Upon my return to the opera the next morning, I was determined to make myself forget the events of last night. However, as soon as I stepped onstage to help with the dress rehearsal, I felt again the upsetting emotions come over me. And that voice kept echoing inside my head.
Persephone...
I made an extra effort to help the members of the men chorus find their costume pieces in the wings, all the while listening intently to see if I could pick out the voice I had heard the night before. The hushed tone it had and the words he had used made it sound other worldly. It was indeed a masterful voice and I was now starting to doubt if it had been someone playing a joke. It seemed to serious to be used in that manner.
By noon, and after hours of endless singing, I had determined the voice had not belonged to one of the singers. M Gabriel called for an early lunch. Since the other costume girls were off in the wings, gossiping and otherwise not pay attention to their duties, I made my best effort to quickly collect pieces from the performers. I thought hard of anyone else in the company who would have known that I would have been alone in the opera last night. I could only remember telling Genny, who was upset with me for working too hard. Also Madame LeRoy knew and perhaps some of the other costume girls, grateful it wasn't them stuck with the drudge work.
Carolus Fonta handed me his purple stole from around his waist before going to his dressing room. He flashed me a small smile and then winked at me. I was taken aback, since M. Fonta had barely taken notice of me before. Could he have been the voice?
No I had seen him leave last night. That I could recall. And besides, what would a lead tenor be doing hanging in the shadows of an opera box to frighten girls like me.
More hours of rehearsal passed. Opening night was only four days away. Full dress rehearsal started the next evening which would be even more work for me to do. The night ended the same as the last, and even before everyone was dismissed I was frantically gathering costumes and accessories and rushing them back.
I was upset that I was being driven to work faster to avoid being in the presence of the voice again. I had been looking forward to this time as one of refuge, away from the abuses that awaited me at home. However throughout the day as I worried about the night and the voice, my anxiety had changed into something else. My anger had turned into fear. I was dreading the voice's return.
The lights in the auditorium, which were only half lit during the rehearsals, were slowly being shut off one by one as I made my rounds. I could hear in the distance the sound of doors shutting. This night I had to soak any stoles, handkerchief or cloth that the performers had used in a light bath to remove any sweat. There were also the green and gold laurel wreaths that I needed to clean by hand.
I counted the wreaths in the costume area making sure I had the right number. I carefully ran a cloth over each leaf and stacked them together, along with the elaborate crowns of Jupiter, Pluton and the other gods. As I started to remove the stoles and mantles from the water, I could tell right away something was missing. Looking at the sea of purples and blues, wet in my hands, I knew in a moment what it was.
Eurydice's stole. Carlotta had been wearing her long stole throughout most of the rehearsals. As soon as the piece was finished, she insisted on wearing it. A bright fuchsia fabric, trimmed in gold it stood out among the other costumes. There would be hell to pay if I didn't clean that one.
With an exasperated sigh, I made my way down to La Carlotta's dressing room. It was locked and I cursed my bad luck as I pulled the handle. Her maid must have taken it inside. The diva was the only performer to have a personal maid, as well as her own dresser on the company payroll. I walked back to the stage on the off chance it might still be left there. Even in my rush to gather the costumes, I did not remember taking it from Carlotta or her maid.
The stage was now half lit as well. The stagehands must have figured all the work was done for the evening. I looked out and saw a chair at center stage. It was the one Carlotta used in rehearsal to sit during breaks in singing. But I was sure it had not been left like that after rehearsals ended. Laying across the back was the fuchsia stole.
I shook my head, knowing there was no way I could have walked by that. As I made my way to center stage, I reasoned perhaps I was so nervous about the voice and getting my work done that I had walked right past it.
"No song for me, Persephone?" the voice asked.
I froze midway between the wings and the chair that the mantle rested on. I looked up at the grand tier box where I had seen the shadow the night before. No one was there.
"Mademoiselle..." it called again, and now I could hear the direction it was coming from. It wasn't like last night when I swore it was had whispered in my ear. I turned my head and saw the man in the shadows standing in the center of the stalls.
Even with the lack of light, I could see him more clearly now. He was making no effort to hide himself.
The first impression I took in of him was his height. He was very tall even at a distance. He wore a dark overcoat, with black buttons that I could see reflect some of the light behind me. A streak of white appeared from under his collar, which was large and covered most of his face. He started to take a step closer.
