Author´s notes: Update at long last!
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Chapter XXVII
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Christine was reading once more.
There wasn't much else to do when sitting in a train compartment, anyway, so she was reasonably satisfied with this pastime. Only yesterday, she had performed at court and now, she was going home. It seemed that the political paperwork could be done quickly if there was the will to do it quickly, and there had been this time.
With blessings from the shah, they had departed early in the morning, though Christine thought correctly that she hadn't been imagining the sour look the khanum had occasionally given her and the spiteful look she had spared even her own precious son, when, as he claimed, in return for their time and their efforts, they were invited to return to court in winter, when, as the shah noted, the weather might not be so extreme to them (Christine knew he meant her).
She had had little time to talk to Erik, since their packing had been arranged very quickly. Correctly she assumed that he wouldn't be pleased with this, but as he assured her, he knew it wasn't her fault. There was no reason for them to stay now and Christine shouldn't request anything, he said, because it might be suspicious to people.
"There is a good thing about it, though." said Christine, though she wasn't smiling, "I shall see you again. In… half a year."
Erik decided that telling her how quickly people become deceased in Persia once they lose the favor of the rulers was not wise. It would only worry her. Besides, thus far, he had no reason to worry.
"After waiting for years, a few months will not make a difference, my dear. So long as your Vicomte doesn't decide he won´t take a no for an answer."
"He is a friend." Christine said adamantly, "He understands and accepts my refusal."
And that had been the end of their discussion. There wasn't time for long debates. Christine only had time to go say goodbye to Nadir and ask him to tell Reza she would come back and sing something only for him, as soon as she would be able to. Now, she regretted the choice a bit. The child might be… well, dead, according to what she knew, by the time she would be back.
Sighing, Christine flipped the page and continued reading. She was a bit upset that Erik didn't want to and mainly couldn't come with her. Still, she had to admit that if he would have simply vanished from court the day she did, without a trace, and they have been known to be a "team", you could say, it would have been very easy for anyone to guess – even if only by chance – that there was a connection.
She couldn't argue with that logic.
Nevertheless, she had decided to go back to Paris, at least temporarily. She had finished her studies at the Conservatoire, so it was now only a matter of deciding whether to stay in the city or go elsewhere. There were major points against staying – while she could be able to sing at parties or balls, that was pretty much everything.
The Paris Opera wasn't as Grand as its name would suggest.
It was a shame, really. There were many artists in Paris, but when it came to talent… nevertheless, she decided she would try her chances… but not immediately. The first thing she wanted to do was something she hadn't had time to do for a long time. She had to think of more than just herself at the moment.
That, and the fact that within the next week, a friend of hers who had her mother working at the Opéra-Comique told everyone that they were absolutely refusing to accept any sort of new people into the Opera at the moment, seeing as there were some internal problems there. The girl, Meg Giry, translated that to them – the resident Prima Donna (according to Meg, a dried up Italian toad with absolutely no brains) was having her regular set of tantrums, and thus the managers were preoccupied with groveling and attempting to convince her to perform in the upcoming production to even think of auditioning anyone.
That meant that for the upcoming month, anyone´s chances of getting in were small, even with Christine´s talent.
Upon returning to Paris, Christine bade farewell to the de Chagnys. Raoul offered her to stay at their manor for a while, but Christine rejected the offer – she had her own accommodation in the Conservatoire, so she only wanted to return there. In the morning, she had been greeted with almost an applause by her roommates and schoolmates.
It took her the better part of the day to explain what Persia was like, what she saw, what she did, and why she rejected the marriage offer from such a prominent, rich – and handsome, as most of the girls reminded her – aristocrat such as the Vicomte de Chagny. Christine had some doubts whether they would understand that she wished to continue to sing rather than having parties all the time, but most of the time, they said they understood.
A week later, she sent a letter to Rome.
It returned not late afterwards, with a reply, and Christine bade Paris farewell the very night. The journey was long, but she was so lost in thought most of the time that she hardly even noticed how much time had passed. When she collected her luggage, now standing in front of the house she had not seen for years, a sigh escaped her lips. Perhaps she was wrong to have come here.
The house appeared to be empty when she entered. Christine simply climbed the stairs up to her old room and stored her luggage there. She was expected, so no one would be surprised that the luggage was there. She swiftly changed from her traveling gown to a plain brown dress, matching her hair, and went downstairs.
On the table, she found a note she hadn't noticed before. It was addressed to her:
Christiana, (she recognized both the handwriting and the more Italian sounding version of her name, used only by one person to address her at times) your room is prepared for you, I welcome you back in our fair city. I shall come back in the evening. Until then, make yourself at home, principessa.
Smiling a bit, she nodded to herself and took the key that had been laid on the note, locking the door as she left the house. She didn't get a carriage – it was still a sunny afternoon, and she preferred to find her own way. Besides, she had a general idea where her destination lay, and she knew Italian more than well enough to be able to ask for directions, should she need them.
