Chapter 17 - Tranquillo
Oh, do not drive me away; you love me!
And I will not leave you!
-Eugene Onegin, Act II
Music suggestions: 'The Swan' by Camille Saint-Saëns; 'Always Summer' by Terry Davies the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra ('Brideshead Revisited')
"Oh, mad Christine," he murmured into her hair. "What have you done?"
"Perhaps I ought to ask you the same thing," she said blissfully.
"I hardly know... Christine, you have my word, you shall not regret this!"
"I know I shall not," she said. Even he could not fail to recognize the happiness in her voice.
He held her closer, clinging to her as though their lives depended on it. "Whatever you wish for, I shall see that you have it."
"I don't want anything, Erik. I already have all I want."
"I shall see that you are the happiest of women! You shall-"
She pulled away and looked him steadily in the eye. "-You already have."
There was a pause.
"I should like for us to go someplace together," she said. "We cannot just sit here in the music-room at a time like this, not when we have made the most momentous discovery in the world. We must celebrate it."
"You are entirely right, of course," he said blissfully, though he quavered at the thought. Go someplace? What did she mean by that? To a restaurant, the theatre? Surely she knew that was impossible. Masks weren't exactly de rigeur in the finest circles. Or any circles.
"What is your favorite place in Paris?" she asked. "That is where I should like to go."
"Oh, the Pont Neuf, the Île de la Cité, the Parc des Buttes Chaumont - When?" His mind flooded with all the places he would like to take her - suddenly imagining all his favorite spots, indeed, the whole world, in a new and beloved light.
"Oh, at once!" she said giddily, laughing.
"At once? But… you have rehearsal."
"Ah, but you see, unfortunately I have just learned I am going to miss rehearsal," she said, smiling and drawing closer to him. "It is unavoidable."
"I should like that more than anything." He smiled. "But if you were simply to leave..."
She smiled. "-I shall be ill. They cannot blame me for that. In fact, I am certain I feel a chill coming on even now. I shall send word via Meg."
"I am afraid as your instructor, I cannot allow this kind of thing." He smiled.
"You are not acting in the capacity of my instructor right now," she said cheekily, glancing down at his arm encircling her waist. "You are speaking in the capacity of my… What is it we are to one another? I don't like the word 'amant'."
Lover? He jumped.
"There is something dirty about it," she said.
"One of the interesting vagaries of the French language," he said. "Even the most innocent words sound provocative." He lifted one of her beautiful, soft hands to his lips and kissed it.
She smiled. "Yes. But there must be something," she said. "Why, yes. You are… mon bien-aimé." My beloved. She smiled at the sound of it.
"I cannot imagine anything better, Christine." Warmth flooded through him at the word. Bewitched, he lifted a hand and stroked her curls, carefully, with just the tips of his fingers, as though she were a painting that was not quite dry, or a sculpture he didn't want to damage. The slightest wrong move might wake him, dissolve this whole beautiful dream.
Suddenly there came a knock at the door, startling him out of his thoughts.
"Christine!" cried a familiar cheerful voice. "Are you in there, ducky?"
Christine jumped.
Erik's shoulders slumped.
"Yes," Christine called back out of habit, then looked annoyed with herself for giving them away. She glanced toward him apologetically. "I suppose I would not make a very good Phantom," she said quietly.
But it was impossible for him to be annoyed. Perhaps in some other universe, he might have been. But here, today, he was at peace with everyone and everything. The city could have been blown to smithereens around them and he would scarcely have noticed. "I do not recommend it as a line of work," he said. "In fact, I have been thinking of getting out of the business myself."
Christine's face lit up with happiness and relief. "Oh, how glad that makes me."
"Have you forgotten what time it is?" Meg called. "At this opera house, we have a curious practice of rehearsing our material before we present it to the public!"
"Is it that time already?" Christine called.
"Yes. Are you all right?"
"Never better," Christine called. She smiled at Erik.
"She does not know I am here," Erik recalled.
"No. I told her I was not coming, but I changed my mind."
He shuddered at the thought of how close they'd come to none of this ever happening. "Thank God you did. I have never been more glad of anything."
"Nor I. Shall I tell her what has happened?" Christine whispered. "She will be delighted that I am so happy."
