Teacher of Music - Part Three
Teacher of Music, Part Three
By Allison E. Lane


"Until you stop these things happening, this thing does not happen!"
The Phantom of the Opera
, Act One Scene One



The next three months passed quickly for Reyer, a whirlwind of endless rehearsals, meetings and lessons. During the latter Christine progressed splendidly; the rehearsals and meetings he didn't particularly care to think about if he could avoid it. He never failed to delight in pushing Christine to the breaking point of her temper during those lessons, pleased when she at last grew bold—or furious—enough to at least half-heartedly snap back at him. It was an improvement over the lifelessness she had usually displayed during her earlier time at the Opera. Reyer's goading always had the desired effect in that it inspired Christine to sing louder and with more confidence, though in time she was able to do so without him having to insult her. The results were more fantastic than Reyer had dared to imagine. Before her lessons Christine had been merely a very good singer, but whatever inner muse was stoking the fire Christine did not normally possess when not singing had transformed her into a soprano of the highest order. During the course of her lessons there were occasionally times when Reyer--in a rare moment of romantic sentiment--fancied that if one could hear the angels sing, then they would sound like Christine. Her voice was simply that astonishing.

Carlotta Giudicelli couldn't hold a candle to Christine, and it inflamed Reyer to no end that Christine's incredible talent had to be kept a secret from everyone but Meg and Madame Giry. It was infuriating to watch Carlotta parade about in her finery, day after day, with her loud, trilling, offensive voice, while a much more deserving singer had to remain unnoticed in the corps de ballet! But while Reyer couldn't change that sad fact of life, there were things he could do, and so he taught Christine the entirety of Carlotta's role until she could sing Elissa in her sleep. Just in case. One never knew what could happen, in opera. Reyer preferred to think of it as insurance.

He drove Christine mercilessly, but she never complained, not even when they were forced to hold her lessons in the evenings as opening night drew near and she became almost sick from exhaustion. Reyer began seeing her home as well, in addition to Madame Giry and Meg. It became customary for him to force Christine to eat something, anything, so she wouldn't starve herself to death by practicing instead of eating. Often he sent Meg to stand over her and make sure she ate. "Are you trying to kill yourself?" he would exclaim in exasperation, to which Christine would penitently shake her head and do as she was told, dragging herself off in search of nourishment.

Carlotta never completely abandoned her scheming against Christine; she would make scathing remarks about the dancer when the diva knew she was within earshot, pointedly remind Christine of her place in the company, and laugh spitefully at her during rehearsals. The taunting often drove Christine to tears, and it made Reyer's blood boil—in addition to being a cunning little witch Carlotta had no manners whatsoever!—but there was nothing he could do or say in public besides admonish the diva for her lack of etiquette. He only hoped Carlotta could somehow be indisposed and they could all be rid of her, but he knew it would never happen because Carlotta never missed a performance.

But as it turned out, he got his wish after all…

It had all boiled down to the last dress rehearsal of Hannibal. Lefévre had been holed up in his office all week with two gentlemen no one seemed to know, fueling more rumors that the man was seeking to retire. Last-minute costume additions were still being made, the set still being finished in time for the gala performance that evening. The ballet still did not have their act completely together, Piangi was still mispronouncing everything, and Carlotta was as always in perfect health. To Reyer prospects of a good performance seemed rather bleak.

The dress rehearsal in progress, Carlotta had just finished her solo cadenza with the false severed head sent from Hannibal, and now the chorus was pouring in, along with the ballet. Reyer was standing just offstage with the score, following along and conducting to himself with one hand; he spied Christine among the ballet dancers and frowned momentarily. She looked paler than usual, and he wondered if she had been up all night again. But no time to wonder—Piangi was coming on. The tenor strutted to center stage, full of self-importance, threw back his cape with a flourish, and began singing.

"Sad to return to find the land we love threatened once more by Roma's—"

Reyer saw red. The man was doing it again! "No, no, no!" he shouted, walking rapidly out onto the stage and making a beeline for Piangi. Rehearsal effectively shuddered to a halt; the wardrobe mistress, sensing a window of opportunity, scuttled out after Reyer, her mouth full of pins. "Signor Piangi, if you please! Rome. We say Rome, not Roma!"

