, didn’t even enter his mind. He was in a stupefied trance of a school boy in her presence. One can only talk so much about the weather. What weather? It was beautiful that evening. He had come to witness the splendor of the opera and now all he could think about was the completely different and overwhelming splendor before him.

  When the opera started, the theater seemed to be so comfortable, not too warm and not too cool, just right as it was for every other performance. Then why was he perspiring so profusely? Perhaps he should have had that meal before coming. Or, maybe he was coming down with an illness, or could it be his collar was too tight? Much to his dismay, he seemed to be the lone victim of this most bizarre affliction.

  He had to take some action at once. With a concealed cringe, and thoughtlessness he uncontrollably exclaimed, “Would you enjoy getting something to eat after the performance?” She looked up from her theater program, lowered her glasses, peered over the rims and paused as she turned and pushed aside a lock of golden hair from her right eye. “And, what a lovely eye it was.” He thought, “They were both lovely.” His brain was just not functioning properly. “Of course they were both lovely, Robert!”

  He thought, “What was she thinking?” Followed by, “What was I thinking?” And finally, “Oh, here it comes, rejection, Robert, you fool.” “You just met her.” “What did you expect her to say, surely, why not, and prance off with a complete stranger into the evening?”

  His mind raced trying to compose a reply for the unlikely occurrence that her response would be positive. When he realized there was not even a remote chance that would be the case, his mind raced again groping for a response to a rejection. This dichotomy seemed to terminate all thinking and his mind went totally blank. It was frozen in place. The poor chap had aged a year in less than fifteen minutes.

  Her hesitation seemed like an eternity. The only thought that came to his overwhelmed mind was, “This would be an ideal time for Act II to start.” But, the warning chime summoning the audience to return to their seats and the imminent start of Act II was not to save him his embarrassment. For fear that he would miss even one moment of the beauty before him, he resisted glancing to see if anyone nearby would witness her rebuff of his request.

  She began speaking. Everything seemed to turn to slow motion. But, in reality, she decisively said without hesitation, “Robert, it is Robert isn’t it?” “You don’t mind if I call you, Robert, do you?” She continued without awaiting a reply. He thought, “She remembered my name; that was a good sign, wasn’t it?”

  She articulated, yes, that describes her manner of response, articulated, “Actually Robert, dear, I am quite hungry right now,” with the same mildly flirtatious glance. Did he notice a certain allure in her eyes as she spoke? Her expression led him to think, “Hungry for what?” Surely, this must have been his overactive imagination taking control of him. She continued, “I don’t ever eat dinner before coming to the theater for fear of being distracted or much worse, being tardy, as I was this evening.” “I am quite famished.” His mind exploded. Well, he though it was his mind that exploded.

  He could not believe she had also sacrificed dinner that evening to better enjoy the opera. He was not alone in his thinking. In only moments, he had fallen in love. “Where did this creation come from?” He surmised that she was not of this Earth. He wanted to ask her if she had gotten injured when she fell from Heaven – well, maybe not.

  And now the warning chime for the start of the second act sounded for the first time. “Where was it when I needed it,” he lamented.

  A few moments later, the warning chime sounded a second time and the lights dimmed to begin Act II of “La Traviata” as they did on the previous four evenings and would continue to do so for the next five evenings.

  As the lu
xuriant curtain rose, it revealed Violetta and Alfredo alone at her peaceful country house in the outskirts of Paris and the beginning of Act II. The increased illumination revealed the mysteriously unoccupied parquet circle box number 17. The vacancy continued into Act III, and went unnoticed for the remainder of the performance.

  The opera that evening had been sold out for weeks. Is it possible that the surrounding patrons and the ushers had not noticed someone must have been sitting there? There was a performance program on one of the seats and the other was not facing the stage but rather strangely turned facing the other

  Why would someone pay such a premium for this unique location only to divert their attention to something or someone else – why indeed?”

  Evidently, the opera would have to continue without two of its most ardent benefactors. It appeared they most likely had other pursuits on their minds. Sometimes, people have such strange priorities.

  That beautiful evening, as the flickering gas lights on the timeless façade of the Academy disappeared in the distance behind them, there was no turning back for Caitlin Cara Connor and Robert Wilson Coninghame

  Their future was sealed that mild summer evening. Nothing would ever be the same for them. Their lives were about to radically change after “A Night at the Opera.”