Two factors had already played in his favor: the sudden abandonment of Carlotta’s understudy, and the tight schedule on which the gala was mounted. With little time to spare and no contingency plan, the production was running on a very small margin of error. It’s a bad idea to leave little room for chance in the theatre. You never know what may happen.
He was very patient, and made no move until the final dress rehearsal—which, incidentally, coincided with Firmin and André’s official acquirement of the Opera lease. M. Lefèvre was scheduled to leave for Germany the same day; no doubt he wanted to be well out of the way when uncomfortable questions started to arise. But of course he could not leave without "formally" introducing his replacements, and so all three men came to the rehearsal with that in mind.
They arrived to find M. Reyer berating Ubaldo Piangi yet again—"Signor, please remember we are singing in French, not Italian"—and with the usual lack of success. I’d always rather liked Michel Reyer. He was incurably fussy and lived in a perpetual state of near-apoplexy, but he had a real love for opera and more sense than a good portion of the administration. And I did empathize with him; it can’t be an easy thing to direct a company when the prima donna is an imperious creature who eyes every female member of the chorus with suspicion and the principal tenor an obtuse man who contributed mainly to feeding his leading lady’s ego.
Lefèvre tried to get the company’s attention at once, but got no farther than "an announcement of great import" before being interrupted by Reyer. "M. Lefèvre, you and your colleagues honor us with your presence, but we do have a performance in less than twenty-four hours. May I request that we be allowed to work through this scene? You’ll have sufficient time to introduce your successors afterward."
And that quite effectively took the wind out of Lefèvre’s sails, for he could no longer delude himself that his retirement was in any way a secret. He mumbled an assent and led Firmin and André to one side, muttering something about "a tyrannical busybody" as he did. They watched from the wings while we toiled our way through one of those opulent chorus numbers that are always a nightmare to orchestrate. André watched the scene with perfect delight, pointing out members of the company (almost invariably female) and directing an endless stream of questions to Lefèvre; M. Firmin simply appeared bored with the entire proceeding. For my own part, I tried to focus on the minutiae of my girls’ performance, but found my eyes increasingly drawn to Christine. Did she know what was in store for her? She did seem a bit nervous, but perhaps that was my own fancy…
The chorus wound its way to a glorious climax, with Piangi attempting to look stately and warlike as he rallied the Punic troops to battle. Our small audience applauded the display, and M. Lefèvre took the opportunity to confess those intentions which had been known to us for nearly a quarter-year. Firmin and André were thereafter received with the proper cordiality, and the latter saw fit to address the company.
"I think I speak for M. Firmin as well," he said, "when I say how supremely honored we are to have such a talented and renowned company in our care. I assure you that we will guide the Opera to the best of our abilities, and I flatter myself to believe that we shall continue in the fine tradition of excellence and artistry which M. Lefèvre has established."
The players responded with great politeness and little enthusiasm. "We will leave you to your rehearsal in a moment," André continued. "But before we do, I beg your indulgence in a personal request." He turned to Carlotta. "Signora Guidicelli, I cannot express my great joy in having you as our prima donna, and I hope you will acknowledge our gratitude by favoring us with a private rendition of Elissa’s Act Three aria. That is, if M. Reyer will allow—"
"Oh, si, si," Carlotta replied, simpering like a schoolgirl from André’s flattery. "I am sure M. Reyer will have no objection. Maestro…Louis, the aria…"
Reyer, who looked like he quite possibly did object to the interruption, rolled his eyes surreptitiously and instructed the conductor to follow Carlotta’s instruction. While they organized themselves, I gathered my chorus around me and led them to one side of the stage, instructing them to keep close. You may not believe it, monsieur, but although Erik was a volatile and unpredictable man, I have never known him to harm anyone indiscriminately. Still, accidents—real accidents—do happen, and I took great care to make sure my girls were well away from any potential harm.
Carlotta’s performances never varied, so while she paraded around the stage I covertly glanced to the shadowed flies above me. The nape of my neck pricked with anticipation. Something was about to happen, and I felt my body grow tense with impatience, waiting for an unknown yet inevitable mischance…
It was not long in coming. Carlotta had barely sung through the first passage of the aria when she was quite forcefully and effectively interrupted by the backdrop for La Sylphide careening from the flies to land with a thunderous crack against the stage. The diva’s prized voice broke in a most unlovely yelp and was lost in the tumult of the chorus.
