Page 55 of Angel's Mask

“I do, yes,” Christine replied, perhaps too shakily for Fontana’s comfort.

“If you botch this, that crowd out there will turn on you as fast as they fell for you,” Fontana said. “Don’t do this if you’re going to make us all look like fools.”

Her fear and doubt turned instantly to defiant steel through her spine, and Christine looked Fontana dead in the eyes. “I promise I know the piece, and I hope you’ll give it your best effort as well, unlike the last performance where you were a quarter tone flat on the finale.”

Rameau burst into laughter as Fontana’s face went from offended to resigned in a few beats. “I like you,” Rameau declared.

“Christine!” She turned to see Julianne trying to get to her through the crowd. She reached for her and found herself pulled into a hug as her friend laughed. “Youcansing!”

Christine laughed, withdrawing from the others as Julianne held onto her. “Did you think I couldn’t?”

“Not likethat!” Julianne crowed, then her face softened. “I think your father truly did send that angel of music to bless you.”

Christine couldn’t help the tears that returned to her eyes. She looked away, wishing she could feel her angel now and hating that she couldn’t tell her friend how true her words were. “I hope he’s proud.”

“I know he is,” Julianne whispered. Christine didn’t know if she meant her father or the Angel. Perhaps both.

“Daaé! Places for the trio!” Gabriel called. Christine gave Julianne’s hands one more squeeze. She looked around for Adèle as well and made eye contact long enough for the mezzo to blow her a grinning kiss. Rameau and Fontana led her back to the stage and instantly she felt her angel’s gaze upon her again. She didn’t want to disappoint any of them.

“Don’t think about if you might fail,”the memory of her angel’s voice just hours before echoed in her mind.“You’ve already lost that way. Think about how happy it makes you to sing. Think about the music and the love you put into it. Sing for that. Sing for me and you will astonish them all.”

The start of the scene was abrupt, like being thrown into the ocean. Méphistophélès was trying to win Marguerite’s soul on top of Faust’s, to have her come with them and escape prison. But she refused, finally seeing the devil and her lover for what they were.

“Come let us save her, we may still have time!” Rameau sang.

Christine stole herself and sang to heaven. “Dear God, protect me!” The way the duet swept in out of nowhere had always thrilled her the many times she had listened to this moment from the dark backstage. Even Carlotta couldn’t ruin it entirely. But now it was her turn, and she gave herself to it completely.

“Angels pure, angels radiant! Carry my soul up to heaven!” she sang, a beseeching anthem that rose over the chaos of Faust and the devil. She sang and felt as she only ever had in the most sublime moments alone with her own radiant angel. She sang out her soul, the crescendo rising to the sparkling chandelier.

Then suddenly it was over. She shrieked at the blood on her lover’s hand and fell into Fontana’s arms. Had it been a real staging, a baritone dressed as either the holy spirit or an angel (she was never sure) would have lifted her from the floor and placed her on the complex heavenly machinery to be carried to heaven as the chorus sang of her salvation. In this case, Fontana just held her through it.

“Well, that was a pleasant surprise,” Fontana whispered, and Christine cracked open one eye to see him smile. He helped her up as the audience began to applaud, not even waiting for the final chords. The people in front were the first to rise from their seats, then more. The noise of the ovation swept over Christine like a wave as she gave a shaky curtsey. She thought she was imagining it at first, but no, she could hear the word so many of them were repeating: “encore.”

“They want more,” Rameau said from beside her.

“Am I allowed?” Christine had no idea why she thought Rameau had any authority, but the man still grinned. He rushed from her side to consult with Bosarge, then back to her.

“It seems the orchestra is prepared for the Jewel Song if you are, my dear lady,” Rameau said. Fontana gave Christine an encouraging nod as the applause continued.

“Alright,” she said. There would never be another moment quite like this, she knew it. So, she had to seize it. It was what she had dreamed of and trained for. She was ready. She gave Bosarge a confident nod and the elder man smiled back, blue eyes bright.

The orchestra came in at the moment Marguerite opened the casket of jewels, gifts from the devil so Faust could win her and steal her honor.

“Oh God, what beautiful jewels!” she sang, and the audience fell silent, most of them returning to their seats. However, a few remained standing and to Christine’s shock, one man in the front row tossed her the bracelet off his wife’s wrist as she sang. “If only I dared to adorn myself for a moment!” she sang, her heart racing, laughing as she put on the pearl bracelet. Another man threw her another bracelet. Another, a necklace. Heavens, she hoped no one intended to throw earrings at her.

There was no mirror at the bottom of the casket to admire herself with, but she remembered how she looked earlier. Adorned and decorated, a true lady to the eyes of all. “Why not be coquettish?” Bosarge led the orchestra into the dancing, laughing melody of the aria proper and Christine let it carry her as well.

“Ah! I laugh to see myself so beautiful in this mirror,” she sang and indeed her whole soul was laughing. This was madness. Less than three months hence she had stood on this stage in a rags and sung to heaven in hope. And now here she was, sparkling like a jewel herself, with the nobles of Paris throwing treasure at her feet. “Is it you, Marguerite?”

Was she still herself now? Did it matter? The Angel of Music loved her. He had loved the girl in rags and come to her. Now the lady in satin sang for him on his stage. “No, it is not you anymore, it is not your face. It is the daughter of a king, whom all salute as she passes by.”

She looked out into the audience, first to the ghost’s box, imagining she could see his shadow, and then to the rapt faces across the loge and to the premiere boxes. And out of nowhere, like a dream, she swore she saw a familiar face. Her own noble suitor from so long ago. It had to be a dream...

“Oh, if he were here, he would see me and find me beautiful, like a true lady,” she sang, her heart straying for a moment to the memory of Raoul. And for that second, her voice faltered. No. She could not dream of that. If she did, just like Marguerite, she would lose her soul and all she cherished.

“Ah, I laugh to see myself,” she sang again, returning to the main refrain, turning her heart entirely to her protector and thinking wickedly to how he saw her with no adornments, with nothing. And how he commanded her, how he adored her with his voice and music. She wanted to be his entirely. Forever.

“Marguerite, it is no longer you, it is no longer your face,” she sang, her ribs pushing against her corset as she flew into the final phrases, her heart soaring with the notes. “No! It is the daughter of a king! Whom all salute as she passes by!” The high C rang out to the chandelier, and again the audience was on their feet before she even finished.

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