He sat alone by the flickering gaslight, in the library, reading a small, gilt-edged book of fairy-tales. Of all the many books in the vast library of Chateau Marguerite, this small, leather-bound, dog-eared book was his favourite. From a distant room the sounds of children were faintly audible; the reader, however was lost in his own thoughts a tear rolled down his pale face. He jumped as the servant knocked upon the door and entered carrying a tray. "Beef tea, monsieur--er, Cook said you were to drink it; she said it would bring the colour back to those cheeks." The maid saw the haunted eyes turn to her and stammered, " I will leave it here for you sir, if it please you--only you know what Cook is like . . . . I will leave you alone sir. Good day sir." The young woman lowered the tray onto a small table cluttered with papers, curtsied and departed. He watched her and listlessly replied, "Thank you Emillie, good day."
Raoul, Comte de Chagny, master of Chateau Marguerite, and the richest man in the area, sighed and walked slowly to the steaming cup. Cook had left alongside the beeftea a small white breadroll, steam warm from the oven, and one of the servants had put the daily post on a small antique silver platter beside the meal. The Comte gazed distractedly out of the large window, across the dark grounds of the chateau. He saw a number of the non-resident servants leave for the night as the world in general went about its nocturnal business. Life for him had ceased three years ago when he buried his wife, Christine, in the family mausoleum. He merely existed now, and only that for the sake of the children. Charles Erik was the eldest and as the only son heir to the Chagny estates and titles. Charles was barely 11 years of age and was, to say the least, an intelligent and precocious child . Raoul had also been blessed with two daughters: the eldest, Margarita was named after his mother (and referred to universally as Meg) was eight years of age and was a shy and quiet child; her sister Kristina was just three years of age and the apple of her father's eye. It had with been this child's arrival into the world that Raoul's life had changed so unutterably. The pregnancy had been difficult and the labour, long and exhausting with what the midwife described, rather unhelpfully, as 'complications'. Christine had lived barely two days after her daughters birth, and for a while it was feared the infant would join her. Kristina was now a lively, and active child who adored her siblings and worshipped her father. Raoul cared deeply for his children, but love for any earthly object had been lost with the premature death of his wife.
Christine had been a singer at the Paris Opera. The Comte had visited with his late brother and had lost his heart when she sang as no one had ever sung before that night with Carlotta taken ill. He had known the young Swedish singer a a girl and had even sat at her father's feet as he played the violin like no one on earth. His pretty daughter sang with her angel's voice. It was not thought respectable for a boy of his status to be the companion of a peasant's daughter, so, as was the way of things, the friendship was brought to an abrupt end. Raoul had never forgotten the little girl whose scarf he rescued for the sea, with her dark curls and her angel voice. But things change. He, more than anyone, knew that.
He sipped the tea and looked around the vast library. He was surrounded by many books; ancient family heirlooms, just like the crumbling house, just like the blood that flowed in his veins. The vast mansion and estates he had inherited on the death of his brother, the house where he was raised (by an over protective elder brother and pampered by indulgent sisters after the death of his parents shortly after his birth). He hated the house. As he glanced around the library he thought to himself, I have not read a fraction of these books, and yet how is it I knew when one is out of place amongst the shelves?
He sighed again and picked up the errant volume, Dantes' The Inferno. The book was free of dust and small foot prints betrayed the culprit in the dusty shelves. He wandered along the dusty shelves, thinking that he really should get one of the servants to dust the shelves . . . but then how would he know if the book thief had struck?
He found another dustfree book, this time on the principles of architecture, and still another. He withdrew that tell-tale book, Goethe's Faust, from its resting place and notice the comments penciled into margins, and small pieces of paper marking prominent pages, small pieces of paper with exquisite sketches on.
The comments were in small, childish handwriting. He frowned and realized the he'd been in here again. Raoul was not particularly concerned about the comments in the books or any damage occurring. The boy never damaged things, at least not accidentally. He was unsure however that this was suitable reading material for a boy of 11. Raoul himself had received a good but not especially advanced education. He also knew Christine had received the best education her father (and later her benefactress, Mme Valerius) could provide (but a superstitious old women and a wandering minstrel are not the best of tutors). Raoul knew neither himself nor his late wife were particularly intelligent. He had never seen someone with such a passion for learning, such an insatiable curiosity as his young son. There was something he could not quite put his finger on at work in that mind . . . sometimes the Comte de Chagny was afraid of his son.
