Chapter 1
Christine Daae was the most talented singer of the Paris Opera, though no one knew it. No one heard the untapped power of her voice when she sang with the rest of the chorus. No one observed the fact that she could harmonize to perfection and sometimes even fill in for the shortcomings of the other chorus girls. No one noticed anything about Christine, she may as well have been invisible.
She always attempted to avoid the eye of the managers, Messieurs Moncharmin and Richard. They were anxious and short tempered, constantly barking orders at singers, dancers, and whoever else might have the misfortune to appear in their path. Moncharmin, a red-faced and blustering old thing, did not concern her so much. Rather, it was his colleague, Monsieur Richard, who intimidated her the most. He possessed a sharp nose and a harsh chin, as well as a cold way of speaking that made him sound permanently displeased. Whenever he came stalking about rehearsals, she made sure to keep her position in the back, securely out of sight.
She could tell from the comments of both managers that neither knew terribly much about Opera and nothing at all about music in general, but she did not doubt that, if they saw her, and if they took note of her clumsy steps, Richard would notice that she was not as good as the other dancers. He was never one to mince words and it did not take a particular genius in the field of ballet to notice her shortcomings.
It was not as though she did not have the potential, she was often told, she simply lacked the focus, poise, grace and everything else that made for passable dancing. Christine knew all of this. She was told regularly by the delicate but formidable Madame Giry, the ballet Mistress.
“Christine Daae! What do you call that? That was the clumsiest pirouette I’ve ever seen! Do it again.”
“Christine! Good gracious, girl, get your head out of the clouds and pay attention! You completely missed your cue! Everyone off the stage, and try again.”
Everyday it continued; a seemingly constant stream of mistakes and errors that Madame Giry never hesitated to correct. Not that Christine minded being informed daily that she was not very good. Her great ambition had never been to prance about the stage dressed as a water nymph or some sort of bird. She did not even like dancing, not really.
She knew from the first time she stepped on the stage that she would never have the natural talent of Meg Giry, Madame’s daughter and a pretty blonde who glided across the boards as though she could float, whose slender arms and perfectly pointed toes always gave the impression she wasn’t even trying.
No, Christine was well aware that her abilities lie elsewhere. Her father had been a gifted violinist who used to proudly display his daughter’s pretty voice at the traveling fairs and carnivals, before friends and neighbors of the village, essentially anyone who would listen. He taught her everything she knew about music, yet he died when she was thirteen.
She had not had a music lesson or sung before an audience since that terrible day. Yet, even if she had, there were still several critical obstacles that stood between Christine and a glorious career as a soprano and the most prominent of these was La Carlotta.
La Carlotta was the reigning diva of the Paris Opera, with her lover Luciano Caruso as the leading tenor. The Opera had seen many a haughty diva in its illustrious history, but Christine was certain that never before Carlotta had one had so many hysterical fits in such a short amount of time.
Christine could not recall a single day when the Italian soprano did not throw herself into a frenzy for one reason or another. It was whispered among the young ballet girls – Opera Rats as they were called – that Carlotta could muster tears for almost any occasion, no matter how minute.
Once, to Christine’s horror, she found herself as the source of Carlotta’s distress. It was the final day of rehearsals for the previous Opera, and Carlotta kept missing her mark on the stage. Normally this would not be such an issue, but this piece required the entire company to be on stage at once and even one member out of place could throw off the others.
She did this over and over, and as the dancers adjusted to accommodate her, something was bound to go wrong. It finally did when a dancer called Chloe was completing a grande jete and Carlotta stepped directly into the place she was supposed to finish the movement. Chloe managed to pivot to avoid the diva, but ran into Christine instead – and then, it was Christine who collided with Carlotta.
Christine apologized most heartily, even though a small part of her knew she should not have to as it was Carlotta’s fault, yet her efforts were in vain. Carlotta stormed from the stage, followed closely by her entourage of hair dressers and costumers, as well as the plump little lady who served no purpose that Christine could see other than to hold Carlotta’s fluffy black poodle.
Caruso mimicked his lover’s actions, retreating to his own dressing room, and the managers turned so ferociously upon poor Christine that she was certain she would be dismissed at once. It was not until Madame Giry insisted that the men be reasonable and recognize Carlotta’s behavior for exactly what it was, a diva fit thrown for no reason other than to remind everyone that she was a diva, that they relented and Christine’s breath came somewhat easier.
But still, it had been mortifying as Christine’s every flaw had been picked apart in that moment in an – apparently futile – attempt to appease Carlotta. The other dancers were mostly kind about the matter, as they knew that it could have been any of them who was so unlucky, but she could still sense what they felt. Of course it would be Christine; she should have been quicker, more graceful. They had all managed to avoid Carlotta, in more ways than one, why could Christine not adapt as well?
The embarrassment and fear of dismissal, however short-lived, was enough to bring tears to her eyes but Christine managed to wait until she returned to her meager little bed in the dormitories of the Opera House.
By then, however, even the relief of tears would not come. Instead, there was something rather hot and sour in her throat and her eyes felt heavy, but stubbornly dry. Crying would at least have been something of a release, but instead she was just quietly miserable.
In the years since her father died, nothing in her life had gone the way that she had hoped. She was a pitiful dancer, and nowhere near to fulfilling his dreams for her. She was beginning to think that those dreams would never come to reality, that her father had always looked upon her talents with the eyes and ears that only a loving parent can possess, that she never would be any good, and that she never really had been.
When it came to companions, the closest thing Christine had to a friend was Meg Giry. Extremely pretty and quick-witted, Meg was highly popular with the other members of the company. Christine looked upon Meg’s ability to make friends with envy.
She did not mind solitude, even as a child – raised almost in isolation with only her father and a few neighbors as well as the occasional visitor to their lovely seaside village – she kept very much to herself and seemed most content in her own company. But she had realized since coming here that she was in danger of slipping into a state of near invisibility.
It was one thing to enjoy the quiet of solitude, it was quite another to feel that she was so unworthy of note that if she were to disappear tomorrow, no one would remember that she had even been there.
No one actually disliked Christine, or at least they certainly did not go out of their way to torment her. The other dancers generally spoke of her as a “sweet girl,” when they thought of her, which admittedly was not often. There was simply nothing extraordinary about her, and most of the cast never gave her much attention.
Initially, Meg was commanded very harshly by her mother to befriend the lonely new dancer and Meg, somewhat begrudgingly, obeyed. Upon closer acquaintance, however, Meg developed a genuine camaraderie with Christine.
Christine was so easy to pity, after all. She had no family or friends or connections, no one to care what happened to her. Yet Meg did not feel as though she had taken a hopeless and moping bit of charity under her wing.
Christine was mostly indifferent to her pitiful circumstances, and seemed to endure them with a sort of quiet stoicism. But, more importantly, when Meg could convince her to speak, she was kind and clever and funny.
The moment it was more than just the two of them, however, Meg noticed that she became withdrawn. Even just a glimpse of spirit would have made her more popular, but Christine was not inclined to open to anyone but her – and even Meg could not say she truly knew Christine. She wasn’t sure anyone truly knew her, or would ever be given the opportunity to do so.
For about a month, Christine’s life continued in this fashion. An endless parade of rehearsals and fittings, performing and working. What she had initially believed would be so exciting and fresh actually became quite dull. What she had originally hoped would be a place full of companions and kindred spirits who loved music as passionately as she did, in reality made her feel increasingly alone and out of place.
It was beginning to seem to her that she would never find her place at the Opera Garnier, at least, until the series of events that all started on that day…