Erik did not think Meg would be delighted by this development at all.
Still... Christine was happy! He had made her happy! There was no greater possible joy than this.
"I wish we could announce it to the whole city," he said. And indeed, that was true. "But I fear it would not be safe to tell anyone, except perhaps Madame Giry."
Christine's face fell. "Oh," she said. "I see."
"Simply, ah... tell her that we have resumed our lessons."
Christine smiled wryly. "That is one way to put it."
"Christine?" came Meg's voice.
Christine jumped. "Just go on without me, dear! I shall be few minutes, and you are on before me!" she called, and at last Meg's footsteps faded down the hall.
Erik gently clasped Christine's hand, savoring its warmth. "I am sorry, Christine. Having me as anything more than an acquaintance tends to be be rather hazardous, I find." He sighed. "I am being kinder toward Meg than toward you."
"What?"
"I am being so damnably selfish letting you associate with me. It is like playing with fire. I probably deserve the guillotine for it."
"No," Christine said frantically, drawing closer to him. "I too have chosen to continue our... association. After all, playing with fire can be rather exciting, you know." She smiled.
He gazed at her, enraptured. How perfect she is.
"But I see what you mean about Meg," she went on. "And I suppose keeping this a secret would be better for my reputation as well, at least for the time being. Though I do not know how I shall bear to keep it to myself for any length of time."
He traced a finger along her cheek. "Oh, but it is beautiful to have a secret like this. I shall treasure it."
"Yes," Christine murmured, smiling and brushing her lips against his finger. There was not a hint of coquetry in the gesture, only pure adoration, and he loved her for it. "In fact... let us not tell anyone for the present."
"No-one?" he said. "Madame Giry may wish to know."
"No... no... Let us wait and, ah... surprise her."
"Very well," he said uncertainly.
"I fear I must go," she said. "When shall I see you?"
"As soon as possible," he pleaded, and then, "After rehearsal, that is to say."
"Where shall I find you, then?"
"I shall be watching your rehearsal. As always," he couldn't resist adding with a hint of pride.
Christine's expression was both moved and anxious. "I thought I saw you in Box Five, when I was singing Me Voilà Seule Dans La Nuit."
He smiled. "You were exquisite."
She was torn between gratitude and alarm. "Oh... thank you... But you mustn't be there!"
"It is my only chance to see you onstage," he protested.
"It is too foolhardy," she said, almost pleading.
He looked disappointed.
"I shall gladly sing whatever you wish for you when we are alone," she said. "But not this way."
"Very well, then," he relented at last. "I do not think I could deny you anything, I confess."
"I am very glad to hear it," she said teasingly.
He smiled. "Where shall I await you, then, milady?"
"Your home, perhaps?"
"Yes, I suppose that would be possible, though we cannot make a habit of it." Erik reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and drew forth an immense key. "You recall the tunnel behind the gate on Rue Scribe?"
"Yes," she said.
He held out the key and gently folded her hands around it. "Very well. If you come a little ways into the passage and call for me, I shall hear you."
Christine slipped the key into her reticule with eager, fumbling fingers. "Then I shall see you tonight," she said, beaming.
His expression grew more solemn. "Christine..."
"What is it?" she asked, the mirth fading from her eyes.
"Do take care when you come, Christine," he said. "I know that one day all that madness with the Phantom will catch up to me."
"Erik-"
"-It could be any day. And I could not bear it for you to be linked back to me when that happens. The world would be merciless to you. You must swear to me you shall not ever allow that to happen."
"You have my word."
"Thank you." He kissed her forehead. "Now you must go."
"I suppose." She rose and turned away. For several long moments, she could not look at him; she was too shy, too overwhelmed. Then, however, she turned to take one last glance at him, and then she could not look away. At last she darted out of the room, leaving him breathless with the knowledge of all that had just happened.
Two thoughts whirled through his brain: Christine was happy, somehow, because of him… and he would never, never again have to be alone. It was over. His terrible loneliness and isolation, his spell in Purgatory, was over.
Someday she would tire of him, assuredly, and then he would certainly die - but what did that matter? For these few moments, however long they lasted, he had had her, and that was more than enough for him.
All his life he had been beaten, scorned, despised and rejected. He had endured every kind of torture and humiliation.