Raoul walked to the nursery, clutching the books as evidence, rehearsing before-hand what he would say. At the door he paused, then, on entering, faltered slightly as three pairs of questioning eyes greeted his arrival. Madame Du Pont, the governess and nanny to the children, immediately whispered loudly to her charges, "Now children, what did I tell you, stand up when Monsieur le Comte enters the room--do you have no manners?"
Raoul hesitated momentarily then proceeded, "One of you has been meddling in the library again, scribbling in the books. You know you are forbidden in the library without permission. I want to know who it is. I know it was not your baby sister, so do not try that trick. If the guilty party admits to the deed I may be persuaded to be lenient in the punishment."
Meg glanced sideways at her brother and said in a tiny trembling voice. "It was I, Papa."
Raoul saw his son gazed at his sister for an instant then turned that inscrutable gaze back to Raoul.
"You never read any of those books anyway Papa, why should we be punished if we try to learn, if we read to each other? You barely even acknowledge we exist, and you are too fond of cognac."
Madame Du Pont looked outraged and cried out, "How dare you speak to your father in that way! He loves you, gives you everything. You are a selfish ungrateful little boy who does not deserve to live in such a beautiful house or play with such magnificent toys. If you are not careful, you will be sent away and you will not see your family again!"
Raoul was shocked but not surprised by the outburst. It had been the same since that day three years before when he had sat down with the boy and told him that his mother "had gone to be an angel in heaven, to sit with Jesus." Charles had looked at him, no more accurately through him with those silver grey eyes and said in his soft lilting voice, "Mama is gone? I do not love God anymore, Papa. He has taken her away from us. I hate God. He has killed the angels, Father."
In the midst of his own grief Raoul trembled at the sincerity in that voice. Since that night Charles had merely gone to mass to please his father, but he never participated in the prayers and would sing, merely for the joy of doing so, not for the Praise of God. No amount of thrashings or words would change the determined mind. Raoul feared for his son's soul and knew that they only thing he worshipped lay behind cold marble. Raoul had seen him sketching in Church. He would hide the paper if he thought he was being watched. The Comte could see a listlessness that was not merely a child's boredom, but a persistent and unrelenting refusal to believe. When Raoul gazed into those bright eyes, he saw a lost world of which he had no part reflected back across the endless chasms.
Those haunting silver grey windows which stared ever knowing from that face puzzled and frightened him. It was as though those eyes could see into his mind.
His two daughters adored their brother, and he them. But Raoul remembered when Charles had discovered Christines pregnancy. "Will you love our new sister more than us, Papa?" Raoul had reassured him that he would love all his children equally, but he knew that Christine worshipped her son. The affection she had for her daughter, although great, was not the same. He tried to tell himself it was because Charles had been the first, had been born early, had been a frail baby . . . but sometime he wondered if Meg ever noticed. He had hoped she would not neglect the new arrival.
Raoul stared at his son and angrily shouted, "How dare you, you ungrateful and wicked creature! What would your mother say to hear such an outburst? For you to use such diabolic insolence, not only are you an ungodly child, but disrespectful and, what is more, rude." Raoul turned to leave, his rage at boiling point, at the door he turned and said, "I will deal with you later, ungrateful wretch. Now go to your room. I do not wish to see you in my presence again! I would have hoped my son would be better brought up than that, but it would seem I am mistaken. Perhaps you are not worthy to be my son at all."
As Charles paled and ran past his angry father, the tears coursing down his face Raoul realized what he had said. He spun around a glared at the governess. She gathered the girls up in her arms as he said, "I do not pay you to stand around and stare, Madame. Get about your work."
Raoul turned and almost ran to the bedchamber he had shared with his wife. He sank down on the bed and sobbed, "Christine, my angel, help me. I cannot go on like this--the boy is getting worse--he is becoming willful--I cannot survive another winter without you. The darkness is so cold alone . . . I do not wish to continue in this existence. I do not care anymore that you loved HIM more than myself! Forgive me please Christine . . . my beloved angel. . . ."
