Christine dug her nails into the back of the velvet seat in front of her, trying valiantly to ignore Meg's (almost) silent hiccoughs of laughter next to her. Christine herself was barely holding her composure, her stomach muscles beginning to ache, and treacherously shake.
Who else but La Carlotta could provoke such a rude response from her audience? Her swooping vowels and vicious consonants had finally overcome the varying self restraint of many members of the chorus. Those who had abstained from the uncouth act of simply standing and leaving during the last few minutes were either impenetrably courteous or finding an unintended form of entertainment from the diva.
It was just a few hours until the opera began; indeed, the reception for the ever-prestigious event of an opening night had already commenced. A chaotic flurry of last-minute preparation had left the cast, particularly the dancers, without a moment to spare until now. It was a special tradition (undoubtedly instated by Carlotta herself) for the leading soprano to 'grace' the theatre with selected arias in the time preceding an opening night, and the formidable soprano was certainly making use of her opportunity.
It was unusual for Meg and Christine to watch these tedious performances, encouraged though they were to attend by the doting managers (safely outside the theatre welcoming guests to the reception). However, as the knot of sorrow tightened in Christine's stomach, as this was to be her final performance at the Opera Populaire, Meg had convinced her to take part in this last tradition.
"Maybe Carlotta's voice will help to ease your sadness," Meg had said with a wicked grin. "At least it will make you glad to be leaving this place!"
Christine had smiled back, but already she could feel the pangs of grief and her eyes had begun to well mercilessly. She could scarcely believe that she was leaving her home of so many years, let alone her best friend.
And now as she sat and glued her eyes furiously to an empty space well above the spectacle on the stage, she could already miss the childish fun she had always enjoyed with Meg. The ache she felt building in response to her narrowly suppressed laughter became sharper- yet she no longer wanted to smile.
At least she seemed to have been (almost forcibly) excused from all the stress and responsibility of her wedding. She didn't know if she could have controlled her emotions under any more pressure.
A strangled gasp from beside her drew no immediate response from Christine, but she suddenly became aware that Meg's shuddering had turned into utter stillness, and she clapped her hands over her mouth in shock as she followed her friend's wide eyes to the stage.
Sometime in the last few moments, Carlotta's singing had transformed into terrified shrieking, and Christine watched with disbelief as the heavy woman was lifted higher and higher off the stage, a rope wrapped around her middle and hauled up, it seemed, by some unseen stagehand.
Members of the crew began to stumble onto the stage with bewildered faces, shouting angrily into the rafters; but their words were covered by the tremendous screeching of the airborne soprano. The woman swung pendulously over the stage, kicking her legs beneath her voluminous costume, her wig dropping unceremoniously into the orchestra pit, now devoid of terrified musicians, who were scurrying over the sides in case Carlotta was abruptly released.
Her face turned redder and redder, and Christine stood up, so far from the stage, hands still clapped over her mouth. As she thrust a trembling hand in front of her, palm outward facing, nobody was watching her, entranced by the hypnotising oscillation of La Carlotta. But she knew that it was no coincidence when seconds later the diva began to be lowered, her shrieking reaching a new pitch as stage crew scattered below her.
When the woman's stockinged feet had finally landed solidly on the stage, shoes having been kicked off long ago, Christine collapsed back into her chair even as Carlotta collapsed backwards onto her rump. Christine could feel the row of chair squeak beneath her as Meg leant forward eagerly, her laughter beginning anew.
"Was that amusing?" Christine asked rather tiredly, but was slightly mollified when Meg reassured her that it most certainly was.
"I was looking forward to a last performance in this venue," Christine said sadly as they trailed near the back of the small crowd following Carlotta as she stormed towards the double doors leading to the entrance hall.
Meg said nothing in response; Christine noted that she looked rather gloomy herself, and then remembered her friend's lead dancing role. Although this certainly made for a memorable last night at the Opera Populaire, Christine couldn't help but feel slightly antagonistic towards the phantom responsible for the recent spectacle. Did Erik so desperately feel the need to reprise of his Opera Ghost role? Was it necessary to sacrifice the night's performance?
