Author's Note: Once again, I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to
update. I've been suffering from severe writer's block (and working on 'The
Price of Fame,' which I'm hoping to update within the next two weeks), but
now I think I finally know where this story's going (fingers crossed!).
Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter.
This is another chapter from Mme. Giry's POV. Please review! Any comments or criticisms are very welcome, as always. Enjoy!
A Phantom's Story.
Chapter Eight
Antoinette Giry. 1856
The sound of the organ coming from the attic bedroom was savage and relentless. It wasn't even music...just a series of loud, soulless chords which seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. Maybe Erik was trying to make the walls of his prison crumble to the ground.
Erik worried me. Ever since that fateful day in Rouen, he had been behaving so strangely that I feared for his sanity. When his father had returned him, pale and trembling, from the building site, I had embraced him with tearful relief. But he was cold and unresponsive in my arms. He did not speak. Instead he seemed to be staring straight ahead at some horror which I could not see. When I turned on Philippe with furious demands for an explanation, Erik fled upstairs to his room without a word.
Two weeks had passed. Two weeks during which he had barely looked at me, let alone spoken. He spent most of his time shut away in his room, striking the keys of his organ, scarcely eating or drinking. I tried to question him about his experience in Rouen, hoping to find some clue as to the reason for his strange behaviour, but he would simply stare right through me. Philippe told me that Erik had got into a fight with some men at the building site, but this hardly seemed an adequate explanation for his melancholy. There had to be something else...
As I sat sewing in my room, I heard the noise from the organ grow increasingly frenzied; the angry, crashing chords finally culminating in a loud, shrill scream from Erik. I leapt to my feet and rushed upstairs, fearing that he had somehow hurt himself. The noise had now ceased and, standing outside his bedroom door, I could hear loud, anguished sobbing coming from within.
Slowly, being careful not to startle him, I pushed open the door. Erik was sitting slumped over the keyboard, head in hands, his whole body shaking with his sobs. Aghast at this sudden display of raw emotion, I took a step towards him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He started violently, his head jerking up from the keyboard. He looked up into my eyes and began to cry even more piteously, reaching forward to grasp my hands. I gathered him into my arms, massaging his back and shoulders and stroking his sparse, fluffy hair...anything that might soothe him.
I was shocked by the suddenness of his outburst, but I was also rather relieved. The last two weeks had been terrible, and I was forced to admit that I would rather hear his sobs than endure his silence.
Several minutes passed, and, as his sobbing subsided, I gently asked him what was wrong.
'I can't find it, Aunt Giry,' he said, his voice edged with tears.
'Hush. What can't you find?'
'The music, Aunt Giry. I can't find the music. It won't come. I've tried...so hard...for days...' And he gave a choked sob.
I understood completely. The savage, angry chords he had been playing were simply his frustrated attempts to find his lost muse. Years before, a severe shock had rendered him unable to sing. And now, after some other awful experience, he was on the verge of losing his gift for composition. The very thought of this terrified me, and Erik seemed to sense my fear, because he hugged me tighter.
'What happened at the building site, Erik?'
If I was to help him, I needed to know.
Erik looked up at me, and his golden eyes seemed to flicker with fear.
'You know what happened,' he replied shakily. 'I had a confrontation with some men. They tore off my mask...it was terrible...'
I didn't doubt his words, but I knew he was keeping something from me.
'What happened after that?'
Erik turned away, and covered his face with his hands.
'Nothing.'
'Erik.' I took hold of his hands and gently pulled them away from his face. Then I cupped his chin in my hand, forcing him to look at me. 'Erik, there's something you're not telling me. Please talk to me. There's no need to be afraid.'
'You don't know that,' he said darkly. The intensity of his words made me shudder.
'Yes I do,' I insisted, but my voice shook uncertainly. 'Has someone threatened you? Has your father said something to you? Or your mother?'
This seemed to strike a chord. Erik shivered. There seemed to be some sort of conflict going on inside his mind. Finally he spoke.
