Disclaimer: I do not own anything original to Phantom of the Opera. My humble possessions merely consist of the book, film, soundtrack, and Susan Kay's Phantom.
V. Eden
In which Man banishes himself from Paradise
1343 – Marstrand, Sweden
Erik's stay stretched from a few days, to weeks, to months. Once a flower bud frozen in the cold of winter, he was now blooming in the warmth and light of Gustav's care. A mutualistic relationship developed between the strange pair. Erik was the son that Gustav had always longed for.
In turn, Gustav became Erik's world.
Daily, the aging craftsman would witness a startling transformation. For most of the day, the masked man could be seen loafing about the shed, the epitome of lethargy but for the alert golden orbs that picked up the slightest of movements. Who knew what went on in his dark, convoluted mind? In the evenings, however, Erik was an energetic young colt situated at Gustav's feet, waves of anticipation radiating from his lean frame. Indeed, it seemed like Erik lived solely for those evenings when Gustav would draw out his fiddle and music would serenade the setting sun. At the end of each song, Erik would always beg for another, and the musician could never refuse such a winning plea from his rapt listener. He played until he was certain his fingers would fall off from the exertion.
On one of these evenings, the exhausted musician sat back and watched as his masked auditor reverently caressed the well-worn fiddle with a featherlight touch. An idea blossomed in the older man's head, and he wondered why he had waited so long to ask,
"Erik, would you like to learn how to play?"
The days that followed that offer would be forever preserved and cherished in both their memories. Gustav had never seen such unsurpassed genius, and Erik had never known such bliss. The latter tried to remind himself, Happiness does not last, but he soon lost himself in the joy of creation. No longer did the latter languish in idleness; music kindled the fiery passion for life that had been smothered for so long by misfortune. When he was not "sawing away," as Gustav jokingly called it, Erik was attentively observing his teacher's craft, occasionally voicing suggestions for the construction of various instruments. Naturally, there was soon nothing left for Gustav to teach; Erik had mastered the craft of instrument-making and had learned how to play every instrument he could get his hands on.
One could say that the student had graduated from his music lessons. And like any traditional teacher, Gustav felt obliged to present his star pupil with a gift.
Long, trembling fingers fumbled with the fastening of the wooden case for some time before Erik was able to lift the lid and peer inside. The sight of the vielle was not as unexpected (the case, after all, was a distinctive shape) as Gustav's concise explanation:
"It's yours."
Afraid to touch the prized instrument lest it vanish on contact, Erik settled for examining its smooth curves, the fine strings, the rich woodwork. It did not take a genius to recognize Gustav's masterpiece—the one that Erik had unsuccessfully tried to steal many months before.
"I..." But he could not continue. Looking up at his teacher, Erik allowed his eyes to convey the gratitude his awkward tongue failed to voice. When he was finally able to string together a full sentence, it did not come out as the "thank you" he had intended. Instead...
"What a pity. I was so hoping for a second chance to steal this from you like a respectable thief. The fact that it's now handed to me on a silver platter is rather degrading, you know."
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Soon, not only was Gustav's charitable deed considered a "degradation," but a disturbance as well. Now that Erik owned his own vielle, he forsook all other necessities for his music. (It is safe to assume that he did not flesh out during this time, as he neither ate nor slept in adequate amounts.) The tranquility of the little dwelling was shattered by endless strains of achingly beautiful music. The lord and lady of the cottage were not exempt from the power of Erik's sweet melodies, sorrowful laments, or passionate symphonies.
"Oh," Hanna groaned on her straw bed at Gustav's side, "do tell that genius of yours to stop. It's midnight by now, and his music has placed my emotions on a pendulum. I swear I've cried, laughed, and screamed more this week than I ever have in my life—can't he play something more emotionally consistent?" Her husband would merely laugh and shrug, lightly replying that one cannot restrain artistic genius.
I will have you know, my devoted Reader, that though Erik's soulful music undoubtedly made a contribution, Fru Daaé's mood swings cannot be wholly attributed to it. On her next visit to the village doctor, the aging couple made a wonderful discovery. Gustav immediately dashed home to inform Erik of the news.
"Hanna is pregnant!" the older man cried joyfully. Erik, naturally, had been fiddling (if you will excuse the pun) around with his fiddle, and nearly dropped the instrument in surprise. It was not a pleasant shock, mind you. I am sure all of us have been possessed by that black demon called Jealousy. Heretofore, Erik had been Gustav's only (if not natal) child, and now he would have to actually share Gustav's attentions! To his credit, Erik was thoroughly ashamed of himself at Gustav's next exclamation.
"For fifteen years Hanna has been unable to conceive," the soon-to-be father began with emotion. "When she finally does, it just happens to be the same year I meet you! I tell you, by Jove, it's not just some coincidence. You've been a blessing to this old soul, Erik, and I thank you for that." A blessing? thought Erik. Maman had always said I was the bane of her life...
Still, nine months passed rather too quickly for Erik. On the day Hanna went into labor, Gustav occupied himself at the cottage while the young man moped around in the shed. Many, many hours later, Erik heard a knock on the door—Gustav. The older man was breathless with wonder and excitement.
"I have a daughter! Oh, Erik, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Come," he said, taking Erik's arm, "you must see her." The latter protested, his jealous self reluctant to set eyes on the object of Gustav's rapture.
After a few minutes of cajoling, Erik found himself inside the cottage, staring at the bundle in Hanna's arms with what can only be described as awe. Surely this could not be a baby? Such perfection cannot be embodied in a mere newborn! Golden orbs traced the delicate curve of the child's tiny nose, the wispy strands of blonde hair plastered to her scalp, and doe-like eyes the color of the heavens. He thought of his maman once again: Maybe if I had looked like this, Maman would have loved me.
"Isn't she beautiful?" asked the proud father.
For some reason, Erik wanted to cry. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, she is."
At first, Erik adamantly refused to hold the baby, lest he should curse "the angel." He finally relented, however, at Gustav's insistence.
To the parents, it was truly heartwarming to see this dark, silent foundling almost fearfully cradle their newborn girl in his strong arms as if he was afraid she would fly away from him like a bird. "M'ange de le lux," he crooned reverently. "My angel of light." The infant opened her sky blue eyes and gurgled happily at the sound.
Hanna had a similar reaction to her daughter. "Oh my," she sighed dreamily, "you have a lovely voice." Erik made a embarrassed noise, returned the wrapped bundle to her, and slipped back into the shadows.
As Herr and Fru Daaé conversed in hushed voices, Erik looked upon the picture of pastoral perfection with a heavy heart. Silently cursing, he berated himself for ever dreaming that he could be a part of their happy family. Gustav had a beautiful daughter now; why would he care about a hideous monster like him? No, he would only spoil their bliss, infecting them with his presence like a disease. Taking one last glance at the beautiful blue-eyed baby, Erik walked back to the shed and picked up his vielle case. As he left the realm he had come to call Heaven, he repeated a mantra in his head:
Happiness does not last.
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