"It’s the Phantom!" the dancers shrieked to one another with gleeful terror, clutching the arms of their neighbors. I hammered my staff against the stage and demanded order, but was forced to content myself with a less intense commotion.
"Buquet!" Lefèvre was bellowing into the flies. "Joseph Buquet, to the stage at once!" His eyes were twitching nervously and he glanced furtively at his two successors.
"Phantom?" André inquired, his eyebrow cocked curiously.
"Oh, it’s nothing, nothing at all," Lefèvre said too abruptly. "Silly little thing really, but I suppose you would have heard about it eventually…there’s some rumor that the Opera House is haunted."
"Haunted?" Firmin exclaimed incredulously.
"Yes, yes, you know how these theatre folk are, frightfully superstitious…Buquet!" The stagehand finally appeared. "There you are! What is the meaning of this, leaving the drops to…well, drop on people! Which of your men is responsible?"
"None of them, God’s own truth," Buquet replied, raking a dirty hand through his yellowing gray hair. "The drop was secured when we left it, and nobody’s been near it since…" He turned to my girls, eyeing them with lustful mischief. "Unless of course, it was the ghost—" He leapt at the dancers, hands grasping greedily as they shied away—some out of amusement, but several with real apprehension. I rapped my staff again and cast a warning glare at the old man, who wisely backed down.
Meanwhile Carlotta, having realized she had not been a focus of attention for nearly five minutes, had begun to swoon theatrically in Piangi’s arms. He played into her scene as always, cooing in a solacing manner, "Cara, cara mia, are you all right?"
"No, I’m not all right, you ox!" she said, shoving him away. "How am I supposed to perform under such conditions? Always the same thing, with the distractions and those screeching rats—si, Signora Giry, I said rats—and the stagehand’s incompetence making my life difficult. I can bear it no longer! I hope, signors—" she continued, addressing the new managers contemptuously, "that you will prove to be more capable than that lumbering oaf, because I refuse to put up with these circumstances another minute! Ubaldo—" she snapped her fingers and swept off, with Piangi following solicitously.
Firmin and André gaped at this display, but for the rest of us it was no great event. Carlotta often took it upon herself to emphasize her own importance by throwing such fits. Typically, she sulked theatrically in her apartment for a few performances while her understudy (whom she made sure to divest of any notion of self-worth) took over. But this time there was no understudy—a fact which I’m certain Carlotta meant to work to her advantage.
The new management was thrown into a panic, although Lefèvre did try to placate them. "Oh, never mind her, you know how temperamental opera singers are. She’ll be back, mark my words—"
"Not if the Phantom has his way," a young Chorine declared, loud enough to be heard halfway across the stage.
"And never mind that silly superstitious talk," Lefèvre added hastily. "There are a couple of minor conventions attached to the whole business, of course, if you just adhere to them it keeps the company pacified…"
"Conventions?" Firmin echoed, but his predecessor paid no heed.
"Mercy, look at the time!" M. Lefèvre cried, making a great show of examining his watch, "I must get to the station. Farewell, gentlemen, and good luck—" He left without so much as a glance backward.
So there were Firmin and André with no prima donna, no understudy, and no idea what to do next. Hardly the way they hoped to make an impression.
André did try to be optimistic. "I’m certain she’ll return, Firmin," he consoled his colleague. "She wouldn’t miss a gala, and she must know how much we depend on her…"
I took that as my cue to step forward. "I do not think I would hope for that, gentlemen," I advised. "La Carlotta’s fits of temper tend to last for several days—especially if the Opera Ghost is involved. She finds his manifestations particularly vexing."
"Would someone please explain this ghost nonsense?" Firmin roared, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I come here today and find the entire company behaving like an asylum, and nobody will explain why!"
"If you please, monsieur," I said, drawing a sheet of black-edged stationery from my dress, "I’ve recently received a missive directed to M. André and yourself. I believe it will disclose all." A rustle of whispering emerged from the cluster of my girls.
Firmin uttered something unintelligible and probably impolite, but André inquired "What does it say?"
