Chapter 8
You must promise me one thing:
never shall you ask me,
nor trouble yourself to know,
whence I journeyed,
what my name is, or what my origin!
-Lohengrin, Act I, Scene III
"Erik," Christine said hesitantly at the start of their next lesson, "I have a confession to make."
He leaned back from the piano, eyeing her. "You have my attention," he said dryly.
She chuckled, but did not reply.
There was an awkward silence.
"Well?" he prompted gently, smiling.
"I told someone about our lessons," she blurted out at last.
His smile disappeared. "What?"
"I am sorry."
"Did I not tell you, most [specifically, not to tell anyone?" he cried.
"Yes, you did," she acknowledged, "But..."
"Was I [unclear]?"
"No."
"Well, then."
"I am sorry," she said again.
"Who?"
"Pardon?"
"Who did you tell?" he demanded.
"Only Raoul de Chagny. He won't tell anyone."
"The Vicomte?" he practically roared. "Why did you tell him?"
"Is that objectionable? He is a respectable man."
"Ha! You think that, do you?"
This was so unreasonable that she decided, rather than responding, to go on the offensive. "Why may I not tell anyone?" she said.
"Did I not tell you, from the beginning, that you must not ask me any questions?"
"It makes me uneasy."
0000000
"Please, let me continue studying with you!"
He looked at her in surprise. "I'm not going to [fhrow you aside]. After all the work i have done? Besides, you are one of the few people whose conversation is sensible enough for me to tolerate."
She had relaxed at once when [she told her]. "I know that coming from you, that is the most lavish of compliments."
"Indeed, you should be greatly honored." He almost smiled.
00000000
"How old are you? I suppose you must be about thirty?"
"Yes." He'd thought about lying, telling her he was younger. But it wasn't as though he was forty.
0000000
Thirty years old and to have never been with a woman. It was farcical.
"I have asked very little of you - only that."
"I know," she said. And then, "I am not sure whether I can continue this arrangement."
"What?"
"It has put me in a difficult situation. Michel Bordon was very angry with me. he thinks me a liar because i told him I do not have an instructor. it may damage my propects. And before you say it - I know his music is ridiculous, but-"
"-Why did you tell him? You could have-"
"-I couldn't simply make up an instructor - he was going to look [them] up. besides, that would be lying."
"You cannot succeed in the arts without lying."
"If that is true, then I do not want to succeed in the arts at all."
["after all my work?"
000000
"So you told Michael Bordon." Splendid. People were going to try to find out about him. He couldn't have that. What in God's name was he going to do now?
"No," she said.
"What?"
"Who did you tell?"
000000
It was a [truce, then.
0000000
"Men like that are untrustworthy."
"More so than men who insist on wearing masks all the time and have [piles] of secrets?"
"Yes. Men who have been used to getting their way their entire lives are the most dangerous creatures in the world, Christine."
"I have managed to look after myself for my entire life."
"Yes - you are right - I am sorry."
"Forgive me," he said at length. "I do not wish to make you uneasy."
There was a long silence.
"Christine?" he said.
"Erik," Christine said slowly. "You told me you never saw your father."
"Pardon?"
"You told me you never saw your father."
He blanched. "Ah... well-"
"-How am I to trust you? I like this... our lessons... I enjoy meeting together... but..."
0000
in that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them, that they both knew they were meeting, not just for the sake of her musical development or to atone for a deception, but because they liked one another's company.
"I enjoy meeting together." She ought not to have said that.
she certainly ought not to have left the door open for him to [say something that shifted everything].
"Tell me where you learnt to sing."
"There was a priest in the village; he taught me. Père [Clement]. he was a kind man. He was an accomplished musician. he might easily have become a professional. I do not know why he did not; whether he ever attempted to, or... I never thought to ask. one doesn't, when one is young." He paused, deep in thought.
"Is he still in your village?"
"No; he left a long time ago."
000000000
"Yes. many great singers have begun that way."
"Yes." He paused.
000000
"I wondered where you learned," Christine said at length.
0000000000
"Yes," he said. "Choral singing is different than opera, as you know, and of course children's voices cannot sing opera properly. Though of course every week some new little strumpet comes along claiming she can and her rich parents delude the uneducated masses out of their money and the poor creature damages whatever voice she may have had and in the meanwhile real singers are left to-"
She hid a smile.
He collected himself. "En tout cas... I learned the fundamentals from choral singing. I was performing some quite advanced repertoire. Of the sort that is suitable for a child's voice, though, not grand opera... but some Handel... Josquin..."
he looked as though [he had fallen into that mire of sadness] again, and besides, the silence was beginning to make her uncomfortable, so she ventured to [interrupt]. "But you stopped?"
