The Soprano's Love Story
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera and related materials used in this work are property of Gaston Leroux, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, and so forth. I claim nothing in this story beyond my own tale-weaving style. :)
A/N: Huzzah, another chapter in only twenty-four hours. This chapter is far less angsty than its predecessor, in my humble opinion at least. Christine, at this point, is quite introverted and may not seem entirely in-character, but she is still reeling from the loss of her father. To be honest, I had a bit of fun writing for Little Meg! She's such a scamp. Plus O.G. is always fun to elaborate upon, too. You can tell I'm setting up for something big, so never fear, my Erik phangirls. He will make his grand entrance soon enough :) Still in search of a beta, mind you!Please R&R, and thank you.
Movement 2 The greatest prima donna in all the world!
Christine was simultaneously amazed and appalled by the Paris Opera House and its players. Mme. Giry had taken special care to show her all of the players—the chorus girls, the dancing girls, the orchestra members, the stagehands, the opera singers, and so forth. Although many of them were kind and gentle people, for the majority they were selfish, or depraved, or idle—or just detestable!
The management, on the other hand, seemed tolerable. M. Le Fevre, the manager of the Opera, was a pleasant and forthright man. Unlike many, he enjoyed a good practical joke from time to time. He took particular care to keep the Opera running smoothly. As smoothly as possible, anyway. Monsieur Reyer, the chorus master and orchestral conductor, was an uptight man who never strayed from his schedule. Yes, he was quite strict in the way he ran things, but that strictness came only from his love for music and theatre.
Christine's first meeting and initial audition with M. Reyer was, to say the very least, a disaster.
Mme. Giry, after getting her acquainted with the innermost workings of the Opera House, took Christine to M. Reyer's office for her interview (of sorts). She knocked softly on the rough wooden door.
"Monsieur Reyer, Christine Daaé is here to see you," she announced in a direct tone.
"Please come in," sounded the bouncy reply. Christine looked sheepishly at Mme. Giry, hesitant to even move. The old ballet mistress smiled reassuringly at the little girl, taking her hand and leading her into the office. M. Reyer rose from his seat, bowing politely.
"Hello Madame, hello Mademoiselle Daaé," he said courteously. "I am Monsieur Reyer, the chorus master and orchestral conductor here at the Paris Opera House. Mademoiselle Daaé, from the letter we received, you were praised as having a wonderful vocal talent. Please, if you would, sing something for us!"
Christine was wholly dismayed. She hadn't sung a note since her father collapsed that day on the side of the dirt road. Come to think of it, she had never once sung a note unless it was at her father's side! Could she even sing now, when he was… gone? On top of that, she was hardly accustomed to singing without accompaniment! Her petite body began to quiver with nervousness. With a deep breath, she opened her mouth to begin a Swedish folk song that her father had especially loved. However, the sound that came from Christine was pitiable! Nothing more than muddled words, missed chords and a shrinking voice…
M. Reyer raised a hand, signaling the trembling little girl to stop.
"Mademoiselle Daaé, I am very sorry but with that performance you could hardly make it as a chorus girl. I understand that your father is deceased, and you are in a frightening new place—but I simply cannot allow you to join our chorus at present," M. Reyer decreed as delicately a possible. Little Christine felt sick to her stomach. But it really wasn't her fault! She could not concentrate—the only thought she could manage was of her father, merrily playing the violin, while she harmonized at his side…
"Come along Christine," Mme. Giry announced, breaking the uncomfortable silence. The ballet mistress led the miserable young girl from the office and down the hallway towards the dormitories. Before they entered, Mme. Giry came to a halt.
"I understand that you were nervous and it is all right, my dear. You can always try again, after you have grown familiar with your new home. Until that time, you are welcome to train to become one of our dancers. Looking at your physique, I can tell you would do marvelously, and I would see to it that you were well-taught." Christine was bowled over by Mme.'s gracious offer.
"Madame Giry, oh, I could never—"
"Nonsense! I simply will not take no for an answer. Now come along, I will show you the dormitories where you will be staying," she announced with a sense of finality. Christine passively followed behind.
The dormitories were another sight to behold for the ingenuous mind of Christine Daaé. She had never seen so many beds in one place! Clothes, books, and strange empty bottles were strewn about the rooms, and the surrounding area positively reeked of perfumed oils.
Mme. Giry motioned to a wooden bed in the utmost right corner of the room and said, "That one will be your bed."
Christine stared at the mundane little bed for a moment, and then panned the surrounding beds as well.
Meanwhile, Mme. Giry observed her curious actions. Curious could barely describe this little Christine Daaé! True she was only seven years old, but she was one of the most observant children she had ever known; Mme. understood the cause, though. Mamma Valerius' letter had divulged an excess of information regarding Christine and her father, Gustave; everything from Christine's mother's death to her "career" as a traveling musician to her father's tragic passing only a few days prior. Mme. Giry, also being a widow, sympathized with Mamma Valerius and most especially Christine. Loneliness was a menace hardly willing to be extinguished…
"Maman!"
The woman's reverie was interrupted by a puckish cry. A small blonde girl scampered into the room, obviously winded from running.
"Maman! Is it true that there is a new girl in the Opera the same age as me—oh…" the elfin girl apparently answered her own question as she noticed the brunette standing a few feet shy of her mother.