'Alright, I'll tell you. But please don't be angry.' He paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. 'When I ran away from those men, I met my mother in the town square. She was with some friends. They laughed at me and said some strange things. Then my father ran up. He said he shouldn't have brought me to Rouen in the first place. And my mother said...my mother said...' He broke off, and covered his face with his hands again. 'She said I should have been thrown on the fire or drowned the moment I was born.' And Erik burst into tears.
I was shocked, and very, very angry. I wanted to go downstairs and scream and rave at Marie. How could she hurt him like this?
'Why didn't you tell me before?' I asked in bewilderment.
'Because I knew you'd be upset and angry with my mother...and I don't want you to be angry with her, because...because I think what she said...is true...'
My eyes widened. 'You think you should have been killed?'
He nodded.
'With a face like mine, I'm not much use to anyone, least of all myself. I'm just a poor monster. That's how others see me, and now I know they're right. Perhaps it would have been better if...better if...' His voice broke, and he slumped back against the organ.
My eyes filled with tears, and I reached out to him.
'Oh, Erik! How can you say that? You're so beautiful, so precious to me! Please don't think such morbid thoughts! Why, you've got so much to offer the world...'
'But that's not true! What's the use of a musician who will never be heard? An architect who will never be permitted to build? When I was born, I was saved from death, but for what? To live up here, in this attic, until the day I die? Even if I do have anything to offer the world, I'll never be able to leave this place! So I'm sure you'll forgive me, Aunt Giry, if I find your optimism rather hard to stomach.'
I couldn't bear to hear him say such things. It was true that his face was a hindrance, but I couldn't sit back and watch his isolation destroy him. As impractical as it seemed, I knew there was only one thing to be done.
'Yes, Erik. You can leave this place. You can live in the world outside...and you will.'
Erik shook his head. 'It's not possible...'
'Yes, it is. We'll leave. We'll move to Paris. We'll live in the Opera House.'
Erik, tears still clinging to his cheeks, suddenly laughed.
'Don't be silly, Auntie! People don't live in Opera Houses!'
But I could tell he was intrigued by the idea.
'Yes, they do. Most of the young ballet girls live there. They sleep in dormitories. And the ballet mistress has an apartment in the building. She's a kind woman. She would find us somewhere to sleep, I'm sure.'
'But what if she doesn't? What if she takes one look at me and...'
'Erik! If she doesn't, we'll sleep on the streets! For all I care, we can move in with a family of charitable rats, as long as we get out of this wretched house!'
Erik's eyes shone with a childish excitement and hope which made my heart leap with joy.
'I've always wanted to see the Opera...to live where I can hear music.'
'And you will! And what music! Oh, Erik...we'll be so happy...'
'When can we leave?'
'Tomorrow. We'll leave tomorrow.'
* * *
That night I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I could not believe what I had promised Erik...the whole idea was insane. In truth, I had no idea whether the ballet mistress would find us somewhere to stay, and living on the streets was a possibility too horrible to contemplate. But I knew we needed to try, not just for Erik's sake, but for mine.
Over the past months I had felt more isolated than I would ever have revealed to Erik. When I had first taken on the responsibility of caring for him it had been hard, but I had pushed all my youthful ambitions and hobbies to one side in order to devote myself to him. But I was only just twenty-one when I adopted him. I had my whole life ahead of me.
But now, five years later, I felt that this was no longer the case. And in those dark hours when poor Erik was unhappy and difficult to live with, my dreams had come back to haunt me.
As a young girl, I had watched my older sister grow up, marry, have children, and I had wanted these things so badly. As a junior member of the Corps de Ballet, I had my admirers, but nothing had ever gone further than a few secret caresses in the dark corners backstage. These moments were spent with young boys of the ballet who, amidst the wealth of female company available in the Opera House, soon tired of me. I was not a prude, but neither was I one of those disgustingly flirtatious dancers who made love at the drop of a hat. I refused to become a plaything for the rich young fops who haunted the dancers' lounge after each performance. But still I lived in hope that, one day, I would find my special someone.
