Chapter Eight: Christine's Decision

Paris, France, January 2, 1882

They were all looking at the music the next day, Carlotta, Piangi, the managers. Multiple copies of the Don Juan Triumphant score had appeared in the managers' office.

"This is ludicrous!" André exclaimed, throwing the music on the desk. "Simply preposterous!"

"Complete lunacy!" Firmin said. "But we can't refuse to produce the opera. He'll do worse things than destroy the chandelier again."

André, frustrated, sat down at his desk and caught sight of two new notes bearing the phantom's calligraphy. He groaned and picked up the memo bearing his name.

My greetings, Monsieur André. I will be direct: the First Bassoon and the Third Trombone are appalling, and need to be replaced with a musician who can hold a good tone.

Firmin read a similar note: Monsieur Firmin, some of your actors are dreadful, and as such, they have minor roles in my opera. Make sure the director have them make an effort to improve their virtually nonexistent acting abilities.

"This is an outrage!" Carlotta snapped from her position by the wall. "I have one solo! This rubbish of a part stretches for two measures only! It is an insult to my career! If the audience demands this sort of 'art', then I quit!"

"Signora—" The door opened, and Christine and Raoul entered. Christine looked striking in a richly colored blue dress, but her pale face and red eyes betrayed the hours spent in agonizing worry.

Carlotta sneered and spoke in an undertone to Piangi, but loud enough so everyone could here. "She's nothing but an undeveloped chorus girl with an untrained voice; she can't sing it." Christine gave Carlotta a swift, hate-filled glance and deliberately turned to the managers.

Firmin picked up one score and handed it to her. "You have secured the largest role in Don Juan Triumphant, mademoiselle."

Carlotta, seething, finally exploded and started shrieking at Christine. "You! You are the one behind this plot to take the lead, to destroy my career!"

Christine whirled around and rounded at the Italian soprano. "How dare you accuse me of coming up with this scheme! I don't want this anymore than you do; you evil, vain, conceited—"

"Christine." Raoul took her arm and forced her back a few steps. "This isn't helping anything."

Christine turned to Raoul, anger filling her dark eyes. "I will not perform this, Raoul. I don't care if I have an obligation to sing it!"

Madame Giry entered the managers' office, another note in her hand. She led it up, inciting groans. She opened it and read the words aloud.

"Good day to you all. I have a few instructions before you begin rehearsal for my opera.

"First, make sure Carlotta knows what the meaning of acting is. She must perform, not strut on the stage. Second, Piangi must lose some weight if he wishes to keep the lead. Third, managers, stay in your office at your desks; do not mix business with the Arts." All four people mentioned stayed where they were, fuming silently.

"As for Mademoiselle Daaé…"

Christine paled noticeably.

"…she is the best choice for the role of Aminta, there is no doubt of that; she is an exceptional singer and actress. However, if she wishes to excel in her career, she must continue lessons with her devoted teacher— if her pride will allow it."

As André snatched the note and threw it in the fire, Raoul murmured, "We've all been completely blind…"

"What did you say, lord vicomte?" Firmin asked.

"The phantom has set a trap within Don Juan Triumphant. If we perform his opera, we could have the chance to capture him."

"Go on…"

"We shall play by his rules— for almost all the game. If Christine sings, without a doubt he will attend. If we plan it thoroughly…"

"…we could end his Reign of Terror." André finished. An uneasy silence fell over the room.

"This is madness!" Madame Giry exclaimed. "Insanity! You cannot turn the table, monsieurs!"

Raoul turned to her. "If you help us, with your knowledge of his past…"

She gave him a sharp look. "Lord vicomte, you know I cannot…"

"Is the real reason you cannot is because you are his adherent?" André asked.

Madame Giry's eyes grew wide in shock."No, monsieur. I could never support him. I intend no one harm. But you must be careful in how you approach this, monsieurs. Buquet's death was meant to be a warning…"

"If we say he will fall, then he will be destroyed, madame!"

"If he does not, monsieurs? How will you capture him then? His fury, his hate, knows no bounds. You know that, monsieurs."

