Rehearsals were already underway by the time I had composed myself and made my way to the stage.
Construction workers were busy building the sets backstage, and I knew the seamstresses were hard at work on the costumes. Everything had to be done by opening night, which was set for New Years Eve.
I hurried in and slid into an empty seat in next to Meg, who had been cast in quite a larger role than she was used to. Signor Piangi sat on my other side. Madame Giry was standing off to the side, observing, her face grim. My eyes flickered to Box Five, which seemed empty, but I was fairly certain that Erik was somewhere around, watching. Meg grabbed my hand and gave it a little squeeze and I smiled warmly at her.
Piangi, who had been cast as Don Juan, was having trouble with his lines, it seemed. The chorus stood behind us, while the main characters, Piangi, Carlotta, Meg and Monsieur Dubois, who played Passarino, and I sat in front of them. Monsieur Reyer was standing by the piano with his open Don Juan book. He looked extremely frustrated, as did Signor Piangi.
"Once more," Reyer said, hitting a key on the piano.
"Those who will taaangle with Don Juan!" Piangi sang gustily.
"No, no, no. Nearly, but no!" Reyer said. There was a collective groan from the chorus. "Chorus, rest. Signor Piangi, the line is 'those who will tangle with Don Juan'."
"That is what I said!" Piangi protested. "Those who will taaangle with Don Juan," he repeated, exactly the same as before.
"His way is better," Carlotta said spitefully. "At least his way makes it sound like music!"
"Signora!" Madame Giry said, rapping her walking stick on the stage floor. "Would you speak that way in front of the composer?"
"The composer is not here," Carlotta spat. "And if he were here, I would…"
"Can you be so sure?" Madame Giry interrupted, loudly enough for everyone to look over and stop talking.
Carlotta stared at her, then looked around uneasily.
"So, once again on seven: five, six, seven…" Reyer said.
"Those who will taaaangle with Don Juan!" Piangi sang, still wrong.
"What does it matter, what notes we sing?" Carlotta snapped. "No one will know if it is right or if it is wrong. No one will care if it is right or if it is wrong!"
"Those who will taaaaangle with Don Juan!" Piangi sang again, sounding increasingly frustrated, but still singing the phrase the same as he had been.
I sighed, watching the rehearsal disinterestedly. Poor Raoul, he had been so angry. I could hardly blame him; after all, I had agreed to marry him. My gaze dropped to my left hand before I remembered that Erik had taken the ring, as well as the golden cross my father had given me, at the Masquerade.
Rehearsals went on all day. There were many more scornful remarks made about the Opera, but they were said in quiet whispers, usually followed by a surreptitious look around.
By the time rehearsals ended, everyone was in quite a temper. Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry were under strict instructions to get everyone ready so there would be no delay in the opening of Don Juan Triumphant. Therefore, they were more critical than usual, and tempers grew short.
When we were finally dismissed I rushed off stage to my dressing room, trying to leave before Meg caught me. I turned the corner to go to my dressing room when I almost ran into Raoul, who was walking purposefully towards the stage.
"Christine, rehearsals are finished?" he asked.
"Yes, we just finished," I replied, trying not to look too anxious.
"I came to ask you to supper," Raoul said, giving me a pleading look.
I sighed. "Oh, Raoul, thank you, but I am quite tired and would like to just go home and go to bed."
Raoul looked at me suspiciously. "I have a carriage waiting outside. Can I at least take you to your flat?"
"Oh, Raoul, I cannot. I must meet with Madame Giry for a moment."
"I can wait."
I was becoming increasingly nervous. Erik would be waiting for me behind the mirror and Raoul would not stop pestering me. "Please, Raoul, not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow."
"Christine, I do not know what you think you are doing, but I advise you to think about it carefully. This…monster has some kind of control over you, and you do not even see it," Raoul said, taking my hands into his. "You are to be my wife, Christine…"
Taking a deep breath I gently disentangled my hands from his. "I know, Raoul."
A flash of anger crossed Raoul's handsome features, but he quickly covered it up and smiled. "I will talk to you tomorrow, then," he said.
I nodded. He kissed me on the cheek and turned to leave, the ends of his white scarf trailing after him as he strode down the hallway.
