By Allison E. Lane
"Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even dare to look or bear to think of me..."
The Phantom of the Opera, Act One Scene Six
"That didn't go very well, did it?" Madame Giry said, somewhat ruefully. "I apologize, my dear. Perhaps I should have gone for Monsieur Reyer instead of sending you."
Christine only sniffled miserably; Meg patted her arm comfortingly. The stunned young woman had retreated to the sanctuary of Madame Giry's small office after Monsieur Reyer had exploded in her face, and her combined shock and hurt had once again given way to tears.
When Carlotta had finished thoroughly deconstructing Christine in front of what felt to her like the entirety of Paris, she had fled in a blind rush to the dressing room she had used to prepare for Hannibal the night before. There she had flung herself onto the little chair by the vanity table and proceeded to sob until she thought her lungs would burst, silently berating herself, Carlotta, her dead father, the obviously nonexistent Angel of Music, and society at large. What did I do to deserve this? she wanted to scream. I was wrong, wasn't I, Papa? I haven't been touched by the Angel of Music. I never will be! He doesn't even really exist, does he, Papa? You made him up, he's only a silly fairy tale… why, oh why did you lie to me…?
Joseph Arsenault had discovered her in that sorry state, seeking her out after sufficiently recovering from the stunned state Carlotta's fury had cast upon the company. News traveled like lightning at the Opera, and soon, not only Joseph but Meg, the conservatory kid, two sympathetic stagehands, and three other chorus members had all crowded into the little dressing room, trading horror stories and attempting to cheer Christine up. After some time Madame Giry appeared and made it known that the management wished to see Monsieur Reyer, but that the chorus master seemed to have all but vanished. Joseph described the way Reyer had dismissed everyone; Madame Giry suggested that, if she felt up to it, Christine should go see if he was in his office and, if so, relay the message.
At the time, Christine figured Madame Giry's reasoning was that she was most likely one of the few Opera employees Reyer would receive amicably. Now, it seemed as if the ballet mistress had made a serious error in judgement on that part.
"No, don't be sorry," Christine replied after a moment of silence, wiping at an errant tear with one thin hand. "It's not your fault. I'm sure he didn't mean to be so violent, it's just… what did I do? Did I say something wrong? The expression on his face—it was as if he hated me!"
"He hates himself." Madame Giry shook her head slightly. "Though I don't think he is quite aware of it."
Both Christine and Meg turned questioning eyes upon her. "What do you mean by that?" Christine asked, bunching the handkerchief she held in one fist.
Wordlessly, Madame Giry opened a desk drawer, reaching in to unearth a small, thin booklet. She passed it across to Christine, who curiously took it. Drying her eyes quickly with the handkerchief, she saw that it was an old opera program, dated 1870—eleven years in the past. She looked up at Madame Giry. "I don't understand what this has to do with—"
Madame Giry merely lifted her eyebrows. "Turn to the cast list."
Uncertainly, Christine flipped to the indicated page, unsure of what she was supposed to be looking for. She ran her finger down the names of listed principals, seeing no one she recognized, but stopped when she came to a particular faded name under the heading 'male chorus': Martin Reyer. Christine mouthed the name silently, then looked up again and repeated it aloud. "Reyer, Martin Reyer… that's him, isn't it? He never told me that he was once a singer here…"
It was the first piece of information she'd learned about Reyer in ages—in fact, it suddenly struck her that despite almost three and a half months of fairly close association, she knew almost nothing about him at all. She had no clear knowledge of his likes and dislikes, his past history; no knowledge at all about where he was from, where he lived, what he did in his spare time—if he, in fact, had any of that at all… And then a memory came back to haunt her: You have a nice voice… Christine had heard Monsieur Reyer sing countless times since that day, over the course of her lessons, but it had never occurred to her that he had once been a singer by profession. It was as if he had always been the testy chorus master, bowler hat in place and score in hand, and would continue to be so forever. "He has a nice voice," she said aloud, softly.
"He does." Madame Giry nodded. "And perhaps the day would have come for him to triumph in a lesser role and be promoted to one of the leading tenors… but God had other plans in store for him." She waved a hand. "Look further down the page."
Christine did as she was told, and when her finger reached the heading for 'female chorus' her mouth fell open in surprise. "Carlotta Giudicelli? Monsieur Reyer and Carlotta were in the chorus together?" Her brow furrowed. "But I don't understand why you're showing me this… why would he hate himself…"
Her voice trailed off as Meg suddenly spoke. "I remember," she said, almost musingly. "Mother—if I may?"