When Erik was born, this dream was pushed aside by my fascination and deep love for this strange, delicate little creature. Since I had started caring for him, my visits to the Opera House had become too infrequent for me to indulge in romantic encounters. For several years, this didn't bother me. As Erik had grown older, however, I found that my occasional visits to the Opera filled me with longing for what the other performers enjoyed that I knew I could not have. However, the idea of moving to Paris and dancing at the Opera on a regular basis awakened some hope in me. I did not expect, nor even want a full-blown romance, but the prospect of chocolates and flowers being left in my dressing room, the imagined sensation of warm male lips kissing my hand, were enough to seduce me. The idea of some male attention, some real female friends, and the reintroduction of glamour into my life attracted me, despite my devotion to Erik.
Like him, I had lived in the dark for far too long.
And it wasn't just the possibility of a social life. I was getting on in years, and was now a senior dancer in the Corps. As a girl, I had enjoyed dancing but had never really taken it seriously. It had seemed almost trivial...the pastime of a rich young lady who would never have to fend for herself. Now, after watching several of my fellow dancers become much admired ballet stars, I longed for my turn in the limelight. I knew that, if I didn't throw myself into my career now, if I didn't strive for perfection and success, the opportunity would be lost forever. I wanted to dance the great classical roles. I wanted to be the prima ballerina.
I knew I had the talent. I was currently not as fit as I should be, but that would soon change. I would perform before royalty, before the emperor himself.
And, best of all, I would perform before Erik.
It may sound as though I was lost entirely in my own selfish dreams as I lay in bed that night, but I wasn't. My hopes for Erik eclipsed my own dreams of fame and fortune. He would, at last, be in an environment in which he could experience the music he so loved on a grand scale, through the voices and dexterous hands of the greatest artists in the country. More importantly, he would have the opportunity to get his own talents recognised.
I smiled to myself in the darkness of my bedroom. His compositional skills would recover and, already outstanding, would become nothing short of supernatural. And perhaps, one day, when his confidence had increased, I would hear that awesome, angelic voice issue from his throat once again.
* * *
We could not depart for Paris the following day. This proved to be a totally unrealistic part of the plan. There were things to prepare, belongings to pack...and, most importantly, I had to talk to my sister.
Poor Marie. She had been our gaoler for so long, but the thought of leaving her filled me with grief. She had said and done some terrible things to Erik, for which I could never forgive her. But she was still my big sister, the companion of my childhood, and I knew I had to give her an honest explanation for our departure. She deserved that much.
Several days after Erik and I made our plans, I went down to the drawing room to speak with her. I could have spoken to her angrily - I had sufficient justification to do so – but I wanted us to part on good terms. I sat down on the sofa and, after asking her to sit next to me, I calmly told her that Erik and I were leaving.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
'But Antoinette, you can't leave! Where will you go?'
'To Paris. I'm going to start dancing at the Opera on a full time basis.'
'But you won't leave me, Antoinette! You can't! I know I've been ungrateful, even cruel to you at times, but I'm your sister!'
I smiled sadly.
'I know. But it's not me you've been cruel to, Marie. It's Erik.'
Marie narrowed her eyes.
'Oh, Erik! I really don't know why you bother with that little monster, Antoinette!'
I was becoming angry, but I managed to keep my voice level.
'I bother with him because I love him, Marie. And if I didn't care for him nobody else would, as you've demonstrated yourself on more than one occasion.'
Marie hung her head.
'I'm sorry, Antoinette, but I just can't stand him.'
'I know, and I can't keep Erik here in a house where he's not welcome, can I?'
Marie turned away from me, clearly on the edge of tears.
'And that's why you're leaving? Because you want to keep Erik away from me?'
'Not so much away from you, but away from this whole house. Erik needs his freedom...he needs to be given a chance to live in the world outside. And it isn't just about Erik. I also need that chance, Marie. I want to be able to dance again. Really dance.'
She looked at me, her eyes filled with misery and tenderness in equal measures.
'Life can be hard in Paris. You'll soon run out of money.'