"Meg Giry! How rude of you to barge in so raucously!" Mme. Giry scolded the excited child. Christine peeped at this interesting little Meg Giry, her face full of questions. "Christine, this is my daughter, Meg. Please excuse her discourtesy, she is still one year your junior."
Little Meg smiled blithely at her prospective new playmate.
"Hello! I am very pleased to meet you," Meg chimed with a polite bow, attempting to correct her earlier impoliteness. Christine stared dumbly at the girl for a moment; however, she could not resist a smile.
Christine Daaé and Meg Giry became fast friends; it was only natural for the two youngest members of the Paris Opera House to share something of an "unsaid connection". After Mme. Giry excused herself to tend to ballet practice, the two girls set off together for some amusement. They roamed backstage while the rest of the Opera was rehearsing the latest production of Gounod's Faust; although it was new to the repertoire, it was quickly becoming a favorite of the regulars.
Meg and Christine peeped at the muddled production from behind the large velvet curtain. The props were obviously quite new, the paint was still glossy and it glittered under the great lighting; the dancers were prancing about, lithely moving their graceful forms in delicate patterns to reflect the ethereal mood of the music; the chorus girls were standing in a half-circle, their profile view showing to the seats as they donned make-shift cherub wings; the lead vocalist—or rather the prima donna was standing in the near center of the stage, traversing the range of the aria quite beautifully. Oh, Christine was overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of this prima donna! She looked so like an angel…
But a harsh thought jarred Christine from her trance; when Christine had met this woman before, she was nothing but a vile witch who delighted in yelling at those who surrounded her! Yes, Sofia Roma Natalia, a pretentiously Italian woman, was a horrendously wicked person. In spite of that, she could seem so otherworldly whilst singing on-stage? The thought was enough to overload Christine's budding mind.
"Oh, do come along, this is a dreadfully boring part of Faust. Sofia is a wicked old hag—oh, how rude of me, what Maman would say if she heard!" Meg chided herself in place of her mother. Such self-punishment elicited a soft chuckle from Christine.
"All right then," was her kindly reply. The small pair turned and began heading from whence they came until a tattered old piece of rope fell at their feet. Christine simply stared at the device—Meg, however, entered into hysterics!
"Christine! The Opera Ghost is up to his tricks!"
"Opera… Ghost?"
"Yes, oh yes, the Opera Ghost! He is the gloom that stalks inside this Opera House! He thrives on the darkness, traverses through the shadows, and causes ghastly misfortunes to those who cross him! Oh, but do not misunderstand, please! Monsieur L'Opera Ghost—my maman addresses him so—can also be a gentle spectre! If he takes kindly to you, he will leave little gifts or even money! He can be in several places at the same time, too! Oh Christine, I am certainly glad to tell you of Monsieur L'Opera Ghost, because he causes such excitement here!" And Little Meg Giry stumbled on, revealing several more stories of the fabled Opera Ghost. These outrageous yarns intrigued and mystified one Christine Daaé. Being brought up a good, Catholic girl, she was quite superstitious—and it seemed she was not alone!
"H—Has anyone ever seen Monsieur L'Opera Ghost?" Christine managed tremblingly.
"Oh, that is a deeper mystery, in fact! Several members of the theatre company claim to have beheld him, yet there are many different descriptions of his person! Some say he has a head of fire, fire sprouting from the deepest pits of hell—while others say he has a Death's head, like a skull or a corpse even!"
"Goodness me," Christine exhaled in a whisper. "What a place to haunt, this Opera House! …Does anyone know why he haunts this theatre?"
"I do not think anyone truly cares why! You are the first person to ever ask, that I know of anyhow. It is an especially good question, though…" Meg Giry's voice trailed into the echoing space.
Later that evening, the in darkness of nighttime, Christine lay awake in her ordinary wooden bed. The events of the previous day were heavy on her mind. She was soon to be a dancing girl—thanks to her jumbled singing for M. Reyer. It was not that she was ashamed or anything of that nature; she had just not expected that outcome. However, she had hardly expected to her father to…
Her little mind raced desperately, attempting to change the subject. Oh, M. L'Opera Ghost! Meg Giry had divulged so much information about the puzzling spirit that Christine could almost say that she wanted to meet him! Meg had observed that he made things interesting inside the Opera House. Christine pondered the statement thoroughly. Meg was bored by the Opera House? It seemed implausible to little Christine, considering there were so many people and so much dynamism—she had observed so very much in her one day as a resident!
Her thoughts regressed, though; would her father be proud of her current situation? Living in the Paris Opera House—not as an ethereal prima donna but as a dancing girl. Dreadful. It made her feel dreadful, from head to toe!
"Father, you promised you would send me an angel of music, and I promised in return that I would wait… and do not fret, for I shall wait! Oh I do wish you would hurry, Father. I know it has only been four days—I would wait until I become an old woman!—but my own angel would ease my despair. I will make you another promise Father, a wonderful promise! When you send my angel of music, I shall become the greatest prima donna in all the world. I can give you that much, my dearest Father."
Christine opened her eyes for a brief moment; then she gently closed them once again, said a brief prayer for her father's departed soul, and drifted into a calm slumber. It was the most tranquil sleep she had managed to have since the night before her father collapsed.