Chapter 3: My Soul Began to Soar
Two days had passed and they had yet to see any action take place in the opera house. Christine enjoyed watching Meg slowly break down and rant, saying "He's real! You'll see!".
But Meg wasn't the only person who whispered about the opera ghost. It seemed to be common practice for other members of the corps de ballet to gossip and spread rumors.
"I heard he broke the plaster in the set piece so that the actor would fall! It was all planned!" One had said, and it quickly became the talk of the theater until Madame Giry intercepted a ballerina whispering in the ears of other staff. Needless to say, she wasn't happy.
The day before, Christine had quickly delivered her measurements to the seamstress, and by the end of the day, her rehearsal dress was ready. The speed at which it was readily astounded her, but she did not question it when she had tried it on and it fit like a glove.
The day after they received the new script, which turned out to be Le roi de Lahore, Madame Giry already had the rehearsal routine put together. By nine in the morning, the entire corps de ballet was lined up at the barre exercising. Christine lined up at the back of the barre, Meg in front of her.
Christine had little dancing experience, but knowing Meg had none made her feel better. Christine bent forward and made sure the laces of her flats were tightened. Madame Giry had insisted that she must first learn to dance with flats before she could put a single toe in pointe shoes, which Christine had been very grateful for.
The orchestra in the pit were handed their music sheets and settled into their seats, tuning their instruments.
"Ladies, form five rows of five. Arabesque!" Madame Giry commanded, and everyone fell into position, and Christine scrambled to follow. Thankfully, the older woman had noticed and had them repeat the formation and position before moving on to the next movements. Christine was quickly able to catch on after that, joining perfectly in synchronicity.
The music carried her through rehearsals until they took a break hours later, and Christine could feel the sweat that had soaked her shift, making it uncomfortable to move while wearing the corset. Meg walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You did amazing, Christine. Not many can keep up on their first lessons." The orchestra behind them roared as they concluded the overture. " The music for this opera is amazing, is it not? I heard there are five acts and-"
Meg was abruptly cut off when a woman strutted onto the stage with an entourage in tow. Her curly red hair was pinned up with a small hat and feather and donned a rouge ballgown with a questionably low bodice and gray furs hung off her elbows. Strings of pearls held together by a black brooch dangled down her neck, and her ears were pierced with gold drooped earrings.
Her shrill voice shrieked, "Where is ze, conductor! Monsieur Reyer!" The older gentleman's face paled but stood as the woman approached him. The woman's heels loudly clacked against the floor and corps de ballet members backed slowly away into a corner out of sight.
Monsieur Reyer eyed Madame Giry, then back to the woman. "My diva, may I be of some service to you?"
"Sí. Why you not come to my dressing room for ze lessons you promised? I do have not my costumes and now I am without ze lessons to prepare me for this act? Zis is an insult to your Prima Donna!" She screamed at the man, her chest heaving. Her entourage stood off to the side, a white dog in one arm and furs in another's arms.
Meg pulled her over into the shadows with the other ballet girls. "Carlotta Giudicelli, the leading soprano for nine seasons now. Her voice is only worthy for those who are deaf. Look over there," Meg whispered in her ear, pointing to the maids cleaning off the seats in the auditorium, who looked up to the diva and reached into their pockets, plugging their ears before resuming their work.
The diva's screams grew louder as he told her that he would be running through the opera multiple times with the orchestra for the rest of the day and that he could give her the lessons in the evening.
Carlotta screamed in frustration, snapping her fingers to the entourage, who followed the quick pace she led ahead of them.
"What a terrible old woman. I would not give her lessons if she had approached me in such a distasteful and disgraceful manner. Surely Monsieur Reyer will not appease her with lessons after such an encounter?"
Christine watched as everyone came back onto the stage and into position when Madame Giry's cane tapped harshly against the floor. The two followed suit, resuming their poses.
For the rest of rehearsal, Christine couldn't help but wonder if everyone in the opera house was treated below her, just as Joseph Buquet had tried to assert his dominance over the ballerinas in the corps de ballet.