Christine had to admit that Carlotta's pale, teary and fearsome entrance into a roomful of elite members of society was a performance like no other, and her growing anger was soothed as Meg's disappointment suddenly became another bout of muffled giggling.
"The ghost!" the diva cried dramatically, clutching at her bosom as all other voices died in shock at this sudden exclamation. Christine watched as the two managers, looking decidedly pasty, shoved their way to the front of the champagne-wielding spectators.
"What ghost?" Firmin said with feeble cheer in a miserably failing attempt to distract the diva's considerable audience.
"What ghost?" Carlotta screeched, swelling beneath her blue lace and satin costume, stamping her unshod foot onto the marble floor. "What ghost?!"
The managers seemed to diminish somehow as the outraged soprano leaned perilously forward, stabbing a finger to their collective chest.
"'These things do happen,' you said when you first arrived," Carlotta breathed dangerously, her words as clear and sharp as they were ever pronounced. "You told me that you had captured the man who insulted me at my last performance. But you lied!"
This last exclamation was shouted into the silent entrance hall, and, after a brief pause, was met with a wildfire of whispers from its shocked occupants. Carlotta straightened and tossed her magnificent head, curls fastened away behind a cap now bare of its wig, ignoring the hissing around her, which was silenced as her painted lips opened once more.
"I will not perform under such conditions!" the prima donna cried throatily. "Do not expect to hear my voice under this roof again!" And with that, Carlotta spun on her heel, followed immediately by her many underlings, and as her stockinged feet thudded defiantly through the door, the entrance hall seemed to erupt into chaos.
Christine stared at Meg, who shook her head as if to communicate her resignation, and the two girls clutched at each other as members of the theatre began to push and jostle past them in the sudden pandemonium.
"What will happen now?" Christine shouted, but Meg's wide eyes held no answers, and as a crowd suddenly formed around them, of bewildered guests and angry performers, they had little choice but to mimic the crowd and focus on the distraught forms of the two managers, whose flustered conversation could be heard even over the uproar.
"Ruined, Andre... give refunds? How could we…"
"The show must go on! … only an hour until the performance?"
"Christine Daaé will do it again, of course!"
Christine had hardly had time to comprehend Firmin's latest remark before the man himself had jostled his way to her elbow, and begun to pull her towards the small clearing in which an impatient Andre waited.
"Monsieur…?" she said, feeling as if in a daze, and suddenly it seemed as if thousands of eyes were fixed directly on her. She felt two hands settle on her shoulders and gazed distractedly to her left, only to be met by the desperate gleam in the eye of Firmin. She found an identical attitude to her right, harboured by the other manager, and she felt little choice but to face the excited crowd before her.
"The opera will commence at the planned time, my dear ladies and gentlemen," Andre declared, smiling through severely clenched teeth. "The acclaimed voice of Christine Daaé will more than improve the leading role of Manon!"
The owner of that acclaimed voice tried desperately to appear less shocked (and rather terrified) than she felt at that moment, and even managed to nod courteously at the uncertain applause followed by the manager's announcement. Christine tried to feel encouraged by the delighted faces of some guests, who had undoubtedly seen her similarly unexpected performance in Hannibal, and avoided the eyes of those who were loudly exclaiming their disapproval of the change.
As Madame Giry suddenly appeared before her, swiping the clenched hands of the managers off her shoulders, and began to lead her hurriedly out of the entrance hall, Christine didn't dare to look for even Meg's face amid the jealous crowd of dancers. Instead, she kept her eyes firmly at her feet as she tripped her way through the ball gowns towards the door, scarcely breathing until she had been tugged into an unoccupied hallway.
"Mon Dieu," she said weakly, rubbing her red wrist with a trembling hand as Madame Giry released her.
"You have but a moment, ma chérie, before it will be extremely necessary to prepare you for the performance," the woman said with an unusually kind smile, placing a cool hand underneath Christine's chin and meeting her eyes. "Do you know the part of Manon?"
Christine paused a moment before nodding, lowering her eyes, filled with a sudden uncertainty. "Certainly I know the part, Madame, but…."
"But what?" Madame Giry asked steadily.
"I have never been taught the songs."
"Do you know the words?"
"Yes, but-"
"Do you know the music?"