0000000
"You really must learn to develop a tolerance for silence."
"Are you saying that I am too talkative?" she said in mock confrontation.
"No - that is the trouble. You expect other people to do all the talking for you."
0000000
"Ah... yes."
"That is a pity."
[her silences were drawing him out. he found it most disconcerting]. "I had been singing in the church, but the villagers decided they hated me."
"Hated you?" she echoed in surprise.
"Oh, yes."
"Imagine, hating a child!" she said sadly. "That is unpardonable."
"I stole cigars and drank the communion wine and still I had an angel's voice, so they thought I was a devil." Among other reasons.
"Surely all children belong to God. Their souls are pure." She looked thoughtful. "All that when your voice had not broken yet. That is much too young for such things," she said sadly. "How old were you?"
"Twenty-six."
"Don't joke," she said, though she was smiling.
"You would not believe me."
"Erik."
"I would have been about nine. Perhaps younger."
"Someone ought to have been looking after you," she said sadly.
"Who? Certainly not my poor mother." He shook his head.
"I don't know," she admitted.
"That is enough for today," he said, like a teacher reading Perrault fairy tales to his pupils.
"As you wish."
I did not see any way to avoid it."
"Oh!"
"It would be good for my career, after all. i suppose in a way it is fortunate that he took notice of me."
"I suppose you must [jump through those hoops]."
"Is that why you never [became a musician]?"
"Hein?" he said, that uniquely French noise that both said that one had not heard, declared it to be the other person's fault, and implied that [this was extraordinarily inconsiderate of them] to be so [incomprehensible].
"Because you don't [like that sort of thing]? I cannot see you toadying to anyone."
"That is... part of it, yes."
"I appreciate it. I would not like to think of you giving away your soul."
["One does not have to sell one's soul to be a success."]
"I don't think anything can come of it," she said.
"Oh?"
"There can be no question of a Vicomte marrying a chorus-girl. Especially a Protestant."
"You would not convert?" he said casually.
"No, never."
He wanted to leap for joy. The Vicomte could never become a protestant. That family of his would never stand for it.
"This is the faith my mother and father passed onto me," Christine said. "I must honor it."
Erik resolved to become a Protestant at the earliest possible opportunity. How difficult could it be? Certainly nothing that would tax his intellect.
"I have a piece of news concerning your instructor," Raoul said to Christine one afternoon a few days after the party, as they were taking a picturesque stroll through the Jardins des Tuileries.
It was a sunny Monday afternoon. She had wanted to stay inside and work on her music, but he had just happened to be near the opera house that day (or so he claimed - in fact, she did not think it was so coincidental, for it was far from the Chagnys' house, and he knew it was her habit to practice here) and decided to stop by. once arrived, he had wasted no time in importuning her to take a stroll. His persistent friendliness, aided by the splendid weather they were having that day, had at last persuaded her outside.
In truth, she had not required very much persuasion. Just because Erik was allergic to the sun, she thought wryly, and appeared to want her to adopt the lifestyle of a Vampyr, didn't mean she shouldn't be able to enjoy a fine spring day! And if it annoyed him for her to take a stroll with the Vicomte, well - perhaps a part of her liked the idea! The two men plainly hated the very idea of one another though they had never met, and their hardheadedness was beginning to annoy her.
"My instructor?" she said presently. "What news could you have of him?"
"Well, first, I am convinced 'Alphonse Masson' is an alias."
"What are you talking of? Why on earth would you say that? Who would pretend their name is Alphonse?" It is an even worse name than Raoul! she thought, though she did not say it aloud. It was not poor Raoul's fault what his parents had named him, after all.
Raoul lifted his chin a little higher. "I had Gregoire-" Gregoire was his valet- "-look up Monsieur Masson at the telephone exchange, and he found that-"
Christine jumped. "-You have done what?" she cried.
"I looked Monsieur 'Alphonse Masson' and 'Joseph Masson' up at the Paris telephone exchange. All twenty-two of them, that is," Raoul said scathingly.
Christine gasped. "I told you you must keep it a secret! He strictly stipulated that I was not to tell a soul!"
"Other than Madame Giry, of course," he said, eyeing her.
"Yes, yes, apart from her, of course," she said impatiently. "But Raoul - what if he refuses to teach me anymore? Then what shall I do? Did you think of that?"
"I shall pay for another instructor, if you wish," Raoul said.
She paused, taken aback. "Thank you. That is most generous of you. But I don't want to switch-"
"-But surely it is better than having one who is disreputable."
