Another little break to, again, thank my readers/reviewers. Thanks you kindly, everyone!
The Palais Garnier was fluttering with excitement. From the edging of the great shining globe upwards into the sky, to the moment it set behind Apollo's golden lyre, the day had been an endless tizzy of fitting gowns for Christine, as well as endless vocal exercises opposite her 'love interest', Ubaldo Piangi. It seemed the overweight tenor knew not how to handle himself in the presence of such a kind spirit, one so drastically opposite of La Carlotta.
And who could forget the former Prima Donna, her pouting lips and peacock like arrogance absent now from the wings after the young soprano's immediate success in the first and second acts of the Opera's opening performance of Hannibal?The evening had certainly been a blur, from the moment the curtain rose to expose little Daae's costumed form, trembling under the weight of so many eyes, to now as she awaited her entrance in the wings.
Despite her skittish performance, her voice had certainly exceeded the expectations of Carlotta's elite coterie, indeed, exceeded even the manager's expectations who had first heard her crystalline voice only the night before. There lay in the bright-eyed ingenue a significant amount of faith – if only for the profits such a crowd could bring the upper echelon being out in full evening garb – and certainly there was pressure upon the woman-child. There was more so a secret dedication to her beautiful and mysterious Angel of Music, her tutor and confidante, that gave her wings to soar over every note, over every passionate word that escaped her lips.
The orchestra thundered out her cue from the pit, and slowly she eased, as if on a cloud caught by the whim of a breeze, onto the stage. The grandeur of her multi-colored, golden gown gave her the appearance of a celestial being, her thicket of curls entwined with ribbons and tiny jewels of star shaped combs was a halo around her cheeks and shoulders. She began the aria she had so familiarized herself with, her tone rich and filled with the impassioned depths of her very spirit.
It shouldn't have surprised the Vicomte that there was a full house; it wasn't because of the opera itself, but due to the appearance of the newest diva. There were inward wagers amongst many on whether she would be as good, or better, than La Carlotta. Thus far, she had proven good enough to keep people within their seats and the applause going.
Having had the pleasure of being introduced to many of the cast hours prior, he also was allowed into the manager's box, with mild protest from him. He knew well he could have paid for his own box, though didn't want to be rude and deny the offer. Andre, Phillipe, Firmin and his wife occupied the box as well, and still there was plenty of elbow room, one of which was being nudged into his side from his older brother. "Enjoying yourself so far? You seem a bit bored."
Half distractedly he brushed off the elbow and set the opera glasses aside. "Just something seems awfully familiar about the one who portrays Elissa. Could just be my imagi-" The rest of the word never got out as a sharp 'shh!' came from nearby with the beginning of the music. Frowning deeply, he lifted the glasses again to look through and down to the stage. Intently he studied the woman, his brow creasing ever further, but when her lone voice echoed through the crowd, a brow hitched high. Something definitely familiar...
So many years ago; images flickered through his mind, and his thoughts echoed what they had then, even if he was but a boy. Breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. He felt both his throat and chest constrict with the knowledge that itched at the back of his mind, and he leaned forward as if it would allow him a much closer view of this heavenly being incarnate. "Careful there, brother," the mustached Phillipe mentioned with a chuckle. "Lean any further and you'll fall right over the balcony." He settled back again, unceremoniously thumping to his chair as he lowered the glasses. Impossible. After all these years ... this was the very same Christine that he knew from so long ago? What were the chances?
There were rare times when Erik braved the outside world, earlier had been one of those times when he sought out one of his...companions to check on his garb. He spared no expense in his clothing, even if no one but himself and the blue-eyed fur-ball saw them. The Madame had been spoken to earlier, to ensure that his box had been saved for the opera, and he was beyond pleased when she confirmed it to be true. Her payment given, and a program collected – even if he didn't actually need it – he took his place as that ghostly host of the infamous Box Five.
Hollowed out pillar escalated and door locked shut, he took his place near the corner of the booth, resting back among the soft cushions that had been taken care of prior to this engagement. Madame Giry did well to tend to his comforts, and he never believed there was anything he could do to repay her. In a way ... he owed her his life.
