Chapter 19
The step we take is dangerous;
It may lead to a dire predicament...
I fear for my beloved.
-Don Giovanni, Act I
Music suggestions: 'A Secret Garden' by Patrick Doyle; 'Aquarium' by Camille Saint-Saëns; 'Attraversiamo' by Dario Marianelli; 'Yes!' by Dario Marinaelli ('Jane Eyre'); 'Letters' by Abel Korzeniowski ('W/E')
The next few weeks were excruciating. They knew they were living on borrowed time. Erik was adamant that Christine never visit him at his home again. They both agreed it was safer for him to come to her, lest anyone follow her and find the passage leading to his lair. But when he did come up to the opera house, she shook with fright at every moment, always looking over her shoulder, more terrified than ever of his being caught. Thus, they had had to satisfy themselves with tense, clandestine meetings, never lasting more than a few minutes, usually at night. She longed to hold him, but he was afraid to touch her, lest she be condemned for being seen with him. It wore on them both.
He had even cancelled their lessons for the time being. Christine was still studying with Pauline Viardot-García every day - the great singer had cut her fees to almost nothing, saying a talent like hers needed to be nurtured at all costs, so Christine didn't even have to ask Raoul to pay anymore - so he said there was no need.
But she was surprised by how cold and clinical it felt in comparison.
Madame Viardot was not unkind, and she was certainly every bit as capable an instructor as her reputation implied. But Erik had found the joy and magic and fire in the music as no-one else could.
He had always made her laugh. Even as the angel, he had made her laugh. No-one else could compare. Without him, she felt as though a part of her was missing. Ever since she'd admitted to herself that she loved him, she needed his voice, his eyes on her, his hands reaching out for her.
But they found ways to bridge the separation. Christine would find notes slipped under the door of her practice-room or letters in her mailbox, songs he'd composed in her honor, or lines of poetry - Hafiz, Victor Hugo of course, Chateaubriand, Rumi. "The heart is a thousand-stringed instrument that only love can tune..."
And they had something to look forward to to help those days pass. Christine had made him promise that he would show her his favorite park, and he intended to keep that promise. As it happened, he had a particular reason for wanting to do so. It would be one of the few occasions for the foreseeable future where they would be able to spend more than a few moments together, and he intended to make the most of it.
He had great intentions for this outing.
And so, one day he suggested the idea to her - though he was careful to omit his real reason for planning the trip. To his surprise and relief, she agreed to the scheme at once. (As it happened, the pain of constantly being apart was weighing on her so much that it was wearing down her caution, just as it was for him. Secrecy and love, they were finding, were difficult to reconcile.) And so it was decided. To the park they were to go.
On the night they had agreed on, he walked the four kilometers to the park, scarcely aware of where he was going. He was too preoccupied with thoughts of what lay ahead to think about anything else.
Fortunately, the police in that district of Paris - aptly named Quartier du Combat - were too busy with anarchist bombings to take notice of one man wearing a scarf over his face on a warm night. The neighborhoods in view of the park were decidedly bourgeois, wealthy and sedate - rather dull and idle, in fact, in his opinion - but beyond that, especially to the north, the streets quickly disintegrated into a tangle of poorly-lit, dangerous alleys.
He had insisted that Christine take a cab.
She arrived a few minutes after he did - he had planned for it to happen that way; the thought of her waiting alone at night filled him with horror - the driver setting her down at their meeting place on the grand Rue de Mexico.
He waited until the cab was out of sight before coming forward to meet her and murmuring her name.
She rushed into his arms and he kissed her thirstily.
At last, at the sound of footsteps passing by, he remembered that they were, in fact, not the only two human beings living in the world, and pulled away, startled by the recollection. "I think, mon rêve, that we ought to go," he murmured, pressing his lips against her curls.
She nodded silently.
They spirited themselves over the fence. Christine scaled it with even more ease than the first time.
"I fear I am corrupting you," he said when they were on the ground.
She laughed. "I was sensible this time - I wore a decent pair of boots, you know." And she whirled around and plunged further into the park.
When he was sure they were out of sight of the street, he took off his heavy cloak with a flourish, letting it come to rest in immaculate folds over his arm.
Christine stopped and took in the sight of him with a surprised smile. He was resplendent in a swallow-tail coat, white waistcoat and matching kid gloves. "How dashing you look! You make me feel quite underdressed."
"Me, upstage Christine Daae?" he said. "Impossible."
