The Secret Diary - Part VI
Some days passed by and slowly I began to forget what had happened to poor Joseph Bouquet. Then a stunning news hit our opera-house: Poligny and Debienne would entrust the opera's management to the care of two new directors, Monsieur Richard and Monsieur Moncharmin.
Well, many were surprised about this change, but not so me. I knew that those letters I received from Erik demanding for thousands of Francs were responsible for many sleepless nights of director Poligny. Indeed I could not blame him for leaving but I also knew that Erik certainly would not have the same easy job with the new ones.
As I had heard from various sources both men were uncompromising business-men far away from believing easily in anything mystically like a ghost. They probably did not know a lot about music, but they knew very well how to make money - and they certainly would not give it away when a ghost asked them to do so.
Therefore I was very worried. Thinking again of Bouquet I knew what could happen when Erik's rules were not obeyed. Oh, dear Meg, I knew too well...
One day - it was very early morning - I went up to box 5 with a programme of Meyerbeer in my hand. First I wanted to leave the box again, but then I stopped and turned around again.
"Monsieur?" I asked thoughtfully. I got no answer, but nonetheless I was sure he was around and could hear me. "Monsieur, did you already hear of our new directors Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin. I'm sure you did", I continued. "You must know they won't be as easy to convince as Monsieur Poligny was."
I chose the word convince carefully thought out because I did not dare expressing a word like threat. I did not know his mood on this day, and when he was melancholy it was too dangerous to say such words. (Oh my love Meg, I began to handle his changing mood with a surprising talent...)
"I appreciate your care", I suddenly heard his voice. "But I'll treat them as they want to be treated."
I did not reply as I recognised him being glum. I was annoying him... "I know you will", I therefore replied with a low voice. "Please forgive my interference." I quickly left the box without awaiting an answer. Simply because I knew he would not answer - not this time.
Only some minutes later when I was behind the stage in a dressing-room I suddenly heard two high-pitched voices, sweet ringing laughter coming straight from the stage. I was truly surprised when I recognised one of these voices as being yours, my daughter.
As I really did not know what you were intending to do on the stage I stopped work and started to listen to you and your friend, a lovely, but inconspicuous girl called Christine Daaé. (Yes, Meg, now the time has come - time to talk about her.)
She had come from the Sweden and sang in the chorus. I had heard that her late father had been a gifted musician, playing the violin, and obviously had wanted his beloved daughter to become a prima donna. But this girl was simply too weak, too helpless to make it up to a opera singer all by herself. She was too - unobtrusively. She would have needed help, but there was not any help around...
All at once your voice interrupted my thoughts. (Do you remember this memorable moment, my darling? This moment should change everything...) You suddenly started talking about your favourite topic - the phantom of the opera... and cold fear crept over my back.
I knew he could hear you and when you announced that he was the one who had killed Bouquet I wanted to run on the stage, grab you and take you away from the inevitable revenge of a furious man.
But then suddenly you asked Christine to sing for him, the phantom, and I paused with great surprise.
(Oh Meg, sweet, innocent, lovely, unsuspecting daughter - if you would have known before what you had give risen to... what wave of incidents you had set. - But even now, when knowing of everything, and perhaps more I would have preferred to know, I'm sure that I would not have been allowed to hold you back, hold you back from saying these simple words... easily said, but with unforeseeable effect...
Oh dear, no, not even for my own spiritual salvation I would have been allowed to hold back the whole unfortunate story. Your unsuspected words had awaken gloomy forces in all involved - great, endless fear, uncontrollable power and deep, fanatic hate... But all among this bad I still cannot forget the good - a truth as innocent as the morning sun and as beautiful as a rose in its full flower. And this was love, simply love.
Even when I consider the worst occasions I would never had been allowed to deny a love - never, never in my whole lifetime! You know, Meg, love is the beginning and the end, the sole truth, the one we are living and the one we are dying for. Sometimes in our darkest hours we probably wish it would be better not to have experienced what it is to love and to have this love returned... but without having loved, Meg, we have never lived...)
Oh dear, I am losing myself into trivial matters - I should better go on telling as there is still so much to say and too little time...
When you asked Christine to sing for him - for Erik - she rejected your wish immediately. I could not hold back an amused smile, her voice was so full of fear and endless sheer embarrassment.
Still now I wonder how two that different girls like you both could have become friends. You had so little in common... Quite the reverse to Christine you never kept quiet when anyone told you to, you used to say what you were thinking - my heart, I hope you still do, it is a honourable trait - and most of all, fear was something you did not - and still do not - know.
You let your friend have fear as you always have been thinking of life as being too precious to waste it with being afraid. (And therefore I was often worried that some day you would talk too much before considering it in advance - so as right now when you accused your exciting phantom of murdering Bouquet...)
