Hide Your Face So the World Will Never Find You
Being a ghost was not without its advantages. It allowed one the freedom to interact with the living without being touched by them. And Christine desperately needed that freedom to fit the pieces of the puzzle that would be her future existence. Occasionally, Raoul and Madame would glance at her sharply as if they had brushed against an aliennessin her spirit, but she was quick to allay their suspicions with a well-placed smile or charming remark.
Her relationship with Raoul became a dagger in her heart. In spite of her all too obvious mourning for Angel, he steadfastly refused to acknowledge any reason to terminate their engagement. Christine inwardly cringed at her own lack of courage in making the break. What other options did she have available? She was a scandal-ridden former diva with no prospects. This lovely gossamer cage at least offered her protection and peace. True, Raoul was in love her and while she loved him, she knew in the deepest places in her heart that she was not in love with him. The death of her beloved was still too raw. Surely, a merciful God would grant her this one favor, the ability to fall in love with her future husband. The realization that she might be forced to live out the rest of her life in some dreadful Faustian bargain was too awful to contemplate.
And while her self-imposed loneliness gave her respite from emotional demands, her physical being longed for distraction, any distraction, to counterbalance her introspection. Used to a regimen of rehearsal and performance at the Opera left her ill prepared for the unstructured life of the aristocracy; she needed purpose and accomplishment. Speaking to Raoul on the subject proved fruitless; he wished her only to enjoy her indolence after years of the restrictive existence of a ballet brat. It pleased him that his rank and position could grant her such luxury. Christine could not agree but refused to argue the issue. Raoul had been kindness itself. She would find another way. Perhaps Madame?
Madame was a creature of habit. Her days started with prayers in the chapel followed by a simple breakfast. She would then retire to the morning room to pour over the household accounts, confer with Mme. Terreux, and perform any other duties that were the responsibility of the lady of the estate. Christine waited outside the entrance, waiting for the departure of the housekeeper to give her opportunity for a private conversation. Noting Mme. Terreux's dismissal, she firmly rapped on the entry and was granted entrance. Madame was surprised; she could not recall having a conversation with this girl that had not been initiated by her own efforts. Christine seemed more comfortable talking to her in Raoul's presence. What had prompted her mountain to come to Mohammed? After a few moments of exchanged pleasantries, the mountain came to the point.
"Madame, I come to ask a favor." Christine spoke with a slight wariness. What would Madame think of her proposal? "I feel burdened by excessive time on my hands. Is there anything I can do that would assist you? I realize I am ignorant of the dealings of a great house but I am willing to learn."
Madame held up her hand and Christine relapsed into silence. Ever since Raoul had brought this pitiful creature into their lives, she had been torn between her desire to show Christian charity to this girl and her realization of the unsuitability of the match. Merciful God, they had arrived without warning at the chateau and Christine was in a wedding dress no less. She inwardly shuddered. The dignity of the respectable de Chagny name was about to be undone by a mere slip of a girl.
The germ of an idea was forming in her head. Perhaps a solution existed that might address both concerns.
"Christine, I realize that you are unschooled in the responsibilities of running a household, particularly that of a large estate. There is much to be learned. I had the advantage of tutelage from my own mother as I entered my teens. I would make a counterproposal to you. Postpone your marriage for six months. Give yourself over to me fully during that period that I might teach you not only the management of the household but make available any other educational opportunities that are necessary for a lady of your future rank."
Christine first thought was that Raoul would never agree and that Madame's plan was entirely sensible. It was true: she was ignorant and unsure of this new life. Madame's proposal would not only give her mind and body the preoccupation it craved; it would ease her journey into her future, the world of the nobility and its autocratic rules of behavior.
"Madame, I will accept your proposal upon the condition that I am able to convince Raoul." Madame threw her a doubtful glance but Christine adopted an air of confidence. "I believe I will be successful."
Madame nodded her assent. Six months was sufficient time for the girl's feelings to change about this marriage. She obviously had no idea of the rigorous training necessary for a noble lady. Well, Christine would either learn under her exacting standards or scurry back to her former life. If Madame had not considerer gambling a sin, she would have wagered on the latter.
Raoul's emphatic "No." was hardly surprising. He was already chafing under the delays that her illness had caused. If it had been his choice, they would have married soon after arriving at the chateau. Christine used her most soothing voice to placate him. She explained her uncertainty of her position and her desire to adapt to her new surroundings but Raoul would have none of it. She could learn all she needed after they were married. Christine signed when she realized she would need to steer this conversation to a topic that was uncomfortable to her but might serve her purposes.