She smiled. "I do like a man who appreciates good clothes. What is the occasion?" she asked, gesturing to his elegant ensemble.
Silently he thanked Madame Giry for telling him to learn to dress well. "Occasion? Whatever do you mean?" he said disingenuously. "I am sure I do not know what you are talking of."
"I know your ways - you have some kind of scheme in mind, I think," she said with a knowing smile. "Why did you send me an evening-gown to wear tonight?" She reached down and tenderly smoothed the folds of her gown, an ethereal creation of icy lilac silk, embroidered with pale gold butterflies. "Thank-you, by-the-way - it is the most beautiful thing I have ever owned. I shall treasure it. But-"
"-I am delighted to hear it. I thought it suited you. You are radiant, Christine."
She beamed up at him. "Thank you. But the curiosity is driving me mad, you must know. Are we going to a ball in the park in the middle of the night?" She laughed.
He smiled back. "You shall see. Come." He put a hand on her back and maneuvered her gently along the path.
Parc des Buttes-Chaumont - which translated to the inelegant name of "Bald Hills", like Prince Andrei's estate Gora Lysaya in 'War and Peace' - was one of the places that made it impossible for Erik to hate Paris, no matter how many ghastly memories it held for him.
Less than a decade before, it had been a toxic wasteland - a disused mine filled with refuse and reeking of despair. But then a committee of engineers assigned to reinvent the city had taken a look at it and seen not a worthless dumping-ground but a unique landscape full of promise. The cavernous, skull-like hollows the miners had scarred into the ground were the perfect site for a lake, they'd decided, and what remained of the mines themselves could be made into a picturesque artificial cave.
The project had been completed a few years before, and the result was nothing short of a miracle. The wasteland had been transformed into a paradise. Everything was green and brimming with life.
Families of ducks had quickly taken over the new lake, and a picturesque tower of granite, taller than any of the nearby buildings, rose out of the center of the water. Atop it sat a delicately carved gazebo, the Temple du Sybille, that offered some of the finest views in the city.
The pièce de resistance in Erik's opinion, however, was a hundred-foot-high waterfall hidden in a grotto near the island. It was difficult to imagine that something so vast and wild-looking could really be hidden within one of the most industrious cities in the world. When one stumbled upon it, one could be forgiven for thinking one had been transported to the rainforests of Brazil.
The most extraordinary part was that it was almost entirely man-made, the water brought from nearby Canal d'Ourcq by a series of pumps.
In fact, Erik had had something to do with its creation. Word had gotten out that the engineers were going to have to abandon their plans for the waterfall because they couldn't find an effective arrangement for the pumps. So he had quietly drawn up a series of designs, along with a few suggestions for other parts of the park. He had agonized for weeks about whether to include his name with them, but at the last minute he had decided to submit them anonymously. It was the last he'd heard about the matter. But when the park opened and he slipped in one night to have a look around, he'd found that the waterfall had been engineered according to his specifications.
He'd spent the past few years cursing himself for his cowardice. How different things might have been if he had been able to take credit for his work.
But now all that was different. Now there was Christine. Nothing else seemed to matter in comparison to that. Now that he had what he valued most, it was remarkable how everything else became easier to bear. He must not be a complete fool if he had managed to get this one thing right.
The thought of her roused him from his reverie. He looked over at her adoringly.
She was walking along with her arms held blissfully in the air, drinking in the night breeze. Her eyes were shut, but as she felt his gaze on her, she opened them and looked over at him with a smile.
"What are you thinking of, Christine?" he asked fondly.
"That is a dangerous question."
He laughed. "You will find I am accustomed to danger."
"Well, then - I was thinking that though I love Parc Monceau, especially after our excursions there, this will always be my favorite park."
"You have been here before, Christine?" He frowned. That would spoil the impact of his plan.
"Well, I came once years ago with Meg, but we couldn't find the waterfall, so it is hardly worth mentioning; after all, the waterfall is the whole point of the Parc, don't you think?"
"Ah." He hid a sigh of relief. The waterfall was the main thing. He wanted that to be a surprise. "Yes, quite so."
"One wouldn't think it would be so elusive - after all, it is thirty feet high." She made a wry face.
"It is very well-hidden," he said kindly.
"How did you find it?" she asked.
"I have my ways."
"Oh, very well, then. I can see you are determined to have your secrets."
"You are quite right." He smiled pleasantly. "But you shall see it tonight, Christine."
She looked at him inquisitively. "But it is powered by machine. Won't it be switched off now that the Parc is closed?"
He simply smiled.