But against that: Christine loved him. That outdid all the rest. What did any misfortune amount to in comparison to that? It swept them all away effortlessly. The balance was cleared.
The world had been wrong about him. This proved it. There was goodness in him, even beauty, somehow. There must be. Otherwise, how could such a perfect creature have chosen him?
From now on it was going to be a new life.
Christine practically floated down the hall. That, she thought, was how a kiss ought to be. The memory of it filled her with a warmth that was slow to fade, and the knowledge that Erik loved her sent white-hot, triumphant joy searing through her like lightning.
At rehearsal, she sang with more joy and passion and fire than she ever had before. A part of her was frightened people would notice the change. But for the most part, she didn't care.
But though normally she savored every moment of rehearsal - even when La Carlotta was screeching at her, at least she was onstage - today it seemed to drag on for days.
As it waned on, her mind swarmed with uncertainties.
What if Erik changed his mind? What if she was late and he thought she had changed hers?
What if she had imagined at all? Still more unsettling - what if she hadn't?
Meg laughed over how distracted she seemed, and Madame Giry watched her with concern.
Normally, she was the last person to leave. But today, she was inching toward the wings before it was over. She escaped from the milling crowd with the same sense of relief she would have felt at bursting out of a hot room. With every footstep, her eagerness quickened. Once outside, she almost forgot to look to make sure no one was watching before she hurried through the gate on Rue Scribe.
"Erik?" she called, once she had shut it behind her and gone a safe distance down the tunnel. She was too impatient to wait for more than a few moments for a reply, however. "Mon cœur?"
"Christine!" True to his words, he materialized out of the darkness in a matter of moments. He must have run to where she was, she thought happily, or else he had been waiting for her in the tunnel.
They looked at each other in silence for a moment, suddenly shy.
At last, she dropped the little lantern she'd brought and flung herself unceremoniously into his arms, kissing him deeply.
They stood like that for she knew not how long, neither wanting to move.
"I suppose it would not do for me to keep you here," he said at last, noticing how cold her hands had grown. He lifted one to his lips and kissed it til it was warm.
She smiled. "No, I suppose not."
"Well, then. Where shall we go this evening, Christine? Paris is yours." He gestured expansively above them.
"Go?" she said. "I thought we were going to your lair - I mean, your home. I should like for us to be alone."
"I am sorry to disappoint you, but your presence in my lair…" His mouth twisted ironically to one side... "I rather like the sound of that, you know; I loved to imagine I was a dragon when I was younger…"
"Did you indeed? I did as well."
"Indeed. And you? What else?"
"A sorceress, a viking, a pirate... sometimes a great diva."
He smiled. "That is not so very far from the truth."
She kissed him.
"Forgive me; what were you saying?" she asked after a few moments, pulling away.
"Ah. Yes." He ran a hand through his hair and paused to recollect. "Your presence in my lair would I think be rather difficult to explain away if I were caught."
"Explain away?" Christine said uncomprehendingly.
"In any other place, you could say I found you and grabbed you. Or, at your home, you could say I broke in."
Christine stared at him in shock. "Mon cœur, I could never do such a thing! You would be arrested!"
"It is better than you being condemned for choosing to associate with me," he said sadly. You would be locked up in a madhouse if you told anyone that you fancied yourself in love with a thing like me."
"No! Erik-"
"-Besides, I have always escaped when I have been arrested in the past." He looked down at himself. "As you see," he added wryly.
"But what if you did not escape this time?" she cried. "What then? This is absurd! You have every right to be seen with me!"
"No, I do not, not in the eyes of-"
"-Yes, I have!" she protested. "My love for you is honorable! I will not be ashamed of it! I want to be able to tell people of it! Why should I not?"
"You know why, if you would admit it to yourself." He paused. "If you will not promise me this, I cannot let you go down there."
Her face hardened. "I cannot promise any such thing, and I never shall."
He stared at her in despair. "Oh, Christine, I don't want contention between us."
She softened. "Mon amour... Neither do I."
"Yes. But things will be... difficult."
"I am not afraid." She smiled bravely up at him, trying to convince them both that she believed it.
He felt a flood of unspeakable gratitude. "Then... perhaps we might delay this... discussion... until another time? I should like to enjoy being with you without having this evening... tainted by worry."
