3: First Rehearsal

Christine could hardly believe it. She had been so sure, after the disaster of her audition, that she had ruined her chances. Far from it: she was now officially an employee of the Paris Opera House. She had been cast in Erik Carriere's production of a brand new opera, Hannibal, by Chalumeau.

To be precise, she was playing a slave girl in a chorus of twelve. It wasn't exactly the realisation of all her dreams, but it was at least a good start.

So early one morning, just over a week after her audition, Christine found herself standing on the stage of the Paris Opera House surrounded by singers and dancers and pieces of half-painted scenery. There was a tense, excited atmosphere on the stage, as though everyone was awaiting an important announcement. Christine glanced around, trying to spot any familiar faces from the audition.

"Christine? Christine Daae?"

A young woman had detached herself from a group of performers and was walking towards her. She was shorter than Christine and had long, curly blonde hair. The girl looked vaguely familiar, but for a moment Christine couldn't think of her name, or where she had seen her before. Fortunately, the girl noticed her confusion, and smiled.

"Christine, it's me, Meg."

Christine had known Meg briefly at the conservatoire, during the period when she had deluded herself that she might be able to learn the art of ballet. They had taken two or three classes together, and Meg, a promising dancer even then, had attempted to help Christine master some tricky steps. Then Christine had given up on ballet, and she hadn't seen Meg since. Christine was surprised Meg remembered her.

"Meg!" she said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't recognise you."

"No one does when I'm not wearing a tutu," said Meg. She laughed lightly. "My mother said you'd auditioned."

"Your mother?"

"Madame Giry. She's the ballet mistress here. She told me that Monsieur Carriere gave you a hard time."

Christine looked down at the floor. "Yes, I suppose he did."

Meg smiled. "Well, you're here, so he must think you did something right. Oh, look out: here he comes."

Christine watched as Erik mounted the steps at the right side of the stage. He was wearing his black suit again, his white mask standing out in sharp contrast against his darkly clad figure. Christine sidled closer to Meg.

"Does he always wear it?" she whispered.

"What?"

For a moment Christine thought Meg must be joking, deliberately faking puzzlement. Surely she hadn't failed to notice Erik's most glaring characteristic?

"Oh!" said Meg. "You mean the mask! It's so easy to forget when you're used to it. Yes, he wears it all the time." Her voice became low and serious, and she glanced discreetly in Erik's direction. "But you must never mention it in front of him."

Christine watched Erik's progress across the stage. The performers greeted him with cheerful good mornings, as if a man wearing a mask was the most common and natural sight in the world.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Christine asked.

"The mask? Of course not. Why should it?"

Christine wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I find it rather peculiar."

"Don't ever let him hear you say that," whispered Meg. "He'd be very upset. Mother found him crying once, in Box Five. Someone had published a caricature of him in one of the newspapers, I think it was Le Epoque. Poor Monsieur Carriere took it very badly. I think he likes to forget about the mask."

"I heard he once fired someone for asking about it."

Meg frowned. "That's a lie! They're always spreading cruel rumours about him. He would never do a thing like that."

"I'm sorry," said Christine, taken aback by Meg's protective attitude towards her employer. For a small blonde ballerina, she looked remarkably fierce.

"It's all right," said Meg, relaxing. "You weren't to know. But people can be so cruel to him at times, and he's been very kind to mother and me."

"Does your mother know him well?" said Christine, remembering the tall, stern figure of Madame Giry.

"Yes, I suppose so. Shush!"

Erik had reached their side of the stage. He paused in front of them and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Good morning, Monsieur Carriere," said Meg.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle Giry," Erik replied. "You did very well in the ballet last week. It's about time you danced a solo. We must discuss it with your mother later."

Meg's hand flew to her mouth in surprise. "Thank you Monsieur Carriere!"

Erik turned his masked face towards Christine. "Good morning, Mademoiselle Daae. You're on time today, I see. That's good."

Then he strode away before Christine was able to reply. She glanced embarrassedly at Meg, and saw that the girl's shoulders were shaking.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing," said Meg. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at him. He's so predictable. He never forgets anything. Don't worry, Christine. He's only joking."

"How can you tell? He always sounds so serious."

Meg looked at her darkly, her eyes narrowing.

"You can tell, because if he was really angry with you, you'd know about it."

Christine shivered. In that moment, she promised herself that she would never do anything to make Erik angry.

Suddenly, a loud but beautiful voice rose above the babble of conversation. Erik was now standing just behind the footlights at the front of the stage, next to Monsieur Reyer and a man whom Christine had never seen before.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Welcome to our first rehearsal for Hannibal. Thank you for getting here so promptly, and please accept my apologies for keeping you waiting. I would like to introduce you to some key members of the company, for the benefit of those who have just joined us. Most of you will have already met Monsieur Reyer, our chie répétiteur, at your auditions, and this gentleman beside me is Hector Chalumeau, the composer of this great work."

