A Chandelier In Pieces
SUMMARY: Over two decades after the events at the Opéra Populaire, Raoul de Chagny goes to the auction at the opera house. Memories he thought - or hoped - he had forgotten re-emerge, and he meets someone he thought had died: Madame Giry. Phantom 25 cast.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is completely based on Phantom 25, with Hadley Fraser as Raoul, Liz Robertson as Madame Giry, Daisy Maywood as Meg, Sierra Boggess as Christine, and Ramin Karimloo as the Phantom. For Sister Catherine, I have no idea who the actress playing the nun was in the 25th, but she looked familiar (she was a Christine, I know. Perhaps Rebecca Pitcher? If anyone knows, please mention it in a review). For Philippe de Chagny, Raoul's brother, I imagine Joseph Millson, who actually originated the role of Raoul in Love Never Dies. He's a brilliant actor, and completely pulled off the Victorian jerk. However, my version of Philippe is not a jerk.
Notice that I used the name Pierre instead of Gustave for Christine and RAOUL'S son. There is no possible way the Phantom and Christine would have an affair. So, Pierre is Raoul's son - this is to make it clear this is not a LND fanfic. You can say this is slightly influenced by Susan Kay's Phantom, as Christine dies from cancer, as in Susan Kay's novel. In The Phantom of Manhattan, which LND is based off, the boy's name is Pierre, but this is completely Phantom 25 based. Another thing I added to diffuse any suspicions that this is LND based is that Christine is invited to sing in America, but turns down the offer.
The reference to the Exposition Universelle in 1889 is an idea that I've had for a while, but I haven't written yet.
About the years: Phantom took place in 1881 and 1882. There are two conflicting years for when the auction took place - 1905 and 1911. Both of these years are from official Phantom sources, but there's two different dates. Another issue: in the auction, Raoul is supposed to be in his seventies. However, Hadley Fraser's older Raoul makeup looked like he was in his sixties. Even from 1882 to 1905, that's only twenty-three years. I say Raoul was twenty-two in 1881; for him to be sixty at the auction, it would have to be 1919.
Please just bear with me and read this just reading's sake. Yes, the years are messed up, but please ignore it.
Two phrases were circulating through Paris, falling from everyone's lips: the old Opéra Populaire was holding an auction, selling everything that was deemed insignificant. And Raoul de Chagny, vicomte, was going to the auction.
The older generations remembered that the viscount, now in his sixties, had been a patron of the Opéra Populaire in its glory days when he was young. Opera thrived in those long-gone days, when Queen Victoria ruled in England and the light bulb was still a novelty. Raoul had married an opera singer, Christine Daaé, and many scorned her, saying that a woman of such background ruined the pure bloodline of the Chagny family. She worked in the théâtre, heaven forbid, and some said that she was only fit as the mistress of the viscount, not a wife.
Despite the hostility against Christine, they had a pleasant marriage. They had a son, Pierre, born a year after they were wed. This caused much speculation, many saying that her days at the opera had rendered her incapable of having children. But soon enough, the newest Chagny heir was born. If the child had been born exactly nine months after the wedding ceremony, then the child's parentage would have been questioned. If the child had been female, heaven forbid, Christine would have been ostracized. Her son Pierre was her saving grace. But the most scandalous rumor spread around Paris was that Christine wanted to raise her son herself without hired help. Society was appalled, especially Raoul's parents, the Comte and Comtesse de Chagny. Raoul convinced his wife to let a servant raise Pierre, and she agreed, on one condition — their son would not be hidden away in the nursery with the maid until he was twelve. Christine visited Pierre every night, singing him to sleep. The maid who cared for Pierre was given nights off, and Christine took care of her son herself.
The small family was fairly content, despite the poison-laced words whispered behind closed doors against Christine. They made a life for themselves for many years, though the viscountess was not as social as other noblewomen. She had a few friends, but was still scorned by many.