"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, you are quite right. We can certainly find somewhere else to go. After all, we live in the most beautiful city in the world."
"I am grateful, Christine." He paused. "What do you say to Parc Monceau?" he suggested after a moment. "It isn't far."
She gladly accepted the new topic of conversation. "Very well. Yes, you are right. And it is so very beautiful. But... oh, dear, it will be closing soon, will it not?"
He smiled. "Precisely."
Her face lit up with understanding. "Oh! Why... will we be trespassing, then?"
He nodded, a little nervous that she might object.
Instead, however, a conniving smile spread over her sweet face. "How very thrilling."
Great God, how he adored her.
Smiling, he led her carefully out of the tunnel. Somehow he managed to get them both out onto Rue Scribe without anyone noticing. He turned up his collar to hide his mask.
"Would you care to take a promenade, my dear Mademoiselle?" he asked, turning to Christine with a smile.
"Are we going to walk?" Christine asked, glancing down in dismay at her dainty, high-heeled boots - stylish, but not in the least practical for lengthy promenades through the city.
Erik shrugged. "My usual practice is to jump onto the back of a hansom cab. I should not like to put you through such an endeavor."
"But why is that necessary?" she asked.
"There isn't anywhere at the Parc to leave my brougham. And I doubt the cabs or the omnibus would take me."
"Oh. I see. I am sorry, mon cœur." She paused. Suddenly a gleam came into her eyes. "But you know, a cab would take me."
"But I should not like for you to have to wait at the Parc alone at night." He hid his disappointment that she would leave him to fend for himself.
"Why, Erik!" She looked at him sadly. "You don't understand. What must you think of me? I should never think of leaving you behind."
"Oh?" he said hopefully.
"My intention was to hail a cab by myself and then have you come along, as though you'd stayed behind for a moment to lock up our house, or something of the kind - and get in after I paid the cabbie and it was too late for him to do anything about it."
"Ah. I see," Erik said, relieved, sorry, impressed, grateful, and amused all at once. "Forgive me, Christine. Yes, you are quite right." He stifled a chuckle. "I can just see it. 'Excuse me, Monsieur; I am but a poor, innocent lovely young lady desperate for a cab home... Thank you, Monsieur; how kind... Oh, and you won't mind if my friend in a long black cloak and a mask comes along, will you? Good, I didn't think so.'"
Christine laughed in spite of herself. "Very well, laugh if you must. But won't you let me give it a try? Think of the trouble it would save if we are successful."
"Yes, you are right. Very well." He stepped behind a news kiosk papered with colorful posters and waited.
A minute or so went by. His eyes wandered uninterestedly over suspicious-looking advertisements for toothache drops and hair restoratives - he may be hideous, but at least he had no need for those, Dieu merci - as he waited. Eventually, he heard Christine's clear, musical voice calling out for a taxi, and an collection of hooves and rickety wheels clattering to a halt.
"Good evening, Monsieur. How much to Parc Monceau?" he heard Christine say, and then, "Very well. We can depart in a moment; I just need to wait for my... my husband."
Husband? Erik jumped.
"Right," came a tired, uninterested voice. "Tell 'im to hurry up, would ya?"
"François, dear, are you coming?" Christine called.
After a moment's confusion, Erik realized he was 'François'. He sheepishly came out of his hiding-place, certain the cabbie would drive away the moment he saw him.
However, the fellow barely looked up. Erik, his head bowed, had ducked into the cab before he could catch a glimpse of his mask. In another moment, Christine had shut the door and they were rolling smoothly along the boulevard.
"Why, that was simple," Erik said happily. He turned to look at Christine, not attempting to keep the pride out of his expression. "How clever you are."
She smiled.
He clasped his hands on his knees and looked around happily. "I have never ridden in a hansom before."
"They are expensive, but I rather like the privacy they afford," Christine said.
He wasn't quite sure quite how it happened, but a moment later she was kissing him again.
He leapt backwards, practically shoving her away in his surprise.
"Erik?" Christine said. A look of shock had leapt onto her features.
"Christine..." He stammered, barely knowing what he was saying, "You should not..."
"What is it?" Her brown eyes were wide with distress and confusion.
"That is to say- it is not right..."
"I don't understand," she said. She looked on the verge of tears. "What have I done wrong?"
