Chapter 5-In Dreams He Came
Christine was standing on the roof of the Opera Populaire, looking at Paris. It was a cold night; snow had dusted the rooftops of Paris, making it seem like Christmas. She walked over to one of the statues and sat against it. She wished that she had put on something warmer.
Suddenly she heard movement; somebody was on the rooftop besides her. She got to her feet, and looked around for her visitor. "Who's there?" She called into the night. There was no answer, and she called again. "Who's there?" She sounded frightened this time.
Instead of somebody calling back, she heard the sound of a violin playing; it was a slow, peaceful tune. Christine tried to think where she had heard that song before. She could not think however; her brain seemed to be working twice as slow.
"…Father?" The sound of the violin ceased immediately and the sound of footsteps once again reached her ears.
A man, tall and slim emerged from behind one of the statues; even at a distance she could tell who it was…
"My child..." Whispered Gustav Daae, Christine started to run towards him.
"Father!" She shouted, but as soon as she got to him… He vanished. "What? No! Come back!" She screamed to the still night air.
The sound of the violin resumed once more, but this time, instead of calling out, she decided to search the rooftops for the source of the music. She searched, and searched, but found nothing, yet still the sound of the violin continued. Resigned to the fact that the violinist was not on the roof, she went and opened the door back down to the main theatre.
Maybe there is an orchestra rehearsal going on in the theatre… This idea was immediately squashed however, when she saw that the time was one in the morning.
Still the sound of the violin played, and at last she remembered where she had heard the song before. As if the violinist had read her mind, a familiar voice started to sing along with the tune…
Night time, sharpens
Heightens each sensation
Darkness stirs
And wakes imagination.
At once, Christine started to feel drowsy, but she could not fall asleep, she had to find out who was playing this song. She was in the main theatre now, but still no sign of the mysterious violinist.
Then she remembered. "Angel?" She whispered to the apparently empty theatre.
There was no sound, simply her heavy breathing from the inner excitement, which flooded through her.
The corner of her eye caught something moving at the back of the theatre. It looked like a figure moving near to one of the side exits near to it.
"WAIT!" she cried and began to run towards it. She stopped and studied the dark corner. She could see nothing. Her vision was not adjusted to such darkness.
"Christine… my child…" That soft voice of her father spoke to her again.
She strained her ears to listen to where the voice was coming from, but she still couldn't tell.
"I am your angel of music. Follow the voice that you hear." The voice called to her.
She looked around, still unable to see anything, but heard the song, which she knew very well.
Slowly, gently
night unfurls its splendour . . .
Grasp it, sense it -
tremulous and tender . . .
The voice seemed to be drifting away from her. She obeyed what the voice had told her and followed the sound, and it seemed to be leading her back to her room.
The voice quietened down slightly. Christine thought it was going to stop singing.
"Please continue," she pleaded. "My Angel of Music" she added quietly.
Softly, deftly music shall caress you...
Hear it, feel it secretly possess you...
After what seemed like an eternity of following the corridor. She felt the handle of her door and opened it slowly; she crossed the threshold of her room and gently shut it behind her. She walked to her bed, and lay down.
The song ended with:
Help me make the music of the night...
She turned her head and looked at the mirror to find that she was staring into two bright blue shining eyes which were boring back into hers.
Christine woke with a start.
"It was a dream." She said to herself quietly. "It was a dream, and nothing more."
She got up and stretched, trying to recall the exact details of the dream she had. She was on a rooftop and then she saw her father and saw…
A pair of starling blue eyes, in the mirror. She thought to herself, instinctively looking at the large mirror, which was built in to her wall.
"Christine!" shouted a voice through her door, which burst open to reveal Meg. "You were fantastic!" She said, throwing her arms around Christine. However she did not take her eyes off of the mirror. "Are you feeling OK?"
Christine gave her head a little shake, so as to wake herself up. "What? Yes I'm fine. I suppose it's just all this excitement has made me a little..." She thought for a second. "Ill." She finished rather lamely.
"Yes, you don't look so good. You look as though you've seen a ghost!" Christine took another glance at the mirror. Now that she looked at her face; she saw that she had indeed gone ghostly white.
"I'm fine." She repeated. "I just need to wake up a bit, bad dream." Hoping Meg was not going to ask her what her dream was about. She walked over to the mirror, apparently studying her own reflection.
"Oh, OK!" Meg said happily. "I'll leave you alone then shall I?" Now sounding rather hurt.
"I'm sorry Meg. I just need to sort some things out in my mind." And with that, Meg turned around and walked out of the door.
As soon as she had left, Christine went to her door and locked it, then went back to the Mirror. It looked just like a mirror should. You looked at it and saw your reflection. Christine now ran a hand round the frame of the mirror.
What are you feeling a mirror frame for? Now that she thought that in her head, she noticed just how funny it would look to anybody if they walked in and caught her doing this.
