This chapter is when the not-so-easy-to-read part of this phic kicks in, and when Lotte's madness really starts to make her narration extremely irrational and confusing. Don't worry, though, the next chapter will be narrated by someone who witnessed the events in this chapter in a slightly more rational state of mind!
Paris, France, 1878
The Angel of Music came to me, even after all these months. Perhaps not every night, perhaps not all the time, as he did before, but often enough that I would not forget him soon. Still he remained, singing softly, mocking me:
"Do you think that I would leave you, Little Lotte? Do you think that growing up means leaving me behind? I am no childhood memory! I am with you, always!"
Sometimes I would simply nod and give myself up to his melody. Other times, such as tonight, I would shout back.
"Leave me!" I scream. "Leave me be! I am no longer your protégé, your project! I am no longer Little Lotte! My name is Charlotte! I am a married woman! You can't control me, not anymore!"
This time he laughs. Mirthlessly. The shadow his voice emanates from twists around me. "Leave you? Do not be silly, child! You cannot fend for yourself in this terrible world! Do not expect your darling husband to save you from the darkness of your mind! No, listen to me! He will simply take you away and submerge you in darkness, and you shall never see the sun again! Do not deceive yourself; you will never have control! Only at night, in your mind, in your dreams, places that he cannot control, will you find freedom!"
"No! You are not freedom! Madness is not freedom! I am slowly going mad, and it is because of you! He will discover you, and then my dream will end!"
"Madness is your freedom," he says softly. "That is where he cannot control you, where no one may control you… Your dream is fruitless… But come now, the night draws to a close soon… Sing for me, child…"
And helplessly I sing, singing in a voice I hardly recognize. His voice fills my dream, and I mimic him, growing stronger in my intonation. Yet when I grow tired, and cease my songs, angels and demons surround me. Angels so beautiful, weeping, so ashamed to be in my presence, the presence of a sinful, disgusting daughter of Eve… Demons with gnashing teeth, rolling eyes, tormenting me, hissing at me, whispering to me all of the sins I had committed…
"Please… leave me…"
"Only submit to me, Little Lotte… then they will leave…"
"No…"
I suddenly woke up. No angels or demons or dark shadows. Only a dark, expansive room. Where was I? My eyes darted around the room. I did not recognize this place, this sleeping form lying beside me in this foreign bed, the small bundle in the cradle nearby. Where was I? Who was I?
Slowly, carefully, so carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping form next to me, I sat up. In the chilling white light from the moon streaming midnight gloom, I studied the person sleeping beside me. It was a man, older than me, with streaks of gray hair on his head and mustache.
Ah, yes. My husband. Henri. Over there, in the cradle, was my baby. My baby. Scarcely one month old and with wispy brown hair, bundled up in blankets, sleeping peacefully. Adele.
And I? I was Charlotte.
What a pitiable and sad creature I had become!
Just one month ago, and only six months since I had been wed, and after hours and hours of labor and agony, I gave birth to my daughter. She slowly crawled her way out, a screaming, wailing mass of blood and mess. I laid on my back, gasping, weeping in pain and frustration. Throughout the entire ordeal, I could only think of one morbid thing, could silently chant to myself only one mantra that kept me sane…
In pain she was born, and in pain she will leave…Yet after the midwife had cleaned the babe and wrapped her in a blanket, she truly was a beautiful little girl! Perfect, angelic features, lovely brown hair, innocent brown eyes, delicate little fingers and toes. Simply sublime. We named her Adele.
"Oh, Charlotte," my husband had cried out. "She's wonderful!" He cradled the darling baby in his arms, smiling benignly. I could only smile weakly in return.
And yet…
And yet…
Her next cry, her next wail of loneliness and hunger, brought fear and sadness to my heart. My husband quickly released our daughter to me and strode from the room, not knowing how to care for this innocent being. Wearily I brought her to my breast, to give her that chance at life that she so greedily sought. I wept as she fed, tears falling in spite of the fact that there had been no miscarriage, no complications. Such a fortunate birth.
Such an unlucky, untimely birth!
For what hope was there for this child, or for me? Both of us, females, bound to a life of domesticity and submission. Men would always lord over us and refer to us as "mine." My Charlotte. My Adele. My little darling. You are my wife.
In pain you were born, and in pain you will leave…Had I wanted this child? Did I want to live a life bound to caring for this creature? For the next twenty years this would be my role: mother, guardian, caregiver. Had all my lessons and experiences come down to this? A simple role, confined to this nest? This birdcage? What escape was there for me? Married to a superstitious fool, destined to live out the best years of my short life in a house – there was no hope for me!
