Chapter 16
Meg surveyed the destruction around her. Even if the phantom had been living there before, the space was hardly habitable now.
She shivered in the eerie silence. She could still make out a fascinating beauty that the place would have held before the mob came. Regretfully, she placed the stark porcelain mask on the throne-like chair she had removed it from before.
Meg bit her lip; she felt like crying. The once gorgeous piece of furniture had been hacked and torn.
"Trespassing again, Mademoiselle Giry?"
Yulia looked at the heap of papers that was her new project. She did not know how long it would take for her cousin's mail to reach her, and, having refused to return to the Opera, had taken up writing one of her own.
Granted, Yulia didn't know the first thing about actually writing music, but she could write a highly embellished, dramatic libretto.
While the young woman toyed with the idea of sneaking the currently script down to Erik's home before she left (after all, she reasoned, he would eventually get bored with timid little Christine), Raoul rapped rather loudly on her door.
Irritated, she opened it, "What do you want—oh, Monsieur le Vicomte, come in."
"Yulia, Meg was supposed to meet me after her rehearsal, but—"
"You can't find her? Why does everyone always assume the person he or she is looking for is at my flat? I'm not that hospitable!"
"I'm sorry, Yulia, but even Mme. Giry doesn't know where she is!"
"Well, that's two young women gone since the phantom's lair was raided; perhaps his ghost is trying to tell you something."
"That's not funny, Mlle. Kazakova," Raoul said gravely.
Yulia grinned. "Don't worry; I'm sure she'll turn up, eventually. Any news on Daaé?"
"No," he said glumly. "What's that?"
"I'm writing a slightly…facetious opera. Well, the words to one, anyway."
"About what?" he asked, bracing himself for what Yulia's perverse mind had conjured up this time.
"An impetuous princess wants to become a knight, but since she only sees good in the world, she's manipulated by both a sorcerer and a young prince. In the end, she fails, because she's living in a dream."
"That's not facetious; that's depressing."
"It's…a metaphor."
"Oh," Raoul said, missing Yulia's intent.
"In any case, it's not finished…it won't be for a while…perhaps, half way by the time I have to leave…" she mused to herself.
"I think…we all live in dreams, to an extent, and I don't think we should be faulted for that," Raoul said after a long silence.
Yulia stared at him. "We fault people for it every day; it makes them weak. The world is harsh…"
"Then, what's wrong with at least pretending that there's some good in it. Truthfully, Yulia, there is good out there, and you'd be much happier if you'd stop living in your dream and see it."
"Your dream is to have Daaé as your wife; I don't think she's coming back. I'm sorry."
"What do you mean?"
"She has the world at her feet, whether she realizes it, or not. It's not your concern."
"You know where she is!" he accused.
"No. I just know she's not coming back."
The poor boy looked ill. "I love her…" he said.
"I know; all of Paris knows! Love isn't one-sided; it's too much work. You're better off on your own."
"But…I fought to save her…I would've died for her…I still would!"
"You look frightful; I'll make some tea."
Meg spun around and froze for a moment as she stared at the unmasked phantom.
"Monsieur, I—" she mumbled as she dashed to hand him his mask.
He fingered it oddly, regarding the object with a mix of contempt and sanctity. "Thank you," he said.
"I'll be going now…"
"There's no need! Christine will be delighted to see you!" He grabbed her wrist pulled her into a hidden room, which was decorated like a plush bedroom.
Christine was sitting on the bed, dressed in white with her back turned.
"Christine, my dear, your friend Meg is here. Won't you say hello?"
The young woman didn't move.
"Why is she here?" Meg asked quietly, bewildered.
"You don't know? My, Yulia Alexandrovna kept her mouth shut…Christine and I have been married!"
He waited for her to respond, and the ballet rat managed to fumbled out "Congratulations."
"Now, you won't tell the management, I'm sure? Of course you won't! You know what would happen if you did…No! No! I wouldn't hurt you…but, we're leaving very soon, you see. I can't have my bride living down here, away from sunlight…"
"May I speak to Christine alone, Monsieur?" Meg asked timidly.
"Of course! Forgive me! You'll see the door from in here…"
"Yes, I understand. Thank you." With the door shut, Meg blurted, "My God, Christine, what have you done? And he…he's acting like a drunkard!"
"He's happy," Christine said dully, still not moving from her position.
Meg walked around the bed to face her friend. "Christine, you look dreadful! What has he done to you?"
"Nothing."
"And…you're married? Legally married?"
Christine nodded slowly. "He frightens me…he does whatever I ask of him, it's really quite pathetic…he treats me like a goddess. But, oh, it's not his face! He's a murderer! No matter how kind he is to me, he's a murderer, and liar, and…he thinks I'm happy. I act like I am, but I feel dead! I can't live down here, Meg…He thinks I love him, too…he mistakes pity and compassion for love! But, he' s never known love…so how would he be able to know the difference? Oh, Meg, I don't know what to do! And I'm his wife! God forgive me, I'm his wife!"
"How did this happen?"