After rehearsal, Christine made her way down to the chapel with a picture of her father in hand, placing it in the circular slot. Reaching into the bin of candles, she withdrew one and lit it with a match, placing it on a plate above the picture.
Putting her hands together, she closed her eyes and let a calmness wash over her, the only audible sound being the faint encore of the orchestra and the flickering candle.
"Father, I miss you terribly. It was only a few days ago that we had to part, but it has felt like an eternity. I made it here safely with Madame Giry, and I've made good friends with her daughter, Meg".
Christine sighed, her head dipping lower. "It is so much different here. It was so quiet in Calais, but you were right. Music shall truly never leave me for as long as I am here. I miss how you would play the violin every night, and I would sing and dance with you around the drawing room. I hope I am making you proud".
Remembering the letter, she dolefully continued. "You left me everything, father. I cannot begin to express how much it means to me. As you told me she would, Madame Giry is safekeeping it for me. Already she has proven to be such a valuable figure to me".
And then there was Meg, whom she had spent an abundance of time with already. "Meg has been so welcoming and kind towards me, and she took me under her wing. She told me about a Phantom or opera ghost who resides within the shadows. To prove that he exists, we drunkenly wrote a letter together and slipped it into his box". Christine laughed, recalling their conversations as they had written the letter.
"I can believe in angels, father. But I do not think I can bring myself to believe in a ghost".
Her body shivered as a cold draft swept in from the glass window, which to Christine's curiosity, was open a small fraction. Moving over to close it, a gust of wind blew through the room past, Christine.
"Father? Is that you?" She asked as she delicately closed the window, moving to sit where she had before.
"Christine…. Christine."
The wind was now gone, and the voice was soft, almost inaudible, but she swore she heard something, someone calling her name.
"Is this the voice of the angel of music you promised me?" Christine looked around the room, seeing that the wind had not blown out any of the candles.
She sat in silence for several minutes before placing her hands together once more.
"Father, I hope you will send me an angel of music soon. My seventeenth birthday draws closer. Maybe, perhaps by then my angel will reveal themselves. I love you father. With everything I have".
Christine stood and blew out the candle, brushing a finger against his picture before departing for the stairs.
"Christine….Christine"
Christine cast one last glance behind her before she made her way back to the dormitories.
"I'm beginning to see, or rather hear what you mean when you say her voice resembles a croaking toad. How did they recruit her?" Christine sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest in a simple ivory shift, leaning against the wall.
Once Christine had left the chapel, they had supper, fortunately with Buquet nowhere in sight.
Meg shrugged her shoulders and plopped her head into the myriad of throw pillows on her bed. "I'd like to say Italy, but I'm not entirely sure. Regardless, she is quite a monster. Do try to avoid her if you see her. She seems to have more influence over the manager than Maman, and should anyone get in her way, she will not hesitate to have them removed from the opera house".
Carlotta's singing could be heard from her private dressing room several floors down, and with every high note, they winced.
"When did your Maman say the first performance would be?"
"Two weeks from tomorrow. It's unfortunate, to say the least that there is not enough time to find a replacement prima donna".
"That woman was denied an angel of music. Probably scared the poor thing away". Christine muttered, staring down at the violin case that sat beside her. With caution, she clasped her hand around the neck of the instrument and lifted it from the case, placing her chin on the rest.
"Do you play?" Meg inquired, her eyes gleaming with interest as Christine hovered the bow over the strings.
"My father let me play his violin on several occasions, but I never successfully mastered the instrument. It is, however, one of my wishes to do so". Christine eyed Meg nervously before the bow made contact with the strings and attempted to recite the song her father had created. A soft melody passed her lips in unison.
Oh ange de la musique!
Apparate before us as we unify in song
Thou only appear for the glory of sound
Ange de la musique come to our ground
Oh, Angel of music, you must be found!
Christine pressed a finger on the string gently, ending the note on a vibrato, fading into silence. Dear gods, she missed her father even more.
She was jolted out of her music-induced trance by a round of applause. Christine turned to see that multiple other ballerinas had walked into the room, hearing the music.
"Brava!"
"Magnifique!"
"Stupendous!"
