"Certainly," I replied aloud, while thinking Lefčvre, the day you limit yourself to one word is the day I paint my skin and live with the natives in Africa.
"I understand you’ve taken it upon yourself to discipline Mlle. St. Denis," he continued, affecting a pompous tone.
"Of course I have. The girl is disruptive, vicious, and rude. If I am to instruct these dancers with any amount of success I must make it clear that such behavior will not be tolerated."
He lifted his hand in what he apparently thought was a consoling gesture. "Naturally I agree with you, but…I think it would be best if you waived the punishment."
"I beg your pardon?" If the suggestion hadn’t been so ludicrous, I might have laughed at his contradictory statement.
"Violette’s patron is a very powerful man, and he can be a great benefit to the Opera. And he has made it perfectly clear he would be quite unhappy if the girl endured any unpleasantness."
"I don’t care if her patron is the Prince of Wales," I snapped. "The ballet chorus is my responsibility and I must act as I see fit."
"Be that as it may," he declared, "I have already informed Violette that she will not be required to serve her punishment."
It was becoming exceedingly difficult to contain my rage. "You went over my head?"
"It is my prerogative…the management of this company—"
"Oh shut up, you arrogant fool!" I growled, stunning him with my passion. "You haven’t had any real authority here for years, and if you ask me that’s all for the better."
He threw his hands up. "I try to do what’s best for the Opera, and all I get is ridicule from every side. At least I’ll finally have some peace when I—" he clamped his mouth on the next word, but I knew what it would be.
"When you retire?"
The heavy folds of his face slumped with shock. "You theatre people are too taken in by idle rumors," he said in an attempt at a casual dismissal. But Lefčvre was never very good at deception, and Philippe’s offhand comment was confirmed.
"And you underestimate us," I told him, turning away and gliding down the hallway to my class.
Violette greeted me with a superior smile as I entered, but I would not give her the pleasure of seeing my fury. Instead I surveyed the rest of the chorus, looking for signs of recent altercations. My gaze lingered when it came to Christine—she seemed strangely tranquil today, for some reason. The sight placated me, and I proceeded with the rehearsal.
But my contentment was short-lived. During an exercise I turned to correct one girl, and no sooner had I done so than a wail of dismay emerged behind me. I whirled instinctively to see Christine sprawled in an ungainly position on the floor, clutching her ankle.
Meg was at her side in a second, and I followed soon after. With gentle hands I probed the offending limb for swollen joints. "Does this hurt?" I inquired, rotating her foot in its socket.
"No," she breathed. "I think I just twisted it, is all."
Meg helped her to her feet, and relief swept over me when I saw her stand without agony. "You’ll be fine," I affirmed. "Walk about for a few minutes and the pain should subside."
"You should be more careful." That was Violette, with malice in her voice, and it had not escaped my attention that Christine’s collapse happened directly in front of her. I made no mention of it, but inside anger steeled into determination. Patron or no patron, I will not have this girl in my chorus! Either she goes, or I do…and let Lefčvre deal with the resulting mess if he can.
As it turned out, there was no need for an ultimatum. When I strode into the manager’s office that afternoon, Lefčvre met me in a state of agitation. "There you are!" he said when I entered. "Why are you never around when I need you? This is an emergency!"
"I wasn’t aware I was needed…what emergency?" I queried.
"Violette—she’s left the company! Tore up her contract right in front of my face and fled out the door as if the devil were at her heels! The Marquis…what am I going to tell the Marquis?"
"Tell him the truth. If he’s anything like most the other so-called nobility around here, he’ll find a replacement soon enough," I remarked acidly.
"But tonight’s performance—"
"That’s what understudies are for," I said over my shoulder as I left.
