A/N: Once again, I cheated… Swan Lake was represented for the first time in 1875 and we're in 1871…
Chapter 6
"Are you… sure of this, Céleste?"
Monday morning was as sunny as Saturday had been. And Céleste had taken advantage of the joy which was reigning in the house to tell Philippe her decision of finding a house of her own, in Paris.
"Philippe, I have been thinking of this since last spring. And with Raoul and Christine starting a family, I think it would be better if I just leave. Annette will be coming with me to be my maid, but I will need a cook, a butler and a coachman."
"Well, you can take Élisa, Jérôme and Baptiste with you. I think we will do fine without them, and you know them since you're a child. At least you will not have to hire people you hardly know."
"Oh, Philippe, that is so kind of you. Are you sure you will be fine with them with me? I mean… they've been here for so long and…"
"And I'm sure you'll be a good mistress for them."
Céleste felt tears in her eyes. Not only because of Philippe's generosity, but also, because now, she knew that by taking distance from her family, they wouldn't be aware of her business with the Opera Populaire and especially, with the Phantom of the Opera. They would be safe… Well, she hoped so. And she wouldn't have to bear Christine's presence every day.
Since Saturday, the two girls hadn't said a word to each other. It seemed like Christine had finally understood that Céleste would never accept to be a friend. She would only be what she couldn't prevent: a sister-in-law. And though Mlle de Chagny was quite satisfied with it, she knew that this heavy atmosphere wouldn't last for long without making anything explode. So, it was better if she just left.
"Anyway," said Philippe with a teasing grin, "it won't last for long. You will have to get settled quite soon, young lady."
Her marriage. She completely forgot that. Great. Though she knew perfectly well that Philippe would find a good suitor for her, she didn't want her freedom to be interrupted so quickly. It was a foolish feeling. That was her destiny, anyway, since the very day she was born.
The morning passed quite quickly, and in the beginning of the afternoon, Céleste got out of the house and headed towards the Opera Populaire, desperately trying to forget the "threat" Philippe had reminded her. She had something else to worry about, which was actually quite serious compared to her soon-to-come wedding: her meeting with the Phantom of the Opera.
From Saturday evening to now, she had been tortured by the Phantom's sentence: "From now on, you will do whatever I say." What was he going to ask from her?
Slowly, evidence came to her, before her eyes. If she married, probably she wouldn't be able to have any link with the Opera Populaire anymore, nor the Phantom. If she remained an old maiden, probably the madman wouldn't let her go until his death. His death… Who would notice? Céleste never wondered, like most well-behaved ladies, if she would be able to kill someone. It would be so easy, to kill the Phantom. Who would notice? Who cared for him? No one. No one to love him… Just thinking of that made Céleste's heart inexplicably tightened, and she just couldn't explain why. Could so miserable of a creature deserve so miserable of a death? Well… no.
Whatever she would choose, she would never be free. It was probably better to do what her family had always asked of her instead of obeying to every whim coming from that madman. She was a caged bird, in a golden prison, and nothing else. She remembered what the Phantom had told of her: she was a wild thing. Yes, she was a wild bird, just wanting to be free, but knowing that would never be possible. Getting out of the cage, without anything for her survival, would mean death.
Talk about a choice. Being the slave of a madman, in order to know certain of his intentions towards her family in order to protect Philippe and especially Raoul. Or being the wife of some man, condemned to be all pretty in parties and to bare children, just smiling and just saying "Yes" and "No" like if she had no brains. But getting married and leaving the Opera Populaire for good would mean the Phantom would attack her family directly. And she didn't want that.
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't notice that she had arrived. The coachman had opened the door and was looking at her, a bit embarrassed. With a bit too wide smile, Céleste got out of the carriage and, trembling, she headed towards the Opera Populaire, without looking around her. She collided with someone, who grumbled something she didn't understand, and continued without even apologizing. It was almost in a sleepwalking manner that she headed towards the chapel, and entered it.
Even if she looked very attentively, she couldn't see the Phantom anywhere. Good. He wasn't there yet. Remembering where she was, she turned towards the altar, signed herself and genuflected, mumbling a silent prayer. Only God, the Virgin Mary and all the Saints in heaven could help her now. Suddenly, a hand touched a shoulder. Strangely, Céleste was so relaxed that she didn't gasp of surprise. It was actually quite easy to guess who was there.
"It's useless to say the prayers of the dying," said the Phantom sarcastically. "I'm not going to kill you."