Her closest friend was Baronne Marguerite de Castelot-Barbezac, the wife of Baron Louis de Castelot-Barbezac. The baroness had formerly been known as Meg, working in the théâtre with Christine. Meg had met Louis in the foyer de la danse, and he had taken a fancy to the pretty ballerina. He was known as being rather unusual, but when Louis announced he was engaged to Mademoiselle Marguerite Giry, Paris was in upheaval. Barons did not marry théâtre girls; at the very least, singers were viewed in a slightly better light than dancers in society. If the Comte and Comtesse de Chagny were appalled, that was nothing to the way the Baron and Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac reacted. They all but disowned Louis, and Meg was shunned.
Both of the women somehow survived the vicious accusations, however, and lived their lives as normally as they could. Christine left opera permanently and toured Europe, singing for thousands. She sang in many famous buildings for acclaimed heads of state, even sailing to England to sing for Queen Victoria herself. Christine sang at the Exposition Universelle in 1889, a World's Fair held in Paris, and performed in Massenet's opera Esclarmonde as an emergency cover for Sybil Sanderson. It was rumored Christine was even asked to sing in America, but she turned down the offer.
However, the year Pierre turned eleven, twelve years after Raoul and Christine were wed, she got cancer.
She was only thirty-two years old, and Raoul was thirty-four.
Many noted that, near the time the news was finalized, the vicomtesse rarely made any social calls. When she ventured from the Chagny manor, Christine did not look healthy at all, and often retired early, claiming that she did not feel well. The best doctor in France came to the Chagnys and examined Christine. He found the dreaded disease, but hesitated to tell the worried, haggard viscount and the pale, scared boy who did not know what was happening to his mother. Her long, beautiful dark hair fell out almost completely, and she always wore a wig to attempt to fool Pierre into believing that she was fine. Raoul rarely slept and stayed by Christine's side almost constantly. Many expected him to turn to drink and find himself a mistress, but they were, in turn, impressed by his devotion to his wife, even if she was from the théâtre. A maid was hired to care for Pierre, and the eleven-year-old was told that his mother was merely ill with a minor disease and would recover soon.
She did not recover.
Christine grew paler and weaker by the day. At first she had insisted on seeing Pierre, but she and Raoul both decided that it would be best not to frighten the boy. He was taken away to the Chagny seaside manor in Perros — incidentally where Raoul and Christine had first met as children all those years ago.
Christine began to have delusions, and spoke often of the events at the Opéra Populaire. She spoke of the gala where she had met Raoul again, the disaster of the chandelier, the grand New Year's masked ball, and the Phantom of the opera. Christine often talked about the music box that played the strange tune, describing it in detail. She suddenly took a turn for the worse, recognizing no one but Raoul, because he was the only one that appeared in her memories. She spoke to him as if they were back at the opera house, when she was a budding star and he was an opera patron. Once she cried out, convinced that she had seen a man in a mask. Raoul did his best to comfort her, but she told him that in sleep the Phantom sang to her, and that he was inside her mind. Raoul obtained a sedative and gave it to Christine to allow her to sleep peacefully, not haunted by dreams of the Phantom of the opera.
Eventually Raoul allowed no one in the room, staying by his dying wife's side constantly. Meals were left outside the door, but they were hardly touched. Many people came to console the viscount, but he did not leave the room to greet anyone. One evening, a few members of the upper class came to the Chagny manor, determined to see the viscount. They waited outside the door, a group of concerned gentlemen with their worried wives. Just as one raised a hand to knock on the door of Christine's chambers, the lights went out.
Christine de Chagny, vicomtesse, opera singer, wife of Raoul de Chagny, vicomte, and mother of Pierre, was dead.
It was said angels wept that night.
A simple funeral was held in Perros. Christine was buried next to her beloved father, Charles Daaé. Raoul and Pierre stood before the marble tomb engraved merely with her name and the brief years she had lived: 1861 to 1893, only thirty-two years.