It was around mid first Act when he had arrived, as usual, and since then his attention had yet to tear away from the stage. From Christine. There was one particular portion he was looking forward to, when she would either fly or fall before the eyes of the public. Led out upon the stage by the first strains of music, spiritual, gilded wings took to air upon those unfeeling planks of wood. There was no denying the smile that wanted to creep across his lips, and closing his eyes, he listened quietly to the sound of her beautiful voice.
He was tempted to speak to her, to let her know that he was, indeed, there. But he didn't want to distract her from her song, from this heightened feeling of having the world's eyes upon her. Taking care to remain out of sight, he shifted a bit closer to the banister, his form hidden by the curving drape of scarlet curtain. His gaze fell upon her again, pride-filled, and there it stayed. Unlike others, he wouldn't remain for the whole of the production, but seek to return to her mirror where he would wait with bated breath.
Speak again, bright angel, as Shakespeare had once scripted. It seemed that the Heavens sighed those very words as she paused in her verses, singing again with experience and pride. It was undeniable the astonishing talent in her portrayal of Elissa, Queen of Carthage, that so many had expected Carlotta to perform. Indeed, she pulled it off quite nicely.
In the stalls, men admired and sent forth for roses to be delivered to the starlet's new dressing room. Women applauded her convincing affection toward the sweating and swarthy Piangi, and yet from the shadows, as one little Meg Giry observed silently, the beauty was far from the applause. She appeared ethereal, otherworldly, behind the glow of the dimmed footlights, her full skirt of golden white and tightly fitted bodice casting an aura around her slim figure.
The depths of her eyes were distant, lifted into the infinite space that surrounded her; she was singing for him, for Erik, ever elusive and still strangely present, the instructor of her once unshaped song. She was Eurydice led from the depths of darkest grief by her unseen Orpheus to be transformed now, as all Paris could clearly see, into the splendid shape of an earthly angel.
"Do you believe in fate, Phillipe?" This brought a curious glance to the young Vicomte, then glancing out to the stage the Comte chuckled deeply. "Love at first sight, is it?" Raoul grinned toward his brother at that question. "More like second," he responded with a smile. She had changed so much, no longer the little girl that could hardly carry a tune, but as enamored as he was then, he still enjoyed hearing her untrained voice. Now it was amazing. "I will remain here after the opera, Phillipe. I must know if my eyes are deceiving me or not." With a shrug the Comte nodded, then silence fell again between them.
Both Firmin and Andre casually eavesdropped upon the conversation between their patron and his kin, then leaning close to each other they spoke quietly so neither brother could hear. "Thinking what I'm thinking?" Firmin asked Andre, who was grinning with a nod. "The boy has stars in his eyes for her, we'll give them a meeting. Ah, love."
Firmin lifted a brow slowly, then snorted before lowering his voice more. "Money, more like it. If he truly finds interest in this Daae, he stays, continues to be our patron and–…what?" Blinking slowly at his partner's scowl he gave a roll of his shoulders in a shrug and rested back in his seat, only smiling at the curious glance his wife had given him. Patting her hand gently he returned to listening to their Prima Donna sing.
Though Erik had not spoken to her during the entire performance, Christine was assured by that familiar pressure of heated weight upon her that he was somewhere, perhaps in Heaven with the angels as he had said, watching her. Or it was but the gaze of the audience she had mistaken for that strange feeling, though too enraptured in her song was she to really ponder upon it.
She inched center stage, vaguely aware of the applause as again she picked up her song from behind the melodic trail of the orchestra's interlude. Even Monsieur Reyer was beaming from his platform toward the young woman, a mere chorus girl picked in an instant, from the line to perform as Prima Donna for all of Paris.
Where ever her Angel was, be it Heaven or even upon this terrestrial ball, or within the walls of the Opera itself, her voice would surely reach him. As she neared the climax of the song, she took in mind his instruction for one brief moment – shoulders drew back, chin lifted high as if to face down the audience, the world, with her emotional vocal testimony.
