The Perfect Solution
An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2007
DISCLAIMER: I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in The Phantom of the Opera or Phantom, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.
The Sound of Silence
Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision
That was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
Music & Lyrics by Simon and Garfunkel
Chapter Thirty – The Sound of Silence
Erik found he had to hold tightly to Christine's hand as she almost began to run towards the source of the music. Her excitement grew as soon as she realized where she and her husband were. She tugged at his hand. He resisted her insistent pull. For a moment when their eyes met, something he saw troubled him deeply. The look in her eyes, a wild brightness, it reminded him of the way she would look at him the moment her body fell over the precipice into ecstasy. He felt a wave of anger wash over him. A rage against the music he had just thought so enticing. Erik growled and dug in his heels. The music pounded against his head and he swayed under its assault.
"Come, Erik! Do not be afraid for the Angel of Music has us under his wings!"
The music filled the air around him. Finally, it found a chink in his mental armor and began to flow through him. The more he resisted its pull, the more unrelenting was its siren's call. It filled his head to the point of where he thought his skull might burst.
"Do not fight it, mon amour! Come with me! I need to introduce you to my angel!"
Like an impatient child, she began to tug at his hand as she attempted to pull him away from the shore of the lake and towards the strange house, which apparently lay in an underground cavern. Erik turned and tried to pull Christine back into their bedroom only to discover the door was no longer there. Behind them was a large, dark lake with a small gondola beached nearby. Erik stumbled as Christine yanked on his hand. She drew him towards the source of the overpowering, yet heavenly music.
Straightening, Erik squared his shoulders, fought against the pain in his head that threatened to overwhelm him and allowed Christine to lead him to the house by the lake.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Erik numbly allowed Christine to pull him to the front door of the small house. The pain quickly grew to an unbearable crescendo within his head. He stumbled and placed his free hand to his forehead. His near fall broke the spell, which held Christine in its thrall. She turned to him and as she noticed his pallor, she cried out.
"Oh! Erik! Are you unwell? Here stop, please, sit."
She led him to a bench next to the front door of the house and helped him to sit there.
"What is wrong with you? Is there anything I can do to help you?"
The man moaned, lowered his head and rubbed his forehead even more vigorously than before.
"The music," he gasped. "Please! Make it stop! It is killing me!"
Confusion swept across her features.
"How could the music of my angel hurt him?" She thought for a moment, her eyes searching her husband's taut features. "He is resisting the music. Something about it angers him, but what?"
Erik groaned and Christine's silent contemplation abruptly ended, rapidly replaced with a fierce determination.
"It does not matter why, he needs it to stop. So, I must cease my ruminations and do something!"
She nodded her understanding, although she knew her husband could not see it. She released his hand and strode determinedly to the front door of the house. She stood before the door with her arms akimbo, her hands on her hips and called out loudly.
"Angel? Please stop! Come out! Please? You are hurting him. Please stop hurting him! Stop it now! Angel, he is my husband and I love him. Without him, I will not be able to hear the music. Can you hear me? Papa? Angel?"
Her words trailed away into a frightened whimper as she glanced towards Erik who sat slumped against the wall of the house. He held his head in both hands now. Suddenly, the man lurched forward and collapsed on the ground where he writhed for a moment before unconsciousness claimed him. The young woman's reaction was immediate and swift. She ran to her husband's side and lifted him into her careful embrace. She gently stroked his face as tears streamed down her cheeks.
"ANGEL!" She screamed.
And, then she found only the sound of silence. Blessed silence.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
"So, today is the day we shall see whether the young man is his own man or not. For my Meg's sake, he had best be true. I know not what I shall do if he breaks her heart."
The ballet mistress pounded out the rhythm of the dance as she oversaw the rehearsal for the latest production. Her thoughts sounded louder in her head than the orchestra below her in the pit. Her brows deeply furrowed with worry.
