Chapter V

Christine Daae, owing to intrigues to which I will return later, did not immediately continue her triumph at the Opera. After the famous gala night, she sang once at the Duchess de Zurich’s. She knew that the Comte de Chagny, to please his brother, had done his best on her behalf with M. Richard; and she wrote to thank him and also to ask him to cease speaking in her favor. Her reason for this curious attitude was never known. Some pretended that it was due to her pride; others spoke of her heavenly modesty. But people on the stage are not so modest as all that; and I think that I shall not be far from the truth if I ascribe her action simply to fear. Yes, I believe that Christine Daae was frightened by what had happened to her.

I have a letter of Christine’s, relating to this period, which suggests a feeling of absolute dismay:

“I don’t know myself when I sing,” wrote the poor child.

She showed herself nowhere; and the Vicomte de Chagny tried in vain to meet her. He wrote to her, asking to call upon her, and one morning, she sent him the following note:

Monsieur:

I have not forgotten the little boy who went into the sea to rescue my scarf. I feel that I must write to you today. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of my poor father, whom you knew and who was very fond of you. He is buried, with his violin, in the graveyard of the little church, at the bottom of the slope where we used to play as children, beside the road where, when we were a little bigger, we said good-by for the last time.

The Vicomte de Chagny hurriedly consulted a railway guide, dressed as quickly as he could, wrote a few lines for his valet and jumped into a cab which brought him to the Gare Montparnasse. Soon he was seated in his compartment in the express. He read Christine’s note over and over again, smelling its perfume, recalling the sweet pictures of his childhood.

One day, little Christine came to the shore. At that time, there was nothing but sky and sea and a stretch of golden beach. Only, there was also a high wind, which blew Christine’s scarf out to sea. Christine gave a cry, but the scarf was already far on the waves. Then she heard a voice say:

“It’s all right, I’ll go and fetch your scarf out of the sea.”

And she saw a little boy running fast. The little boy ran into the sea, dressed as he was, and brought her back her scarf. Christine laughed merrily and kissed the little boy, who was none other than the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. During the season, they saw each other and played together almost every day.

Three years later, Raoul and Christine met again at Perros. The young man, as he now was, had come to Perros on the chance of finding Daddy Daae and his daughter and went straight to the house in which they used to stay. He first saw the old man; and then Christine entered. She asked him a few questions, and left the room. Then she ran into the garden. Raoul followed her and they talked till the evening, very shyly.

When they took leave of each other by the roadside, Raoul, pressing a kiss on Christine’s trembling hand, said:

“Mademoiselle, I shall never forget you!”

And he went away regretting his words, for he knew that Christine could not be the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny.

As for Christine, she tried not to think of him and devoted herself wholly to her art. She made wonderful progress and those who heard her prophesied that she would be the greatest singer in the world. Meanwhile, the father died; and, suddenly, she seemed to have lost, with him, her voice, her soul and her genius.

The first time that Raoul saw Christine at the Opera, he was charmed by the girl’s beauty and by the sweet images of the past which it evoked. He returned to listen to her. He waited for her behind a ladder. He tried to attract her attention. More than once, he walked after her to the door of her box, but she did not see him. Raoul suffered, for she was very beautiful and he was shy and dared not confess his love, even to himself. And then came the gala performance. And then… and then there was that man’s voice behind the door—“You must love me!” —and no one in the room…

Why did she not recognize him? And why had she written to him? …

The Vicomte de Chagny hurried to the diligence, He was the only passenger. He questioned the driver and learned that, on the evening of the previous day, a young lady who looked like a Parisian had gone to Perros and put up at the inn known as the Setting Sun.

Perros was reached at last. Raoul walked into the smoky sitting-room of the Setting Sun and at once saw Christine standing before him, smiling and showing no astonishment.

“So you have come,” she said. “I felt that I should find you here, when I came back. Some one told me so, at the church.”

“Who?” asked Raoul, taking her little hand in his.

“Why, my poor father, who is dead.”

There was a silence; and then Raoul asked:

“Did your father tell you that I love you, Christine, and that I can not live without you?”

