Chanson de l’Ange
Paisley Swan Stewart

Excerpt From Book One~Orphan In Winter

Chapter 11
Interlude

Four and a half weeks after Madame had left on her trip to Lyon, she had arrived back at the Paris depot on a late Monday evening.  Given the lateness of the hour, Louise had made her own way back to the opera house, where she had been reunited with her daughter and had slept in her own bed with Meg curled up beside her.  Meg had informed Louise of the opera house dramas and intrigues that had occurred while she was gone, and as the conversation had moved on to other topics, Meg had also informed her mother of Christine’s decision to stay permanently in her own room, rather than moving into the Giry’s apartment as expected.  Meg had expressed her disappointment that her best friend would not be sharing her room after all, and had been somewhat confused as to why Christine had so suddenly changed her mind when the arrangements had been made even before her mother’s departure.  Finally, after talking late into the night about these, and many other issues, Louise and Meg had fallen asleep just before the one o’clock hour.

The morning after her return to Paris, Louise approached Christine’s bedroom door just as the girl was performing her daily vocal exercises.  It was not at all uncommon for young vocal students to be heard warming up or practicing in the dormitory wing, but this was the first time Louise had heard Christine’s voice carrying all the way out into the hall, and she was surprised by its power and maturity.  She stood outside in the corridor and listened, utterly dumbfounded by the obvious improvement in Christine’s voice; and it wasn’t just her voice that was different…there was something profoundly different in her spirit.
Pressing her ear to the door, she was quite content just to listen, convinced that the girl had not achieved such heights on her own…something extraordinary had happened in her absence!  As Christine ended her vocalise, Louise paused a moment before knocking lightly.
“Christine, may I come in?” she asked.
Flinging the door open, her eyes bright and her face flushed, Christine exclaimed, “Oh, Madame, you are back!  I am so happy to see you!”
The girl flung herself into the older woman’s arms with an embrace that pleasantly surprised Louise, making her realize how much she had missed the child. Noticing the marked change in both Christine’s demeanor and appearance, she felt a welcome sense of relief.  How good it was to see the girl behaving like a normal child; and after hearing her sing, Madame had a fair indication of exactly who was responsible for the vocal transformation.
“Christine, I missed you while I was away…and my goodness, you sound wonderful!” Louise praised, watching as Christine blushed with a shy smile.
“Thank you, Madame. I have been…that is, he…well, I have been working hard,” Christine stammered, averting Madame Giry’s intense hazel eyes.
Tilting the girl’s chin upward with her thumb, Louise leveled her gaze to Christine’s and said with a smile, “Well, my dear, we must have a long talk, and you must tell me all about your new teacher…and about the opera, and everything else that happened while I was away!”
Christine’s lips parted just as she was about to speak, but looking up at Madame’s face, she noticed the dark circles under her eyes.  Her naturally beautiful complexion was haggard, and even with the hint of lipstick and rouge she wore, it seemed to Christine that Madame looked thinner than before she had left.
Drawing her brows together, Christine inquired, “Madame, are you ill?”
Louise was taken aback by the girl’s question, for she had scarcely even had time to glance in a mirror since her return.  She had not even begun to unpack, and had thrown on her lipstick in a hurry.  Pausing, her eyes fell on Christine’s full-length mirror, and she was aghast at what she saw.  She certainly did look ill, though illness was not responsible for her shabby appearance.  Her journey had been far more traumatic than past visits, and the emotional upheaval she had endured in Lyon had drained her.  She was happy to be back in her beloved opera house, but it would take time to recover from the distress she had experienced during her time away.