"I suppose-"
"Then what does it matter if you haven't been taught the songs?"
"Madame," Christine said forcefully, glaring into the woman's eyes. "Erik has not shown me the proper breathing techniques. He has not instructed me on the emotional subtleties of the music. He has not taught me how to perform the arias, or how to reach the high sections, or how to phrase the lyrics. I am to play the challenging role of Manon in less than an hour with no preparation. This is not like Hannibal! Erik had been working me through the arias endlessly before that night's performance. I am not even certain that my voice is of adequate quality to perform this role tonight!"
Christine felt breathless after her outburst, and could have cried at the least provocation. She could feel tears begin to form even then, and knew that the opera was certain to be a disaster. She would be lucky if the Lyon Opera House did not hear of her appalling performance and refuse to allow her a part in the chorus, let alone a lead soprano position.
"Do you really think that Erik would have provoked Carlotta quite so vigorously just now if he did not believe that your voice was ready to perform the role of Manon?" Madame Giry asked severely, her hand moving to grip Christine's shoulder forcefully.
"He has not given me a singing lesson in weeks!" Christine cried, ignoring the woman's logic.
But Madame Giry had more to say. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and Christine was startled out of her melancholy by the woman's next words.
"You are to be married tonight, Christine," Madame Giry said quietly, engaging Christine at once with this unexpected statement. "You accepted maturity along with that ring around your finger when you agreed to become a wife. No daughter of mine," the woman began, utmost severity imprinted into the faint lines in her face, "will be dependent on a man. I expect you to accept your own responsibilities without reliance on Erik, Christine. I expect you to believe in yourself."
A calmness began to fill Christine as she nodded, knowing that the woman's admonishments were wise. Of course she had been forced to mature in the past month, involved in such a complex relationship with such a complex man. But she could not deny that she still relied on the authoritative figures in her life as she had when she was a little girl, in need of comfort and assurance and someone to reveal her own talents to her.
"How am I going to abandon my dependence on you, Madame?" she whispered suddenly, feeling even closer to tears at the thought of leaving this harsh, commanding woman, whose expectations and reprimands had protected her during her years at the Opera Populaire, whose kindness had helped to diminish her initial anguish in the respectable hours of the daytime.
She couldn't bare to look up in the ensuing silence, sure that she would lose all control of her fraught emotions, and suddenly she felt a pair of shaking arms wrap tightly around her, and she clung to Madame Giry like she had when she had first come to the Opera House, when the nightmares refused to abandon their grip on the miserable little girl, except now they were both shaking and crying and it was not a nightmare that plagued them but a marriage more like a dream.
"Ma chérie," Madame Giry kept repeating, pressing her face into Christine's soft curls, stroking her back with one hand and holding the other in a tight fist. Finally she relaxed her grip, pulling back and brushing a few strands of hair off Christine's tear-streaked cheeks. "I am sure that Erik would be most startled to see me so emotional!" she said with a shaky laugh, wiping her own eyes with a handkerchief and Christine laughed with her. She had never seen the strong woman cry before. She was not sure that anyone in the Opera House had.
"But what time is it now?" Madame Giry exclaimed, worry beginning to line her face as she gathered her composure, and grabbed Christine once more, pulling them both down the corridor towards the backstage area with haste. Although Christine knew that the woman had been right, that she should have more trust in her own abilities, she could not stop a crowd of determined butterflies from winging their way to her stomach.
A/N: I got to hang Carlotta from the ceiling like a piñata! Yay! Well, with the help of Erik, I suppose. But still… it was fun.
But seriously, how utterly terrified would you be if you were in Christine's shoes? I mean, I know that this has happened before; in fact, if she had ended up performing as the Countess in Il Muto, she would have been in exactly the same position. I don't think Erik would have approached her for a singing lesson before the play (due to the minor awkwardness of their previous meeting), so she would have been quite unprepared had the Opera Ghost refrained from killing Joseph Buquet. And then, I suppose, this story wouldn't have happened…
Oh well. I'm sure Erik knows what he's doing.
Thanks for the reviews! I seriously appreciate them. And if you're reading the story but haven't reviewed yet, you may as well leave me a comment on this chapter because there aren't many left!!
-Froody