The tenor blinked at him—rather stupidly, Reyer thought. "Si, si, si," Piangi said quickly, eager to please, "Rom-a. Rom-a—"

"No." Reyer sharply waved a hand. "Rooooooommmme."

"Rommmm-a," Piangi repeated.

"Mmmmmm!" Reyer snapped.

Piangi shook his head in frustration. "Roooommme… is very difficult for me!" he exclaimed, and to Reyer it sounded like the man was overexaggerating his own accent.

Reyer curtly flipped through the score, showing Piangi the pages. "How many times do you say 'Rome' in this opera, Signor? Are you going to mispronounce it every time?" He snapped the score shut. "Learn to make it not difficult by the performance this evening."

The rehearsal had descended into chaos, with everyone talking at once; one fawning voice was rising above them all with irritating cheeriness. It was Lefévre, the manager, walking right into the middle of rehearsal with two finely-dressed strangers, getting in the way as usual. Reyer stared daggers at him. Could the man not see there was a rehearsal in progress?! Leaving Piangi to his bungling, Reyer walked around the rear of the now-halted trio and stood pointedly next to Lefévre, waiting for him to get the hint. One of the two strangers—the taller one, the one that had hair—nodded at him in silent greeting, but Reyer ignored him. Lefévre kept right on talking, oblivious to Reyer's presence, as he always seemed to be. It was on purpose. The two of them had never gotten fabulously along.

Finally, Reyer cleared his throat as obnoxiously as he possibly could. "Excuse me, Monsieur Lefévre," he cut in impatiently through clenched teeth, "we are rehearsing. If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment?"

Lefévre finally turned to look at him, rather placidly, putting on a show for his companions, but Reyer could see the dislike in the man's expression. Well, if he wouldn't get in the way all the time… "My apologies, Monsieur Reyer," Lefevre replied pleasantly. "Proceed… proceed."

Reyer gave him a curt nod. "Thank you, monsieur." Moving away and muttering curses under his breath, he flipped his score book back open and slammed his heel down twice on the stage to get everyone's attention. "From 'sad to return'!" he said loudly as the chorus moved hurriedly back into position. Reyer waved an arm at Piangi, retreating to the sidelines. "Signor."

The ballet girls prostrated themselves on the floor and Carlotta assumed an air of lovesick anticipation; Piangi threw back his cape again. "Sad to return to find the land we love," he sang, walking forward to take Carlotta's hand, "threatened once more by Rooooommme's farreachinggrasp." On 'Rome' he turned his head to look back rather nastily at Reyer, who glared murder at him. If he does that at the performance tonight, I'll…

The ballet took over to dance a short number. Reyer, still keeping the beat, noticed Lefévre and his cronies still in the way; Meg nearly pirouetted right into the tall gentleman, with Christine barely avoiding the same mistake. Reyer had just opened his mouth to snap at them when, from across the stage, Madame Giry banged her time-keeping stick on the boards.

"Gentlemen, would you kindly stand to one side?"

Reyer rolled his eyes and continued following the ballet. Imbeciles, all of them.

A moment later Madame Giry banged her stick again. "Christine Daaé—concentrate, girl!"

Reyer quickly looked over at Christine, who was now very red about the ears as she went through her moves. She had fallen out of step. Reyer had observed over the past few weeks that she was by no means a talented dancer, only an adequate one, and he wondered for what had to be the hundredth time what fool had placed her in the corps de ballet instead of the chorus. He watched her more closely; not only was she paler than usual, her movements were a hair sluggish and there were faint circles under her eyes. Well, that was it, Reyer decided. After rehearsal he would pull Christine aside and give her a lecture about practicing to all hours of the night. You'll put yourself into an early grave, he'd said before, and he'd say it again. Really, she was taking 'dedication' too far.

Then the ballet was over and everyone was singing again, welcoming Hannibal's elephants. Reyer watched apprehensively as the giant mechanical elephant was wheeled in. There hadn't been any trouble with the beast yet, but knowing the Opera's track record for calamity, it would find a way to break down in the middle of the actual performance.