Scrutinizing her pale reflection, she drew her hands to her face and pinched some color into her cheeks, scowling when there was little improvement.  Turning away from the mirror with a sigh, Louise forced a smile as she cleared her throat and placed her hands gently on Christine’s shoulders, anxious to hear about Erik’s entrance into the girl’s life.  While away, she had harbored concerns about his tutoring techniques and was curious about how their first meeting had gone. He had promised not to show his face to the girl; and therefore, given the extraordinary nature of the situation, Louise wondered how on earth he had accomplished the singing lessons!
“No, Christine, I am not ill…just tired from the train ride,” she fibbed. “Perhaps all I need is a little fresh air!”
“Yes, Madame,” Christine replied, concern still evident in her unchanged expression.  Taking hold of Christine’s hands, Louise gaily raised the pitch of her voice.
“I have a grand idea, Christine!” she exclaimed. “Why don’t we take the carriage to the park and have a nice stroll in the sunshine?  Suzanne is tutoring Meg this morning, and you and I might spend a little time alone together!  Would you like that?”
Nodding her head, Christine offered a pretty smile and answered, “Yes, Madame, I would like that very much.”
Peering out the rehearsal hall windows earlier that morning, Christine had gazed at the birds scattering about on the lawn in the morning sun.  While she had come to appreciate her life in the opera house, there were still times when the dark corridors and damp stone began to close in around her.  She had been raised in the countryside and had spent her earliest childhood out of doors with her father; but life in the opera house now meant that most of her days were occupied indoors.  Madame’s invitation for a walk was a lovely gesture, and Christine was bursting to tell someone about her Angel!
Madame helped Christine change into a pretty spring frock and ribbon-trimmed straw bonnet; a fetching ensemble which had been purchased through Monsieur E’s generosity.  The blue of the dress brought out the peachy tones of Christine’s complexion, and Madame was delighted to see her looking so healthy.  Among all of the opera’s lovely young women, it was easy to overlook Christine’s fragile beauty.  Her pale complexion and sad brown eyes frequently set her apart from the other girls.  She was tall for her age; her willowy frame and slender arms and legs awkward and unattractive at times.  Louise had watched many young ladies transition from girlhood to womanhood, and in her opinion there was little doubt that Christine would be extraordinarily beautiful.  She and Christine observed one another in the glass as Louise tied Christine’s sash.
“Do you like your new bonnet and frock, Christine?” Madame questioned, forming the wide blue ribbon into a perfect bow.
With her eyes flashing golden in the mirror, Christine smiled and said, “Oh, yes, Madame.  Never have I seen such beautiful clothes!”
“We mustn’t neglect to thank him,” Louise murmured, smoothing the lace of Christine’s skirt.
Gazing at her reflection, Christine thought she looked just like a girl from a wealthy family; someone like Claire, who had always had the prettiest clothes of anyone in the academy.  Christine smiled demurely, admiring the freshness of her starched new pinafore, sniffing the fine cotton sleeves and loving the stiff new petticoats beneath her skirts.  She was thankful that her benefactor had cared enough about her to have provided such pretty things, and pictured Monsieur E. as an elderly gentleman quite like Maestro Reyer; with silver hair and a great curling mustache.  She could not imagine why he had chosen her from among all the other, more deserving girls who lived and trained beneath the opera’s roof, but his generosity had made her life far more pleasant, and she had hopes of meeting him in person one day.
With Madame adjusting her bonnet, Christine assured her, “Oh no, Madame, I shan’t forget to write him this very evening!”

