There is nothing on Earth
to be prized more than true friendship.
--Thomas Aquinas
The back story told to us by A. L. Butcher just may be the most perfect story that could ever have provided all we wanted to know... Why did the Phantom of the Opera wear a mask... While I would love to see more books in this series spotlighting the Phantom of the Opera, I will be totally satisfied to finally end what I thought had been left unfinished...
For, surely, with this book, we readers feel as if it must really be true! It all fits... And, now we know, that the reality which led to the type of man that the Phantom had become was... not only quite understandable... but also, inevitable...
It is not what you look at
that matters,
it’s what you see.
Henry David Thoreau
Angel without wings,
Damned to hell on earth.
Caged by bars.
A soul of music,
A heart of glass,
Caged by forbidden love.
A face of death,
Distorted and feared,
Caged by a mask.
Creature of darkness,
Shunned and taunted
Caged by the world.
~~~
Long before Christine ever came into the Phantom, Eric's, life, there was another woman. A woman who in the original opera might have played a small part; however, she was, actually, one of the most important women in Eric's life... For she was there that night, at the Fair, where she could hear a voice, a voice like no other she had heard before... Of course, it was long before all of the music that was to come later. This time, Eric's voice soared about dreams--dreams that he must have known would never be his, yet he sang...
“I seek shelter from the storm, I’m not thieving.” He gazed back at her with eyes that looked so deep, so filled with sorrow, that a chill ran down her spine. “I will not return there. I would rather die first,” his voice was low, and the words came uneasily as though he were not used to conversation. They carried the cadence she’d heard when he sang. There was the touch of an accent she was unable to place, exotic and mysterious. He reached for the blanket she held out, wary and unsure, and the movement brought him pain. With spinning head, he stumbled, one arm out reflexively to steady himself. Lise moved before her brain warned her away and catching him, she set him on a hay bale. “I will not make you return. I’ll not call the gendarmes unless you give me cause. Do you have a name?” His amber eyes never left her face, and Lise felt as though he was assessing her, and looking into her soul. “You can call me Erik, it’s a good a name as any.” “Erik? I am Lise, Madame Giry. This is my stable and my land.” It wasn’t strictly true as her property belonged to her husband, but it gave Lise a little confidence. The uncomfortable silence eventually broke as Lise eyed the bloody shirt. “That blood – is it yours?” Erik looked down and shrugged before regretting the movement. “Some. Not all.” After a pause, he continued, “I will be hunted no doubt, at least when this storm abates. I am not safe.” In that stable, smelling of hay, horses and slightly of blood and rain Lise made a decision which, had she known it, would change her life in years to come. “Look at you! You can hardly stand, let alone run. How far will you get like this? I’ll warrant no further than the brook. This storm will kill you if nothing else.” Lise paused, awkward in the silence then drawing up her courage and compassion continued, “I heard you sing, I saw you and how that man treated you,” Lise tried to smile at him, offer comfort. Erik stared, unused to compassion. He sat, not really comprehending, taut and wary. “I am dangerous, Madam. I’ll be gone from here soon, just needed to rest.” His voice faltered and weak he leant back, his strength gone. “Wait here. Well, that’s a foolish thing to say as we’ve established you’ll not get far. Keep out of sight and be quiet. I’ll be back.” Lise reached for his hand; chary, and confused Erik pulled it back. As she left, he tried to stand and failed. Weak, he groped for the knife he’d pulled from August’s midriff before he’d run. Erik knew he should leave, but he was injured, wet, exhausted, had no money and was covered in blood. How many masked men were there in these parts? He’d bet his life he was the only one. Without the mask, he had no hope at all but if he could get a cloak, hood or scarf he could hide most of the mask. In the dark, he looked pale but without the mask but his face drew far too much of the wrong kind of attention, a fact Erik knew to his cost. He’d rather die than return to a cage, either the one he’d left or a prison cell, of that he was sure. Erik would fight unto death, if that is what was required, and he was becoming acquainted with the Grim Reaper, or he thought, grimly, apprenticed. Another death would make no difference now, he was damned and condemned as it was. If he was caught, he was a dead man. Later he thought, unaware August survived, that the first killing, the one of desperation, was the hardest. After that bridge was crossed there was no going back. He’d learn as the years passed how frail human life was, and how easy to take. And how little he cared for it. But here and now Erik was afraid, confused and, if he’d admit it, helpless. Lise ran, sliding in the mud and without her cloak. The house was mercifully quiet but still, she crept around, bundling up what she sought. “Is this stealing if it’s my own house?” she wondered then finally snatched up a basket from the pantry and a small bucket of water and as she heard a sound at the door slipped back into the sodden evening trying not to overbalance in the mud, and overburdened. Erik was still where she had left him, and tugging the door almost closed as best she could Lise lay her bundles down. “Let me see your wounds? I’ve tended my father and his horses before. I am not totally unskilled.” “Did you enjoy the show, with the other gawpers?” Erik asked still unable to believe this woman was helping him, for no other reason than kindness. There was an edge in his voice now more of weariness than wrath. He was so used to the mocking, the fear and the hatred he barely knew how to cope with this situation. Lise was taken aback by the question, hesitating, she realised Erik had known little or no kindness in his life and simply was unaccustomed to dealing with it. “I enjoyed the singing very much, Erik. You have a wonderful voice.” The rest remained unspoken, but Erik’s eyes glittered in the semi-dark and hers filled with tears. There was silence as she pulled open his shirt, biting back a cry as livid bruises patterned Erik’s chest and side, and beneath she saw older scars, some not long healed. A livid deep slash the length of her finger was the source of most of the blood. With care, she wiped away the blood and tried to stem the flow. “What happened? That’s a bad injury.” “I refused to sing, so August beat me. This time I fought back but he had a knife...”