Madame Giry gave silent assent for her daughter to explain. Meg turned in her chair to face Christine. "I was just a little girl then, only a student dancer, but I remember because the older dancers whispered about it for weeks." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "A lot of the singers were leaving after this one production finished—I think it was about nine years ago. Carlotta was promoted to leading soprano. There were all sorts of rumors about how she managed that, all of them probably untrue, but… Anyway, Carlotta didn't like Monsieur Reyer. He must have done something very horrible to her, because once she was in a position to make others do what she wanted, Carlotta convinced Monsieur Lefevre to put him out of employment."
Christine had placed the old program on the edge of Madame Giry's desk and now sat looking at her hands, resting in her lap. "It must have been terrible for him," she murmured, feeling a deep pity for her teacher. She knew all too well what it was like to have one's dreams snatched away…
"But as it happened," Meg was continuing, "the old chorus master was retiring, and someone was needed quickly to replace him… so Monsieur Lefevre just rewrote Monsieur Reyer's contract. And he has been the terror of all the misbehaving singers ever since."
Christine frowned faintly, thinking. "I knew Monsieur Reyer and Carlotta disliked each other, but I always assumed it was because she was so rude to him all the time. I had no idea that they have been enemies for so long." Suddenly she drew in a quick little breath, as if she'd just been arrested by an idea. I do believe we could make you a threat to La Carlotta…
"You know," she said slowly, biting her lip and looking over at Madame Giry, "when Monsieur Reyer first offered to give me lessons, I thought he only wanted to keep Carlotta from disrupting rehearsals… but then at my first lesson he gave me Elissa's third act aria to sing. After that we did work on pieces to help improve my breathing and technical ability, but mostly—it was all Carlotta's music." She paused. "And then Carlotta left…"
Suddenly Christine's eyes grew wide. "Why, he did it—he did everything on purpose! He used me, didn't he?" She shot a glance at Meg, who was now somewhat guiltily studying the carpeting on the floor, and then at Madame Giry, and her hand flew to her mouth. "And you knew about it!"
"You mustn't think of it that way, my dear," Madame Giry said soothingly, hoping to counteract the deeply wounded expression on Christine's face. "Even if that was Monsieur Reyer's intention, he would never have given you that music if he did not think you capable of it. And even so, you were prepared to take over Carlotta's role, and to triumph in it—thank him for that, at least."
"And look what good it's brought me," Christine muttered angrily, pressing her knuckles to her teeth to ward off another onslaught of tears. "I'm not any better off than when I started!"
Meg quickly laid a hand on her friend's arm. "But you are, Christine! You can sing so much better now, and after this week you'll be with the rest of the singers, where you belong! Don't worry a bit about Carlotta—she's just jealous, and everyone knows now that you're better than she is. Do cheer up… things aren't all bad."
Christine drew in a few deep breaths, then lowered her hand from her mouth and managed to keep her composure. "Thank you, Meg," she said quietly. "I can't tell you what your friendship means to me."
Meg smiled and pressed Christine's hand. "Don't think too badly of Monsieur Reyer," she said. "I know his intentions were good."
The door to Madame Giry's office abruptly burst open, admitting a bubbly, auburn-haired ballet dancer with a high-pitched giggle for a voice. "Madame Giry!" the girl exclaimed, half-falling into the room. "You wouldn't believe—"
"Manners, Giselle," Madame Giry interjected sternly.
Giselle lowered her voice and collected herself with a sheepish squeak, then indicated Christine. "Madame Giry, the Vicomte de Chagny is looking for Christine!"
Meg grinned broadly. "He must like you very much if he's this persistent!" she whispered to Christine.
Christine was clenching her skirt in indecision. She was afraid to see Raoul after so rudely ditching him the night before, and hesitant to rekindle a relationship that really had no future, but he would be a kind face… "Where is he?" she asked quietly.
"Out in the hallway!" chirped Giselle. "I'll go fetch him!" She turned and bounced out the door. "Monsieur le Vicomte!" came the excited cry. "Christine is in Madame Giry's office!" After a moment the dancer re-entered, with Raoul de Chagny close behind.
Madame Giry nodded. "Thank you, Giselle."
It was a clear dismissal, and the young woman tripped from the room, no doubt en route to the ballet studio to share this latest bit of gossip.
Meanwhile, Raoul was fussing. "Christine, you look a fright!" he exclaimed, kneeling at her side in concern. "Whatever happened?" If he had intended to ask about the previous night's disappearing act, any inquiry he might have made was silenced at the sight of Christine's sorrowful, pitiable form.
Christine didn't look at him but instead focused on the pattern of her dress, clenching her hands more tightly around the material. "Carlotta…" Her arm throbbed with the memory of the diva's grip, and tears again flared in her eyes. "And… and Monsieur Reyer yelled at me…"
Her face crumpled and Raoul took her hands comfortingly. "Shh, don't cry," he said. "I think I know just the thing to cheer you up. If you're free, I would be more than happy to take you outdoors for a stroll…"
Christine fought furiously to put a lid on her misery and looked up at Madame Giry, who favored her with a rare smile. "You need some fresh air, my dear," the ballet mistress said gently. "You are excused from rehearsal today. I believe you know your steps well enough to perform with the ballet tonight."
