Chapter Twenty One
A/N: Hello everyone! I realized when writing this chapter that there would be a continuity error dating back to chapter one. I have since edited the first chapter to eliminate any of these errors. If you don't want to go back to look, Christine originally made a comment in chapter one that the Populaire was putting on Il Muto again. That idea no longer works for this chapter to make sense. So, for all intents and purposes, this will be the first time the opera house is putting on the production. Thank you again for all the reviews! Enjoy.
Il Muto was an entirely new production written by Abrillzio; the Populaire had been given the honor of introducing it to the public. As such, many in the cast were nervous in regards to the show's reception. They had been set to launch the production earlier in the year, but the managers' fears of a poor response to the raunchy, operatic comedy meant Hannibal had ultimately been chosen. The latter long-running show promised a contented, pleased crowd. Now, however, Abrillzio's vision would take to the stage in Paris's most esteemed opera house. To maintain a certain air of mystery, the plot had been kept secret, with only the cast's names listed beside the roles they possessed.
The pageboy-Serafimo's-costume was incredibly easy to move in and so Christine supposed she did not entirely mind the role as she stretched back and forth. She waited in the wings for the show to begin, a familiar anxious stirring rising in her chest as the orchestra began the first movement of Act I. Finally, the girl discerned her cue and sauntered onstage with an overly-feminine plod, meant to portray her pretense as a youthful man masquerading as a maid.
She paraded around on stage as Carlotta and the other cast members sang of her husband-the Count's- departure.
"The old fool is leaving," the Countess cackled, causing an eruption of laughter from the crowd.
All was going well; the audience seemed pleased with the production. Christine ripped off her skirt to reveal she was pretending to be a maid and was, actually, the Countess's mute lover. Perhaps the audience had yet to understand it was an entirely silent role even given the opera's title. The crowd sat, anticipation radiating off of them in waves. Still, no sound left the ingénue's throat. Carlotta must have sensed the unrest, for when Serafimo and the Countess acted as ardent lovers behind her fan, the woman savagely pinched the girl's neck. Christine bit her lip, trying her best not to cry out. The opera continued.
"Daeé is not singing? That is Daeé, is it not? The pageboy?" She heard someone from the crowd murmur as she took another turn about the stage.
"Be patient, I am sure she will sing soon," an older woman responded.
Carlotta loudly initiated her part of the laughing song:
"Poor fool, he makes me laugh!
Hahahahahaha...
Time I tried to get a better, better half!"
The crowd tittered, finding the aria quite humorous, although some were obviously waiting for Christine to join in on the song.
She did not.
And then the Countess sang about her fortune in having a mute lover. The audience became restless, realizing they would not be hearing the young girl who had enchanted them in Hannibal sing at all.
Carlotta continued to screech out notes, well-aware of the crowd's displeasure. A sudden wave of jeers attacked the stage.
"Mademoiselle Daeé should be singing! We want Daeé!"
"Give us Daeé!"
Christine could scarcely believe it. Her name was being chanted over and over again by the audience. She stood still, stunned. They wanted her! They wanted her voice! The girl could not keep from a small, thankful smile, even as Carlotta choked out the next few words, sounding as if she may sob. Christine then felt a moment's sorrow for the woman; to be jeered at on stage was not pleasant. To be outright told by an audience that you were not wanted in a singing role was…unbearable.
Carlotta's high-heeled footsteps approached the girl and they were not part of the staging. The Countess was supposed to be teetering about the affair on her sofa-not near Serafimo's character. Christine automatically flinched- frightened the woman might hit her once more.
A shriek rung out instead: "YOU LITTLE TOAD!"
Then Christine was being grabbed by her arm, the older woman's nails digging painfully into her bicep. The girl stumbled backwards and out of the furious grip, landing clumsily on the stage floor, luckily without much damage done.
The once great La Carlotta was run off stage by the crowd's outrage; her ugly, wet bawling fading as she clobbered away behind the stage and through the wings. Christine remained on the floor, unsure of what she should do next. A gentle hand wrapped around her shoulders, bidding her to stand.
"Are you alright, Christine?" Meg's voice whispered. Her friend had been in the scene as one of the gossiping maids. Christine sunk into the other girl's steady embrace and trembled both from excitement and shock.
"I am alright," she whispered back.
The managers finally stormed the stage in a desperate attempt to appease the crowd. Christine was soon yanked away from Meg's gentle grasp as Firmin yelled in a rather shaken voice. "Mademoiselle Daeé will be playing the role of Countess for the remainder of Il Muto." The audience's cheers were deafening; Christine's heart thundered in her chest. They want me. They want me.
Christine was rushed to the dressing room by Meg where it seemed a million people divested her of the pageboy clothes. The Countess's costume was tugged upon her, apparently bearing several holes from where Carlotta ripped off the dress before vanishing from the opera house entirely. The seamstresses worked quickly, deciding on a rich, red cloak to hide the gaping rips until they could repair the fabric at a later time.