I held out my hands. "Who are you?" I wanted to shout this but my voiced died in my throat, leaving me with the volume of a whisper
"I believe the question should be..." he started to reach up his hands over his collar, slowly pulling it down. "Who are you...Christine Daae?"
It was no face that greeted me. It was a mask.
A black mask covered his face from his forehead to the bottom of his nose. It was stiff and lifeless, but the eyes behind it were not. Two orbs of deep gold stared back at me intently. They shined like the eyes of a cat. I could hear my heart pound against my rib cage. What man had eyes like that? What man wore a mask?
"What is a girl with the voice of an angel doing scrubbing costumes?" he continued in that strange masterful voice "What girl waits in the shadows while others pretend to be gods and fools on stage." By now he had reached the side of the orchestra pit. "You didn't answer my question from last night. Not sufficiently anyway. Why are you not in the chorus, Christine?"
My mind felt scattered but my body stayed still. "Go away, please." I begged. "I told you…"
"You told me that you were not good enough. Yet your voice betrays you." He continued. "If you had no faith in your voice, then you would never be caught singing. You seemed to enjoyed yourself when you sang, but now confronted with the truth, you insist on denying your talent."
He was leaning against the wall of the pit. Long arms stretched out to his side, the hands at the end covered in white gloves. He starred at me, a look of calm in his eyes. As if we had known each other before. As if this encounter was a causal one.
"You shouldn't have spied on me." I challenged.
"It wasn't my intention. Tell me how often to you catch yourself singing under your breath while the chorus practices? Do you hum as you go about your simple tasks of washing clothes and snipping threads?" His gaze held my own. "You are a musician, even if you seek to deny it."
My eyes made their way over the mask. Closer I could see on the eyes of the mask, a thin rim of gold paint. It reflected the gold in his eyes, for there was no mistaking the color of them at this distance. They were a bright golden amber shade, set deep in dark sockets amid the black face. Once as a child, I remember my father taking me to see a puppet show of "Othello". The mask reminded me of the crudely painted puppet face of the Moor of Venice.
"Am I right? You are a musician." he asked.
My hands had slowly found their way back down to my sides. "I don't…" I started.
"A yes or no answer will do." He said curtly.
I took a deep breath. "Yes."
"As I am." He replied
"But I still don't see why that interests you sir." I remarked.
He held up his hand and waved it towards me. His gesture made it clear that he wanted me to come closer. I allowed myself only two steps forward.
"I overheard you singing last night. I hope you will pardon my intrusion on your privacy, but I couldn't help myself." His tone sounded sincere and there was no trace of sarcasm as he spoke. "Your voice is sublime, mademoiselle. It was not so much that I stopped to listen, more that I was mesmerized by the sound. I couldn't help but listen."
I took a few more steps.
"So imagine my surprise when I saw you and then when you discredited yourself. I couldn't believe that you would completely deny the notion of your exceptional talent. That is why I complemented you. That is why I rashly offered to give you singing lessons."
My head tilted to one side as I shot him a skeptical glance. "Rashly? So you did not mean what you said. You wouldn't give me singing lessons." I asked.
A deep sigh escaped his lips. "No, I meant what I said. I intend to give you singing lessons. I knew as soon as I heard your voice, that you could be destined for greatness, Christine Daae. Your tone is pure, your voice is even, but it's clear that you lack formal training." He crossed his arms over his coat, leaning across the rail. "You can be on this stage, not doing work, but singing for all of Paris. You only need to stop denying your passion…and accept my offer."
I was in disbelief. This man seemed far too interested in this situation for it only to be a foolish joke. He was very serious. He had complemented me and I could tell it was not mere flattery. He had not spoken of my physical looks, but only of my voice.
And he had called it sublime.
Yet he wanted me to trust him. A man in a mask.
A man who knew my name.
"You want me to trust you, but I don't even know who you are." I stated. "I'm not even sure how you know my name."
"I know more than just your name, Christine. However there is more I would like to know about you. Not just your name and not just your voice. I can assure you though that while you are in my presence you will be in no danger. I hold your virtue in high regard. With me you are safe." He placed his hands on the rail. "Come down here and talk if you like. As you can see even if I wanted to do any harm, you are well out of my reach." He added, a thin smile growing beneath the mask.
I walked to the very edge of the stage and sat down, tucking my skirt under my legs. He was correct, for there were several yards between the edge of the pit and the edge of the stage. He stood watching me contently and made no move forward. Even seated and my head much higher than his, it seemed as if we were looking at each other eye to eye.
"I don't…even know your name." There were so many more questions I could have asked.