"You have done nothing wrong, Christine," he said, hating himself for distressing her. "You have never done anything wrong. I know you mean to... to please me... but I do not wish for..." He stopped. "I cannot find the words. Do you see?" he said - it was almost a plea.
"No," she said. "I still don't understand. You said you loved me."
"Of course I love you. More than life itself. I worship you."
"Are you mocking me?" she said incredulously.
"What? Certainly not. I could never lie about such a thing." He looked at her in bewilderment. "Why? Don't people say things like that?"
"Not in my experience," she said sadly.
"But if... if one loved another person, surely they would want to say it all the time? 'To love another person is to see the face of God'."
Christine tenderly clasped his hand. "I wish the rest of the world thought the same way you do." She paused. "Well, if you think so highly of me... don't you want me to kiss you?"
"I..."
"...I should be embarrassed if you did not," she said at last in a quiet voice. She looked away, seeming to shrink into herself.
He blanched with horror. "Oh, Christine, you must not think... You are utterly exquisite. I think you perfect in every way."
"Am I indeed?" she said bitterly. "You didn't seem to think so a moment ago."
"I assure you, I am not so blind that I am not capable of seeing how lovely you are," he said. "If things were different, if... if I were not so... if I were good-looking, then of course I should want to..." He felt ashamed even at this admission. What right had he to say such a thing to a creature as pure and lovely, as high above him, as her? "But... I know you do not want..."
She turned back to him. "Oh, but mon cœur, I do! Is that all?"
All? The word incensed him. How could she make light of this, of all he had endured? "Yes; is that not reason enough?" he said bitterly. "Surely something as repulsive as this-" he gestured briefly to his mask. "Is enough to repel anyone. You are under no obligation to come up with any other explanation. I shall not put you to the trouble. I will not take offense. But in return, do not insult us both by acting as though you want to kiss me. It is absurd."
"But I do! And I see nothing repulsive in you."
"Good God," he spat out. "This grows absurd. Christine, if you try to say I am handsome, then by God, I shall get out of this cab and go back to that miserable cave under the Opéra this moment."
She thought for a long moment. "No. I have no wish to try to deceive you; it would be useless. Your face is not handsome; there, are you satisfied? But neither are you repulsive to me. You possess qualities that far outweigh merely possessing a fine set of features. You said you never want me to think you only chose me because you thought you could not get anything better. I want the same for you. I hope you will begin to understand that I chose you because I greatly admire you; I am..." She stopped, blushing. "I am... drawn to you, Erik. There is something between us... I think you have felt it too."
He stared at her in astonishment. Slowly he was beginning to understand. If anyone could learn to see him, to find the man behind the monster, this loathsome gargoyle - the man who yearned for Heaven and dared to dreamed of beauty - it was her.
"Yes," he admitted slowly. "Yes, I have."
"Well, then." Her voice had dwindled to a soft whisper. She kissed him again, tentatively, and this time he did not resist. He did not want to.
NOTICE: NOTHING BUT FLUFF FROM HERE TO THE END OF THE CHAPTER. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
It was not like the previous two times. Something was different. He felt free to worship her, his idol, not just in a distant way, but to love her in this immediate - this physical - sense. For a few brief, blissful minutes, it seemed as though his ugliness melted away and he were just a man, and it was perfectly natural and right for him to want to kiss her, to touch her, to hold her. He had feared he wouldn't know what he was doing - he had read about this kind of thing, but it wasn't the same - but his mouth, his hands, seemed to know what to do - and if Christine's quick breathing and the soft, velvety rhythm of her pulse were any indication, he must not be entirely inept.
The journey passed with remarkable swiftness. It seemed like mere moments before they arrived at Parc Monceau - although he had to admit to himself that he would scarcely have noticed the time passing even if they had driven across the whole city. With his hands buried in Christine's curls, his lips wandering deliciously over hers, and her soft, cool fingers slipped under his collar, it took him several moments to realize that the carriage had come to a halt.
"Parc Monceau!" the cabbie shouted, and from his tone Erik had a feeling he had said it at least once before without them hearing.
He and Christine gazed at each other for a moment in silence. Her expression was the same as his - the same glorious, bewildering mixture of excitement, frisson, nervousness, delighted surprise at her own boldness, and simple, pure bliss.