"There must be some…sort…of." She thought out loud, now she tried pulling the frame towards her.
For nearly an hour she stood at the mirror, trying to find anything special about it. But no matter how hard she pushed, pulled, lifted, yelled at or examined the frame, she could find nothing. She was now thinking that the only way to tell for sure if there was anything special about it was to break it, then she thought rationally, what would people think if they found out that Christine Daae, the new Prima Donna, had smashed a mirror for no apparent reason.
She went and sat back down on her bed, studying the mirror. Perhaps that's what it was, just a mirror. A normal mirror that just happened to be on her wall. Then her eyes fell on something that she had not noticed. On her desk she saw a red rose on top of a pale yellow envelope. Christine got up and walked over to her desk, sitting down on a chair in front of it.
First she picked up the rose, being careful not to prick her fingers on the thorns. Now that she saw it closer, she noticed that it had a black ribbon tied round its stem. Christine carefully placed it in her hair, and examined the effect in the 'mirror'. It needed a bit of adjusting before she achieved the effect that she wanted, but there were more important matters for her to consider.
Satisfied with the way it looked, she now focused on the envelope, on the back was a deep crimson seal, and on the front were the words. 'The New Prima Donna.' Carefully tearing off the red wax seal, she opened the letter, unfolded it, and began to read…
My Dear Miss Daae,
I wish to congratulate you on your performance in Hannibal. You were truly stunning and you most definitely had the voice of a true angel. I know that that was your first main role in a production and most certainly you are going to be nervous facing an audience as large as that one, but you faced it with courage which is very pleasing to see in one so young.
To prepare you for any future performances I would like to help you by giving you private singing lessons as soon as possible. Wait for me in your room at 9pm tonight. Make sure that you are alone and you speak of this to no one.
Until then get plenty of rest.
Your Angel
Christine read through the letter several times. It looked similar to the writing that she had caught a glimpse of when the managers were reading that letter.
If it's the same writing … then that means it's him.
Christine removed the rose from her hair and inhaled the scent of it. It was sweet and fresh. She looked at it fondly for a moment before placing it back into her hair, securing it tightly.
He was watching. He thinks I did well, but how did he know I was nervous? And why does he wish to tutor me himself?
Several thoughts flashed through her mind. She glanced at the note again before re-folding it and carefully placing it back into the envelope. She then went to put it into a drawer by her bed.
She slammed the drawer shut quickly as there was a little knock on the door. She caught the finger in the drawer as she slammed it shut.
"Aargh" she yelped and put her finger to her mouth. "Come in.," she said in a muffled tone.
The door opened and as she had suspected, it was Meg. She walked in timidly. "Christine are you OK? I heard you yell." She asked full of concern.
"Oh it was nothing Meg I just caught my finger. I suppose I was startled by the knock on the door, that's all." She said with a tone of pain in her voice as her finger had begun to throb.
"Let me have a look." Meg requested. "Oh no, oh Christine I'm really very sorry" she said weakly.
"Meg, it's not your fault, and I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to be off with you. I was just tired that's all." She said softly.
She looked at Meg, who seemed to be on the verge of tears. "Oh come here," Christine whispered.
The two embraced each other, tightly. "You truly were magnificent last night, it was so amazing, unlike that horrid old windbag that used to sing it!" Meg whispered, trying to make up for making Christine shut her finger in her desk drawer.
They released each other and began to giggle happily.
"Hey, let's just enjoy the time we have off until we have another performance OK?" Christine asked.
"Yes, let's do that. We've been working so hard recently for Hannibal that I think we all deserve it." She replied.
Christine noticed that Meg's eyes had left hers, and that she was now focused on her hair.
"Wow!" Meg exclaimed. "That is such a pretty rose. It looks lovely in your hair, and it looks fresh too."
The rose! I forgot I left it in my hair, Meg is now going to ask questions, I can hardly tell her he gave it to me. But maybe I could tell her, she's my best friend and I know she wouldn't tell. But he did say in the letter not to tell anyone, and I don't think it's very wise to go against his wishes and from what I've heard he has killed people who have betrayed him.
This thought made the colour drain from Christine's face.
"Well, who gave you the rose?" Meg inquired.
"I don't know it was just there when I came in last night," she said rather quickly.
"I see." Meg said curiously. She noticed Christine's finger. "Oh my God, your finger has turned purple! And it's really badly swollen," She said, thoroughly alarmed. Come, lets go and see mother. She will be able to help."
She helped Christine up. They linked arms, and headed to Madame Giry's room.
They spent most of their walk to Madame Giry's room talking about the Gala, insulting Carlotta, and inevitably discussing the Opera Ghost.
"If he was the reason that you took over from Carlotta then I would like to know how he knew you could sing." Meg said, turning the corner and walking down the corridor, where Madame Giry's room could be found.
