"How the hell do these wretched notes keep getting in here, Moncharmin? We've already had the locks changed twice! This blackmail is really getting quite beyond a joke. What does the damned lunatic want now?"
He doesn't appear to want anything for once. He merely informs us—as a passing courtesy, so he says—"
"Hah!"
"
.
. . that Christine Daae knows all Carlotta's roles."
"Daae…
Daae
? Isn't that the little Scandinavian girl? Good Lord, she's very young, barely out of the Conservatoire, if 1 remember rightly. Do you really think she's up to it?"
"I haven't a clue, dear fellow, I leave all that side to you. At least you know a top C when you hear it. I don't pretend to know the first thing about music, I'm only here because the minister likes my after-dinner conversation. Still, if Daae knows the roles, you'd better get her in here quickly. The curtain goes up in half an hour and I hardly think Carlotta or Mademoiselle What's-her-name will have their heads out of a bowl by then. We'll just have to make do for tonight and be prepared for a few refunds."
Refunds?
In the deep cavity beneath the floorboards of the manager's office I smile at their pathetic ignorance…
Five minutes to curtain time and though I am sick with nervousness I am deeply aware that I am not alone.
He is with me.
I feel his presence at the very core of my being; I am filled with his strength and glory. His music swells within my body like a beautiful, burgeoning child, and suddenly I'm not afraid anymore. The pen shakes in my hand even as I write these words, but I'm not afraid.
He has given me the wings of an angel and taught me how to fly.
I shall not disappoint him tonight!
What a triumph!
She has brought the entire auditorium to its feet. The full standing ovation has lasted almost ten minutes now and still their rapturous applause is ringing in my ears.
I can scarcely believe in the perfection of my creation. The sense of power and elation it gives me to see her standing out there on the stage, almost buried in flowers, is overwhelming… but there's something else, an emotion so utterly unfamiliar that I can hardly classify it.
Happiness? Is this how it feels, this tremendous surge of warmth and breathless euphoria?
They are helping her from the stage now. Poor child, she can hardly walk, she doesn't understand what's happened to her, it's all too much. She's looking desperately around her, as though somehow she expects to see me in this mo-nent of glory, to be rewarded by an angel's smile. But she sees nothing, nothing, and she knows in her heart that she never will.
Oh, Christine! If there were indeed a loving God in heaven it should be my arm around your waist now, my shoulder upon which you lean in your utter exhaustion.
But there is no God to hear my desperate prayer.
I turn from the sight of my triumph and slip away into the darkness whence I came. Beneath the mask my face is wet with tears.
Happiness is like the first blissful intoxication of morphine.
It doesn't last very long.
I saw the Vicomte de Chagny tonight in his brother's private box. I had made the inexcusable error of looking up and I was so startled when he raised his
hand to his lips, in acknowledgment, that I almost forgot to make my bow. Carlotta glared at me when I came off the stage; I had kept her waiting a second or two longer than normal before permitting her to take her final ovation, and she was furious.
"Stop courting the public, you scheming little minx!" she snapped as she swept past me. "You needn't think you're ever going to get the chance to sing in my place again!"
She's never forgiven me for that gala night. I think she's made trouble for the management, because neither Monsieur Richard nor Monsieur Moncharmin has so much as looked at me since. They seem to want to forget it ever happened. In spite of my triumph I haven't been offered any
better role. The Angel of Music has continued to teach me without comment and I dare not ask any questions. I can only think that I must have disappointed him after all, that he has decided I'm not ready for the world yet, for he never even said "Well done]" He wasn't there in my dressing room after the gala performance when I so badly needed to hear his praise… I went home and cried myself to sleep that night:
I was walking back to my dressing room when the Vicomte caught up with me. He was very breathless, as though he had run all the way down from the grand tier, and I felt myself blush as he caught my arm.
"Don't run away, Christine. You never used to be this shy when we were children. Why do you look at me these days as if you don't even recognize me?"
"Oh, Raoul." I sighed. "That's all in the past. We can't pretend to be equals anymore. If I'm seen with you in public now, people will say I'm a light woman. "
"Not in my hearing they won't!" he said fiercely.
The old, stubborn cleft was there in his chin still. He had the same look of undaunted determination that had once made him run fully dressed into the sea to rescue my new silk scarf, regardless of his governess's furious protest. Dear Raoul
—
he never cared what anyone thought even then. But now he was twenty, one of the most handsome and eligible young men in Trance, and his family would want to marry him to some rich and titled lady. It was no use my clinging to an old childhood romance
.
"We can't go back, " I said sadly. "We can't ever go back, Raoul. Those days are gone for good."
"Who wants to go back?" he demanded cheerfully. "I'm not asking you to play hide-and-seek anymore. I'm asking you to come to supper with me. "
"I can't!"
I was horrified. The Angel of Music had sternly forbidden all earthly distractions. No late nights, no admirers; I must be prepared to show my total dedication by renouncing all girlish pleasures. "Perfection demands sacrifice, you must be prepared to suffer self-denial, " he had once told me coldly.
Well, it had never been a sacrifice to obey him implicitly
—
until now
.
The cleft in Raoul's chin deepened as he frowned.
"You have another engagement?"
"Yes…" I said hastily, "yes… I'm afraid so. It's very awkward, Raoul, I really can't back out at the last minute."
He smiled nonchalantly, but I could see he was hurt. That famous Chagny pride was stung by my inexplicable attitude.
"Perhaps another evening, then. I'll remember to make an appointment first, shall I?"
"Raoul—"
"Oh, please, don't apologize. It was highly presumptuous of me to assume you would have nothing better-to do at a moment's notice."