Deeper, closer to the point of the aria's ending crescendo, Christine took in a breath and shattered the air around her in enraptured glory. A triumph! The front section of the audience was on its feet in an instant before the music had even reached its final notes, their thunderous cries of adoring Bravo! climbing over their applause. Just as she had imagined, just as her Angel had promised.
Even the shadowed occupants in the wings clapped for little Christine Daae, Meg's smile standing out from the crowd as the proudest of their party. Christine even caught a glimpse of Giry's own pleased expression, rare and as strangely beautiful as a double rainbow.
The swiftness in which Raoul stood to applaud took the other four occupants of the box completely off guard, and belatedly they rose as well, applauding along side of the excited Vicomte. Phillipe was laughing wholeheartedly, having not seen his brother so ecstatic since he joined the navy. Casting an almost apologetic glance to the managers, Phillipe was the first to return to his seat to prepare to watch the rest of the performance.
After the audience began calming, Raoul lowered as well, sitting comfortably, half turned to the two. "I must meet her. Is that possible?" He barely even waited for a response before he turned around with a lift of the glasses to watch the glowing woman. That was her, had to be. He silently prayed that it was whom he believed it to be.
"But of course, Vicomte." Firmin nudged Andre repeatedly in the ribs then grinned broadly, practically having dollar signs flash in his eyes. His partner only shook his head, chuckling softly at the exuberance of the other. Sometimes he had to wonder what the man loved more, money or his wife. "So far so good," Firmin gave a hushed whisper, to which he gained a soft 'ssh'. The production was hardly over, there were still many scenes to go before Frimin's 'money maker scheme' would be secure.
She had done excellently. There were no words as to how Erik could describe it. He, who was constantly articulate, was made speechless. His tutoring had taken well, extremely well. He cared not for the money that the managers were going to gain with their new diva – even if it did mean he'd probably be able to demand more each month. He cared not for the audience's approval – even if he did tell her that she would make them hers. What he did care for, was that she was baring her spirit, and not simply singing mechanically like La Carlotta would have done – and she was doing it for him.
The poor child had winded herself with the vigor of her performance, and her staged exit was a hasty one. She was growing faint, quite suddenly, her trembling hand lifted to dust gently upon her powdered bosom. Meg was at her side instantly once the starlet was away from the audience's view – but hardly from their minds – secure in the shadows of the flies.
The blonde took hold of her friend's arm, guiding her toward the shade where she would change into the costume assigned for the upcoming scene. Meg whispered soft assurance into her ear: "Carlotta has never received such praise, Christine! They are in your palm!" The bustling chorus girl was all smiles as she assisted the dressers in unfastening the complicated clasp of the gown. Free of its weight, Christine took the brief moment backstage to catch her breath, to try and calm her beating heart as it threatened to all but jump forth from her breast.
Into her regal raiment she was assisted, and as she entered again behind the softened glare of the footlights, an audible whisper went up from the audience. Remarks were made of her undeniable charm, nay even her beauty, as compared to the over zealous and oft gaudy Carlotta, the woman that served as a distant memory for what was certainly Christine Daae's mighty triumph over the Opera House.
Undoubtedly, the over-zealous woman herself had stormed from the wings and out toward the back exits until she could no longer keep a rein on her temper and left the opera house completely, with hissed vows that this little toad of an upstart would never again take one of her roles. Typical Carlotta temper tantrum, she conveniently forgot that it was because of one that she didn't retain the role of Elissa; herself.
"Raoul, where on Earth are you going?" Phillipe looked up at his brother who had begun to collect his things, looking as if he was about to depart. Curling his scarf around his neck to protect him from the coming cold, he grinned at his older brother. "Worry not, I will return before it's over. Promise." Placing his top hat on he departed from the box before his kin could give argument and started down the stairs that would lead him through the corridors. The nearby flower vendor would find their store nearly empty by time he finished purchasing, and on his way back a message would be given that the numerous bouquets were to be led through the back and into Christine's dressing room. Hopefully it wasn't one of the real tiny ones.
Just as he promised his brother, Raoul had returned before the opera was over, long before. Nearing the end, the carriage with the flowers was brought back to the stables, and a lad was informed that the bouquets were to be delivered from the Vicomte, directions were gained to the lady's room. Upon opening the door, the mounds and mounds of flowers were placed upon almost every available surface. No note was left behind as to who sent them. Among the pink carnations and roses, a single blood red rose stood out, but it wasn't with the Vicomte's order. This one lay on her vanity, held snugly by a black ribbon.