"I don't want another instructor! I want to study with him!" she cried, startling herself with her zeal.
Raoul looked at her in alarm. "You may be upset, but all this was necessary. And I think you shall be glad I did conduct this investigation. You see, not one of those Alphonses or Josephs Masson teaches music. What do you say to that, hein?"
"I still say you should not have done this!" Christine cried.
"So you think, then, that I was wrong to be concerned?" Raoul said. "You still think there is nothing suspicious about any of this?"
"I think the most likely explanation is that the Monsieur Masson who teaches me cannot afford a telephone," Christine said irritably. "Not everyone can afford to have a personal telephone in his home as you can."
"Then am I to go hunting down every Alphonse Masson in the country? Shall I go door to door?" he said mockingly. "What am I to do?"
"Nothing at all! I do not wish for you to make any more investigations! You are not Auguste Dupin!"
"Auguste Dupin?" he said blankly.
"Oh, Raoul, don't tell me you haven't read Poe's mysteries!" she cried, laughing. "You must go to the bookshop and seek out a copy out at once! Cancel the rest of your engagements for the day- this is urgent-"
"-Never mind Auguste Dupin or this Monsieur Poe!" he said irritably. "They are fictional - they need not concern us-"
"-Edgar Allan Poe was a real person!-"
"-They need not concern us, Christine!" he repeated firmly. "It is Monsieur Masson I am talking of. Though frankly, I suspect him of being fictional too- but anyway - what of him? What are we going to-"
"-As for Monsieur Masson - who is not fictional! - I will tell you what I want you to do!" she cried. "I want you to leave the poor fellow alone!"
Raoul paused. "If I agree to that," he said at last, "you must promise you will find out what you can about him."
"What? Why should I make any promise of the kind?" Christine demanded, jabbing her parasol angrily into the ground as she walked. "None of this is your affair!"
"I am concerned for you!" he cried.
Christine stopped and swung to face him. In her temper, she spoke without thinking. "Monsieur de Chagny, let me be frank. I cherish your friendship. I value your esteem. But this 'concern' you profess for me... You seem to regard it as a license to meddle in all my affairs-"
"-Christine!-"
"-and disregard all my wishes," she finished. Indeed, I am very tired of men who have not the smallest concern in my personal affairs telling me how I ought to conduct them! "I am not accustomed to being treated in this way. I think it most inappropriate."
"But don't you understand I am frightened for you?" Raoul cried. "Can't you see? Don't you understand that... for God's sake! Christine... Anything that concerns you…" His voice lowered; his tone grew very grave, and almost tender. "It interests me too, to a degree which... perhaps you will understand one day."
Christine froze. Mère was right, she realized with alarm. He did admire her. Perhaps he even... She stopped herself. She did not want to think of that yet. The idea was overwhelming.
"Don't you see?" Raoul asked. "Don't you understand how much you..." He trailed off.
Christine stood silent, her mind whirling.
Raoul's face hardened, but she gave him nothing.
There was a pause that grew painfully long.
"Very well, then," Raoul said at last, his voice icy. "I think we had better return." And he coldly held out his arm.
Erik watched glumly as the Vicomte's brougham rolled away from the opera house. He had almost gone distracted when he didn't see Christine return - til he realized that the fop had taken her in through the main entry, instead of taking her round to the employees' entrance where she customarily went.
How dare the damned fool strut around his opera house like that? Evidently when one was part of a family who owned half of Paris, one imagined that one could trample on the sacred domain of art in that way! Well, the Ghost would be writing to the managers about that!
Erik had had the chance to watch the young aristocrat closely thanks to his increasingly frequent trips to the Opéra. The little fool was obviously determined to win Christine for himself. Whether as his wife or his mistress, it wasn't clear. It scarcely mattered which to Erik. Either way, she would be lavishly provided for, set for life.
And either way, she would be lost to him forever.
[and christine was entertaining it. she was allowing him to continue to flirt with her in this stupid way.]
Jealousy was the not the word for it, he thought.
i could not be jealous of a man with a mind as flat and grey and insipid as that! i could not envy such a nonentity.
she does not love the vicomte. i am sure she cannot.
He cannot love her as she ought to be loved... and she sees it!
that was where [the pain came from, he told himself.
she sees him for what he is; there is no deceiving her. no, she knows their minds are not akin to one another! And for him to have her simply because she has no money and is desperate?
[He wished there was some way to give some of his money to her. He had been trying and trying to think of a way.]
He could not simply continue to stand idly by and watch while that arrogant, vacuous little good-for-nothing [claimed a woman like Christine].