'I know it'll be hard, but I'll do my best. If I'm not successful as a dancer, I'll look for another job in the theatre. In the costume department, perhaps.'
'When are you leaving?' She asked, with resignation.
'Tomorrow morning.'
'You will say goodbye to me and the girls, won't you?'
'Of course.'
We embraced, the tears running down our cheeks.
As I stood up to leave, Marie grasped my hand.
'Antoinette...if you change your mind, don't hesitate to return home.'
'I won't change my mind.'
'Is there anything I can do for you before you go?'
I thought for a moment, and then smiled at her.
'Well, there is one thing...'
* * *
The following morning I bid a tearful farewell to Marie and my three nieces. After many kisses and promises to write, I went out into the hall where Erik was waiting for me.
He looked sad and small as he stood there, clutching his violin case. I knew he wanted to say goodbye to his mother, despite her past cruelty, but this was something I could not permit. I smiled at him, and he made a brave effort to smile back. Then I took his hand and led him out of the house.
I paused for a moment on the doorstep, listening intently. I prayed that Marie would keep her promise, but I heard nothing. Sadly, I led Erik towards the waiting carriage.
And then I stopped dead, Erik stiffening beside me.
Marie's pure, angelic voice was floating down from the second floor of the house. I looked up to see her standing at her bedroom window, dressed in white, her golden curls cascading down her shoulders. She had thrown open the window and was singing an old French folk song. The beauty of the sound brought tears to my eyes, and I looked down at Erik. He stood perfectly still, his eyes wide with wonder, gazing up at his mother. Marie did not look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the distant horizon. Her tender looks would never be for Erik. She could not meet his loving gaze in her coldness. But her song was for him and for him alone, gently caressing him in a way which her hands never would. Erik seemed to understand this completely. He smiled at his mother, the tears streaming down his cheeks.
Several moments passed. When I finally put my hand on his shoulder, he seemed ready to leave.
As the carriage pulled away from the house, Erik kept his eyes fixed on his hands, which were neatly folded in his lap. He did not look back at his mother, but Marie's voice, beautiful and ghostly, followed us as if carried on the wind.
This is another chapter from Mme. Giry's POV. Please review! Any comments or criticisms are very welcome, as always. Enjoy!
A Phantom's Story.
Chapter Eight
Antoinette Giry. 1856
The sound of the organ coming from the attic bedroom was savage and relentless. It wasn't even music...just a series of loud, soulless chords which seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. Maybe Erik was trying to make the walls of his prison crumble to the ground.
Erik worried me. Ever since that fateful day in Rouen, he had been behaving so strangely that I feared for his sanity. When his father had returned him, pale and trembling, from the building site, I had embraced him with tearful relief. But he was cold and unresponsive in my arms. He did not speak. Instead he seemed to be staring straight ahead at some horror which I could not see. When I turned on Philippe with furious demands for an explanation, Erik fled upstairs to his room without a word.
Two weeks had passed. Two weeks during which he had barely looked at me, let alone spoken. He spent most of his time shut away in his room, striking the keys of his organ, scarcely eating or drinking. I tried to question him about his experience in Rouen, hoping to find some clue as to the reason for his strange behaviour, but he would simply stare right through me. Philippe told me that Erik had got into a fight with some men at the building site, but this hardly seemed an adequate explanation for his melancholy. There had to be something else...
As I sat sewing in my room, I heard the noise from the organ grow increasingly frenzied; the angry, crashing chords finally culminating in a loud, shrill scream from Erik. I leapt to my feet and rushed upstairs, fearing that he had somehow hurt himself. The noise had now ceased and, standing outside his bedroom door, I could hear loud, anguished sobbing coming from within.
Slowly, being careful not to startle him, I pushed open the door. Erik was sitting slumped over the keyboard, head in hands, his whole body shaking with his sobs. Aghast at this sudden display of raw emotion, I took a step towards him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He started violently, his head jerking up from the keyboard. He looked up into my eyes and began to cry even more piteously, reaching forward to grasp my hands. I gathered him into my arms, massaging his back and shoulders and stroking his sparse, fluffy hair...anything that might soothe him.
