Author's Note: Here's the double update as promised. If the description of the music bothers anyone, apologies, but I wanted you guys to have at least a vague idea of this music, even if you've never heard it before. Hope I didn't drag it out for too long. Thanks again, and enjoy! Nedjmet.
Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Nor do I own any of the songs or music used or referred to within this story. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.
Chapter 41
"Is he here?" She asked Madame Giry, yet again.
"He is here, child. You can relax now." The ballet mistress answered in irritated relief.
"Except for the concert I have to be in, yeah." Christine answered, trying to smile, and failing.
Uncle Gustave was finally here! She had sent Mother Giry and Meg out looking for him since she had been dragged in to have her hair and make-up done. She had felt no fear about going to the hospital to see him, seeing as it wasn't for an appointment, and she had been feeling more confident lately anyway. He had been overjoyed to see her, even more so when she presented him with the invitation to the concert, and told him he could expect a surprise. She knew he could smell a solo of hers in the works, but she wasn't telling him what it was or when, no matter how many tricks he tried to get it out of her. The visit had killed two birds with one stone as they had also been able to finalise arrangements for her impending surgery.
She wouldn't have been forgiven if he'd not been asked. Plus, being her father's oldest friend, it was almost like having him there again, supporting her. Almost. Still, all the family she had would be watching her – from one place or another. Meg would be in the wings with Madame when she wasn't performing, Gustave was in the audience and her Angel . . . she knew he'd be there.
Everyone backstage was buzzing around, either chatting with their friends, doing whatever they did to quell nerves, or finishing off with wardrobe. She still had a good fifteen minutes before anyone would miss her or even think of looking for her. She slipped away and followed the corridors until she reached the door that led to her sanctuary.
The room was dark. Given that there were no windows, it was pitch black.
"Angel?" She called out tentatively.
"I am here." Came the soft reply.
"I know I probably shouldn't be here. I just needed to hear you." She said in apology.
"You are still nervous." It was not a question. He knew the sound of her voice too well to have missed the tremors.
"Not anymore."
"You doubted I would be here?" Was she really so insecure?
"I didn't doubt you, my Angel. I just needed to hear you."
"Then hear me." She didn't mistake the soft voice coming from next to her ear. Nor did she mistake the breath she felt on her cheek.
"Angel?" She turned her head, trying to find the voice.
"Shh, Christine. I am here. You need never doubt that." The warm breath was still on her cheek. She couldn't move even if she'd dared. Her angel was here! He was right by her side, and he was real.
"I don't doubt you, my Angel." She whispered. They stood there, he breathing in her scent and savouring her closeness. She held her breath, drinking in every detail of the moment that she could.
"Go, Christine. Go and show them what music can be." He whispered. Neither of them moved. It was only when Antoinette knocked on the door that Christine felt a rush of air beside her and she finally left the room.
The concert was everything that she had anticipated. Staged in the main theatre, the atmosphere was filled with anticipation. The first half held all the majesty of the Messiah, and the tradition of Bach. The orchestra played well – although there were some obvious cases of nerves for the first few minutes. The choir sang perfectly together. The soloists were strong enough to be distinct, without drowning everyone else out. Until Carlotta was called upon to sing. She sang as though she knew of no other volume besides forte, and unfortunately had developed her mother's habits when it came to high notes. She didn't waver too much from the score, thankfully – she was probably waiting until Hannibal to show off.
In spite of this, Christine was glad for the first half. All of the VP students were required to perform in the choir/chorus for any concert or production that the Ravelle put on. It gave her a chance to reacquaint herself with the stage – when it was faced by a full house, anyway – and she felt somewhat more comfortable about the second half. It was a good thing she had learnt all of her part so that it was like a second nature to her, because each time she tried to lose herself in the music, she ended up being lost in thoughts of a certain Angel instead. Whenever this happened, her eyes would fly back to Reyer and her concentration would resume.
She only hoped she wouldn't have this problem later. She didn't want to let him down. Either of them.
Half the instruments in the orchestra were out of tune, the other half were being played by those who should never have been admitted to the Ravelle, the tenor was flat, the alto was off-key and the harpy was screeching away at the top of her lungs as though she enjoyed murdering music. Fifteen minutes after the start of the concert, once his usual critique had been got over with, he ignored all of this, and instead concentrated on the blonde soprano hidden away at the back of the choir. She looked elegant in the long black dress that was designed to make her blend in with the rest of the chorus. She was having difficulty concentrating. She had not been nervous when she'd left. Had something been said to her? Or was it not a case of nerves?