Anyone but that idiotic pampered little rich boy! Anyone!
He himself could never win her love. That fact was as final, as [incontrovertible] as gravity. haunted him every moment of his existence. It
But then... [there were other ways]. perhaps he could keep her thoughts away from that inbred wastrel long enough for his attentions to turn to some other pretty girl. Perhaps he could keep her intrigued for awhile. It wasn't impossible, surely. She had no idea what a hideous monster he really was.
Yes, perhaps he could! (At the very least he could be a better [lover] than that stupid inadequate little puppy). It could not last forever, but at least awhile. So long as she did not see his face.
It was possible!
A few days later she invited Raoul to take a stroll together, strictly stipulating that they could talk about any topic they pleased except Monsieur Masson.
Though he had no intention of following this rule, he accepted her invitation. They met outside the Opéra during a break in rehearsal and ambled down chic Rue de la Paix.
She [scrupulously] avoided mentioning Erik, but Raoul expertly steered every subject she tried back to the topic he most wanted to discuss.
At last, she relented, and told him some of what she had learned, hoping to put the matter behind them. But this was not to be.
"He lives in the Opéra district?" Raoul repeated in obvious surprise, looking at the lavish apartment buildings around them. "Here?"
"Yes. There, you see?" Christine said, pausing to peer at a pavé bracelet twinkling like an ice crystal in a jeweler's window. "Ah. Rather too extravagant to be tasteful, I think." She turned back to Raoul. "You cannot deny that is respectable."
"Wealth is not the same thing as respectability," Raoul said. "Do you really think me so little as that?"
Christine sighed. "No."
"I daresay someone with a residence on a boulevard near the opera house can afford a telephone after all," Raoul said.
"No, I am sure he cannot," Christine said. "His appartement sounds perfectly miserable. It is underground. It doesn't even have any windows." She felt a sudden flood of pity for Erik.
"Very well - perhaps I was mistaken on that point," Raoul admitted reluctantly. "But none of this means he is respectable or honest."
Christine cast her eyes about for a café; she had a sudden craving for sweets, as she did whenever she was annoyed. But she did not try to stop; if she did, Raoul would insist on paying, and then she would be obliged to stop arguing with him.
"Perhaps I have allowed myself to be blinded by prejudice," Raoul said, producing a smile. "In the interest of fostering more cordial relations between us, therefore, what do you say to this: Won't you give him my card?"
Christine looked back at him. "I am not sure he carries calling cards."
"I assure you he will have a card of some kind - he has his own business, does he not? Pray don't look at me like that," Raoul said. "What harm can there be in one respectable gentleman asking another to pay a simple social call?"
Christine sighed. It was a burdensome request, but perhaps if she carried it out, Erik's rejection would finally make Raoul understand that his inquiries were fruitless. He, at least, could certainly be relied upon to dismiss someone with panache and élan. Let them deal with one another and leave her out of the matter. She pried open her slim leather handbag - a gift from Mère a few years ago - and slid the card inside. "Very well."
Raoul's efforts in this direction did not go unrewarded. A few days later an unusual message arrived at his house.
Most exalted Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny, it began.
Raoul was accustomed to being addressed in this way, and thus the sarcasm escaped him. Expecting a contrite message from a gentleman eager to make amends, he read on in a benevolent frame of mind. This quickly faded, however, as he learned what the writer had to say.
I thank you for the tremendous honor you have done me by asking Mademoiselle Daae to give me your card. It is now among my most prized possessions. I will treasure it for the rest of my life. However, I fear I must disappoint your request. I am immensely gratified that you have expressed interest in studying music with me-
"What?" the Vicomte roared. Was someone playing him for a fool?
-But since my last student was the daughter of a marquis, he read on, and my other clients are all of similar rank, you will easily comprehend how they might be offended were I to take on a vicomte as a pupil. (For Mademoiselle Daae, I was willing to make an exception. This was because even though she has no title, in contrast to you, her talents and capacity to learn were obvious.)
Raoul fumed silently, stewing over this. No title, in contrast to you... or in contrast to you, her capacity was obvious?
Whether or not the double meaning of this sentence had been intentional, however, there could no longer be any doubt that he was being insulted.
He read the last few lines with clenched teeth.
This is not the first time you have tried to meddle in my affairs. I must insist that in future you refrain from such intrusions.
Your obedient servant,
A. M.
This interesting missive accomplished one thing for certain. From then on Raoul's dislike of 'your obedient servant, A. M.' was set in stone.
End of Chapter 8.
*French word for window-shopping ("faire du lèche-vitrines"). It's so great I couldn't resist putting it in.