I was shocked by the suddenness of his outburst, but I was also rather relieved. The last two weeks had been terrible, and I was forced to admit that I would rather hear his sobs than endure his silence.
Several minutes passed, and, as his sobbing subsided, I gently asked him what was wrong.
'I can't find it, Aunt Giry,' he said, his voice edged with tears.
'Hush. What can't you find?'
'The music, Aunt Giry. I can't find the music. It won't come. I've tried...so hard...for days...' And he gave a choked sob.
I understood completely. The savage, angry chords he had been playing were simply his frustrated attempts to find his lost muse. Years before, a severe shock had rendered him unable to sing. And now, after some other awful experience, he was on the verge of losing his gift for composition. The very thought of this terrified me, and Erik seemed to sense my fear, because he hugged me tighter.
'What happened at the building site, Erik?'
If I was to help him, I needed to know.
Erik looked up at me, and his golden eyes seemed to flicker with fear.
'You know what happened,' he replied shakily. 'I had a confrontation with some men. They tore off my mask...it was terrible...'
I didn't doubt his words, but I knew he was keeping something from me.
'What happened after that?'
Erik turned away, and covered his face with his hands.
'Nothing.'
'Erik.' I took hold of his hands and gently pulled them away from his face. Then I cupped his chin in my hand, forcing him to look at me. 'Erik, there's something you're not telling me. Please talk to me. There's no need to be afraid.'
'You don't know that,' he said darkly. The intensity of his words made me shudder.
'Yes I do,' I insisted, but my voice shook uncertainly. 'Has someone threatened you? Has your father said something to you? Or your mother?'
This seemed to strike a chord. Erik shivered. There seemed to be some sort of conflict going on inside his mind. Finally he spoke.
'Alright, I'll tell you. But please don't be angry.' He paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. 'When I ran away from those men, I met my mother in the town square. She was with some friends. They laughed at me and said some strange things. Then my father ran up. He said he shouldn't have brought me to Rouen in the first place. And my mother said...my mother said...' He broke off, and covered his face with his hands again. 'She said I should have been thrown on the fire or drowned the moment I was born.' And Erik burst into tears.
I was shocked, and very, very angry. I wanted to go downstairs and scream and rave at Marie. How could she hurt him like this?
'Why didn't you tell me before?' I asked in bewilderment.
'Because I knew you'd be upset and angry with my mother...and I don't want you to be angry with her, because...because I think what she said...is true...'
My eyes widened. 'You think you should have been killed?'
He nodded.
'With a face like mine, I'm not much use to anyone, least of all myself. I'm just a poor monster. That's how others see me, and now I know they're right. Perhaps it would have been better if...better if...' His voice broke, and he slumped back against the organ.
My eyes filled with tears, and I reached out to him.
'Oh, Erik! How can you say that? You're so beautiful, so precious to me! Please don't think such morbid thoughts! Why, you've got so much to offer the world...'
'But that's not true! What's the use of a musician who will never be heard? An architect who will never be permitted to build? When I was born, I was saved from death, but for what? To live up here, in this attic, until the day I die? Even if I do have anything to offer the world, I'll never be able to leave this place! So I'm sure you'll forgive me, Aunt Giry, if I find your optimism rather hard to stomach.'
I couldn't bear to hear him say such things. It was true that his face was a hindrance, but I couldn't sit back and watch his isolation destroy him. As impractical as it seemed, I knew there was only one thing to be done.
'Yes, Erik. You can leave this place. You can live in the world outside...and you will.'
Erik shook his head. 'It's not possible...'
'Yes, it is. We'll leave. We'll move to Paris. We'll live in the Opera House.'
Erik, tears still clinging to his cheeks, suddenly laughed.
'Don't be silly, Auntie! People don't live in Opera Houses!'
But I could tell he was intrigued by the idea.