"Raoul, if it is God's will, I may be with child very soon after our wedding night." Christine blushed to speak of such a delicate subject but there was no other choice. "I would not burden such a joyous time with the additional strain of learning the responsibilities of a vicomtesse, especially if the matter could be resolved beforehand."
Raoul's eyes widened at her talk of children. While she had been affectionate to him since her illness, she had shown no true passion. This was the first indication that she thought of him in those terms, as her lover, as the father of her children. He swept her into his arms in a passionate kiss. She responded with a prayer asking forgiveness and what she hoped would appear to be a response of equal fervor.
"Yes, Christine, we will wait."
Madame was as good as her word. Christine was entirely at her disposal, making for less frequent contact with Raoul. Because her life was so busy, she encouraged Raoul to make frequent journeys to Paris to repair neglected family business affairs. At first, the excursions were rare overnight train trips but their frequency and duration increased over time. She did not mind but was very careful to greet him enthusiastically upon his return.
Weeks passed as Madame instructed Christine in such matters as account ledgers, inventories, and the proper handling of servants. She learned to arrange flowers and evaluate plans submitted by the gardener as well as observe and occasionally assist the cook in all types of food preparation, though Madame did not think the latter quite necessary. At a glance, she could tell if a table was properly set for particular meal and what wines were to be served with each course. Mme. Terreux was an enthusiastic teacher to the petite mademoiselle's grateful student; Christine firmly believed that the good housekeeper was largely responsible for her total recovery from her potentially deadly illness. She treasured Mme. Terreux's knowledge of household affairs and well as the gift of a receipt book of her medicinal remedies.
Additionally, Christine was tutored in those accomplishments expected of a young lady. Fortunately, her years of ballet training have made her the most graceful of dancers so she had no need for additional training. Her piano tutor was delighted to be instructing the daughter of Gustave Daaé. Granted she was terribly out of practice but her father had placed her at a piano seat when she was three years old and had her play until his death. Opportunities to practice were rare at the Opera but she had remembered much and had inherited her father's instrumental sensibilities. The tutor was disappointed he had not had the opportunity to instruct her from childhood or recommend her to a great conservatory. With proper training, she might have rivaled the great Clara Schumann. As it were, with practice, she still had to ability to become the most accomplished female pianist amongst the aristocracy. In his private opinion, the aristocracy would be too tin-eared to recognize her abilities.
Christine treasured the afternoons spent in the music room at the finely crafted piano. She felt her father's spirit flowing through her increasingly responsive fingertips. It was so good to think of Father with joy instead of sorrow. Nevertheless, it pained her that her father's dream of her becoming a great singer had died in the fire at the Populaire. She could no long bear the thought of singing even the simplest childhood lullaby. Angel had been as much her Muse as she was his,
Of equal if not more delight were her riding lessons. Of course, like every small child she had been allowed to sit on a pony but she had not had the opportunity to master the intricacies of the sidesaddle, much less the canter and gallop. Her riding master had expected little from this slender, delicate mademoiselle but she surprised him with her unexpected wiriness and endurance. Years of strenuous ballet training has given her the erect posture and strong limbs needed to master horsemanship. Unfortunately, Christine exhibited almost a fearlessness in the saddle for which he cautioned her. The riding master did not wish to answer to Madame and the Vicomte for any accidents resulting from her rashness. Still, he marveled that she was learning to ride as if she were born in the saddle. For Christine if was if she could not learn fast enough. She mastered the cavaletti in short order and cajoled the riding master into allowing her to attempt the lower hedges. Naturally, she suffered some falls in her haste but she instantly would jump up and allow the riding master to hoist her back into the saddle. A warm bath in the evening would soothe any aching bruises.
Soon she was taking early morning rides to the grumbling dismay of her sleepy groomsman. Her horse, a gift from Madame from the adjoining de Chagny stud farm, was a lovely bay mare that she named Allegra. Raoul, when in residence, did not enjoy such early hours and was content to ride with her in the later afternoon after her lessons. After two mornings, she dismissed her groomsman and rode alone. Madame would be distressed but she did not care. On her horse, she was free of it all.
Those long rides along the perimeter of the estate, galloping with the wind whipping her face, healed her as nothing else because she felt him there with her. At first, Christine resisted the idea of remembering him but her mind would wander back to him, bringing with it a calmness that washed her soul. So little was peaceful in her soul that she was willing to snatch any crumbs offered her.
What had he said? That she would learn to find the man behind the monster. Her cheeks burned with shame that her actions had provoked his diatribe of bitter rage and self-loathing grief. How could she have been so stupidly careless with him? She would grow to understand that with her, it was never about his face but he could never have accepted that. It had been his night to show her all the beauty of his world and, perhaps, himself, but her rash actions had destroyed his carefully constructed façade and had wounded him deeply. She had the opportunity to comfort him, to assure him that he was still her Angel, but the best she could offer him was his mask.
