Chapter 1: The Angel of Music?
"You really were amazing, Christine!"
Smiling broadly, Meg Giry hurriedly crossed herself and walked into the chapel, approaching the white pool of satin and gauze spreading around her dark-haired friend.
In a faint gleam of the candles, the tiny crystals sewn into the material sparkled slightly, making Christine's gown look ethereal. Meg's smile widened a little more and the dancer gently put her hand on the soprano's shoulder.
"I've already told you that back in the coulisses, but I don't remember the last time I've felt such emotions listening to an aria. I would even say that the whole audience was under your spell!" The same enthusiasm she had felt in the wings filled her words, stretching her grin and earning her a similar, though still a little shy, expression. Satisfied, Meg knelt next to the singer, feeling the slight coolness of the stone floor seep through the hosiery covering her exposed shins.
Christine Daaé – a twenty-one-year-old humble choir girl and part-time ballerina singing as a lead soprano... That thought made her smile again. She couldn't have been more proud of her best friend, but at the same it all still felt a bit like a dream. Just yesterday morning, they had been going through the regular routine of warm-ups, exercises, and preparations for the premiere, and now…
The events of the previous evening's dress rehearsal flitted through her mind like a series of flipped scenography canvas.
A dropped curtain and Carlotta's tantrum ending with the diva storming off the stage and declaring that her singing will not happen. A panicked commotion and the strange calm firmness in her mother's face as she suggested Christine as a replacement. The doubting glances and her friend's nervously intertwined fingers as she had uncertainly stepped onto the centre to sing Elissa's aria. And then, that almost unearthly voice that had left her throat...
Meg shook her head.
Having spent most of her life around the opera house, she had heard her fair share of great artists. Christine's impromptu performance had rivalled the best of them, even though her nervousness could still have been noticed. And tonight, singing without a trace of the previous day's timidity, she was like nothing Meg had ever heard before.
The corners of the ballerina's lips rose a little more up as the warmth flooded her chest. In this sea of joy and admiration, there was also a drop of bitterness, though, and in a moment Meg looked away, absentmindedly tugging at the grey shawl around her shoulders. How could she not have known that her closest friend possessed such talent? And how could Christine have kept it all from her? Somehow it hurt her more than she would like to admit. Of course there had been no chance for them to talk about it amidst the day of feverish preparations, and Meg had done her best not to nurse that tiny pang of disappointment, but surely it was not unreasonable of her to ask about it now, in this moment of calm when it was just the two of them.
Her teeth nibbled at her lower lip.
"Christine..." Her soft voice broke the short silence that hung between them, seeming to draw Christine's attention back from her own thoughts. "Please, don't get me wrong, but… Why haven't you said anything about taking lessons sooner?" A tiny smile graced her lips, but despite that and her light tone Christine sent her an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Meg. I really wanted to, but... well, I just wasn't allowed to." Christine sighed and lowered her head, her fingers curling a bit around the folds of her gown. "My teacher was really strict about it. No one was to know." A hint of some shadow flickered across her face, and Meg frowned.
"But my mother knew about it, didn't she? She suggested you as a replacement for La Carlotta and assured you had been tutored well."
"Well, that's exactly the thing I don't understand." When Christine looked back up at her, a small crease marred her brow as well. "I was just as surprised as you, Meg, when she recommended me. My tutor made it clear that our lessons had to remain a secret until he decided otherwise. Maybe she heard me practising and deduced the rest?"
It was a possible explanation, but somehow Meg wasn't fully convinced by such an answer. It was not exactly like her discerning mother not to ask at least some questions after finding out something like that. The dancer furrowed her eyebrows a little more, but pushed that thought aside for later.
"Anyway," she said after a short pause, "now, after the performance, you are finally able to talk about it freely, aren't you? Your teacher surely wants to be appreciated for his contribution to your success?"
"Well..." Christine hesitated, tucking a loose curl of her dark hair behind her ear. "He did mention something about ending all of these secrets and even promised that he would explain everything to me this evening, so... Well, I suppose it wouldn't be against the rules if I told you now. Though, what I am about to say might seem a little strange to you..." The soprano averted her gaze, fidgeting with the material of her skirt, and Meg gently reached forwards to briefly squeeze her palm.
"I can't say how I'll find something I haven't heard yet, but you know you can tell me everything, Christine. Whatever it is. I'll listen to you." Her gaze met her friend's, and Christine returned a faint smile.
