Chapter 20 – Shock
Immediately after Christmas Christine started studying Erik's songs. She absolutely loved every single one of them. Singing his compositions, reading the lyrics he had written, was almost as good as talking to Erik in person. The melodies spoke to her of his loneliness, his feelings for her and his longing to see her again. How good it was to know that he had missed her every bit as much as she had missed him! It had been a marvelous surprise that they had been able to meet for a few minutes on Christmas Eve, but Christine could not help but wish for more. If only the weather got better soon, if not warmer, then at least dryer! She dreamily looked out of the window, into the muddy garden with its leafless trees. Never before had she waited for spring so desperately! Then she resolutely turned to her precious volume of songs again. She would try hard to master as many of them as possible by the time the weather would be good enough for Erik to come to the garden again. What a nice surprise it would be for Angel, if he heard her sing the melodies he had written for her!
Xxxx
When it suddenly stopped snowing in mid-January and a few days later the pale winter sun came out and dried the muddy earth, Nadir sighed a big sigh of relief. With adequate clothing Erik would be able to go to the de Chagny garden again within a day or two. As much as he liked his young friend, both, he and Darius, were anxiously waiting for the day when they would not have to deal with Erik's current state of mind anymore. They both were utterly tired of having to look at Erik's picture every five minutes or so and of reassuring him that yes, it was the most amazing picture they had ever seen, yes, Christine was lovely and her smile showed that she really liked Erik and was happy about his friendship, and yes, the boy was a little miracle and the cutest infant ever. In a way, Erik's excitement about the gift he had received from his Christine was endearing, but both master and servant agreed that sometimes too much could be a little bit too much.
Towards the third week of January it was finally dry enough that Erik could venture out to the de Chagny garden again. He had gone out in the afternoon, since he felt more comfortable in the dark of the early winter twilight. When he finally reached the garden, he was greeted by his own song. Christine was singing the first piece from his new album, the song about friendship, with the undertones of longing and love in the accompaniment. Erik stood and listened, mesmerized. Christine's voice was so pure and she captured the song's mood so perfectly, that he almost thought she might understand that his feelings for her were much, much deeper than friendship. It almost sounded as if she felt the same way.
He shook his head. No, this was madness. He should not be getting his hopes up again. After all, he knew how she felt about him. She did care, yes, very much so, and she had accepted him despite his face. She trusted him and she felt safe under his protection. He knew, though, that her life with the heartless de Chagny family was rather uncomfortable, and it was therefore only natural that she missed her dear friend and was longing for his presence. That was all. To read more than that into her interpretation of his song would be delusional.
Xxxx
The next morning, Erik decided to pay another visit to the de Chagny garden. It was a beautiful, sunny winter day, and he was hoping that Christine might be able to go out a bit and enjoy the wonderful weather. Of course with all the leaves gone, it was much harder for him to find a hiding place in the large garden than it had been the previous summer. There was really only one corner, where he and Christine could meet without fear of being discovered. He headed towards the group of old trees with heavy underbrush in the east corner of the garden, hoping that Christine, should she be taking a walk outside, would come that way as well. He did not have to wait long. About thirty minutes later, he saw her wander through the garden, turning this way and that and slowly but steadily approaching his hiding place.
Once she was close enough he could see that she was examining the little grove he was hiding in, as if she were looking for something – or somebody. His heart beating nervously, Erik stepped out of the shadow and showed himself to her. A bright smile spread over Christine's lovely features the moment she spotted him. She started to run and threw herself into Erik's open arms. She wrapped her own arms tightly around his back, rested her head on his chest and sighed happily, "Angel!"
It was as if time were standing still for the two, lost in each other's embrace. They stood immobile, relishing their reunion to the fullest. Christine thought that there was no safer place in the whole world than her Angel's strong arms. How good it was to feel his physical presence, to listen to the beating of his heart! Erik was overwhelmed by being able to hold his Christine again, to feel her soft body melt against his, to inhale the discreet scent of her skin and hair. He could have stayed there with her in his arms forever.
After a while Erik returned to reality. He released Christine somewhat from his embrace, and, one arm still around her shoulder, he whispered, "I heard you sing last night. You moved me to tears, you really caught the essence of my song." Christine beamed. His praise meant the world to her. "It is such a beautiful, haunting melody," she said, "so full of longing. Did you really miss me that much?" Erik nodded, and then they started to talk about music in general, Erik's songs and Christine's voice in particular.
