Re-read: 3-18-05

-Chapter Six – Everything-

"After the rehersal I followed her to her dressing room.

Only solists and their understudies get own dressing rooms, and Christine was the understudy of Cherubino, one of the bigger roles in Mozart's 'Le nozze di Figaro'. I wasn't surprised about that although Cherubino is a very passionate role. Julie Perigot, the main cast, was known to have a robust health and I presume they did it to separate Christine and Meg in a diplomatical way.

I patiently waited for her to come out, then I followed her again into the foyer.

A young man, obviously belonging to the navy, was waiting there..."

When Christine sees this man, she makes a sound of utter delight and nearly flys down the stairs. Her pale cheeks flush while she gives him a boisterous hug.

"Oh Raoul! My Raoul! Why didn't you write me that you'd come by for a visit? Oh, I missed you so!"

What passion fills her voice while she spreads her sympathy over her friend! The man who observes them from his hiding place clenches fists.

Like this he will make her sing!

The next days are filled with numerous preparations, especially concerning the huge mirror in Christine's dressing room that he once used as a shortcut to the communard road, but disused when it turned out that an even shorter and more practical solution could be constructed by building in another trap door. He has to make it the fortysixth two way mirror in the opera house and oil the hinges. He wants to be able to see his pupil while he teaches her, and he wants an easy way to bring her flowers or likenesses to reward her for good progress and obedience.

And all the time he sees her radiant smile, the vivid glow in her eyes when she ran down the stairs to embrace her beloved. It takes some time for him to figure out that the sting in his chest is envy.

The night everything is finished, is the night of the first performance of 'Le nozze di Figaro'. Content and calm the man sits in box five. Julie Perigot has a health of iron, he tells himself. There is no way Christine could be forced to sing Cherubino tonight, no way that she could be urged to stand down there and be choked by her own voice before hundreds of ears and eyes. No way. Meg teases her for her either utterly emotionless or strangeled songs over and over again, that's torture enough.

The Opera begins. All singers are in a good mood, one can feel that they like Mozart and that they are - for the most - content with their roles. The man is relaxed when the fifth scene starts and SUSANNA gives in to her anger about MARCELLINA.

SUSANNA (furious):

Go, you pompous, educated Lady! Because you read some books and tormented the graceful Countess in her youth, you are as proud as a peacock!

CHERUBINO (insecure):

Susanna, my dear!

The man jumps to his feet.

CHERUBINO (frightened):

Oh, Susanna, my dear! Is it you?

His fingers claw into the railing.

CHERUBINO (with despair):

Oh, my poor heart! What dark fate!

He groans.

It's Christine! For some wicked reason it's Christine who stands down there on the stage, dressed as a page boy, hiding her shaky hands behind her back.

Motionless he stares at her fearful eyes that keep creeping back to box three where her precious Raoul would sit if he weren't back at his military ship for the next six weeks. How the man wishes to sit in that box, how he wishes to meet her gaze and give her courage. But there is nothing he can do. He can only listen how she tries not to love while she sings of love, how she feels ashamed in front of the irritated looks of the audience and the resigned whisper of her collegues from the backstage.

CHERUBINO (voice petrified):

... At just the names of love, of pleasure,

My breast is stirred up and changed,

And a desire I can't explain

Forces me to speak of love...

In the sixth scene the COUNT enters the stage and CHERUBINO has to hide behind a chair. This moment is used to drag the black haired girl off the stage and put one with blonde curls in her place.

The man leaves box five immediately.

When he arrives behind Christine's mirror, she is already lying on her small chaiselongue, sobbing helplessly. It threatens to break his heart to see her like this. And before he knows what he is doing, he has already whispered her name.

"Christine..."

She gets up with a start.

"Christine, don't cry like this..."

Bewildered she looks around the tiny room.

"Who is there?"

"Don't be afraid..."

"Who are you!"

"Open your heart to me and I will make you sing."

"Oh my... you... you are the Angel of Music!" she whispers, as if she were afraid it would sound too ridiculous to be true if she said it aloud.

"I can be everything for you." the man answers.

What follows are three weeks of a delicate dream in which the Angel of Music explores the soul of his protégée. And under his guidance she slowly begins to lose her fears.

Here Erik stops.

"What happened to Julie?" Carla wants to know.

"She broke her foot, five minutes before she had to be on stage."

"Nah!" she pulls a face. "That would fit into a drama... And Christine... what was she so afraid of? I mean... what's so horrible about the connection of music and emotion?"

"I'm sorry." he answers stiffly "But I won't allow you that insight in Christine's soul."

Carla lowers her eyes.

"You've not come over her, have you? Not even after onehundred years..."

"I fear so." And with that he gets up and leaves.

Slowly growing angry, Carla stares at the door that is falling shut behind him.

So this are the facts? She is good enough to serve him as a distraction and discuss literature, but when it comes to his pain he prefers to be left alone with his precious memories.

Suddenly she presses her hands to her mouth.

She's being jealous.

On the verge of panic she hastens into her room. She throws her clothes from the wardrobe on her bed, gets her stuff from the bathroom... She can't stay here. It's impossible! He'll just have to let her go!

Softly she knocks on his door. When there is no answer, she opens it to see if he is there at all.

And he is there. Collapsed to his knees before the metal frame with Christine's picture, his head buried in his hands. He doesn't make a sound but his shoulders are shaken by his violent sobs. And Carla can see that before his sadness there was anger for not far from where he kneels lies something that must be his mask, broken to little pieces.

Suddenly his head shoots up and his yellow eyes stare at her from a face that is too horrible for words; not so much because of it's distortion, but because of the destructive emotions that dominate it like festering wounds.

Petrified Carla sees him get to his feet and run for her with unbelievable speed. Her mind prepares itself for the powerful impact and the death that must surely come when the back of her head is crashed into the opposite wall of the corridor.

But all that happens is the door being shut with an earshattering bang. And through the aftermath of that bang Carla can hear Erik's steps, slowly returning him to the metal frame.

Stabilizing herself with one hand on the wall of the corridor she staggers back into her room.

One hundred years of mourning. One hundred years, and no end in sight. It's a wonder that there still is some sanity left in him.

Carla sighs and lets herself fall onto her bed.

She can't leave him to this.