I easily determined the cause of this unexpected development, but I thought little of it. Violette had been a thorn in the collective side of the ballet chorus for better than a year, causing dissension among the girls and caring only for her own amusement. Erik had visited his own form of retribution on her several times before (the most amusing incident involved a small snake in her dress), and now that he’d finally succeeded in resolving the problem I did not question his motivation. It never occurred to me that he had any interests in the matter beyond the quality of "his" opera company. After all, he had spent six years watching the lovely, the talented, and the wealthy without expressing anything more than aesthetic appreciation. There was no reason to believe that had changed…
* * * * * * * * * *
I learned the truth about a week later.
It was my custom to make an occasional tour of the dressing rooms in the morning, delivering announcements and critiques when necessary. Christine’s room, being apart from the rest of the chorus, was the last stop on my list. I approached her suite in the small, musty corridor and was pleasantly surprised to hear her voice tracing the methodical notes of a warm-up exercise. Perhaps she hasn’t entirely given up on her childhood dreams, I thought. But what happened next riveted me with shock.
"Much better." Erik’s voice, unmistakable and unexpected, froze my hand in the act of knocking and caused me to flatten against the wall, listening into the room intently. "Do you understand the difference from what you were doing before?"
"Yes…the sound feels less encumbered this way," Christine replied in a tone warm with admiration. "I wonder why M. duChampes didn’t try to teach it to me."
"Because the idea never entered his thick skull," he stated scornfully. "The staff of the Conservatoire is unable to grasp the truth that each voice is unique, and therefore different techniques must be applied to different singers. M. duChampes was trying to force your voice into a mold that was not suited for it, and when he failed assumed in his arrogance that the fault was yours, not his. He was trying to make you into another Carlotta—which is a grievous sin in itself—and never noticed that he had a far rarer talent in his care." Apparently Christine must have made some show of modesty, for he continued, "You don’t believe me?"
"I know you would not lie to me," she began, "and I know I must have faith in you. But I am only human, and part of me can’t help but feel that a world that admires women like Carlotta so much will be reluctant to pay much attention to someone as dissimilar to her as I am."
"Trust me," his voice purred, and I felt the compelling, masterful sounds reverberate in the deepest parts of my self. "I will not allow your instruction to be in vain. The world is blind to your glory, but one day soon we will open their eyes, and you shall know triumph such that la Carlotta only dreams of. The heart of Europe will be yours….only give me your faith, and your devotion."
"I will, Angel," she said in a captivated accent.
Angel? Christine’s Angel of Music, no doubt…but how had she come to call Erik by the title? He couldn’t possibly have persuaded Christine that he was her childhood hero incarnate. His voice was heavenly enough, it was true, but even with the mask his macabre aura was more likely to put one in mind of the Angel of Death. Christine would have doubted the tale the moment she laid eyes on him, unless…no, he wouldn’t dare…
But even as I attempted to convince myself of Erik’s innocence, I knew with a sinking feeling I had the solution. Christine did not question Erik’s strange countenance because she hadn’t seen him.
It was too perfect. The trick of manifesting as a disembodied spirit was a simple thing for one with Erik’s talents. Unbound from physical appearance, he could easily use his singular voice to portray a holy messenger. And Christine would readily accept the ruse, for who among us does not believe that the sight of heavenly glory would blind mortal eyes? Any suspicions that survived her profound need for spiritual aid would be soothed away effortlessly by the seductive power of that exquisite tenor.
Anger and disappointment threatened to erupt like a volcano in me as I stormed back to my office. How dare he deceive the child in this wicked manner? What on earth could have persuaded him to take ruthless advantage of a lonely girl who had misery enough as it was? I knew the catalogue of Erik’s sins by rote—thievery, murder, and vengeful malice—but this was surely the most horrible thing he’d done in his life…
Was it? Confusion tempered the rage as I found myself considering the opposite angle. If there was anyone in need of divine guidance, even by proxy, it was Christine. The death of her father had crippled her mentally and emotionally, and without the aid of a confident, reassuring hand she would never free herself from that misery. And unscrupulous as Erik was, I couldn’t believe that he undertook this subterfuge out of malevolence. He had a peculiar empathy for lonely, mistreated people like Christine; whatever the moral implications of his behavior, his intentions must be honorable…or so I tried to convince myself. Yet some quiet and undeniable part of me whispered, But she is a very beautiful young woman, and whatever Erik may pretend or believe, he is only a man…
I mulled over the situation endlessly, thrown between wrath and commiseration, until the hour came to confront my class. Upon entering the studio, my dissatisfaction with the whole predicament felt highly justified. "Does anyone know where Christine is?" I demanded to the room.