"Just a moment, Monsieur!" she called at last, disentangling herself from Erik and making a vain attempt to pat her hair back into place.
"Don't," Erik murmured to her. "You look enchanting."
Was he responsible for the new glow in her cheeks, that sparkle in her eyes?
"I'll charge you for sitting here!" the cabbie called.
With a sigh, Christine tumbled out onto the pavement. Erik alighted after her, darting out of the lamplight and into the safety of the shadows around the park.
When the cab had driven away, he emerged warily, taking Christine by the hand.
He scanned the signs attached to the park gate. "Well, the park is already closed for the night, I am afraid. It would have been easier to go in while it was still open and simply hide ourselves somewhere."
"What now, then?"
He stepped up to the high, elaborately sculpted iron fence that surrounded the park. "Fortunately," he said, gesturing to the lavish iron curlicues that decorated the main gate, "They included footholds."
She grinned.
Suddenly, however, her eyes fell on a sign posted outside the entrance. "Semi-private?" she read. "What can that mean?"
"For the unwashed masses, it is closed after dark. But the millionaires who own the adjoining houses have access to the park twenty-four hours of the day and may remain as late as they wish." Erik shook his head. "They must be the luckiest devils in Paris." Well, they may think they are. But I am the one who gained the heart of the most perfect woman who has ever breathed. They may think themselves very clever, but they will never have anything to compare with her.
"Oh... But then... they may still be there," Christine said fretfully.
"In theory, yes, it is possible," he acknowledged, "But I have come here dozens of times at night without seeing a soul."
She did not look reassured.
"People who have always had something extraordinary at their doorstep never take advantage of it," he pointed out. Just as people who have always had love take it utterly for granted.
"Hm, I think that is true," Christine mused. "I think I have seen more of Paris than Meg has. She doesn't understand how fortunate she is to live here."
"Precisely," Erik said. "In addition, if we were seen by a policeman, he would probably assume we were simply some of the residents."
"Very well," Christine said at last. She turned toward the fence. "Oh dear," she said as she took in its height. "Er... May I beg your assistance, my good sir?"
"I should be honored, my dear Mademoiselle." He made his hands into a platform and, when she had stepped delicately onto them with one foot, lifted her carefully off the ground. She balanced easily, a credit to Madame Giry's ballet instruction. Once she had a foothold in the ironwork, she climbed nimbly up the fence, surefooted and unafraid.
As he watched her climbed higher, however, he began to grow uneasy, and put an anxious hand on her back to steady her.
"Take care," he blurted out.
She simply laughed.
His heart was in his throat as she climbed out of his reach. At least she reached the top and perched there like a nightingale.
"If you will wait there," he called up to her, "I shall climb over first and catch you when you jump down."
She grinned down at him. "Will you? Oh, how kind of you."
Taking it at a run, he vaulted nimbly up the fence, cleared the top, and let himself drop down, landing lightly on the other side. Once he'd steadied himself, he looked up for Christine. But she was gone.
He whirled around. She was standing there on the walkway, smiling innocently at him and dusting her hands off on her skirt, as though clearing a three-and-a-half-metre fence with pointed iron finials were the simplest thing in the world.
"I... don't understand," he said.
"Oh, I have my ways, Monsieur."
He laughed.
True to his prediction, they had the park to themselves, save for the occasional wandering moth. It was an exquisite night, the breeze soft and pleasantly cool. The air seemed to shimmer with blissful longing.
"I like it even better here at night," Christine said. "How peaceful everything is."
"Yes. I am glad you love the night," he said. "I cannot understand those persons who do not."
"I feel just the same." She smiled.
Their eyes met and he felt another connection spin itself between them like a thread. Every moment the bond he felt to her deepening. A day ago he had thought he could not possibly love her more. Now he realized how stupid he'd been to think that. He could never, never be parted from her, couldn't even think of it. Did she have any idea what she had done to him?
"I am glad you brought me here," she said, turning to face him and walking backwards for a few paces. "It is remarkable having a place like this one all to one's self. I feel like a queen." She took his arm.
"I am glad, for that is precisely how you ought to feel," he said. "You are my queen."
She smiled. "And what kingdom shall we rule over?"
