Chapter Text
“Think of me, think of me fondly; when we’ve said goodbye! Remember me, every so often, please promise me you’ll try!” The shrill voice emitted from the lone figure that paraded about on the stage of the Opera Populaire. Notes echoed off of the stone and marble of the auditorium’s interior to fill the ears of the eager audience. The voice was not one that could be viewed as the greatest considering that it belonged to Madame Carlotta Guidicelli- the Opera Populaire’s esteemed leading soprano. The Vicomte was personally not a fan of it in the least. There he sat in the box, the managers and their companions seated beside him. He paid no heed to them, despite the taller ones' requests for him to move back and out of the way. Considering he was leaning over the railing- gloved hands gripping onto it to keep himself in place- he was kind of blocking the others' views. They weren’t missing much anyways, other than the leading lady overdoing what could vaguely be considered an interpretive dance. Although the voice itself that poured out from Madame Carlotta was displeasing, Raoul found the rest of the show to be quite spectacular; the bright lights, the intricate costumes, the carefully painted backdrops and thoroughly sculpted props. Given that this was his first time attending a performance at his opera house, he was more impressed than he assumed he would be.
“On that day, that not so distant day; when you are far away and free! If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me…!” The Vicomte sank his head towards his shoulders in a pained cringe, the piercing high note that sparked from the singer’s flair causing him quite a bit of discomfort. Silently, he prayed for her solo to be done even though it had just started. He found it quite odd that his prayers had been answered, watching as the grand drapes slid across the stage before coming to a stop once both curtains had met. No longer was Madame Carlotta front and centre, but now hidden behind the wall of red. Her singing had turned into angry and confused screams in an instant- muffled, thankfully. Raoul looked over his shoulder at Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin, hoping for an answer as to why the show had ended in the midst of the final song, however they seemed equally as confused. In fact, nobody seemed to have an answer as to the mysterious and sudden end of the show. The puzzled faces in the audience looked at each other, inconsistent and unsure applause coming from them.
Was that meant to happen? Was the show ending before the finale supposed to represent something? A deeper meaning, perhaps? No, Raoul was looking too far into this. Besides if it was supposed to then Madame Carlotta would not be screaming her head off backstage.
“Monsiuers, uh… was that part of the show?” He questioned with a raise of his brow, earning a head shake and annoyed sigh from the shorter manager.
“Absolutely not!” Firmin exclaimed in a fit of irritation. It was only day one of running the opera house and the manager was positive he was going to down his entire flask of whiskey before tomorrow. “Oh, come along, we must resolve this before the patrons begin to leave!” The angered man got to his feet and stormed out of the box without another word or explanation about what could have occurred to cause that. He was followed by his colleague who was anxiously muttering to himself about… absurd things that Raoul must have been mishearing. A phantom? He must have definitely misheard it. Glancing to the two women who accompanied the duo, the young man gave them a respectful nod before he stood and hurried after Andre and Firmin. As they descended downwards towards the door that led into the backstage, the volume of maddened Italian shouts increased. When the door was opened it was like trumpets blaring into Raoul’s ears. Carlotta was pacing around backstage, a stout man who he recognized as an actor from the show beside her. He was in the playbill, wasn’t he? Ah, what was his name? Ubaldo Piangi, I believe? The man who was now deemed as Piangi- whether that be his real name or not- was hushing the shaken woman, his hands out as he nodded and spoke to her in a foriegn language.
“I have told you all! Things do happen here!” Furious, she threw the scarf prop from her costume onto the floor and stomped her heel onto it, brushing her hand down her dress to flatten it a bit more.
“What on earth are you on about, Madame?” Andre asked as he approached her, feeling the eyes of the dancers in the distance trained unto him.
“It is that phantom!” There was gasps when the name was spoken, people uttering amongst themselves in near disbelief that Carlotta would even dare to speak of him.
“A phantom? Really? I can assure you, there is no such thing as ghosts , it was most likely just some stagehand who fumbled with the ropes. Like the Buquet fellow from the other day.” Firmin sneered. How could he possibly work with a bunch of actors that believed in the paranormal?
“It has never been some silly little stagehand! It is that- that- scarafaggio! ” The melodramatic woman rotated herself away from the managers and the Vicomte, her arms crossing over her chest as she continued to mutter and hiss curses beneath her breath. Piangi rested a hand on her shoulder and gave the others a disappointed frown as he resumed speaking to her to calm her down. Raoul, meanwhile, hadn’t a clue what was going on. They had mentioned a ghost? Was this opera house haunted?
“May I ask whom Madame Guidicelli is speaking of?” An uncomfortable silence overfell them as the distant gazes of the dancers grouped to the side turned to him.