None of them did, of course, and it wasn’t as though I needed an answer. But it would have looked very unusual if I didn’t inquire after a truant dancer. There was enough suspicion that Christine was a favorite of mine—though all overt cruelty towards her had ended with Violette’s sudden departure—and I was not about to give those tales any credence. Which is why I had to force myself to show coldness to Christine when she arrived ten minutes into the lesson.
She blundered in clumsily, clearly conscious of her transgression, and the effect of my icy stare nearly drew tears to her cheek. "Mlle. Daaé, I will see you after class," was all I said before returning to the exercise.
She turned chalk-white at the words, but though I longed to comfort her I could not afford to show sympathy—not yet, not while all the other girls were watching. And certainly not before I decided what to do about this new revelation…
I didn’t make that decision until she was standing in my office after the lesson, trembling like a sapling and pale with remorse. "I’m so sorry!" she began as soon as I shut the door. "I didn’t mean to be so late, it won’t happen again…"
"Christine," I took a deep breath and plunged in, "please tell your Angel for me that although I have no doubts you will excel as he believes, until that time you still have obligations to me and to the ballet chorus, and I expect them to be fulfilled."
She gasped, burning bright red for a moment before plunging back into a terrified pallor. "How--?"
I gave an enigmatic smile. "Let’s just say that having been in the theatre for as long as I have, I’ve become accustomed to seeing and hearing things most men would dismiss as mere fancy." Which was true enough.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, shaking with horror. "Nobody’s supposed to know," she whispered, "he’ll be furious with me—"
"And why on earth should he be, child?" I asked gently. "You’ve broken no interdiction; I discovered this of my own accord…and entirely by accident." By now I was not only speaking for her benefit but for my own as well, on the very likely chance that someone was listening to our discourse.
"Please, you must promise not to tell another soul! He’s been very strict on the matter, I’m not supposed to speak to anyone about it, and anyway they’d think I’m mad if I did…"
"Christine, calm yourself." At times like these I envied Erik’s innate ability to completely command a person’s attention with a few short words, but I managed to get Christine to curb her hysteria. "Do you think I could keep the respect and trust of my dancers if I went about repeating every bit of gossip that fell on my ears? I assure you, your secret is quite safe with me."
"Do you swear it?" she pressed.
I brought my hand to the silver crucifix at my throat. "On the Holy Cross," I vowed, and the relaxation of her previously tense features reassured me that I had made the right decision. Good fortune yearns to be heard as well as bad; it would do the child good to have someone to confide her secret in. And no doubt Christine had longed for reassurance that the miracle was real, that she did not suffer from delusions or dementia…
Indeed, she said almost as much to me that day. "I’m half afraid I’ll wake up and find it nothing more than a dream," she confessed. "Sometimes I think it would be more logical that way, that there’s no chance in this world I could have ever attracted his attention…"
"Never believe that," I insisted. "I can say with absolute certainty that he would have never revealed himself to you if you were unworthy." I studied her face. "How do you feel?"
"I can scarce believe it." If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn she really had experienced a spiritual revelation. "Was I alive before now? No, how could I have been? How can anyone be alive, when they have not felt such joy?"
I lay a motherly kiss on her forehead. "You should go home and rest," I urged. "It’s now doubly important for you to take proper care of yourself."
