Christine dans Deux
An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2006
DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Fifty-Five – Monsieur Delibes
"Okay, Romeo! Get a move on!" She quietly smirks.
There is only a minor commotion over Christine's decision to ride a horse instead of using a carriage. The Front Desk's attitude quickly improves after I provide proper monetary motivation. I have decided that paying for services is much faster, easier and has none of the worrisome consequences of blackmail or threats. It is an amazing thing how quickly a person can become civilized when one has money. The thing that I'm trying to decide is whether the cause of my gentrification is my restored features or Christine's presence in my mind. Most likely a combination of both factors. A polite cough brings me out of my reverie. Our horses are ready.
The trip to the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Paris is short and quick for which I am very thankful. Christine riding side-saddle makes me very nervous and I'm not sure why as she appears to be quite comfortable with it. The building is a rather plain 3-story rectangular building, which appears to my eye made of concrete masonry located at the corner of Rue Bergère and Rue Sainte-Cécile. For a building that teaches music and dance, I find it not at all graceful and I make a mental note to design a proper building for this institution sometime in the future.
We dismount and secure the horses then enter the building.
After asking several people, we find a person who directs us to M. Delibes offices on the third floor. We stroll into the office with about 30 seconds to spare and find an empty office. Christine giggles and quickly covers her mouth with her fist to clear her throat.
"Figures!" She mumbles. "Absent-minded professors. Should we take a seat? After all, the windows and doors are open and that appears to be his briefcase sitting on the chair."
"Might as well. Unless you have another idea."
"Nope. However, this may be the perfect opportunity for me to make a suggestion." Her voice has a tinge of guilt in it.
"I am listening."
"I know that ever since you appeared in my den, you haven't been able to work on any of your compositions. My suggestion is that you may wish to consider collaborating with M. Delibes on the score of Lakmé."
Her words take me by surprise. She is correct, I haven't composed anything since she and I met. That in and of itself is unusual, but what I find disconcerting is I hadn't noticed. Six weeks and I haven't composed a note, written a lyric, painted, built, designed anything. This is a first for me. Then, I know the reason and I am comforted. I have been creating something during the last six weeks. Christine and I have been building a future together, creating joy and making love.
"So, where is the part that causes the twinges of guilt?"
"You're learning quickly." Her eyes refuse to meet mine.
"Christine?"
"It will come to you. Think on it for a moment."
A collaboration with Léo Delibes on the score of Lakmé. Music that people appreciate more than a century into the future. Music that I know—
"Music that I know. You fear," I pause, searching for the word, then continue, "yes, that's it! You fear a paradox. You know me well enough that you know it will be impossible for me to be a part of this production and not offer some creative input. But, I already know the music, I cannot—"
"Stop!" She startles me with her abruptness. "I would not have broached this subject if I didn't have a way to resolve this problem."
"Ahh! So, this is where your guilt enters into it. What do you suggest?"
"I remove my memory of Lakmé from both our minds. Permanently. That way there is no paradox just an alternate probability. I would prefer not to do this, as I have no way to gauge the ripple effect of your collaboration. The safest choice is for you to content yourself with your performance as male lead, the direction, stage and costume design of the production. You need to decide now before you are tempted. Listening to them go through the creative process will be very difficult for both of us. So, I need you to decide for me. What shall I do? Is there a third choice? Something I do not see?"
She is visibly trembling, her fear breaks my heart and I quickly take her into my arms to hold tight to my chest. I stroke her back and think.
"My answer is this: I will not interfere with Lakmé's creation. I will be busy with other things, not the least of which being the Vicomte de Chagny. Christine, do not cry! Oh, ma chère cœur! I will write my own music. We have the rest of our lives to do all the things we never could do no, never dared do before! Let M. Delibes compose his masterpiece. I am content in the knowledge that we will use it to free not just Christine, but all of us."
I hold her, gently rocking her until she regains her composure. She amazes me. How well she knows me and anticipates my desire to create even before I do. And yet, she would dare all if I had chosen otherwise. For me, she would defy the fates!
"Ma chère cœur!"
"Mon amour précieux!" If we want to maintain our assumed roles, I suppose we appear more business-like and not be found in one another's arms."
I kiss her lightly on the forehead.
"True. Are you ready?"
"I'm all right now."
I nod and release her. She straightens and smoothes her skirt.
"You look fine, ma chère."
She smiles and clears her throat. Her eyes move in and out of focus so quickly that anyone other than me would not have noticed.
"Someone's coming."
Two men enter. One, I think of as "The Rogue" and the other, "The Fop." They are deep in conversation and do not notice the two of us, so I stand and walk toward them.
"Messieurs, good afternoon! I am Erik de Mornay and this is my associate, Mademoiselle Christine Maire."
The men look at me and then towards Christine. She stands up to her full height of 5'2" and yet her bearing gives her the illusion of height. Her chin comes up, her head tilts slightly, her eyes perform an obvious inspection of the men before her and then she offers each man a small nod of her head.
The reaction of the two men to my wife is almost comical. Almost. "The Rogue" stops and blinks in surprise. He stares intently at her, assessing her physical attributes, lastly his eyes look at her left hand for a wedding ring. Seeing no ring, he finally raises his gaze to her bust and there they remain. "The Fop" seems to be assessing the cut of her clothes, otherwise dismisses her as being of no account, just a woman. He has no interest in her at all.
Suddenly, I feel a flash of anger, quickly suppressed. My eyes slide to my wife. Her eyes bear the dying embers of her rage. I disguise my smile by clearing my throat and covering my mouth. These gentlemen know not that which they sorely test! However, they shall learn. They shall learn!