"Thank you, Meg... but the tale I'm going to tell you is not exactly an easy one..." With a sigh, Christine's gaze fell to her hands folded in her lap and, wringing them, she started her story.
"You have met my father, Meg, so you could have observed for yourself how much he liked to tell stories, especially the ones about the Angel of Music. And you also know that he" – her voice wavered a little – "he promised me to send that angel to me from heaven. But what you don't know is that, in some way, I have really met him..." The soprano's dark brown irises rose to her, and despite Meg's efforts her thoughts must have been clearly written on her face, because her friend averted her gaze again with a slight sigh.
"I know how it sounds, Meg," she said quietly. "But one day, after I had arrived at the opera, I came here to light a candle for my father and then I heard a voice, though there was nobody around. I called to him and he... well, just responded. It was all rather awkward, but somehow he managed to make me feel just a little less alone and lost. And maybe it was only because I wanted to believe it at that moment, but somewhere deep inside I started to think it really was him – the Angel of Music." Christine's features softened into a sad smile and her eyes wandered to the stained-glass depiction of an angel at the side of the chapel.
"It didn't happen at once. For my first year in the ballet, he just occasionally visited me here. Later, when I returned to singing and then also began to apply for a part-time position of a choir girl, he started to give me some advice, and in time that somehow changed into full-time secret lessons. Yet during those lessons I never saw him nor learnt his name. I suspected that he could be someone connected to the opera, for he always seemed to know about everything that was happening here, but he always dismissed all my questions. So in the end I just continued calling him just Maestro or the Angel of Music..." Christine paused and lowered her head, her fingers trailing over one of the gold stars embroidered on her white gown. When she spoke again her voice was even quieter.
"You see, Meg, he helped me when I was deep in grief, so... even if he is not a real angel, a part of me wanted and still wants to believe that, in some way, he was sent to me by my father. Do you think it's foolish of me?"
Meg found herself at a loss for words. The truth was that she didn't know what to think. She believed that Christine's father could watch her from heaven, but she had some serious doubts about this anonymous teacher. After all, what kind of man would have kept his identity in secret for seven years and allow himself to be called the Angel of Music? Most likely not exactly a sane one.
Her stomach clenched unpleasantly and her thoughts went back to those times when she used to find her new friend curled up in the darkness of a barely lit chapel with the tear trails still fresh on her face.
Her parents had known Monsieur Daaé only briefly from his few guest concerts at the previous opera house in the Salle le Peletier, but they had become close friends during the last few months of the famous violinist's illness, resulting in the decision to become legal guardians for his daughter. And so, at the age of eighteen, she had gained a shy roommate in their small rented flat at the Paris's outskirts and a fellow ballerina in training in newly opened the Palais Garnier. It undoubtedly hadn't been an easy time for the sensitive fourteen-year-old with Swedish accent. It is always hard to stand out, but Meg had done all she could to help Christine adapt to the new situation and make it all a little easier.
A lot had changed in those seven years. Christine was a few centimetres taller than her now, and she was no longer that scared girl she was when she first arrived. Yet she was still like a younger sister, and Meg wanted to protect her at all costs.
The dancer bit her lip.
It all sounded a bit unsettling, but on the other hand Christine had been talking with her mysterious teacher for all that time and nothing bad had happened. Many great artists had their eccentricities – as an opera employee she was more than aware of that fact. In the Palais Garnier they even had the legend of the Opera Ghost, who was blamed for everything from some missing or modified props and scenography elements to wax-skull-decorated letters and instructions. Monsieur Lefevre, their retiring manager, had been taking part in this custom, always acting enthusiastic but also believably surprised by the notes even though many had suspected he had been the one writing them. And there were also other odd matters like that mysterious benefactor who had helped Cecile Jammes's family, or simply La Carlotta's whims...
Meg sighed inwardly.
Maybe the other choir and ballet girls were right and she really did have a tendency to worry unnecessarily. Christine's tutor could simply not have revealed himself to make sure no one would bother him during his other work or something equally trivial.
Realising that she should have already said something, Meg sent her friend a somewhat helpless smile.
"Honestly, I don't even know what to say, Christine. A part of me just wants to think that stories like this can't come true, but, regardless of that, I'm really glad you have told me about it." She reached out her hand and squeezed her friend's palm again, and this time both women smiled more fully.