Christine looked at her blankly. "I came back."
"Why?"
"I don't know…I suppose I was nervous about marrying Raoul…but, oh Meg, I've made a mess of everything! I have to get out of here, but…he'll…It's hopeless!"
"You know it wouldn't be safe to go back to Monsieur le Vicomte."
"I know," Christine said miserably.
"I might have an idea, but you'd have to leave Paris," Meg said slowly.
"Anything! Oh, Meg, I care for him; he was my teacher, but I can't live like this!"
Meg nodded. "Ask him if I can come visit tomorrow."
Christine obeyed, and, with permission granted, Meg headed off to Yulia's small home.
Yulia put her pen down and stretched her cramped back. What had started out as a slight parody was becoming rather dark, even by her standards. She looked up to find that it was half past eleven, and she wisely chose to prepare for bed.
As she unpinned her hair, she heard a light tapping at her door. Scowling, she opened it. "Meg Giry! Does no Parisian call at decent hours? Why does no one realize I want to be left alone—"
"Let me in! This is important!" the little dancer snapped, forcing Yulia to cease her ranting.
While Yulia tied her dark hair back with a piece of ribbon, Meg demanded, "How long have you known Christine was with the phantom?"
"Since she returned and offered to marry him."
"You've known all along? Why didn't you say anything? You lied to us!"
"Yes, I did. I was told to. Besides, Daaé and Erik is much more interesting than Daaé and the Vicomte."
Meg glared at her. "Yulia, she's terribly unhappy. I need to ask a favor…"
"What?"
"The money and ticket your cousin is sending you…I need to give it to Christine."
"Why?"
"She's miserable! He frightens her!"
Yulia sighed. "She made an adult decision to marry him, and as an adult it's her responsibility to live up to whatever vows she has taken. Besides, if, instead of me, a pregnant Swedish girl shows up at Tanya's…"
"Don't say such a thing!" Meg exclaimed in horror.
"Say what?"
"That…that she might be with child…"
Yulia laughed bitterly. "She's married. Again, it was her choice. If she wants to leave Paris and leave him, she'll have to do it on her own; I'm not her keeper."
"Yulia, please, you've got to help her!"
"Get money from Raoul if she needs passage so badly!"
"Raoul can't know!" Meg hissed.
"Why?"
Meg shook her head. "Yulia, please! I'm worried that she might hurt herself…"
"Giry, this is my only chance to leave Paris; to leave Europe, for that matter. I—"
"Please?" she pleaded.
Yulia's eyes softened. "I'll think about it."
Meg surveyed the destruction around her. Even if the phantom had been living there before, the space was hardly habitable now.
She shivered in the eerie silence. She could still make out a fascinating beauty that the place would have held before the mob came. Regretfully, she placed the stark porcelain mask on the throne-like chair she had removed it from before.
Meg bit her lip; she felt like crying. The once gorgeous piece of furniture had been hacked and torn.
"Trespassing again, Mademoiselle Giry?"
Yulia looked at the heap of papers that was her new project. She did not know how long it would take for her cousin's mail to reach her, and, having refused to return to the Opera, had taken up writing one of her own.
Granted, Yulia didn't know the first thing about actually writing music, but she could write a highly embellished, dramatic libretto.
While the young woman toyed with the idea of sneaking the currently script down to Erik's home before she left (after all, she reasoned, he would eventually get bored with timid little Christine), Raoul rapped rather loudly on her door.
Irritated, she opened it, "What do you want—oh, Monsieur le Vicomte, come in."
"Yulia, Meg was supposed to meet me after her rehearsal, but—"
"You can't find her? Why does everyone always assume the person he or she is looking for is at my flat? I'm not that hospitable!"
"I'm sorry, Yulia, but even Mme. Giry doesn't know where she is!"
"Well, that's two young women gone since the phantom's lair was raided; perhaps his ghost is trying to tell you something."
"That's not funny, Mlle. Kazakova," Raoul said gravely.
Yulia grinned. "Don't worry; I'm sure she'll turn up, eventually. Any news on Daaé?"
"No," he said glumly. "What's that?"
"I'm writing a slightly…facetious opera. Well, the words to one, anyway."
"About what?" he asked, bracing himself for what Yulia's perverse mind had conjured up this time.
"An impetuous princess wants to become a knight, but since she only sees good in the world, she's manipulated by both a sorcerer and a young prince. In the end, she fails, because she's living in a dream."
"That's not facetious; that's depressing."
"It's…a metaphor."
"Oh," Raoul said, missing Yulia's intent.
"In any case, it's not finished…it won't be for a while…perhaps, half way by the time I have to leave…" she mused to herself.
"I think…we all live in dreams, to an extent, and I don't think we should be faulted for that," Raoul said after a long silence.
Yulia stared at him. "We fault people for it every day; it makes them weak. The world is harsh…"
"Then, what's wrong with at least pretending that there's some good in it. Truthfully, Yulia, there is good out there, and you'd be much happier if you'd stop living in your dream and see it."