"Well, I must thank Monsieur Destler for this … his impetuous wedding provided the young Vicomte with the necessary courage to confront his parents over his intentions to ask for Meg's hand. Those two are such a strange pair. The boy is all fire and emotion and Erik is still, deep water and intellect. They are opposite sides of the coin, but still they are the same coin. They provide one another the facets the other lacks. A perfect complement of personalities."
She paused to consult the timepiece she had pinned to her bodice.
"Four o'clock. The boy will arrive in an hour or so, but I thought Erik and Christine planned to come here about Noon today. Hmmm …. Newlyweds!" She smirked. "Well, it seems that Meg shall have to wait another day before she can gossip with Christine about her wedding night. Lord! That girl and her curiosity, it shall be the death of me yet! Monsieur le Vicomte best arrive with a proposal of marriage or my girl's heart will burst. I can only hope that he fears my cane more than he fears his parents."
Her thoughts suddenly interrupted as a misstep caught her attention.
"Jammes! A ballerina pirouettes with her leg in passé. In other forms of dance, it may be acceptable to pirouette with your bent leg facing front, in ballet the execution of a proper pirouette requires your bent leg's position be off to the side. The position taken in a correct passé. Would you like to spend an extra hour after rehearsal practicing this move? Or, if you prefer, you may demonstrate before the company your ability to perform this move now. However, if I judge your execution as lacking in any way, you shall have two extra hours of practice. Which option do you prefer, Mademoiselle?"
The gangly, freckle-faced girl's complexion paled and she stammered with obvious embarrassment.
"My apologies, Madame Giry. I prefer to practice an extra hour and I shall do my best not to make the same mistake again."
The stern woman nodded her head and then whipped around to face the company's prima ballerina.
"Sorelli! Do you find Jammes' predicament amusing? Perhaps, a lesson in humility is in order. Please, step center stage. I believe a demonstration of your strength, stamina and technique is in order. Can you perform a fouetté en tournant?"
The young woman's eyes flashed and she cast a disdainful glance at the ballet mistress.
"Of course! How could I hold the position of prima ballerina if I could not?"
Madame Giry nodded her head, agreeing with the dancer's statement and smirked.
"Well, perhaps, Mademoiselle has heard of the ballet, "Cinderella," being performed by the Imperial Ballet of St. Petersburg?"
The smile on her face faltered as Sorelli realized her ego just earned her a dressing down in front of the entire ballet corps and she made her almost inaudible reply.
"No, Madame. I have not."
"Well, Prima Ballerina Assoluta Pierina Legnani performed 32 consecutive fouettés en tournant.¹ She performed 32 of them without stopping, without dropping her working leg to the stage and without traveling one inch! Would you care to provide us with a demonstration? Or, would you prefer to apologize to Jammes and assist with her practice of pirouettes after rehearsal?"
Swallowing her pride, the prima ballerina turned to the gawky Jammes.
"I apologize, Jammes. I had no right to laugh. We all make mistakes. Would you allow me to help you with your pirouettes?"
With a sympathetic look in her eyes, Jammes smiled and nodded.
"Yes, thank you."
The stern ballet mistress smirked as a sign of her approval and shouted.
"Very well! The break is over! We shall begin again at the grand jeté. Monsieur Reyer, please?"
The woman began to pound her cane in time with the music once more and fell back into her musings.
"That boy better arrive here soon!"
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
"Father! If you do not calm yourself, you shall suffer a fit of apoplexy!"
Phillipe smirked from his comfortable perch in the corner of his father's study. The older son of the Marquis de Chagny sighed as he bore witness to the confrontation between his father and younger brother.
"Phillipe, you had best remain silent or you may find yourself in a conversation that you do not wish to have with me." The furious man snarled. "At least your brother has the decency to wish to marry the girl … unlike you and your prima ballerina."
The Comte Phillipe de Chagny grimaced and turned his head to look out the window.
