Chapter 13: He Who Knows Love

He who knows Love — becomes Love,
and his eyes behold Love in the heart of everyone,
even the loveless.
As the light of the sun is one with all it touches,
he is wise with undivided wisdom,
for he lies in Wisdom's arms.
His wanderings are done,
for he has found the Source whence all things run —
the guerdon of the quest that satisfies.{

He who knows Love — becomes Love,
and he knows all beings are himself,
twin-born of Love.
Melted in Love's own fire, his spirit flows
into all earthly forms, below, above;
he is the breath and glamour of the rose.
He is the benediction of the dove.

"370. He Who Knows Love" by Elsa Barker, from "The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse" © 1917, Nicholson & Lee, Editors

Erik awoke early the next morning feeling oddly refreshed.

"Well, it seems I was finally able to sleep undisturbed for more than half of an hour! I had forgotten how that felt. It seems like it has been years ... could it really be true? Has the dream plagued me for that long?"

He thought about the subject of his silent musings and then shook his head as he shrugged away that particular distraction.

"Does it really matter? I have something much more important to ponder upon ... am I really going to propose marriage to Mademoiselle Daae ... Christine, today? Oh, Christine."

Her name alone caused goosebumps to race across his flesh and his face to feel flushed. If he thought on her further, the heat swept from his face to the center of his chest and then downwards. He grimaced as he realized just how aroused he already was.

"I must keep myself under control or I am going to make a fool of myself today."

He walked to his dresser and opened a large wooden music box. A small, midnight blue velvet box was the only item inside it. Erik withdrew the box and closed the lid of the larger one. Carefully grasping the box in his hands, he pried it open. A flash of yellow gold and a sparkle of blue fire caught his eye. He sadly smiled. Inside the box were his mother's betrothal ring and her wedding band. She had told him to give them to the woman he loved. That had been four years ago.

"It was as if she knew what was coming..."

His mother had died less than a month after giving him the rings.

Erik, through a simple twist of fate, had been staying with her for a long overdue visit and had caught her coughing into a delicate lace handkerchief when he came down to breakfast. He wanted to fetch the doctor, but she would not hear of it. She said she had taken a slight chill and it was nothing serious. By the time he left a week later, she seemed to be on the mend as she stood waving goodbye to him with another one of those dainty scraps of cloth. He had stopped to visit Raoul and Phillipe at their estate in the country. He had stayed with the brothers for five days before returning to Paris.

When he arrived home, an unusually solemn Elaine greeted him at the front door and handed him a telegram. The message was brief. Two days after he parted from her, his mother's health had taken a turn for the worse. She had developed pneumonia. By the time he arrived home, it had been thirteen days since they parted. However, his mother had already made her final departure two days earlier. She was gone and he was alone.

"I was fortunate to have you, mother. I will never know where you found the courage or the love in your heart that night, but I thank you. You gave me a life. If there is a heaven, you deserve to be there for giving me the life you did. I love you and I miss you, mother. I think about you each and every single day. You always told me I would find her. Yet, I never believed you. Well, I must eat humble pie now, as I found her. I finally found her, the woman I am going to marry, if she will have me, of course. I plan on asking her to marry me today. Do you think you could put in a good word for me, please? You know that I was never one for praying, but I suppose that if there were ever a more appropriate time for me to begin, I cannot begin to think when it would be. This definitely seems an excellent time for me to start! And now, I must get ready..."

He opened his bedroom door and called loudly.

"Elaine! Elaine! I require your assistance! Elaine!"

Amazingly, Erik found himself perched upon a rather comfortable seat inside a lovely brougham, which sat in front of the Opera Populaire at three-quarters past the hour of eleven o'clock in the morning. He now held an internal debate with himself over where it would be proper for him to wait for Christine. After much hemming and hawing, Erik decided that the front door of Madame Giry's flat would be the proper thing to do and the safest bet. He wished that Raoul had been more forthcoming the night before with advice. He had no idea what he should do, but Raoul had been strangely reticent. He seemed distant and preoccupied, and Erik thought it best to leave Raoul to his own private reflections.

"Now that I think more upon it, his behavior was quite odd. I must remember to call upon him this evening and inquire as to his health. And, if everything goes well today, I can announce my engagement. Well, enough procrastinating. It would be bad form to arrive late."

The man hopped out of the carriage and made his way through the deserted opera house to the Giry's living quarters.

The couple sat somewhat awkwardly next to one another in the brougham. Due to his intended proposal, Erik decided to dress in the more formal morning dress, rather than wear the slightly less formal and more comfortable stroller coat. He wore a black, single-breasted coat, which met in the middle with a single button and curved away to a pair of tails in the back. His black waistcoat matched his coat. He forsook wearing a long tie as he despised them and opted to wear a charcoal grey cravat instead. He wore a white shirt with a winged collar and double-cuffs. His formal striped trousers were black and charcoal grey and held up by a pair of braces. On his hands, he wore a pair of black kid leather gloves and on his feet were a pair of black, Oxford boots with punching across the toecaps. His head was bare as his deformity made wearing the stiffly formed top hat difficult at best. He thought that his appearance was presentable and he hoped Christine thought he looked passable.

On the other hand, Erik thought Christine looked stunning. She wore a simple off-white, day dress of pale blue-striped washing silk. The square-cut bodice and three-quarter length sleeves appeared to have been hand-smocked by a talented seamstress. The front-panel draping had a seamed waist, edged with pastel blue. The dress draped into a small bustle at the back and he smiled as he took note that it did not have an annoying train. Erik noticed when she stepped up into the carriage that an elegant pair of sky blue, ankle-high boots encased her tiny feet. Her head was bare and she wore her hair pulled up into a loose chignon, but a few tendrils of her curls had escaped and entranced Erik as they bounced atop her shoulders and back when she walked. She carried a frilly, bright blue lace parasol to protect her from the sun. On her face, she wore just a light dusting of powder and blush, nothing more. Erik admired her grace and sense of style. He smiled.

"She is perfect."

The coachman's call interrupted his perusal of his companion, informing them of their arrival at the garden. Erik scooped up the basket containing their lunch and alighted from the carriage. He quickly turned and offered his hand to assist Christine. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. Erik paid the coachman and then smiled at Christine, offering her his arm. She returned his smile and entwined her arm around his. The awkward silence fell away as the two entered the garden at le Musée du Luxembourg. They strolled past l'Orangerie, slowly making their way to the main octagon pond and the former Luxembourg Palace, which now housed the Senate. They admired the numerous statues, the lushness of the palm trees and the wide variety of flowering plants. They made small talk, commenting on the architecture, art and the fountains. Erik was surprised to discover that while Christine had never received any formal schooling, she was quite conversant in several studies. The opera house had a large library and Christine had made use of her spare time by reading extensively on a wide range of subjects. Her favorite topics were mathematics and musical composition. When he expressed his surprise, her response astounded him.

"Well, Monsieur, one cannot have music without mathematics and as music consumes my soul, so therefore, must mathematics."