Chapter 16 - Eguale

Speak the word

to revive my heart's fondest hopes

or shatter this oppressive dream!

- Eugene Onegin, Act I

I changed this chapter really quite a lot from the first edition. It just wasn't right; the dialogue didn't flow and E 's thought processes were murky, and that's me being nice about it. Sorry for any confusion or if you prefer the old version (I put it up as a separate story so it's there for those who are interested). But I know this is the way it was meant to be.

The wait in front of Christine's practice-room was interminable. With trembling hands, Erik clutched the bouquet of yellow roses he'd brought with him.

They would be wilted before she arrived, he thought. He had been waiting for several thousand years. And then he checked his watch and found that no, there were still ten minutes to go before the time they had agreed on. Of course there were - she would never be so discourteous as to keep him waiting. That was not Christine Daae.

At last he saw her coming down the hall. He thought his heart would stop.

She looked like an angel in a striped blue gown embroidered with white flowers. "Erik," she said, in her sweet, musical voice.

That voice! Even in ordinary speech, its clarity, its brightness, was astonishing.

He didn't trust himself to speak. He could not stop thinking of the last time he had seen her; his hideous words, and her sobs, still echoed in his ears. With shaking, clumsy hands, he held out the roses.

Her eyes hardened.

He mechanically pulled them away again, watching her face with trepidation.

"Are you mocking me?" she cried at last.

"No!"

"I ought not to have come." She began to turn away.

"They stand for repentance!" he said frantically. "Christine, I did not come here to torment you."

She looked back over her shoulder, meeting his eyes for the first time. The light in the corridor was dim, and for a moment she looked like the Girl with a Pearl Earring, caught in chiaroscuro, tremulous and apprehensive and delicately beautiful. "We ought to go inside," she said at last.

When they were safely shut into the room, he frantically scanned her face, searching for some clue as to what she wanted from him. It was difficult to say.

"Erik," she said awkwardly at last.

He stared at her stupidly. He loved her so desperately, and he was so unworthy of her. "Christine. You... you are well, I hope?" At once he hated himself for saying it. Of course she was not well. He had seen to that. He had been hateful to her; he had broken her heart.

Indeed, she looked annoyed.

Despair flooded through him.

But she did not turn to go.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," she said at last, one hand toying uneasily with a small white bow on the front of her gown. "And you?"

He swallowed. "That remains to be seen, I confess."

"What do you mean?"

"I hardly know." He winced. What had he meant?

"Are you recovering?"

"From what?" he asked.

She looked confused. "From your illness - the absinthe. Why - has something else happened?"

Of course, he realized. She did not know that the other night had been just as painful for him as for her, that he had somehow managed to break his own heart as well as hers. She would never know...

"Oh... yes... no," he said idiotically. "Forgive me - yes, I am recovering." His replies were growing more and more stilted and awkward.

"I am glad," she said. "I have prayed for you every day."

"Thank you." Why, why could he think of nothing more intelligent to say? Now, of all times? He knew seven languages fluently, but just now it seemed he could not speak any!

"Why have you called me here?" she asked at last. "I thought you had had enough of my histrionics."

He winced. The memory of his own words cut him like a knife. "To beg your forgiveness," he said.

"Really?"

"I was a fool, Christine. I did not mean a word of that poisonous, perfidious speech. I shudder when I think of it."

"But you made it all the same," she said, incontestably. "It hurt me cruelly."

"Christine, forgive me-"

"-You don't know what I have endured these past few days. It hurt me so much I thought I would die, Erik."

"Oh, you must not do that, Christine!"

She smiled wryly. "I am made of stronger stuff than that, you know. I don't intend to die, not for another fifty years or so at least, provided nobody runs over me with their carriage. But Erik... Did you really believe that I would lie to you about being in love with you? Out of desperation? Surely you cannot believe me capable of that. Besides, I am only twenty-one - that isn't so very old. Surely I have a few more months before I need to worry." She almost smiled.

This only upset him further. He was reminded again of the painful irony that he had had to fall in love with a beautiful woman ten years younger than he was. Truly, God, if He existed, must have a cruel sense of humor. Erik could hardly conceive of a way the gulf between him and Christine could be any wider. "No, of course not! No, I know you would not-"

"-And... Erik, here is the part which wounded me the most... did you really think I thought you could never get anyone else?" she said. "That I thought I was doing you a favor by asking for your love? The idea is repugnant to me! I hope God throws down a bolt of lightning and incinerates me on the spot if I ever grow so arrogant! I could never think such an insulting, hateful thing! Not about you, or anyone!"

"No... Christine, I know you to be an honorable woman; I know you do not think of people in that way..."