"I'm afraid that is something I must keep secret for now. If it makes you feel more at ease, we shall keep our lessons formal. Would that suite you mademoiselle?" he asked.
"But what should I call you sir?"
"It would please me very much if you would address me as your Maestro." He said with a nod of his head. "I take that as your acceptance then. Shall we begin our first lesson?" He seemed to have everything planned out.
"I haven't agreed to anything yet." I pointed out.
He was annoyed at my refusal "Aren't you at least interested?" I said nothing. I was too stunned by this all to believe it was real. Yet I was expected to accept this extraordinary situation so easily. His eyes never left me.
"You must realize how strange this all feels to me. Perhaps you are so blinded by my 'talent' that you fail to notice it. You appear out of the shadows and claim that you can train my voice. That you can make me a great singer…" my hands started to tremble. "You…you wear a mask…" my voice trailed off.
He raised a hand to touch his mask and cover his eyes. He sighed and shifted his shoulders.
"I didn't mean to offend you, sir. I just find this whole situation…" I raised my eyes up to the rafters. "Frightening…."
"If you are frightened, it is not because of me. It is because you are frightened of your passion, mademoiselle." He offered.
At first I wanted to brush off this last remark as I did the others. It would seem he would say anything to get me to agree with him.
I thought it over, lowering my gaze down to the floor, to the empty blackness on the orchestra pit below my dangling feet. Perhaps I was feeling so unease because he was right. I had been upset after loosing my father. I was distraught in my inability to go and study music like he wanted. I had longed for true music in my life, and I had none. I had only my memories of my father. I was surrounded by Genny and others and their sweet harmonies.
But I had nothing of my own. Perhaps I was afraid of music because I thought I could never again have the joy it brought to others.
This man somehow knew all this, and he was offering me a chance. I could not turn it away.
"Perhaps you are right." I whispered. "I want to sing. I only want to…" I stumbled over my words. "I don't want to be a star. I only want to sing…to be happy again." He again looked at me intently, surprised by my words. "But you sir, what do you want from all this?" I asked.
He stretched out his hand, reaching across the void"If that is your only desire, then I will help you. I think your voice should be shared with the world. You were not meant to stand in the shadows. If you commit yourself to our lessons, if you devote yourself completely to music, you will be destined for greatness."
I wanted to reach out my own hand to touch his
He brought his hand back to his chest. "With my help you could be the greatest singer in the world, but it is enough for now that you sing for me." He pressed his hand to his chest. "Always and only for me."
It was almost midnight when I returned home. I was still out of sorts from my strange meeting. I had agreed to meet him again on opening night, to begin my lessons. Thoughts and predictions clouded my mind so that I didn't pay attention to my surrounding as I entered my home.
"Christine..." Frederich's slurred voice called to me.
Turning in surprise, I saw him sitting at the dining room table, an empty bottle of wine in one hand and a large glass in the other. He looked up at me with eyes half closed.
"I need some money..." he croaked.
I kept my distance. "You're drunk...and I don't have any." Not that I would give him a sou if I did.
"Don't lie." he groaned. "They do pay you at that opera place, don't they?" He reached to pour more wine into his glass and discovering it empty, pushed the bottle away. It fell on its side, rolling off the table and onto the floor with a large smack.
My money was kept safe in a small box I had hidden among the costumes in storage. Far away from were Frederich could get it. "You'll never get any money from me, Frederich." I said coldly and left to leave. I heard his stumbling footsteps behind me, and then the weight of his body as he slammed into me.
We both fell over, me on my back and him on top at me. My body went rigid as a terrible thought dawned on me. What if Frederich were not truly drunk? What if he planned this, assuming I would underestimate him in an inebriated state?
His eyes rolled back and forth and his mouth hung slack. The reeking scent of cheap wine filled my nostril. He was indeed very drunk. Clumsy fingers found their way to my throat and pulled at the chain around my neck.
The locket was a wedding present given to my mother by my father. After my father died, I had taken into wearing it all the time. Frederich open the clasp and starred at the small photograph of me and my father inside.
"Give me…some money..." he moaned. He dropped the locket. "One way or another..." his voice trailed off and his eyes did a final roll upward. His head sagged and then his body went limp. I gave a small cry as he fell, but then quickly pushed him off of me and onto the floor. Standing over his unconscious body. I had to wicked urge to kick him. He was dead drunk and could not feel a thing.
But I decided against it and make my way to my room. I had won...this time.