Christine could feel a blush beginning to form on her cheeks. Had they been standing there the whole time? The others shuffled out of the room, and Meg shut the door behind them.
Placing the violin back in its case, she latched the locks and slipped it under her bed.
Meg stood with her back flat against the door, her jaw dropped. "I would pay to hear that song take the place of that Prima Donna. And your voice," Meg moved closer to stand beside her bed. "It is unlike anything I've ever heard before, celestial. You have an extraordinary gift, Christine. I am most definitely sure your father must be smiling down from Heaven! You must tell me though, what is an angel of music? You have mentioned that term several times. Is it like my story about the opera ghost?"
Christine was quick to shake her head in variance. "An angel of music, as my father told me, is an entity, who comes down from the seat of sweet music's throne to guide those of us who devote our life to an ethereal journey of music. Nothing like this "Phantom of the Opera" I'm afraid".
Meg looked as if in deep thought, now sitting on her bed, her chin resting in her hands. "Do you believe an angel of music shall come for you?"
"My father said, "When I am in Heaven child, I shall send the angel of music to you". I just know they'll come one day. I'm sure of it". Christine assured herself, tucking herself into the blankets.
"Well with a voice like yours, I do hope your angel comes soon. God knows Carlotta must be sacked before more innocent people are sent away without an income". Meg pulled the covers back, blowing out the candle.
Christine slept that night, dreaming of music.
"Christine Daaé!"
Christine's head shot up in alarm. Did she make a mistake in the dance? Surely she was following the two ballerinas on both sides of her. She watched as Madame Giry strode towards her, a letter in hand.
For a moment Christine wondered if it was the letter Meg expected to receive from the opera ghost, but much to her relief, there was no skull wax seal on the front of the envelope. She sighed in relief. At least she wouldn't have to admit to Meg that there truly was a phantom of the opera.
Peeling open the letter, it read.
Mademoiselle Daaé,
We are deeply sorry for your recent loss. We held your father in high esteem when we heard him perform in Paris one summer night many years ago. It is with great pride, we are pleased to announce that to commemorate his life's devotion to music, a mausoleum is currently in the works of being built in his honor, will be located in Pàre Lachaise. We expect this project to be completed in two weeks' time. A key shall be delivered to you upon its completion.
-Société nationale de musique
Christine could feel eyes on her as she placed a hand over her lips and passed it off to Meg, who had scurried over to where she stood frozen in place.
"Christine, this is an extravagant, wonderful tribute! We must visit to pay our respects when it is ready!" Meg held her arm in a gentle grip. Placing the letter back in the envelope, she handed it back to Madame Giry and she tapped her cane, attracting the attention of the corps de ballet back to their formation.
With a nod of the head from Madame Giry in Monsieur Reyer's direction, he abruptly waved his baton, and the orchestra roared to life, flooding the auditorium with a piece from act three.
Christine let the enrapturing music lead her through the commands of the ballet mistress as she tapped on the floor to maintain rhythm. She let her mind take control of her body and lead her. Her arms and legs glided across the stage in graceful, fluid movements.
Closing her eyes, she let the music embrace her, claim her.
As the music grew louder and quicker, her body moved faster, spinning and soaring across the stage, the orchestra growing louder.
"Christine…. Christine".
Christine's eyes sprang open in alarm to find everyone staring at her wide-eyed, including Madame corps de ballet had moved off near the curtains, Christine standing at the center of the stage, the music no longer playing. Monsieur Reyer had an emotion in his eyes she couldn't quite place.
Her breathing was rapid. Did she get too close to another dancer?
"What happened? Did I do something wrong?" Christine felt her emotions closing in on her, taking over her thoughts. Madame Giry pulled her over to the other side of the stage, away from the others.
"My dear, are you alright? I understand it has been a very rough week for you".
Christine nodded, unclear as to what she was inquiring about. "I'm sorry, did I ruin the routine? I certainly didn't mean to. I just… closed my eyes and let the music guide me. I thought I was doing the same dance?"
Madame Giry shook her head. "The dance itself was perfectly fine. You kept dancing even after the music ended, and your eyes closed, as if in a trance", she placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure you are well?"
