Chapter 33
With what magnificence and music
the ballroom shall resound!
- Un Ballo in Maschera, Act III
Music: Masquerade from Phantom Fantasia by Anthony Inglis; Winter's Waltz from 'Frozen' by Christophe Beck
At seven o'clock, Christine stood at the top of the stairs, overlooking the grand foyer. Erik had asked her to wait there. He wanted to see her descend the grand staircase in a splendid gown at a ball. She was more than happy to humor this simple wish of his.
The party was off to a promising beginning, despite being planned by Andre and Firmin. An ensemble of the Opéra's best musicians were warming up below, and the foyer's tiered galleries were filling with outlandish costumes and all manner of masks.
But the one mask Christine was looking for did not appear.
She surveyed the room with an uneasy gaze. Already she could feel herself beginning to fret.
Whenever Erik was the slightest bit late, she worried. She never knew if he was fighting off some brutal attack or retying his cravat - there was no way to say.
Would it always be like this?
At last he appeared.
She gasped, partly from relief and partly because he looked so striking. A smile spread over her face and her hand stole to her heart.
For once he was not being cautious; he moved through the room with the assurance of an aristocrat. Though he'd honored her wishes and worn an ordinary suit, he carried himself so well that several people turned to look at him as he passed.
She recognized him at once, not because of the mask, for tonight everyone was wearing masks, but by the way he looked at her when he caught sight of her.
The expression on his face froze her where she stood. It was the way every woman dreamed of being looked at, at least once in her life.
He looked so elegant he quite took her breath away. He was splendidly turned out, looking a bit like Poe in a black silk cravat. A pewter raven, its eye picked out in a tiny ruby, secured the knot. His mask was one she had not seen before, in a dramatic black. In one gloved hand, he held a rose with a black satin ribbon tied round its thornless stem. A rare smile completed his ensemble.
When he met her gaze, she felt herself blush like a fourteen-year-old.
Her eyes felt locked to his.
At last she remembered he was waiting for her and began to descend the slick stairs, worrying she would trip, feeling suddenly very clumsy. She knew she could have tripped and fallen all the way down the stairs and he would probably still have thought her the most graceful woman in the room, but she wanted to do better than that, for him; she wanted to be as elegant and graceful as he always managed to be.
At last, she reached the bottom of the stairs and walked up to him.
Erik stood frozen.
He had not been prepared for the beautiful shock of seeing Christine descend the grand staircase in a red dress. He had not seen her in red before, and now that he witnessed such a marvel, he wondered that she ever wore any other color.
Fortunately, the general populace had taken the party as an excuse to wear the most garish ensembles they could contrive, so even with the bold pattern- his writing looping across her body in bold, commanding strokes - her gown did not stand out.
But Christine's beauty was another matter. It screamed so loud that he feared everyone in the room would turn and stare. It was so conspicuous that he was wanted, irrationally, to shush her, to demand that she somehow turn it down. Even in the veiled mask, it was obvious. The shape of her lovely brown eyes alone was still peculiarly bewitching. As he looked at her, he cursed himself for never devoting sufficient attention to them before - though he could have spent hours gazing into them.
He could write whole symphonies solely about them.
No, Christine could never blend in. Her beauty was even more conspicuous than his ugliness.
When she reached the bottom, he held the rose out to her, smiling as he looked her up and down.
To Christine's relief, there was no hint on his face of their fight from earlier. She accepted the rose and thanked him with a brief kiss. She would have liked for it to go on longer but he swiftly pulled away.
Before she could protest, he gently took the blossom back and, untying the ribbon, tucked it behind her ear.
"What do you think?" she asked. "I like having your writing all over me. I can keep something of yours with me, at least, since I cannot wear your ring for the time being."
"I do not like it all," he said solemnly.
"What?"
He made a gesture that encompassed her whole ensemble. "All of it. You are too beautiful. It is attracting attention. I think it very careless of you."
She smiled. "If you are not careful you are bound to attract the attention of some young ladies yourself. I mean to keep a close eye on you this evening."
He didn't seem to hear.
"Oh, but Christine, you have no necklace," he said after a moment. "I have been amiss."
"No - you have not gone amiss. It is my doing - I did not realize til the last minute, when it was too late. I had hoped no-one would pay attention," she laughed, "so if you would be so good as to ignore-"
"-Indeed, yours is such a lovely neck that I fear it would be difficult not to notice."
She smiled.
"But have no fear," he said. "I believe I have an answer."
"Oh?"
Bidding her turn round with a twirl of his finger, he took the ribbon and tied it carefully around her neck, arranging it so the ends trailed artfully down the back of her gown - très chic.