"Yeah that is weird." Answered Christine. She had never thought about this before, but now that Meg expressed it, it did seem rather funny, after all. Christine had only ever sung while she was alone. Nobody could have told him. Nobody even knew him!
They had reached the door to Madame Giry's room. Meg reached out and knocked on the door three times…There was no answer. She knocked again. They waited outside her door for about 2 minutes, then decided that she must be elsewhere, even though there were no dancing rehearsals to instruct now that Hannibal had finally finished.
"It's ok Meg, look, my finger is looking loads better now." Christine said, holding out her finger for Meg to look at.
This was half true, it had regained a bit of its natural colour, and the swelling had improved greatly.
"If you're sure…so where did you get the rose?" It was not going to be easy to get Meg off this subject; Christine tried to think something up.
"Somebody from the audience threw it onto the stage and it caught on my dress. I saw it and decided to keep it." She knew that this would not pass the Meg test, but she thought that it sounded reasonable anyway.
"Okay! Well, I'll see you tomorrow Christine." She did not sound completely convinced, but now that she thought about it, she could have told her that story without telling a lie first.
Christine looked down at her watch, and was shocked to see that it was already five to nine. She only had five minutes to get back to her room before her lesson started. What would her teacher, who she was now sure was the 'Opera Ghost', say if she was late for her first ever lesson.
She ran as fast as she could back to her room. It was lucky that Madame Giry's room was not too far from hers, yet still it would be a close call as to whether she would get back in time or not.
She reached her room with about two minutes to spare. She locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it It felt frightfully cold.
Christine stood still for a moment then walked slowly to the middle of the room . Removing the rose from her hair, she held it close to her examining it with her fingers. Her fingers found the Black ribbon still tied round its stem. Her face showed a little smile.
A voice suddenly broke the silence. "So, you like the rose then?" It said.
This voice that suddenly came from nowhere, startled Christine. She dropped the rose, the thorn catching her palm leaving a faint red mark where it had scratched her pale skin.
"Yes, it's beautiful." She said to an apparently empty room.
"Oh, I am sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." The voice said apologetically.
The voice seemed to be coming from all around the room. It was comforting but at the same time had a cold tone; this caused Christine's hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.
"I trust you read my note as well?" The voice asked, still no way of telling where it was coming from.
"Yes, I was wondering, what am I going to be singing now that the production is over?" She sounded very eager while saying this, which made his next words disappoint her a little..
"Firstly we have to get your voice warmed up, so that you do not strain your voice while singing the higher notes." Christine remembered how her throat had ached for several hours after the performance, but tried to push this to the back of her mind. "I would like you to sing the first five notes of this scale…" He demonstrated a rising sequence of the first 5 notes in the C major scale on a violin. "Singing oooh while ascending and aaah while descending." He played the notes descending so that she was perfectly clear in what she was doing.
"I understand." Said Christine, making sure that she understood everything before she attempted it.
"Very good, here is your starting note again…" He played a C on the violin. "And after four, 1…2…3…4." He played the melody, and Christine sang along to it, finishing with an oooh rather than an aaah, as it was more comfortable, her teacher said nothing of this.
"You need to stand up straighter, you're constricting your stomach if your slouching." His voice sounded stern, yet also calm, Christine stood up straight immediately.
Great, so you can see me…hmmm…best not to press the matter.
"Lets try it again, 1…2…3…4." Again he played, and again she sang, a bit better this time. "Breathe from your stomach. You will be able to sing louder." This request stumped Christine for a moment, then she tensed her stomach muscles and tried to breath from it, it was difficult at first, her teacher seemed to be waiting until she was comfortable with it.
Again and again she tried, 'Open your mouth wider, let more sound out.' This particular order made her feel a bit uncomfortable, being told to open her mouth made her feel like a Carlotta getting ready to swallow a particularly juicy fly.
Christine looked at the time. She had been singing for an hour. Unable to stop herself, she yawned widely. "I think we will leave it there for tonight, we will do that warm-up in different keys for the first ten minutes of every lesson. Make sure you get plenty of rest." There was a sound of a violin case being clicked shut. "Until tomorrow night then…"
"What's your name?" Asked Christine. She couldn't stop herself, after all, it would be ridiculous to go through all of their lessons without her knowing his name.
He hesitated for a minute, then said, in a quiet voice. "My name is Erik."
"Erik." Whispered Christine, as if she was listening to see how it sounded when she said it.
Erik had turned to leave. A sudden warmth had flowed through him when she had said his name. It was something about hearing his name said by someone else. It made him feel…as if at last he was not alone. "Same time tomorrow then?" He said, in a rather lighter voice.
"Of course!" She said, also rather happily.
Erik turned and walked down the pathway to his lair. Her voice still in his head, whispering the word 'Erik'.