Part II
To save your world, you asked this man to die. Would this mane, could he see you now, ask why?
Raoul, Comte de Chagny thought back to those years, which seemed so distant, the night he had asked Christine to marry him. On the roof of the Opera House, she had seemed so happy and yet so afraid. He remembered her fears; he thought she was being foolish believing the superstitions of old man Daaé. He remembered the voice he had heard that night, the music he had heard in the graveyard. No one one earth could play like that, not even Christine's father. She was mesmerized by the sheer beauty and tragedy which filled the air that night. He had nearly frozen to death.
They played at being engaged: she saw it as a game, he with his heart bursting. The innocent game of young love had become so dark; death had surrounded them both. Raoul believed he knew the secrets of those dark months. Raoul's brother Phillipe drowned beneath the Opera house in the Lake beneath the catacombs. Some reports believed it to be an accident, others stated suicide, but Raoul's theory had been murder. He believed that monster had murdered his brother and nearly killed him as well, except for Christine's compassion. Her compassion to spend her life with a murderer, to save him. This man, this freak of nature who haunted the deep realms of the theatre--he murdered, he manipulated, he stole when and how he chose. It was said he had once built for the Shah of Persia, had built the Opera House. The distorted face that lay beneath the white mask. He was a genius of music of magic and illusion, but the dark seducer of an innocent girl. He claimed he had loved her, but he could not have loved her as much as Raoul had done. Those silver eyes behind the mask, full of the tragedy of the world. The monster had taken pity on her, on them, let them go, he allowed them to live their lives together while he remained in his hell. That look, those haunting eyes, full of the most exquisite sadness world never leave him.
Raoul had won; he had his life, his Christine, his normality. They were married within the month and never spoke of those days. He would find her sometimes gazing at something he could not see, listening to something he could not hear. Sometimes he felt ashamed; he had married his love, had so much more than that masked creature of shadows. The burning hatred he had felt had mellowed over the years to a pitiful contempt.
Part III
The trurth is rarely pure and never simple
Christine would gaze at her son for hours, singing for him with her
angel's voice. Raoul had objected to naming his middle name as Erik but
Christine had said in her enchanting voice, "Don't be so spoiled Raoul.
He is my son. I will name him as I choose." Eventually Raoul gave in. A
month or so after his birth Christine had received a bundle of letters
from her friends congratulating her on the birth of her son. Raoul had
received much the same, if more formal, but he remembered one such letter
made her gasp. As he looked up he thought he saw her conceal something
in the bodice of her dress and she continued as though nothing were amiss.
Sometime later Raoul discovered, hidden in a music box (of which his wife
was particularly fond) a letter wrapped in a black ribbon simply saying
"For the child."
Raoul questioned Christine, but she retorted almost too quickly that
it was "from an old Swedish Aunt, it was a few francs towards his education."
Raoul was angry. "We do not need your poor relations to provide for
our son. Return the money Christine, it cannot be thought that the Comte
and Comtesse de Chagny need handouts," he snapped nastily, angry at a perceived
humiliation and the secrecy. "Why have you hidden it, I thought the days
of secrets were over Christine."
The Comtesse, looked at him with a mixture of contempt and pity. "The
reason I did not inform you, monsieur, is because I knew that you would
react this way. You can be so rude, so thoughtless, such a child, Raoul.
Aunt Hannah does not have much to spare, it was a kind and generous act,
she would not have meant to offend your snobbish values. I am going to
lie down . I have a headache. Tell cook I shall not be down for dinner."
Raoul later apologised, but merely out of a sense of love for his wife,
more than the feeling that in anyway he could have been wrong. It was another
matter which was not spoken of again. It was not until some years later
Raoul discovered Christine had no living family.
Raoul provided for his family, but could not help but feel that Charles
was indifferent to his presence. The boy's face would visibly light up
when ever he saw his mother, he would never smile at his father, although
until his mother's death he would crave his approval.
After Meg was born, Christine seemed at times indifferent to Raoul's
company. He did not see love in those ocean blue eyes, fondness, and even
a element of pity but not love. He was "dear sweet Raoul" . she had loved
him with her body, and for a while her heart, but he became aware that
she did not love him with her mind, or her soul. He knew they belonged
in the past. He adored her, believed he forgave her, loved her for her
voice, for their children, but sometimes knew that he was alone in his
love.