My Angel had been right, I realized with renewed sadness. I could not own my own body, my own life…
Yet there was still one way out, was there not?
No! I would not go mad! I would control my mind!
No, there was never only one choice. There was always the alternative.
Madness…
…or death!
I realized, too late, I was crying. A tear splashed onto Adele's darling face. She stirred in her sleep, frowned, wiped the mark of depression from her cheek. She turned over onto her side, away from her mother.
How could she do that to me! To turn from her own, weeping mother! Her own mother who had nothing but her daughter's best interests in mind!
What were her best interests?
Surely not to live in this prison, this shell that she could not own. Surely not.
To live was to lose, but to die was to gain…
My hand gently patted Adele's head, swept down her neck. I picked her up, gently, quietly, no, don't shake her, don't drop her, not yet at least, just lift her into your caring arms, carry her to the window, walk softly, like a cat, don't wake up the man in the bed over there…
You see, little Adele! Look at the brightening sky! It is nearly daylight! The night and the moon fade, they escape the sun! Here, on this wretched earth, you will never reach the stars, the sun, the sky! But I can help you, dear Adele, I can help you reach the heavens!
The window is open. The air is crisp. A gust of wind pushes through, rattling the curtains, the papers, even the blankets. The air resembles none of the sweet pure breeze in Sweden. No, this is Paris, this is France, filled with ghastly buildings and narrow streets and animals and horses and humans all packed into one little sidewalk. No beauty, in this place. A fitting end of human life.
See, Adele! This is the life ahead of you! Do you want this? How can you want this life? Even outside buildings confine you! Tell me you want freedom!
"Charlotte?" said a muddled voice.
I jumped, startled, and nearly dropped Adele out the window.
"Charlotte, what are you doing by the window? What are you holding outside?" My husband sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. I quickly withdrew Adele, who still slept serenely, back inside. "What are you doing? Why is the window open? I woke up to feel a wind blowing against my head! What are you doing?"
"I nearly dropped Adele outside of the window! Don't ever do that again!" I replied flatly.
He blinked. He was still more asleep than awake. He slowly rose to his feet and crossed the short distance between the bed and the window to stand beside me, wrapping his arms around me. "Charlotte, darling, what are you doing? How long have you been standing out here? You're nearly frozen to the floor, you'll catch your death of cold standing here in your nightclothes!"
"Shush, Adele sleeps. I was not doing anything, just showing Adele the beauty of Paris," I said calmly, emotionlessly. How long had I been standing there? Hadn't it been midnight when I had woken up? And now it was not moonlight streaming through the window, but the dawn.
The man shrugged and withdrew his arms from around me. I glanced briefly into his eyes, which were troubled and confused. "I thought for a moment… But no, I must have been dreaming… Blast, what time is it? I've got to be at the Opera House early today! I'll be right back, darling… And do put on a blanket!" With that, he dashed from the room, stopping only to pull on a robe.
I turned back to the slumbering innocent resting in my arms. No? Is the world too dreary for you, Adele? Then perhaps you would like a song! You won't mind if I set you on the window again, would you? There, there, that's a good girl. Just listen to this song, Adele! My own Angel of Music taught me everything I know! Do you hear the Angel when you sleep? You must! I will try to show you what he sings to me!
I began to sing softly at first. Then, my vocalization grew louder, louder and louder and louder as I strove to match the intensity and force that my Angel always demonstrated when he sang.
Oh, no, Adele, don't cry! It's a lovely song! True, it's no lullaby, but you must love it! You will have to love it if you wish to hear the Angel of Music when you sleep!
Dratted child! Stop crying! Stop crying! That is no way to thank the Angel of Music for his songs! He will never visit you, little toad!
"Charlotte? What are you doing?"
It is that man again! That man who always stops me from my singing! That man who clipped my feathers, who ended my song, who entrapped me in this cage! Ignore him, Adele, ignore him!
"Charlotte!"
Oh, Adele, do stop crying! It's not that bad, really now, you are being ridiculous!
"Charlotte!"
No, no, stop, monsieur, I tell you to release my child! She's mine, not yours! Let her go! Oui, oui, monsieur, I will fight you until you let go of my child!
"Charlotte, stop it right now!"
I feel a blow to my head and sink to the floor.
A/N: Confused by what mental illnesses Lotte suffers from? I can name 4:
(1) Schizophrenia (the hallucinatory dreams of her Angel of Music, talking to her doll)
(2) Obsessive-compulsive disorder (always putting away and taking care of her frock, shoes, doll, etc.)
(3) Post-partum psychosis (obsessive concerns with Adele)
(4) An unhealthy dose of feminism relative to the Victorian era. ;)