And if it didn't stop on its own, then Piangi would surely break it, Reyer mused. The tenor was required to climb the thing, and he was doing just that now, or at least attempting to. He was barely succeeding—he nearly slipped and fell once, but somehow managed to get in place by the final note of the song… just barely. Reyer put his head in his free hand. Good God, he could see it now, Piangi making a fool of himself in front of all of Parisian high society…

Now that the song was over everyone was getting up and congratulating themselves on a job well done; Lefévre was vainly trying to quiet everyone down. Obviously he thought he had something important to say. Reyer disregarded the man's efforts and extended a hand to help one of the dancers to her feet, then turned to two singers playing attendents. "Next time," he said to them, looking at his score, "not so loud when the elephant comes in, you're sticking out of the ensemble, but on your own entrance be a little more—"

There was the sharp retort of Madame Giry's stick upon the boards of the stage, and everyone immediately shut up. They all turned to look at Lefévre. "Thank you," he said into the ensuing silence, using a normal speaking voice. "As you all know, for some time there have been rumors of my imminent retirement."

Here it comes, Reyer thought, not surprised in the least.

"I can now tell you that these are all true"—a murmur arose from the gathered assembly—"and it is my pleasure to introduce you to the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire: Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre."

The two strangers bowed to a smattering of applause. Reyer clapped unenthusiastically, then tuned Lefévre out. He had more pressing matters to attend to rather than listen to the sugary introductions that were sure to follow. How like Lefévre to cut his losses and run, Reyer thought, re-opening his score and cutting past the two new managers. I bet those poor fools don't know a thing about what really goes on around here. He knelt at the edge of the stage, where the conductor was talking quietly to the first violinist. At Reyer's approach he looked up. "The tempo was a little fast, I think," he said.

"Only a little," Reyer replied amiably—he liked the man—while checking his score. "The ballet was fine but the final rondo sounded a little rushed to me."

The conductor nodded, making a note in his own score. "Otherwise everything is satisfactory?"

"I would think so, although Madame Giry may disagree on the tempo of the ballet," Reyer said.

The conductor paused in the middle of opening his mouth to reply, looking at something over Reyer's shoulder. "Oh, wonderful, a personal concert," he murmured sarcastically.

Frowning, Reyer turned his head to see what the man was grimacing at. Carlotta was standing almost directly behind him, the tall manager—Andre—fawning over her like a pro, though this one looked like he actually meant every flowery word he said. "…I wonder, Signora," he was saying, "if, as a personal favor, you would oblige us with a private rendition?" He noticed Reyer watching. "Unless, of course, Monsieur Reyer objects."

Carlotta clasped her hands together in acquiesence, a sickening smile on her face. "My manager commands," she gushed, turning to Reyer and continuing sweetly, "Monsieur Reyer?"

Reyer resisted the urge to vomit. "My diva commands," he said with equally false sweetness, standing and flipping through his score to the indicated aria. "Will two bars be sufficient introduction?"

"Two bars will be quite sufficient," Lefévre said quickly, nearly cutting Reyer off in mid-sentence. Reyer merely stared at him in annoyance for a moment before closing his score and backing up a step, glancing at the conductor in the pit.

"Signora."

Carlotta took a minute to theatrically ready herself with her brightly-colored, gaudy scarf before signaling that she was ready to begin. "Maestro."

The conductor brought his baton down and Carlotta began singing. Reyer tuned her out, preferring to imagine Christine singing in her place. What a just world that would be—Carlotta would never have left her native Italy and Christine would have the role of prima donna that she so rightfully deserved. A shame that talent alone never got one anywhere in opera. One had to be a deceitful, vicious pig like Carlotta, traits Christine thankfully lacked—a drawback to her career, perhaps, but fortuitous for her personality, Reyer supposed. That girl had not a cunning bone in her body, which was refreshing. Only a beautiful voice and the bearing of a mouse—

Suddenly there was screaming; Reyer was jerked from his reverie just in time to see a backdrop nearly crash down on top of Carlotta—and for a second, he almost thought he heard the sound of laughter. Then one of the new managers, Andre, was in his face, evidently searching for a scapegoat for the near-murder of his beloved diva.

