September 8th 1892: Erik
I should have stayed in my house. Christine had made it clear in her message that she didn´t wish to see me. Still I was walking next to Philippe, his little hand holding my larger one tightly. I couldn´t help thinking that this alone was worth the journey to the world above ground. It was a miracle that someone actually wanted to touch me, to be at my side. The feeling was warming my old heart more than a fire.
Yet another part of me, my mind, wasn´t warm at all. Every time I thought of Christine it seemed to be hit by an icy-cold bolt of lightning. I was determined not to do as much as talk to her, but to remain in the background. All I wanted was seeing her. She wouldn´t even see me. So I wouldn´t act against her will, would I? Moreover, there was no need to justify myself. This was my opera, and if I felt like having a look at somebody, I´d do it.
Everything was planned carefully: I´d open the door, let the boy go to the coach and wait a little till I´d at least catch a glimpse of her face. Then I´d make a tour through the opera, check whether everyone worked the way I wanted them to and finally return to my home, where I´d spend the night composing. Seeing Christine would surely be a good inspiration.
But even my plans could sometimes be thwarted. When we came to the Rue Scribe entrance the door was already open. And someone was standing there, looking outside. It was a little girl. My reflexes were as excellent as usual. Instantly the hand that wasn´t held by Philippe seized the Punjab Lasso, which was hidden under my cloak. One of the ballet rats seemed to have brought her younger sister again and let her run through my opera. Well, I´d teach her a lesson. A frightening encounter with the Opera Ghost had kept many people from exploring this building on their own.
"Mademoiselle", I started in my most menacing voice. "Has nobody ever told you how dangerous it is to wander around here all alone? There are so many –" I was interrupted by the boy pulling his hand out of mine. Quickly I leaned down to glare at him. Didn´t he realise that this was an additional lesson for him as well? Before long he´d have to learn how to scare people. It was part of what I did.
Yet Philippe was not standing at my side anymore. He went to the girl, who had turned around in surprise. "Antoinette!", he called. "Did you like the opera? Isn´t it wonderful? And where is Maman? Is she waiting in the coach?" My stomach contracted as I understood that I had almost introduced the daughter of the woman I loved to the Punjab Lasso. Hastily I tucked it away again and walked up to the children to have a closer look at her.
"Bonjour Mademoiselle Antoinette.", I greeted her, trying to sound especially friendly to make up for my little mistake. "Bonjour Monsieur… erm…", she stammered, obviously searching for a last name to use. "Since your brother calls me ´Uncle Erik´, you can as well do the same.", I offered. By now I quite liked that name. She nodded, staring at the floor, as if something particularly interesting was happening there.
I frowned slightly. This behaviour was rather unusual for the girl. I had watched her play in the garden with Philippe countless times and had thought her to be very vivacious. It occurred to me that my initial statement might have intimidated her so much that she was afraid of me now. And I didn´t want that. The thought crossed my mind quickly, making me frown even more. Since when did I no longer want people to be afraid of me? No, I corrected myself, that wasn´t true for all people. I merely didn´t want this girl, the sister of Philippe and daughter of Christine, to be afraid of me.
"Have I scared you?", I asked softly. She shook her head. Placing my index finger under her chin I made her look up at me. At once I noticed the signs of recently shed tears on her face. So she wasn´t in that state because of me. If she had cried in the short time since we had come here, I´d have heard it. "What is it then?", I went on. "Did you have an argument with your mother and ran away?" That would have explained why she was standing at the door all alone. If they had argued on the coach, she might have come back here to think about everything till her brother arrived.
Antoinette shook her head yet again. "Sh-she ran way!", she blurted out. "We were talking about l-love, and suddenly she shouted that I should leave her in peace and ran away. She was so fast that I couldn´t follow her for more than a minute. Then I went back to the opera to look for Aunt Antoinette and Meg, but I couldn´t find them. This place in so huge…" The girl dissolved into tears and was unable to go on. But then, I had the impression that she had said more or less everything she had wanted to anyway. It wasn´t enough for me, though. "In which direction did she run?", I wanted to know. "And what exactly did you talk about before?"
She tried to stop crying and answer me, but the harder she tried, the more she had to choke and sob. When she glanced at me hopefully I realised that she expected me to comfort her. Her brother just patted her arm awkwardly, yet I was the adult. It was my duty to come up with some kind of consolation. Admittedly I felt rather helpless. My experience in this area was limited to the nights in which Christine had cried in her bed in the ballet girls´ dormitory because she had missed her father. I had sung to her then. A smile lit up my face. That was something I could do for her daughter as well.
I cleared my throat and started singing a Romanian lullaby I had picked up in the gypsy camp I had stayed at a long time ago. Of course no one had bothered to sing to me, but I had heard other children being soothed by its soft melody. I hadn´t had enough knowledge of Romany then to understand the song´s content. By and by I had learned more, and finally I had known it was about a little lamb that loses its way and finds back to his mother after many dangerous adventures and moments of loneliness. The song had a certain sad beauty that had touched my heart even at such an early age.
After a few minutes I noticed the girl getting calmer and ended my song. The sobs grew less and less, and although the expression on her face was still serious, she didn´t look as desperate as before. It seemed that she was returning to her old self slowly. This assumption was confirmed when she muttered "That was so nice. Thank you, Uncle Erik."… and hugged me around the middle briefly. For a moment I forgot that I had to breathe. I glanced down at her, feeling both proud because I had managed to comfort her and even more helpless than before because I didn´t know what to do with the child. Fortunately she let go of me quickly.
"Can you tell me now what your mother and you talked about?", I repeated my question, confident that she´d answer it now. From the way Antoinette was squirming I could tell the topic had been rather delicate. Yet I couldn´t spare her. Maybe I´d get an idea of why or where Christine had gone. "She said there were different kinds of love.", the girl replied in a low voice, as if she was embarrassed to talk about such things to a total stranger. "Then I asked her… what she felt for you. She told me she didn´t love you the same way she loved Papa… and then she ran away."
So I had been the subject of their conversation. Well, that certainly was a reason for fleeing. Still I didn´t know where Christine could be now. Yet it occurred to me that there were others who might. "Philippe, take your sister down to my house and stay there till I return.", I ordered. "I´ll inform Mme.Giry and her daughter. Together we´ll find her, I´m sure of it." I placed my hands on the children´s shoulders briefly. Then I sent them away with a gesture. I waited till they were gone and walked away myself. Despite what I had told them there was just one thing I was certain of: I had to keep my mind busy. Otherwise I´d inevitably start pondering about the sentence Antoinette had repeated so innocently: Christine didn´t love me like the Vicomte. Its dreadful clarity made me shudder.