When she had entered the dressing room, he had been shocked into stillness. He had not even thought about leaving, she had caught him so off guard. When she had called out to him, he knew she could not see him. But he could see her. The black dress blended her into the shadows well, but her white skin and fair hair meant he could see her clearly, regardless. He should not have gotten so close to her, but he could not have her doubting him. And it had been worth it, even though he had not dared to touch her. No matter how many times she dubbed him thus, he knew she was the angel. She had not left, even when he had told her to. Was that what had her so distracted?
Was it really possible that one brief moment had undone months of instruction? Had he distracted her so thoroughly simply by being near? He thought he had known the power he held over her. Apparently he had been wrong.
Perfect.
The second half was a welcome relief. The pieces used were designed to tell a simple Christmas story and were performed by the drama department, the orchestra, the dancers and occasionally the vocalists as well. Thankfully, there were very few occasions that called for Carlotta to taint the audience's hearing. They were instead taken gently through a story of the beauty, innocence and magic of Christmas that showcased all the latest talent of the Ravelle and left the audience feeling privileged to have been there.
The choir disappeared off stage having given a decent rendition of the Hallelujah chorus from the Messiah, designed to celebrate the climax of the tale and bring the two halves together towards the end. As the chorus disappeared, the ballet came on seamlessly. Madame Giry had reason to be proud, for it could in no way be considered a poor follow-up for the chorus.
But she was not there. She was hurrying to a dressing room at the back of the theatre. She knocked briskly and entered. Christine was sat at the dressing table having been made up again quickly, her hair brushed out, raised up partially in an elegant style before being left to trail down her back. It allowed both her natural beauty and the addition of the dress to be fully appreciated. Antoinette came to stand behind her, placing her hand on her shoulder before having her remove her robe.
She tried not to let any emotion show as she saw her daughter's scars. They had healed tremendously, but the sight was still painful because of what had caused them and all that had followed as a result. But Madame Giry was skilled at brushing emotions aside, and so she took the make-up and began hiding the scars once more. She knew he would not be watching. He had promised he would not invade Christine's privacy – not that she needed such an oath from him. No matter what picture others might paint, he was a gentleman.
Eventually, the white lines had all been covered. Christine sat there a few moments in her underwear, waiting for the make-up to dry. They didn't have time to reapply it. Antoinette knew the ballet step for step and note for note. She knew when it was time. She reached for the dress and carefully helped slip it over Christine's head. She straightened it a little – it did not need much, the velvet being so heavy.
She stepped back and looked. She could see why he had chosen the dress.
"You look like your mother, child." She said her voice thick for the first time in a long time. Christine turned and looked in the mirror. She quickly and carefully brushed the tears away.
She was beautiful.
The dancers left the stage. The applause began, and went on until the lights lowered again; signalling that more was to come. She stood just in front of the curtain that divided the stage in two, the choir on the other side. She heard the politely quiet murmurs as the crowd wondered what was planned for the finale. As usual, the last item in the programmes was listed only as 'finale', with the principle performers mentioned. Gustave Valerius was probably the only person in the audience who had some idea as to what was coming. Or at least, who.
As a lone viola began the bittersweet introduction, the curtain in front of her began to rise. It was meant to be a cello, but that would not have complemented a higher voice so well. The viola retained something of the mellowness that was intended. As it died away again, Christine thought of her father as she was lit up by a lone spotlight and began solemnly:
"This is the truth sent from above, The truth of God, the God of Love: Therefore don't turn me from your door But hearken all, both rich and poor."
The choir began a quiet wordless melody for the bridge as the dividing curtain raised to reveal them, before the music died away to be eventually replaced by the viola.
"The first thing which I will relate Is that God did man create, The next thing which to you'll I'll tell, Woman was made with man to dwell."
They took over again as the bridge, the lights raising slightly on them as their voices became more prominent. Then the strings took control, continuing as Christine went on, slowly moving forward the more she related.
"Then, after this, 'twas God's own choice To place them both in Paradise, There to remain, from evil free, Except they ate of such a tree.