"Do you people have no safety precautions?!" the man was yelling.

Reyer's eyes narrowed in irritation. "What are you complaining to me for?" he exclaimed in response, pointing to where Lefévre was screaming for Buquet, chief of the flies. "I'm only the chorus master. Go have words with him if you have to shout at someone!"

Buquet appeared then, shaken, with a rope in one hand; he looked over at Carlotta, who was sobbing loudly in Piangi's arms.

"For God's sake, man, what's going on up there?" Lefévre demanded.

"I was not at my post, I swear to you!" the aging stagehand cried, shaking the rope at the general assembly. "There's no one there. If not me, then… a ghost!"

The ballet girls all screamed in unison. "The Phantom of the Opera!" Meg whispered fearfully.

Reyer whipped his head around to glare at her. "You hold your tongue!" he hissed. Reyer didn't believe in the Opera Ghost as religiously as Lefévre, the ballet girls, and others did, but he had a healthy respect for the name. Too many coincidental 'accidents' had occurred for something not to be going on.

"These things do happen," Andre was saying in his best reassuring voice to the tearful Carlotta.

Her tears coming to a halt, Carlotta simply gazed at Andre for a moment, as if she thought her ears were deceiving her. "These things do 'appen?" she echoed, slowly advancing towards Andre, then drawing in a deep breath and continuing acidly, "You 'ave been here five minutes—what do you know?!"

Andre backpedaled a few steps and Reyer inwardly groaned. Oh God, she's going to have a fit, he thought, doing his best to blend in with the scenery. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to get screamed at, especially by Carlotta.

"For five years these things do 'appen, and do you stop them? No!" Carlotta raged at Lefévre. "And you—" she poked a finger at Andre. "You are as bad as him!" The exquisite fingernail was now aimed back at Lefévre. "So, these things do 'appen! Well, until you stop these things 'appening, this thing does not 'appen!" She tossed her scarf savagely to the stage, then signaled to her maid, who had been hovering just offstage with the diva's furs. Now the tiny woman rushed on, wrapping the furs around Carlotta's shoulders, who imperiously lifted her chin and stalked off. "Ubaldo! Andiamo!"

Piangi automatically stuck his nose in the air in an exact imitation of Carlotta and swaggered after her. "Amateurs!" he sneered disdainfully.

The entire gathered assembly stared after them in shock; Reyer, simultaneously amused, dismayed, and annoyed, moved first, dashing after the retreating tenor. He caught up with both Piangi and Carlotta in the wings, nearly treading on the man's exquisitely embroidered cape. "And just where do you think you're going, Signor?" he demanded in a low voice.

Piangi maintained the holier-than-thou attitude. "For too long this has gone on. These injustices, I will not tolerate them. I cannot work like this."

Reyer snorted derisively. Piangi was only parroting his precious diva's words. "You do realize, Signor," he said, "that this production will find a way to go on without you—without both of you." He angled his head towards Carlotta, who merely sniffed and patted her furs.

"I would like to see you try," she replied haughtily. "This opera house is nothing without me." She turned her back on Reyer and resumed walking. "Come, Ubaldo."

Watching them disappear backstage, Reyer was suddenly thunderstruck. This was what he had been hoping for! Carlotta was gone, the opera was without a star, and there were two new managers who could be easily manipulated… it was utterly perfect! This could be Christine's only chance to get noticed!

"It will go on without you, indeed!" he muttered triumphantly, his mind formulating a plan to get Christine a chance to sing as he hurried back to the stage before too much damage could be done.

When he got there, Lefévre was gone. Andre had a faintly shell-shocked expression on his face. Reyer had seen it happen countless times before—the man's hero worship image of Carlotta had just been shattered. Madame Giry was saying something about a Vicomte de Chagny. Reyer had heard the name over the past week; Chagny was the Opera's newest principle patron. Apparently he would be attending the evening's performance, which of course was now without its two stars. The managers very understandably looked panicked.

"Madame, who is the understudy for the role?" Firmin asked in consternation.

"There is no understudy, monsieur," Reyer automatically interjected, speaking up from behind Firmin. "The production is new."

