Pars Quinque
"Look at these truffles! Aren't they just divine? Christine…" he followed her gaze to the buttresses and balconies of a vast gothic structure, the Opera House of Vienna, which towered over the shops and apartments below. What a magnificent building, with arches sweeping round the frame of the entrance and columns adorning its walls—no wonder Christine couldn't keep her eyes off it! "But darling, there is so much here to see. Be patient. We shall go on Thursday."
But three tedious days of shopping out and dining in, dining out and sleeping in passed by before the pair stepped into the foyer of the Opera House. She had taken great care with her appearance this evening, sculpting her chestnut curls about her head and shoulders like a fountain display teeming with ornamental flowers and lavender ribbons, of a silk identical in sheen and color to her gown. She wore no jewelry, rather she hoped to draw attention to the fact that the engagement ring no longer hung near her heart, but instead rested on her hand. A human could live without a hand, but without the pulse which the heart gives to the hand, a human could not live. Yes, that was really her reason—a bit histrionic and under-developed, but symbolic enough for Erik to appreciate her.
After an hour of smoozing and chatting with the few attendants who spoke French, Christine's disappointment was confirmed: Erik would not see her tonight.
She was absolutely right. She and Erik were separated by twenty seven rows and the orchestra, but she could see all the glimmer of his makeup in the torchlight of the stage, she could feel the fire behind his eyes even from this distance, could hear his heartbeat keeping time with the music. It was strange to hear him singing the jolly farce of The Marriage of Figaro, though she did not believe it beyond his scope of performance. The dancing and music were equal to that found in Paris, but the kiss which Erik bestowed upon his leading lady pinched her in the small of the back, made her squirm within her skin. Look here, look here! I bet that dainty, soulless thing pretending to be his muse doesn't even know what is beneath his mask, what he really is. I'm his muse, I'm his soul!
The moment the applause began to climb Christine grabbed Raoul's hand and dragged him out of the Opera House. She was furious.
"Christine? Are you well?" She was mad with jealousy, which Raoul mistook for the dramatic anger of an obsessed thespian. "I thought the performance was fine. What offended you?" Genuine concern hung from his voice and dripped onto her face as he held her close to him and wiped away her tears. Christine sobbed.
She's still crying for Erik, he thought. The performance has brought it all back again. What do I have myself in for? If my brother were alive today, he'd remind me again what a fool I am to be marrying a dancer. It's nothing but drama, drama, drama all day long!
"Oh, churchbells," he whispered to her, stroking her hair. "They'll be chiming for us soon enough."
Damn your churchbells. I could tell him right now that bells will never chime for us, I could break it right now. I wish they'd cease their racket and let my mind relax. All this noise, noise all the time. How can they even call that music? Well, I'll never use them. And I bet… oh no. It can't be. At this time of night? But of course! My night angel weds at night, and I'm still standing here. No I'm not. I'm running. Look, I have some energy after all. Poor, stupid Raoul… he's not even bothering to chase after me. He probably knows. Well, he can rot for all I care. I never thought I'd be able to run this far. I'm so tired. My dress, oh what the dickens! What are rocks doing in the middle of the walk? I could have tripped. Or died.
This must be the church. The bells have stopped. Thank God. I wish I had a mirror; I bet I look like a regular street woman, with my dress all caked in dust and my hair everywhere. But… oh, blast this is all wrong. Or is it all right? Well here goes…
Christine pushed open the ancient wooden door and stepped inside a chapel, still candlelit from the Vespers service. She heard the rush of air behind her as she paused in the hall to catch her breath, and the candles dimmed one at a time until only two remained lighting the altar at the front of the Church.