She looked at him in confusion. "Then why...?"

He owed her an explanation, he realized painfully.

At last he found the strength to make the most humiliating confession of his life. "I was bewildered. I was wholly at a loss to understand it. As you have probably surmised, Christine... no other woman has ever loved me."

He waited. He was sure she was going to laugh, or sneer - though that was not in her nature - but she did not.

She merely looked at him sadly. "Erik..."

"Indeed," he said, "I thought there would never... I did not see how you could... You are so beautiful and I..." He trailed off.

For a moment, she stood in silence. "I did not surmise that, Erik," she said at last. "It had never occurred to me."

"Then you ought to have your eyes examined." She did not mean to condescend to him, he reminded himself. Indeed, perhaps this really had not occurred to her - though he could not wrap his mind around such obliviousness!

"The problem isn't with my eyes. The problem is with anyone who would look at you and think..." She trailed off. "I find it appalling that a man like you would not be appreciated..."

"Thank you," he said, more confused than never.

"Yes. Well. I thank you for entrusting me with this information. That cannot have been easy. Knowing this, I understand why you were taken aback. Do please forgive me if I… made you uneasy the other night."

"I say again, there is nothing to forgive. You did me a great honor, Christine."

"Do you really think that?"

"I do."

Suddenly she had to blink back tears. "Erik..." she said when she trusted herself to speak.

"What is it, Christine?"

"Erik... I want to tell you... the Vicomte has asked me to marry him."

His heart seemed to freeze, tendrils of ice snaking through his veins. Of course. He had known this day would come eventually. The Vicomte had not been subtle. Still, the blow was a heavy one.

"Erik?" she said.

"Yes. I knew that was coming," he managed at last. "We have all seen the way he snivels after you."

"Yes, and of course you would never be stupid enough to love me," Christine muttered.

He did not hear her. "You really could not have chosen a stupider man, you know," he sneered. His mind was whirling. What was he going to do? He was going to have to kill the Vicomte now. But how could he? - Christine would never forgive him. Supposing his body washed up on the banks of the Seine… she needn't know Erik had anything to do with it…

"I have not yet accepted him," she said.

Perhaps he need not drown any aristocrats today, he thought. Although, she had said 'yet'... Hideous word. Horrible word.

"And I did not choose him," she added bitterly. "I chose you - but you did not want me." She swallowed, and for a moment was unable to go on. "He chose me," she added when she could speak. "It means a great deal to be wanted."

"What happened to not choosing a man out of desperation?"

"How dare you?" she cried. "I would not be doing anything of the kind."

"But you do not love him!" he said. "You cannot-"

"-Not yet, but I have a very high regard for him. I can learn to love him."

"Learn to love him?" he said scathingly.

"Yes. Given time. He is a worthy man. He loves me sincerely."

Yes - better and more honorably than I could, Erik thought miserably. Damn him! Would he be so irritatingly, blamelessly honorable if he had had the sort of life Erik had? I think not!

"If I marry him, he deserves for me to love him in return," she finished.

"Why did you tell me of this?" he said. "If you mean to marry him, why did you come here today? Oughtn't you to be with him?"

"I don't know," she said. "I thought perhaps… I hoped you would be glad for me."

"Glad to see you married to that imbecile?"

She sighed. "He is not an imbecile. He is a good man. He would be a good husband to me. Besides, he said he will allow me to continue to sing - not many husbands would permit that."

"Do you really imagine he would continue to support your artistic career? No - those aristocratic families will never tolerate you performing on the stage! They would be ashamed of it - ashamed of your gifts! He would have you out of the Opéra in a heartbeat and you would spend the rest of your life going to garden-parties and hosting charity luncheons and embroidering cushions…" He stopped, trying to collect himself. "Do not throw yourself away!"

Her eyes widened with anger. "How dare you propose to tell me what to do with my heart? I offered you my love and you made it perfectly clear I was not of interest to you!"

"But Christine, that is not what you are destined for!"

"He said he will defy his family to let me continue performing," she said. "He is willing to endure disinheritance for me. He is not so unworthy as you think."

He snorted. "He would say anything to win you over - but he won't do it."

"What?" she said.

"Give up his share of - how much are the Chagnys worth - four million francs?"

"Five million, or so Meg has told me. On a number of occasions," she muttered.

"Five million, then - so much the more reason why he won't do it," Erik said. "No-one would. It is impossible. I do not think you would dare to ask it of him, when it came down to it."

She sighed. "You may be right, and it pains me. But what choice do I have other than to accept him? You know my career at the Opéra won't last without an instructor - and I haven't a sou in the world."