My God, did he think I handed him back the mask because I could not bear his face?
It was so obvious now, the tone in his voice, the frozen expression on his face when he said they must return. She had humiliated him and he had been trying to gather any shreds of dignity he could find.
Christine leaned her face against Allegra's mane for comfort.
It was not often that Madeleine de Chagney was at a loss. Three months into the agreement, Christine was confounding her expectations. In her role as instructress, she had hurled every scrap of domestic information at her disposal and the girl had absorbed it as a sea sponge absorbs ocean water. Her music teacher and riding master were enthusiastic in their praise of her natural talent and quick wits. It was obvious the girl had not had the advantages of rigorous convent training but she was peculiarly well read. Madame took note of the books she removed from the library shelf and an odd collection they were indeed: works by Hugo, Voltaire, Dante, Shakespeare, the English poets Robert Browning and Lord Byron, even the Aeneid in its original Latin. She seemed to have a respectable knowledge of Italian and English, coupled with a halting Swedish spoken with a charming French accent.
Madame sighed. She regretted the girl's checkered past but she was a pragmatist at heart. Perhaps it was God's will that this exceptional girl in all but birth and circumstance would bring new vigor to the de Chagny line. In any case, she feared Raoul would have to look to himself because this child's intelligence had the potential to test his authority in their marriage.
Christine was still mulling over the previous day's conversation with Madame as she slowed Allegra to a walk. Madame was not a woman given to superfluous conversation but she had been almost effusive in her praise of Christine's progress to date. Christine hoped that she shifted her dumbfounded look of incredulity to one of modest humility quickly enough to avoid Madame's detection. Why was she going on about her learning her responsibilities so quickly? Angel had been a much more exacting taskmaster. He left books in the chapel for her that she dared not read lest he ask questions about them, which he did. He became even more demanding in her vocal training, as if he had some race against time to instill all of his musical knowledge in her. She had always doubted her abilities but in comparison to whom? In retrospect she realized she had compared herself to her Angel, never taking into account his own towering intellect vastly overshadowed any man she had ever known, much less a shy little ballet brat.
Christine laughed aloud at her own foolishness. Am I at risk of becoming as proud as he? She sobered at that thought. Yes, he was proud, arrogant, controlling, and possessed a murderous temper. Yet for years, he had treated a sad little orphan with exquisite kindness, singing to her, talking to her, teaching her. Somehow, that chain had begun to unravel at their initial face-to-face meeting when they both were confronted with the fact that they were no longer just the Angel of Music and his student but a man and a woman.
The next day after breakfast Madame called both Christine and Raoul into the morning room. As they were rapidly approaching the four-month mark, she deemed it necessary to take Christine to Paris for her trousseau fittings. Two weeks would be sufficient to accomplish these tasks. Raoul would not accompany them but would join them the later part of the fortnight. Madame felt that men were liable to become nuances when it came to matters of weddings and dress fittings; Raoul would be better occupied at the chateau.
Christine raised her voice in protest, "Madame, surely my wardrobe is sufficient. The purchases made in Rouen are appropriate and adequate." The Comtesse gave her a withering look, "Dear girl, my modiste in Rouen is fine and well for country living but we are speaking of your trousseau!" Christine, knowing that Madame would not be forestalled, threw up her hands in defeat. She did not wish to return to Paris, preferring the smaller, yet considerably more intriguing Rouen.
The twenty-five kilometer trip to Rouen had been a blessed respite from the monotony of her sickbed. Raoul had fretted that she might up the journey but his mother, sensing the girl's agitation, overruled his judgment much to Christine's relief. Her nighttime flight from Paris had left her unprepared for the rustic beauty of the Normandy countryside with its rolling hills of lush grazing land and blossoming apple orchards. For a jeune fille who had lived much of her life in the captive existence of a large city, the change was spiritually liberating. Driving through the streets of Rouen put her in mind that Little Lotte's influence would never totally leave her, so delighted was she at the medieval construct of the town. The half-timbered structures spoke of a time five-hundred years earlier. It spoke of his time. Christine shivered at the realization. There was little of the nineteenth century in her Angel. He belonged to another time, a time when men lived boldly, died violently, and answered more to the moment than to their Maker.
A flurry of packing occupied Christine's energies for the next two days. She was torn about packing her riding habit. Of course, the de Chagny's townhouse stable had suitable mounts for ladies so with a twinge of disloyalty to Allegra she added the habit to the growing mound to be packed. Then there was the nagging matter of the wedding dress under her bed. Why did she not burn it? Because it was the only evidence remaining that he had ever existed.