"Yes, of course," she murmured distantly, still caught in that ecstasy. "Good day, Madame, and thank you…" She nearly floated as she left the room.
"Nicely done."
I turned to see Erik leaning against the wall with a casual demeanor that didn’t fool me for an instant. "You might have been a little kinder to the girl in class," he continued, the shadow of menace evident behind the polished note in his voice.
"It is not my duty to be kind in a class," I retorted, not bothering to conceal my irritation, "but to see that the lesson is carried out in the most effective and efficient manner possible."
He sighed wearily. "I’m afraid I owe you an apology," he admitted with a rare show of humility. "She made quite a lot of progress today, and I was reluctant to lose the momentum."
The confession almost appeased me—almost. "For her sake, I would request you be more careful in the future," I appealed. "Even the suspicion of partiality is enough to tear a chorus apart, and I cannot afford to be lenient, even for you."
"I understand." He lifted his head out of shadow, his eyes unreadable as the mask over his face. "You’re displeased with me," he accused.
"Does it matter if I am?"
"Don’t get surly; it’s unattractive," he snapped back. "And I can’t see why you’re so annoyed. You’ve never complained about my interference in the chorus before."
"With spiteful girls, nasty creatures like Violette who do nothing but cause trouble—which, by the way, I never did thank you for. But Christine…why, Erik? Whatever induced you to insinuate yourself into the girl’s life in such an intimate manner?"
"You’ve overstepped your bounds enough in this affair; do not presume further." Authority resonated in his voice, but the muscles beneath that dark cloak rippled with nervous tension. "My business with Christine Daaé is none of your concern."
"Isn’t it?" I met his gaze steadily. "These dancers are precious to me; you must know that by now. Sometimes it seems as if I have several dozen daughters, instead of one. Do you think I will close my eyes while you manipulate the child to some undetermined—and for all I know, malicious—end?"
The storm of his eyes raged in fury and shame. "You don’t honestly believe I’m capable—"
"I’m never sure what you’re capable of, good or ill." I admitted sadly.
He stared at me with resentment so great I half expected him to destroy me with the sheer magnitude of it. Then with the unpredictable swiftness of the lightning it vanished, and his shoulders heaved with a sad breath that conceded my victory.
"The girl is wasted in the ballet chorus." He held up a hand to my outraged expression. "Calm yourself; I’m not saying that as a slight to your art. But surely you’ve realized that Christine’s talent for it is average at best. Even should she exert herself to the fullest, she can never be anything more than a faceless member of the corps. But her voice—" His words vibrated with the same sort of rapture I’d seen in Christine’s eyes moments before. "A voice such as that comes but once in a generation, if we are fortunate. With time and effort, she will easily outstrip Carlotta and the Swedish Nightingale. But those fools in the Conservatore would never see that; they would leave her genius buried and unrecognized and that is a crime I cannot condone. Her voice belongs to the world, it deserves to be heard—and it will be heard, Madame, even if I have to move earth and Heaven and Hell to make it so."
There was something in his eyes, and in his voice—something powerful and intense that I had never encountered in him before, something that both alarmed and excited me. "Then…it’s only her voice that interests you, and nothing more?" I prodded.
"Nothing more than that." But his words came too hastily, his eyes flickered and his limbs strained with fear as he confronted a truth that even he was unwilling to acknowledge. And I knew he lied.
"I see." Compassion, misery, and dread were rising against me all at once, threatening my equanimity. "Erik, will you hear some advice? Be very careful…matters such as these are like crystal: beautiful, brilliant, and covered with many shimmering facets, but all too easily broken into wounding shards if one is not cautious."
"I appreciate your concern, but there is no need for it." I’m not sure if he was trying to convince himself or me. "You know I mean the girl no harm."
Yes, I knew that. Yet after he left I remained sitting with my arms wrapped around me, trembling with emotions I couldn’t bear to examine.
How could I tell him it wasn’t Christine alone for whom I feared?
Go on to Chapter 13
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