He raised my hand to his lips in a cool gesture of civility and walked away without looking back. I longed to call after him, but I knew that I must not. The barriers between us were insurmountable now and no longer simply those of social class. I had taken vows before the Angel of Music, vows that were as sacred and binding as those of a nun. I was no longer a girl; I was a high priestess serving a chosen master. Raoul and I must forget each other; we had no future in either world.
I went to my room, powdered my flushed cheeks, and tried to regain my composure. I would go home and take a little
laudanum, make sure I slept so that I would come to my lesson in the morning fresh and alert, betraying no sign of my spiritual treachery.
As I replaced the powder puff on my dressing table the air around me was splintered by the awesome resonance of a voice that seemed to come straight from a tomb.
"I will not tolerate disobedience!" said the Angel of Music.
She has an admirer! How could I have supposed it would be otherwise?
The Vicomte de Chagny.
Raoul!
He's disgustingly young, good looking, fashionable, comes of ancient and distinguished lineage. Oh, I know all about him… I've made it my business to know, and regrettably I've no reason to suppose he's either a fool or a knave. He doesn't come to the Opera, like so many of our noble patrons, simply to run after every pretty chorus girl in sight. Apparently he doesn't run after anyone—except Christine! The sincerity of his admiration shines out of honest eyes that are nicely set in smooth and regular features. He watches her avidly through his opera glasses and stands to applaud whenever she comes forward to take her bow. He gives every evidence of being wildly in love and I can't think why his family haven't put a stop to it, as they surely should. Such ancient lineage ought to be my protection, but when I look at him I see a naive determination that fills me with dread. I remember that there are no parents alive to sternly remind him of his duty to their house, only a lax, indulgent elder brother whose authority might well be defied. If he sets his eyes on marriage I shall be utterly defeated.
More than once I've seen him come backstage pestering her, presuming on an old childhood friendship. Impudent, self-assured boy! The way she shyly smiles at him in an absent, unguarded moment makes me sick with rage. She knows my instructions, she fears my anger; and yet that involuntary smile, refusing to be repressed, betrays her time and time again.
I've tried to govern my unreasonable jealousy, but I can't. I know he's going to spoil everything, blunder into the delicate fabric of my dream and rip it to shreds. If he doesn't stop hanging around her soon, he's going to meet with a fatal accident, in spite of Nadir's vigilance.
Raoul de Chagny! I hate him!
I hate him for interfering like this, for making it necessary for me to show harshness to her.
I can't bear to hurt her, but I'm going to have to punish her now and it's all his fault, all his fault…
Raoul de Chagny, respect the fury of the Opera Ghost and take great care how you walk alone in his kingdom at night!
It's becoming harder and harder to deal with Raoul. I've tried to be cold with him, but he refuses to take my coldness seriously; and it's so difficult to keep saying no when I really want to say yes.
Tonight he was waiting in the wings with an armful of flowers when I came off the stage. There have been flowers from him in my dressing room every night this week, but I haven't dared to acknowledge them, even with a note of thanks. It was impossible now to ignore him or refuse to accept his token with everyone watching, but as soon as I could get away I ran to my room, tossed the flowers fearfully onto a chair, and laid my hot cheek against the cold mirror, like a guilty child awaiting punishment.
"You are late!" said the Angel's voice inside my head.
"Forgive me, " I whispered, "I was unavoidably detained—"
"So… the Vicomte de Chagny is unavoidable?"
There was ice in the voice now, a controlled and deadly anger that filled me with terror. The Angel knew everything… everything… it was impossible to keep secrets from him.
"He was waiting for me when I came off the stage, I did not ask him to be there. "
"You encourage him to pursue you."
"
No, " I stammered feverishly, "that isn't true. I sent him away and told him never to send me flowers again. Oh, please
—
please don't be angry. You know I cannot bear your anger
."
"The time for anger has passed, " announced the voice implacably. "You have ignored my warnings and now you will be punished. Until you cast this mortal weakness from your soul you will not hear my voice again. "
I fell to my knees before the mirror.
"He means nothing to me, I swear to you he means nothing. I will do anything you ask, I will never see him again if that is what you command… but don't leave me now… please don't leave me!"
The sudden silence was awesome.
I crumpled to the floor and began to weep. Again and again I begged for his forgiveness, but he did not answer me and my grief became wild and uncontrollable panic. The mirror showed me my demented reflection as I began to beat my hands frenziedly on the thick glass.
"Christine'."
His voice took hold of me like two mighty hands, no longer cold and remote, but gentle and strangely sad.
"Calm yourself, child… Be still now and I shall
give you one last chance to prove that you are worthy of my guidance."
"Anything. " I sobbed, only wanting to crawl inside that voice and hide forever. "Anything you ask."
"You may continue to see him here at the Opera as long as you treat him with cruel indifference. Speak to him coldly, reject his tokens, and make him the most miserable young man on this earth. When I see you make him suffer, I shall know that you have not betrayed your vows to me, that your heart is pure and entirely unsullied by earthly bondage."
I bowed my head in acknowledgment and his voice rewarded me with such ecstasy that, although I was aware of pain, there was no room in my head for bitterness or resentment.
If this was mindless enslavement and submission to a cruel master, I was beyond caring. I could not renounce my immortal guardian for the sake of a young man's smile.
I had been chosen by the Angel of Music.
I would serve and worship him until the last star was extinguished in the heavens.
I've won, for now, it seems; yet my conquest is a hollow victory that fills me with nothing but shamed despair.
I've taken her innocent, childish heart and cruelly twisted it into submission; and for every tear that has fallen down her pale cheeks I have shed a hundred in remorse.
This has to be the most wicked thing I've ever done in my life, but I can't stop… I can't let her go, I can't let him take her from me.
Oh, God, what a grim farce this has become!