Wedding preparations (cont.)
That evening Raoul told Christine about the incident. She was immediately enthusiastic about the idea of Erik singing his Requiem; she thought it could only bring great comfort to the dead girl's family.
So the next day they took a light carriage down to the village in order to speak to the grieving family. Christine had insisted on helping the family by bringing a small sum of money — not too much, in order not to humiliate them, but enough at a minimum to cover the costs of the burial — and the father thanked Raoul for making it possible for him at least to bury his child. For him the sole comfort was that she would not have to decay on the bottom of the lake in the woods.
"There is someone who would sing a Requiem for her," Raoul told him cautiously.
"I'm afraid we couldn't afford that," the father replied.
"No, it wouldn't cost you anything," said Christine. "The man who got your daughter out of the water, he... he'd like to sing the Requiem."
"Him?" said the man, astonished. "The one who looks as if they've forgotten to bury him?" It was clear that he was well aware who Erik was and what he looked like. Of course, ever since Erik had been obliged to show himself everyone had seen him.
"Yes — if you will permit." Christine again found herself pitying Erik, who this time truly only wanted to help.
The family discussed it among themselves. Finally the eldest son spoke up. "Yes, provided the Requiem takes place in the church immediately before the burial."
And so they had to speak to the priest. The latter showed himself to be open-minded and greatly regretted that he would not be able to conduct the funeral, but he had to abide by the regulations. However he agreed that a Requiem could be sung in the church unrelated to any burial, and that if the parents of the unfortunate deceased should happen to hold her funeral on the same day, then he wouldn't postpone the performance of the Requiem on that account. And with this information Christine and Raoul returned to the chateau.
~o~
They discovered that Erik was not keeping to the arrangement that he should only see their children under supervision — at that moment he was with both children in the garden, teaching Marie how to spit accurately at flowers. He lay on his stomach with Marie next to him and spat at a flower which he had selected as a target. Marie spat all over the place. Her little dress was covered in spittle and juice from her bottle; clearly the game had been going on for some time. Then she laughed and clapped. Little Christian lay in his basket nearby and watched with fascination.
"Erik!" Raoul called out angrily. "What's the meaning of this?"
Erik jumped to his feet and stared shamefacedly down at the ground.
"Forgive me, I... I really didn't mean to, but Yvonne happened to be with them in the garden, and I happened to be in the garden as well... If Marie runs up to me, I really can't run away from her — she wouldn't understand it," he said in excuse.
"Where is Yvonne now?" asked Christine.
"Even a nursemaid needs to powder her nose on occasion," Erik explained. "And so I just... kept an eye on the two of them."
"Kept an eye on them? You were teaching Marie how to spit!" Christine upbraided him furiously. "Marie is a Vicomtesse!"
Erik looked at Marie with embarrassment. Marie ran to her mother and said: "Mama cross? Mama not cross?" Then she began to cry.
Christine put her arms round her daughter and reassured her that she wasn't cross with her. Raoul hissed at Erik: "This is precisely why you're not supposed to see them without supervision. You've got nothing but idiotic ideas in your head, and I don't want you teaching them to MY children! Understood?"
Erik looked down, ashamed, and nodded. At that moment he looked like a little boy who had been reprimanded by his teacher.
"I'm sorry," he murmured with embarrassment, "it's true I... when I saw Yvonne with the children in the garden I went out to them, I... after pulling the dead girl out of the water, I had to see Marie and Christian. I had to see them alive and happy. And then... Marie finds picking flowers and making posies out of them boring, but she thinks spitting at them is amusing."
For Christine this was the last straw. "Erik, just how old are you? Two? Three? You can't leave it up to a toddler to decide what she wants to do. I thought you had at least that much sense!"
At that point Yvonne came back and took charge of the children again.
"What about the Requiem?" Erik asked in an attempt to change the subject. Raoul recounted the two conversations, and suggested that Erik ought to talk to the priest in the church himself. Erik nodded wordlessly.
The topic had been changed too hastily for Christine, and she still had more to say. "Erik, you will never — do you hear? — never again put nonsense into the heads of my children. You'll never be together with them without supervision again, do you understand me? If I catch you at it even once, then we'll throw you out!"
"But..." began Erik.
"No buts!" said Raoul severely. "You have to follow our wishes. If you don't, then you can take your possessions and disappear once and for all."
Erik swallowed and tried not to burst into tears. "I... I'll try. But if I genuinely find myself with them by accident — I really can't run away from the children. They wouldn't understand it."
"Then you greet them briefly and leave," insisted Christine. "You will not remain alone with them for a single minute — do you promise me that?"
Erik nodded. Then he asked timidly what he could do to make things right again.
"I'll come up with something," muttered Raoul.
~o~
A couple of days later Erik did indeed ride into the village to talk to the priest. It was easier for him this time, as he was travelling late in the evening at a time when most people were already at home. The priest was not pleased by the late visit, but he invited him in to the public parlour in the presbytery, which stood next to the church.
"What can I do for you, my son?" he began sententiously.
