Fallen Angel
by Mlle. Claudin
My harpsichord is still.
It has been many years
since its keys were pressed
by my fingers.
That was my own melody--
"Don Juan Triumphant";
my melody, but written for her.
Christine.
When I first heard her voice,
it was as though
Heaven
had opened its gates
to this lonely Phantom.
Paradise,
however intangible,
was to be mine.
Her fingers against my face
were the brush of a dove's feathers
on a gargoyle of stone.
My own mother would not look on me;
it was she who gave me my first mask.
She would not look,
but this creature of light would.
She did not find me repulsive,
as others had.
I believed in her love.
Yes, it was years ago
that she chose
the scorpion.
She sacrificed all
for her friends' lives.
Her love instilled life
into this last mask of despair and madness.
But the scorpion's poison
had touched her,
and she would not stay;
so I allowed her to go.
I longed for her to stay,
for perhaps two spirits--
the Opera Ghost and the Angel--
could share eternity together.
It was not to be.
I have seen her since that day,
but she is not
the Christine that I knew.
Life on earth
has changed her song.
It pains me,
this transformation.
"Don Juan Triumphant"
still stands
in its place on the harpsichord.
A tribute
to the way I shall always remember her--
for, to me,
she will remain
my Angel of Music.
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