Erik indicated a tall man with white hair, who gave an elaborate bow.

"Choreography, as ever, will be by the highly capable Madame Giry," Erik continued. "Our stage manager for this production is Monsieur Mercier, so please see him if you have any problems involving disappearing properties. Onto the cast. As I'm sure most of you know, the role of Hannibal will be sung by Ubaldo Piangi, and the role of Elissa by Carlotta Giudicelli."

Although the casting of Carlotta and Piangi had already been made public, the mention of their names still led to an increase in the volume and excitement of talk among the company. Christine could still hardly believe she would be performing on the same stage as the great Carlotta.

Ever since her very first visit to the Paris Opera House, Christine had idolised Carlotta. The diva had an extraordinary soprano voice, and Christine longed to be able to sing just like her. The range and power of Carlotta's voice was something Christine never seriously imagined she would emulate, but Carlotta remained her role model, her inspiration. And now she would have the opportunity to perform alongside her. She glanced around the assembled company, trying to locate the prima donna.

Erik turned to Reyer with a frown.

"Where are Carlotta and Ubaldo, incidentally?"

Reyer shrugged and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. Erik glowered at each member of the company in turn.

"Well?" he said. "Any suggestions?"

There were a few titters from the youngest members of the corps de ballet.

Erik sighed deeply. "It appears that our stars are late once again. Apparently they consider themselves to be above such trivialities as rehearsal."

Meg nudged Christine. "That's true."

Erik surveyed the chorus.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to need two volunteers," he raised his hand to indicate an apprehensive youth who was shaking his head wildly and trying to hide behind an artificial palm tree. "Yes, Anatole Garron, you'll do. Thank you for being so quick to volunteer. I beg your pardon? Yes, Anatole. I know you're a baritone, but never mind. We can't all be tenors and there's nothing like a challenge, is there? Good. Now we just need a soprano…"

Erik extended a long white finger. Christine glanced over her shoulder, and realised with a jolt that there was no one standing behind her.

"You mean me?" she gasped.

Erik nodded. "Certainly. What's the matter? You look nervous."

Despite her fear, Christine knew this was a chance to impress, to prove that Erik had been right to hire her after such a mediocre audition. She shook her head.

"Nothing. I'm fine, thank you."

Erik gave her a slight smile. "Good. Now I would like to begin with Hannibal's entrance. Reyer, please take it from 'These trophies from our saviours…' Page fifteen of your score, Miss Daae. Are you ready?"

Christine cleared her throat and nodded. She was aware of the other members of the company staring at her, and wondered briefly whether they were willing her to succeed, or hoping she would fail. She looked at Meg, who gave her a supportive smile.

She heard the song emerge from her throat, but to her ears it sounded strangely distant, quiet and muffled, a voice carried on the wind. It was just one phrase, but it was enough. She blushed and looked at Erik, who was regarding her with something approaching pity.

"Thank you, Miss Daae," he said. "You will need to be louder in future."

As he watched the rest of the morning's rehearsal from the relative peace of Box Five, one thought occupied Erik's mind.

He would need to have a serious word with Christine Daae's singing teacher. Whoever the fool was, he was clearly a complete amateur who had not taught his pupil how to project her voice. He could not understand how a prize-winning student of opera could fail to deliver a simple phrase of music so spectacularly. It was true that her voice had lacked support during her audition, but at least she had been audible. Unless her nerves were already getting the better of her.

Erik was greatly troubled by the thought that he had been wrong. Perhaps that song, that music from his past, had blinded him to the truth. Perhaps she simply wasn't good enough.

"Anything wrong, old fellow?" said a voice by Erik's ear. "You're being very quiet today."

The voice belonged to Hector Chalumeau, the Opera House's composer-in-residence, who insisted on being present for every rehearsal. He was nearly twenty years older than Erik, in his late fifties. In his youth he had been the star tenor at the old opera house on the Rue le Peletier, very handsome and popular with female patrons. After the old theatre burned to the ground, he had devoted a long period of unemployment to writing his own operatic works. Philippe de Chagny was something of a fan of his and had introduced him to Erik, persuading him that his dramatic and romantic operas would be perfect for his first season as director. Grudgingly, Erik was forced to admit that, for once, Monsieur le Comte had been right.

Normally Erik resented Hector's presence in Box Five, but today he was almost relieved to have a fellow musician to talk to.

"I think I've made a mistake," he said.

Hector's eyes glittered with amusement. "A mistake? You? Never!"

"I think I've cast someone who isn't ready to perform in front of an audience," Erik continued, ignoring Hector's mischievous tone.

"Who?"

Erik sighed. "Christine Daae. The girl who stood in for Carlotta earlier. What do you think of her?"

The composer smiled. "I think you need to give her a chance. She's only new, I suppose?"

"It's her first rehearsal."