Christine blushed to the eyes and turned away her head. In a trembling voice, she said:

“Me? You are dreaming, my friend!”

“Don’t laugh, Christine; I am quite serious,” Raoul answered.

And she replied gravely: “I did not make you come to tell me such things as that. I thought you would remember our games here, as children, in which my father so often joined. I really don’t know what I thought… Perhaps I was wrong to write to you… This anniversary and your sudden appearance in my room at the Opera, the other evening, reminded me of the time long past and made me write to you as the little girl that I then was…”

There was something in Christine’s attitude that seemed to Raoul not natural. This was irritating him.

“When you saw me in your dressing-room, was that the first time you noticed me, Christine?”

She was incapable of lying.

“No,” she said, “I had seen you several times in your brother’s box. And also on the stage.”

“I thought so!” said Raoul, compressing his lips. “But then why did you answer as though you did not know me and also why did you laugh?”

The tone of these questions was so rough that Christine stared at Raoul without replying.

“You don’t answer!” he said angrily and unhappily. “Well, I will answer for you. It was because there was some one in the room, Christine, some one that you did not wish to know that you could be interested in any one else!”

“Whom are you talking about, monsieur?” asked the girl excitedly.

“About the man to whom you said, ‘I sing only for you!’”

Christine seized Raoul’s arm and clutched it with a strength which no one would have suspected in so frail a creature.

“Then you were listening behind the door?”

“Yes, because I love you… And I heard everything…”

“You heard what?”

And the young girl, becoming strangely calm, released Raoul’s arm.

“He said to you, ‘Christine, you must love me!’”

At these words, a deathly pallor spread over Christine’s face. Raoul darted forward, but Christine said, in a low voice:

“Go on! Go on! Tell me all you heard!”

Raoul answered: “I heard, ‘Your soul is a beautiful thing, child, and I thank you. No emperor ever received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight.’”

Christine carried her hand to her heart. Christine’s eyes moistened and two great tears trickled, like two pearls, down her ivory cheeks.

“Christine!”

“Raoul!”

The young man tried to take her in his arms, but she escaped and fled in great disorder.

While Christine remained locked in her room, Raoul did not know what to do. He refused to breakfast.

Raoul walked away, dejectedly, to the graveyard in which the church stood and was indeed alone among the tombs, reading the inscriptions. Raoul said a prayer for Christine’s father and then climbed the slope and sat down on the edge of the heath overlooking the sea.

A voice behind him said:

“Do you think the evil spirits will come this evening?”

It was Christine. He tried to speak. She put her gloved hand on his mouth.

“Listen, Raoul. I have decided to tell you something serious, very serious… Do you remember the legend of the Angel of Music?”

“I do,” he said.

“You have heard the Angel of Music. In my dressing-room. That is where he comes to give me my lessons daily.”

“In your dressing-room?” he echoed stupidly.

“Yes, that is where I have heard him; and I have not been the only one to hear him.”

“Who else heard him, Christine?”

“You, my friend.”

“I? I heard the Angel of Music?”

“Yes, the other evening, it was he who was talking when you were listening behind the door. It was he who said, ‘You must love me.’ But I then thought that I was the only one to hear his voice. Imagine my astonishment when you told me, this morning, that you could hear him too.”

Raoul burst out laughing. Christine turned on Raoul with a hostile air. Her eyes, usually so gentle, flashed fire.

“What are you laughing at? You think you heard a man’s voice, I suppose?”

“Well!…” replied the young man.

“It’s you, Raoul, who say that? What are you thinking of? I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny, and I don’t lock myself up in my dressing-room with men’s voices. If you had opened the door, you would have seen that there was nobody in the room!”

“That’s true! I did open the door, when you were gone, and I found no one in the room.”

“So you see!… Well?”

“Well, Christine, I think that somebody is making game of you.”

She gave a cry and ran away. He ran after her, but she called out:

“Leave me! Leave me!” And she disappeared.

Raoul returned to the inn feeling very weary and very sad. He was told that Christine had gone to her bedroom saying that she would not be down to dinner. Raoul dined alone, in a very gloomy mood. Then he went to his room and tried to read, went to bed and tried to sleep.