For a brief moment they simply sat like that, and then Meg broke the silence again, clearing her throat softly.
"The meetings with the lead singers are probably about to start in a few minutes. I think we should be going if we don't want to get a reprimand from my mother." Her lips curled in a tiny grin and she rose from the floor, smoothing the folds of her simple white tutu as she did so. "She charged me with a mission to convey all information about the rips in the ballet outfits to the costume department right after finding you. But I think escorting you to your dressing room still fits in that limit, don't you?" One of her eyebrows rose in a meaningful expression and Christine's face brightened.
Grinning, the dancer extended her hand to the soprano and helped her to rise to her feet. Then, arm in arm, they walked out of the chapel, leaving all thoughts about the Angel of Music behind.
After all, there was no reason to be worried about it, right?
If Meg could have had any doubts about how much Christine's performance had enchanted the audience, they all were dispelled by the sheer amount of people gathered in the corridor in front of the dressing room.
Her mother – her severe black gown clearly standing out among the more colourful female creations – was there waiting for them, and the tiny inclination of her eyebrows made Meg think that it was probably good they hadn't delayed longer.
The ballet mistress's usually strict expression relaxed a bit, though, as she approached them, giving Christine an encouraging smile. Wishing her friend good luck, Meg obediently handed her over into her mother's care. As the head of the ballet and also the choir girls' caretaker, Antoinette Giry had been assigned to be the key-keeper for some rooms and spaces of the theatre edifice, and today that made her also Christine's guardian.
Having stepped aside, Meg watched as the two of them got engulfed by the crowd. For a moment she could yet hear Christine's voice as she answered a few questions from a local journalist, but then Madame Giry excused them politely. A moment later both of them vanished behind the dressing room's door, leaving her alone among the talkative sea of people.
She had originally planned to accompany her best friend during her first official evening as the leading star. Unfortunately, her mother had been unyielding in her decision of sending her off to other duties. And, though she was used to the ballet mistress's slight strictness and high expectations, on days like this she felt that as her daughter she somehow always ended up being gifted with an extra dose of that mixture.
Meg sighed slightly and turned her attention back to the gathered crowd, moving her gaze from the simpler tailcoats of black wool to their much more expensive-looking equivalents and silk waistcoats accompanied by richly ornamented bustle dresses and elaborate hairstyles.
Judging by the garments, save from the newspapers' employees and the usual opera enthusiasts she recognised, Christine's performance had also attracted some representatives of the richest members of Parisian society, and that could only bode well for the future of her career.
None of them displayed even the smallest interest in an ordinary ballerina, though. Perhaps being a nameless dancer among many others was almost the same as being invisible.
Meg let out another tiny sigh and pushed that thought away. At least the lack of fame was better than the unwanted attention of people who saw the ballet more like a bar entertainment than an art…
With that conclusion she turned, heading back towards the administration staircase, but in a moment the sound of new voices made her pause mid-step.
From the opposite side of the narrow corridor emerged a three more silhouettes, earning themselves a few respectful greetings. The dancer couldn't help but glance curiously in their direction.
It was not hard to recognise in the two of them their new managers and, though she had seen the third man only once before, she could not mistake him for anybody else. The shoulder-length straight light brown hair, perfectly tailored tailcoat, springy gait and self-confidence radiating from every cell of the body? Yes, there was no doubt that the person before her eyes was Raoul de Chagny, their freshly self-nominated patron. And also a man who happened to be Christine's childhood friend with whom she still occasionally exchanged correspondence ever since his family had moved to England.
Meg smiled slightly to herself.
The young viscount had certainly given Christine quite a shock when during the last hour of feverish preparations before the premiere Messieurs Andre and Firmin brought him to the auditorium to introduce him to the company. And then also an equal disappointment as he had not approached her. Yet Meg believed it was only caused by the fact he hadn't noticed her in the crowd nor had enough time to ask about her.
Before her, the managers started to introduce the Vicomte de Chagny to some of the most influential subscribers from the gathered, and as the snippets of their conversation floated to her ears, her smile widened.
It had always been a bit strange for her to imagine someone of a noble birth as Christine's playmate, hiding with her in the attic or play-fighting at the shore back in times when Monsieur Daaé had been travelling around France and Europe. Now, something in the young viscount's friendly attitude made her think that it probably was not so impossible, after all. And, though she did not know why he was suddenly back in Paris nor was exactly sure if such a surprise arrival was the best approach towards her sensitive friend, it was evident that their new patron had clearly not forgotten about the dark-haired soprano too...