'Yes, they do. Most of the young ballet girls live there. They sleep in dormitories. And the ballet mistress has an apartment in the building. She's a kind woman. She would find us somewhere to sleep, I'm sure.'
'But what if she doesn't? What if she takes one look at me and...'
'Erik! If she doesn't, we'll sleep on the streets! For all I care, we can move in with a family of charitable rats, as long as we get out of this wretched house!'
Erik's eyes shone with a childish excitement and hope which made my heart leap with joy.
'I've always wanted to see the Opera...to live where I can hear music.'
'And you will! And what music! Oh, Erik...we'll be so happy...'
'When can we leave?'
'Tomorrow. We'll leave tomorrow.'
* * *
That night I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I could not believe what I had promised Erik...the whole idea was insane. In truth, I had no idea whether the ballet mistress would find us somewhere to stay, and living on the streets was a possibility too horrible to contemplate. But I knew we needed to try, not just for Erik's sake, but for mine.
Over the past months I had felt more isolated than I would ever have revealed to Erik. When I had first taken on the responsibility of caring for him it had been hard, but I had pushed all my youthful ambitions and hobbies to one side in order to devote myself to him. But I was only just twenty-one when I adopted him. I had my whole life ahead of me.
But now, five years later, I felt that this was no longer the case. And in those dark hours when poor Erik was unhappy and difficult to live with, my dreams had come back to haunt me.
As a young girl, I had watched my older sister grow up, marry, have children, and I had wanted these things so badly. As a junior member of the Corps de Ballet, I had my admirers, but nothing had ever gone further than a few secret caresses in the dark corners backstage. These moments were spent with young boys of the ballet who, amidst the wealth of female company available in the Opera House, soon tired of me. I was not a prude, but neither was I one of those disgustingly flirtatious dancers who made love at the drop of a hat. I refused to become a plaything for the rich young fops who haunted the dancers' lounge after each performance. But still I lived in hope that, one day, I would find my special someone.
When Erik was born, this dream was pushed aside by my fascination and deep love for this strange, delicate little creature. Since I had started caring for him, my visits to the Opera House had become too infrequent for me to indulge in romantic encounters. For several years, this didn't bother me. As Erik had grown older, however, I found that my occasional visits to the Opera filled me with longing for what the other performers enjoyed that I knew I could not have. However, the idea of moving to Paris and dancing at the Opera on a regular basis awakened some hope in me. I did not expect, nor even want a full-blown romance, but the prospect of chocolates and flowers being left in my dressing room, the imagined sensation of warm male lips kissing my hand, were enough to seduce me. The idea of some male attention, some real female friends, and the reintroduction of glamour into my life attracted me, despite my devotion to Erik.
Like him, I had lived in the dark for far too long.
And it wasn't just the possibility of a social life. I was getting on in years, and was now a senior dancer in the Corps. As a girl, I had enjoyed dancing but had never really taken it seriously. It had seemed almost trivial...the pastime of a rich young lady who would never have to fend for herself. Now, after watching several of my fellow dancers become much admired ballet stars, I longed for my turn in the limelight. I knew that, if I didn't throw myself into my career now, if I didn't strive for perfection and success, the opportunity would be lost forever. I wanted to dance the great classical roles. I wanted to be the prima ballerina.
I knew I had the talent. I was currently not as fit as I should be, but that would soon change. I would perform before royalty, before the emperor himself.
And, best of all, I would perform before Erik.
It may sound as though I was lost entirely in my own selfish dreams as I lay in bed that night, but I wasn't. My hopes for Erik eclipsed my own dreams of fame and fortune. He would, at last, be in an environment in which he could experience the music he so loved on a grand scale, through the voices and dexterous hands of the greatest artists in the country. More importantly, he would have the opportunity to get his own talents recognised.
I smiled to myself in the darkness of my bedroom. His compositional skills would recover and, already outstanding, would become nothing short of supernatural. And perhaps, one day, when his confidence had increased, I would hear that awesome, angelic voice issue from his throat once again.