Looking around her room she realized this would be the first time she would not be sleeping in it since that night Raoul and she fled Paris. And to Paris she was returning.
They arrived by train in Paris on a warm, sunny autumn morning. The de Chagny coachman was already at the station waiting for them, gathering their trunks in quick order. Upon entering the townhouse, Madame inspected the rooms and had Christine order lunch from the chef. They were to rest the remainder of the day and begin their shopping in the morning. Madame had the foresight to send a telegram to Worth and Bobergh regarding the ladies impending descent upon their establishment the following day.
Never had Christine known that such a fairytale place could exist. Worth was world-renown for his couturier but nothing prepared her for the dizzying exhibit of dress styles paraded before her. The deceptive simplicity of his designs suited her taste perfectly. She even practiced her rusty native tongue on M Worth's Swedish partner M. Bobergh who was delighted that Gustave Daae's daughter had graced their establishment. The next few days were a whirl of dress fittings and purchases of shoes, hats, gloves, parasols, undergarments, all of the finest quality for a de Chagny bride. Against Madame's judgment, she chose a severe but elegant wedding gown and veil. She needed a dress that would blot out memory of another wedding dress, one designed with exquisite beauty and love.
Christine also found herself hungry for news of Paris. She had not inquired about the Opera Populaire while at the chateau and had been so remiss as to not let the Giry's know of her condition. At this point, she was so lonesome for all of them that she would have kissed even Carlotta. Casual references to the maids brought out a wealth of information. Did mademoiselle know nothing of the grand happenings regarding the burnt Opera? It was in all of the newspapers. It would seem that the fire miraculously died out before causing major damage. And there had been no loss of life due to the fire and crashing chandelier. The perpetually nervous Maestro Reyer had managed to evacuate the musicians before the chandelier crashed into the orchestra pit. As a result he had become quite the hero among the all the musicians in Paris. It was sad about Signore Piangi but also quite mysterious. La Carlotta found his body and assumed the Phantom has strangled him with his lasso but stagehands had reported to the police that they had seen Piangi staggering around backstage with a noose around his neck during the duet between Don Juan and Aminta. Carlotta demanded a post mortem, which revealed that the ligature marks on his neck were insufficient to cause strangulation only unconsciousness and that he had likely died of a heart attack exacerbated by fear, his age, and his overweight condition.
To add to the drama the Emperor himself sent a message to Messieurs Andre and Firman offering what aid the Ministry of Education and Fine Arts could provide to assist the world-renown Opera Populaire. The story of the young diva being rescued by the dashing nobleman had touched the Emperor's heart as he himself had married a beautiful woman of lower rank for love against the advice of his Council of Ministers. His example spurred others in the nobility and the wealthy merchant class to invest in the repairs of the opera house and cover salaries. It turned out that the government's financial assistance was not needed. It became fashionable to have one's name listed in the newspapers as a donor. Some chose to remain anonymous and were listed as such, including one exceptionally generous dodnor. Repairs were being performed even by gaslight; it was estimated that they would be completed in December. Smaller venues were donating space for rehearsals, hoping to profit from the frenzied publicity surrounding the fire. La Carlotta had vowed to retire from performing and return to Italy over the loss of her Piangi but the managers persuaded her to remain when they introduced her to Piangi's replacement: a younger, taller, and slimmer tenor who would later exhibit a marked preference for the ballet boys.
Christine's first inclination upon hearing this fantastic tale was to burst out in hysterical laughter. How something so tragic in her own life could have degenerated into a typical Parisian farce was beyond her understanding. Instead, she kindly thanked the maids for the information. On Sunday, Madame would be visiting old friends. She would excuse herself with a headache and take a cab to see the Giry's. The de Chagny coachman had discreetly made inquiries for her at the Opera House as to their present address, a small rented house. She needed answers but to what questions?
It was rare to see the normally implacable Madame Giry register any emotions beyond a bemused irony but the arrival of Christine Daae at the door caught her off her guard. She quickly allowed her look of shock and worry dissolve into one of warm invitation.
"My dear, how are you. I expect you are here to consult me about your marriage to the Vicomte." As she invited her to sit in the small parlor, Madame's eyes never left Christine's face. What had happened to this girl? She was dressed fashionably in a toilette of dark cream but her countenance had changed. She seemed much older than her years and her eyes… Madame had known those eyes since the girl's father died. Their brown depths had ever reflected her shifting emotions but now they seemed so closed off? Perhaps it was to be expected.