"And they did eat which was a sin, And thus their ruin did begin, Ruined themselves both you and me And all of their posterity." The pattern continued, the harmonies growing longer and more developed each time. Eventually, the choir took over, now fully in the spotlight. Christine moved away to be hidden behind them.
"Thus we were heirs to endless woes. Till God the Lord did interpose, And so a promise soon did run, That he would redeem us by his son." This developed into a crescendo with the last line, which was repeated by Christine, being joined again by the other voices before the strings took over. The bridge was much the same, dying away slowly until a cello took over, followed by the men singing cheerfully.
"Come all you worthy gentlemen that may be standing by, "Christ our blessed Saviour was born on Christmas day, The blessed Virgin Mary unto the Lord did pray O we wish you the comfort and tidings of joy!"
The last two lines were repeated as the women joined in quietly. A flute then took over, lightening the tone further with the violins and the women, who led the next stanza.
"Christ our Blessed Saviour now in the manger lay; He's lying in the manger, while oxen feed on hay. The blessed Virgin Mary unto the Lord did pray O we wish you the comfort and tidings of joy!"
Again the last two lines were repeated, the full choir singing. This time the full orchestra joined in as the final wish was developed into a full-blown crescendo; the sentiment repeated over and over as the music ascended beautifully, before descending once more into the quietness of the strings and the solitude of the harmonising viola. As this happened, the choir split in two so that Christine was flanked on each side by their dark shapes, she now alone in the spotlight once more. This was her favourite part, and as she thought of her Angel, she did not have to try to recreate the happiness she had felt; it came naturally.
"On Christmas night all Christians sing To hear the news the angels bring;"
The line was echoed by the altos who were lit by a dimmer light and backed by the strings.
"News of great joy, news of great mirth, News of our merciful King's birth." The pattern was repeated again, although they didn't get to finish before Christine began again, the altos turning their part into another wordless harmony to complement her.
"When sin departs before thy grace, Then life and health come in its place, Angels and men with joy may sing, All for to see the new-born king." This time on the repetition, the men joined in, as the music developed into a brief crescendo again
The music faded away, and Christine sang once more.
"God bless the ruler of this house, and long may he reign, Many happy Christmases he live to see again! God bless our generation, who live both far and near And we wish them a happy New Year Both now and evermore. Amen."
As she did so, the chorus punctuated each line with one of their own, the music becoming more and more cheerful.
"All out of darkness we have light Which makes the angels sing this night, 'Glory to God and peace on Earth, Both now and evermore. Amen.'"
Their voices mingled, briefly at the end before they all came together, singing the final blessing, flooded with light; this time the orchestra punctuated the sentences with the first theme.
As the lights dimmed, they faded away wishing the audience a happy new year. The music then quieted to the lone viola, Christine singing the wish one last time, the choir echoing it 'both now and evermore. Amen', as the lights fading away completely.
Silence reigned with music's echo. It was sublime.
Until the house erupted into thunderous applause. It was daring indeed to alter a classic piece that way, but it had worked beautifully, the singing had been wonderful and the soloist perfect. The choir took their bow before Christine was called forward to take hers. She did not bow, but as was the habit of her mother, she made a low curtsey. Actually, she had to make several before she was allowed to leave the stage.
As the others began their procession for the final applause, they were each given cheers as the audience showed their approval for the various performances. Carlotta was given a rousing cheer, which she soaked up. When Christine appeared, she was given a standing ovation.
Carlotta seethed.
Christine enjoyed it, having forgotten what it felt like, but no matter how long she stood there, accepting the praise, there was only one opinion which mattered. And she had to wait for it.
Eventually, she made her way through the sea of colleagues and guests offering their congratulations and asking her various questions. She managed to get away and all but ran to the dressing room. Mother Giry was waiting for her.
"Well done, child. You made him proud." The tear in her eye told Christine she was speaking of her father. Antoinette looked her over. Christine knew what she was looking for. "Go and rest, child. You will not be disturbed here. I will fetch Meg and Gustave for you in a little while." With which she left.
Christine slowly opened the door and went in, her nerves having returned full force. He didn't settle for less than perfection. She had given it her all – as much as he would allow – but what if she had failed? She didn't need to worry.
"Brava, brava, bravissima."