Erik grinned; he found it amusing to be called "son" by a man somewhat younger than himself. "Several things. On the one hand there is my wedding to Babette, on the other the Requiem that I'd like to sing... and naturally I'd also like to get to know the father of my daughter."
The priest stared at him with his mouth open. Then he said: "She told you that, didn't she? Did she also tell you that in those days I had yet to take my vows?"
"That's irrelevant," returned Erik. "I shall marry Babette and acknowledge all her children as mine, whoever fathered them."
The position having now — from Erik's point of view — been made clear, he was ready to engage in serious discussion with the priest. "Good, let's start with the Requiem," began Father Johannes. "Would you sing some of it for me? Just so that I can get an idea of it?"
"Of course, gladly."
They went into the church together. Erik pumped up the bellows. "Unfortunately this won't be enough for the 'Dies Irae'; I'll have to break off from time to time in order to pump up the air supply again. What's more, I need to tune the pipes, but that job will take a day or two."
"You can tune the organ? That's wonderful! I... I myself like to play, and I did notice that something was out of tune, but I can't manage to tune an organ."
"You play?" Erik asked, surprised. He hadn't expected to find a priest who could play the organ himself.
"Oh yes," said Father Johannes wistfully. "Sadly there are few people here who understand anything about music."
"I once built a device to pump the bellows that was powered by a little waterwheel and a connecting rod. But unfortunately that wouldn't work here, and a steam engine would be too loud. Something might be done using electricity, but there isn't any in the neighbourhood." Erik sighed. "I don't know... But perhaps you could work the bellows?"
"I'd be glad to."
The priest was more than a little astonished when Erik sang the 'Dies Irae'. It didn't sound like any Requiem he had ever heard, but it sounded more or less... appropriate. 'Dies Irae' means 'Day of Wrath', and this Requiem expressed just that.
When Erik had finished, Father Johannes was bathed in sweat from the effort of pumping the bellows. "That was... magnificent," he said. "Simply splendid — I can't wait to hear the entire Requiem! You sing it magnificently, and with a fervour such as I have never heard."
"Could I perhaps have a glass of water?" asked Erik. The two of them went back into the presbytery.
"Concerning the wedding..." began Father Johannes. "Babette has already come to make her confession; you should confess as well before receiving the sacraments."
Erik grimaced. "Do I have to?"
"Yes, you do — it's part of the ceremony."
"All right, let's get it over with," said Erik. "But I have to warn you that I have no idea how a confession goes."
"Why, have you never made your confession?"
"Yes — but it was so long ago, I can barely remember it."
Since Erik didn't want to cross back over the square to the church, they decided that the confession could equally well take place in the presbytery parlour. Erik refused to list all his sins individually, since he couldn't possibly remember all of them, and the priest suggested that he should simply list the Ten Commandments and Erik could say whether he had broken them or not. That way it would be easier, and if he needed to make a detailed confession he could always make up at any time for what he'd missed.
The priest began: "First Commandment?"
"Which one was that again?" returned Erik.
"Idol worship."
"No, I haven't done that."
"Second Commandment, taking the Lord's name in vain." This time the priest told him what it was straight away, since he assumed that Erik had no idea.
Erik considered. "Well... that depends... not really."
"'Not really'? What does that mean?"
"That I never said anything intentionally blasphemous, at least. But I have no idea if something might have slipped out that really shouldn't have," answered Erik, who had frankly never given the matter a moment's thought all his life.
"Third Commandment, to keep the Sabbath holy?"
Erik laughed softly. "Ask me rather on what exceptional occasions I ever have kept the Sabbath — it's easier to answer."
"That's not funny — this is a very serious matter," the priest rebuked him. Erik accepted this, although he himself was far from regarding the situation with the necessary gravity.
"Fourth Commandment, to honour one's father and mother?"
"I hated them. They hated me, and I them. I can't honour anybody who feels nothing but horror at the sight of me. Even my parents. I've forgiven my parents, for I know what they suffered on my account, but... no, I've never honoured them."
Now the priest was faced with a matter of conscience: could he condemn Erik for this? Could one truly demand of a child who was hated by his parents that he should revere them?
"Fifth Commandment: thou shalt not kill."
Erik looked as if he had just received a slap in the face. "Ouch. That's a sore point where I'm concerned. Unfortunately I've killed people. Sometimes in self-defence, sometimes for... other reasons. Sometimes simply for fun, to amuse myself and others."
Father Johannes stared at Erik. He had never heard such a confession. He had taken the confessions of murderers, but never heard one so terrible, least of all one made almost in a tone of amusement. "How many?" he asked.
Erik laughed softly at the priest's horror. "I'd like to know that myself. I have no idea. Certainly more than a hundred, but less than... no, I don't want to lie... I have no idea. I built devices which could kill by themselves; they wouldn't function indefinitely, but how many people died in them after I had long since left the country... I truly don't know. I'm sorry."
"Do you regret these murders?" asked Father Johannes, trying to bring his shaking voice under control.
"Not all," said Erik, "but most of them."