"I wasn't praying for that," Céleste said grimly. "Praying God in difficult times can be comforting."
The Phantom's sarcastic grin widened. "Well, just seeing the way you dress, it's easy to say you think yourself as a nun."
Céleste looked at the brown dress she was wearing. Yes, she hated that dress, and it did make her look like a nun. But what was the Phantom expecting? That she would just come wearing a red velvet dress, so low-cut it was scandalous? No way. She came that afternoon looking as decent as possible, though she was really tired of wearing those plain dresses after a year in a convent. She lifted up her eyes, in an exasperated manner.
"What do you know about God and religion, anyway? Now, stop the chit-chat and just tell me what you want."
"You're really nothing but a spoiled child, hey?" the Phantom said, his voice full of disgust. "Well, first of all, you forgot your violin, last Saturday. Good thing I was there to keep it for you."
He handed Céleste her violin case, which she took immediately. Hearing the Chagny girl muttering "Thank you" a bit grumpily but somehow sincerely, he felt troubled. No one had ever said "thank you" to him. Not even… her.
Meanwhile, Céleste put the case on a chair and opened it. But, when she took her violin out, she realized that it wasn't hers… She was sure of it. The varnish, for a start, was different. She peeked into the instrument, where the violin maker's label was usually placed. Her violin was made by Robillard, one of the finest violin makers in Paris. And her surprise was quite big when she saw the name of the label: Stradivarius.
These violins were worth a fortune for their amazing sound, and even Céleste wouldn't dare spend money for such a thing, though having a Stradivarius violin would be wonderful. But… but this made no sense! Why did the Phantom want her to have so expensive of a violin?
"I… I don't understand. I cannot accept this, monsieur. What is this little game? What do you want?"
"I was expecting a little more gratitude," muttered the Phantom.
"Oh, it's not that I'm not happy with this, it's just… It's not very proper for a lady to accept such a gift of a man who is not her husband."
"Oh, please, don't come and repeat to me that little lesson that your mother told you." The Phantom started having the most insupportable mocking smile, which made Céleste want to hide six feet underground. "Accept only sweets and flowers from men, darling," he continued, imitating a woman's voice.
Céleste couldn't help giggling, but stopped immediately, remembering those things weren't to be laughed at and that she wasn't at all with a friend. She was with a man, in the most improper ways, without a chaperon, and longer than she was supposed to. Regaining her senses, she said in a cold voice:
"Well, monsieur, I think you still owe me an explanation."
"Of course. But you must promise me that for now on, you will not ask me any more questions."
Céleste sighed. Did he think she was nothing more than a puppet? Well, by not promising, she wouldn't make much progress in her situation. With a grumpy look on her face, she finally answered: "I promise."
The Phantom smiled, and lifting his cloak lightly, he handed a few music sheets to Céleste, who was now quite puzzled. "Do you think you can play these?" he finally asked.
Céleste looked at the Phantom in an awkward and interrogative look, but, at the moment she was going to open her mouth, he placed softly a leather finger on her lips. "You promised. No questions. And feel lucky I'm in a good temper today." She freed herself quite quickly. It wasn't that she didn't like it when the Phantom touched her. Well, that was the problem. She felt no disgust, nor repulsion, nor even the modesty she should normally have.
With an exasperated look, she settled herself, putting the violin under her chin, the bow in her right hand, and forbid herself from asking the Phantom if she could at least practice. She looked at the score he had given her. Concerto for violin, by Johannes Brahms, first movement. Just looking at all the notes that were almost fighting for a place on the paper made her dizzy. Was he just expecting her to play it perfectly, right now? That was impossible! Was that his revenge? Playing so badly so he could laugh at her face? What a pathetic revenge. It couldn't be that, and Céleste felt foolish of even suspecting that. Without further ado, she attacked the first notes on the score.
Strangely, the concerto wasn't too hard to play. The Stradivarius violin produced such a beautiful sound, and soon, she relaxed, and let all her passion appear on the notes she produced. When finally, she played the last note, in a vibrato which gazed in the air and slowly faded away, she opened her eyes, and held herself from smiling when she saw the Phantom's almost amazed look. Well, it seemed like she just won a little victory.
"That was… very good," he finally said. "And… you said you just started to learn when you were a child… and you never continued after?"
"No," answered simply Céleste.