He was growing less afraid to touch her. Perhaps it was the gloves. He let one finger trail softly down her bare back like a meandering drop of water. A delicious shiver ran through her.
He kissed the back of her neck, where the delicate vertebrae stood out beneath her skin like a line of buttons under satin.
Turning, she put her arms about him, her lips seeking for his.
He stepped back. "Christine - they will see - Not out here in the open, I entreat you."
"That is not fair," she said. "You cannot do that to me and not let me kiss you. It is cruel." She smiled what she hoped was a seductive smile.
His ears turned red. "Ah- shall we dance?"
Music: 'Gramofon' waltz by Eugen Doga; 'Jazz suite no. 2: 6. Waltz II' by Shostakovich; La Valse d'Amour from 'Cinderella' by Patrick Doyle
"If you insist." Smiling, she held out her hand, and he led her onto the floor.
The next two hours were a whirlwind. She had thought, after all her years in the corps de ballet, that she would be more than able to keep up with him. But Erik's feet practically flew, and he seemed never to tire. He sailed them through one dance after another, never the same one twice.
Soon they were both breathing hard. Her hair had started to come undone. But each time they started to drift toward the edge of the dance floor, one or the other of them would pull them back into the thick of it. At last, they looked at each other and simultaneously admitted defeat.
She leaned on his arm as they careened off the dance floor, until he shoved a fat financier type in a jester costume and an enormous moustache out of the way to let her get to a chair.
The moustache-bearer, not accustomed to such behavior, looked as though he were about to make a scene, but then took in Erik's tall frame and broad shoulders and decided against it.
"You are tired," Erik said, concerned, as Christine collapsed into the seat.
"No." She flung back her head, laughing. "No, I am not! I protest most strongly against that accusation!" She heaved a breath. "I suppose I ought to have known you would be a splendid dancer, and yet somehow I did not anticipate it." She took his hands.
He smiled. "I do know how to amuse myself, you know. I am not always dull."
"No, indeed! How many dances did you learn?" she laughed, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.
"Not many. The tango, the paso doble, the waltz, the viennese waltz, the quadrille, the valse-musette, la toupie-"
"-Erik!" she cried, laughing.
"-the tango-musette, the paso-musette, the bourrée, the Schottische-"
"-Great Heavens, Erik! I have never heard of some of those."
"I am told those are all very common," he said. "It is quite ordinary, really."
"Oh, indeed!" she laughed. "It delights me to think of you practicing those with no music."
"One can imagine music very easily. Though Zenaida did think me a peculiar creature. I fear she disapproves of my paso doble."
" 'They who dance are thought mad by those who hear not the music'," she quoted.
"I see you have been reading Madame de Staël, Christine."
"But of course. And Olympe de Gouges. I am a formidable creature." She smiled.
"I am pleased to hear it. I always suspected as much, Christine."
"I am pleased to see you have not been neglecting your reading."
" 'The more I see of men, the more I like dogs,'" he quoted.
She laughed. "Then you have agreed we shall have dogs?"
"I have not agreed to anything of the sort. We shall have cats."
"We shall have both."
"I think not."
"I think so!"
Music: 'Je Veux Vivre' played by Sol Gabetta
The argument was interrupted as the musicians struck up the introduction to the 'Je Veux Vivre' waltz - her aria in Romeo et Juliette.
She looked up at him brightly. "Did you ask them to play that?"
"No." Erik was looking round in alarm. "They will be looking for you - they will be expecting you to go up and sing."
She laughed. "No."
"Hm?"
"La Carlotta was very helpful - she saw to it that I did not receive an invitation-"
"-That viper!" he cried.
"Oh, but she played directly into my hands-"
"-Did she?"
"Yes, of course, mon cœur!" she said with a smile. "This way instead of being paraded around by the managers like a prize cow, I can spend the evening in blissful anonymity, drinking champagne and kissing you."
He smiled. "In that case, though I am surprised to hear myself say it, I am in her debt."
She kissed him.
When she pulled away, he put his arms round her, holding her close, savoring the feel of her. She rested her head against his chest, her eyes closed with happiness.
"Thank God you got rid of the Vicomte, or he would have gotten you an invitation," Erik said after a moment. Damn everything, why can I not stop thinking of that miserable fool?
Christine opened her eyes. She hid her annoyance at having him brought up. "You make it sound as though I pushed him off a glacier."
"Now that you mention the idea - it is an inspired plan."
She smiled in spite of herself. "You are incorrigible," she said, pulling away and looking up at him.
"Thank you."
This time she laughed.
Her gaze wandered to the stairs. "You know," she said, "For all your criticisms, they really are quite excellent, our musicians, don't you think?"
"They must play better when they are drunk. I always do."
Christine smiled.