A warm feeling filled her chest.
Two friends, reunited after so many years. There was indeed a lot to be happy about today.
With that optimistic thought Meg finally turned back and hurried upstairs to the dressing room she shared with other ballerinas.
In the end, finishing her usual duties along with the extra help she was asked for by the costume department took her over half an hour. The short gala planned for tonight must have already started, but despite that, Meg couldn't stop herself from taking a slightly longer route to check Christine's dressing room on her way.
It was the first premiere with the new managers at their posts, so – even though the opera had been still mostly directed under the supervision of their retiring predecessor – some formal social introductions combined with a small banquet were expected to take place. The majority of artists along with the higher-rank opera workers were invited to take part in it, so it didn't surprise her to find that most of them had already left.
Having slipped down the staircase, Meg plunged into the corridor stretching between the administration part of the building and the stage coulisses, welcomed only by silence and the already half-dimmed gas jets. It was rather unlikely that her mother and friend would have stayed behind in such circumstances, but still she wanted to make sure. Her quiet footsteps drowned among the silent shadows. Approaching Christine's dressing room, the ballerina raised her hand and froze mid-gesture.
It was strangely muffled, but for a second she could have sworn she had heard some male voice coming from there.
Meg hesitated slightly. The visiting hours for the subscribers had already ended, so why would anyone still be there?
"Christine?" Her knuckles hit gently against the wood, but no answer came. "Christine, are you still there?"
Furrowing her eyebrows, the ballerina supported her louder question with a bit more energetic knocking, but it gave the same result as before. Confused, she reached for the handle and yanked it slightly, but the door didn't budge, clearly held by the lock.
Meg blinked in shock. It was her mother who had the key, so the room simply couldn't be locked with someone in!
Even more disorientated, the dancer leaned a little closer, trying to hear anything, and almost jumped out of her skin as a loud thud echoed against the corridor's walls.
Spinning around, Meg turned towards its source and exhaled loudly as her eyes rested on the two scene-shifters assistants goofing around in the opposite side of the hall. Their merry laughter swept over her as they passed by her on their way home, greeting her with two small nods, and she chided herself inwardly for letting her imagination carry her away like that. The sounds often travelled strangely across this edifice and she should have already gotten used to that. A little more of that and she would be a step away from really starting to believe in ghosts living in the opera house!
Smiling to herself, the ballerina directed her steps towards the darkened coulisses from where she could use the passage to the public space outside the auditorium. Quickening her pace, she turned around the corner and at the same moment her body almost collided with some slim figure, earning herself a high-pitched gasp.
"Meg!" Cecile Jammes's wide-open forget-me-not eyes stared at her in shock. "Goodness, you gave me quite a fright!" The fair-haired fifteen-year-old pressed her hand to her chest, and then smiled slightly. "I'm happy that I have stumbled upon you, though. Do you know where Christine is?" Her colleague glanced at her hopefully, and Meg frowned slightly.
"Wasn't she supposed to join the banquet along with the other leading artists?"
"Oh, she was. But the problem is that she hasn't." Cecile's palms waved vigorously in the air. "I've heard from La Sorelli that Christine had even been personally invited by our new patron, and I've already started to think that maybe she could even be a bit like a new Adèle Dumilâtre, but she hasn't come at all! Nobody knows where she nor your mother is, so they sent me here to check again, but I have no idea what exactly to do. She was supposed just to change, but instead of that she vanished into thin air!" The girl's fingers spread dramatically to stress her words, and despite herself Meg felt a tiny pang of anxiety.
From what Christine had told her over the years, Raoul de Chagny was her important friend from childhood and probably someone even more than that, so why would she resign from spending time with him? And what's more, why wouldn't she tell anyone anything?
Meg swallowed. "I knocked on Christine's dressing room a minute ago and it was closed, but it's possible that she went somewhere to talk with her teacher. She told me before they have an appointed meeting for tonight." She glanced at her fellow dancer. "I can check our room to see if she hasn't left any notes, but it wouldn't be like her to leave the opera without saying something to someone first. They should still be in the building. Maybe in one of the offices in the administration part? My mother could be with them there."
