Leaning back against the wall, he remembered the scene as if it were
yesterday. It had been yet
another endless rehearsal; he had become somewhat bored with
it and was about to leave when he
heard Madame Giry rebuke one of her girls, telling her sternly to concentrate
on what she was
doing. This of course, was nothing new, but as Erik’s gaze shifted
to the girl, what he saw took his
breath away.
Oh, but she was so very lovely! A sweet, heart-shaped face in
which were set two big eyes,
thickly-lashed and the vivid blue of cornflowers; a small, straight
nose and two rosy lips; a delicate
complexion of creamy porcelain, and all surrounded by a fall of lustrous
hair, curling riotously round
her face and down her back, the colour of polished chestnuts.
From beyond the shadows in Box 5,
Erik stared at the vision on stage, poised in graceful movement in
the chorus line, and fell completely
and utterly in love.
Since that day, he had followed her from the shadows, noting her
moods, her willingness to learn and work hard, her shy smile and blushes
when praised, her downcast demeanour when rebuked. And yet how sad
she sometimes appeared to be. He had seen her sitting aside from
the others during rehearsals, lost in thought or simply quietly watching
the progress on stage. Little Meg Giry hadoften gone to join her
and they had become good friends, which pleased Erik. He knew only
too
well how lonely a solitary life could be, and she was far too young
and lovely to be without
companions.
More than anything, he had longed to speak to her, give her encouragement
and inspire her to have
confidence in herself and her abilities. She was a good dancer,
light and graceful, but not a great
one, he could see that. No, it was her voice which captivated
him. True, during rehearsals she
appeared overcome by nerves when singing, and did not give of her best,
but he had heard the purity
in that voice, the range of musicality and tonal qualities were easily
detectable to the genius that was
his in every aspect of music.
And so from his secret places, he watched over her and saw that
she came to no harm. He knew
that the reigning diva, La Carlotta, had also become aware of the little
chorus girl’s talents and did
her best to keep this knowledge from the chorus master and the managers.
The diva, built on the
magnificent lines which owed much to nature and even more to a love
of eating rich food and good
wines, could only compare her over-ample curves and ageing voice to
that of the slender figure and
angelically pure voice of the young Swedish girl, and realised only
too well that she had a very real
contender for her crown in little Mlle Daaé. Some members
of the corps de ballet were also rather
jealous of Christine’s beauty and tended to keep her rather spitefully
out of their circle.
From his hiding place behind the great mirror in Christine’s dressing
room, Erik had observed her,
longing to comfort her when she came into the room crying, or to share
in her smiles of relieved
pleasure when rehearsals had gone rather better. He watched over
her as she rested on the
chaise-longue, gazing at her sleeping face with an aching tenderness
and yearning to caress that face.