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Rossignol	By : Savaial Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 5240 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rossignol
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 20
- 21-Ch 21
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 25-Ch 25
- 26-Ch 26
- 27-Ch 27
- 28-Ch 28
- 29-Ch 29
- 30-30- Epilogue
- 5
- 6
- 7
Celeste fell asleep on the couch by the time the Chagny family left on their errands. I stared down at her, my gaze lingering on a scrap of paper in her hand. On it was the single sentence; I’ve hidden nothing from you Raoul, you merely see me with different eyes.

Dried tears stiffened her cheeks. She held her arm awkwardly, a sign that her morphine had worn off. I prepared a dose and slid the needle in her vein so deftly she did not awaken. I put her back in her bed, marveling at how light she was. If possible she weighed even less than Christine. She needed to eat soon.

I lost track of time at my piano. Before I knew it Raoul and Christine returned, loaded down with packages. Raoul shot me a look that told me he'd been forced to know the main purpose of their trip, and he wondered if I knew as well. I shrugged inwardly. Simple biology should not reduce grown men to quivering heaps of emotion. I felt glad he had not seen my embarrassment.

He stood beside the piano awkwardly as Christine made her delivery, unsure of just what he ought to be doing. I decided to be generous. I knew how he felt, after all.

"Do you play Vicomte?"

He started. I obviously jerked him out of some inward journey.

"No, I am a musical cripple," he answered at last, and somewhat ruefully. "My parents did not see a need for instructing me and I confess I never pursued it after they were gone. I limit myself to being a patron of the opera."

"Hm. Everyone has some musical talent," I countered. "Have you ever tried to sing?"

Again he assumed an air of chagrin.

"No. I can attempt the national hymn when it is required, but I don't try very loudly, if you get my meaning."

I smiled invisibly. The Vicomte had a light voice; no doubt he could fake participation well enough.

"I hope you at least take pleasure in Christine's instrument," I said with a touch of severity, "She worked very hard to gain her golden throat. It would anger me to think she did not have at least an audience of one."

"Of course I enjoy her singing," Raoul protested warmly, "I encourage her to sing. She is the one who decided she would not sing publicly. I tried to convince her I did not care if she continued here, but she said she...” He stopped and looked at me hard. "She said she felt like she would mock your memory. Perhaps she'll try again now that we know you aren't dead."

"I hope so," I said mildly, somewhat warm myself for Christine's courtesy, but not in the same way as the Vicomte. It rather felt good to know my “death” had affected at least one person! "You might try to sing with her, at least at home. She loves to sing and she obviously loves you, what a gift it would be for her to have these two loves united."

"I could never." Raoul cast a panicked look toward the bedroom, slightly hunching over as if he would need to flee at any moment. "Keep your voice down for God's sake monsieur; don't encourage her to pester me."

Now I was very amused. Christine wanted him to sing and he felt afraid to. I probably ruined any chance of his learning to sing simply by example. No doubt he felt great reluctance to have Christine comparing his voice to mine. Delicious. He hadn't yet learned a universal truth. No voice ever sounded so beautiful than the voice of one's true love. I knew this for a fact.

"So," I said sotto-voice, humoring his little fears, "she asked you. I would do it if I were you, even if I couldn't sing."

"You have no idea what it's like, so don't make such a claim,” Raoul grumbled. "I'm completely without talent and mostly without patience, and I believe both are needed to learn how to sing."

"If you know nothing of music, then how do you know you're untalented?" I asked smoothly, flipping a few pages of sheet music onto the tray. This was rather fun, this light baiting. Raoul's discomfiture went a long way in putting some flesh back on my bones. God only knew he'd extracted his fair share. "Let me hear you sing middle c." I struck the key. The Vicomte paled.

"You are joking," he muttered, more in threat than disbelief. "Stop that, she'll know what we're doing."

"So what if she does, what does it matter?" I asked. "Are you afraid of her?"

"No!" His voice wavered. He heard it and visibly calmed himself. "No, monsieur, no. I will not do it. My life would be complicated in the extreme if I branched my interests into her field of expertise."

"She isn't an expert," I replied, striking middle c again. "If she were an expert she wouldn't have needed me, now would she?" I pinged the key three more times, watching with delight as Raoul de Chagny whitened with each hit. "Do at least try, won't you? Imagine Christine's happiness."

