As always, many thanks to: AppaAndMomo, Anonymous, Hero Sis, Lisa, trueurbanite, PrincessSYS, Hot4Gerry, Writer, and, of course, all the other readers.
And, unfortunately, this is yet another non-"Erik chapter". Sorry, guys, but I needed to catch up with Christine and Raoul (which was so hard for me! Normally, you will never, ever catch me writing anything remotely RC, and yet, here I am... I hope it's okay). Plus, there's another future plot-point in the works, see if you can spot it!
disclaimer: I own nothing.
chapter 8
(Excerpts from the most private Journal of Mlle. Christine Daae)
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15 March, 1872
Journal,
How peculiarly appropriate that it should be today, the Ides of March, that I must record this dreadful news. My hand shakes at the thought, and, as a result, I can barely read my handwriting.
Meg is gone.
How dreadful that looks! I had hoped that, in writing it, I might be able to obtain some small measure of reprieve, of closure, but in ink the three words are only given a horrible, ringing finality, like a dungeon door slamming shut for the last time. I wish I can blot them out, but I can't—she's gone. Only a week ago did she return to us after months of silence, only to leave us again, this time for good.
How dare she give us hope only to take it cruelly away? How dare she leave her poor mother alone, without even a final word of farewell, apart from that blasted letter? How dare she lie to us about Erik? How dare she, knowing full well our history together…how dare she run away with him? …How dare she not take me instead?
I hate her!
But, no, even as I write that, it is impossible to hate her. Just like it was impossible for me to go along with her…I have obligations to fulfill, a career, a promise…
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19 March, 1872
Journal,
The early arrival of spring that I predicted has finally come. The warm, fresh breeze has been taunting us for weeks, and now, finally, all of the snow has melted and the first green shoots of spring are peeking shyly from everywhere, especially in the Bois. Raoul insisted on a walk today, just the two of us—he said that he needed some of the fresh air to clear his head after dealing with all the details of his estates, but I know he was trying to raise my spirits by getting me out of the house. And who can blame him for his efforts? I've been absolutely dismal company for the past four days, locking myself up in my room, moping about…
The walk did wonders for me, as Raoul must have known it would. Spring is my favorite season, it reminds me so much of my life with Papa in Sweden, and soon I found myself smiling and laughing again…
Raoul and I walked for a while on the stately boulevards near his house, but I soon found myself in the Bois. There were people everywhere, enjoying the first true vestiges of the warmer weather, children feeding the birds and skipping up the paths with weary nurses following close behind, lovers young and old sitting on benches and holding hands or meandering through the gardens.
Raoul left me after a while in search of a cart where he could purchase something for us for lunch, and in the meantime, I contented myself by watching an organ-grinder and his monkey amuse the gaggle of children that surrounded the motley pair. When Raoul returned with a sandwich for us to share, I dug a sou from my coin purse and offered it the comical little monkey, who then proceeded to take it from my hand and bow gallantly before clambering up his master's leg and placing it in some hidden pocket, all to wondrous applause.
Raoul steered me away from the crowds heading towards the zoological gardens, finally coming across a secluded little niche with a bench and a fine view of the artificial lake. The overall effect was very peaceful, and I was reluctant to break the silence, occupying myself with the sandwich for a while.
Finally, Raoul spoke. "Christine?"
"What is it, Raoul?" I asked.
He fidgeted with the lapels of his coat for a moment before answering. "Christine, I don't mean to trouble you with this now, especially now that…" His sentence drifted, but I knew he was alluding to Meg's recent disappearance. He cleared his throat. "My family—my older brother especially—is rather opposed to our marriage…Philippe has threatened to speak to Father about rescinding my estate and inheritance if we do not…reconsider."
I looked at him; he was furious, I knew that, I could sense it, but he hid it very well behind a grim smile. Poor Raoul, all the trouble he's gone through on my behalf…
"I thought you said your parents approved?"
He sighed. "Yes, well, that was before…"
"Everything." I stood, pacing now. "They don't want you implicated in the scandal."