For some moments they listened to the orchestra in silence, taking in the sparkling beauty of the music.
"And shortly Juliette will meet her Romeo," Erik murmured. "The forbidden lovers, forced to meet in secret." He looked at her. "Art imitates life."
"Are we forbidden?" Christine said sadly.
"Yes. I am sorry to say we are."
She looked into his eyes. "Well, perhaps for now. But not forever. And we shall not end like they did."
Loving a thing like me will always be forbidden, Erik thought, but he held his tongue.
Christine began to sing along softly with the music, quite without realizing it, as she often did.
He quickly pressed two fingers gently against her lips.
Smiling, she kissed the tips of his fingers. "What is it?" she asked, her words somewhat muffled.
"You cannot put a mask on that voice, mon rêve."
She beamed.
There came a lull in the music.
Then, suddenly, a familiar voice rang out piercingly from the staircase, somehow slicing through the myriad conversations filling the room.
"Well, eet seems our dear leetle Chreestine Daeh eez not here. She asked me to sing eeen her stead eef she was not able to grace the party weeeth her presence." And all at once La Carlotta, crowned in a horrific gold feathered headdress and flanked by the managers, had launched into the aria.
Erik's face was frozen with horror. Even from beneath the mask his distress was obvious. "This is intolerable! How can you stand there and listen to this?"
"Why do you detest her so?" Christine asked.
"She has tried to sabotage you-"
"-Yes, but you loathed her even before then; why? Her voice is good - you cannot fail to recognize that."
"How can one tell when her technique is so execrable?"
As if to punctuate this, the diva emitted a particularly shrill high La.
Erik winced. "As for her acting, it is nonexistent. Shall I go on?"
"Are you sure your opinion of her is not colored by your affection for me?"
"No! I am always entirely objective!"
Christine laughed.
Before Erik could respond, La Carlotta launched into a coloratura run. Champagne glasses hummed.
"Will someone not put the poor creature out of its misery?" Erik said, loudly enough that several people turned and glared.
Christine had to hide a laugh.
"I cannot stand here and be subjected to this," Erik said, looking pale. "I am going to the refreshment table. May I bring you anything?"
"There are times I cannot help but admire her," Christine reflected as he turned away.
He froze. "What?"
"Not as an artist, perhaps - but as a woman. Think - she came here from Italy alone and became the Opéra's most noted soprano in a century. And she has managed to overcome everyone who has tried to defeat her. That takes great strength of character."
"Whatever you may say, she is not one-tenth the woman - or the artist - you are."
"You are going to make me get a big head," she said shyly.
"No, indeed," he said. "That is the delightful thing about you - I can spoil you with as many compliments as I desire, and it does not in the slightest inflate your opinion of yourself. It is quite remarkable."
She smiled.
"May I bring you anything?" he asked again.
"Oh, thank you, but I shall come with you." She took his arm.
"I regret I cannot allow you to do anything of the sort. Fighting your way through this horde would crush your gown." He gently extricated himself and kissed her on the cheek.
She relented with a smile.
"A pity," he reflected. "That was rather romantic of me, but I fear the mood was quite spoilt by the unfortunate incidental music."
"Aha!" a voice suddenly cried. "I knew I would find you around here somewhere!"
They both jumped, but luckily it was only Meg.
"Me voilà, les amis," she sang out, holding out her arms and strutting theatrically toward them. "Don't I look magnificent?"
Indeed, she was looking impossibly stylish in a billowing white lace cravat and a red velvet jacket emblazoned with gold braid. Her legs, in sheer polka-dotted black hose, emerged beneath. She wore no mask; Christine knew she thought her face much too handsome to cover up. A dainty black top-hat perched at a jaunty angle atop her curls completed the ensemble.
"Is that you, ducky?" she said to Christine, a little tipsy.
"You recognized me?" Christine said in alarm as Meg kissed her on the cheek, swaying slightly.
"You told me what your gown was going to look like, ducky," Meg laughed. "Don't worry; I won't give you away."
"Oh. Yes, of course," Christine said, shaking her head. "Thank you." Her nervousness was clouding her mind.
Meg was too tipsy to notice. "Now that I see it - it is breathtaking!" she shouted in Christine's ear. "You are a vision. I do still wish, though, that you'd gone with your saloon-girl costume idea. That would have been awfully funny." She turned to Erik. "You!"
Erik stiffly inclined his head, uncertain how to react to her. "Mademoiselle," he said uncomfortably.
"You two are engaged!" Meg said.
Erik smiled shyly, while Christine put a finger to her lips.
Meg looked back to Erik. "I suppose you already know that if you don't treat her well, I'll rip out your entrails?"
"I do not doubt it," Erik said.