Raoul raised Pierre alone. He never remarried, and took his son to operas, instilling a love of music in Pierre. The boy fell in love with opera, to Raoul's delight, and Pierre, though he looked like his father, received musical talent from his mother. He never had much patience for piano, but loved to sing. Pierre's grandmother, the Comtesse de Chagny, commented that the boy had the voice of an angel, and Raoul replied that Pierre had received it from the viscount's Angel of Music — Christine. He paid for the finest tutor his fortune could buy to give Pierre voice lessons when he grew older.
But, to Raoul's disappointment, Pierre's love for music fell away. He still enjoyed going to the opera, but his passion to sing dulled. Raoul had once dreamed of his son performing great works, taking after his mother, but it was not to be. The viscount still was a patron of the Opéra Populaire, and had his son accompany him to a performance every so often, trying to rekindle Pierre's love for opera. But when he turned nineteen, Pierre decided that he would join Philippe, Raoul's older brother, in handling the Chagny family finances after Philippe and Raoul's father, the Comte de Chagny, died. Raoul did not try to stop Pierre, and hid his disappointment well. Philippe, however, understood his brother's anguish that Pierre had left music, knowing how deeply connected Raoul was to music, and the count had Pierre accompany him and his wife to the opera every so often. Pierre went into law, and studied at the Paris University, leaving Raoul alone in the manor where he and Christine had first made their home so many years before.
Many, many years had passed since then. Pierre had married, and Raoul, now in his sixties, had moved in with his son. Philippe had died in a fox hunt accident a few years before. Pierre, now the head of the Chagny family, had two children — Matthieu and Christine. The girl, at twelve, looked as her grandmother had the day Raoul had met her in Perros when he saved her scarf from the sea.
The old vicomte doted on his grandchildren, but especially on Christine. He bought her a piano, and the manor was filled with the sound of the girl playing the keys. Matthieu was never interested in music, preferring, at age fourteen, to spend his time with the adults, not indulging in "childhood pleasures" such as music. Christine never had the voice her grandmother possessed — Raoul knew that she never would. Her passion lay in sonatas, not arias. But it still filled the old man with joy to see his granddaughter take after her namesake.
When the news came that the Opéra Populaire was holding an auction, Raoul was determined to attend. He still had an impressive fortune, spending practically nothing after Christine's death. Pierre — not wanting to spend any of his time at an auction in an old, dusty opera house looking at trinkets, as he commented to his wife — hired a nun from an abbey to take Raoul. Having only recently been a novice, Sister Catherine had taking care of the old viscount for a couple of years, and had forged a friendship with Raoul. Pierre paid a visit to the abbey and acquired Sister Catherine to take the old vicomte to the auction for a few hours.
The nun wheeled Raoul into the grand old opera house to the room where the auction was held. Crates were stacked against a wall, shapes covered in fabric near the auctioneer's platform. A large shape, marked Lot 666 Chandelier, was in a corner.
The auction began. A porter held up Lot 663, a poster of Chalumeau's opera Hannibal, and Raoul motioned to Sister Catherine to purchase the poster. She bought it for eight francs, and the auction continued. He gazed at the poster, remembering the gala that he had met Christine again. He had been so young then — they both had been. He remembered the dinner that had never happened, and her disappearance. Raoul knew now that it had been the Phantom in her dressing room. At the time, he was greatly concerned by her disappearance. But when she went missing for three days, he searched Paris for her, not knowing she was still in the opera house. He sighed, saddened by the memories, and Sister Catherine put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Lot 664 was a few props from Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable, performed in 1831. The porter showed three human skulls — whether real or fake, no one was sure — and a wooden pistol. An old woman, dressed in all black with a veil and holding a cane, purchased the props for fifteen francs. A woman, dressed fashionably with golden hair, stood beside her. Raoul knew they looked very familiar, and studied them, knowing that he knew their identities. He locked eyes with the old woman for a moment, and he realized who she was. Madame Giry, now in her eighties, nodded briefly to him, Meg standing beside her, and they both turned back to the bidding.