Erik lowered his head, thinking intensely. Everything was just so perfect. His plan could go on. It would be all so easy… But then, for the first time perhaps in his entire life, he felt a little hint of guilt. Céleste de Chagny was, after all, nothing else than the fop's sister, she was arrogant, cold, but she had a strength in her that she never had, and she had such talent. And presenting her talents to the world for that purpose… It seemed almost like a sacrilege to him.
Then the reality slapped in straight in the face… He just compared her to Christine. How did he dare to do such a thing? That was enough. It was time for him to dismiss her until next time. Something in him wasn't right. And he felt anger growing stronger and stronger in him. Not only for Céleste, who inexplicably reminded him of Christine, though she was her complete opposite, but also, for Christine herself.
To conclude everything, he handed other music scores to Céleste.
"Study these for next time, next Wednesday." he said coldly. "I don't think you'll have much of a problem with these, after what you just did. That will be all."
And before Céleste could even say a word, the Phantom disappeared like he did the first time she met him in the chapel: by seemingly going through the stone wall.
She was relieved that the Phantom was gone, but at the same time, she was disappointed that it was already over. The mystery was becoming thicker by the minute. It was evident that he was going to tutor her in violin, but why? How was that going to hurt Raoul or Christine? Well, there was pretty much only one solution to solve this: come back Wednesday.
Almost hesitatingly, she put the Stradivarius violin back into its case. For a long minute, she gazed at the case which stayed on the chair, almost wondering if she should take it or not. Then, finally making up her mind, she seized it firmly and headed, proud, towards the chapel's door.
As she got out, she headed towards the exit, but was soon stopped by M. Firmin, who immediately ran to her.
"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle, please!"
Céleste wasn't really in a mood to talk to anyone. All she wanted was simply to collapse on her bed, trying to forget about all her problems. And now, she was pretty sure Firmin was stopping her to talk about money, and discussing about something that would probably just give her a headache because of all the numbers he would talk about. It took her supreme courage to turn towards M. Firmin with a smile.
"Monsieur? What can I do for you?"
"Mademoiselle! I've just realized you haven't been presented to the other patron of our Opera, Herr Schmidt! He's here, just at this moment! Would you mind if we presented him to you?"
"No, not at all," answered Céleste, though she really felt like saying "Yes, I do mind, and just leave me alone."
While they were heading to the managers' office and Firmin was blabbering about the other patron, the Prussian millionaire who, recently, had helped financially for the Opera Populaire's restoration, Céleste was only half listening, while the other half of her was moaning on her bad luck. This was just not her day. Not at all. And really, it just couldn't get worse.
When they finally arrived, Céleste could see M. André speaking with a fat little man, his face as red as his hair (and there wasn't much of it), dressed in the typical nouveau riche style (which meant expensive clothes, but very little taste), and just looking at his physique, he was just the perfect stereotype of Germans: little, fat, red skin and red hair, and Céleste wouldn't have been very surprised to see him with a pint of beer one day. He was probably one those men who had gained money and power by starting their own factories and being cunning in business.
"Ah! So I finally get to meet Fraulein de Chagny!" said Herr Schmidt with a thick German accent, a wide smile and presenting his hand. Céleste shook it, but regretted to have done that very soon: for a moment, she thought her hand was going to come off because of the patron squeezing it so hard while he was shaking.
Suddenly, the door opened, and la señorita Parilla made quite a spectacular entrance. After the German stereotype, there was the femme fatale stereotype. She was wearing a red velvet dress, and all the scandal that came with it. And Céleste thought she was going to faint when she saw La Parilla almost hanging on Schmidt's neck. Well, that was the most ridiculous couple she had ever seen. Ines Parilla was a head taller than her new lover, and was as thin as he was fat, with a complexion as olive as his was red, and as sensual as he was simply grotesque. They would be all the rage in some comedy, for sure.
But Céleste showed nothing of her mockery, and stayed cold, while Firmin and André looked slightly embarrassed of La Parilla simpering nonsense while Herr Schmidt was smiling dumbly. The poor managers could feel that Céleste didn't feel too pleased about such an inappropriate demonstration, but didn't dare to say a word, afraid of annoying La Parilla and above all, Schmidt.
But thanks to God, a knocking on the door interrupted all this.
"Yes, come in!" shouted Firmin.
"Messieurs?" said Mme Giry, entering in the office. "A letter has arrived for you."
She handed them a white envelope, which André took with eagerness. But soon, the faces of the managers grew pale when they saw the back of it. The letter was sealed with a red skull they knew a bit too well.
"What?" gasped André. "This can't be. This is nothing more than a bad practical joke!"
