My regards to you, Gentle Reader, on this loveliest of holidays!
Showing here: a light-hearted look at life and love at the Palais Garnier. I have to admit, "Attack of the Sue" was only a tongue-in-cheek working title, but I really can't think of anything else in time to get this first chapter up on Valentine's Day, as I had intended. If you have a suggestion, then by all means, please let me know!
The next chapter will be up in the next couple of days (provided my Internet connection doesn't go away again; it's been having some issues with water now that everything's starting to melt a bit. Ends up that one of the important bits on the antenna might not actually be waterproof...).
So here you go: A nice, tasty little Valentine's Day treat for you all. Enjoy! And please, if you read, leave a review.
Chapter One: Ariella Ravenna
It was after a rehearsal of Norma that M Firmin Richard, one of the two managers of the opera, quietly drew me aside. "A word, Madame," he said, as the rest of the cast trailed away to lunch.
"Of course," I murmured in return.
It had not been so very long since the previous prima donna, La Carlotta, had retired from the stage; as the new leading lady, I was anxious to cooperate in any way that I could. I was not unmindful of the dislike La Carlotta had garnered with her insistence upon being treated as royalty, and her attempts to influence decisions that had nothing to do with her role as a performer, in everything from the designs of the costumes and how the lights were hung to casting decisions themselves. She had had a magnificent voice, rich and warm as honeyed brandy, but she made few friends amongst her fellow thespians.
However, M Richard seemed even more anxious than I. Or, perhaps anxious was not the word; he appeared almost embarrassed as he ran his hand through his hair, before driving them both deep into his coat pockets. I was torn between concern and humour over his fidgeting. "It's like this," he burst out at last, after several false starts, "There's a girl in whom one of our patrons is interested. I really can't say who he is—Oh, he's not a de Chagny, though—But he seems to think that this young woman has some potential.
"Well, to be honest, if she does I can't hear it, but I can't just turn her away and risk losing—risk irritating a valued patron. So I need to find her a position here, something not too lowly, something around singers—Anyways, I'd like to make her your dresser. With your permission, of course," he hastened to add.
"I understand completely," I assured him. "What is she like?"
"Oh, she seems nice enough," he answered diffidently; "Pretty enough, I suppose, in a consumptive sort of way, and not such an idiot that she'll go and damage the costumes. More than that, I can't really say. I only met her for a few minutes. Then you'll take her on? I'm not asking you to coach her, although I'm sure she will be appropriately grateful if you should chance to share any of your knowledge…"
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I wondered what else might be going on. However, nothing he had told me gave me any reason to refuse, and I rather supposed that itwould be nice to have my own dresser, someone trained in the care of my costumes and make up. At the moment, I was making do with my personal maid, as La Carlotta's dresser had followed her mistress from the opera, but Abigail didn't really enjoy the task. I rather thought that she secretly disapproved of many of the more revealing costumes; the moué she'd make when she thought I wasn't looking every time she brought me Jeanne d'Arc's simple shift for the prison scenes always made me giggle. I supposed it would do no harm to accept.
"I would be happy to take her on," I told him. He looked deeply relieved. I wondered if I had made a mistake.
"Thank you, Madame!" he said, pressing my hand. "I hope it will work out well, for both of you. I'll send her over to help you get dressed this evening then, shall I?" At my nod and smile, he smiled himself and departed, a slight spring in his step.
The knock at my door was so soft that I, fighting to pull Norma's gown over my head, almost did not hear it. However, when I opened the door to check, the gown and my dignity pulled firmly into place, there indeed was a young girl standing timidly in the passage.
"La Christine?" she asked, hesitant.
"Yes," said I, standing back and beckoning her in. "You must be my new dresser."
"Yes," said she; "I'm Ariella Ravenna. I'm sorry I'm late! I couldn't find the right room..."
"No matter. It's a lovely building, but it really is difficult to find one's way about in here, isn't it?"
"It is," she hastily agreed. "And your room's so out of the way—" She clapped her hand over her mouth as if she had insulted me.
"It is," I said mildly; "I prefer the privacy. I assume that at some point I'm going to be forced to take over La Carlotta's old rooms, but frankly, I find the gilt a bit overdone." I smiled at her, and she smiled back, relieved.
As M Firmin had guessed, she did indeed make a good dresser. She was obviously inexperienced with historical costumes, but Norma's priestess robes were more bulky than complicated, and she soon had them straightened out.
I took the opportunity to unobtrusively study her in the mirror as she worked. She was a lovely girl, in a rather wan sort of way; her hair was a lustrous black; her rather too-large eyes were an unusual violet. I tried not to wince as she hummed.
"The Jewel Song is a lovely piece, isn't it?" I remarked as she laced the back of my gown.
"It's my favourite," she gushed; I caught a glimpse of her, dimpling, behind my reflection. "Est-ce toi, Marguerite? Est-ce toi, reponds-moi, reponds-moi" she sang, with considerably more enthusiasm than skill.
"You have a fine voice," I fibbed; "You should not sing so far out of your range! You might do it considerable damage."
"Ah, well; I have a natural talent," she replied brightly. "I was born with it. I really am lucky to not have to fuss about with all that practicing and lessons!"
I bit my tongue before remarking, "Even so, a natural talent such as yours could only be enhanced by lessons. Would you not like to have a voice that could soar like—like an angel?" Like a real singers', I didn't say. "And lessons would help you to expand your range…"
"Oh, I already know I'm a soprano."