"Your dream is to have Daaé as your wife; I don't think she's coming back. I'm sorry."
"What do you mean?"
"She has the world at her feet, whether she realizes it, or not. It's not your concern."
"You know where she is!" he accused.
"No. I just know she's not coming back."
The poor boy looked ill. "I love her…" he said.
"I know; all of Paris knows! Love isn't one-sided; it's too much work. You're better off on your own."
"But…I fought to save her…I would've died for her…I still would!"
"You look frightful; I'll make some tea."
Meg spun around and froze for a moment as she stared at the unmasked phantom.
"Monsieur, I—" she mumbled as she dashed to hand him his mask.
He fingered it oddly, regarding the object with a mix of contempt and sanctity. "Thank you," he said.
"I'll be going now…"
"There's no need! Christine will be delighted to see you!" He grabbed her wrist pulled her into a hidden room, which was decorated like a plush bedroom.
Christine was sitting on the bed, dressed in white with her back turned.
"Christine, my dear, your friend Meg is here. Won't you say hello?"
The young woman didn't move.
"Why is she here?" Meg asked quietly, bewildered.
"You don't know? My, Yulia Alexandrovna kept her mouth shut…Christine and I have been married!"
He waited for her to respond, and the ballet rat managed to fumbled out "Congratulations."
"Now, you won't tell the management, I'm sure? Of course you won't! You know what would happen if you did…No! No! I wouldn't hurt you…but, we're leaving very soon, you see. I can't have my bride living down here, away from sunlight…"
"May I speak to Christine alone, Monsieur?" Meg asked timidly.
"Of course! Forgive me! You'll see the door from in here…"
"Yes, I understand. Thank you." With the door shut, Meg blurted, "My God, Christine, what have you done? And he…he's acting like a drunkard!"
"He's happy," Christine said dully, still not moving from her position.
Meg walked around the bed to face her friend. "Christine, you look dreadful! What has he done to you?"
"Nothing."
"And…you're married? Legally married?"
Christine nodded slowly. "He frightens me…he does whatever I ask of him, it's really quite pathetic…he treats me like a goddess. But, oh, it's not his face! He's a murderer! No matter how kind he is to me, he's a murderer, and liar, and…he thinks I'm happy. I act like I am, but I feel dead! I can't live down here, Meg…He thinks I love him, too…he mistakes pity and compassion for love! But, he' s never known love…so how would he be able to know the difference? Oh, Meg, I don't know what to do! And I'm his wife! God forgive me, I'm his wife!"
"How did this happen?"
Christine looked at her blankly. "I came back."
"Why?"
"I don't know…I suppose I was nervous about marrying Raoul…but, oh Meg, I've made a mess of everything! I have to get out of here, but…he'll…It's hopeless!"
"You know it wouldn't be safe to go back to Monsieur le Vicomte."
"I know," Christine said miserably.
"I might have an idea, but you'd have to leave Paris," Meg said slowly.
"Anything! Oh, Meg, I care for him; he was my teacher, but I can't live like this!"
Meg nodded. "Ask him if I can come visit tomorrow."
Christine obeyed, and, with permission granted, Meg headed off to Yulia's small home.
Yulia put her pen down and stretched her cramped back. What had started out as a slight parody was becoming rather dark, even by her standards. She looked up to find that it was half past eleven, and she wisely chose to prepare for bed.
As she unpinned her hair, she heard a light tapping at her door. Scowling, she opened it. "Meg Giry! Does no Parisian call at decent hours? Why does no one realize I want to be left alone—"
"Let me in! This is important!" the little dancer snapped, forcing Yulia to cease her ranting.
While Yulia tied her dark hair back with a piece of ribbon, Meg demanded, "How long have you known Christine was with the phantom?"
"Since she returned and offered to marry him."
"You've known all along? Why didn't you say anything? You lied to us!"
"Yes, I did. I was told to. Besides, Daaé and Erik is much more interesting than Daaé and the Vicomte."
Meg glared at her. "Yulia, she's terribly unhappy. I need to ask a favor…"
"What?"
"The money and ticket your cousin is sending you…I need to give it to Christine."
"Why?"
"She's miserable! He frightens her!"
Yulia sighed. "She made an adult decision to marry him, and as an adult it's her responsibility to live up to whatever vows she has taken. Besides, if, instead of me, a pregnant Swedish girl shows up at Tanya's…"
"Don't say such a thing!" Meg exclaimed in horror.
"Say what?"
"That…that she might be with child…"
Yulia laughed bitterly. "She's married. Again, it was her choice. If she wants to leave Paris and leave him, she'll have to do it on her own; I'm not her keeper."
"Yulia, please, you've got to help her!"
"Get money from Raoul if she needs passage so badly!"
"Raoul can't know!" Meg hissed.
"Why?"
Meg shook her head. "Yulia, please! I'm worried that she might hurt herself…"
"Giry, this is my only chance to leave Paris; to leave Europe, for that matter. I—"
"Please?" she pleaded.
Yulia's eyes softened. "I'll think about it."