"I will give that to Raoul. He is much more courageous than I am. I never even considered marrying La Sorelli, but then when you have already sampled the fruit, why purchase the bushel? I am just not the marrying sort of man. I am 45 and too old to change my bachelor ways. It is up to Raoul to carry on the de Chagny line. Personally, I believe bringing some new blood into the family can only improve the line. Mademoiselle Giry is young and strong, unlike most of the simpering debutantes paraded like cattle at the soirees. I only wish that I had the nerve to voice my opinion."
He slid from the arm of the chair he sat upon down onto its plush cushion. He turned to look first upon his father and then his brother.
Raoul stood tall and proud, fearless before their father's wrath. The indecisive boy gone and a man in his place.
"Father, I intend to marry Mademoiselle Giry whether I receive your blessing or not. I would prefer to receive your approval, but if you cannot find it in yourself to do so, I will marry her without it. Please, father! At least consent to meet her and her mother. If you meet her, you shall see that she is noble enough to be an empress. Speaking of which, our recently deposed Emperor's father was not born of noble blood. Why can I not marry for love? Is our family so poor that it requires me to make a loveless match? Do you truly believe that a monarchy will reign again in France? We live in the Third Republic now. Kings and queens, emperors and empresses, lords and ladies … all of these are the remnants of a world slowly fading away. They are a part of the past we can no longer afford. We must look to the future. Can I not build a life with someone I care about deeply?"
Phillipe stared at his brother in amazement. No one could accuse the younger de Chagny of having a serious nature, but this girl had changed him. This girl had transformed the carefree boy into a thoughtful man. Phillipe felt an undeniable compulsion to speak on his brother's behalf and damn the consequences.
"Father, I support Raoul's choice and I believe our family name will not suffer by having this girl marry into it. Please do not turn your back on a son of whom you should be most proud."
The older man and the younger man turned as one to face Phillipe. Identical expressions of disbelief on both of their faces. Phillipe found he could not hold back his laughter, which at the scowl that appeared on his father's face, he quickly quelled.
"Come, father. Let us discuss this in a matter as befitting gentlemen."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
The door creaked on its rusty hinges and a young man exited the house by the lake. Christine looked up through eyes almost blinded by tears. She turned away to gaze upon the unconscious man in her arms and then back at her angel.
"Why?"
¹ Pierina Legnani, Prima Ballerina Assoluta of the Imperial Ballet of St. Petersburg in 1893, first introduced 32 fouettés en tournant into the coda of the Grand Pas d'action of the ballet "Cinderella" (choreographed by Lev Ivanov, Enrico Cecchetti and Marius Petipa to the music of Baron Boris Fitinhof-Schell). She continued to perform them from 1893 to 1901.
I realize the date is not quite in keeping with the timeline, but after all, this is a work of fiction. I find the ability to perform a single fouetté en tournant an amazing feat, but performing 32 of them consecutively … that is astounding! So, now you know about Pierina Legnani and a little bit of her lives on in you ….
Author's Note: Well, I just thought I should let everyone know that the reason I re-posted so much of the previous chapter at the beginning of this one is that I revised it and thought this the best way for everyone to see it. My thanks to Mominator for providing the impetus to do this. I therefore, dedicate this chapter to her. You have been a faithful reviewer and I always look forward to your comments. Thank you!
As always, my thanks go out to each and every single one of you who read and review. You can only understand how much it means to an author if you yourself write. However, even if you are a lurker and only read, I appreciate that too! This story just passed the 15,000 hit mark … it just surpassed my first attempt at fan fiction, "Christine dans Deux," which blows me away!
I realize that I've left you with somewhat of a cliffhanger, so I shall attempt to post my next chapter no later than Sunday. Remember, the more reviews I receive the more incentive I feel to deliver another chapter! (Hey, what can I say? I've already admitted it in the past, so there's no use denying it now. I admit it! I am addicted to your reviews! So, feed the kitty, please?) --ny