"It all comes down to Mademoiselle Daaé."

All eyes turned to the pale Swedish singer. She announced her decision calmly. "I cannot."

Everyone except Raoul and Christine began talking loudly, madly. Christine sat down, looking ill as the noise rose in volume and duration and pitch. It began to sound as if a flock of birds were vociferously screeching. Christine put her hands over her ears and bending forward slightly, pain covering her features.

As the clamor grew louder and more unbearable, she finally let forth a great cry of agony: "Stop! If you don't stop, I will go mad!"

Everyone stopped talking and looked at her as she got up and paced anxiously. Raoul took a step towards her, but she moved out of his path.

"I cannot go through this, this torment by flames. The plan will fail and he will take me down to his lair, and never let me go until I die. Now, what other answer can I give you? Of course I have to do this; there is no other way. He cannot go on killing without thought. But he gave me my voice; my father sent him. How can I betray him? I know I have to go through with this, but how I wish I could refuse. I wish I could reject the horrors that wait for me, in this, the phantom's opera…"

"Christine…" Raoul moved forward and gently took her hand. "All I care for is your safety. But the only way you can escape the phantom for good is to go through with this plan."

Christine shook her head and ran from the managers' office. Raoul made to follow her, but Madame Giry put a hand on his arm. "Do not follow her, lord vicomte. She has yet to make a final decision." Raoul gazed down the hallway where Christine had disappeared and sighed. Madame Giry was right, but Raoul felt guilt for pressuring the enormous decision on Christine.

Later that day, the company of the Opéra Populaire gathered in a large unused room to rehearse Don Juan Triumphant. Christine entered a few minutes late and sat in her designated place in the front row, looking pale and despondent. Her entrance made the impression that her decision had been affirmative. She seemed, however, to put her feelings aside and focused on learning the music.

Everyone in the company was frustrated with the score, with good reason. The notes were disjuncted and halting. It could have had a fine tune if the company would figure out the parts and sing the notes correctly. The company struggled through one stanza.

Hide your sword now, wounded knight!

Your vainglorious gasconade

Brought you to your final fight

For your pride, high price you've paid!

Christine came in with her solo

Silken couch and hay-filled barn

Both have been his battlefield.

Then Piangi sang the phrase he got wrong every time he sang it: "Those who tangle with Don Juan…" He pronounced the "tan-" in the word "tangle" like the "ton-" in the word "tonsil".

"Signor Piangi!" Monsieur Reyer interrupted the tenor. "This is the phrase: those who tangle with Don Juan… It is tan, not ton. Once more."

Piangi obeyed, but still sang it wrong. Monsieur Reyer sighed, frustrated. "Practice it, signor! Those who tangle, tan, tan…"

"Those who ton, ton, ton…"

"His way is better!" Carlotta said from her place next to Piangi. "At least he makes this rubbish sound like music!"

"Signora!" Madame Giry said sharply. "I do not think you would speak that way if the composer were here in this room."

"The composer isn't here! And if he were, I would tell him—"

Madame Giry cut her off. "Are you sure of that, signora?" Carlotta stopped, glancing around the room uneasily, and quieted.

"Once again, monsieurs, mademoiselles," Monsieur Reyer called over the chatter. "On seven, then— five, six, seven…"

Piangi sang the phrase, still wrong. Carlotta spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. "The audience will not know if it is wrong. No one will care if it is wrong!"

Piangi turned to Christine who sat next to him. "Is it right, signorina?"

"Almost, signor," Christine said as gently as she could. "Tangle, signor. Tangle."

Monsieur Reyer banged on the piano keys. He tossed the Don Juan Triumphant score on the top of the piano and left the instrument, trying to attract attention to restart the rehearsal.

Then the keys began to move on their own accord, playing the music properly. The entire company began to sing woodenly and robotically— all except Christine.

Poor young maiden!

For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets,

You will have to pay the bill—

Tangled in the winding sheets!

Christine moved unnoticed out of the room.