"Christine, I will continue to teach you. I tore up that ridiculous check you sent me; let us never speak of it again-"

"-I cannot be your student!" she cried.

"What?" he said.

"I cannot keep seeing you every day- even every week."

"Why not?"

"If you know me as well as you claim, you ought to understand!" she cried. "It is too painful for me to see you! I have a passionate nature! When I love, it consumes me! Being around you is-"

"-And you think a man like the Vicomte would satisfy that?" he sneered.

"No!" she admitted at last. "No! - but it would be better than being around you, loving you as I do, while never having your love in return!"

"You would have Art - you would sing the greatest music man has ever created - Mozart, Christine! - Handel, Verdi, the greatest treasure this world has to offer - what would you need with mere mortal affection?"

She scowled. "I see you are one of those charming specimens who think a lady ought to be expected to sacrifice everything on the altar of Art if she wishes to achieve success!"

"What?"

"Really, Erik, I expected better of you of all men! Of course there is never any question of a man having to choose between the happiness of marriage and a career on the stage! You would still be free to marry, I daresay, in this arrangement you have proposed!"

"I? I, marry?" He snorted. "As if there could ever be any question of-"

She did not hear him. "-Art is not enough!" she cried. "I need to be loved! What an empty life that would be otherwise."

The irony was painful. "Oh, people have survived without love often enough in this world!" he cried. "Not only women, either!"

"Perhaps," she said, "but I could not. And I certainly could not see you every day and stand by your side and feel all the love I have for you - the best part of me- suffocating-"

This was simply too much to bear. It was as though the Devil himself was mocking him, flinging the pain of all these miserable long months back in his face. "-Oh, I daresay you ought to be able to manage!" he cried.

"How can you say that?" she gasped. "Why in Heaven's name do you think I would be able to 'manage' that?"

He was wholly overwrought. "You can," he snapped, with no idea of what he was saying, "when it is what I have been enduring these past three years!"

"What?" she cried.

Erik froze. They stared at each other as they realized what he had just said.

"Who is she?" Christine said, breaking the silence. But it was obvious. "It is me… isn't it?" Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. "You love me? Is it true? Why, is this why you have been teaching me? Why you-"

"-Christine... Oh, Christine, please do not make all of this any more difficult..."

"Erik..." she said. "If you can look me in the eye now and say you really do not love me, then I shall do just as you ask - I shall go away and never trouble you again."

"I... Christine..." He wanted to deny it. He must. It was essential that no-one ever know he had had the presumption to raise his eyes to an innocent creature like her. That a repulsive carcass like him had dared to dream of beauty. And yet he could not say it. Something in him was fighting back, refusing to let him say it - some force in him that he thought had been vanquished long ago. The words died on his lips. "Christine... oh, precious Christine, beautiful Christine... God forgive me..."

She gasped. "-You do love me," she said breathlessly.

"Oh, Christine... Christine, you are entirely perfect... if we lived in another world, if I were a different man, then of course I should want..."

"You do love me! My God! Erik... why in Heaven's name have you been keeping this from me? It has been agony for me, and surely it must have been painful for you as well-"

"-I am sorry to have hurt you! I never intended for this to happen! Christine, you must understand... this cannot be! It would have been kinder for me not to tell you. This must not go on!"

"Why not?" she said.

"You are a beautiful, innocent young girl - there are things you ought not to know about- horrors beyond understanding, Christine-"

"-What things?" she cried.

"Pray do not ask... You do not know what you are dealing with - it is too dangerous, too evil for words-"

"-Is this because of the thefts? Do you fear being caught?"

"No." He turned toward the door. "Do not ask any more questions! I must go - you must try to forget me, Christine!-"

"-Impossible!" she cried.

"But you must!" he pleaded. "Oh, poor Christine-"

"-Why? Why should I forget you? How could I ever?"

"You should go and marry the Vicomte. He will give you a good life."

"Never! How could I ever marry him now?" All at once she had taken him by the arm, gently, and he found he could not move. Had she seized hold of him, he could have torn away from her easily, but that gentleness was too strong for him. "Erik," she pleaded. "Are you determined to torment me?"

"No! Christine, I only wish I was capable of love, capable of behaving with any decency toward you, of being what you deserve."

"What? But of course you are capable of love!" she cried. "I never doubted that, and even if I had... the music you write! Of course you are capable of love- of course you are capable of-"

"-No... Christine, I might make you happy for a time - I hardly know-"

"-If I could be yours, I would be happy forever!" she cried.

"No! It would only bring you ruination and despair! God never intended for the likes of me to love you!"

"I did not take you for a religious man."