"Christine, it's been nearly a year and a half, and they've met you, they know you're respectable," he said, trying to placate me, probably regretting bringing the matter up.
"Once a dancer, always a dancer," I said. "Remember, Raoul, I was only a ballerina before that Gala."
"Yes, but your voice—"
"Is only the caliber it was because of Erik's teaching," I reminded him.
He looked at me, puzzled, unable to comprehend my point.
"Raoul, surely you must know what the other girls called me backstage."
He shook his head.
I sighed. "Never mind, I'll not trouble you with it. But, Raoul, my point is this: any respectable diva, any respectable woman would not have involved herself in such a scandal. If she had wanted to learn to sing properly, she should have enrolled in the Conservatorie, not have attended lessons from an unseen male presence in a deserted dressing room…" Angry tears cascaded down my face, and I turned away from Raoul to hide them.
He stood up and simply held me while I cried.
Once I had finished, he sat me down on the bench and took to pacing in front of me, mirroring my agitated movements from earlier; only, his pacing wasn't fraught with inner turmoil, but with purpose, with planning. Knowing he was deep in thought, I didn't bother him with the questions that suddenly bubbled up from within me.
Finally, he stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me. "Christine," he said, "you must sing."
I blinked rapidly. "What?"
He was pacing again, faster now. "You need to reestablish yourself, create a new public persona, if you will. You must sing again, Christine."
I threw up my hands, cradling my face in my palms. "Raoul, you do not understand the implications of what you are asking…" I had not sung since the night of Don Juan Triumphant and I had no desire to. All I wanted to do was forget about the whole, horrible mess, and here Raoul was asking—no, mandating—that I drag up the past! It was inconceivable.
He knelt before me, gently prying my hands away from my face. "Christine, believe me. All my parents care about is public image…and, if you were to regain yours…" His eyes were fervent, pleading with me to understand.
"We would all get what we want." I paused, remembering something. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I said, "Raoul, they do not know about the…extent of our relationship, do they?"
"No," he said. "I doubt that even the servants know, you're so careful…" He pushed a curl that hung around my face back behind my ear, kissing the tip of my nose softly.
I smiled. "I wish we didn't have to hide so much, Raoul."
"As do I. Which is exactly why we must find a place for you to sing, and quickly."
"Raoul, please, listen. I haven't practiced in over a year, I probably sound horrible. And, even if I still can sing, what theater would take me?"
"Leave everything to me, Little Lotte," he said, grasping my hands and pulling me from the bench. "Leave everything to me. All you have to do is practice, I'll take care of all the arrangements."
I sighed, resigning myself to God-only-knows-what fate. "All right, Raoul."
"Just wait, Christine." He was chattering excitedly now, escorting me back down the secluded path towards the more heavily-populated ones once more. "You'll sing, and triumph just like you did during that Gala. The world will be at your feet in no time."
I can only hope, for Raoul's sake, that he is right.
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24 May, 1872
Journal,
Raoul has done it! He has somehow managed to secure a spot for me, an evening just for me to sing. Granted, the theater is a small one, near-bankrupt—I suspect the only reason the owner agreed to the arrangement is the amount Raoul is willing to pay if the plan falls through. Oh, but he is a lovely man, Monsieur Khan. Eccentric, but lovely just the same. He had refused an audience with me at first—unbearable reputation!—but Raoul fought for me until he acquiesced. Even then, he wanted to hear me sing, but didn't want to look at me, so he had me stand behind a veil while I sang my prepared piece—an aria from Faust. Only after I had finished, sans accompaniment, did he remove the veil. Needless to say, he was very impressed…
"Mademoiselle!" he had proclaimed with a grand flourish of his hand preceding a curious little bow. "Mademoiselle, your talent is incredible! I cannot believe the public chose to ostracize a voice such as yours!"
I smiled gratefully, choosing not to point out that he himself had refused to listen to me for the past month. "Thank you, Monsieur. You are too kind."
