Just to clarify, the underlined portions in this chapter are when people are singing. Italics signify voices in Christine's head from her past. They are spaced apart significantly, however if it is confusing let me know and I will do my best to better clarify. Thanks!
Chapter 4: The Perilous Pottery
The women practiced for hours under the intense heat. André had been their saviour, telling Madame Giry they needed to keep moving to make the city tomorrow. The ballerinas awkwardly changed back into their clothes in a wagon, peeling off their tights with difficulty. The women then huddled together, all of them day-dreaming while ignoring the dull ache of their muscles. They remained like this until Madame Giry woke them up early and encouraged them to stretch. Their next performance would be in a few hours.
When they arrived at the city they were welcomed by the Chieftain. He was a short, plump man with golden rings and a wide smile. He welcomed them warmly and led the wagons to a large outdoor amphitheatre. It stood in a wide clearing surrounded by tall houses of adobe and brick, all of them painted with white and sandy coverings. Towards the back of the clearing was a round stage made of stone and clay. It was elevated a few feet in the air, surrounded by a barren incline for the audience. Christine wondered how the audience could tolerate sitting on the stone pavement for so long, especially under the sun. But Christine didn't have time to day dream. It was time now for the common mad hustle to prepare for the performance. The ballerinas completed warm ups, changing into their costumes in the wagons. The singers did the same. Carlotta's wretched arias could be heard for miles around.
Christine hadn't seen the crew in a while, all of them hiding in their own wagons. Matilda hustled from person to person, passing costumes and makeup brushes. She was a stout, middle aged woman with seemingly untamable red hair that was falling out of her bun. Reiner, their music instructor, grabbed the only two chorus members and had them complete a series of warm ups. Louis and Gabriel had been at the opera for a few years but never made it much further than chorus member due to Piangi and Carlotta's rein over the leading roles. They were both young bachelors who had been fought off the ballerinas by a fierce Madame Giry for the majority of the trip. Bastian was in charge of the makeshift stage. He was a quiet man, though large and imposing. He and Buquet had designed the prop pieces to be foldable and easy to travel, but since he was now alone, he dashed around the arena to set up the display independently. He used some of the local men who had been assigned to help them, barking orders in french that clearly none of them understood. Sophia and Ignacio tuned their flute and violin respectively, chuckling at Bastian's frustration. They were an older couple, both having played for the opera for many years. Despite their age, they radiated youthful charm and volunteered to join the caravan the second rumours of a travelling show were whispered.
The unusual ruckus attracted a crowd. Despite the neutral background, the outdoor theater seemed to light up with the arrival of the townspeople. Christine admired the different styles of clothing and their vibrant colours. The women wore long dresses of green, orange, black and purple gowns with matching head scarves that covered their hair and draped down their backs. The scarves were lined with golden designs that shimmered against the sun. They were loose, not tight and restricting like her dresses. She admired their smooth skin, darker like a rich olive oil, that gleamed against their vibrant outfits. Some of the young women in the crowd were whispering to each other and giggling. It reminded her of her friends when they would all giggle backstage. It's funny how even worlds apart people are truly the same, Christine wondered. Maybe there were many Christines out there, she thought, all different just slightly based on where they were born?
Christine, now ready for the performance, watched behind a thin, makeshift wall with Meg. The two of them were to enter from the left and Sorelli and Jammes from the right. Christine could just see Carlotta walk forward, a large grin emerging from her puffy face. Christine thought back on her previous statement. She hoped that there was only one Carlotta in the world, for everyone's sake. She twitched as the Prima Donna cleared her throat. The entire cast tensed, holding their breath and preparing their eardrums for the upcoming slaughter.
Think of me, think of my fondly when we've said goodbye.
Christine dared a glance at the audience. Although most could not understand what she was saying, they could all hear the slight screech when she hit the higher notes of the song. Her zealous vibrato seemed to shake the stone walls around them, though everyone pretended as though they didn't notice the slight rattle of pottery at her shrieking. Most were dumbfounded, unsure whether this was the style of music these foreigners enjoyed or if she was, in fact, a dramatic singer. None of them dared interrupt for it to be the former.
Remember me, once in a while please promise me you'll try. When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free. If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for-
CRASH!
Her song was interrupted as a clay pot flew past her head. It missed it by mere inches and shattered against the wall behind her. The crowd erupted into gasps as Carlotta screamed, her hand holding down her fast-beating heart. Christine's jaw dropped to the floor. She scanned the crowd but saw no one. She looked above the rooftops but saw nothing conspicuous. Where had it come from?
