Mariee Chapter 3

The Cathedral St. Chappelle is perhaps the loveliest church in Paris. Long, narrow stained-glass windows cascade down the entire height of the church, creating a waterfall of dazzling light. The central circular window, crowning the altar, showers the sacred space with dancing prisms of heavenly rainbows, with the intent of evoking the hope of our Creator's eternal glory.

Yet this morning, the church was strangely dull and somber. The fog had never burned off. As the wedding guests arrived to take their places in the ancient pews—aristocrats on the groom's side; opera singers, theater folk and 'those people' on the bride's side, the altar boys scrambled to light all the candles. This was a gloomy morning and the dark must be dispelled. Raoul and his father shared a brandy in the priest's vestment room and checked their gold pocket watches. Yes, the time was near.

In a tiny antechamber in the cathedral, Mme. Giry gave Meg's borrowed frock one more tug. The fit was too tight in the bosom and droopy in the hips, but it would have to do. When one's entire wardrobe has been consumed in a fire, one cannot be choosy about formal wear. Mme. Giry herself was august and formidable in her habitual black bombazine, although it did still retain a whiff of smoke.

"Meg, go ahead and take your place in the front pew. The Mass will begin in a moment and I wish to speak to Christine in private."

"But Maman!" the little ballerina protested. Meg thought this was the most romantic day she had ever witnessed. Christine looked like a princess! A princess who was remarkably pale, and who was swaying on her feet, but still…

"Do not forget to make your reverence in front of the altar. I will not have people believing I raised a heathen. Go on, now." Mme. Giry closed the door securely after her daughter. Christine allowed a soft chuckle to escape from her ashen lips.

Mme. Giry took Christine's slim hands into her own. The poor girl was shaking like an aspen sapling! "My dear, are you sure this is what you truly want?" the ballet mistress inquired.

Christine looked at the bouquet of rare orchids at her waist. "Oh Madame, what choice do I have?" A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, but Christine made no move to wipe it away. "I have nowhere else to go."

"You are mistaken, my child. There is another way." Mme. Giry leaned close to the trembling girl. "A carriage stands ready to take you away to a place of safety, where you can stay as long as you like--"

Mme. Giry's voice was suddenly drowned out by the organ's clarion flourish. The familiar cadences began to peal forth. Christine grabbed Mme. Giry's arm. "It's starting! We have to—a carriage? I couldn't…"

The sexton opened the door to the antechamber and made a little bow.

Christine swallowed hard. "Madame, I think this is our cue." She took the bouquet into her hand and linked arms with her foster mother. As they began up the long, long aisle, all eyes were focused upon them.

"This is no opera scene, Christine. This is the sacrament of marriage!" Mme. Giry hissed over the relentless organ music.

Time seemed to stop for Christine. As she looked down the aisle to see Raoul and his father standing at the altar, it appeared to Christine that she was looking through the wrong end of a telescope. Everything was so far away, so small. Her life was marching into that diminution, that miniaturization. A life of formal parties and rigid standards. A lifetime of coddling a spoiled man, of trying for boy babies, and raising her children into lives as stultifying as the one she was choosing right now.

A life with no music, no singing. Ever.

Christine became aware that her feet had stopped moving. The bouquet of rare orchids fell to the cold stone floor. She looked to Mme. Giry, who motioned with her eyes to the side door through the Lady Chapel. Daylight was pouring through that open door…

With one motion, Christine ripped the priceless, intolerable de Chagny tiara from her head and thrust it into Mme. Giry's hands. She picked up her monstrously heavy skirt and ran, faster than she had ever run before, straight for that sliver of daylight.

The astonished congregation was too shocked to make a sound. All save one. The elderly Comte de Chagny emitted a loud "Ooof" as he caught the sagging body of his son. Raoul had fainted.

Christine banged through the Lady Chapel door and blinked in the grey morning light. She did not see the unconscious footmen flanking the door, nor the rags full of chloroform that had incapacitated them. All she saw was a black carriage, its door standing wide open, and four horses ready to take her away. She threw herself into the waiting compartment and shut the door behind her.

The carriage took off as though shot from a cannon. The driver lashed the horses fiercely. The fog was still thick and Christine was grateful for it. It would be impossible for anyone to follow her. The fact that she had no idea where she was going did not trouble her at all.