"Hm. Well, in that case... I'm sure I'm very happy for both of you."
Erik found he had been holding his breath, and let it out with a sigh. There were very few people in the world he feared, but Meg Giry might turn out to be one of them.
Meg smiled and turned back to Christine. "What are you two standing about for? Has he danced with you?"
"Oh, yes," Christine laughed.
"Hmph. I'm sure he tried. I'll have to show him how it is really done." Meg said, tugging on her gloves. She held out her hand. "May I have this dance, my dear Mademoiselle?"
Christine laughed. "You may, dear Mademoiselle."
Erik bowed and turned to go.
"He has a nice rear end," Meg remarked pleasantly as he walked away.
Christine jumped. "You are correct in that assessment. But I observed it first - I have the prior claim!"
"I'll try to remember." With a smile, Meg whirled her onto the dance floor. They spun giddily through a few waltzes, laughing and tripping over one another's feet.
At last they tumbled out into one of the corridors for a breath of fresh air, and stood there fanning themselves while Meg loudly made fun of people's costumes and Christine tried not to laugh.
"Mademoiselle Daae?" a voice from behind them said, so suddenly they both jumped.
Christine whirled round and Raoul's elder brother, Comte Philippe de Chagny, stood before her, tall and grave, with a neatly clipped dark moustache and cold blue eyes. He wore a black mask that covered the upper half of his face and dark jacket with military gold braid that evidently he thought original enough to qualify as a costume.
He gave a stiff bow, his gaze never leaving her. "Good evening, Mademoiselle."
Christine swallowed. There was only one reason for him to be talking to her.
Evidently the same thing had occurred to Meg. "I'll go and fetch us some punch, shall I, darlings?" she said with a comical lack of subtlety, and she whirled away, stumbling a little every few steps.
Christine groaned inwardly.
Though she would rather have been anywhere else, talking to anyone else (with the exception of Buquet or possibly La Carlotta), there was no way out of it. "Monsieur le Comte," she said uneasily. "Good evening. I thought I was well-disguised."
"I was not sure at first that it was you, but when I saw Mademoiselle Giry, I thought it must be; my brother said you and she are inseparable."
What abominable luck for him to spot them together. Christine hid a wince. "I must ask you not to tell anyone. I am here incognito."
"I understand," he said, to her relief. "I often take the precaution of a disguise myself. Otherwise, the papers follow me everywhere in Paris. One has no privacy. It is intolerable. Perhaps you have experienced that yourself."
Christine felt a chill run through her. She had not thought of that. It had certainly never occurred to her when she started working to become a singer. Suppose her fame lasted - how would she and Erik ever find peace then? Would she, too, have to go about in a mask for the rest of her days? Would they ever be able to have a normal life?
"My brother regrets he could not be here to dance the waltz with you," the Comte said to Christine. He was merely being polite. Christine could see behind his eyes that he hated her. "He asked me to dance with you in his stead. Might I have the next set?"
Christine looked up at him in surprise. Why would Raoul say that? Surely he must know that things were quite over between them. "Did your brother not receive my message?"
The Comte looked at her piercingly. "I do not know. What message?"
Christine tried to quell a rising sense of panic. Normally Raoul confided everything in Philippe. For as long as she could remember, the two brothers had been devoted to one another, Philippe looking after Raoul almost like a father.
If Philippe had not heard about it, the most likely explanation was that Raoul had never received it.
To have gone all this time with no answer... Great Heavens! Christine thought. What in Heaven's name was he going to do when he came back here?
End of Chapter 33. Thank you so, so much for reading!
Thank you so, so much to M.G, Jeannie Kaulitz, olivecspence, Marzz, Lady Myth, Charlotte, Angel, A Loving Phan, and youcancallmeO.G for your reviews! Your kind words mean the world to me! I am so grateful! Thank you also for your patience!
To the guest who asked what type of Erik mine is - this one is mostly Lloyd Webber because the idea behind this phic is most directly based off the 2004 movie. But if there's something that isn't answered in the movie or musical, such as a question about Erik's personality or what he might do in a certain situation, I referred back to the Leroux novel. I also added that Erik went to Persia for a few years because a. he did go to Persia in the book, so he might have in the movie; it never really says one way or another, and b. it really bothers me that in the movie he had been manipulating her starting when she was a child - that is extremely creepy - so having that gap of a few years in there and that he doesn't fall in love with her until he's back from Persia and she's an adult makes it a teeny bit less problematic (still concerning, but it's the best I could do. Generally I just ignore that aspect of the movie tbh because it's incredibly disturbing and it isn't in the musical or book, so I don't consider it canon.)
To M.G - don't worry; I'm not done with Raoul - not at all... *evil smile*