Father Johannes had to take a break in order to pull himself together. In front of him there sat the most appalling murderer he had ever seen, who looked like a monster and in the voice of an angel confessed to an inconceivable number of killings. It was too much for a simple country priest.
After a short while he took his place opposite Erik at the table once again and resumed his questioning. "Sixth Commandment, adultery?"
Erik seemed almost pleased when he replied: "No, never. Finally something that I've never done."
"Seventh Commandment — stealing?"
"Oh yes," said Erik, appearing more satisfied with himself than remorseful on that account. "On a colossal scale, constantly and with great enthusiasm."
This was too much for Father Johannes. "This is a grave sin and shouldn't be taken lightly! All right — how often and how much?"
Erik shrugged helplessly. "No idea. Unfortunately I have the bad habit of helping myself to whatever appeals to me. But I have really no idea how much the things were worth or how many of them there were. In the Opera alone I got 20,000 francs a month for five years."
The priest's eyes got wider and wider. "That's more than twice what a clerk earns in a year — and in one month!"
Erik grinned in embarrassment and gave a shrug.
"What does anyone spend that much money on?" Father Johannes asked in amazement.
"Luxury and bribes," Erik said calmly.
"But you regret it, at least?"
"Truthfully? No, I don't. What I regret is that I stole cigarettes, wine and brandy from the Vicomte, who was very generous to me, and a pen, paper and ink, and a couple of pencils besides. For that I'm truly sorry."
"You regret the theft of a couple of pencils, but not that of 20,000 francs?" Father Johannes was stunned. He had somehow the feeling that he ought on no account to give this Erik absolution, since he wasn't even showing remorse. Erik nodded.
"Eighth Commandment, bearing false witness?"
Erik thought about it. "Well... yes, I have. Unfortunately."
"Does that 'unfortunately' mean that you regret it?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Ninth and Tenth Commandments — coveting what belongs to another?"
"Constantly and without cease. I am always envying somebody something. Sadly that often leads to... unpleasant occurrences. And no, in this case by and large I can feel no remorse."
"Is it quite clear to you that you can obtain no absolution without remorse?" demanded Father Johannes.
"Of course, but should I have lied and said that I feel remorse for something that I don't regret at all?"
Father Johannes sighed. "Unfortunately that's quite usual. Many people feign remorse where none exists. But I have never heard of anyone with such grave sins or so many of them. I... if I set you to recite rosaries as a penance, you'll be busy for the next ten years. Perhaps... all right, we'll do it like this: I will give you absolution for those sins that you regret, and where the others are concerned you can come back when you have seen the error of your ways."
This pragmatic solution pleased Erik.
"I understand what Babette saw in you," he observed suddenly, leaving the priest speechless. Father Johannes had again not expected this in the least. There before him sat a man with a truly appalling record, who could not feel the slightest remorse, and that man turned the tables on him and gave him a guilty conscience.
"Formalities over?" enquired Erik.
"You're not taking this seriously at all!" Father Johannes yelled at him. "This is a serious matter — don't think that you can make a joke of it! It makes no odds to me, but you're putting the salvation of your soul at stake. Do you have any idea what that means? Is it actually clear to you that you have committed crimes and will have to answer for them, not before an earthly court perhaps but before the bar of Heaven?"
Erik at once became serious again. "I'm sorry. Sometimes my reactions are entirely inappropriate. I know that I am a monster so depraved that I cannot even manage truly to repent all my crimes. I do repent most of them, but many I cannot, and I will not add a further sin to their number and feign repentence where I can feel none. I cannot even promise to commit no further crimes in the future; it is a promise I have already made, and have not kept. If you cannot cope with this, then tell me, and I will have to find another priest."
Father Johannes considered for a while. "Very well, then I shall regard you as a test of my faith. I'll give you absolution, as regards those crimes which you truly repent at least. As penance... as penance you are to compose a Mass."
Erik's expression brightened, and he really beamed. "Can I use the organ?"
"If you tune it first, yes."
"All right — and for what date should the Mass be completed? I've already written a Requiem and a wedding mass; what's it to be? Christmas? Good Friday? Easter? Whitsun? A baptismal mass? An oratorio? Does it have to be finished before the wedding, or can it be later?"
"Start with the tuning of the organ. Tomorrow without delay. After that we'll see."
"With the greatest of pleasure!" Erik agreed with evident delight. Finally, a useful task to which he could devote himself.
"Then I'll put up the banns for the coming three Sundays, and in four weeks' time you and Babette can be married. And in the meantime I expect you at least to think carefully and truly consider once again what you now repent, and what you do not."
Father Johannes shook his head. How was he supposed to deal with this? Here was a man who had confessed to appalling crimes and admitted that he did not repent all of them, and yet was able to compose a Requiem and to sing as if inspired by an angel. A man who gave not a second thought to blackmail covering exorbitant sums over a period of years and yet felt guilt over the theft of a pencil. A man who had shed blood hundreds of times and wished to offer solace to the parents of a suicide. A difficult case, but perhaps not entirely hopeless.
(continued...)