The girl breathed in harshly, feeling almost faint. Meg spoke to her reassuringly. "You know this part, Christine. Bridgette will be playing the pageboy and it will be much more fun! Just breathe."
"What if I don't remember the blocking for the Countess? What if I have already forgotten?" Christine responded nervously as her hair was being shoved under a powdered wig and pins poked into her scalp.
"I will tell Bridgette to help you-she knows where you are supposed to be. She can guide you throughout the show and make it seem as if it's a part of the opera." Christine did not miss the excitement in Meg's voice and found the feeling was contagious.
"Alright, alright," Christine replied, grinning.
"Good! I will see you on stage then! Let me just give these clothes to Bridgette."
Christine swayed slightly as the women laced up her costume tightly and helped her step into the high-heeled shoes.
"Are you alright, mademoiselle?" she heard one of the women-Catherine-ask.
"Oh! Yes! Just, well, a little shocked is all," she replied earnestly as someone began to steer her to the stage wings.
"You will do wonderfully!" Catherine shouted as the girl was led away.
"Thank you Catherine!" Christine called back.
And when she entered the stage again she was welcomed warmly as the new Prima Donna of the Opera Populaire.
Christine had never felt such lightheartedness in a production before. The writing was witty and the characters were charmingly eccentric. Although she sometimes fell into her previous blocking as the pageboy, Bridgette managed to make the lapses seem planned. In one such incident, Christine accidentally stepped on "Serafimo's" foot, her muscle memory overriding her knowledge of the role she was to play now.
The pageboy took the mistake as an opportunity to dip Christine low to the ground as an impassioned lover would, the crowd cheering wildly at the gesture.
Throughout the production, her voice soared, and her happiness was audible even in her coloratura. And then it was over. Christine took her bows, the crowd roaring with approval. The smell of fresh roses filled her senses; the flowers had been tossed onto stage as gifts for her. Once the curtains closed, she was congratulated by the cast in much the same way as opening night of Hannibal. Finally, Meg escorted her back to the now abandoned dressing room, gushing all the while.
"Oh that was so much fun! The way Bridgette dipped you was hilarious. The audience surely loved it! You brought so much more life into that production than Carlotta could have."
"Thank you for encouraging me, Meg. I was so worried. I really don't know what I would do without you!" Christine grinned, squeezing her friend's hand.
"You would have done wonderfully even without me," Meg replied, pulling Christine into a tight hug.
"Do not be so sure of that," Christine uttered.
"No doubt Erik will want to share in your triumph," Meg commented.
"I hope he is proud of me."
"Of course he is, Christine. He loves you."
The girl nodded as Meg assisted her out of the heavy dress and into her lighter clothes. Winter was coming, and so the fabric was thicker than usual but still breathable. Several women came in to take away the costume and dismantle the pins securing the Countess's powdered wig. Christine sighed, feeling much better without the piled hair weighing her head down. Once the makeup was removed, the two girls were once again left alone in the dressing room.
"Will you be meeting with Erik?" Meg inquired evenly.
"Yes, I would like to. I want to know what he thought of the performance."
"He will be…in here?" Meg asked.
"Perhaps. If he knows of Carlotta's disappearance he will also know I am in here. If not, I will go to the storage room." Christine replied.
"Alright. Well, do not stay up too late. You need your rest for this week now that you are officially Prima Donna. Really, there is absolutely no way Carlotta can return after the scene she made on stage. Good riddance." Meg scoffed.
"I cannot help feeling…sorry for her," Christine murmured weakly.
"Sorry? For that cow!? Christine, she pushed you down in front of the audience!"
"She grabbed me and I fell," the girl corrected softly.
"Yes, she grabbed you. And what is that on your neck?" Meg's fingers brushed the tender bit of skin on Christine's neck where Carlotta had pinched her. The girl shooed Meg's touch away, reaching up to cover it protectively with her own palm.
"She did that when we were behind the fan. I think she sensed the crowd was growing tired of her."
"God, she is ghastly," Meg declared viciously.
"She is gone now, so it's behind us," Christine stated.
"I suppose so," Meg sighed. "Alright, well I will be leaving. Do make sure that lover of yours sees you home safely."
Christine felt her face grow hot at the term Meg had used. Lover. "Meg, you really are too much!" She admonished.
"Goodnight, Christine. Give Erik my regards," the smirk in Meg's voice was audible.
"Goodnight Meg. Sleep well."
The door to the dressing room shut and she was finally alone. Well, not quite alone.
"Erik," she called softly.
The sound of the mirror opening made her heart pound. She smiled as he spoke. "Your performance was absolutely brilliant tonight, Christine."
"Thank you for teaching me," she replied, walking forward. He caught her up in an embrace before she had the chance to throw her arms about his neck.
"I saw what that harpy did to you," he hissed into her ear.