She became ill shortly after Meg's first birthday, a slow progression
of weakness, the doctors were unsure of any cause. Raoul himself believed
she needed rest and sun, and would be stronger by the summer. She would
often sit alone, or with her son, in the garden singing quietly to herself
and Charles, and reading the tiny, gilt-edged book that she loved so much.
Sometime she would stop and smile and gaze at something far away, that
no one else could see and listen to something no one else could hear.
Soon after Charles fifth birthday various items began to go missing.
At first mainly small, attractive items such as jewelry. Later clocks,
and a music box carefully dismantled appeared in Charles' room. He was
fascinated with mirrors and would remove the back to "see where the face
lived".
Part III
even God cannot change the past
Raoul quietly entered the boy's room to find him curled up with his
sister, held close in his arms, asleep. He had a book clutched in his delicate
little hands and his dark hair lay across his face in the darkness. The
boy's face was pale from crying . Raoul stared at the sleeping child. He
could see none of himself in the boy. Meg was his, she had his eyes, his
face, his smile. Kristina resembled her mother more each day, it tore his
heart apart to look at her.
Raoul glanced around the room, and his eyes were drawn to the paper
on the floor, he had been sketching again. In one corner was his, Raoul's
face, clumsily drawn; in the opposite corner was a disturbingly good likeness
of the Opera House, which disturbed Raoul as Charles had never visited
Paris, never seen the Opera House. All this was eclipsed however by the
picture in the middle, Raoul's heart skipped a beat in the darkness. It
was a picture of Christine and it was perfect.
The boy was like her almost entirely, apart from those silver grey eyes,
which seemed to look beyond him, through him into his soul. Those haunting
eyes, intelligent . . . cunning . . . almost entirely her. . . . Almost.
Part IV
The world is full of fools and he who would see it should live alone
and smash his mirror.
Raoul, Comte de Chagny turned his haunted eyes from his son's shadow
filled room and fled to his own chamber. His blue eyes stung with tears
and his head spun with fatigue and dispair. He stumbled through the shadows
into his private apartments and tearing at his jacket collapsed onto the
bed, fighting for breath. The world around him seemed unusually dark and
cold as the gas light spluttered in the chill of the open lattice.
Raoul's head was full of fear and hatred. He felt like a child again,
a child whose sisters had told him about the monsters outside that would
get him if he was naughty. They had not warned him about the monsters in
his head however. He had the same bitter taste of fear in his mouth as
he had all those years ago.
His trembling fingers clumsily unbuttoned his clothing and he
cast off the sweat drenched garments and shivered.
He heard his baby daughter Kristina crying and the footsteps of the
nursemaid, they seemed far away. Raoul closed his eyes, dark and disturbing
images played across the lids. He opened his eyes, glanced towards the
bottle on the bureau and staggered towards it gasping for breath. with
shaking hands he lifted the nearly empty bottle to his pale lips and downed
the contents. He threw the empty bottle dejectedly onto the pile of clothes
as his eyes settled on the small black bottle which was the others' companion.
The bottle of laudenham. Fingers closing over its glassy comforting
surface seeking blessed relief. As he passed out in the armchair that unearthly
music which had haunted him for so long began to fill his head.
Sometime later the Comte de Chagny awoke from a disturbed uneasy slumber
by a scream closely followed by a frantic pounding on the door. "Monsieur,
Kristina is very sick. We must summon the Doctor immediately." Raoul hastily
pulled his nightrobe over his pale and gaunt frame and struggled to open
the door, still drowsy.
The door was wrenched from his shaking hands by the maid Emilie, standing
in her nightdress behind whom Raoul could see Gaston, the family butler
struggling his elderly but loyal frame into a riding coat. "Monsieur le
Comte, I was just about to ride for the Doctor. Your daughter is in the
nursery."
Raoul stared momentarily vaguely at the maid then managed with some
effort to pull himself together. "Er, very good Gaston. I will attend to
matters here. Hurry man!"