Hector rolled his eyes. "Well, then! What do you expect? You probably put far too much pressure on the girl. Carlotta is a formidable talent to live up to, don't you agree?"

This was quite possibly true. Erik realised he had wanted Christine Daae to burst onto the stage in a blaze of talent, a star already, even though her entire demeanour was that of an inexperienced, nervous chorus girl, which was precisely what she was.

"You think I'm being unreasonable," he said.

Hector laughed. "You're expectations are far too high, as usual. You should relax a bit more. Enjoy yourself." The composer's expression became suddenly wistful. "I remember when I was young, at the old opera house. I drank champagne after every performance, and went to dances and dined at all the best restaurants. You should try it yourself. Go to the bistro sometimes after first nights, that sort of thing."

Erik snorted. "Perhaps if I was sure I wouldn't bump into the Comte de Chagny."

Hector raised an eyebrow. "Now, now. He's not that bad. He paid for the mechanical elephant…"

"Which keeps breaking down."

Hector looked ready to defend the troublesome elephant, but to Erik's relief he was prevented from saying anything more by a commotion on the stage.

Erik peered over the ledge of Box Five and saw that Carlotta had arrived, complete with her entourage.

"Oh, no," groaned Hector. "She's brought that wretched dog again."

Carlotta was holding a miniature poodle under her arm. The singers who had been rehearsing only moments ago left what they were doing and ran to Carlotta with words of welcome. Carlotta beamed at them and put the little black poodle on the floor, where it was promptly surrounded by a dozen cooing chorus girls.

"Really," grumbled Hector. "I don't know why you put up with it."

Erik smiled. He put up with Carlotta's dog for the same reason he tolerated Hector's presence in Box Five during rehearsals: Carlotta was a valuable member of the company, and he wanted to keep her happy. Besides, Erik quite liked the dog, not least because it was also called Erik, in a tribute which had touched Erik while also leaving him feeling mildly insulted. Having a diva's poodle named after you wasn't exactly the most flattering of tributes.

"Excuse me, Hector, I must go and speak to her," he said, glad to have an excuse to leave the box.

Onstage, Erik found Carlotta talking to Reyer. He waited for a pause in their conversation, and coughed politely.

Carlotta turned around, and her face was lit up by a broad smile.

"Erik!" she said, grasping his hands and squeezing them. "I'm so pleased to see you. And you are pleased to see me, yes?"

"Yes," said Erik, sounding less pleased than he actually felt. Then, accusingly: "You're late."

"I'm so sorry," Carlotta said. "I was simply exhausted! That opera house in England…you have no idea! And those managers…" she shook her head. "Not as good as our Erik. I will never tour again, do you hear me? Never! But what is this?" She was looking at Erik closely, her eyes showing concern. "So pale! What is wrong?"

"Nothing," said Erik. "Just a little tired."

"Well, never mind," said Carlotta. "I am back now. I will keep order!"

Erik smiled again. Carlotta's presence in the Opera House generally added more chaos to proceedings, rather than calming things down. Carlotta had always seen herself as superior to the other singers, particularly those in the chorus. From a professional point of view, Erik knew she was right, but this also gave her a tendency to boss the other performers around and try to run Erik's rehearsals for him. Despite their affection for each other, there had been many arguments between Carlotta and Erik, because they both thought they knew best.

There was a growling sound by Erik's feet. He looked down. Erik the poodle was staring at him with a pair of glassy black eyes.

"Erik, say hello to Erik," said Carlotta.

Erik reached down and patted Erik Two on the head. Erik Two gave a low growl.

"He's pleased to see you!" said Carlotta. She scooped Erik Two into her arms, where he growled some more. "You must tell me later about all that's happened while I've been away. But first you must start the rehearsal again." She clapped her hands together and raised her voice. "Everyone be very quiet! We are going to start the rehearsal again!"

"I can take it from here, thank you," said Erik, feeling the first pangs of irritation at Carlotta's intervention.

Things progressed quite smoothly after that. Erik strode confidently around the stage, informing Carlotta and Piangi in mildly chastising tones that occasionally the drama required them to sing and move at the same time. He re-orchestrated several passages of the score (much to Hector's chagrin), showed the stagehands how to operate the mechanical elephant, and confiscated the bottles of beer they had smuggled into the rehearsal.

The Opera House was Erik's sanctuary. Whenever he was busy like this, caught up in a world of musical notation and missing stage props, a change would come over him. For a short time, he was able to forget that he was different from these people, Carlotta and Piangi and Madame Giry and Meg, that his disfigurement would forever set him apart from them, that he wore a mask.

Today was different. Today something was breaking the illusion. That something was Christine Daae. Whenever he caught sight of her, his mask became painfully real to him again. Each time he saw her, he would turn his face away, wondering why he suddenly felt so shy.

Author's note: Thank you to all those who read and reviewed. I'm sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. The next one should be a lot quicker. I hope you're still enjoying the story, and thanks again for reading. Please review!