It sounded like a quite reasonable explanation, especially if Christine's teacher were supposed to finally reveal his identity to her and, despite being unaware of that detail, the younger ballerina must have similar thoughts, for her features brightened somewhat.
"Neither the managers nor Messieurs Remy and Gabriel seemed to hear anything about any extra visit, but I can check that. After all, your mother has an office there too, doesn't she?"
Meg nodded. "She has. And I can join you there once I'm finished."
Cecile relaxed even more at that, her smile returning back on her lips. "All right. Thank you, Meg." The teenager waved to her and then was gone, clearly relieved to be given both support and a less deserted destination.
Meg changed her course too.
The theatre was not exactly a place for lodgings, but still a few exceptions had been made – mostly for the convenience of a few night guards. Yet thanks to her mother, a few extra spaces had been also assigned for the ballet so the hired dancers or pupils who temporarily weren't able to rent another accommodation in Paris could have a cot to sleep. After her father's death, the previous manager had been so kind to offer them a place there too, and so their little family had enlarged the very restricted list of the Opera Garnier's inhabitants. The room she shared with Christine was located just a floor above the female dressing rooms for the leading artists – including the windowless, previously unused one that had been assigned to her friend. And that certainly made it an even more convenient location for leaving any possible note.
The familiar view of a slightly crowded but cosy space greeted Meg, but there was no sign that Christine had returned here tonight. Her eyes scanned two beds, a small desk, a wardrobe and the bookcase squeezed in the corner, but all looked just as they had left it. Not even a short note.
Meg sighed and hurried a few doors further down the corridor to do a similar check in her mother's quarters, only to receive a similar result.
A part of her hoped that Cecile would have more luck in the office section, but somewhere deep inside she did not fully believe in it. It all probably had some mundane explanation, but still she couldn't get rid of that strange gut feeling that something was terribly off.
Especially when she thought again about that strange mysteriousness of her best friend's teacher...
The echo of a voice that she thought she had heard in Christine's dressing room resounded in her ears and something in her stomach twisted into an unpleasant knot again. It was surely just some tricky reverberation of the stagehands' conversation, but...
The blonde hesitantly glanced towards her mother's escritoire. Madame Giry always had keys to the public parts of the opera on her, but she also kept a spare bunch in her quarters...
Meg bit her lower lip, and then opened one of the tiny drawers. The idea was undoubtedly utterly ridiculous, but perhaps it wouldn't hurt to check the dressing room for any notes too.
Not giving herself time to ponder that further, the ballerina grabbed the whole set of keys and ran back down.
It took her a few tries, but finally she managed to fit the right key into the lock. It turned without the slightest sound, and so a moment later she quietly stepped inside the windowless room, stopping in a doorway and squinting as she tried to see anything in the semi-darkness.
In the dim light seeping in from the hall, it was almost hard to believe it was the same bright dressing room that just a few hours ago had been bustling with people, helping to prepare Christine for her first big role. Now, the only evidence that someone had been there was just the smell of recently blown wicks and extinguished gas flames, mixing with the scent of the fresh roses that filled every corner.
Meg swept the interior with her gaze. Christine's breathtaking costume, reduced to a splash of almost ghostly white against the dark background, hung over the screen, but despite that there was no other indication of her previous presence here.
Letting the door close a fraction after her, the dancer lit a candle and checked the dressing table, but once again didn't find any clues that might indicate where her friend could have gone. Maybe Cecile was more successful in her search?
Sighing, Meg blew out the flame, letting the darkness surrounding her deepen, and then slowly turned back towards the now half-closed exit.
And that was when she saw it. A tiny flash of light just at the edge of her peripheral vision...
Meg spun around, searching the room until her eyes finally rested on a thin golden line running along the one side of the mirror. It was really faint, but it looked almost as if a beam were seeping from behind...
Her heart nervously changed its rhythm, but she made herself take a step closer. Her fingers curled around the richly ornamented frame, pulling slightly, and the next moment her breath hitched in her throat as the mirror gave in, soundlessly sliding aside, revealing a stone corridor leading down. On its wall, several steps from her, burned a single torch, casting around a wavering circle of light. Save that, the tunnel was plunged in the impenetrable gloom.
Meg felt the cold slipping into her stomach. Was this how Christine had left without anyone noticing? The way her mysterious teacher had come to her?
A lump formed in her throat.
She perhaps should go and inform someone about this, but on the other hand, if she left now she might lose her only chance to catch up with Christine...