Christine shivered. "I would say the shame and embarrassment she has suffered overrule what she had done to me."
"Perhaps it was for the best," Erik conceded. "She made the crowd hate her. There is no chance of her return now."
"The crowd really wanted me, Erik! No trickery, no deceit involved. They wanted my voice!" Christine could not keep the joy from entering her tone. She paused. "There was no deceit, right, Erik?"
She heard his sigh. "No, Christine. No trickery from me. Though, I must confess….I had planned to tamper with Carlotta's throat spray."
"What?" Christine gasped. "What would you have done to it?"
"It would have made her croak, like a toad." He stated simply before adding. "It would not have permanently damaged her health or voice."
"You would have sabotaged her?" Christine pressed, both angry and struggling to hold back laughter at the thought of that woman opening her mouth to sing and instead croaking loudly.
"You were always meant to be the leading lady, Christine. She has overstayed her welcome. I was simply…it does not matter now, does it?"
"Erik, you must promise me to never do such a thing again," Christine's voice sobered. "I want to know I have the part because of my own merit, not because of any trickery on your behalf."
"I swear to you, the role of Countess was given to you on your own merit. And…I will not tamper anymore with the managers' casting choices concerning you. You have no need of it anyway."
"Thank you, Erik. I know you are good for your word." She paused before speaking again. "I thought Bridgette did an amazing job as Serafimo tonight."
"You were both very charming together. Carlotta could not hope to achieve the levity you did tonight."
Christine beamed up at him. "Are you proud of me?" She asked, timidly.
"How could you ask that, Christine? I am always proud of you. Tonight, you were enchanting and it will be the same for nights to come." He spoke passionately, causing her to flush.
"I love you, Erik" she whispered.
"And I love you, Christine," he replied. "I have something I wish to show you," he said suddenly.
"Alright," she smiled as he led her through the mirror. Then they were ascending instead of descending.
"Where are we going, Erik?" she asked, clutching his gloved hand.
"Be patient," he admonished, although there was no irritation in his tone, only tenderness.
She heard a latch being opened. "This is a ladder, Christine. Can you climb it?" He asked, now behind her. She nodded as he guided her hands to the rails. She ascended steadily, excitement radiating throughout her body. The ladder ended and her palm felt the new floor, it was cold-almost icy. She brought herself to the ground, moving so Erik could follow after her. He finally brought her to a standing position and Christine felt the crispness of the outside air upon her face.
Little flecks of water and ice fell on her cheeks. Snow! It was snowing! Christine grinned. "Where are we, Erik?" she asked giddily.
"The roof of the Populaire."
She lost her breath in absolute awe. "You took me to the roof," she murmured softly.
"It is snowing," he stated from behind her, his hands placed upon her shoulders.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, as if she could really see the glimmering lights below and the soft white flakes that fell upon the pair.
"It is," he agreed, his arms wrapping across her collarbone. She laid her head on his elbow.
"Oh, Erik. Thank you!" She couldn't stop smiling. The two stood there for several minutes, basking in each other's presence.
Then his voice rose from behind her. "I must ask you something, Christine," a note of trepidation entered his tone, startling the girl out of her happy state.
"What is it, Erik?" she asked, turning to face him. His breathing was suddenly erratic. She placed her palm upon his masked cheek. "Erik, darling, are you alright?"
Suddenly, he was taking that same hand of hers and lowering it. His own were shaking as they grasped hers; she felt a smooth, round object being placed onto one of her left fingers. The heaviness of it felt so right on her flesh.
A ring! Tears began to prick her eyes. Was he really-?
"Christine," his voice quivered. "Christine, you are the love of my life…I promise to always take care of you if you will have me-that is-will you be my wife?" He sounded as if he might unravel completely.
She grinned and threw her arms about his neck. "Yes! Yes! Oh, yes I will be your wife, Erik! I love you so much!" She started crying tears of joy and she heard his silent, relieved sobs following hers.
He picked her up and spun her around, laughing in utter happiness. Her feet lifted off the ground and her golden locks were tousled by the snow and wind as he twirled them both. When he set her down again she gently took the mask off of his face and crushed her lips to his. He eagerly responded, his hand entangling in her curls, massaging her scalp. She pulled away, too excited to contain herself.
"When will we be getting married, Erik?" The girl practically leap up and down in her levity.
He chuckled at her display. "Whenever it is you wish. I do have to make some arrangements beforehand, but I have no qualms with a winter wedding. You do understand that the ceremony must be…small." His voice saddened, as if she was suffering some great loss.
"That sounds wonderful." She held his hand over her heart, seeking to reassure him. "Mama Valerius already gave you her blessing." Christine smiled, sorrow overshadowing her features for a moment.
"I am sorry she will not be there for you," Erik declared softly. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms about his lean waist, his cloak hiding her within his embrace.
"But she will be there," Christine whispered into his vest. "She will be."