Christine hesitated, but a sudden vision of Reyer's fury was enough to quell her doubts. Yes, a walk in the sun, away from the Opera and from Carlotta, would do her good. And as much as she knew she shouldn't, she did want to talk with Raoul. He was an old friend, after all… "I would be happy to go," she said unsteadily, wiping at her eyes.
Raoul's face lit up. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed, standing and offering a hand to help Christine to her feet as well. "You'll be smiling again in no time, you'll see. Let me inform the management that I will be out should they have need of me, and I'll meet you on the front steps in, say, ten minutes?"
"I can't tell you how surprised I was to see your name in the program," Raoul was saying a short time later as he sat with Christine at an outdoor café near the Opera. Shortly after setting out, she had admitted that she had eaten nothing since at least noon the previous day, and Raoul had insisted on taking her out to eat. For her part, Christine insisted that he not spend a great deal of money on her. So while the café Raoul had chosen was not a terribly expensive one, it was still not an establishment Christine would have been able to afford under normal circumstances.
"…Especially that you were a member of the corps de ballet," Raoul continued. "You sang when I first knew you, and you quite obviously have continued to do so"—at those words he smiled as if voicing a severe understatement—"yet… I don't understand. Haven't you been training in voice? When did you become a dancer?"
Christine hesitated slightly, then smiled wanly and briefly looked aside. "I did begin to study voice at the conservatory, but midway through my first year I was transferred to the ballet school." She laughed depreciatingly, remembering the derision of her fellow dance students and the nights spent crying herself to sleep. "I don't know why—no one would answer my questions. I have continued to study voice, mostly only, though… for the past few months I have had a teacher."
Raoul still looked faintly puzzled, but he was smiling. "After your performance last night, I can't imagine why any sane person in their right mind would ever dismiss your talent as a singer. Your instructors surely must have been deaf—but I think it's wonderful that you're studying again. Might I ask who your teacher is?"
Suddenly, inexplicably, Christine found herself embarrassed. Doubtlessly Raoul imagined that her teacher would be well-known and respected… rather than a feared local character, which was a much more accurate description of Monsieur Reyer. She felt her cheeks color, burning in a sense of betrayal as much as embarrassment, and she looked aside again. "You might know his name… he's Monsieur Reyer, the Opera's chorus master…"
"That man is your teacher?" Raoul reared back in his seat, a wide-eyed expression of surprise on his face. "He's hardly a polite fellow, is he? I honestly thought he was going to strike Carlotta Giudicelli earlier this morning—"
Too late, Christine remembered her promise of silence. "Quiet, Raoul!" she hissed. "You mustn't tell a soul! I promised him that I wouldn't speak of my lessons to anyone. He would be terribly angry with me if he discovered that anyone knew." She paused in her haste. "What do you mean, he nearly struck Carlotta?"
Raoul's expression bespoke a mixture of awe, amusement and something akin to disgust. "There was quite a charming gathering in the managerial suite this morning," he said dryly. "Carlotta doesn't quite like you, does she? She wanted to put you back in the ballet corps immediately, but your Monsieur Reyer was very much against it—as was I," he added hastily.
He was? Christine thought, her spirits lifting for a second before the bitterness came flooding back in. He probably only wants me around to upstage Carlotta again… I wouldn't even be surprised if he no longer wished to teach me…
Why did that thought leave her feeling so empty?
Raoul was continuing. "He was defending your artistic abilities quite staunchly, they traded insults, and he came rather close to violence." He coughed behind one hand. "He seems like quite a hot-headed character… he doesn't treat you badly, does he?"
"Oh, no!" Christine cried, a little surprised at the question. "He is a very demanding teacher, and he does have an excitable temper, but he can be quite kind at times…" She gave a little sigh, hoping some of the hurt from Reyer's explosion and her subsequent discovery of his true motives would dissipate, but it remained a dull ache in her heart. Still, she was once more heartened by Raoul's words. Why would Monsieur Reyer defend her, if she was nothing more than a tool to him? "I'm very grateful for everything that he's done for me." A pause. "Please promise that you won't speak of this?"
Raoul was quiet for a long moment, an indeterminable expression on his face. Then he looked at Christine so seriously it caused her to squirm uncomfortably in her seat. "You're speaking the truth when you say he doesn't mistreat you? You said he yelled at you…"
"He did," Christine murmured, trailing one finger around the edge of her teacup, feeling again the force of Reyer's hand as he pushed her away… hearing the high, sharp tone of his voice as the office door slammed shut. Despite his occasional displays of temper, she instinctively felt that such a show was very much unlike him. Underneath the fury, she sensed, there was a hidden layer of pain. Reyer hadn't been angry… he'd been upset. Not for the first time, Christine wished that she knew exactly what Carlotta had said to him in the corridor outside the rehearsal room that morning.