When Christine returned to the house half an hour later, her cheeks a fresh pink, her eyes shining, Mme. Giry did not have to ask what she had been doing in the cold garden for that long.
Xxxx
The first week of February the old Comte summoned his daughter-in-law to his study. Christine had a strong sense of foreboding, when she entered the room. In her opinion the dark oak-paneling gave the study a gloomy atmosphere, just as gloomy as she felt at the thought of having to face her late husband's father.
When Christine entered, the Comte was turning his back to her, looking out of the window. Christine nervously cleared her throat. "You asked to see me, Monsieur le Comte?" she asked shyly. The Comte looked at her over his shoulder. "Ah yes, Madame," he said coldly, finally turning around to face her. He did not offer her a seat, instead he looked her over appraisingly from head to toe, as if she were a piece of cattle, the value of which he was going to determine. Christine shivered uneasily under his rude scrutiny. She was furious that he treated her that way, but did not dare ask him if she could sit down.
After a while the old man addressed her. "It seems you are preparing to return to the stage, Madame?" Christine looked at him, uncomprehending. "What makes you think so?" she asked surprised. The old Comte grimaced at her. "Why else would you desecrate this house of mourning with your profane singing?" he spat at her. "If it were not for my grandson, I would have removed you months ago, but this stupid doctor seems to think you have to personally breast-feed the little Vicomte or else the child will be somehow harmed. Bah," he continued full of contempt, "as if a wet nurse could not do the job just as well."
Christine shivered at so much open hostility. She was not sure what to say and therefore just waited for the Comte to reveal the reason why he had summoned her. Surely insulting her was not the main purpose of this meeting?
The Comte had obviously expected some reaction from the "comedian", but when Christine remained silent, he finally continued. "As it is, your obvious desire to return to the stage and to continue with your triumphs as prima donna perfectly meets with our desire to see you removed from our family," he stated, his words stinging Christine like icicles. "Of course you will have to renounce our noble name once you return to such an ignoble profession," he sounded as if he thought the stage of an Opera house was no different from the beds in a brothel.
Christine's head swam. Who had said she wanted to return to the stage? Had the Opera Populaire even been rebuilt yet? Why was the Comte assuming she would want to use the de Chagny-name in case she really wanted to perform again? After all, it had been Christine Daaé the audience had grown to love. Who would care for Christine de Chagny?
It was as if the old man could read her thoughts. "No, Madame," he smirked at her. "It would be just as inappropriate to use your maiden name. Thanks to a certain… affair… which lead to the destruction of the famous Opera Populaire and thanks to my late son's involvement in this scheme, the name Daaé is too closely linked to the de Chagny-name. Once you leave this house to return to your theater world, you will need a new name."
Christine had a feeling as if the old Comte was speaking in riddles. She still had not figured out why the fact that she was singing again supposedly meant she wanted to leave the de Chagnys. She certainly did not enjoy having to put up with their hatred, but they were her son's family and Raoul would have wanted her to stay here and to have his child raised in the place where he had grown up. Of course, if she ever were to leave the de Chagnys, she supposed she would have to find work as a singer or dancer again, to support herself and her son. But since she had no plans of doing so anytime soon, she did not quite understand why it suddenly seemed so important what name she would use should she ever work as a performer again.
She looked at the old Comte blankly. "A new name? But how.. why?" she asked, completely dumbfounded. "How?" the old Comte sneered. "A marriage, of course!" Christine sat up straight. "You want me to remarry?" she asked in shock. The Comte nodded. "That would indeed be the best solution for everybody involved," he stated. "If you remarried you could either perform again or live with your new family, preferably somewhere far from Paris. Either way we would not be responsible for you any longer, and you would be cared for by your new husband."
Christine shivered at the thought of remarrying, at the embarrassing indignities marriage involved for a woman. This had been barely tolerable with Raoul, whom she loved, but under no circumstances was she going to submit to such activities ever again. "What if I do not wish to remarry?" she dared to ask.
The Comte looked at her as if she were mentally ill. Nobody had ever dared disobey his instructions! "What makes you think you have any say in this?" his voice was dripping icicles again. "The boy will be six months old next week, you can then start to wean him off. There is no need to pamper him any more by then. Once you have weaned him off, you will leave that house with your new husband. I give you that long to choose somebody. I am sure one or the other of your former colleagues or admirers will only be too pleased to claim the returning prima donna as his prize." To Christine's ears his words sounded like: "I am sure one or the other of your former lovers will be offering you his name if it means he can claim exclusive rights to your body."