* * *
We could not depart for Paris the following day. This proved to be a totally unrealistic part of the plan. There were things to prepare, belongings to pack...and, most importantly, I had to talk to my sister.
Poor Marie. She had been our gaoler for so long, but the thought of leaving her filled me with grief. She had said and done some terrible things to Erik, for which I could never forgive her. But she was still my big sister, the companion of my childhood, and I knew I had to give her an honest explanation for our departure. She deserved that much.
Several days after Erik and I made our plans, I went down to the drawing room to speak with her. I could have spoken to her angrily - I had sufficient justification to do so – but I wanted us to part on good terms. I sat down on the sofa and, after asking her to sit next to me, I calmly told her that Erik and I were leaving.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
'But Antoinette, you can't leave! Where will you go?'
'To Paris. I'm going to start dancing at the Opera on a full time basis.'
'But you won't leave me, Antoinette! You can't! I know I've been ungrateful, even cruel to you at times, but I'm your sister!'
I smiled sadly.
'I know. But it's not me you've been cruel to, Marie. It's Erik.'
Marie narrowed her eyes.
'Oh, Erik! I really don't know why you bother with that little monster, Antoinette!'
I was becoming angry, but I managed to keep my voice level.
'I bother with him because I love him, Marie. And if I didn't care for him nobody else would, as you've demonstrated yourself on more than one occasion.'
Marie hung her head.
'I'm sorry, Antoinette, but I just can't stand him.'
'I know, and I can't keep Erik here in a house where he's not welcome, can I?'
Marie turned away from me, clearly on the edge of tears.
'And that's why you're leaving? Because you want to keep Erik away from me?'
'Not so much away from you, but away from this whole house. Erik needs his freedom...he needs to be given a chance to live in the world outside. And it isn't just about Erik. I also need that chance, Marie. I want to be able to dance again. Really dance.'
She looked at me, her eyes filled with misery and tenderness in equal measures.
'Life can be hard in Paris. You'll soon run out of money.'
'I know it'll be hard, but I'll do my best. If I'm not successful as a dancer, I'll look for another job in the theatre. In the costume department, perhaps.'
'When are you leaving?' She asked, with resignation.
'Tomorrow morning.'
'You will say goodbye to me and the girls, won't you?'
'Of course.'
We embraced, the tears running down our cheeks.
As I stood up to leave, Marie grasped my hand.
'Antoinette...if you change your mind, don't hesitate to return home.'
'I won't change my mind.'
'Is there anything I can do for you before you go?'
I thought for a moment, and then smiled at her.
'Well, there is one thing...'
* * *
The following morning I bid a tearful farewell to Marie and my three nieces. After many kisses and promises to write, I went out into the hall where Erik was waiting for me.
He looked sad and small as he stood there, clutching his violin case. I knew he wanted to say goodbye to his mother, despite her past cruelty, but this was something I could not permit. I smiled at him, and he made a brave effort to smile back. Then I took his hand and led him out of the house.
I paused for a moment on the doorstep, listening intently. I prayed that Marie would keep her promise, but I heard nothing. Sadly, I led Erik towards the waiting carriage.
And then I stopped dead, Erik stiffening beside me.
Marie's pure, angelic voice was floating down from the second floor of the house. I looked up to see her standing at her bedroom window, dressed in white, her golden curls cascading down her shoulders. She had thrown open the window and was singing an old French folk song. The beauty of the sound brought tears to my eyes, and I looked down at Erik. He stood perfectly still, his eyes wide with wonder, gazing up at his mother. Marie did not look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the distant horizon. Her tender looks would never be for Erik. She could not meet his loving gaze in her coldness. But her song was for him and for him alone, gently caressing him in a way which her hands never would. Erik seemed to understand this completely. He smiled at his mother, the tears streaming down his cheeks.
Several moments passed. When I finally put my hand on his shoulder, he seemed ready to leave.
As the carriage pulled away from the house, Erik kept his eyes fixed on his hands, which were neatly folded in his lap. He did not look back at his mother, but Marie's voice, beautiful and ghostly, followed us as if carried on the wind.