"Ah. Do tell me, dear, how you know?"
Her bright eyes met mine in the mirror as she grinned. "Why, what else would I be? A mezzo-soprano? Analto? It would hardly fit, would it? I mean, I don't looklike one of those women who can play boys so well…"
Ah. Of course. How very… Classical Greek of her. Doubtless she also believed that the exterior of a person reflected their interior; that a beautiful person could not help but be good, and an ugly person could never be anything but evil. How lucky I was that that were not so! And that Erik's beautiful voice did not reflect his own unfortunate countenance…
However, as a singer who had cut her teeth on such 'trouser roles' as Siebel, it was difficult to not feel at least a bit insulted.
"Tell me," I asked as she helped me arrange my hair, "Do you know how wide your range is?"
"Oh, I can sing anything," she assured me with another dimpled smile. "Folk tunes are my favourite; my poor mother used to sing them over me at night… Until she got sick, of course." She hesitated, her eyes reddening, and she sniffed slightly. "But I love opera, too…"
"I'm glad to hear it," said I, trying to not roll my eyes. "I know, let's try a little exercise, just for fun. Can you sing do re mi?"
"Do re mi fa sol la te do? That one?"
"Yes, just like that! Start with the lowest note you can sing as the do, and then keep going, over and over, as high as you can. Like this," and I sang a quick three octaves.
"All right," and she sang, from as low as she could force her voice to as high, "Do re mi fa sol la te do re mi faa--" and her voice cracked.
"That's very good for someone with no training," said I, and she blushed prettily. "And you could probably do more with a proper warm-up. You can sing just over an octave right now, but with training, you might be able to reach as many as three! But it'll take hard work…"
"Oh, that's all right! The Ghost will teach me," and she bit her lip as if she'd said too much.
Myself, I was flabbergasted. Did she really think—What in Heaven's name even made her think he would—Where on earth did she even get the idea that the Opera Ghost ever gave out lessons?
"The Opera Ghost, dear?" and I forced a laugh, "What makes you think that he gives singing lessons, of all things? Surely you've heard talk of the Ghost; he's hardly known for his generous nature!"
"Mme Giry considers him extremely generous," she blurted; "Andhe arranged for Meg to be the leader of her row! She's going to marry the Emperor some day; Mme Giry said so! And I've heard that he gives lessons to some of the chorus members. I'm sure if he hears me he'll agree to teach me!"
Ah, Rumour. I wondered where it had started, though? I most certainly had not spoken of my lessons to anyone, save Raoul. Had he started tongues wagging? I did not think he would have done so, but… "Singing lessons? To the chorus? Are you quite sure of that, dear? Wherever did you hear of such a thing?"
"Oh," and she blushed again, "A friend of my best friend's older brother told me. One of the other students at the University knew all about the Ghost, and told him all about it."
"Oh? Do you know his name?"
"Who, the Ghost's?" She laughed a little.
"No, dear; the student's."
"Um… I'm not sure. Jean Something, I think—Or was it Jacques? Yes, Jacques Claudin, that was it."
Oh. Jean Claudin. The man who had kidnapped me, and tried to kill Erik. "And he said the Ghost gave singing lessons?"
"Yes! Oh, I can't wait to meet him..! He's a real man, you know, who hides his face behind a hideous mask. Oh, I know they say that he's deformed himself, but I'm sure it can't be that bad. And I just know he'll fall in love with me, too…"
"Fall in love with you? Too?" I echoed stupidly.
She blushed yet again. "Well, I know it sounds silly, but… Well, ever since I first heard of him, I've felt a… a connection with him. Oh, I know he'll feel it too! We're destined to be together, I'm sure of it! Why, it's just like Nana Vadoma told me…"
"And what did she say, dear?"
"Well, she took me in after my mother d-died, and my father w-went m-mad--" She gave a huge sob, then collected herself. "But she was very kind to me! I travelled all over France with her and the rest of the gypsies, and down into Spain—I used to sing and dance, while the men played their music, to help earn my keep. It was only Uncle Tobar that I had to watch out for, if he'd been drinking…" She trailed off morosely for a moment, before adding brightly, "But it was Nana who told me to come here!"
"Here? To the Palais Garnier?"
"'To the foot of sweet music's throne,' she told me. And she told me that I would meet the man of my dreams here, and that I'd know him by the way he hid his face from me…" She sighed happily, twirling a lock of hair about one perfect, slender finger. "I know just what he looks like. Strong, mysterious, dashing…" She trailed off with a dreamy sigh.
Oh, dear. Well, I doubted that I needed to worry about her luring Erik away from me; even if he was tempted to stray (which I doubted with all my heart), the poor girl would doubtless faint from shock were she ever to actually see the realGhost face to face! But I couldn't really leave her unattended to wander about looking for the Ghost; who knew what sort of trouble she'd manage to get into? The opera house was a vast and complicated structure, more like a small city than a simple theatre…
As she shook herself out of her daydream and finished dressing my hair, I silently resolved to see what arrangements I could make. After all, it wasn't her fault that I found her rather grating. Besides, it sounded as though she'd had a rather hard life; I was sure she deserved to find happiness as much as anyone.
I would have to see what I could do.
[A/N: You can read about Christine and Erik's adventure with M. Claudin in "All Hallow's Eve", the sequel to "Through A Mirror, Darkly".