"A kingdom of music." He sighed. "I can offer you little else, I fear."
She took his hand. "There could be no more perfect gift."
Together they meandered happily through the gardens' blue shadows, drinking in the night air. Eventually they came upon the park's famous colonnade, a relic from the follies of an extravagant duke a hundred years before. Fluted Grecian columns, their capitols crowned with delicate carvings of acanthus leaves, ringed a small, jewel-like pond. In the moonlight, the whole scene seemed to be covered in silver, while the surface of the water shone like a pewter mirror.
They both stopped short and gasped at the beauty of it. Neither of them wanted to break the silence - as though it were all an enchantment that would be shattered if they spoke.
It seemed perfectly natural, though, for Christine to put her slender arms about his neck, and for them to kiss, and kiss again, in the warm breeze, with the scent of roses washing over them.
When at length she pulled away, Erik went to one of the rosebeds that surrounded the pond. He selected the choicest blossom and cut it with his penknife, carefully snapping its thorns off with his thumb before holding it out to her.
"What if the Beast comes to take revenge?" she said, smiling as he tucked it into her hair.
He grinned. "I am the Beast."
"I always suspected you of being a prince," she said.
Satisfied with the placement of the blossom, he stepped back to admire the effect. In the moonlight, with the pink of its petals bringing out the happy glow in her cheeks, she was so lovely she almost seemed lit from within.
This was all he had ever wanted. Simple moments like this with her. His happiness was complete.
"You are radiant, Christine," he said, his voice shaking with emotion.
"Erik..." She blinked back happy tears. "I cannot believe it when anyone else says that sort of thing, but when you say it... I begin to."
"That is as it should be. I am glad." Was it possible he had made her feel that way? A loathsome gargoyle like him had made an angel like Christine Daae feel radiant and lovely?
"I know you do not say it just to flatter me," she said, "Or to be kind."
He smiled. "I never say anything just to be kind. Even to you."
"Oh, yes, I certainly am aware of that."
He laughed. "You know me rather too well, I fear."
"That would be impossible." She smiled, and they lapsed into a companionable, happy silence. There was so much to talk of that they did not talk of anything.
"I want you to have something to call me," she said at length.
"Something to call you?"
"A name that is just for us. Some... term of endearment, if you will."
"I see," he said. "I should be glad to oblige." He thought. "Tinette doesn't suit you."
She winced. "No. Meg has all the girls calling me that and I can't stand it. I wish people still called me Stina sometimes. That was my nickname in Sweden, you know."
"Yes. But I shall always think of you as Christine. Well, I suppose I could call you that on special occasions."
She smiled. "Very well. But what for every day, then? Some pet name."
"What would you like me to call you?" he asked.
"You must choose. I cannot order you to call me 'my jewel' or 'my goddess'."
In Erik's mind, this rose up as an insurmountable problem. He had dreamed of having some name to call her, but all the ones he had imagined choosing seemed too bold now. He liked 'mon cœur', but while it sounded lovely when Christine said it - she could have read an instruction manual and made it sound like the poetry of the angels - he had a feeling it would have seemed rather grim coming from his mouth. No, he would let her keep that one. He loved hearing her say it to him.
But what for him?
He'd heard some of the young men at the opera house call their sweethearts 'my cream puff' and other similarly nauseating terms. But he would rather throw himself into the Seine than demean the passion he felt for Christine with such insipidity - and he was sure she felt the same way.
At last, however, an answer came to him.
"Mon rêve," he said. It was not perfect, it was not quite right, but it would do for now. "Because this is all so like a dream. It is too perfect to be anything else."
"How beautiful," Christine murmured. After a pause, she added, "But it is not a dream."
He smiled sadly at her, realizing that a part of him still feared she was going to melt away into thin air. Perhaps that was why he had chosen as he had. "Perhaps someday I shall even be able to believe it."
End of Chapter 17.
Thank you so much MrY, Asprankle1, Avarice574, TangoSalsa, and MissGalindaa, for your lovely reviews! MrY, in answer to your question, in my headcanon, Erik is very young when he's in the circus thing. Like 8 at the oldest. In 1870 I'd say he's in his early- to mid-thirties (I'm going with 30-31) while Madame Giry is probably in her fifties. Hope this helps! :)