"Oh Christine Daaé, don't be such a coward", I heard you laughing cheerfully. "Sing for the phantom, Christine. Mum always says he can hear everybody everywhere, and perhaps he hears you, too."
Oh, my Meg, had I told you too much? I should have better kept quiet - and then I could have evaded this whole tragedy...
"Meg, don't say such awful things!" your friend answered with a low voice which was next to being reverent.
"He isn't awful, he can be really friendly", you replied with the naivety of a innocent, merry child. "He helped me becoming a solo-dancer, Christine. I know I should not betray, but perhaps he can also help you becoming a singer."
I laughed silently. This little, so incredibly vulnerable girl as a celebrated opera singer as a rival for the Great Carlotta Giudicelli - what an idea! I would have continued laughing with real amusement - unless Christine would have started to sing.
Oh Lord... I shrunk back with unimaginable astonishment! What an angelic voice, what an amazing, glorious, peerless voice - never ever I have heard such a pure, crystalline, flawless instrument. Unbelieving I had to look twice if it truly was this dainty girl who was singing Faust's Margarita with this unimaginable perfection.
Even now I do not know why I looked up to box 5 then. Like drawn by an invisible thread I raised my eyes - and there I saw him. Standing at the balustrade in a way that anyone could have seen him, without minding that he could be discovered, fully forgetting his usual caution - just standing there and staring at the angel that was singing down on the stage.
I knew that if I would have called someone he would have been discovered, no doubt, but as often I just kept quiet. It would have been that easy to betray him, to reveal the enigmatic secret of the phantom of the opera, but nobody should learn his mystery from me.
Motionless I watched him standing at box 5, gazing at the girl below, listening to her singing as if he was completely in trance. When he suddenly staggered back, I felt as if I had to release him from these mysterious chains that captivated him, made him incautiously, vulnerably to sounds which seemed to come straight from heaven.
I could not stop thinking of the bible. If there really would exist an angel for each devil's servant on earth - then, I thought and could not hold back trembling, then two of them had met today - in our opera-house...
Oh no, I corrected myself, no devil's servant, just a fallen angel who needed guidance to be raised back into heaven again. And little Christine was his angelic guide...
But then I shook off the strange stiffness in which her music had kept me captivated and stumbled on the stage. "Meg!" I screamed with an unusual hysteria.
Like a little child who was caught by something forbidden you stopped playing the piano and looked at me with great consternation. Your friend ceased singing and stood there as she was waiting to be punished. Her whole body proclaimed fear.
"Mum..." you started with a justification, but I interrupted you immediately: "Meg, leave the stage! You must not do this again, promise me!"
"Must not do what?" you replied with a weak voice and tears in your eyes. "Mum, I just wanted Christine Daaé to sing for the phantom. What's bad with this?!"
"Meg, I don't want you to talk about the - the phantom ever again, have you understood? Never!" I grabbed your arm and looked at you with a rage I have never experienced before. (Oh my sweet Meg, please forgive me this rage - now I hate myself for treating you this way as I never had done before. I dearly hope you can forgive me one day... I have done it solely for your safety - although I know this is certainly no excuse.)
"Mum!" you cried out, looked at me disappointed and then left furiously the stage.
Only Christine was left staring at me not knowing what to say. "Madame, I apologise. It was - my idea", she finally said silently.
"Christine, don't be silly. I know it was Meg's. Please don't worry, it's just Meg - she's always talking too much", I sighed deeply and took her hand. "Listen: I'm certainly not angry with you both, I'm just worried."
"Because of this opera ghost?" she asked cautiously.
"Oh, dear, Meg's exciting opera ghost! She thinks she knows everything about it - it's just a little adventure for her", I explained patiently.
"Yes, I know, Madame. He doesn't exist, am I right?" She looked at me with big eyes.
I sighed again, before I told her a lie: "Yes, my heart, you're right. There is no ghost in here."
She nodded as if she had known this all the time, then dropped a curtsey. "Can I leave?"
"Of course you can", I answered and watched her leaving the stage. With one short glance to box 5 I recognised that he was not standing there, but somehow I knew that he was not gone neither.
Right after Christine I left the stage, too, and headed straight for box 5. I had to be sure that he was gone again - or else he would have been in immense danger. Never before and never after I reached the box so quickly like I did on this day. I gasped for breath and then I recognised that I had run as if the devil himself had pursued me.
I knocked at the door of box 5, but as nobody gave an answer I entered without hesitation. I always used to await his "Entré", and without this permission I did not dare to enter, but this time I did not mind a deny or a authorisation. I would have entered anyway.
On the first sight the box seemed to be empty, but when I looked closely I was able to identify a figure sitting in the darkest corner covered with the merciful darkness.