"I am alright. Music has always been a comforting element for me. I suppose I just needed to express it". The music was so clearly orchestrated in her mind.
And then that voice…that voice that she had heard in the chapel when she stepped foot into the Palais Garnier. That deep, rich, sweet melody of a voice.
Was she going mad?
"It was a passionate dance, so full of emotion. You let yourself get carried away with the music. A beautiful sight. Music is a powerful emotion, and you gave into it. Next time, I would recommend leaving your eyes open, poor Charlotte also didn't see you coming", she gave a short laugh as she walked away, signaling the end of rehearsals for the day.
Christine did her best not to bow her head in shame and she waved apologetically in Charlotte's direction. She, in turn, rolled her eyes and walked away.
"I thought your dance was very lovely". A girl chirped up from behind her. Christine spun around to find one of the other ballerinas behind her.
She was several centimeters taller than her, with fiery ginger curls and cerulean eyes. Her skin was pale and spotted with hundreds of freckles. Christine curtsied and she returned the gesture.
"You look very familiar. Have we met before?" Christine turned her head in thought.
The ballerina shook her head. "Not formally, but I was one of the several corps de ballet that came to hear your music last night. Your voice is beautiful, have you a teacher? Élodie Monet, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you".
Christine smiled. "That's very kind of you to say. I am hoping to one day be tutored, but I have not found one as of yet. I'm Christine, Christine Daaé. I am esteemed to make your acquaintance. Élodie is a beautiful name. How long have you been dancing here?"
"Approaching nearly three years, I arrived here when I was sixteen".
Christine laughed. "I suppose that makes two of us. Although I will be seventeen a week from tomorrow". On the other side of the stage, Meg was waving at her to follow along. "Would you care to grab supper with Meg and me? We usually head to the hall right after rehearsals", she offered.
Élodie nodded eagerly as Christine strode over to Meg, whose hands and feet were fidgeting anxiously.
"Meg, I invited Élodie to join us for supper tonight, if you don't mind". To her response, Meg grabbed their hands and tugged them in the direction of the kitchen.
Over dinner, Christine learned that Élodie had traveled from Bordeaux to the Palais Garnier because it was an opportunity for her to pursue dance, much to her parent's dismay. At first, they had been completely against her going but relented when she began rejecting every tutor sent her way.
"All good things come in life to those who strive for it. Our gender should not condemn us to live a singular experience. If I had not fought my parents and tutors, I would be training to become some man's housewife". Élodie stated confidently.
"I could never imagine living a life like that, condemned to that fate". Meg spoke quietly, poking at her vegetables.
Christine couldn't agree more. She was thankful that her father kept her best interests and heart in mind. It was all too common for women of her age to be married off and sent away to a life of servitude to a man and their company. She wondered if any of the other corps de ballet fled to the theater for the same reasons as Élodie, or much worse.
This place, to some, could be considered a haven. To Christine, it was a second home of music. A place where people could share their passions for the arts and express them in the compositions of operas they hosted.
"I believe it is time for me to retire for the night. Thank you for inviting me to join you tonight. I hope we can talk again soon", Élodie curtsied and grabbed her plate, leaving the room before Christine or Meg could bid her goodnight.
Christine looked to Meg who sat next to her. "Are you ready to retire as well? I do not believe I can eat anymore. Meg?".
Meg looked up from her vegetables to Christine. "Sorry, I am just in deep thought at the moment. Yes, let's retire for the night".
Christine grabbed her plate and dropped it on the kitchen counter and made her way to the spiral staircase. "What troubles you? Is it anything I could help you with?" Christine offered.
Meg shook her head. "Have you noticed that Buquet has not been seen since the night he cornered us in the dining hall? I'm beginning to wonder if we made a mistake writing that letter. As much as I hate him and want to see him gone forever from this opera house, I wonder if I condemned him to a terrible fate…"
Christine gasped. "Do you mean death? Meg," Christine stopped her by the shoulders. "The phantom of the opera is not real, and even if he is, I do not believe he would go to that extent".