Emilie pushed open the nursery door to see Lucie, the child's nursemaid
sobbing and cradling a small, limp bundle in her arms. Charles, Raoul's
eleven year old son and heir to the de Chagny title and fortune was standing
behind her clinging to his other sister Meg. His quiet, musical voice cut
through Raoul's thoughts "Papa, Kristina is dying. . . ." Charles silver-grey
eyes seemed to glow in the halflight and even now seemed to look through
Raoul not at him.
Meg gazed silently at her father as he took the bundle in his arms.
Kristina was deathly pale and cold and still, so very still. Lucie turned
her unhappy and terrified face to her master and said in a broken voice,
"She is not dying sir . . . is she? Oh Lord in heaven no, please." The
old woman felll to her feet and began to pray. Raoul gazed abstarctly at
the small face in his arms framed by the golden curls. That tiny face that
resembled its mother so much. Raoul felt disjointed from the world, unsure
what to do, what to say.
He gently began to hand back the child to her loving nurse and said
quietly "I hope not. We must do what we can." The nurse took the child
and he continued, "We must keep her warm. Get me some brandy and water
to revive her. And we should--"
The tears fell from his eyes and a quiet voice beside him, almost in
his head, said, "Papa let me take her. I can make her hear me. Sit down
papa." He turned to gaze into those bottomless silver grey eyes as the
boy took his sister out of the nurses unresisting hands. He began to sing
and the room was filled with a sound that was beautiful and at the same
time so tragic, so sensual it tore at every fibre of Raoul's body. Every
part of was torn by simultaneous agony and ecstacy, his soul wanted to
follow that bewitching sound, to be free from all the pain. It was a music
he had heard before and never ever wanted to hear again. Raoul fell to
the floor gasping for air as his chest tightened and his head spun, through
his pain he saw the child scutinising him with a look of concern and behind
those eyes he could see the comtempt, the pity as the song reached crescendo.
In his delirium and pain he suddenly realised he recognised the song.
He could not place the opera, but every note seemed to taunt him. How could
the boy know this song . . . ? He had never been to the Opera, Raoul
could not remember Christine ever singing it to her son. She never sang
Opera after she left the Opera house . . . for anyone.
Emilie dashed forward and screaming for assistance managed to drag Raoul's
semi conscious body to the armchair. Another servant forced a glass of
cognac between his lips. He felt it's fire in his throat and seemed to
gaze at himself from afar. He thought "I am dying. I will be with her at
last. But I swore I would take care of the children. Oh, God, I have failed
at that too. I am afraid." A blood red haze descended upon him.
Part V
We live not as we wish to live... but as we can
Raoul awoke, feeling weak sometime later, with music in his head. He
turned painfully to see Doctor Leferve's grey whiskered face staring at
him thoughtfully.
"Monsieur le Comte do not try to move very much, you have been rather
sick. You are still very weak."
Raoul glanced disconsolately around the dark room "My daughter--is she
. . . ?" He could not bring himself to say the word.
The doctor glanced behind him to the servant in the doorway and sighed.
"I am very sorry Monsieur, but I did all I could. Your daughter is with
her mother now."
Raoul closed his eyes as his world collapsed around him "First my Christine,
then my daughter--when will it end?" He said quietly, almost to himself.
The doctor gazed akwardly around him at the faded, ancient furniture
and the melancholy portraits of long dead generations. He glanced back
at the pitifully frail figure in the bed before him and thought, "This
man will not last the winter. There is no real physical cause. Some weakness
of the lungs perhaps, but it is a malady of the spirit, the very soul.
It is not I that is needed, it is Father Artois." As he stared into his
patients' face he could see the total heartbreaking emptiness there. He
swallowed and said "The children have been informed sir. The boy guessed
and I thought it best to tell them as we were unsure when you would be
able to see them. Charles is bright, very bright. He knew."
Raoul turned his grief stricken face towards the Doctor and said, "Thank
you, sir. You have done your duty. I am very grateful. Please will you
send my children to me--and then I need to be alone with my family." The
doctor departed and Raoul's remaining children entered silently, Meg's
tear stained face looked for reassurance in her father's face, but her
ocean blue eyes failed to find what they sought. As Raoul stared into the
silver grey chasms of his sons face he saw none of the former fire, just
a hollowness that chilled his blood.