“Oh, do not get them started…” Andre muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, swiftly making his way towards the curtains so he could go explain to the audience how this was nothing more than a technical issue and that they will be back in just a moment.
“The… Phantom of the Opera, sir! Have you never heard of him?” A hesitant voice came from the crowd of ballerinas. When Raoul spun his head to search for the source of the voice he found that it came from a short, blonde woman still clothed in her costume for the performance. Her face was a pale white, an expression of fright clear on her face. “They say he is a vengeful spirit that has haunted the opera house since it was built. He serves no purpose other than to torment us, sir!” The woman cried with a shake of her head and an anxious shudder. Raoul found himself intrigued and perhaps would have asked more questions had it not been for the sound of something heavy smacking against the wood floor. With a flinch the Vicomte turned just in time to observe an older woman dressed in all black approach the group of now fretful dancers.
“Meg Giry, what have I told you about speaking on this topic?” She hissed, the younger woman looking down at her own outstretched foot.
“But mother-”
“No buts. There is still a show going on, is there not? All of you, compose yourselves. I have much to say about your performance afterwards.” There were collective groans from the women, which earned another hard smack on the ground with the cane. That was enough to set them straight and disband back to where they were supposed to be backstage. The blonde- who Raoul had learned went by the name Meg- lingered for a minute and gave the man a nervous look before rushing off after her peers.
“As for you, Madame Carlotta, I suggest you prepare for your number.” The aged woman said to the still blabbering singer who shook her head in refusal.
“Why should I even bother? He will close the curtains on me again!” The reminder of such an incident drew a snicker from Raoul, causing Carlotta and her companion to turn their heads and give him a deathly glare.
“What are you laughing at, ragazzino viziato?” Italian was not a language Raoul understood but based on the tone of her voice and exasperated look on her face he figured it was an insult. “Your place is up in your little box, not on the stage!” Carlotta exclaimed. In a theatrical movement, she faced away and marched back onto the stage. Sure she was hesitant to sing, the feeling that her performance was going to be ruined persisting in her mind.
“Come along, Monsieur Vicomte, we mustn’t intrude anymore.” Andre urged as he opened the door leading back to the stairwell, nodding for Firmin and Raoul to follow along. So much had been learned in so little time: a phantom that’s been there for years, centuries even; a secret was being kept by the choreographer of the corps de ballet, one that was so painfully obvious yet hidden right beneath their noses. Raoul felt a desire to understand it all- who was this phantom? Was he really a ghost? Why did he torment people so often? Gah! All of these thoughts overwhelmed his mind.
Once they had reached their respective box he seated himself, this time remaining away from the railing to allow the managers a full view of the show that had now continued. Surprisingly it went without any trouble and the crowd erupted into thunderous applause mixed with the snapping of fingers once the performance was over, cheers and praise causing Carlotta to beam beneath the spotlight. Raoul found himself too distracted by his own thoughts to give a sincere acclamation and instead clapped half-heartedly.
I wonder if this supposed phantom is here right now? Perhaps he is up in the rafters? Or maybe… maybe he is standing directly behind us? The thought sent chills down his spine as he turned his head to look behind him, being met with nothing but a door that led to the hallway. Come now, don’t be a fool. Believing in ghosts is something only children do.
"Monsieur De Chagny, are you quite alright?” Andre’s voice cut through his thoughts and brought him out of the trance-like state he had been in. He stared at him blankly, eyes widened. Clearing his throat, he nodded and chuckled nervously.
“Ah, yes, I apologize. I am alright.”
“In that case, would you wish to accompany us?”
“I am afraid I may have to pass on that for tonight…” With a gentle scrape of the chair he rose to his feet and adjusted the bottom of his jacket, bowing his head to bid the gentlemen adieu. “However, do enjoy your night.” He added politely with a smile before reaching for the door and opening it. Before he was able to leave he was questioned one more time, this time by Firmin.
“Will we be seeing you tomorrow, Vicomte?” Raoul hesitated before he nodded and finally made his leave. There was no way he could not come back to this enigma of a place. Besides he had quite enjoyed the show excluding Carlotta’s ear-piercing singing.
Taking in a breath of fresh air when he reached outside was refreshing to Raoul, even though the sky had darkened since he had last seen it and the wind had picked up. The street lamps illuminated the horse-drawn coach that was parked up against the stone sidewalk. He approached it and got inside, gloved hand trailing along the wood interior before he seated himself and shut the door. As the carriage rumbled and began to draw away from the Opera Populaire, Raoul found his eyes peering at the grand building that contained so much he had yet to find out.
Tomorrow I will come and find that young Meg Giry, surely she will help me to find the answers I seek.