"A masquerade ball? Here at the Opera?"
A dozen of voices overlap over each other, a dozen more heads shake their curls in disbelieve at those news, so fantastic do they sound.
"Really girls, is it so hard to believe? Our new managers know how to really lead the Opera, so why would there not be a ball?" Colette says to her eager audience, brushing her hair with a new brush of solid silver that most girls around her are eying with both jealousy and contempt. They know where this present came from.
"But the expanses… with the war going on. How will they pay for it?" Louise ask, earning a an eye-role from Marie and a frustrated exclamation from the haughty Colette.
"Silly, they made good money out of their scrap-metal business. You can make a fortune with scrap-metal. Also, with that awful Ghost having fled town, they no longer have to pay those ridiculous salaries he expected. The Prussian's might have already disposed of him for all we know."
Silence fell over them all at those words, none of them would have ever dared to speak in that manner and so openly about someone who could very well be lurking in the shadows right now. People from the outside may call them superstitious for fearing invisible threats, but as theatre folk they knew better than to laugh at supernatural forces. Yet, Colette didn't seem to mind speaking that way at all, for, having finished brushing her hair she lays down the brush in its place before, without any haste, she looks again at those two dozen of faces looking at her.
"I nearly forgot, we all are to receive new costumes for that occasion."
This information receives universal applause and excitement.
Like so often Meg was standing at the very edge of the group, listening and observing everything that was going on, wondering about a many thing. It was true that for the past couple of weeks there had been no notes and no accidents at the theatre, the tragic end of M. Bouque so far had been the frightening finale to those mysterious machinations. Had the murderer- be he ghost or man- truly fled she did not know, and although she hopped it, she also rather doubted it. More than anything it puzzled and worried her to think of the connection there might have been between Christine's disappearance and this creature of the shadows. Not once in all these weeks had her friend talked about that night, not once spoken of the Angel of Music since, all that had been were fallen spirits and distress at any sound. Yet those had by now passed, there is a new peace around her recently, her spirits brighter then ever before. Meg is sure it has to do with the young Vicomte de Chagny. She had seen Christine leave after rehearsals and seen her return to the attic with a bright smile and blush on her cheeks, had silently observed and covered for her if anyone asked. He only took her out a few times for a stroll Christine said shyly one day upon noticing her friend look at her inquirily, and Meg knew it was true and was happy for her.
And still she worried.
It is a cold morning that brings Christmas this year, dark, heavy clouds hang over the city, blackened further by the smoke that rises from the chimneys, sooth clinging to every surface like a cloth of mourning. From the river, a murky fog is ebbing out into the nearby streets, white and milky, bringing visibility to a nothing, making everything appear like in a hazy dream. Through this impenetrable fog the streetlights seem like floating flames, hanging midair and giving reference in a world obscured by this vail of nothing. The cold that the fog brings leaks into every house that it touches, seeping through window frames and under doors, clinging outside the walls like a wave breaking on the shore, bringing chill onto bones old and young alike. Yet, through this heavy silence in this world unreal the sound of bells is heard, its toiling ringing through this mist from every corner of the city, uniting in a melody clear and bright and full of hope.
When the girls had awakened on Christmas morning in the years before there had been an exchange of gifts among them, gifts either handmade or acquired on the market, little signs of appreciation that the Madam urged them to show each other. Their dormitory would have been heated by an extra bucket of coals and delicious cakes be shared before the evening performance was to be prepared. This year they wake with their breath forming clouds around their faces, shivering sharing best wishes to each other, exchanging nothing more then trinkets from their possession to those most youngest. Christine gifts three of her ribbons to Beatrice, the raven haired girl lighting up at their sight, binding the baby-blue one immediately into her hair. There is some warm bread toasted with sugar for all of them, and then their lives resume their daily routine.
Since she first came to the Opera Populare, Christine had made her way each Christmas morning down to the little chapel, enjoying the quiet, enjoying the heavenly song that would engulf her there as she would light a candle for her father. She had been so sure it was her father's spirit that send that Voice, that send the Music, that brought the little gifts she might find on these mornings. A sheet of notes, a pink ribbon, a songbird cut out of wood. Now she can't imagine going down there, down into the cold barren room that had offered warmth and protection for such a long while. Is it reasonable to think that way, to abandon the candles, to shun the cold? She doesn't know and fears to think of it too long.