"Who did that?!" Carlotta screeched. She searched the crowd and then glared at the dumbstruck cast around her. All were too shocked to move to her aid except for a certain blonde ballerina who had to turn away to hide her snicker.
"Who threw that at me? How dare you!" Carlotta hollered at the crowd. She pointed a meaty finger towards them, looking for someone to blame.
André timidly crept onto the stage. He searched above the homes for the source of the violence, but like everyone else, found nothing. He dragged a poor interpreter with him, a gift from the Chieftain. Carlotta ran into the arms of Piangi and wailed into his chest.
"And the diva weeps." Meg chuckled under her breath. Christine would normally giggle at her remark but, regrettably, she empathized. Someone had tried to hurt her. She had every right to be scared. But where did it come from? Who did it come from?
"Who threw that pottery?" André asked meekly.
The interpreter translated André's words, but they were met with mumbling, confused looks, and a crowd of people looking around trying to find the culprit themselves. No one seemed to know.
"Why you filthy barbarians!" Carlotta yelled, pushing herself away from Piangi. "I don't know what kind of repulsive life you live but this is not how you treat a prima donna! Especially one of my standards."
"Standards!" a voice boomed.
The entire amphitheatre shrunk at the intensity of that booming voice. It didn't appear from a direction, more like a cry of thunder from above. Christine shrank down, gripping onto Meg. They both stared above, enthralled by that voice. It was so powerful, so laced with anger, that Christine felt herself shiver.
The crowd, and thankfully Carlotta, grew silent. Everyone held their breath. They waited for the voice to continue but were met with a foreboding silence.
André, slowly walked further forward to the front edge of the stage, searching above the homes for the sound of the voice. He finally turned to Carlotta.
"My-My dear! We are surrounded by large homes and shops. I-ah-I am sure something just…um… fell." He said in a hushed voice.
"Fell? Horizontally? Towards my face? All of the buildings are off to the side, far away from me!" She hissed. Even though Carlotta's voice was quieter, the entire cast could hear the fuming anger in her tone.
André grabbed her hands, a sense of urgency in his eyes. His once frantic tone darkened. "I am sure it was just an accident. These things do happen." He warned.
Christine would have accepted André's answer. He clearly did not want a scene, nor did he seem to believe that this was an accident. His eyes hid his inner turmoil and Christine desperately wanted to crack them open to learn the truth.
Carlotta on the other hand, was oblivious to his warning. The ballerinas could see the fire burst in her wrathful eyes. Clearly, the prima donna could not feel the slight tremble in André's hands nor see the terrified faces of her cast mates.
"These things do happen. But these things happen all the time. Even at the Populaire! Until you stop these things happening, this thing does not happen!" She pulled her hands away from André and stormed off the stage, dramatically wailing into her hands. The crowd gasped and murmured their shock and questions to each other as they watched her strut off stage. They did not need to speak the same language to understand the prima donna's remarks.
"Firmin! Firmin!" André begged, pointing towards the fleeing diva. "Stop her!"
Firmin, who appeared on the stage for just a moment, stumbled backward and ran towards the diva. By this time, she was already storming up the side of the amphitheatre heading towards the main streets. Piangi rolled his eyes and walked after them.
"Amateurs. She will not listen to you. I will go."
"N-No, Piangi! We need you here to continue the scene!"
"I am not back until the end you buffoon." He snickered and continued to follow his beloved. André looked towards the crew. Everyone avoided his gaze as he frantically spun around searching for a saviour. He first found Reiner.
"Reiner! Who is Carlotta's understudy?"
"We are a travelling theatre, monsieur. There is no understudy!"
André began to anxiously fiddle with his hands. "That cannot be! Is there not anyone here who can continue the song?" He implored. Reiner looked around the two male chorus members, clearly unsure. Both shook their heads and stepped backwards. They had no solutions.
"Christine Daaé could sing it."
It was as if the world around her froze for just a moment or if she was hit by a bullet. Both of which would be much preferable to the reality in which she was living. After Christine was able to control her breathing again, she turned toward Meg, who now stood boldly. How could she be so brave? How could she speak without any thought to the consequences of her actions?