The carriage ride was pleasant as Christine absorbed the sights and sounds of late spring.  She considered Paris the most beautiful city in the world, especially when it wore its brightest spring colors.  Music could be heard all over the city as musicians entertained in the outdoor cafes, city squares, and public courtyards.
Listening to the distant strains of a small orchestra, Christine’s thoughts turned to her father as the carriage made its way down the boulevard.  Her father, it seemed, had never cared for France, and had often spoken of returning to Sweden, but she had fallen in love with Paris from the moment they had first arrived in the early autumn of her seventh year.  Christine had felt quite at home in their tiny flat with its leaky ceiling and musty smells; and she had still missed the apartment even after Madame Valleria had settled them into a more respectable district.
Having never understood her father’s dislike of the city, Christine thought that perhaps his reticence had been due to his dismissal after the one year probationary period with the opera’s orchestra; an experience he had briefly mentioned but never fully explained.  She often wondered why he had never played first chair with the orchestra, and had always believed that his talents and skills had been wasted.
She had always known that he felt out of place in Paris, thinking himself more suited to a quiet life in the country outside Sigtuna, where he had been born and raised, and where she had spent the first seven years of her childhood.
Happy to be taking a carriage ride with Madame that morning, and enchanted by the blossoms swaying in the morning breeze, as they traveled away from the opera district, Christine decided that she would never want to live anywhere else but Paris.
After they had been dropped off at the park, they stopped to purchase chestnuts from a street vendor.  Tucking the bag of chestnuts in the picnic basket, Louise opened her parasol, and together they walked along a flowered path that encircled a beautiful reflective green pond.  Magnificent swans could be seen preening their feathers, gliding like white-gowned ballerinas across the mossy water.  Their long necks were arched gracefully as they unfurled lustrous wings in the tree-dappled shade, while tiny feather motes floated above the lake in sheaths of yellow sunlight.  The branches of a weeping willow trailed lazily into the pond, catching up all manner of leaves and debris in their tangles.  Visitors tossed breadcrumbs into the water for the noisy geese and ducks, which also populated the pond, and children squealed with delight in the park’s designated play areas.  Madame and Christine strolled around the pond several times before settling near a park bench to feed a bushy-tailed squirrel.
Setting her basket down on the bench, Louise spread their tablecloth out on the grassy turf, and the two sat down where they could watch the water fowl.
Lifting her eyes, Louise gazed up through the lace of her parasol and sighed, “It is a perfectly lovely day.”
Nodding her head in agreement, Christine tossed the chestnuts onto the grass and watched in fascination as the squirrel shed the nut of its shell, then filled its chubby cheeks.
“It is beautiful here, Madame.  Thank you for bringing me,” Christine said happily.
With the sun having moved behind a giant ash tree, Louise closed up her parasol and set it down on the blanket.  Smoothing the folds of her skirt, she took pleasure in Christine’s carefree expression as the child watched the squirrel’s delightful antics.  The dappled sunshine lit her dark braids with ribbons of gold, and sitting beneath the trees in a halo of light, Christine did indeed look like a dark-haired angel.  Louise watched her with a mother’s pride, thinking that the dress she had purchased on behalf of Monsieur E. suited Christine very well.
“And now, Christine,” she interrupted her own thoughts, “you must tell me all about your new teacher.”
Turning her attention away from the squirrel, Christine looked up at Louise and hesitated, uncertain of whether or not she should tell Madame anything at all.  She had first thought that he must remain a secret, but strangely, Madame Giry seemed to already know of him.  Pressing her lips together and narrowing her eyes, Christine thought of all that Madame had done for her.  Christine had come to trust and care for her, as she had once cared for Madame Valleria, and she feared that if she did not soon tell someone the truth, she would simply explode!
Turning her whole body to face her guardian, Christine’s cheeks blushed bright pink as she whispered under her breath, “He is wonderful, Madame.  He is very strict, but also kind and gentle.”
For some moments, Madame scrutinized her charge with a peculiar expression, then smiled faintly, placing her arm around Christine’s shoulder affectionately.
“I can tell by your progress, my dear, that he is a very great teacher; therefore, you must follow his instructions to the letter, and work very hard to please him,” Louise advised.
Christine nodded her head in agreement, but remained silent.  Opening and closing her mouth several times, she tried to ask a question; but finally settled back against the bench, folding her hands in her lap.
“Child, what is your teacher’s name?” Louise asked, drawing Christine back into their discussion.
“Madame, he says I am not to know his name,” she answered sadly.  That was what she wanted to know about him most of all, and yet he had repeatedly refused to tell her his real name.
“I suppose that is wise,” Louise replied mysteriously, adding with a tilt of her chin, “How often are your lessons, dear?”
“Mostly every night before I go to bed,” Christine answered wistfully, “except for performance nights…then he comes in the morning.”
Madame tilted back the rim of Christine’s straw bonnet until she could see her eyes and remarked, “Then we must see to it that your lessons are not disturbed.”
Clearing her throat, Christine sat up straight, and finally getting the courage to ask her question, she exclaimed, “Madame, how do you know of him?  I haven’t even told Meg!”
Chuckling softly, Louise glanced in the direction of the pond and replied, “Why, Christine, when it comes to my girls, there is very little I do not know!”
This seemed to satisfy Christine, who nodded her head with a smile.  It was understood by all the girls, that Madame knew about everything and everyone in the opera house.  Some even suspected that she could read minds!  Girls often found themselves admonished for bad behavior when there was no possible way Madame could have actually seen their mischief.  It was commonly believed that Madame Giry even had spies who kept watch over the corps de ballet in her absence.  Everything was reported, and very little went unnoticed by the ballet mistress with the strange cat-eyes.
“Then, it is alright?  I mean…you approve?” Christine queried, following Madame’s gaze across the pond.
“Of course I do, Christine.  Receiving the proper training is exactly why your father sent you here.”
Letting out her breath, and greatly relieved, Christine relaxed her shoulders and remarked, “Yes, Madame…Father is the one who sent him to me…and he is so wonderful!”
“I’m pleased that you find him suitable, Christine.  His knowledge of music is nothing short of genius,” Louise muttered wearily.  Shading her eyes with her hand as the sun broke through the trees in full force, Louise slid closer to Christine and patted her knee.
“My dear, I’m still dreadfully tired from the train ride.  Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I closed my eyes for a few moments, and then we’ll have our picnic?”
Lifting the picnic basket lid, Christine retrieved a few slices of stale bread.
“No, Madame, I don’t mind.  I shall feed the ducks and geese while you rest!” she said cheerfully.
“Very well, darling, but do not wander off too far.”