I unfolded the note and read aloud:
It has come to my attention that M. Lefévre may have neglected to enlighten you on certain particulars regarding the proper administration of my theatre. Therefore, I think it expedient to bring these matters to your attention, in order to prevent any tiresome misunderstandings at a later date.
First, it is required that Box Five on the grand tier be reserved for my personal use at every performance. Secondly, my salary of twenty thousand francs must be paid promptly upon the fifth of each month. I will send you additional directions as the situation demands, but these two circumstances are immutable.
I am certain, gentlemen, that your desire to avoid any unnecessary complications will guide you to adhere to these conditions without any objection.
I am, gentlemen,
Your obedient servant,
O.G.
"We’ll lose a lot more than that if this gala doesn’t get underway," his partner reminded him. "I think we should discuss this elsewhere. M. Reyer, if you could summon La Carlotta’s understudy…"
"There is no understudy, thanks to your partner’s budget adjustments," Reyer snapped. "And with the new material, it’s highly unlikely anyone else knows it well enough to step in."
"Merely sound economic policies based on—" Firmin began to protest, but André interrupted again.
"Well then, what is to be done?"
Reyer spread his hands. "I’ll be perfectly honest with you gentlemen, we’re in something of a bind. It is possible that Carlotta may be tempted back in time for the performance, but that will prove to be very difficult—and, I think, very costly. And if we cannot get her back…." He shook his head. "I’m afraid we’d have no choice but to cancel."
Firmin blenched at the word costly, and went entirely pale at the word cancel. "Surely there must be some other alternative!"
"What alternative? Where do you suggest I find a substitute on such short notice?"
"You know Elissa’s music, Christine," Meg spoke up. "Perhaps you should sing for them."
Christine gasped, caught off guard, and I was no less surprised. How did Meg know about the matter?
"What’s this?" Reyer demanded. "That girl knows Carlotta’s part?"
"Oh yes," Meg averred. "She’s been taking lessons on the side. I’ve heard her sing, and she’s quite good."
"Is this true?" he asked with a skeptical tilt of the head.
"Yes, monsieur." Christine’s voice was soft but serene.
"A member of the ballet corps?" André exclaimed.
"It’s not as uncommon as you might think," I hastened to tell him. "I’ve observed on several occasions that many who display proficiency in one field of the performing arts are talented in related disciplines."
"Yes, I suppose it’s not entirely unheard of…still…" His thoughts were clear, but he did have the decency not to make an issue of Christine’s youth and inexperience directly in front of her.
"André, we don’t have time for this!" Firmin cried.
"Do you want to cancel the performance?" the younger man retorted, shocking his partner into silence.
"What harm can it do, gentlemen?" I said slyly. "Let the girl sing for you. If she isn’t suitable, you’ve lost nothing. If she is…" I allowed them to draw the conclusion.
The two managers pulled Reyer to one side of the stage and conversed in hushed tones. I took the opportunity to interrogate my daughter. "Meg, how did you find out about Christine’s lessons?"
"She told me," she replied, then frowned. "How did you find out about it? I was made to understand that it was a great secret."
"It is; I stumbled on it by chance. I thought Christine had been instructed not to tell anyone."
"I heard her singing a week or so ago," she told me. "She avoided the question at first, but then she said she went to her teacher and he said he wouldn’t mind if I knew." She looked up at me. "Who is her teacher, anyway?"
Mercifully, I was rescued from dodging that question by the breakup of the conference on the other end of the stage. "Fine, fine!" Firmin blustered in defeat. "If you want to waste your time listening to a little chit of a girl bleating, that’s none of my concern. You there—what was your name, Christine?—don’t just sit there looking stupid, get up and show us this voice of yours."
Naturally this speech did nothing to boost the girl’s confidence, and she looked as if she might bolt from the stage. I lay a hand on her shoulder. "Don’t be afraid, child," I whispered to her, "he is with you." Although her eyes were wide and dark with fear I could see the words had comforted her. "You can do this," I assured. "You have been given the means to fly, little songbird, but nobody can spread your wings for you. It lies with you to determine if you will triumph."
* * * * * * * * * *
She triumphed.