Christine laughed.
After a few minutes' walk - taking time to pause to admire the full moon reflected, like a pearl, on the shimmering dark surface of the lake - they came upon the famous grotto. It was strangely silent, but retained its picturesque aspect even without the waterfall. At the back of the cave, a series of stone ledges, perfectly designed to accommodate the waterfall during the day, led up to a wide fissure in the stone wall. A broad beam of moonlight came through the opening, reaching all the way to the grotto floor to illuminate a still pool, still holding a bit of water, at their feet.
"How extraordinary!" Christine gasped. "Even without the waterfall it is beautiful. I cannot believe this was all built from nothing." Then, after a few moments, "It rather reminds me of what I think the Pantheon would be like, with its oculus; do you not think so?"
"Why, yes. You are right," he said, smiling delightedly at her. "And you know, someday you shall go to Rome and see the Pantheon for yourself. Soon every opera-house in Italy will be clamoring for you, Christine."
She turned and fixed him with a solemn gaze. "Someday, mon cœur, you shall be able to come with me."
Seeing that he was about to protest this prediction, she kissed him and darted away.
He caught up to her at the edge of the pool, catching her around the waist. She came gladly into his arms, resting her head against his immaculate shirt-front.
"Would you be so kind as to wait here momentarily?" he said after a moment, backing away from her- though he kept one of her hands clasped in his, as though they were about to begin a waltz.
She blinked in surprise. "What for?" she said, curious.
He smiled mysteriously. "I shall not be long."
She sighed playfully. "You have piqued my curiosity."
"Good." He turned to go, clearing the pool in a single leap, and started toward the ledges on the other side of the grotto. Christine watched in surprise as he scaled the cave wall, as agile as a panther. In moments, he was twenty feet above the floor, clinging precariously to the sheer cliff face.
"Do take care!" she couldn't stop herself from crying.
He looked down and grinned. "Are you worried for me?"
"Yes, but you already know I worry for you constantly, so don't gloat."
He smiled fondly at her, and then he'd disappeared through the hole in the cave roof.
She waited there, watching him in her mind's eye.
After a few moments, there came a faint rushing sound. Mist began to seep into the cave.
Erik reappeared momentarily, dropping down from seemingly out of nowhere and alighting beside her so suddenly she jumped.
He smiled apologetically and put his arm about her waist.
"Behold," he said, gesturing above their heads.
As she watched, rivulets began to trickle down from the ledge like threads of silver. Their exquisite music filled the air.
Not long afterward, the water came rushing into the cave full-force and drowned out the delicate sound with a deeper voice. It tumbled down the four ledges like a flight of enormous stairs. It filled the pool, and the little stream that drained from it to the park outside.
The droplets it sent up refracted the moonbeams like diamonds. A diaphanous band of pastel colors materialized in the air, a faint night-time rainbow.
It felt like they had stumbled into a fairy kingdom.
Christine stepped forward, entranced, nearly walking into the pool.
He maneuvered her out of range of the spray; she was too bewitched by the sight to think of things like that.
As he looked down at her sweet face, he saw that there were tears of wonder in her eyes.
"Can there be any more beautiful spot in the whole city?" she asked.
"Nothing less than the most beautiful place in the most beautiful city in the world would do, Christine," he said.
She turned to him with a smile. "Do for what?"
"Christine... I... I wanted to give you something beautiful tonight."
"You have."
"It can never match what you have done for me, Christine," he said, shaking his head. "You... You have saved me from my solitude. You have made my music take flight as never before. I almost dare to believe that you truly want me with you, here beside you."
"I do," she said. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life."
"Well, then," he managed. His voice had dwindled to little more than a whisper.
He found a spot on the cave floor that was still dry and carefully knelt down. With fumbling fingers he took out the ring box that he had been anxiously turning over in his pocket the whole evening.
Christine let out a gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Christine," he said, "I fear I may seem rash, that you will think me too hasty... but I know you to be the best and kindest and wisest of women, the best thing in my life." He swallowed, and then went on. "Christine Alexandra Daae..."
Everything after that passed in a blur. He was faintly aware that he was speaking much too quickly; whatever words he said came out molto prestissimo in his nervousness, but apparently he had managed to get them out, for she replied.
He was too overwhelmed to remember the precise wording, but whatever it was, it was the answer he had hoped and dreamed of all this time. His precious Christine, smiling and laughing and crying at the same time, conveyed to him, in some beautiful words, the extraordinary fact that yes, she was accepting his proposal, yes, she wanted to be his wife!
