Actually, I'd never gone further than some dismal areas of the second one, where it was already hard to go without a lantern. By then, I got to see a few ill-lit chambers, rusted iron gates closing the passages to the lower levels, and a perfect scenarium for a horror story. The result of this adventure was a serious reprimand I received when my mother learned about it through some nosey guard.
I remember when I first arrived at the Opera, as a youth coming from the country, how fascinated I was with that immense kingdom, seventeen floors altogether, five of which were underground.
It was different than anything I had ever seen. With some other children, who soon became my friends and accomplices, I would play the explorer, and go everywhere around the Theater looking for ghosts, searching every room accidentally forgotten unlocked. We would look for old sets, costumes and magic beings; everything was a new game. And there were, of course, the exciting stories and superstitions told by the old workers of the Opera, that would entertain us until the next ballet class. In that sense, I loved moving to Paris.
I can't imagine a foreigner who could come to Paris and not experience that amazement when they first arrive at the Place de l'Opera. Paris is a city rich in sights, classic monuments and bucolic parks, but I believe the Palais Garnier, the Opera House, stands out among all others. One can see the statues on the roof top from many blocks away, and once you get inside, the impression is even more striking. But Paris is not only luxury and beauty, I learned later.
Thinking of the cellars now, the only thing that made me ponder going there was the old warnings from my mother. We had all kinds of people working in the Opera, and she had always been worried with me wandering around - which I absolutely loved to do, since the first time I stepped into the Opera House. Unlike the superstitious people of the theater, my mom was more concerned with the living people than the ghosts.
There were a few stories about workers who should be avoided by young girls, and I didn't want to make one more. I thought about it for a second, and that was how long it took me to conveniently decide that if not for anything else, it was too cold for a stageshift go around the theater haunting little girls.
I stopped by Christine's room, to see if she wanted go with me. I knew she was not fond of silly explorations, but thought it would be worth a try. Coming to the door of her dressing room, all I could hear was her voice, up and down in the notes. I decided not to interrupt her.
Grabbing a lantern in my room, I headed to the long corridor that gave way to the stairs. The difference between the upper levels and the area where my room and Christine's were was incredulous. It was not as much for the cold as for the peeling walls and the dark halls.
One could hear clearly from there the music coming from the rehearsals, although the stage was a long distance from where I was.
The sounds in this Opera House seemed to know all the ways around it, and to be everywhere at the same time.
I remember my older sister, during the only visit she paid to us, complaining about the voices and sounds. "They are always in my head, all mixed up!" she said to my mom. I think she never really grew accustomed to our eccentric home, letting it be evident that she was glad to leave for England and her monotonous married life again.
When, descending two narrow staircases, nothing could be heard anymore but my steps, an uncanny feeling struck me. The silence seemed so loud when compared to the constant murmer of the theater! I would be scared to work anywhere below the main floor, surrounded by this emptiness of sounds. And there were people who worked underground, operating trapdoors or mechanisms that allowed the stage to rotate, depending on the performance. But once I reached the second cellar, it became a seldom occurence to meet someone there. There were no stageshifts walking around, no one working inside those hundred rooms. Only tons of ancient settings, spoiled custumes, ropes; and dust covering every inch of that desolate place.
I peered into a few rooms and thought it was a quite stale floor. Lots of stuff, but that was all.
The third staircase appeared before me, blocked with wood boxes. I examined the barrier and failed in finding any reason to restrain myself. I found my way through the boxes and went down the stairs.
It was completely dark now, and I had to turn my lantern stronger to see where I was standing. I had expected, though I knew no one went there very often, to find some kind of illumination there. From far away I could hear the sound of water running in tubes.
If the rest of the Opera was cold, I would have frozen in these cellars without my cape. Worse than the cold was the humidity in the air, combined with a sharp breeze.
I had to wonder why someone would build such an enormous place as the Opera House if so many areas of it were abandoned and completely useless. Perhaps the designer had other plans for these endless corridors and rooms than mere storage of sets and old material.
But The Opera House had not always had such a noble use, I must say. During the war, it's cellars were used as some kind of dungeon for thousands of political prisoners. I grew up listening to stories about skeletons found there and their spirits haunting the place.
It was a sad sight - these forgotten chambers. The walls and the floor were built out of crude stone, covered with moss. Gas tubes formed a maze above my head and the cold was almost unbearable. It must have been a slow death to those who were locked down here.
What kind of people might have inhabited this place? I decided to be reasonable and go back, since it seemed like there was nothing there for me.
I took my path again, walking faster to repel the rats, which I could detect by the noise they made. It was then that I tangled my feet in what came to be a big pile of ropes. I stumbled and hit the floor before I could tell what was going on.
I was upset for allowing myself to be distracted, and not watching my step. When I tried to stand up, a grief of pain took over me. The loud cry I gave must have reached every vault below the theater, and it was despairing to receive a thousand echoes as responses, in such a circumstance.
Groaning and restraining another cry, I reached out for my leg. The pain was overwhelming and it was clear I had badly injured it.
That hateful little voice came to my head, saying, "You knew you weren't supposed to do this. That's your punishment for disobeying..." I roared at the thought and decided not to panic. Looking around, no light and no one could be seen. I almost laughed at this dramatic situation.
Trying to keep the little coolness I had inside of me, I positioned my leg as comfortable as possible and began to scream for help.
I knew it wouldn't do any good, for though my cries could possibly reach the most remote areas down there, it would never make it to the surface.
Slowly the acceptance came - I was doomed to be left in that place until someone decided to go there, or until my despair was greater than the pain and I could finally drag myself up to the first cellar.
I gave a deep sigh and leaned against the block of stone behind me. It seemed to me that even the rats were quiet now. Looking at the lantern laying sideways, I turned it off. It didn't seem likely it would be needed anytime soon.
This would have been a good time to have faith in something. I wished I had at least half of Christine's beliefs, so I could tell myself that a father or a prince or an angel would rescue me. Unfortunately I had lost faith in all these magic-like things and I was pretty conscious I had none of those looking after me. It must have been so easy for Christine to go through hard times in her life... I never thought I would come to envy her imagination, and yet it would have been so helpful at that moment.
Knowing I had no other option, I resumed screaming for help. I understand that if someone was closer to where I was, my screams would have sounded really annoying to him. And that is how I managed to get help.