Christine flushed red at Madame's implied reproof. She really should have contacted the Giry's earlier. "Madame, I extend my sincerest apologies for not writing you. At the time I thought time would aid me in putting my past behind me but that may be far easier said than done."
Madame Giry cast a sharp glance at the girl. If this girl was to have any kind of rational life, the past had better stay behind her.
Further conjecture was postponed by the sound of Meg's squeal at the top of the stairs. She knew she had heard her best friend's voice and raced down the stairs in a very unlady-like manner to snatch Christine and whirl her around the room. Madame was encouraged to see a small glimmer appear in Christine's eyes. The two girls chatted and laughed as if the past year had not occurred, sitting beside each other with their hands clasped tightly together. Madame smiled and busied herself with the preparation of the tea tray.
After apprising the Giry's of her wedding plans, news of the Opera House dominated the conversation. Some of the employees quit permanently out of fear and trauma; others drifted away only to come back with the promise of renewed employment. Madame was philosophical; she had lost some promising dancers but the fire had also relieved her of some of her more burdensome ones, particularly that little chattering magpie, Cecile Jammes. Rehearsals were just now settling down from the massive chaos at the beginning. The managers had determine that since no performances could be staged due to construction the chorus would rehearse as many of the season's projected operas as feasible. Jumping from one opera to another proved chaotic but not impossible.
Christine absorbed every scrap, every detail. This had been her life for years and she was still drawn to it even though she knew she would never return. As the conversation lagged, she knew she had to make an opening for her own inquiries. If only Meg were not in the room, but there was no way to hint her away without arousing unnecessary questions.
"Madame, Raoul told me the Opera Ghost's body was found in cellars, his life taken by his own hand. I…I." Christine Daae, you fool. What more can you possibly say? This conversation can only end in misery.
"Christine, you must be dreaming! There was no bo--." Meg's outburst was momentarily hissed to silence by her mother but would not be contained. "Maman, why are you shushing me? It is no secret that the Phantom's body was never found. You, yourself confirmed this with the authorities. For all we know he could be haunting another opera house!"
Christine placed the shaking teacup in her hand on the tray, dimly noticing that she had split some of the liquid into the saucer. How odd; I usually am not so clumsy… For the second instance in her life, she fainted into oblivion.
"Meg, fetch my reticule immediately." Madame barked to her daughter as if calling the dancers to their positions. Christine slid from the divan and was sprawled on the floor in an unconscious heap. She rapidly dug through the bag for her smelling salts and waved the vial under the girl's nose.
Christine sputtered into consciousness, slowly becoming aware of two faces above her. In a combined effort, Madame and Meg lifted her back to the divan. They offered to help her recline fully but she declined with a slight nod. She, did, however accept Madame Giry's offer of a glass of wine. Its ruby contents revived her and cleared some of the fog in her head.
So Raoul had lied to her. Why was she not surprised? Hadn't he tried to kill her Angel at every conceivable opportunity, even going so far as to use her as the trap? Except this time, Raoul had thrust his sword through her to kill him.
Madame noticed lucidity returning to Christine's eyes and gasped. The stony look had been replaced by one that held all the sadness of the world. Christine dropped her head and wailed in agonizing sorrow. The Giry women held her tightly as they would a desperately ill child.
As Christine regained her composure, she related the story of Raoul's duplicity. Meg's face registered shock; she could not imagine the noble Raoul concocting such a dishonorable tale. Madame was quiet but uttered "damn fool" in her thoughts. This was just the sort of moral carelessness on Raoul's part that would bring out Christine's Scandinavian obstinacy and jeopardize her future.
Christine's mind was already set. She would break with Raoul. He had been so good to her, her knight in shining armor, but this treachery was beyond healing. He had assigned her Angel to Hell before she could intervene on his behalf. She hoped that in time God would soften her heart that she might forgive Raoul but she would never forget. It would hang between them for eternity.
"Madame, I would ask a great favor of you."
Minette Giry was furious at Christine. The girl was throwing away a dazzling future of ease and privilege out of what—righteous anger? She wanted shake her.
"Christine, you cannot be serious about wishing to live with Meg and me. Go back to your fiancé."
"Madame would you have me betray my heart by marrying the one I did not love?"
The one she did not love? Was there someone she did love? Madame felt dizzy. Holy Virgin, she is speaking of Him! What happened between the three of them that night in the lair?
The glowing resolve on Christine's face silenced Madame's objections. If she did not take her in, the girl would most likely disappear into the streets. Christine would not know those devils; it might be marginally safer to risk her with the devil she did know.
"Very well, Christine, you may stay." Madame glowered as Meg shrieked and danced around Christine at her decision. God help them all.