Charles turned those haunting, haunted eyes to his father. "Papa why
has God taken her? Why does he hate us so? Is there never to be happiness
in this house now she is gone? Doctor told us Krissie was with God in heaven
but why would God take her from us?"
Raoul pulled his son into his arms and replied in a distraught voice.
"I do not know why God has done this, He works in strange ways. We cannot
always understand why, but we should not really question His will."
Charles stared into Raoul's pale, gaunt face and said with a sincereity
that chilled Raoul's blood. "I shall no longer attend mass any more. I
only went after mama died because you wished it, but I cannot worship such
a hypocritical and spiteful god. He has no compassion, no mercy."
The boy wriggled out of his father's shocked grasp and fled in tears.
Raoul had experienced such sacreligion from his son before but now he was
afraid he saw a smouldering hatred in those eyes.
Meg cried herself to sleep and Raoul gently wrapped her in his blanket
and carried her to the room she shared with her brother. He entered silently
and saw Charles' form curled up in front of the fire asleep. The boy was
surrounded by paper. Raoul bent down and picked up a piece--a page from
the bible. He covered the sleeping forms with a blanket and crushing the
page in his hands threw the remainder of the book into the fire. He watched
fascinated as the flames consumed their holy prey. He suddenly turned away
and understood the hollowness in his son's eyes.
Part VI
Is God one of man's blunders or man one of God's blunders?
His empty heart ached as he headed for the library. He picked up the
tiny gilt-edged book that had been her favourite. In the darkness his eyes
turned towards the window and out beyond to the dark mausoleum that housed
his wife and would soon be the resting place of his daughter. He suddenly
began to hear the music in his head again, the hypnotic songs that he had
heard so many times, echoing inside his head. Raoul dived towards the window
and ripped out the casement with a strength he had not know for many years.
Ignoring the pain as shattered glass lacerated his hands he leapt out onto
the lawn below and began to run towards the marble tomb. In the freezing
rain he fell to his knees and screamed to the night sky. "Why have you
taken my child, Lord? You took my wife. Is that not punishment enough for
what I have done? How long must I suffer? Why have you forsaken me?"
He turned his distraught eyes to the cold marble ediface before him,
stroking it tenderly. He could hear all around him the intoxicating music.
He picked up the lilies which lay by the door, inhaling their funereal
purfume. Raoul always left roses and so far as he knew so did the children,
or wild flowers they had picked in the grounds, but never lilies. "Who
next? Meg? The boy? No never the boy. You wish to torment me more. Leave
me some reminder of him, that monster, the angel you cast out from heaven.
BASTARD! I DO NOT DESERVE THIS"
Conclusion
"Glory remains unaware of my neglected dwelling where alone I sing
my tearful song which has charms only for me"
Raoul cradled the flowers to his heaving chest and stared into the shifting
darkness, gazing uncomprehendingly into misconcieved movements in the darkness
as the sound in his head grew louder.
He began to tear at the huge oak door that held the tomb closed, with
the unnatural strength granted by madness. His aching chest tightened as
he screamed into the ephemeral darkness. "NO! You are dead! Leave me alone,
monster. Have you not been avenged enough? I have heard your accursed voice
every night in my dreams for what seems a thousand years . . . craving
that sound when I sleep. I have seen those hideous eyes staring at me in
the darkness. I loved her. Surely you of all people understand that?" A
voice in his head whispered "The pain never goes away, never diminishes.
The loneliness that damns us to hell will never cease."
Raoul fell to the floor and cried "I loved her . . . I always loved
her. I have raised the boy, given him everything, my name, my fortune,
my love. what more could any man do? I know she loved you more than I.
I have always known. She is yours, always was. I lived a lie knowing this,
knowing about the child. Why must you persist in this torture?"
The voice in his head laughed and then replied: "We merely exist without
her. We do not, can not live. Now Monsieur le Comte, do you truly understand"?
The Comte de Chagny screamed into the empty night as the echoes of a
song faded in his head and blackness descended.
FIN
I see my life,
Lear ~ Edward Bond
Finale
~ Menander 342-292 BC
~ Neitzche
~ Charles Brunet
a black tree by a pool.
The branches are covered with tears,
the tears are shining with light.
The wind blows the tears in the sky,
my tears fall down on me.