"The Fop" gives Christine a perfunctory bow and then is the first to speak.
"Monsieur de Mornay. Mam'selle Maire. A pleasure. I am Edmond Gondinet."
"The Rogue" saunters to my wife and makes a courtly bow.
"Mademoiselle Maire, I am enchanted to make your acquaintance. Phillipe Gille, at your service, my dear."
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch M. Gondinet rolling his eyes heavenward.
My wife says nothing to M. Gille. Her look speaks volumes and I must begrudgingly give M. Gille the credit due to him for he winces as he sees the sharp intelligence in her eyes. He hesitates for a moment then turns to me holding our his hand.
"Monsieur de Mornay! Phillipe Gille. At your service!"
I offer him my hand and he firmly shakes it in greeting. His eyes assess me cautiously. I tower over both men.
"So, where is our host? M. Delibes? Is it his habit to run late or should we be honored as an exception?" Christine speaks using her stage voice; soft, sweet, clear.
M. Gondinet turns to her and seems to reconsider his previous dismissal of her.
"He is often tardy, Mam'selle. May I inquire as to your interest in this libretto?"
"You may." Her reply light, musical and gently teasing.
For a moment, her small joke goes unrecognized then the true import of her reply dawns on M. Gondinet. He gives a delighted chuckle, which causes M. Gille to gape in surprise at his partner.
"Mademoiselle, you are the rarest of women! You have amused M. Gondinet!"
"A small jest to pass the time. In answer to your query M. Gondinet, I wish to invest in the production of your libretto as does my guardian, Jean-Paul Comte de Mornay du Montmuran. And, if at all possible, I would like to audition for a role. If you should have a role which would be suitable for my vocal abilities. My vocal range is G2 through G5. My favored style is bel canto and I have mastered the messa di voce technique. Of course, when necessary I can add vibrato, as I do not believe in limiting my voice to one style. I make no claim to being a prima donna. I believe my talents are best suited in secondary roles, not leads. I am most comfortable in roles requiring a Mezzo-Soprano, Alto or Contralto voice. Soubrette, Coloratura, Dugazon, Falcon, Spinto, Lyric or Dramatic makes no difference to me. The physical characteristics of the role determine those classifications and I am a capable actress. The only class I will have no part of is a Hochdramatischer soprano, but I do not believe that ever would apply to M. Delibes' compositions. Gentlemen, my investment in the production is not to purchase a role, but merely request an audition. I make no demands. I have no expectations, except for one. I expect to audition and if upon your consideration, you believe my voice, appearance and abilities are acceptable then we can discuss terms. Now, I have monopolized your time long enough. Thank you for your attentiveness."
She smiles at each of us in turn and then returns to her chair to look out the window. I am stunned! Not only was that the longest and haughtiest speech I have ever heard my wife make, it was very disconcerting for me to realize that I had simply accepted her self-deprecating words regarding her vocal abilities. I should have known. I've heard her sing. Many times! My mind runs through the times she sang for me, to me, with me and I discover something else I find astounding. Unlike my relationship with Christine Daae, I never felt a need to coach my wife's voice. It was always perfect, even when she claimed it wasn't. I teased her once about her range making my voice irrelevant, but I never felt a need to criticize her voice. And much to my chagrin, I have never praised it either.
M. Gondinet stares intently at Christine. I see a professional man assessing a potential asset. M. Gille simply wishes to bed my wife.
The silence of the room is broken as a short, heavy-set man with a unruly dark beard and mustache breathlessly enters. His suit is rumpled and poorly tailored. In his hands he carries a leather portfolio.
"Ah, gentlemen, gentlemen," he pauses as his eyes register Christine, "Hmm, Mademoiselle! I apologize for my tardiness. I encountered a student in the hall and was delayed when he requested a short conference regarding a problem he was having with a composition."
He moves to his desk and drops the portfolio there. He immediately walks to Christine and bows.
"Mademoiselle Maire?"
Christine stands and curtsies.
"Yes."
"I am Léo Delibes. I received a letter from Monsieur le Comte de Mornay, which informed me of his and your interest in the score I am writing in collaboration with Messieurs Gondinet and Gille. It is such a pleasure to meet you. May I offer you anything?"
I like M. Delibes immediately and I can tell Christine does too. One of her radiant smiles spreads across her face and she offers her hand to him. He takes it, places a fatherly kiss on the back of it and releases it gently.
"I am pleased to meet you as well. M. Delibes, I would like to present my escort, Erik de Mornay."
Her eyes find and hold mine for a moment. She lets her love for me peek from her eyes for just an instant before allowing her mask to drop back into place. I love how she loves me!
M. Delibes turns to me.
"Ah! Erik! So, you are Jean-Paul's son? Again, it is a pleasure to meet you. Your father has been a wonderful supporter of my efforts in the past. We have corresponded often, but never met. I am very happy to meet you."
He wears a huge smile on his face, but even better, his eyes smile too. He crosses the space between us in a instant and before I realize his intentions, I find myself the recipient of a giant bear hug. I cannot help but laugh and hug him back.
"Believe me, Monsieur, the pleasure is truly mine!" I laugh as we release one another.
"Now, now, none of that! Léo, please? My name is Léo!"
His words include Christine as well. She has returned to her chair. She smiles and nods. Her attention then returns to gazing out the window.
"Well, Messieurs. How about we take a look at the libretto and a few ideas I've been playing with regarding the score?"