I My Loving Vigil Keeping

Christine:

So often, people looked on me in pity. The poor orphan child. I can barely remember my mother. I remember her scent more than anything. Lilacs and lavender, and the warmth of her body. The impression of beauty and gentility is all that remains to me. And that is due, in large part to Papa.

Papa. When he died, it was as if some part of me withered away and died too. I went to the Opera's chapel and prayed for him every evening. I prayed for his soul. And I prayed that he would send to me the Angel of Music, as he had promised with his last gasping breaths.

It happened. There, in the flickering candlelight of the little-used chapel, the Angel of Music came. He taught me to sing like an angel, just as my dearest Papa had promised.

I remember the night I first heard him. I had cried, beating my little hands on the floor of the chapel, so terribly lonely for my Papa. Wanting the Angel to come to me in his stead. And wonder of wonders, he came! I- I think perhaps I saw him as well; though I have never seen him since. I can still recall strong arms scooping my up off the stone floor of the chapel, and a comforting warmth enveloping me. He sang, so that I knew he was the Angel of Music. Though ten years, and many many lessons should dim such a memory, I know the words to the lullaby he sang to me by heart... "Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee... All through the Night."

It took me forever to find the whole song, music and lyrics. Finally, I stumbled across them in a book of Welsh (of all things!) songs. I determined that I should learn it for him. I was sixteen and quite hopelessly in love with him. It seems rather foolish to love an Angel, doesn't it? Especially when he is so far above my poor mortal heart. I could not tell him. I could not bear his anger at my folly, and I was too proud to accept pity from my Angel. So I would tell him in song. So appropriate. So operatic.

Secretly, not dropping even the echo of a hint to him, I learned the song. I can still remember it by rote. I wanted to surprise him, you see. It was such a lovely song, a lullaby. The Angel told me a lovely story about the bards of Wales. Not only were they musicians, they were poets and prophets, and judges, the wisest of the wise. They were revered on earth and touched with the fire of Heaven. But when subjugated by the English, the bards were hunted down as symbols of the culture the English wished to stamp out.

Oh how I had wept. The Angel himself had seemed saddened. That great music was to be stilled forever to satiate the vanity of kings, must have been, to his eyes, an unpardonable crime. Those brave, unfortunate men!

"But remember, Christine, their songs remain." He told me, ever so gently.

I dreamed of courageous bards - flinging themselves into the sea to prevent capture, singing as they fell. They all had his voice, and eyes that burned with radiance. Only then did I deem myself ready to sing my gift to the Angel.

I took some pains with my appearance after practice had finished that evening. The Angel had told me that the bards of old had worn blue as symbolic of their vocation, their calling. I wanted him to know that I would be a modern-day bard, dedicating myself to truth through music. And so my modest gown was blue in shade. My hair hung down in a braid as thick as my wrist. Almost coquettishly, I tucked a white rose behind my ear. I fancied myself quite grown up. At the entrance to the chapel, I paused, and took a deep breath. I only hoped that the Angel would see as being as grown up as I thought myself.

"You are late," his voice was not angry, yet I still felt myself rebuked nonetheless.

"Forgive me, Angel. I..." I twisted my hands in my skirt a moment, before deliberately smoothing out the wrinkled fabric.

"I have a surprise for you." My smile was shy as I moved to the small spinet that stood oft unused in the corner. "Do you remember, nine years ago, when you first came to me?" I paused. He did not answer. Oh God, please don't let him be angry.

"What are you getting at, child?" He asked at length.

I answered, letting the words spill out, before he could interrupt. "You sang to me. I... I found the song. The whole song. I learned it- for you. Let me sing it for you, Angel.Then, perhaps I shall be as dear to you as those poor, proud bards. I even learned to play it. All for you, Angel." I smile then, hoping against hope that he would be pleased.

"Very well, then." His voice was so very soft. I nodded and sat.

I threw all my soul into that soft, sweet little tune. This was for my Angel of Music. My declaration of devotion. My confession of love.

Sleep my child and peace attend thee,
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
I my loving vigil keeping
All through the night.

While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O'er they spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night.

Love, to thee my thoughts are turning
All through the night
All for thee my heart is yearning,
All through the night.
Though sad fate our lives may sever
Parting will not last forever,
There's a hope that leaves me never,
All through the night.

By the end of the song, my voice failed, my cheeks were flushed and my heart was in my throat. I felt as though I had been running for hours; I could barely breathe.

The Angel of Music was silent.

"Angel?" My voice which had sung that simple lullaby with such unwarranted passion, tripped and trembled over that one word. "Angel?" I repeated. Still he did not answer. I stumbled over the small bench amd fell upon the floor, catching myself, but scraping my palms.

I paid them no mind. I was panicked now, close to hysterical.The biting pain in my hands was nothing to the constricting horror in my heart. I was appalled at my presumption. I must have offended him so! He must have returned to Heaven, deeming me unworthy.

I cried out, one last time, in sheer desperation, "Angel!"

"Christine!" His voice was strangely muffled. Were he a man, I would have believed that his voice was thick with tears. And, for a heretical moment, I wished he were a man, a man who could gather me up in his arms, comfort me... kiss the tears away...

"Thanks God. Thank God," I whispered, pressing my scraped palms together as if in prayer.

"Perhaps, my dear, it would be best if you returned to the dormitory now. Be certain to wash those cuts. We shall merely have to work a little harder tomorrow, that's all. Go on, Christine. You are exhausted."
I nodded, too drained to argue. I was about to leave when he spoke my name once again.

"Christine? Thank you. No one has ever sang that to me before." Oh! How sad he sounded!

"I would sing it for you every night, if you'd let me!" I cried impulsively, merrily as I left the chapel. I almost did not catch his words, spoken on the edge of a sigh.

"Would that you could, Christine."

And I was left wondering what could cause such terrible sorrow in such a heavenly being.

A/N: I changed the title of this chapter and decided to repost it, considering that the newest chapter was better suited to the former one of this: "All for thee my heart is yearning" Please review, I'm a review whore.

Warmest Regards,

K.S.