"Monsieur?" I asked and was shocked by my own voice. It sounded husky and fearful, but I did not fear him - I feared for him. I cleared my throat and tried to make my voice sound a bit more self-confident.
"Monsieur", I began once more. "You have to leave! I could see you from the stage and I don't know if anyone else saw you, too. And if somebody did, you are in great danger!" Although my voice was truly urgent and next to be frightened, he did not react. He sat there like in trance, not moving, and I doubted if he had heard me.
Perhaps I should have left immediately, because if someone would have entered Erik would be discovered and I would have lost my job as I always had been silent about my knowledge concerning the opera-ghost.
But at that time I could not think of myself. I was incredibly worried about Erik whom I used to know as a strong, powerful man and not as this broken, desolate wreck he was right now.
I approached him and touched his shoulder to make him paying attention. It was the very first time that I dared to touch him. It was not because of his disfigurement that I used to avoid any contact - it just was his almighty appearance, his impressive manner that made me feel like a little girl who only reacted when it was told to.
So when I touched his shoulder he started as if he was bitten by a snake and stared at me bemused. Then I saw his face... well, his face hidden behind the mask. It was a shiny white mask which nearly covered the whole face and only revealed the eyes and the mouth. And in these eyes I suddenly was capable to see everything all by myself...
My dear Meg, it is true: The eyes are the windows to your soul. And through his eyes I saw his whole life, a life of disappointment, of hurt and pain, hate and anger, exclusion and loneliness. And it nearly broke my heart when I had to admit that I was unable to recognise one thing: love.
Oh Lord, oh my Meg, he had not experienced true love, never in his lifetime. Not even the love that a mother gives her child from his birth and never ever stops it again. His only crime was to be born...
"Madame..." he murmured and grabbed my arm as if he had to cling himself to it to escape of getting lost in the storm that was causing havoc in his heart right now.
"Monsieur, please leave and hide yourself", I told him pressing. "It's too dangerous to stay here any longer. Go!" The last word expressed all my helplessness seeing him like this and all my fear for him being captivated and treated like he had been in his youth.
He let go of my arm and pointed down on the stage. "Who... who was she?!" he asked absent-minded and entirely ignored my warning.
"She?" I repeated puzzled. "Oh... this was Christine - Christine Daaé, a girl from Sweden. She sings in the chorus... she..."
"In the chorus?!" He spitted out these words like poison. "This voice is certainly not made for singing in the chorus! Tell me about her!"
This was not a request anymore, it was an order - an order of a desperate man who believed to find release in this impeccably heavenly voice.
"She started to take singing-lessons here not a very long time ago. Her late father was a highly gifted musician who played the violin while his daughter accompanied him with her lovely voice. When he died she came to France and finally entered the conservatory here in Paris", I explained him and tried to calm myself down. It was no need for us both to be bewildered. "Her voice is nearly perfect, no doubt, but up to now she didn't get any solos. I suppose many find her lacking in a certain stage-presence or something similar... I don't know... it's just an assumption..." I continued telling him everything about this girl I knew.
"It's such a wastefulness to keep her captivated in a chorus! But - well, only a perfect intonation isn't enough to become a prima donna. She can't sing as if the role's got nothing to do with her", he replied with a low voice but his casualness could not deceptive me about the fact that Christine had conquered his soul - and his heart.
"And what holds her back from being the role she sings?" I asked him softly.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know..." Then he suddenly stood up and was again the mighty god of the opera-house and the music. With his black tail-coat and the black cape he was as dark as the night that surrounded him - only the white mask seemed to be a shimmer of light which shone down from heaven for its fallen angel to light him his way back... Just ironically that it straight shimmered on the one that he detested most - his face.
I really would not have been surprised when I would haven fallen down on the earth in front of him like a prayer in front of a cross in a sudden fit of humility and adoration. So incredibly dignified he stood there facing me wordlessly like a statue of an old antic deity.
"Madame, please leave now. It could cost your job when someone would get to know that you cover up for a murderer", he said and although his voice sounded kind I did not doubt that this was an order to be followed immediately.
"Please promise me that you will leave, too", I insisted despite of his command. "If someone has seen you..."
"Don't worry, nobody here can catch the phantom of the opera!" He smiled, and his smile was self-assured, and I thought it to be even a bit dangerous.
"Do not make the mistake to underestimate our new directors", I warned him with great concern. "They certainly won't respect the demands of a ghost which no one has ever seen before."
"No one?" he asked, and a searching look from his dark eyes met mine.
"No one", I repeated emphatically. We both did not smile as this was not a funny game which we were playing - it was bitter gravity and the stake was the life...
"I appreciate your secrecy, Madame!" He bowed shortly, and then I knew that I should go now. I nodded, murmured a fast "Au revoir" and then left his box again.
To Be Continued!
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