I let out a deep breath I had not realised I was holding and dashed into my dressing room. I leaned back on the door, trying to calm my raving heart. I did not know what I was doing anymore. My tumultuous emotions were threatening to overtake me. And still, here I was, going back to Erik.
"Christine…"
I glanced over at the mirror, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of that voice. "Erik!"
The mirror slid open and Erik stood in the frame, wearing his fedora pulled low over his face, shadowing his eyes.
He stepped aside as I stepped through the mirror. We walked in silence through the dark corridors. The air was cold and I found myself shivering. I had left my cloak in my dressing room, but I had no desire to return to get it.
We were soon on the boat, gliding across the black, mirror like surface. On the water it was even colder and I wrapped my arms around myself in a vain attempt to stay warm. Erik stopped, mid-row and stared at me, shivering in the bottom of the boat. His face was still bathed in shadows, so I could not tell what he was thinking, but he pulled off his cloak and leaned down, placing it gently on my shoulders, careful not to touch me. I wrapped the cloak around me. "Thank you."
"You are welcome, child," he replied. "I do not want you catching cold."
"Did you watch rehearsals?" I asked.
"Of course."
"What did you think?" I pressed, disappointed that he had not said anything.
He was silent for a few moments. "I think that you need improvement, that you are still trying to sing without feeling the emotion of the songs. I think Signor Piangi is a toneless fool, and he will be the death of my Don Juan. And Carlotta, well, she would do well to listen to Madame Giry and keep her opinions to herself."
His words stung and I felt a prickle of tears behind my eyes. How I wished, in that moment, for my fatherly Angel of Music, rather than this sour dispositioned man in the boat with me. His lightning fast mood swings were becoming unbearable.
The boat bumped gently into the dock and Erik gracefully stepped out of the boat and I scrambled after him. He tied up the boat and we walked into his chambers. Without another word he set his hat in his chair and sat at the organ. I followed him and stood by the organ. We dove immediately into the lesson, doing the scales to warm up. I was still cold and continued to wear his cloak. There was no improvement in my voice and I could feel Erik growing progressively more irritated with me. "Christine, you are not trying," he finally said.
"I am!" I cried. "I am trying."
He sighed and his eyes, behind the mask, looked frustrated. "Perhaps you are just over tired. Shall I call a carriage to take you back to your flat?"
"Can I not I stay here?" I asked.
He sighed again and looked away. "If that is what you wish," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He stood and as he walked out of the room I thought I heard him say, "Heaven knows I can deny you nothing …."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Frustration ate at me like acid. All I think of was Christine, asking me for more lessons, Christine asking if she could stay with me in my chambers, Christine trying to sing the part of Aminta and failing miserably. Her voice was beautiful, as always, but it lacked the emotion it needed to fully portray Don Juan's lover. The problem, I realised, was that Christine was young and naïve, unable to grasp the passion that my Opera required.
She was a woman in age, yet there was a childlike innocence in her, no doubt a result of living a sheltered life with her doting father. My need for perfection drove me to be harder on her than was necessary, but I was unable to accept anything but perfection for my opera, my life's work.
So much of myself, my emotions, my past, were woven into that opera. Even the name, taken from an insulting nickname, was a part of me. The music brought out every emotion I had felt in my life, every bit of anger, passion, frustration and confusion. The Opera was volatile, and needed to be sung as such, a tidal wave of emotions.
I was vaguely aware of the realization that my life was spinning out of control. Christine was engaged to Raoul, there was no denying that, yet I had heard them arguing outside her dressing room after rehearsals. I was not sure what she was doing, indeed, I was not sure she knew what she was doing.
Knowing that there was little chance that I would be able to sleep, and unable to retreat to the organ and my music, as Christine was sleeping, I decided to go for a walk.
I rarely ventured to the streets of Paris, but in the middle of the night it was easy for me to blend in, surrounded by shadows as I was. There were few people about, and those that were out were as happy to ignore me as I was to ignore them.
The air was cold, my breath freezing before me. I walked with my hat pulled low over my eyes. I made my way to a small park and walked along the leaf covered path, lost in my thoughts. Night wove its magic around me and before I knew it the sky was growing light in the east. A new day was dawning and I had spent the whole night walking around the park.