Still shaking she confronted the old man again. "And if I do not find a suitable husband in such a short time?" she asked. "Then," the Comte said, "I will pick one for you. My tenant at the farm near Limoges recently lost his wife. You could marry him, for instance. He is, of course more than
twice your age and has five children, but I bet he would feel honored if I offered you to him." Christine shivered at that thought. "You would really do that?" she whispered, "you would sell me to your tenant and send me and Philippe away to Limoges.."
"Who said anything about Philippe?" the old man thundered. "You are the one to leave my house, you and your two theater wenches. My grandson stays here." Christine felt like she would die on the spot, so shocked was she at this revelation. She knew that something terrible would happen if she stayed only one moment longer. She summoned all her strength and slowly turned to the door. "If you will excuse me, Monsieur le Comte," she whispered with as much dignity as she could muster and walked out of the room. She never knew how she managed to reach her own room, but as soon as her doors had closed behind her she collapsed. Mme. Giry just barely reached her in time to catch her.
Xxxx
Christine regained consciousness only an hour later, and even then, Mme. Giry could not make any sense of the few words Christine got out. The young woman was in the throes of a heavy crying fit and did not seem to be able to stop. Mme. Giry was furious. It was only too obvious that the mean old Comte had somehow hurt the sensitive young woman.
"Sh, Christine," she tried to comfort her surrogate daughter, "it will be fine. I am here now, he cannot insult you anymore, and you know, words are harmless. He cannot really hurt you with words, just himself,…" Christine shook her head. "No! He wants Philippe. He wants me to give up my son!" her body shaking with violent tears, she fell back onto her pillow and continued to cry.
Mme. Giry was speechless. She knew that there was no love lost between the Comte and his daughter-in-law, but that he would resort to that kind of cruelty surprised even her. She hugged the sobbing woman closely. "Don't worry, Christine, you are not alone. We won't let that happen. Let's discuss this with Erik and Nadir. These men are resourceful, I am sure they will find a solution to the problem at hand." Christine's face lit up. "My Angel," she sighed, full of hope. "He has always protected me, he might find a way out of this dilemma now as well."
Mme. Giry nodded. If anybody could stand his ground against the Comte and fight for Christine's rights, it would be the man that loved her. They would have to get Erik involved immediately. "So, I will send Meg to the post office with a note for our dear neighbor," she informed Christine. "And you will try to get some rest. If you won't cry anymore and promise to sleep a bit, maybe you will be strong enough tomorrow morning for a short stroll in the park," she said, a twinkle in her eyes. Christine immediately dried her tears and lay back. She certainly wanted to meet her Angel the next morning and tell him of the terrible fate ahead of her.
Xxxx
The next morning, Nadir got Mme. Giry's note in the morning mail. "Erik must come this morning, Christine needs help," was all she had scribbled on the piece of paper. Nadir was not quite sure what could have happened, but Mme. Giry sounded urgent. He was thinking how he could break the news to Erik without alarming his friend too much. There was no need to worry before they had any details and knew what really had happened and how bad it was.
Erik looked up from his breakfast. "Another note from Antoinette?" he asked, curiously. "What is the matter?" Nadir shook his head. "I do not know, but it sounds urgent. I guess you'd better go and see…" he drawled, handing the note to Erik, who quickly read the few words and paled. "What's the matter with Christine?" he whispered, in shock. "Is Théophile-Auguste back and we missed his return? Has he somehow harmed her?" Nadir sighed. "I don't think it's that, but I really do not know any more than you do, Erik. I guess you will have to go to the de Chagny garden and see if you can talk to Christine or one of the two Giry-women."
Erik nodded. That was indeed the only viable option. He quickly gulped down his breakfast, then put on his cloak and wide-brimmed hat and ventured out in the cold February morning, towards the de Chagny mansion. Christine was waiting for him in the same place where they had met recently. Erik was relieved to see her unharmed. Whatever the problem she needed help with, they would be able to solve it, as long as nobody had hurt or injured her. "Angel," she threw herself into his arms, sobbing heavily, and only now did he notice that her eyes were red and swollen from crying.
"Christine," he said comfortingly, rubbing her back to calm her down. "Sh, don't cry. Tell me what's the matter and I will do everything in my power to help you. You can trust me!" She nodded, sobbing into his shirt. "The Comte,…" she started. Erik tensed. That old villain! He hated the man with a passion for the way he normally treated Christine. "What about him?" he managed to ask calmly. He realized that he would not be able to help Christine by getting angry himself. "He wants to get rid of me," she sobbed, "and to take Philippe away from me!"