It is Christmas so everyone is most busy, the seamstress, the technicians, the dancers and the performers. The orchestra is practicing their tune page by page, the floors are being polished from any mark. There is little time left for anything else. She hadn't been able to see Raoul in nearly a week. That is why she eagerly hurries to the rooftop terrace when she sees him signing to her during the performance. It isn't really much of a sign, in truth he only lifts the program high to his eyes like if he couldn't make out its print which means to her that he has time to meet. Still in costume she takes a warm shawl and wraps it tightly around her shoulders, taking the winding stairs that lead up, up and away from the buzzing and whirlwind of the theatre. The cold night air welcomes her body still exhausted from dancing, wind picking her face, swirling the long skirt around her legs. It is only a moment though before she finds herself in his arms, a kiss placed on her brow, his embrace a sanctuary from everything around.
"I missed you." He says as they part, sitting down on the steps by the door, in shelter from the wind.
"I missed you too. But this is the part of theatre season that is the busiest, there wouldn't have been much time to meet either way."
"You were splendid tonight! I must say I would never have the mind to remember so many plays and so many parts as to bring them back to the scene. Do tell, was Signora Carlotta very upset that there was no part for her in Coppelia*?"
"No, we always put up a comedic ballet for Christmas- aside from that she enjoys to be among the fine audience on such occasions!" They both laugh remembering the dress and wig Signora was seen wearing tonight, an explosion of pinks and purples, Signore Piongi in his finest as well a sight to remember.
They sit for a while in silence, her head on his shoulder, hands intervened, enjoying each others company in one one of these rare moments of privacy.
"If only you could join me at the celebration my parents are holding, our Christmas parties were always such highlight of the year and it would have been wonderful to have you there."
"You know I can not leave her for long without someone noticing. But I am glad you could come, even if only for a moment. That is joy enough for me." She says snuggling closer, welcoming the warmth that he offers.
"Us always parting, does it really have to stay that way? Christine, I have been thinking… You know my feelings for you are true?"
"Yes, as are mine for you."
"Would you then not that we need not be separated any longer? Would you permit me to show you that my heart and intentions are firmly set?" His words make her lift her head to face him, their sound like the rustling of wind through golden fields, spreading in her a warmth as reviving as the summer breeze. From an inside pocket he takes out something small, and when he opens his hand there is a ring resting in his palm, pure silver crowned with a diamond surrounded by smaller ones, glittering even in the dim light of the night like bright stars. One would have expected her heart to beat faster, her head to swirl, her breathing to stop, yet what she feels is an incredible, beautiful calm, a joy that makes her feel like she could take flight at any moment.
Unable to form words she leans towards him that was willing to share the whole world with her and their lips meet, sealing a vow as firm and pure as two hearts could ever be.
"Is that a yes?" He asks with a smile when they finally part both out of breath.
"Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes!" She whispers into his shoulder, too overwhelmed by the prospects of his eternal love.
"Just imagine, us two…"
She does, and there is bliss and there is love and there is warmth, a lifetime of light away from the darkness of the many Opera passages and hidden corners. It would be a step into the unknown, but away from the shadows. At that moment a dark cloud falls over her mind and she looks up to Raoul with a solemn expression upon her features.
"Yes, I do. But Raoul… please let it be in secret for a while. No one should know. It is… I am here nothing more the a chorus girl. Will you promise me that?" She says, hoping that would be enough a reason for him.
"That is very little to ask for. Trust me, no one should know, although I would shout it out to the world if I could." He answers while planting kisses upon her hand that wears the ring.
"Thank you."
"Joyeux Noël" A kiss from him.
"Joyeux Noël" A kiss from her.
*Coppélia (sometimes subtitled: La Fille aux Yeux d'Émail (The Girl with the Enamel Eyes) is a comic ballet which premiered on 25 May 1870 at the Théâtre Impérial de l'Opéra, with the 16-year-old Giuseppina Bozzacchi in the principal role. The ballet's first flush of success was interrupted by the Franco-Prussian War and the siege of Paris (which also led to the early death of Giuseppina Bozzacchi, on her 17th birthday), but eventually it became the most-performed ballet at the Opéra.- source: Wikipedia
Looking up operas and plays that would have been performed at the fictional Opera Populare I came across this one, and, reading the summary, it seemed way too fitting.