"No, I beg you to stop banging on that infernal piano!" He seemed quite emotional now. An idea struck me.

"Sing the first few lines of the kyrie, in front of Christine, and I'll teach your sister how to speak," I challenged. He wouldn't do it of course, he believed Celeste mentally incompetent and he feared humiliating himself too much. The boy had too much pride.

As my words died the bedroom door opened and the object of his fear stepped out. Her face was drawn into an expression of confusion. I began the kyrie accompaniment with a smile.

"Kyrie, rex genitor ingenite, vera essentia, eleyson.
Kyrie, luminis fons rerumque conditor, eleyson.
Kyrie, qui nos tuæ imaginis signasti specie, eleyson."

I almost swallowed my own tongue. Not only had the Vicomte called my little bluff, he actually had a fairly decent singing voice. Christine halted in her tracks to hear him, her face reflecting astonished joy.

"Christe, Dei forma humana particeps, eleyson.
Christe, lux oriens per quem sunt omnia, eleyson.
Christe, qui perfecta es sapientia, eleyson."

She joined him, their voices blended together rather well. I continued to play, shaking my head in amazement.

"Kyrie, spiritus vivifice, vitæ vis, eleyson.
Kyrie, utriqusque vapor in quo cuncta, eleyson.
Kyrie, expurgator scelerum et largitor gratitæ; quæsumus propter nostrasoffensas noli nos relinquere, O consolator dolentis animæ, eleyson."

Their voices died together. I sighed, acknowledging defeat on many and varied levels. Christine came rushing forward, throwing her arms around the Vicomte.

Oh Consoler of the sorrowing soul, indeed.

It wasn't a fair bet, which consoled me by itself a little.

"Oh Raoul, is Erik teaching you how to sing?" Her hope threatened to set her eyes on fire.

Nauseating.

As if I would.

"No dear, he just wanted to know if I could."

An emphasis on the word he.

And you can't.

"Oh." Her disappointment was such that I found myself wanting to instruct the boy. "Well, at least I got to hear you," she said wistfully.

"Yes, now I can die in peace." Raoul joked, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

"I would be delighted to give you voice instruction, Vicomte," I said, feeling perfectly safe with this bluff. "We could have our sessions when you come to visit your sister."

Christine gave a muted squeal of glee, holding her hands up to her mouth in rapturous astonishment. In that moment I realized the depth of my error. The Vicomte and I shared a common trait; neither one of us could deny Christine anything. Raoul would take me up on my offer just to keep from disappointing her.

He looked at me with murder in his eyes.

"Oh. Well. If Monsieur Phantom has the time in his busy schedule," he said frostily, "How could I refuse the instruction of a maestro?"

I bowed stiffly. This situation could yet be salvaged. "Very well. Christine knows all the rules for how you must treat your vocal chords; she can govern you at home."

Again Christine made a little happy noise. No doubt it pleased her to be part of her husband’s lessons. "On your next visit we will begin the scales," I said. "You must not drink alcohol or attempt to talk over a hoarse throat."

"I drink a brandy every evening before bed,” Raoul commented irritably, in the tone of one who knows he is beaten.

"You will stop. If you must drink alcohol, make it wine and no more than once each day. You are forbidden to imbibe in liquor; it dries out the body and the throat in particular."

"He's perfectly right Raoul, no more brandy," Christine chimed in, shooting me a dazzling smile. "You'll notice I never drink alcohol, except on special occasions."

I smiled.

The Vicomte might get the honor of my teaching, unworthy for it as he was, but he would pay. I would make him miserable here and Christine would watch him like a hawk at home.

I'd never attempted to teach a man to sing, but it surely wouldn't be much different from teaching a woman. And Raoul thought I was tough on Christine! Well, I would teach him some discipline. I owned him now, from his voice to his eager wife to his invalid sister. The very idea made me warm from my head to my feet.

"Will I be fit for the opera too when you are done with me?" Raoul asked hatefully, ignoring Christine's look of disapproval. I vowed to myself that I would make him perfect if it killed both of us.

"Vicomte, when I am finished with you....” I stopped, baiting him deliberately. "The world will wonder where you have been hiding."
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Rossignol