"But what makes you so sure, with a face such as his that resembles death?"
She gave her longs a long thought, before turning her head to look her in the eyes. "Just because he may look like death on the outside does not mean he represents death on the inside. When I came here, I could've thought you to be a snobby blonde, and you are anything but. If there is one thing my father taught me, it is that you must look past to see the beauty underneath".
Meg sniffled and Christine pulled her into a hug. "If it makes you feel better, why don't we ask your Maman? Surely she must know something". She suggested, and Meg mumbled under her breath, allowing her to lead the way.
Walking in the opposite direction from their room, they came upon her room. Her door held a gold nameplate engraved with Mme Antoinette Giry.
Christine lightly rapped on the door, and it swung open, candlelight spilling out onto the floor of the hallway.
"Madame Giry, do you know why Monsieur Buquet has been absent from his duties?" Christine asked directly.
The older woman showed no surprise as she explained. "Food poisoning, very likely from the food he decided to consume while intoxicated. He is scheduled to return within the next few days. Why do you ask?" Her posture stiffened and inhaled quickly. " Did something happen?"
"No, everything is fine, we just weren't sure if he was fired because of what he did the other night, because that would be fully justifiable". Christine lied, not blinking once.
Would Madame believe the lie she had just told? What if she found out what happened? That they had written a note to the opera ghost asking him to take care of Buquet and now he was missing from the opera house. Christine's breath quickened slightly when the older woman simply nodded.
"Unfortunately I only have the jurisdiction to fire ballet girls, but if I had that power, he would've been removed from the opera house long ago. But I have made it clear to Monsieur LeFevre that Joseph Buquet should take early retirement, but he does care to listen", she spoke bitterly. "Do you require anything more?"
When the two women shook their heads, she bid them goodnight and closed the door, and they left for their rooms.
Christine lightly elbowed Meg. "See? What did I tell you? It is only food poisoning, nothing to fear", she reassured her friend. The young woman's spirits lifted after that comment.
"Thank you Christine", she enveloped her in a hug, and Christine wrapped her arms around her.
"I'm here whenever you need me".
The two fell asleep shortly after returning to their rooms, barely managing to shrug out of their leotards and corsets before collapsing on their beds.
"Christine…. Christine"
The soft, melodic voice pulled Christine from sleep. Sitting up, she looked around her surroundings. It was pitch black in the room, and in the shadows, she could vaguely make out Meg's sleeping figure. Shaking her head, she placed her head back on her pillow, ready to succumb to sleep once more.
"Christine…. Christine"
Christine pushed the covers off her legs and reached for her ruffled robe hanging off the end of her bed frame. Tying the sash around her waist, she slipped on her flats and quietly opened the door, shutting it behind her.
The candles had been blown out hours ago it seemed, as the previously melted wax had hardened. Moonlight shined through the glass windows, illuminating the floor. Christine shivered as a cold wind blew past her, urging her away from the moonlit path.
"Christine…. Christine"
The voice sounded as if it had been spoken to her from a distance ahead. Her feet began moving on their own towards the voice that kept calling to her, urging her to find it. Find him.
"Christine…. Christine"
The voice led her down the passageways and the spiral staircase. Christine lifted her robe in front of her, careful not to stumble on the long fabric. Another gentle breeze guided her to the threshold of the chapel.
"I am your angel of music….Come to me angel of music…"
The voice became louder as she began her descent down the stairs, her heart racing in anticipation.
Her father had finally sent her an angel of music. He was here for her. At last.
"I am your angel of music….. Come to me angel of music…"
The sound of his voice enthralled her to the core, and a shiver ran through her body.
I am your angel of music…. Come to me angel of music ..."
That deep, rich, baritone voice of her angel called to her as she came to stand in the center of the chapel. His voice surrounded her, echoing off the walls.
"Sing for me…. My angel of music!"
His command boomed around her and she gasped as the voice seemed to float through her, flooding her senses. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to him. Her lips parted slowly.
And her soul began to soar.
Hello, lovelies! I thoroughly enjoyed writing the end of this chapter, and I hope you did it as well! This story takes place years before the events of the original story.