Some people looked at her curiously, since her pale visage stood out so well. About half an hour later, she arrived at her destination and entered the building, heading straight for the reception, politely introducing herself, saying what qualification she had and asking the obvious – if there wouldn't be a place for a guest soprano in the Opera House.
The receptionist looked at her for a moment, thinking that she was very young to try to impress the current management, but nevertheless asked her to wait for the moment until the managers could be summoned. Apparently, there was a rehearsal at the moment, and the pair of managers decided to be there personally.
That meant it had to be bad, Christine thought, and as she stood there waiting, she decided that it was all the better for her chances. The receptionist returned moments later, asking her to follow him, since the two signors couldn't be asked to leave the rehearsal at the moment, and that they would talk to her there.
When she entered, the rehearsal was in full swing. And it didn't look that good. The orchestra was good, the dancing bad, the chorus managed, and the soloists were… questionable. Christine recognized the sets as from the opera Lucia di Lammermoor by Gaetano Donizetti, and there seemed to be some problems with the fact that the soloist seemed to be shouting at each other.
One of the managers quickly put his hands over his ears as "Lucia" screamed again after being called a no-talent harlot. In return, she was called that again, and her inability to perform the highest notes of the opera was mocked.
The other manager shook his head and rather turned his back on it all. He seemed to greet Christine, but there was too much shouting to even hear what he was saying, so he pointed at the door and lead the way, closing it just in time to avoid some fragile object being thrown.
Once the door was closed, he sighed. "Excuse that, please, signorina. These things do happen." Christine was under the impression that she knew the phrase from somewhere. "I am Lodovico Nevio, one of the managers at this opera house. Now, I have been told you are looking for a job. You are a soprano, correct?"
"Yes, signor." Christine nodded, "I came to visit my relatives here, and the Paris Opera is not accepting new artists at this time, so I thought that maybe I could temporarily find a job here."
Normally, she would have been asked of her range, but considering the dreadful status of the current rehearsal, the manager only asked her: "Do you know the lines?"
"What…?"
"The lines. For Lucia di Lammermoor. If it goes much further, I shall have to fire one of them, and seeing as it is Emilia who cannot reach the notes required… could you try it?"
Christine bit her lip, but nodded. Nevio smiled in relief and bravely marched back into the shouting match, bellowing "Silenzio!" with such a force that even the squabbling singers quieted down for a moment. he didn't even explain anything to any of them, merely gestured at the stage, and Christine climbed up, a bit nervous about this.
"From the beginning of the aria, please, signorina." The manager breathed, glaring at the "no-talent harlot", who was about to object. The orchestra took it as their cue to play, and Christine took a breath.
Il dolce suono
Mi colpì di sua voce!...
Ah! quella voce
M'è qui nel cor discesa!...
Edgardo! Io ti son resa:
Fuggita io son da' tuoi nemici... – Un gelo
Mi serpeggia nel sen!... trema ogni fibra!...
Vacilla il piè!... Presso la fonte, meco
T'assidi alquanto... Ahimé!...
Sorge il tremendo
Fantasma e ne separa!...
Qui ricovriamci, Edgardo, a piè dell'ara...
Sparsa è di rose!... Un'armonia celeste
Di', non ascolti? – Ah, l'inno Suona di nozze!...
Il rito per noi, per noi s'appresta!...
Oh me felice! Oh gioia che si sente, e non si dice!
Ardon gl'incensi... splendono Le sacre faci intorno!...
Ecco il ministro!
Porgimi La destra... Oh lieto giorno!
Alfin son tua, sei mio! A me ti dona un Dio...
Ogni piacer più grato
Mi fia con te diviso
Del ciel clemente un riso
La vita a noi sarà!
When she finished singing, there was a ringing silence in the entire building. Christine wasn't nervous anymore – she knew she had done well, and if her calculations were correct, they would probably soon be begging her to stay in Rome permanently.
"Emilia… you are hereby replaced." The second of the managers breathed, still gawping at Christine. The Italian diva seemed to get back to reality at the sound of that and marched off, glaring at Christine one last time.
"Can you perform in the production?" he asked immediately when Emilia stalked off. Christine nodded uncertainly. Surprisingly, an applause broke out, mainly from the male soloists, those who had been shouting at Emilia before that.
Wasting no time at all, the managers introduced her to the other artists, who were quite enthusiastic about all this. When Christine returned to the house that evening, she was the unofficial new Prima Donna, and well aware of it.
Her greatest reward, however, was when she saw that someone was already waiting for her at the door. Beaming, she ran towards the figure and embraced the elderly man enthusiastically but gently. A slightly wrinkled hand slowly patted her chestnut curls.
"My dearest… you are back at last."
"I have missed you tremendously, uncle… I have much to tell you."