~~~
Madame Lise Giry was newly wed when she heard that voice, She had married an older man, a soldier who was committed to service to his country... And, almost immediately after they married, he left her with a home full of servants who already knew more about what needed to be done than Lise could ever learn... And, as servants are prone to hear all, they knew that the Master of the House's older children were not pleased to have a young woman be brought into their homeplace... And so it was that Lise would often go for walks, just to get away from all of those who watched her--what she chose to wear that morning... what she had requested for her next meal, knowing she didn't even know what options were available... or how to properly use the silver...
And so, we readers can imagine that Lise, after having heard the voice singing not too far away, she chose to walk out close enough to hear...
Lise realized that she had never heard whispered words from her husband. Perhaps he had used all of them for his first wife, the one he surely had loved. But now, they were gone, and so she listened carefully to the words of this voice...
And, soon, Lise would take her lunch with her, and stay out to wait for the song she knew would come. The voice was intoxicating and it caused her to have moments of a response so strong that she couldn't wait...
That day, when she had been eating, she stopped, yearning to clearly hear the words being spoken, as if to her... and, so, as she felt more and more, feelings that she had never felt caused by her husband, again she moved closer and closer, so that she could actually see the man who sung...
He was in a cage!
She rushed forward, then realizing what she was doing, slower, so she could watch the people surrounding the man, throwing coins into the cage as if to pay him for the song--the song that was so beautiful that it sounded like an angel...An angel of God! How could he possibly be caged!?
Closer, closer... and then a man started yelling at the man, at the crowd... SEE HIM! SEE HIM! Come and see the Freak who sings like an angel...but is a devil!
And Lise watched as the man was whipped, to get him out of his cage, only to be whipped again and again and the crowds stood, some cheering, Again! Again! while those women who had been drawn, also by his voice, cried...as Lise was also crying...Wanting to reach out, to help him...
So she waited, all the coins were tossed and the crowd faded away. Lise now knew from the shouting that the man said that He Owned Him! What nonsense is this she wondered. How could one man own another, but then she remembered what his owner had done... He had ripped off the mask! Lise pulled back in shock, but not in fear, knowing that anybody who had that voice could not be dangerous... She moved even closer after everybody was gone... And she spoke, she gave him what was left from her lunch, just a roll, but she needed to at least let him know that she cared... enough... to have seen him as he was...and had not backed away in horror, in fear...
It may have been the first time in his life, that Eric had received a kind gesture... an individual who had not turned away from him, as he was... had actually spoke to him with a touch of concern, of caring... It was, to him, now, a reason--to want to escape! Her friendship had given him...hope...
So, perhaps, Lise was not really surprised, totally, that Eric showed up that night near her home... She rushed to provide him food, clothing and shelter...
And when the police came looking for the creature who had escaped, having beaten his owner nearly to death... for the first time in her Catholic life, she lied. She lied to protect him...
Eric was gone the next morning...
But that would not be the last time Eric would come into her life, to help his one true friend who had once given...him...a reason... to want to live!
Lise had prayed for Eric that first time she saw his owner beating him--praying to God that he would not be killed...
Once when they talked she asked him why he had been beaten. Eric explained that he had refused to sing... And then he turned to her, afraid to even ask but he needed to know... And when she told him that he had a wonderful voice and she was thrilled to be able to hear him sing, he tried to believe her, because his singing was important to him... If he believed in a god, then that gift was the only one He'd given him..
But it was never enough... So that when Lise spoke of God she saw him change, Lise saw the fire, and the hatred, as he cried out, "Do not talk to me of God. I was forsaken long ago and there is no redemption for me.”
One of the reviewers I read said that she had cried as she read this book. I did not. I was saddened that once again I was reading another book which revealed just how badly man can turn against man... even though God His Father is there Loving His Child... Lisa tried... In the end, I think, that it was her presence that gave Eric the only peace he had ever known...For she had found her way down into his home deep within the Theatre... and talked with him, sometimes sewing... sometimes listening to his voice... but it was never enough... It was inevitable...
Readers, once again, A. L. Butcher has presented a must-read for Fans of the Phantom of the Opera... Or, please consider reading this as a love story--like no other that you may have read... Unrequited, perhaps, but it is indeed not what you may look at, it is what you see. A man who had been born a creature to be scorned by so many, yet, a few, a very few, decided to look behind the face, and even the mask... to see who Eric, the Phantom of the Opera, could have been... And, what he was to become when he himself loved--a love that only one who has been rejected all of his life, could even know how to love... with just a touch of...madness...
In the end, I wanted to think, once again, differently about how this book ended... For Lise loved--exactly as her Father in Heaven had taught her to love... In the end, I think she realized...it was...would have to be enough... Still, she had lost her husband to the war... She had lost her home to his children who refused to recognize her marriage... surely she had expected more from the man she had befriended right from the first time she had heard him sing... How she wished she could hear his voice...once...again... singing just for, her, Lise...
Still, I Would So Love to Hear Charles Sing...
Would he sing of joy and happiness?
Openly embracing his past...
Here's one of your new, but true fans, Hoping...
Hint... Hint...
GABixlerReviews