Dazed by his joy, the next thing he knew he had her in his arms, her face like a wet flower at his lips, his hands buried in her hair.
For a long time, he was too overwhelmed to speak. He buried his face in her shoulder, worried that she would melt away into thin air like the mist, that this whole moment was nothing but a mad, beautiful dream, that he would wake alone under the opera house, despair clinging to him like a shroud.
He forced himself back to reality - if this was indeed reality. He realized that these past few weeks were the first time in his life that he had preferred the world around him to being in his own head.
Christine pulled away and smiled blissfully into his face. She was so close he could feel her breath on his skin.
He looked down at the ring box, which somehow had remained in his hand, the ring still in place in the white silk lining.
She started to take off her left glove.
He froze and looked down at her hand awkwardly, then took it in his, tenderly tracing a circle on it with her thumb.
Her smile faded a little. "Aren't you going to help me put it on?" she prodded gently, raising her eyebrows. "I believe that is your task."
He swallowed.
She peered at him inquiringly.
"I am afraid you must not wear it on your finger," he responded at last. "If you wear it at all, it must be out of sight. Round your neck, perhaps."
"Oh," she said in a small voice.
"I am sorry, but this must remain a secret, til we have resolved... everything." He didn't want to speak of their argument at a time like this.
"Oh. Yes, I suppose you are right," she said, looking away.
He couldn't see her face. "Christine?" he said, peering at her in concern. "Are you well?"
She looked up at him, and he saw there was a radiant smile on her face. "A secret engagement! Think of it!"
"Mon rêve," he said in an uneven voice. "You are too good for me... What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"I don't know," she said, with a convincing look of puzzlement.
He looked up at her in surprise.
"It must have been something dreadful!" she finished, breaking down into laughter.
Soon he was laughing, too.
When they'd recovered he took an exquisitely worked gold chain, scarcely thicker than a thread, from his pocket. "Here," he said, moving to stand behind her.
"No," Christine said, turning towards him. "Not yet, I think."
"Oh?"
"I want to wear it on my hand for a few awhile," she said. "I think it is the law. I am not sure we are really engaged if I don't."
He smiled faintly.
"Then you may hide it away in some dark chasm if you wish," she said. "But not before."
At last he nodded. "I confess I would like to see it on your hand." His heart swelled at the thought.
Christine beamed at him, and he was aware that he was beaming back, smiling like he never had before. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but he rather thought he could grow accustomed to it.
He took her hand and slowly unbuttoned her glove, kissing the delicate skin of her wrist. He kissed the finger where the ring would go. Was he delaying too much, he wondered. But no, his Christine was smiling - he could not have gone wrong.
At last he took the ring from its box.
Christine smiled up at him, her eyes full of trust and hope.
Suddenly he froze, his senses on the alert, his attention caught by a noise outside the cave.
The sound of footsteps.
A moment later she noticed it too. A panicked look stole over her face. "What was that?"
"It is probably of no consequence," he said, trying for an unconcerned tone. But his arms had gone around her protectively the moment he heard the sound.
And she had seen the fear on his face.
His next words were cut off by the piercing sound of a policeman's whistle.
Christine let out a little yelp of fright.
"I see you in there!" came a harsh voice, just outside the entrance of the cave.
"We must go!" Christine gasped.
They scrambled toward the cave entrance, hoping to make it out in time. But she tripped and plunged into the stream, wincing as she scraped her hands on the rock and the chilly water soaked her up to the thighs.
There was no time to leave now; the footsteps were almost at the entrance of the cave. Erik helped her to her feet and wordlessly pulled her around a corner, into a shadowy crevice out of sight.
"What shall we do?" she whispered.
"I do not know." His voice was heavy with despair.
"Mon cœur, I am wretchedly sorry!"
"It is not your doing," he said. "I am to blame. What a fool I have been."
"I know you're in there!" came the officer's voice, followed by another piercing blast of the whistle. The sound made Christine jump and Erik's arms close tighter around her. "There's no way out of there except out through this entrance!"
Christine looked up at the hole in the ceiling of the cave. "Yes, there is," she murmured.
End of Chapter 19. Thank you for reading!
Thank you so much to An Author in the Shadows, TangoSalsa, asprankle1, Caitlyn, Cry of Fallen Dove (such a cool username, by the way!) and the guest who left such a kind review on the last chapter. And of course, thank you as ever to MissGalindaa and FanFantome for your continued support. It means the world to me.