Chapter 1
The next morning I had been awoken rather early to the nervous cries of Raoul.
"Christine, Christine!" he cried, shaking my shoulders nervously, "Are you alright?"
I instantly shot up awake. I looked into his blue eyes swimming with tears and embraced him tightly for reassurance. I immediately began to ask questions.
"What happened? What did I do?"
"Oh Christine…" he whispered, "I was so scared. I thought something had gone terribly wrong. I was about to leave for my business, and then you started yelling out his name!"
"Who Erik?" He couldn't have heard all of it? Could he?
"Well, yes. You were shaking and cold, and I thought that you had a nightmare. Are you okay? What happened?"
"It was nothing, I'm fine, dear." I forced a smile at Raoul, hoping that he would buy my smile. He leaned closer towards me and whispered to me in a serious tone, as if I was a child who had done a blasphemous deed and was lying about it.
"Did it have anything to do with him?"
I felt terrible having to lie to Raoul. This wasn't the first time I had had a dream like that. When we were little, he was one of the only people that I could confide in. Now, I feel torn between keeping my dreams a secret, and confiding in him once again, and therefore breaking his heart. I couldn't do that.
"No, no, of course not…" I began, my voice getting stronger with every syllable. "…I haven't even thought about him since the last time I saw him."
Raoul crouched down real low and looked at me concernedly in my eyes. He asked me several times to make sure I was okay before he left for business. After giving him an assuring kiss on the cheek and an embracing hug, Raoul finally set off for work. I could tell that he didn't believe a word of what I said.
I barely touched my baguette with strawberry jam that morning, which for the record, was one of my favorite foods. After an hour of staring at my plate, I began to realize that I was drawing attention to myself. Many of the servants were simply standing there, with their eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to make a movement. I felt quite embarrassed in all honesty, because I didn't know how long they were there for. I also began to worry that they would tell Raoul. But my worries were all relieved once Rosa stepped out of the small group of servants.
Ever since I moved into the de Chagny estate, most of the servants had made me feel welcome. One in particular, Rosa, I had developed a relationship with as a friend, not as I had with the other servants. She was a kindly old Negro woman who was almost like the mother to the rest of the servants. She did all the main cooking and cleaning for Raoul and I, and the other servants. Everyone looked up to her because she was a very wise person, almost like the leader of the pack.
My first night at the de Chagny estate, Rosa came up to my room with a plate full of freshly made crepes, with a scrumptious fudge filling. We sat there, in my room, for a couple of hours, like a couple of adolescents, telling stories about each other's lives. Rosa's past was quite sad in my opinion. In fact, I recall having to pull out a handkerchief a couple of times to wipe away tears.
She grew up in South Africa with her parents and four sisters. The oldest of the bunch, she was automatically the caretaker of them all. Especially when her father and mother came to their death because of disease, Rosa was depended on by her sisters to be taken care of. They lived peacefully for a couple of years. When Rosa was fourteen, she was taken away from her sisters in Africa to Europe to serve as a slave. For twenty years, she traveled from country to country being put up for sale at countless slave auctions.
No one ever wanted her, because of all the whip marks on her back. She traveled for twenty years, hoping for a good family that would take her in. When she was in her mid-thirties, she met a man named Abayomi. Soon they fell in love. He promised her that he would find her again someday. Rosa was ecstatic. And ironically, their masters ended up being right next door to each other. He would sneak out at night and come to visit Rosa when their masters were sleeping. But all good things seemed to always come to an end for Rosa.
After five years of secretly meeting, Abayomi was murdered by his master after being caught sneaking out one night. Unfortunately, Rosa didn't know this information until many years later, when she was greatly saddened. After her masters died she was put up for sale once again, but this time in the city of Paris.
For the next couple of months Rosa stayed in Paris, by herself, being put up for auction. At long last, Raoul came up and took her in. Since then, she has been a very grateful and happy servant of the de Chagnys.