As Christine rose up from the bench and skipped off toward the pond, Louise reached down and fetched her parasol.  Snapping it open, she lay back on the blanket and closed her eyes, speculating about what had happened at the opera house during her absence.  The moment she had returned from the depot, Meg had happily told her about The Magic Flute gala performance.  Describing the beautiful costumes and the magical set, she had gone into graphic detail about Carlotta’s quarrel with Mademoiselle Simonette, which had, in turn, incurred the wrath of the Opera Ghost.  According to Meg, upon storming into Simonette’s dressing room and seeing it simply blooming with roses, Carlotta had vindictively dumped a fresh bouquet to the floor and stomped the flowers with her jeweled shoes.
At the conclusion of the following night’s performance while taking her bows, Carlotta had received a flower box wrapped luxuriously with black satin ribbon.  There was no card attached to identify the giver, so she had naturally presumed them to be from an admirer and showed off the box to everyone on stage.  With cast and crew watching, the diva had excitedly untied the ribbon, pulled off the box top, parted the tissue…then nearly fainted when she saw dozens of dried up roses nestled in the tissue!  A card tucked into the flowers had read:

Fondest greetings, my dear Carlotta.  A word of advice:
A woman receives as she gives.

O.G.

Lying under the shade of the parasol, Louise laughed aloud, thinking of Erik’s audacity and imagining the indignant look on Carlotta’s face.  Apparently, the woman had shrieked upon reading the note, demanding that the mangers call for an immediate investigation by the authorities.  Of course, nothing had been done about the incident, and Carlotta had eventually found other excuses for her tantrums.
According to Meg’s amusing account, the gala grand opening of The Magic Flute had come and gone in a flurry of success and applause.  Life at the opera house had then resumed its customary chaotic pace as the cast and crew began a short break before mounting the next production.
Squinting her eyes, Louise sat up and gazed over to the pond, where she could see Christine squatting near the water’s edge, tossing bread crumbs to the geese.  Satisfied that she was still within earshot, Louise resumed her musing and closed her eyes.  Meg had also spoken at length about her friendship with Christine, and about how they had become as close as sisters.  Louise could not have been more pleased, because that was exactly what she had hoped for; two fatherless girls forging a close bond.
Louise had sensed that they would be good for each other, and now it seemed the three of them were, at last, becoming a family.  Letting her head droop lazily back down onto the blanket, she smiled as the warmth of the sun seeped into her bones.  With her thoughts drifting hazily, her mind and body began to relax in a much needed respite.