I made my way quickly back to the Opera House and escaped into the safety of the dark catacombs. Slowly I rowed back across to my chambers, wondering idly if Christine was awake yet. I could not deny that I was pleased she had come back to me for lessons, and yet I could not deny that a big part of me still suspected her of working with Raoul in some sort of scheme.
The first thing I noticed as the gate lifted and I walked through to my chambers, was Christine, huddled on the floor. She looked up as the gate rose. Her eyes were red rimmed and panicked.
"Christine?" I said, concerned. All thoughts of her possible deception and betrayal flew from my mind.
"Erik, you came back," she said, her eyes wide.
"Of course I came back, child. Why would I not have come back?" I asked, confused.
"I-I do not know. I could not sleep, so I came out to get a drink and I looked for you, but you were gone, so I waited for you, but you never came back. I thought you weren't going to come back! I could not get out. I tried, but I could not open the gate," she babbled. She was cradling her hands in her lap.
I crouched down in front of her and gently took her hands in mine. They were bleeding from a series of cuts on the palms, and her fingernails were broken. A rush of guilt filled me with remorse. As it seemed to do, time had flown and I had not realised how long I had been gone, and I had not thought about what Christine would think if she looked for me.
Christine was looking at me, and her eyes filled with tears. "I thought you meant to leave me here, to die."
I sighed and stood, helping Christine to her feet. She swayed and I put an arm around her waist to steady her. I tried in vain to ignore the feel of her body so close to mine, as she leaned against me. "Now, if I let you die, I would not be able to continue our lessons," I said lightly as we walked to her room. I helped her onto the bed. "I will be right back," I said as I started to leave and Christine looked panicked.
I hurried out of her room and went into the kitchen. I filled a bowl with warm water, gathered some bandages and found a tin of salve in a cupboard. I fixed a pot of tea and loaded everything onto a tray. Quickly I returned to Christine's room. She was still awake, waiting for me. I set the tray on the table next to the bed, picked up the bowl and sat gingerly next to her on the bed. I gently put her hands in the water.
She gasped as the warm water stung her hands. "It will be all right," I said softly. After I soaked her hands I rubbed salve onto the cuts and wrapped her hands with the bandages. She was looking drowsy, so I fixed her tea and dropped a few drops of laudanum in it to help her sleep and to ease her pain. She sipped it, growing more and more drowsy.
Just as she was about to drop the teacup I rescued it and set it on the tray. She slid down under the covers, keeping her bandaged hands on top of the blankets.
"You weren't going to let me die, Erik?" Christine mumbled, the laudanum beginning to take effect.
"Of course not, child," I replied, looking down at her beautiful face, her dark hair fanned out on the pillows. It was easy for me to forget how young she was. Her voice, her vast talent, made her seem far older than her twenty-one years. But she was still just a child in so many ways. She thought I meant to kill her, to kill her or to lock her in my home and leave her to die. She was so naïve. She did not even realise how much I loved her.
"I am glad you came back, Erik," she murmured softly, and closed her eyes.
I felt warmth course through me at her words, even though I knew it was only a result of the laudanum.
X
Christine slept through the morning. I worried that she would sleep straight through rehearsals, but late in the morning her bedroom door opened and she crept out, looking sheepish. She came to stand next to my chair, where I was sitting, reading.
"How are you feeling, Christine?" I asked, looking up.
"Oh, my hands are somewhat sore," she replied. There was a pause, then she looked at the floor. "I-I acted like quite foolishly, Erik. I am sorry."
I looked at her. "I am sorry I left you alone so long, child. I did not mean to alarm you, and I had no intention of leaving you here to rot in the bedroom."
Christine looked up and caught my eye, her gaze questioning.
"It is nearly time for rehearsals to begin," I said. I motioned towards the table, where a tray of fruit and bread sat. "You should eat something before you go."
She nodded and walked to the table. She nibbled on some grapes and a piece of bread. She sipped the tea. "Erik?"
"Yes, child?"
"Will you still teach me?"
"Of course. I said I would, did I not?" I asked.
"Y-yes," she replied.
"Well, then, I suppose I meant it," I said.
"I just thought…I am sorry," she said.
I looked at her questioningly, wondering exactly what she was apologizing for, but she just looked away.
I took her back to her dressing room. She promised to be back as soon as rehearsals were over. I decided to stop questioning her motives and just relish the fact that she was coming back to me for more lessons.
It was not much, but it was more than I had expected.