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: First and foremost, I would like to thank Sweet-Intoxication, Masqueraders, and AngelOfMusic387 for your kind reviews :) You guys have really fueled my creative juices, believe it or not. As for this chapter, I'm not positive that I'm 100 pleased with it, so I will be counting on feedback from you guys! I am increasingly in need of a beta; please email me if you are interested, or know someone else who may be interested. Anyhow, back to the chapter! Everyone's favorite O.G. makes his presence known in this chapter, however, he will not make his actual appearance for a little while longer. On to the chapter!
Movement 3 As you wish, little songbird.
Mme. Giry was correct in her assumption; Christine would shape up to be quite a dancer, indeed. Although she had only worked on the basics—the five principal ballet positions to be specific—Mme. Giry could easily see an inborn grace in the little Swedish girl's movement.
"Yes dear, Second Position is much like First Position, but the feet are placed one foot and a half distance apart from each other. Of course, the weight is placed evenly on each foot. Your arms should be open, rounded, and in front of the shoulders." The strict ballet mistress observed her newest student while she attempted the position. "Very good, just bring your arms down a tad lower." Christine quickly complied with the request. "Perfect."
The two met for lessons every other day, immediately following daily rehearsal. Christine was not an "official" member of the ballet company; she would have to be approved by M. Fevre, hence why she was being instructed so thoroughly. Most of the girls of the ballet company had been dancing since they were very small—yes, Christine was small as well, but these girls still had more experience under their belts. It was naturally intimidating to a seven-year-old novice!
Christine was thankful to have befriended Meg Giry. Not only did Meg provide company and laughter when she was feeling gloomy, she too was a dancer! If Christine was ever curious regarding some foreign aspect of dancing, Meg was always right there to answer her question. Thanks to the Giry family, Christine was quickly becoming something worthy of the Opera House.
"Oh Meg, what can I say! I never expected to learn so much. The only dancing I've ever done is the waltz!" Christine exclaimed. She had just completed her lesson for the day, and the two companions were strolling down the hallway to the dormitories.
"Don't worry, you are doing splendidly! I know for a fact that Maman is very pleased with your progress. You're just being a worrywart!" Meg replied jovially, placing a petite hand on her friend's shoulder. Christine smiled in reply. "Come, it's almost time to retire!"
"Yes, I wil—" Christine suddenly stopped in her tracks, obviously struck by a forgotten notion. "I will come to bed soon, Meg. I need to visit my father beforehand."
Meg nodded softly. "Of course."
The little Christine hurried down the cellar stairs, down to the small Opera House chapel. It was one of the more forgotten haunts of the Opera House—unless a devoted member of the theatre company lost a loved one, which was rare in itself. Many of those who came to the Opera House were in a similar situation to Christine; the difference was that they cared naught.
She approached a rounded ceramic apparatus, complete with a candle protruding from the bottom. Her father's name, Gustave Daaé, was engraved upon the little memorial. Christine delicately stroked the smooth, cold surface; she found it to be strangely comforting. She used a match to light her father's candle, and bowed her head in silent prayer of her father's soul.
"Father," she began upon finishing her prayer, "do you remember my promise? Well, it has been a long time since I have used my voice. If I truly desire to become a prima donna, I must first become a member of the chorus. I am sure that it will be difficult, Father. However, I believe that you will bless me with an angel to ease the hardship." Christine prepared to rise—however, she suddenly had an idea that would perhaps bring her an angel sooner. Yes, it would surely do so…
The little Swedish girl began to sing. At first it was quiet and riddled with timidity, but her tone soon filled out and reverberated nicely against the masonry. Oh, how she wished she could've sang like this for M. Reyer! Her tune quickly came to an end, as she did not desire to be heard by those in the Opera. Only by her beloved father.
Christine Daaé retired to the dormitories, soon drifting into a light sleep.
Several hours later, Christine was roused by a faint sound. The small girl sat upright in her bed, surveying the surrounding area; it appeared as though no one else could hear the disturbance. Christine quietly climbed from her bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floor; she shivered for only a moment. Then she began to follow what she believed was the origin of her mysterious sound. Her feet seemed to move of their own accord. She stopped, only for a moment, and listened to the wraithlike hum.
"It… sounds as if it was—down in the chapel!"
Christine's heart was fluttering. If it was in the chapel, then—then maybe—yes! It had to be her angel of music! The frenzied girl scurried down the cellar steps once again. The sound was indeed coming from the chapel, as it grew louder when she entered the chapel.
"O angel of music! Please deliver my song!" she cried to the heavens, lifting her arms in an open embrace. The haunting music continued to drift through the stone room and showed little signs of stopping. Christine recognized the melody as "The Resurrection of Lazarus," a piece that was particularly fond to her father. The dulcet tones of the unnamed violin sent her mind spiraling back in time, to the time when she was in Sweden with her father,when thetwo of them began traveling the countryside. Oh how fondly she remembered it! They would sleep atop the haystacks; Christine had never slept so soundly as then! Her father would tell her stories that he learned when he was a boy of her age. She would plead for more stories... More, more, more… please Father…
Her tired arms dropped from the open air as she was close to tears. There was only the violin, no cherub to deliver her voice to greatness. She had been a pretty little fool to believe her angel would come so quickly! Yet still, what of this beautiful music…
Christine knelt and pressed her ear to the cold stone floor.