I respected this woman greatly, not just because she confided her secrets in me, but also because she had been through so many terrible things, and could still sit here and tell me about it. So, I confided in her.
I told her about my career at the opera house. I told her about my father and the Angel of Music. I told her about how I met Erik, and how he was hopelessly in love with me. I told her about how I met Raoul and who Erik exactly was. I told her about the night beneath the opera house where Erik had given me his final ultimatum. I told her about the promise he asked me to keep. And now, today, I told her the dream I had about him. After listening to me in silence for about a half-hour, she spoke.
"Did you love him, child?" I was taken aback by her sudden question. I had never really thought about it up until now. A pregnant pause was all that was heard before I could even try to answer her back.
"I…I…don't know Rosa…I really don't know."
She raised her eyebrows at me, as if to say that my answer was ludicrous. We just sat there in silence for a very long time. Then I began to sob. All the trauma of the past few days had really done a lot to me. She cradled me in her arms, stroking my head serenely to ease the pain. And that was all that needed to be done to make me feel better.
I had decided a walk was in order. I figured some fresh air would be good for me. I needed the space to clear my head. So, I ordered a carriage to the center of town as soon as I could and set off.
The morning hours of Paris were usually the most admirable, especially on a sunny day. To my great fortune, it was beautiful today. The sunlight shone on the Seine River, the birds were singing their joyful ditty, and tulips were blooming, showing the first signs of spring. I strolled through the streets of Paris, taking the time to fully relish its beauty. I inhaled and exhaled the air of spring, which consisted of rain, flowers, and women's perfume. As tranquil my mind was at the moment, I couldn't help but feel lonely.
Over the years many loneliness was a part of me that I don't think I would ever understand. That loneliness which ate at the very core of my heart. The day that I left my Angel, I left a large portion of my soul there, in the cellar of the opera house, with Erik. My Angel of Music, as I had called him, was a part of me, and without him there guiding me through life with his beautiful laments, my life, was almost like a human without bones, useless.
People had wondered who this "angel" was whom I was speaking so highly of. Who was this "Erik" I adored? Each person got the same story. My father played violin. He loved it ever so dearly. Often, he would go to parties and weddings to play the loveliest music I have ever heard. Other times, he would play me Swedish lullabies to help me get to sleep. He played a wide variety of music, different types of music arranged from different periods. He then laced them all together into one big composition that he would play. But as he got older, his graceful hands became weak. Day after day he became weaker and weaker until his judgment day; the day that I prayed to God would come much later than it did. I sat down next to his bed and held his hand, a ritual, which by that point in time was very familiar.
I swallowed hard. My palms became sweaty. I detested myself when I lied. Growing up as a catholic, I had always been taught to be a virtuous young girl. As long as I never swore, deceived, or hurt people, then when I reached the gates of heaven, I would gladly be welcomed by god himself. Now I feel as if all of those lessons that my family and teachers had taken time to teach me were all wasted.
Raoul crouched down real low and looked at me concernedly in my eyes. He asked me several times to make sure I was okay before he left for business. After giving him an assuring kiss on the cheek and an embracing hug, Raoul finally set off for work. I felt terrible.
I barely touched my baguette with strawberry jam that morning, which for the record, was one of my favorite foods. After an hour of staring at my plate, I began to realize that I was drawing attention to myself. Many of the servants were simply standing there, with their eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to make a movement. I felt quite embarrassed in all honesty, because I didn't know how long they were there for. I also began to worry that they would tell Raoul. But my worries were all relieved once Rosa stepped out of the small group of servants.
Ever since I moved into the de Chagny estate, most of the servants had made me feel welcome. One in particular, Rosa, I had developed a relationship with as a friend, not as I had with the other servants. She was a kindly old Negro woman who was almost like
"Christine…" He spoke, his voice dry and raspy.
"Yes Papa?" In all honesty, I was scared. Months had passed since I heard my father's happy voice. At such a young age, I didn't know what to think of the occasion when my mother died, but if my father had died, I didn't know, at the time, what I would have done.