The next several hours blurred as the gala was adjusted accordingly and Reyer (who was very glad that he might be spared the tedium of auditioning a new understudy) guided Christine through her new role. Much to the surprise of everyone save myself and perhaps Meg, Christine proved to be a rapid study and mastered the blocking with very little effort. But there were still uncertain whispers even as the curtain rose on the gala night: the girl had indeed demonstrated genius before her peers, but could she repeat the performance before a full house?
I would have loved to stay at her side until the moment came for her to take the stage, but I had another appointment that night. Shortly before the Hannibal sequence began, I made my way to Box Five.
Erik sat in his customary chair, hidden from the auditorium by the velvet draperies. He did not look up when I entered, but continued to gaze at the currently silent stage with an air of casual thoughtfulness. "Your girls were horrid tonight," he observed as I let the door click behind me.
"I only wish I could contradict you," I replied, keeping to the shadows at the back of the box. "That exhibition was beneath both my standards and their capabilities." After a moment of silence, I continued, "How much does Meg know?"
He appeared to have anticipated the question—hardly surprising, since he had to have witnessed the near-disaster of the dress rehearsal. "Simply that Christine is being tutored in voice and that her teacher, for purposes of his own, does not wish the fact to be commonly known. And since I know you’re going to ask," he added, casting a superior glance at me, "I permitted Christine to tell her because I did not wish to cause undue strain on their friendship. Your daughter has been invaluable to her." He spoke the last sentence with muted agony, and my heart trembled to hear it.
"I hope you do not have cause to regret it, then," I said quietly.
"I think I can depend on a Giry to be discreet."
"Indeed you can, but we are also stubborn women, and upon knowing half of a truth we will not be content until we have uncovered the whole."
He looked at me, his face a pattern of mask and shadow. "Is the truth so horrible, then, that you would wish your daughter ignorant of it?"
"Do not taunt me, Erik," I said. "I do not…regret what I have learned, but neither am I oblivious to the fact that such knowledge comes at a great risk—you reminded me of that years ago."
"So I did," he admitted. "It appears the new management will be harder to break in than I thought," he commented by way of changing the subject.
"Again, I’m forced to concede. This business with Christine does prove that they are not entirely indomitable. But they seem determined to hold ground, especially Firmin. The notion of parting with twenty thousand a month seems to make him ill, for some reason."
"He can certainly afford it—all the more so now that they’ve acquired a new patron for the Opera."
"Indeed?" I peered across the auditorium to the managers’ box. There was a third party sitting with Firmin and André, but at the distance I couldn’t make out any detail. "When did this happen?"
"Just recently. A young fellow, came into his fortune a few months ago when his elder brother took a fall from a horse. Perhaps I should ask for a raise," he mused as darkness fell over the house, hushing the muted roar of the audience below us.
Any doubts that the patronage might have had regarding the abilities of Carlotta’s new understudy were surely quelled the moment Christine took the stage. She glowed with the radiance and passion that I knew she must have possessed but never could quite uncover. As her crystal voice effortlessly filled the hall I felt a surge of warmth and matronly pride unlike any I had known for anyone save Meg. In that burst of exultation I realized how dear Christine had become to me, how much she remained a part of my life even though she was no longer part of my chorus. Whatever became of her, Christine would always be my girl, just as surely as Meg would always be my daughter.
I pulled my eyes from the stage to glance at Erik, and a dark pall fell over my joy. He had leaned forward in his chair as if drawn towards the woman onstage, his shoulders rigid and his hand gripping the velvet armrest fiercely. In the dim glow from the footlights I could see rapture and misery warring in his silver eyes and the smooth line of his chest heaving with tortured breaths. I recognized the tumult he endured—I had experienced it myself, in the cold dark of an empty fairground a lifetime ago.
I felt as if I were being strangled and disemboweled at the same time; the darkness of the box and the force of Erik’s passion seemed to suffocate me with their intensity. I left him without a word and without acknowledgment, stumbling out the door as if blind. Only when I was in the soft gaslight of the hall could I quell the demons that threatened my composure, tormenting me with unexplained sorrow and irrational anger. But my poise was long in returning, and by the time I had restored tranquillity to my soul the auditorium had erupted into a thunderous celebration of Christine’s victory.
Go on to Chapter 16
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