Careful not to soil the hem of her skirt and petticoats, Christine knelt beside the pond, admiring the luminous swans.  Had she been with her father on such an outing, she would have removed her black stockings and shoes and waded barefoot in the shallows…but Parisian girls did not behave in such a casual manner in public parks.  As Madame Valleria had said, “It is not proper for young ladies to display their bare legs and feet when gentlemen are present.”
Just the same, she longed to feel the cool water splashing across her toes, but for now would enjoy its calming reflections.  Madame Giry had promised to take Christine and Meg to the countryside where they could wade in the river; and as she considered the delights of such a day, she spotted a flock of ducklings swimming near a cluster of reeds.  She thought them the sweetest little creatures she had ever seen!  Their soft yellow down and adorable little orange beaks made her want to pick one up and tuck it safely inside her pocket to keep as a pet, but of course, pets were out of the question at the opera house.
Hearing a great splashing and squawking in the water, Christine raised her head and moved closer to the reeds for a better look.  A dozen or so mature ducks had surrounded a little gray duckling that looked scrawny and sick compared to the rest of the flock.  Its down was dull, with no luster or sheen, and grayish feathers poked out all over its awkward little body.  Its ugly black beak appeared too large for the little head, and the poor thing was paddling furiously, trying to get away from the larger ducks.
Christine was horrified when the mature ducks began to peck viciously at the little duckling.  First one, and then another struck at him, until the little thing was surrounded by dozens of pecking beaks.  It squawked miserably, paddling its little legs beneath the water in a desperate effort to flee the assault, but it was simply too small.
Certain that the other ducks were going to kill it, Christine screamed out loud, “Someone, stop them!  They’re going to kill him!” she cried. “No!  Leave him alone, you little beasts!”
Startled awake by Christine’s outcry, Louise bolted up from the blanket and rushed down to the pond where the child seemed to be thrashing at the water.  Fearful that she had been harmed, Madame swooped down, her motherly instincts fully engaged as she heard the sound of Christine’s sobbing.
“What is it, darling?” Louise asked, “What has happened?”
With her brown eyes full of tears and her nose red, Christine pointed at a growth of reeds and stammered, “Those beastly ducks are going to kill that little one!  Please, Madame, make them stop!”
Following Christine’s terrified gaze, Louise caught sight of the little duckling, surrounded by at least a dozen pecking beaks.  Calmly stooping down, she picked up a large twig and flung it into the midst of the fray.  The mature ducks immediately scattered and squawked away, leaving the solitary little creature dazed, but not badly hurt.  Grasping Madame Giry’s hand, Christine threw herself into her guardian’s embrace.
“Why must they be so cruel…just because he’s not as pretty as those other baby ducks?” she asked, her brown eyes intense and her shoulders shaking.
Moved by the child’s compassionate nature, Louise patted Christine’s back, then knelt down on the grass, taking hold of her hands.
“Christine,” she explained, “that little one is not a duck at all, my dear…but a swan hatchling!”
With her eyes widening, Christine sniffed and glanced over her shoulder at the solitary baby bird, now paddling across the pond.
“A hatchling swan, Madame?”
“Yes, dear, a swan.  And he is not really hurt, Christine, only frightened.  He will join his own kind on the swan’s island in the center of the pond and all will be well!” Louise comforted her, as Christine dried her eyes with a handkerchief.
“But, Madame, why were they so mean to him?” she asked.
Studying Christine’s teary eyes, Louise gently squeezed the child’s hands, then rose to her feet, guiding the girl on the path around the pond.
“The ducks rejected him because he is not of their kind,” she calmly explained. Leading Christine to the other side of the pond where they could have  a better view of the swans on their island, she continued, “The ways of nature are very mysterious, my darling girl.  Sometimes, what appears ugly on the outside hides that which is most beautiful on the inside.  Swan chicks hatch looking like that little one there, but as they mature, their gray feathers are replaced by white plumage and their scrawny necks grow long and graceful, until they transform into the majestic creatures you see floating on the water.”
The sun had moved higher up in the sky, and the swan island was flooded with light, making the white birds even more spectacular as they preened and sunned themselves.  A mother swan floated toward the island with her brood tucked under her wing feathers, their little brown and gray heads protruding like odd appendages.
“Is it magic, Madame?” Christine asked, wide-eyed and sniffling.
“Yes. I expect it is a kind of magic, my dear,” Madame replied. “God’s magic.”
With the trauma over and the swan chick restored to his family on the island, Christine seemed satisfied that the little fellow was safe.  As the two of them watched the hatchlings eating breadcrumbs off the water, an adult trumpet swan glided out from under the willows and unfurled its magnificent wings in an arc of light.
The sun shone through droplets of water as the male swan splashed and beat its wings on the pond’s emerald surface, and Christine opened her mouth in awe as its feathers glistened like diamonds, reflecting all the colors of a rainbow.
“Oh, Madame, look!” Christine exclaimed. “More of God’s magic!”
Smiling down at the girl, Louise’s eyes began to mist.  Her little charge was indeed a special child, whose tender heart was itself a gift from God.
“Yes it is, my dear,” Louise whispered under her breath. “God’s magic indeed.”
The two of them stood silent and breathless for some moments as the swan performed his mating dance; and before long, Christine forgot about the little hatchling that had been attacked.  Overcome by the beauty before her eyes, she forgave nature for its earlier cruelty, and was ready for more adventures.
“Madame, may we soon visit the countryside?” Christine asked, tugging on Louise’s dress sleeve.
Relieved that the girl was smiling again, Louise placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “Yes, we shall, Christine, but next time let’s bring Meg along!”
“Oh, yes, Madame, and Marie, too?” Christine suggested, following Madame down the path with a little skip in her step.
Enjoying Christine’s enthusiasm, Louise answered, “Of course we shall bring Marie!”
As Christine chattered about swans and geese and squirrels, Louise set out the picnic lunch, and the two enjoyed their meal on a day that neither would ever forget.