"My time is short…I won't… be with you much longer." He expanded his arms towards me, but I merely moved closer to him to save him energy.
"When I am in heaven, child, your mama… and I will send… you a guardian… angel to watch over you forever… as long as…… you live. An Angel…… of Music."
"I love you papa." The moment those last words left his lips I knew for sure that he wasn't going to be alive much longer.
"I love you my dearest Christine." I began to cry. What could you expect? I was only eight years old.
"Papa don't leave me, please! I…I'll work harder on my studies and won't go out playing as often. I'll even remember to practice my violin if you stay. Please don't leave, please…please…please."
"Christine…I have to leave you…"
"Nooooo……papa……don't"
"But before I go, I want to tell you this……find someone who you love, who you will spend the rest of your life…..someone who will treasure you……and wait on your every need…………he…………… will love you for………who you are………not where you come from. Just wait you'll find him……be patient…………"
Before I knew it he was gone. I placed my head on his breast. I listened to the soft beating of his heart. It became softer and softer with each thump it made, until there was no sound at all. That was the day my father died. It was also the day that I discovered, that I, had a guardian angel watching over me.
When I came to the opera house, I started out in the chorus. I was shy and uncomfortable singing along with all the other girls in the chorus. I feared that they would make fun of my voice. Meg Giry, one of the girls my age, constantly told me otherwise, but I still was introverted when it came to my singing. Besides worrying about my place in the choir, I also looked for signs of my angel of music. Under the bed, behind the curtains, and even in the chapel, he was no where to be seen. Then one day, I was sitting in the chapel. I was trying to talk to the spirit of my father.
"Oh father…" I said.
"…where is that angel of music you spoke so highly of? Where is he? I've waited and waited and he still isn't here. Have you lied to me papa? Did you lie to me?"
As I stared at the wooden floor, with my hands still tightly clutched around my cross on my neck, hoping for an answer, but knowing I wouldn't be receiving one.
"Your father hasn't forgotten you." I had heard a voice say.
"What? Who is there?" At first I thought I was being watched by someone from the opera. But it was no one I had known. The voice was deep and rich, immediately thinking any thoughts of it being someone from the opera. Then I thought, as ridiculously as it sounded that it was my father, up in heaven, trying to reach me in some way. Before I got around to thinking other possibilities, the voice spoke again.
"Just give him some time."
"…What...who are you?? Hello?" There was no reply.
That night I left the chapel with so many questions floating in my head, I felt that simply had to take a rest. Whose voice was this? Where was he from? How did he know who I was or what my situation was? And, most importantly, who was he??? That voice…it was so ineffably irresistible. Even at the young age of eight, I couldn't help but feel a strange floating feeling in my chest. I couldn't recognize what it was called…but whatever it was, it was the greatest feeling I had ever felt.
The following night, I returned to the chapel, inquisitive to know where in the world that voice was coming from. I sat down, and began to light candles for my father. Once I was done I closed my eyes and sang a Swedish hymn that he had taught me. Towards the end of the song, I heard another voice…it was him!! I continued singing, but not with as much intensity and deliberation as I had before. I intently listened to the man's voice. As I began to concentrate more and more on his singing, mine slowly dissipated, until neither of us was singing.
"You have a beautiful voice."
"Who are you?"
"I am your Angel of Music."
"Really? My father sent you all this way? Just to watch over me?!"
"Of course, why would I lie to you?"
"So does that mean you are going to sing to me, forever, until I die?"
"You want me to sing for you?" He asked, in a voice that actually sounded unknowing and undecided.
"Yes…" I said, beginning to doubt this man's identity as my Angel of Music.
"Well…yes…yes…of course."
At the time, I didn't understand why, but there was a hesitation in his voice that I just couldn't understand. It was almost as if he wasn't one hundred percent sure why he was there. Almost as if he didn't want to be involved with me or any other person. It was almost as if he had a past that he didn't wish for me to find out about.
"…one more thing…"
"Yes?"
"What is your name?"
"Erik."