"Just throw it in the fire and we'll be done with it!" said Firmin, impatiently. But the word "fire" made the managers slowly looked at each other and, without further ado, they opened the letter, under the intent look of Céleste and Mme Giry, who both knew very well that it was no joke, the annoyed look of La Parilla, furious the attention wasn't all towards her anymore, and the intrigued look of Herr Schmidt.
"Could this be the Opera Ghost I've always dreamed of meeting? Oh, my chance of taking a picture of a ghost!" said the patron eagerly.
"I would be careful with that if were you, monsieur," said Mme Giry sullenly.
The spidery writing allowed no mistake, nor did the letter's style. It was the Opera Ghost. And he was back.
Have you missed me, good messieurs? I think that for now on, you will have no objection to let me manage the arts in this Opera house, since you have both proved many times that you have no competency in those matters. For a start, I still ask for my monthly salary of 20 000 francs for my services, and Madame Giry will act, as before, as your intermediary. For the official reopening of the Opera, it will be a ballet. No opera this time, though I will accept to have La Parilla sing a solo if you wish, for she seems to be more there for the bodywork rather than for her talents, and I wouldn't stand seeing her for a whole show. I've seen the ballet dancers have practiced Swan Lake, recently? This is perfect for me. Though the prima ballerina usually dances both the roles of Odette and Odile, La Sorelli, your prima ballerina, will only play Odile. This role requires sensuality, a thing I believe she learned quite well by her little meetings with Monsieur le Comte Philippe de Chagny. The role of Odette requires innocence and grace, and I'm sure Little Giry will fulfill this part very well. And finally, for the violin solo, you will ask Mademoiselle de Chagny to do it. She has been taught well, and has more than natural talent.
I do expect my commands to be executed, since you both know what disasters can occur. You are certainly conscious, messieurs, that there is worse than a partly burned Opera house?
Your most humble servant,
O.G.
First of all, Céleste was going to ask a few questions to Philippe concerning his relations with La Sorelli.
Second of all, how would a lady of her rank humble herself to be just an artist, a violinist playing in solo?
Memories of her childhood came back to her. That was what she wanted since she was a child, though she had always fought it. And now, that opportunity was given to her. She had to take it while she had the chance. And anyway, her brothers having no relations with the Opera Populaire, they would probably never know. But… why was the Phantom helping her to accomplish her dreams? That was something she didn't understand at all.
"THIS IS AN INSULT!"
"Now, mein Liebling…"
"IT'S AN INSULT, I SAY, AN INSULT!" shrieked La Parilla, while Schmidt was desperately trying to calm her down.
"We are both sorry for this offense, señorita, but with the Opera Ghost, we cannot take any chances."
La Parilla got out of the office crying loudly, followed by Herr Schmidt running as fast as his fat body could carry him. Firmin and André turned towards Céleste and Mme Giry, and it was only then that they seemed to realize that Mlle de Chagny was carrying a violin. Well, one quality they obviously didn't have was observation.
"Oh… so you do play the violin?" said Firmin, with a suspicious glare.
Céleste hesitated before answering. For a moment, she thought of telling the managers everything, so they would maybe take measures to stop all of this. But then, she thought of the impossibility of all this. The Phantom really did control the Opera Populaire. And the warning glares coming from Mme Giry convinced her that making up a plausible excuse was the best solution.
"Yes, I must say playing the violin is one of my passions," said Céleste calmly. "I was taught by Gustave Daaé himself. I came here to practice in a vacant room to be in peace, but probably this Opera Ghost heard me and thought well of my little talent."
"Well, before going to a total catastrophe, could we hear a bit of what you can do, mademoiselle, if you don't mind?"
"Of course," answered Céleste.
Quickly, she took out the violin and the bow out of their case and, without further ado, started playing.
Answers to reviews:
Lydia the tygeropean: Oh, thank you so much, it's so so SO nice of you and when I read that, it really made my day! I hope I will not disappoint you!
Blue Wolf29: Well, she doesn't have much of a choice. She doesn't want the Phantom to hurt her or hurt Raoul (and even hurt Christine, though she hates her). If she executes his commands, she knows (well, sort of) what he's up to and can have a certain control on the situation. Céleste is smart and resourceful, so she knows she has chances to prevent or at least reduce the Phantom's revenge by knowing what he's up to by using her. You see what I mean? ;) Especially with the baby who is coming, she has to stay on the look-out… but she's really doing that for her family, not Christine.