"I have not missed much, have I?" He whispered to Phillipe when he returned and took up the glasses again. "Only a few moments. Where were you?" He knew by the grin that Raoul wasn't going to be giving up his secrets soon.
If one would have presumed that perhaps her brilliant aria had been the last of her strength to perform, mark them corrected. Her voice was just as glorious and overpowering as ever before, intoxicating to hear. Her appearance, the very vision of magnificence. If anything, her skilled performance complemented Piangi, who – weight permeating – bounded and ceremoniously greeted his enchanting mistress as she entered from stage left, followed by her servants.
The acting director had done well with her. Even if Piangi was doing terribly as her opposite, she fit into the part as snug as a glove. If they were upon the streets, passers-by would have believed them to be long time lovers. At one point Erik recalled he had to pay attention to the rest of the opera, the music and the dancing, which was just...terrible. The Madame would be gaining a letter ... then again, she would know of his displeasure already, undoubtedly. He could almost see her shaking her head. It would be the managers that would receive his opinions, as well as reminding them that he hadn't gained his salary for the month. They might have come later in the month, but that was no excuse. They were warned, and should keep the same timing as the prior manager.
Before the final scene ended, he took his leave, escaping down the length of the pillar and into the hidden corridors. When he had reached her room he was unpleasantly surprised by the amount of flowers that already littered the area. Grunting low beneath his breath he slipped his time piece from his watch and checked the hour. Soon she would be returning to him, and it would be then that he would express his pride in how well she had done. The curtain closing didn't last very long. It would open again soon, allowing the cast to give their final bows.
In the final scene of the opera, the stage filled with each member of the cast, the orchestra and each combined voice lifting in the notes reminiscent of the opening chorus. Christine took center stage, singing her affectionate ode to her Elissa's precious Hannibal, her arms outstretched dramatically, and still quite convincingly, toward her cast mate. Piangi responded with his own verse, and at last the entire company sounded out the finale of the opera:"Hear the drums! Hannibal comes!" As the mighty trumpet and timpani soared beneath the collaboration of each note, the thick curtain fell in a slow close over the brightly lit stage.
"Stand by for curtain call!" The managers that acted as rather strict overseers of each wing barked out the command over the bustle of fabric and excited chattering, the chorus girls hardly able to contain their excitement over the obvious success of the performance. And also of Christine's glorious debut.
At the loud warning, she immediately rushed off stage behind the security of the closer curtain, the orchestra winding into the music that would accompany the curtain call. Dressers assisted in again changing the bright new star behind her curtain, her garments exchanged once more for the heavy gauze and taffeta fabric of her flowing gown. Little Giry stood nearby, ready to fasten the delicate, bejeweled combs and ribbons into her thicket of curls. Christine tugged excitedly at her companion's arm, speaking hurriedly into her ear as they moved for places.
"I can scarcely breathe, Meg! They're shouting my name!" The pair shared both joyous and shaken laughter, the blonde fleeing to join the ranks of the chorus as they pranced swiftly onto the stage, awaiting the curtain to open. As the thick velvet pulled back and heavenwards, the first movements were the sprightly little ballet rats, moving in unison as they politely curtsied. They moved back, allowing the minor characters to enter and bow. They too faded into the background, drowned out by the entrance of sweet Elissa herself, a supporting cast member but clearly the star of this show.
She curtsied low, her head dipping humbly before she rose, a smile stretching upon her lips as she gracefully extended her arm towards Piangi as he entered. Even the little round specimen of a man was smiling, chuckling as he stepped center stage and bowed, signaling then for the company bow. Christine took his sweating hand, offering him a fragile smile as long stemmed roses fell at their feet, her feet, and the thunderous applause showed little sign of ceasing. The curtain closed on this happy triumph, the delicate ingenue led offstage by her friend and the Dance Mistress herself who, having noticed her pallor, moved on stage amidst the madness to assist her.