"He did," she repeated after a moment. "But he wasn't in a particularly good humor at the time, even by his standards. He often yells, you know," she added, and suddenly smiled—a very small smile, yet a genuine one nonetheless. In that moment, she knew, she had forgiven Monsieur Reyer for his deceptions. "And not just at me—at everyone. I don't think I've ever seen him truly calm or relaxed."
Raoul returned the smile, his expression softening back into one of cheerfulness. He gazed silently at Christine for a moment. "It is so wonderful to see you again, Christine. You've changed so much, and it's been so long—I haven't seen you since… since your father's passing."
Almost immediately he looked as if he wished he could take those last words back, for he knew how much her father's death had affected her. But Christine, though a brief, intense wave of sadness did wash over her, managed to keep her expression light. "Raoul, I'm sorry about last night—I just panicked, I—"
He held up a hand to silence her. "I won't ask, and you don't have to explain," he replied, entirely without rancor. "I realize how much of a presuming cad I was. I'm just delighted to be able to sit and talk with you in any setting. We have so much to catch up on—I want to hear all about what you've done since we last saw each other."
Raoul reached over to briefly squeeze her hand, and Christine reflected that, regardless of either of their past or present feelings and social standings, it really was good to have him back in her life after all.
Backstage that night, Christine sat alone, plucking at the slender beaded ropes of her slave girl costume as she waited for the curtain to rise. Out in front, the managers were announcing the return of Carlotta Giudicelli and Ubaldo Piangi to their starring roles. Christine didn't pay attention to the applause that followed. Instead, she was trying to make it look as if she was not, in fact, watching Monsieur Reyer. The chorus master was standing several feet away and speaking to a group of the men's chorus in what sounded like, even to Christine's distant ears, extremely clipped tones. As of yet, he hadn't said anything to her. He hadn't even so much as looked at her. For her part, Christine had been afraid to approach him. It seemed as if he was actually studiously ignoring her presence. But what had she done that was so terribly wrong? Was she mistaken—did he truly no longer want to teach her?
Before she could sink further into her agonized thoughts, however, Joseph Arsenault appeared at her side. "Rather unenthusiastic, that, if you ask me," he muttered, nodding in the direction of the front curtain as the audience applause drew to a close. "I think they might actually miss us. How are you?" he asked more gently, taking in Christine's downcast expression.
Christine sighed and looked up at him; he was no longer clad as Hannibal, but instead was dressed as Dido. The conservatory kid had, of course, been relegated back to the chorus. "I'm… well, I'd like to apologize to Monsieur Reyer for disturbing him this morning, but—I think he's purposely ignoring me."
Joseph glanced over at Reyer, who was now standing alone and drumming the fingers of one hand across the top of the score he held. To Christine's surprise, the baritone's face broke out into a grin. "Yes, it's odd, isn't it?" Joseph chuckled. "He has been acting strangely. If it were possible, I'd say the man's mortified! Just give him time to come around, Christine. I'm sure things will be right tomorrow."
"I do hope so," Christine replied quietly, also glancing at Reyer. If the chorus master knew he was being discussed, he gave no sign of it.
Joseph knelt so he could look Christine in the eyes. "Don't let Carlotta get to you," he said seriously. "You were magnificent yesterday, you truly were. Besides, Carlotta won't be here forever—but either way, I believe you have a bright future ahead of you."
Christine found herself suddenly choking back tears. "Thank you," she managed, as Joseph enfolded her in a brief hug. "You're entirely too kind."
"No, I just speak the truth." Joseph patted her back once, then stood and adjusted his costume. "Good luck to you tonight, Christine."
"And to you," she said, quickly wiping at her eyes as Joseph went to take his place onstage for the opening scene.
Throughout the course of the performance, Christine had plenty of opportunities to bump into Monsieur Reyer as she passed on and off the stage. Still he ignored her, averting his eyes if he happened to see her coming or brushing past her with nary a glance.
Unfortunately, she also had plenty of opportunities to run into Carlotta; the diva never missed a chance to bestow a withering look or scathing remark, clearly enjoying the taunting as much as Christine so dearly wished to avoid it.
As a result of both sets of encounters, by night's end Christine was so badly disheartened she could barely hold herself together at the curtain call. As soon as she was able, she dashed offstage to the safety of the little dressing room at the end of the corridor, collapsing in tears as soon as she was inside. She cried for what seemed a long time, wanting nothing more than to put the day behind her and start anew, crying tears of shame and humiliation and the possibility of having lost a friend she wasn't entirely sure she'd had in the first place.