Meg swallowed nervously. "Christine?" Her voice, barely louder than whisper, echoed eerily against the stone walls. An answer did not come.
"Christine, are you there?" The dancer took a few steps down the corridor and called again louder.
"Chris–" Someone's hand closed on her arm and she yelped, thrusting herself forwards, wrenching herself out of its grasp. With her heart in her throat, she spun around and her eyes widened even more as she found herself face to face with a familiar person.
"Maman?" The relief that flooded over her almost knocked her off her feet. "Oh, Maman, it's so good you are here. I don't know what's happening, but I think Christine might have done something unwise. I worry that she–" she started, but her mother cut her off mid-sentence.
"There is nothing to fear, Meg."
The unnatural blankness in the ballet mistress's tone sent a shiver down her spine.
"Pardon?" Meg stared at her mother, but Madame Giry's expression did not waver.
"There is nothing to fear," she repeated sternly. "Christine is safe, and you shouldn't be here, so please just come with me." Her mother's hand closed around her own, pulling her gently towards the exit, and in her shock Meg simply allowed her to lead her a few steps.
And then the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place.
"Heavens!" Meg tore her palm off her maman's grip, feeling some blood draining from her face. "You knew! You knew that that man would come for Christine. You… you let him do this!"
Her shocked gaze fixed on her mother, and this time her expression flickered the tiniest bit.
"Yes, I did that." Antoinette Giry raised her chin, her eyes hardening for a fraction of a second. Yet despite that Meg couldn't fail to notice a strange, almost vulnerable sadness that dug into her features. "I can't give you the reasons, though, so please do not ask me about them. All you need to know is that everything is all right and I don't want you to get involved. Heavens know, you have already learned more than I would ever wished you to." The ballet mistress sighed, and a look of tiredness flashed across her face. Her finger rose to briefly rub her temples.
"Listen carefully, Meg," she resumed, "no danger threatens Christine, but if you do interfere or tell anybody about this passage, someone might suffer. Probably even more than one person. So, please, just forget about what has happened." Madame Giry's eyes locked with Meg's as her palms came to rest on her shoulders. "I know it all must be confusing for you, Meg, but I promise you that Christine will return safe and sound before dawn. You know that I would never let anything bad happen to her, don't you?" Her mother's features softened, but somehow that didn't fully chase away the anxiety that settled in Meg's stomach.
The dancer frowned slightly.
"I know, Maman, but..."
"No buts, Meg." Madame Giry's thin mouth narrowed again. "Please, just trust me and don't mention this matter anymore. I've already sent Cecile to the managers to tell them Christine has been urgently summoned by her teacher, and that's all everyone needs to know." Then she turned around and without any other word of explanation led Meg back outside, locking the dressing room behind them along with its secrets.
In a half-dark corridor, far below the levels ever touched by a regular opera employees' feet, a large hand covered by a black leather glove closed around the young soprano's fingers, leading her to a small gondola and then further into the realm of the unending night...
Author's notes:
1) bustle (Fr. tournure) – a kind of usually padded undergarment worn in the back just below the waist to add fullness to the skirt. It transformed from a crinoline around the beginning of 1870s (or end of 1860s) then vanished for a few years only to reappear in early 1880s. It could have taken many shapes varying from the larger frames (including the network of metal ribs) to small cushions (according to the book about 19th-century fashion I have read and Wikipedia)
2) Salle le Peletier (Salle de la rue Le Peletier, Lepeletier) – a home to the Paris Opera from 1821 until 1873 when it was destroyed in a fire. Paris Opera known as the Palais Garnier or Opera Garnier (designed by Charles Garnier) was built in years 1861-1874/1875 and inaugurated in January 1875.
3) Cecile Jammes or Little Jammes is a young dancer brought to live in Leroux's book – I've developed some fondness towards that secondary heroine, so I allowed myself to adopt her for my own uses. :)
And if you are wondering why she is mentioning some woman, then let me just say that Adèle Dumilâtre was a real French ballerina, dancing at the Paris Opera in years 1840-1848 who after her retirement married a count Francisco Drake del Castillo – at least according to Wikipedia.
La Sorelli, just as Misters Remy and Gabriel, are other inhabitants of Leroux's amazing novel – the prima ballerina, the secretary, and chorus-master. I'm terrible at imagining my own characters, so when I can I just shamelessly borrow them... ;)