Chapter 9
Christine's Big Break
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The day before the first performance of Faust, Christine was informed that Carlotta had fallen ill. As her understudy, it was she who would now be singing Marguerite on opening night. Monsieur Villeneuve congratulated her, and himself, on her good fortune, while Messieurs Poligny and Richard fretted over an unknown taking over the role. Christine assured them all that she was confident in her ability to do justice to the role.
"Did you have anything to do with this?" she asked Erik later that day.
"As much as I would like to take credit for it, I must confess that Carlotta has brought her illness upon herself. She does not take proper care of herself – too many parties and late-night dinners. It did not take an Opera Ghost's machinations to provide you with the break you so rightly deserve."
"I'm certain there will be those who will suggest that the opposite is the case."
Erik did not care. If Christine proved to be the success he believed she would be, and supplanted the reigning diva, Carlotta would have no one to blame but herself.
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It came as no surprise to Erik that Christine was brilliant. That night she revealed a new Marguerite, a Marguerite of a splendor and radiance hitherto unsuspected. The whole house went mad, rising to its feet, shouting, cheering, and clapping. She was the new darling of the City of Lights, and all Paris was in love with her – a lovely, innocent ingénue with a sparkling clear voice the likes of which had not been heard on the stage of the Paris Opera in many a year.
Erik watched from his normal seat in box five on the grand tier, and more than once was brought to tears by her performance. Near the end of the opera, when Marguerite looked heavenward and implored the aid of "Pure, shining angels," Christine's eyes gazed up to her own angel. Eager to be among the first to congratulate her, Erik dashed off before the final curtain calls were made, and waited for her in her dressing room.
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The crowd of well-wishers swelled, filling the hallway outside her dressing room to overflowing, many bearing gifts and bouquets of flowers, all clamoring at her door, begging for the chance to worship at her feet. Safely ensconced inside the room, Erik and Christine enjoyed a few stolen moments celebrating her success. A perfectly-chilled bottle of vintage champagne rested in an ice bucket, next to two fluted glasses, compliments of the management. Popping open the bottle, Erik poured them each a glass of the effervescent liquid.
Giddy with exhilaration, Christine danced and twirled around the room. "Tonight I gave my soul," she said dramatically, "and I am dead." Then she made a graceful pirouette, and with a flair for drama that would have made La Sorelli proud, fell elegantly at Erik's feet.
Erik could not remember ever having felt so light-hearted himself, and laughing softly, bent over and took her by the hands, pulling her to her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his encircled her waist, and they kissed – long, slow, passionate kisses.
"You did remember to lock the door, didn't you?" he asked as he nuzzled her neck, inhaling the attar of rose fragrance she was wearing.
Christine nodded, unable to speak as her mouth was otherwise occupied at the moment.
"Enjoy your triumph, my love," he whispered into her ear, and then forced himself to pull away. He nodded towards the door. "Your public awaits."
"I shall shoo them away as quickly as I can, my love," she said.
"Nonsense, you want their good favor. Be kind to them, smile at them. But remember that you are mine."
"If you insist, but I shall be down later to join you for a midnight supper."
With a final kiss on her hand, he stepped through the mirror, as Christine stepped out to meet her admirers.
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Raoul de Chagny, who as one of the opera's newest patrons had been in attendance tonight, was also making his way backstage and found himself nearly swallowed up by the others who were also awaiting Christine's emergence from her room. Unmindful of whom he may have jostled along the way, he forced his way to the front of crowd. Then the door opened, and Christine stepped out, bowing gracefully, thanking her admirers.
Momentarily overwhelmed at all the faces waiting for her, she soon found herself surrounded by a sea of flowers being thrust her way. Taking a few of the smaller bouquets and cradling themin her arms, she remembered Erik's words: be kind to them, smile at them, you want their good favor. It was not hard to be kind, as their good will was contagious. The smile she wore on her face was genuine, but it froze as soon as she saw Raoul,
"Christine, I should like to have a word with you – alone."
She frowned; the last person she had wanted to see, much less be alone with, was Raoul. She had tried tactfully to make this known to him in the past, but she must not have made herself clear. One thing was certain, she was not about to invite him, unattended, into her dressing room, did not want him or the public to misunderstand their relationship. Instead, she pulled him aside – out of earshot of the others, yet still in plain view.
"What do you want to say to me, Raoul?"
He looked about at the predominantly male crowd, eyeing them suspiciously as many made no pretense of disguising their desire to hear what was being said. "I would prefer a more private place in which to speak to you, Christine. What I have to say is not meant for others to hear."
"Whatever it is you have to say to me, Raoul, you can say it here. If you don't want them to overhear you, keep your voice low."
"It is about us, Christine. About our relationship."
Christine balked. Relationship? What relationship was he talking about.?
"It is time that we take the next logical step. Allow me to become your personal patron," he said, managing to muster as much dignity as was possible when making such a declaration in so open and public a setting. "You would want for nothing – dresses, jewels, an apartment in a more fashionable part of town so that we may meet whenever we wish, without the intrusion of prying eyes..."
A knot formed in her stomach as she listened to Raoul extol the virtues of his proposal. "Is that what you think I want?" was all she could think to say.
Raoul looked puzzled. "Is it so wrong, what I am offering you?"
She knew that what Raoul was suggesting was hardly unheard of. In fact, most of the female singers and dancers – Meg Giry came immediately to mind – would be only too happy to snag someone like de Chagny as their personal patron.
"No, Raoul, it's not that at all. What you are offering me is…quite generous." She smiled wryly as she thought of Marguerite, the young maiden who had succumbed to the gifts and honeyed words of Faust, and Mephistopheles' jeering serenade:
When your lover comes a calling, then your heart takes wing.
Don't unlock your door my darling till you wear his ring!
When your lover comes a-pleading then your heart takes wing.
Don't give him a kiss, my sweeting, till you wear his ring!
She shook her head. No, dresses and jewels were not what she wanted. What she wanted, Raoul could not give her. "How can I explain this to you?" she said, looking up from time to time at the crowd and remembering to nod and smile at them. "I am looking for something more … permanent."
Raoul misinterpreted what she was trying to say. "But…but that's not possible," he sputtered. "An opera singer, even one who is the toast of Paris, could never aspire to become the wife of the younger brother of the Comte de Chagny. Surely, you can see that there would be no dishonor in accepting this situation. You need only look at my brother and Justine Sorelli. They have been 'an item' for many seasons, and no one thinks the worse of either of them for it. And look at how it has benefited Mme. Sorelli, providing her with a measure of wealth and security she would never have had without my brother's protection."
Christine opened her mouth to say something, but Raoul continued.
"If you're worried that I would someday grow tired of you, rest assured that would never be the case. But regardless, I will have papers drawn up, specifying all that you are entitled to and guaranteeing you financial security. The apartment, gifts, anything I give you would be in your name…"
Christine shook her head slowly. He still did not understand. She wanted to let him down gently, unaware that his fascination with her was becoming a dangerous obsession. "I can't, Raoul. To agree to such a relationship, I would have to be in love with you…and I'm not. I'm in love with someone else."
There, she told herself, I've said it. She saw the look on his face, worried that she had broken the young man's heart. "I'm sorry, Raoul."
"Very well, if that is your wish. But I still love you, Christine. Don't blame me if I don't give up so easily," he said, and left her to her admirers.
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