"Nor am I, Christine. If there is a God, Christine, he hates me. He never meant for me to love or-"

"-No, Erik-"

"-In the end, my love could only..." He hesitated, struggling to put his thoughts into words. "... It could only sully and degrade you!"

Suddenly she was angry - though not with him. "What utter nonsense!" she cried. "Why would you possibly believe a thing like that?"

"You do not know how vile and wicked I really am."

"Is his about the blackmail? I know your reasons for behaving as you did. It was not wicked- I know you had no choice-"

"-No, the blackmail has nothing to do with it."

"What, then?" she screamed, so loud he was terrified someone outside would hear them.

Frantic to silence her, he cried, "Stop this! You know perfectly well why!"

"No, I do not!" she cried. "I am entirely bewildered! Really, I have never heard anyone spout such utter nonsense! You might as well be talking in code!"

"Oh, Christine… You poor, stupid, softhearted woman - you really don't understand, do you? Because of my... Because of... What I am!"

"What you are, Erik?"

"For God's sake, you know what I mean, you little fool! Must I say it? This, Christine! This!" With a stiff, clumsy hand, he gestured to his mask, and then, reeling from the shame, he turned his back. "Men like me are not capable of any decent feeling. No, I am not even a man- I-"

Christine's eyes widened. Suddenly she understood - though it pained her. "Who has told you that? Erik! You are the best man I have ever known! I know you to be honorable in the utmost! All you have ever done is help me and try to protect me! You gave me your music! All of that is love, the highest and most honorable kind of love!"

"But Christine..."

"Erik, nothing you are capable of could ever sully or degrade anything in me!" she cried. "A spirit like yours… all you could do would be to honor and elevate the woman you loved! Please, I entreat you, do not let anyone make you believe you are a monster! I know it to be untrue! I could not bear to lose you because of such hateful, vicious nonsense!"

Erik froze. She was right. She must be - Christine Daae could never be wrong where matters of the heart were concerned.

He stared at her, transfixed. The whole earth seemed to center around the two of them.

He looked her in the eye, drawing strength from her soft gaze.

"Then… yes," he said at last. It was quiet, barely a whisper, but it would suffice. He was victorious. She had saved him. "Yes, Christine, I will be yours!"

Her tears spilled over. "You will really and truly be mine, Erik?"

"Yes, Christine!" he said. "I love you. Jag kar i dig. I have for years. I want to be with you always! Don't marry the Vicomte. Stay with me, Christine. Never leave me, I entreat you! You are the light of my life."

He wasn't sure what he had expected to happen - he had no map for any of this; such a story as theirs had never been lived before, he was certain; there had never, in the whole history of the world, been another woman angelic enough to truly love a creature like him - but it was not what came next. With a loud sob, Christine sat down hard on the piano bench, her hand flying to her mouth. He froze, staring at her, as though she were a precious work of art he had let shatter on the floor.

Good God, what have I done to her? "Christine...! I am sorry..." I should have known. She was noble and generous, yes, but the love of a thing like him was too much for her. "Forgive me... I will..."

Christine sprang up. He was sure she was going to run out of the room. But instead she threw one arm around his shoulders and cradled his cheek in her hand. Yes, she was touching his face, his horrible, wretched face, and she was not afraid.

He stared at her in bewilderment. This simply couldn't be. He tried to say her name, to say anything, but his lips would not form the words.

Was this some after-effect of drinking an entire bottle of absinthe? What in God's name was going on? What was she dong? It was splendid, it was delightful, but…

And then her lips, soft and sweet, were on his, and there was no room left for misunderstanding.

He had never known what it was to be kissed. It was better than he had ever imagined. He understood why people wrote sonnets and symphonies about it.

Life seemed to surge through him. The bitterness drained out of him. It felt like seeing spring for the first time.

She pulled away and looked at him eagerly, expectantly.

Her face flickered in and out of focus as he looked back. For a moment he almost feared she would disappear, as though something so pure, so innocent, coming into contact with a being as foul and contaminated as him would destroy her. But no. She continued to stand before him as bright and glowing as ever. She had kissed him and she did not die.

"Well?" she whispered, blinking back tears, scanning his face desperately. "Please… say something. Erik?"

He couldn't resist her any longer. It was futile. His soul was lashed to hers.

Shaking, he kissed her brow, both her cheeks, her perfect, beautiful little chin - her skin was softer than he could have dreamed - and then, overwhelmed, he had to bury his face in her shoulder. This was all too much. His knees half gave way and he fell back against the piano. Clutching him, she fell too. They sank to the floor as one.

"How can I make you understand?" she said after a moment.

His voice was almost a whisper. "I believe I begin to."

End of Chapter 16.