"Christine Daaé could sing it, sir," a small voice piped up from the sidelines. Everyone turned to see Meg Giry stand up confidently, clutching Christine's hands tightly. Christine suddenly looked terrified, and was trying to drag her friend back. "No, Meg, don't!" she protested weakly.

"The chorus girl?" Firmin said incredulously. Reyer fought the urge to snicker. Oh, you fool, you fool, he thought dryly. If only they all knew!

Meg nodded quickly. "She's been taking lessons from a great teacher," she assured him.

"From whom?" Andre asked curiously.

Silence descended upon the stage as Christine, very aware of all the eyes on her, bit her lip and slowly climbed to her feet. Reyer held his breath. Surely Christine wouldn't let it slip now, after they had successfully kept her lessons secret for so long? Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Madame Giry steadily watching him.

"I don't know, sir," Christine finally said in a tiny voice, staring down at the stage floor. It was exactly the most intelligent-sounding answer, Reyer reasoned, but it would do. Thank heavens she had the presence of mind not to tell the truth.

Firmin threw up his hands in exasperation. "Oh, not you as well!" he exclaimed, turning to his fellow manager. "Can you believe it, Andre? A full house—and we have to cancel!"

"Let her sing for you, monsieur," Madame Giry said quietly, but with enough authority that the managers couldn't help but stop and listen to her. She was not looking at Reyer this time. "She has been… well taught."

Andre and Firmin looked at each other uneasily. "Very well," Andre sighed after a moment, prompting a flurry of excitement amongst the ballet girls, who apparently decided to forget their earlier torment of Christine and instead cheer for their own. Christine nervously walked forward to take center stage, accepting the scarf Meg had liberated from the wardrobe lady. Suddenly feeling a little jumpy, Reyer held the score up her for to look at.

"From the beginning of the aria, then, mam'selle?" he inquired, not even realizing that he was still holding his breath. Christine looked quickly at the score, her eyes darting over the notes, then gulped and nodded, visibly shaking. Reyer gave her the barest, quickest of smiles before stepping back. She could sing this song, he knew she could. They'd rehearsed it a hundred times. All she had to do was tap into the mysterious well of courage of hers and she would do fine. Meg lifted Christine's hair away from her shoulders, gave her arm a final squeeze, and retreated to stand next to Reyer.

In the pit, the piano began playing.

As soon as Christine opened her mouth Reyer wanted to scream. The child was warbling! He had not worked so long and so hard with her only to have her completely bungle what might be her only shot at getting out of the corps de ballet! Her voice was shaking, she was practically whispering, and at the end of the first line she faltered. "I can't—" she began to protest.

Madame Giry brought her stick down sharply on the stage and motioned for Christine to project more; Meg leapt forward to quickly give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Christine glanced back at Meg and Reyer for a moment before drawing in a deep breath and continuing. Reyer was shaking his head in defeat. He could hear someone in the back snickering. God, what a nightmare…

"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves," Firming muttered.

Andre quickly shushed him. "Don't fret, Firmin!"

Christine turned back to stare out into the awesomely huge, empty auditorium, imagining it full with a standing ovation, and her voice filling the stage, the entire cavernous space, the entire Opera House… The managers wouldn't have to worry about nerves, Monsieur Reyer wouldn't have to be so disappointed in her—and perhaps she could finally do her father's memory proud. Carlotta would never snicker at her again.

And she kept on singing, forgetting where she was, who she was, and simply poured her heart and soul into the song.

When she was finished, absolute silence reigned supreme on the stage. Even the orchestra was dumbstruck. Christine looked at the scarf, which had just fluttered down to rest on the stage at her feet, and then slowly turned around to face the company gathered behind her. What she saw made her heart leap. They were all staring at her in shock, their mouths virtually hanging open. Blinking uncertainly, unsure of what to do or say, Christine looked at Reyer, then at the managers.

"Monsieur?" she asked timidly, looking at Reyer again.

Andre shifted on his feet. "Mademoiselle," he said, glancing at Reyer for corroboration, "if you can do that again tonight, then the role is yours."

Reyer nodded, then coughed loudly. "Who would like to sing for the role of Hannibal?"