The auctioneer announced that the next item was Lot 665, a music box with the lead figure of a whimsical monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals attached to the lid. It had been found hidden away in a dark corner in a prop room, and no one knew how it got there. The porter displayed the music box, turning the handle. A strange tune began to play, the cymbals moving back and forth.
Raoul sat in silence, remembering Christine talking about the music box in her delusions. He had seen the music box once years ago, but paid no attention to it. At the time, he was more worried about getting Christine to safety from the clutches of the Phantom. That night was one he would never forget.
Raoul motioned to Sister Catherine to purchase the music box, not matter what it cost. The bidding rose, Madame Giry and Raoul both trying to buy the music box. He eventually won the bidding, purchasing it for thirty francs.
The porter approached Raoul, and was about to place it on the ground near the viscount when Raoul said, "Boy!"
The porter stopped and held the music box for a moment. Raoul leaned forward and reached out a shaking hand to the monkey. "You are not merely a prop or a collector's piece," he said, half-talking to the monkey. He brushed his fingertips over the lead figurine. "Christine remembered every detail," he murmured. "In fact, you were never used in a performance. But you played in the Phantom's opera. But the opera is done, the last notes have been played..." The porter walked away, and Raoul murmured, "Almost everyone who knew you is gone. You will be the only one left to play when the rest of us are dead."
"Lot 666, then," the auctioneer said, his voice ringing out. The audience turned to the large shape covered in a dustcover. "A chandelier in pieces..." Raoul exchanged a look with Madame Giry.
"There were once rumors of a ghost haunting the Opéra Populaire. Some said that the ghost himself caused the disaster of the chandelier falling to the stage. Whatever the cause, in 1881, the chandelier fell from the ceiling of the opera house after a production of Albrizzo's Il Muto, killing one person." Sister Catherine crossed herself as a porter lifted part of the dustcover, giving the audience a view of the chandelier.
"It lay discarded for many years, but our workshops have attempted to restore it. It has been fitted with the new electric light, ladies and gentlemen, and we have tried to return it to its former glory." The auctioneer laughed darkly. "Perhaps the new electric light will frighten away the phantom of the opera from decades ago, with a little illumination!" He suddenly turned on the chandelier at the same time the porter removed the dustcover. There was a great flash, and Raoul narrowed his eyes to see the chandelier.
It lay on its side, the strands of glass reflecting the light from the light bulbs. The chandelier cast a strong light, illuminating the dark room. It was a masterpiece of light. A swirl of memories came in a barrage to Raoul.
He thought back on everything — the Hannibal gala, the return of Christine from the Phantom's lair, and the disastrous production of Il Muto. He remembered when he had proposed to Christine on the roof of the opera house, and the chandelier falling to the stage as the Phantom's laughter echoed through the opera house. Raoul thought back to the grand New Year's masked ball when the Phantom had delivered the score of his opera, and when they made the plan to ensnare the Phantom at his own opera. He remembered that he had saved Christine from the Phantom at the graveyard in Perros, and the performance of Don Juan Triumphant. He thought back to when Christine had revealed the Phantom's face to the audience, and how he had followed the pair when Christine was kidnapped from the stage. Raoul remembered the confrontation between himself, the Phantom, and Christine, and how she had sacrificed herself to save his life by deciding to stay with the Opera Ghost. But the Phantom let them go, and Raoul and Christine left him, fleeing the opera house. Later, they were told that the Phantom had disappeared, the white mask the only reminder left behind.
The light was switched off, casting the room back into darkness and cutting off Raoul's surge of memories. The bidding continued.
Raoul, for some reason he did not know, knew that he could not bid on the chandelier. He motioned to Sister Catherine not to bid on the item. It held too many memories he would like to forget. Looking around, he could see that the rest of the audience was also uneasy to purchase the chandelier. Raoul, for some reason, felt like there was almost a curse on the chandelier. If he purchased it, he felt as if he would ignite the wrath of the ghosts of so many years ago.