Her friend looked down at her and gave an encouraging smile. What was she thinking? Christine felt her heart rattle inside her rib cage. She could not sing this. She had no practice, no experience, no desire to sing it. She shook her head, her mouth agape.
In order to save the most money, André and Firmin had stripped the production to its barest bones. They lowered the amount of crew needed to travel by bringing only the essentials. Matilda would be in charge of costumes and makeup. Bastian would prepare and care for the little props they had brought. The orchestra had been narrowed down to one woodwind and one string instrument. Louis and Gabriel would take the roles of generals and other small roles while the 4 ballerinas would dance and sing. He had specifically picked the ballerinas who could sing. Christine couldn't bring herself to audition but Madame Giry had assured them that she was capable. She had mouthed her lines, maybe whispering them out at times during their travels. Singing brought memories she was not ready to confront. Reiner knew this. Madame knew this. Even the ballerinas knew this, but none questioned her
Despite choosing the ballerinas for their singing ability, André was clearly shocked by Meg's statement. "The ballet girl?" He questioned, his tone unsure.
"She has the voice of an angel." Meg continued. "She could do it."
Meg had heard her sing many times before her father died. She had overheard Christine's private lessons through La Sorelli's changing room door or watched her onstage when she used to sing as a chorus member as a teenager. But Meg knew she gave up singing when her father died. That was over a year ago. She was out of practice and terrified of the emotions she had locked away with her voice. How on earth did Meg expect her to sing now?
"No-no, no monsieur!" Christine began to beg but she was silenced by the loud crack of Madame Giry's cane on the wooden makeshift stage.
"She can do it. She has been well taught." Madame Giry calmly stated.
It was silent for a few moments as the entire cast stared at Christine. They waited for something, anything, but she was frozen. There was a reason she did not want to do this. There was a reason she did not want to sing.
Her father put music in her life; filled it with melodies. He had first taught her how to sing and every note and breathe she took reminded her of him. She could sometimes feel her heart beating to the tuning of her father's violin. But now, even humming a lullaby brought back painful memories. When she did, she would begin to imagine her father, lying cold in his deathbed. All she could feel was his clammy, pale skin in her hands. He looked nothing like her childhood memories. His large eyes and boyish grin were completely gone, replaced with grey hollow orbs and thin purple lips. His voice was barely a rasp, though his ragged coughing was loud enough to shake the walls of their tiny flat. The fingers that used to make the muses bow when he played his violin were now merely bone wrapped in paper thin skin. The last time he heard her sing, she sang him to sleep for the last time.
"I can't sing it." She whispered. She bit her lip to hold back her tears.
A delicate finger lifted her chin and she stared into the hazel eyes of Madame Giry.
"They would want you to. Both of them."
Of course, Christine thought. It wasn't just her late father's memory that inhibited her. When she sang, she also thought of him. Her heart fluttered before she felt the familiar pang of guilt. Would he be able to hear her now? After all this time? Would he he even want to?
"It is about time you faced the inevitable, my dear. Now, you don't have to do it alone." Madame Giry soothed.
Christine's exhale sounded more like a choked sob. Madame Giry was right, she was always right. She knew her father and his love for music. It is why he told her that Christine was to join the theatre under her tutelage and protection. It is why he told Madame Valerius that Christine was to practice the piano and violin often, regardless of how often she cried and pouted. He wanted this. So how was she to say otherwise? Was it selfish to follow her own heart? Was it cruel? She pulled her head away from Madame Giry's finger and away from her own thoughts.
Her thin limbs helped her stand and she wiped away her tears. She couldn't keep running from her fears. She imagined her father smiling. Oh, how he would smile when she would sing. She could hear the sweet praises of her angel ringing in her ears. Yes, she could do this. She could do this one time.
Can you be brave for me, Christine?
His voice rang in her mind as she stepped forwards. Madame Giry reached out and squeezed her hand. "This song is the perfect song to sing. It is sad, yes, about a lost love. However, it is full of hope and knows that even without each other, there is still a way forward. You must sing this, Christine. Sing it for them."
She exhaled, forcing herself to reach a silent resolution. She came on this journey to better herself and this was just another agonizing step forward. But a step forward nonetheless.
Christine nodded. "Yes, madame."
She looked at her wide eyed manager. She took a deep breath as her hands forming fists at her side.
"I can sing it, monsieur."
More of our favourite man to come in the next chapter! Hope you guys liked my adapted version of the 'Think of Me' scene. Until next week!