Chapter Fifteen

Farewell Earth; Farewell Sky; and the Sun—Farewell


As she sat in the fiacre, Éponine felt very uneasy about that man she had seen. He had definitely been watching them. Of the people she knew, there was one who was the most likely to be found in a fashionable part of the city like that, near fancy shops with well-dressed people. Montparnasse.

Of course, he couldn't have recognised her. But then, why would he be watching them? Maybe it was just that they made such a spectacle. Maybe it wasn't anyone she knew at all, just someone who was staring at the strange pair getting into the fiacre. Yes, that was it, she assured herself, even as she turned to peer anxiously out the back window of the conveyance, scanning the people for a dandyish young man who might be discretely following them.

Erik missed nothing. "Why do you look back like that? As if you're afraid we're being followed?"

Éponine bit her lip. There wasn't even a word that could neatly fit her relationship to Montparnasse—and she didn't really know where they stood after the Rue Plumet had happened. And if it was him, and even if he was following them, would that necessarily be cause to make her so anxious? Might he just be harmlessly curious about his old...whatever Éponine was? Why should she think he would be a danger to them? No, she couldn't explain it to Erik, because she couldn't even explain it to herself. And after all, it might not have been him. It might not have been anyone. And he couldn't have recognised her—right? So she said: "Nothing."

Erik, sitting across from her, narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you. And you'd do better to tell me. Let Erik handle it."

"I thought someone was watching us get into the fiacre—watching us a little too closely. I'm sure it's nothing, but then I wanted to check in case we might be followed. I...I knew a lot of people you wouldn't want to get mixed up with."

Without a word, in a quick motion, Erik moved over to her side of the fiacre, sitting beside her. They looked out the back window together.

"Watch the shadows," Éponine instructed.

Erik chuckled. "Oh, no need to worry: I am well acquainted with the shadows. Yes, I know those shadows which creep along with you, and yet are not your own shadow."

Éponine nodded approvingly. But as they looked through the back window, careful to keep their faces back so that anyone following them would not be scared off to see two faces closely watching, neither of them saw anything of concern. The people were all absorbed in their own pursuits, and none seemed to be going the same way as them for an inordinate amount of time. The shadows did not move from their posts, and there was no movement of a person creeping along in them. By the time the fiacre stopped, they were quite reassured that they had not been followed.

—●—●—●—●—

Éponine had to go straight to bed, she was so exhausted from all of that activity. Probably it had been too much. Erik brought supper to her in bed, and remained to eat it with her. Since she was so tired, she was not very talkative, and he tried to question her further about why she had felt they might be followed, but she was not inclined to tell him anything more, only eat and then go back to sleep.

So, he cleared the tray, wished her a good night's rest, blew out the lamps, and left the room.

Éponine may have lain awake, thinking about whether that had been Montparnasse in the first place, and whether there was any cause for alarm if it had been. But she was so tired that she very quickly fell asleep.

—●—●—●—●—

The next day, Éponine stayed in bed again. She had no energy at all, and she was in pain again. Worried, Erik checked to make sure that her wounds had not reopened, and then declared she just needed to rest. He reproached himself for taking her out of the house when she did not yet have the strength for such an excursion. But Éponine reassured him that she would be fine.

He played the piano a lot that day. Éponine wasn't even annoyed that it could be heard plain as day through the walls and thus disturbed her attempts to sleep, because the music was so beautiful. She had never heard music like that before. She wondered if maybe when she was well, he might let her go up and listen to some music. She had never dreamed to go inside the Opera House. She liked to go to plays, though. Gavroche was friends with the artists, and he could get her in sometimes to see the shows. Except she didn't like the gallery seats much. The wooden benches were hard, and the people were loud and rude and smelly. She doubted the Opera House would be like that.

And then she thought: she had heard Erik play, but she never heard him sing. "Erik!" she called.

The piano stopped abruptly, and a second later he had opened the door. His feet were so noiseless. "Yes? Do you need anything?"

"Could you sing me a song?"

"If it would please you. What do you want me to sing?"

"Sing something sad."

"You want to hear something sad? You don't want something to cheer you when you're recovering?"

"It will cheer me. Sad songs are always the best ones."

Erik shook his head and gave her a half-smile, seemingly pleased. "Very well. You shall have a sad song."

He left the door open and returned to his piano, which stood near the wall across from her doorway. By lifting her head, she could kind of see him. He began to play, slow, sad, low notes. And then, his voice joined the piano, and he did not disappoint her request for a sad song. The words were almost recognisable, but different. Not French. Still, she did not have to understand every word to be deeply moved. The notes, his voice, and the words she could somewhat recognise were all absolutely mournful.

Tu se' morta, mia vita, ed io respiro?

Éponine had scoffed at the idea that Christine had heard a man's voice through the wall in her dressing room and assumed it was an angel. Now, she understood completely. His voice was soft and powerful, strong and delicate, all at once. Its sound did not belong to the earth.

tu se' da me partita, se' da me partita
per mai più, mai più, non tornare, ed io rimango?
No, No,

The way he sang that second 'no' made her shiver. How could anyone's voice sound like this? Least of all a man who lived deep underground. He should be up there on that stage, not down here by himself.

Che se i versi alcuna cosa ponno
n'andrò sicuro a' più profondi abissi,

She struggled into a sitting position and inched toward the edge of the bed. She was burning with a desire to see that face which apparently was enough to condemn a voice as sublime as this to hide away beneath the ground. Erik was frightful, it's true: he had apparently done monstrous things, he carried a noose up his sleeve, he made ominous threats. But he was also impossibly gentle, and he had been so kind. He had a brilliant mind and many talents, and the most glorious voice she had ever heard. It was simply not possible that his face prevented people from appreciating any of those things.

e intenerito il cor del re de l'ombre
meco trarrotti a riveder le stelle.

Éponine stole silently through the door, out into the drawing room. Her footsteps were well-practised, and did not betray her.

O se ciò negherammi empio destino
rimarrò teco in compagnia di morte,

She was close behind him. She held her breath. Her hand was steady. In that moment, she was not thinking of what Erik would do. Her only thought was that she needed to see his face. She needed to know the man who could sing like an angel.

a dio, terra; a dio, cielo; e sole, a dio.


A/N: The aria he sings is from Monteverdi's L'Orfeo