The Phantom's curse.
The auctioneer lowered the price. Still, no one bid on the chandelier. The amount dropped again and again, yet no one ventured to attempt to buy it. The price lowered to almost nothing, but no one wanted to buy a chandelier with the Phantom's curse on it.
"That concludes the auction for today," the auctioneer said, realizing that no one would by the last item. As he gave more instructions, Sister Catherine wheeled Raoul forward. He paid for the Hannibal poster and the music box, among other items — a silver mask that Christine had worn at the New Year's masked ball, a painting that had hung in Richard Firmin and Gilles André's office, and a fan that both Carlotta Giudicelli and Christine had used as the Countess in Il Muto. After he had paid, a porter left to load the items in Raoul's carriage. The old viscount saw Madame Giry and Meg start to leave. He knew he would never rest if he did not speak to them, because he did not know if they would ever meet again.
"Madame Giry!" the vicomte called. The old woman turned and saw Raoul. The two women approached him, Meg helping her mother.
"Monsieur le Vicomte," Meg said. Madame Giry stood in silence, gazing at him. Despite her age, she stood tall. Her face was not as wrinkled as would be believed for her old age, and Raoul knew she wore a wig, for her hair was still black. She wore a hat, a veil covering her face, but that did not hide her intent gaze. Madame Giry still wore black, as she always had, a cane in hand. Raoul was reminded of how she had been in the old days, when she was the ballet instructor of the chorus, banging her cane to reprimand a ballerina.
Meg had changed the most. She still was small, but now had the figure of a noblewoman, not a ballet rat. Her golden hair was swept up in the latest style, as befitting a baroness, her clothes immaculate. She had a miscarriage a few years before, and the baron and baroness had quietly made their own households in separate manors. They were married in name only — they had not spoken for some time, and it was openly known that the Baron de Castelot-Barbezac had taken a mistress. Meg, or Marguerite, as she was known in society, lived alone with her household. Madame Giry, elderly but still independent, visited her daughter frequently.
"Madame la Baronne," Raoul said, reaching out a hand to Meg. She took his hand in hers for a moment in greeting. "I would stand," he said apologetically, "but—"
"Think nothing of it," Meg said with a smile.
"What brings you here to the opera house?" Madame Giry asked.
"I could not resist coming to the auction," he replied. "And you?"
"The same," she said. "We came to honor the memory of everyone we knew here." They fell into silence, thinking of all of the people they had known at the Opéra Populaire.
"How have you been since Christine..." Meg asked, unable to finish the sentence. A pained look grew in her eyes as she thought of her friend's death.
"Well enough," he said. Raoul forced back to the anguish that he felt every time he thought of Christine's death. "I'm living with my son. He named his daughter after her. She plays the piano almost constantly." Meg smiled sadly as Raoul continued. "Do you know what happened to everyone else?"
Madame Giry sighed. "After Signor Piangi's death, Signora Carlotta returned to Italy. She sang a few times there, but died a few years ago. May she rest in peace." They again became quiet, thinking about the prima donna. As much as her demands were infuriating at the time, no one wanted to see her dead. Raoul did not question how Madame Giry knew about Carlotta— even in the old days, she always inexplicably knew more than many expected.
"What about the managers?" Raoul asked.
"As you know, they both retired after Don Juan Triumphant," Madame Giry said. "André went to the countryside with his wife and died in a carriage accident. Firmin died in his sleep two years later."
"May they rest in peace," Raoul murmured. As much as the managers were unable to run the Opéra Populaire, they would be sorely missed.
A question hung in the air between the trio, unspoken yet so prevalent in the minds of each it was as if it had been uttered by one of the silent figures.
What of the Phantom?