"It is… coming from underneath?" She was positively baffled. "Perhaps I am dreaming? But I have never asked Meg what lies beneath this Opera House… How bizarre."
Her head full of questions, Christine returned to her little bed in the dormitories. Even there, the lilting sound of the violin permeated her ears. She soon found herself dozing to "The Resurrection of Lazarus."
The next day, after lunch, Christine pulled Meg aside.
"Meg, I must speak to you regarding a strange series of events last night," Christine announced in a whisper.
"Oh, what happened?" Meg replied, her voice itching with curiosity.
"I was having trouble sleeping when I heard a strange noise. I rose from bed and followed the sound—which I discovered to be a violin of all things! I pursued the sound all the way down into the cellar, and further down into the chapel. I'm positive the violin was coming from under the Opera House!"
"How positively ghastly!" Meg squealed, obviously excited. "Perhaps it was Monsieur L'Opera Ghost!"
"Yes… but has anyone else ever heard a violin coming from under the floor?" Christine questioned, quick to disprove that M. L'Opera Ghost was behind such a beautiful song.
"I do not think so—but how else could you explain it?"
"Oh, I don't know…" Christine sighed gently. She still wanted to believe that the origin was an angel, perhaps not her angel but another angel who shared in her grief.
Christine returned to the dormitories to fetch a hair ribbon for Meg, who was preparing for rehearsal. Rummaging through her things, she smiled victoriously as she found a ribbon. With a sigh she glanced at her little bed, turning to deliver the ribbon; Christine quickly spun around once more, her eyes wide with disbelief. Idly resting on her bed was a small box.
"What in the world…"
She sat on her mattress, fingering the lovely velvet lining on the mysterious package. The box itself was quite lovely; it was oblong, lined with beautiful crimson velvet on the outside, and tied with a soft white ribbon. Christine admired the package for a moment longer and then timidly pulled the ribbon loose. As she gently tugged the lid from the package, her eyes were met with a great surprise. Chocolates. They looked to me fine Parisian chocolates! Little Christine was flabbergasted. Surely she had done nothing to deserve such a lavish gift—and such a lavish gift from whom?
She carefully tied the soft white ribbon in her hair, tossing her tattered black one aside.
Once again, Christine relayed her strange experience to the curious little Meg Giry. Meg, too, was astounded.
"How delightful! M. L'Opera Ghost has taken a fancy to you, Christine!" the little scamp exclaimed, laughing merrily. Christine, however, took no merriment from her jesting; her gaze hardened noticeably.
"I… doubt that a ghost would take the time to leave me fine chocolates, Meg," she replied in a whisper. Little Meg Giry frowned.
"Ah, Christine, I am sorry! I did not mean to upset you! Don't fret, I'm sure it is from an admirer in the Opera House. Many of the young members of the orchestra have taken a liking to you, you know!"
Christine blushed a deep pink. "Meg, don't be silly!"
"Oh but indeed I am not," she replied, a grin forming upon the corners of her mouth. Now, the two friends laughed heartily together.
Christine continued her routine visits to her father's cenotaph every evening before bed. With each passing day brought another visit—and also another mysterious gift from her mystery benefactor. Sometimes, the little trinkets would be strewn across her bed; other times they would be patiently waiting her arrival in the chapel. That was not the strangest thing, though! Each gift was more ostentatious than the last. In the beginning, she only received her box of chocolates. Later, she found a quaint little parcel of hair ribbons made in every color imaginable. Then, there came an assortment of flowers—carnations, lilies, gardenias, hydrangeas, sunflowers, orchids, tulips, lilacs and even roses! Eventually, jewelry was waiting Christine Daaé: Her personal patron began leaving her fine necklaces, bracelets and a few rings, even. Then, her mysterious flatterer became so bold as to offer frocks! With wonderful new each gift, another piece of the puzzle was thrown into the fray.
After many days of being showered with trinkets, Christine decided to take a stand regarding her strange new offerings. One morning before breakfast, she rushed down to the chapel, leaving a small note behind upon her father's cenotaph. It certainly amused her benefactor—amused being quite the understatement!
To My Benefactor:
I cannot begin to express enough gratitude for the gifts you have showered upon me; however, I also cannot understand what I have done to deserve such lavish treatment! I am but a poor dancing girl—in reality, I am still not an official dancing girl!—and I have nothing to offer you in return, kind sir or madam. To ease my conscience, I humbly request that you cease indulging my fancy, for I already feel I owe you a great deal! Thank you again for your dogged kindness. I will always hold a place for you in my prayers.
Mlle. Christine Daaé
That evening, when Christine returned to the chapel, she was met with a tiny wooden box.
"Oh goodness me," she groaned dolefully, "apparently they are quite stubborn!" The small girl knelt to examine the curious little box, noticing it to be constructed of a solid, glossy oak. Christine inwardly rolled her eyes at this person's penchant for expensive belongings. Carefully, Christine opened the main compartment of the little box and found it to be a music box of all things! It also was equipped with a small mirror, and the initials "C.D." were emblazoned in the top right-hand corner. The compartment itself was lined with the same fine velvet that delimited her first gift. Sitting quietly in the center of the music box there was a note.
Mlle. Daaé:
As you wish, little songbird.
E
Christine stared at the curious piece of stationery, noting the juvenile penmanship and the bright red ink.
"E… How peculiar."