"Mademoiselle…Daae, is it?"
I nodded.
"Then, my dear Mademoiselle Daae, you are on your way to greatness. Mark my words. The world shall be at your feet before too long."
I glanced at Raoul; the similarity of Monsieur's remark to Raoul's own was not lost on me. He looked smug.
We chatted for a little more, making arrangements for the evening, setting up a program.
I will sing in a week's time. I will sing in a week's time, and my Angel of Music is not here to hear it. Raoul senses that I am nervous, but not for the reason I am, and for that I feel terribly guilty. So much of Raoul's future hinges on my performance, and yet I bring up once more the Angel of Music. It is terribly selfish of me, I know, but I cannot help it. And it did not help me at all when Monsieur Khan said to me: "Your Teacher must be proud."
I know that he must not know the true implications of what he said, that he must only know that I was involved in some scandal, taken from the stage in the midst of a performance and found, hours later, seven stories beneath the burning Opera House in a wedding gown… But, the way his dark eyes scrutinized me, I cannot help but feel that he must know something more.
It leaves me uneasy. I pray I am only imagining things, and that everything goes well…
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31 May, 1872
Journal,
It is all over. I have done it! It is hours later, and my hand is still shaking so terribly that I can barely write.
I have done it! In one night, I was able to win back the hearts and respect of Paris. I was shocked beyond belief that the theater had sold out so quickly—only two days after the announcement that I should sing! It is incredible…my face is all over the papers, overshadowing the grim news even of the distant war. Afterwards, I was so bombarded by well-wishers armed with flowers that I couldn't move, and it took Raoul quite some time to get to me. Once he had finally whisked me away from the seething crowd of people and we were safely cloistered in my small dressing room, he picked me up off my feet and spun me around.
"Christine! Christine, you've done it!"
"I have, haven't I?" I was dazed, both from the performance and the brief spin in the air.
He laughed, gathering me up into his arms. "What did I tell you? Did you see the way they leapt to their feet! It was amazing, Christine, the things I heard afterwards…"
I smiled grimly, shaking my head. "It astounds me how some things are so easily forgotten…"
"Yes, but, Christine, don't you see?" Raoul had either missed what I was implying or had chosen to ignore it entirely. "Don't you see? You have it in you to take France by storm."
"You want me to continue?" I asked, pulling out of the embrace to look at him. I had to make sure I had heard him correctly, validating his statement before I let any hope rise in me, only to be crushed as soon as it had come. "You would be all right with it?"
"All right with it? Christine, I would love it if you were to continue!"
I laughed with him, throwing my arms about him in excitement. "Oh, Raoul, I'd forgotten how it felt to be on stage…"
At that moment the door opened, and Monsieur Khan entered, looking jubilant. "Well done, Christine, well done!" he said. I let go of Raoul, only to find my hand swept up in one of Monsieur Khan's. "You've brought the house down!"
I smiled coyly. "Then, perhaps, you wouldn't mind at all if I sang here again?"
He regarded me as though I had suddenly transformed into one of the pagan Goddesses of old before his very eyes. "My dear," he said, bringing my hand reverently to his lips. "My dear, I would be honored to have you on my stage again."
"It's settled, then," said Raoul, looking eager to take my hand away from the lovely manager's lips. "Christine shall sing here again. Shall we go over the details?"
"Oh, but of course, of course," he said. "In my office, then…?"
They left, and I found myself suddenly alone, experiencing a most-peculiar sense of déjà vu. I turned around slowly, only to find my reflection staring back at me from a full-length mirror across the room…
"Erik…Angel. Wherever you are…I sang for you tonight. Thank you. Thank you for giving me my life back, and for making Raoul happy. I am forever in your debt." I paused, not sure if I should continue; even though I realized he could never hear me, I had gone for far too long speaking to empty rooms, choosing my words with caution, and I fear it has become a habit, a necessary instinct to survive.
Finally decided, I said, simply, "I trust you will take care of Meg."