Raoul wondered if he dared to say it. He had been told that the Phantom had disappeared; Meg herself had found the mask left behind. But was he dead? Had he, rather, vanished to a distant land — Persia, Russia, even America — where the world would never find him? Had he taken another name to hide his identity as the infamous Opera Ghost? But Raoul knew that he could not form the words on his lips, much less speak them. Mentioning the Phantom's name would take far too much effort. It would shatter what little peace he had acquired over the years since the Phantom had disappeared. He preferred not to know. If anyone was aware of the Phantom's existence, it would be Madame Giry. But Raoul could not ask.
Madame Giry squared her shoulders. "I must go," she said. "Goodbye, Monsieur le Vicomte."
He grasped her hand in his. "Let us not have any formalities between us. We are far too old and have seen far too much, Eléanore."
Madame Giry paused, and nodded. "Goodbye, Raoul." Meg echoed her mother. The two women left, and Raoul never saw them again.
Raoul returned to the Chagny manor. As the coach driver unloaded the items and Sister Catherine helped Raoul into the grand foyer, Pierre approached his father. "Did you purchase anything?" he asked. Seeing the growing pile, he barely hid a sigh of frustration. "I see you did."
"Pierre," Raoul said, his voice growing firm. "Let me spend my money as I wish." Pierre said nothing in reply, but Raoul could see his son wished that he had not bought "trinkets," as Pierre referred to the items sold at the auction. There were some things that the father and son would never agree on.
Christine came into the foyer. "Grandpère!" the twelve-year-old girl said, eyes shining. For a moment, Raoul was reminded of how his Christine had looked at that age, when he had saved her mother's scarf from the sea.
"Christine," Raoul said, holding out a shaking hand.
"Yes, Grandpère?" she asked, taking his hand. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, and again Raoul was reminded of how much his granddaughter looked like her namesake.
"I have something to give you," he said. Raoul searched through the items until he found what he was looking for. He placed the silver mask in his granddaughter's hands.
"Thank you, Grandpère," Christine said, gazing at the mask. Held with a thin rod, it was a Columbina mask, concealing the eyes, and covered in silver silk with a hint of blue.
"I have not found this until now," Raoul said. "It has been decades since I saw this last. Your grandmother, Christine Daaé..." he said, his voice breaking slightly as he thought of his long-dead wife. "This belonged to her. She wore it at a masquerade ball at New Year's Eve at the end of 1881." His throat constricted as he thought of the grand masked ball. "I want you to have it. I know you never knew her, but I hope this will help you think of her."
The sky was dark as Sister Catherine wheeled Raoul's wheelchair in the graveyard. He directed her to a marble tomb engraved with a few words that, in his mind, did not adequately describe Christine. But what could he have asked the stonemason to write?
Sister Catherine stopped the wheelchair before the grave. Raoul stood shakily, and waved aside the nun's offer to help. He did not mean to be rude to Sister Catherine, but his pride kept him from accepting assistance in front of his wife. She had been dead for decades, but even so, Raoul did not want to appear weak before Christine.
He took the music box with shaking hands and placed it before the marble tomb. Sitting wearily back down, he said, "Sister Catherine, if you will, please turn the handle of the music box." The nun obliged and did as he asked. As she stepped away, the strange tune began to emit from the music box. The monkey's arms moved mechanically back and forth, its glass eyes seeming to gaze sadly into Raoul's own. It was as if it knew many dark secrets, but could not tell even one. Raoul's gaze moved to the tomb, and he sat in silence. Tears filled his eyes for a moment, and one tear made its way down his cheek.
The viscount had not shed a single tear since Christine's death. She had been buried almost twenty years before.
Sister Catherine began to wheel Raoul's chair back to the carriage. As the wheelchair halted before the coach, he looked back to the tomb. The monkey in Persian robes began to play the cymbals again, the strange tune echoing faintly across the graveyard. It was as if an unseen hand had turned the handle of the music box. A phrase echoed in Raoul's mind, causing a brief flash of memories that were too painful to even name.
Masquerade, paper faces on parade... Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you...