Disclaimer: You can probably guess that I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters. Oh, yes…it's all too true. I don't.
I see that I have eased quite readily in my personal recollections. There is a span of time that seems to blend what I truly remember, and what has been related to me, and I am not quite sure which is which. My first clear memory begins with the arrival of Henri.
Henri was from a branch of my family that had fallen on hard times. Their fortune had been lost due to unwise speculation on the Grandfather's part, and Henri's parents lived a life of genteel poverty. Henri himself had received the education that is accorded to boys of his station, but beyond that he lacked any of the advantages that go along with the LeMauvoisin name. By ill chance, Henri lost both of his parents within a year of one another, and at the age of thirteen, he was fostered out to my father. My father of course, felt no familial affection for the boy, and relegated him to a servant's position in the house. Henri seemed to have expected nothing better, as he readily accepted his lot, and set about doing whatever was asked of him, cheerfully and efficiently.
By this time I was so good a being invisible, that Henri did not know of my existence for nearly a month. I had gotten heartily sick of the servants and their constant insults, and so never came near them. Instead, I would raid the kitchen in the midnight hours while everyone was abed. I took to mending my own clothing, cutting my own hair and attending to myself in everyway. The servants, spared the sight of me, never gave me a second thought. It was as if I no longer existed for them. What finally caught Henri's attention was the quantity of food that was missing from the larder each morning. Alarmed, he told the cook that there must be a thief amongst the serving staff. The cook merely laughed, and remarked that it was less a thief, and more a ghost who raided the pantry each night. Seeing Henri's confusion, the rest of the kitchen staff was more than happy to relate the details of the monster child, adding, of course all manner of gory, if untrue details.
And so it was that when I again made my nightly foray to the pantry, someone was waiting for me in the shadows. I was stuffing my mouth and my pockets full when both of my arms were suddenly pinioned to my side. Of course, I was startled out of my wits, and began fighting to escape. In the struggle that ensued, poor Henri, who had no intention of harming me, was kicked, bitten, scratched and punched. Finally his size and weight got the better of me, and I found myself pinned, face down on the floor. I remember tensing, in anticipation of a beating, and asking tremulously: "Who are you, anyway?" In the darkness I heard a soft chuckle. "I am Henri, your cousin", the voice said.
I had come to the kitchen unmasked that night, never expecting to encounter anyone there. Henri, after coaxing me out of the darkness, saw my uncovered face, and did not even flinch. Perhaps the stories of the servants had prepared him for were far worse than what he saw, I do not know. I do know that I live in eternal gratitude to Henri for looking past the face and seeing the small, lonely boy.
I was starved for kindness and companionship, and I got both from Henri. He was my friend and my hero. Soon, he also became my teacher. Late at night, when he should have been sleeping, he sat with me in the library, unlocking the mystery the written word for me. Once he gave me the basic skills, I devoured the secrets inside each book as one starved. We soon discovered that I had an amazing mind, which could record, and understand every bit of knowledge it was fed. And, there was so much to know! Suddenly I was no longer trapped within the confines of my wretched life. My mind took flight, and the books took me anywhere and everywhere. I discovered literature, architecture, and music! I learned to read music before I ever touched a keyboard. I knew all of the finger placements, chords and notation before I played my first piece. I would look at written scores, and hear the music in my head. It was wonderful, and I yearned for more.
Happily, Henri understood. One night he led me from the manor house to the family chapel. It had be barely used since my mother's death, and I hadn't even known of its existence. I stood silently as Henry began lighting candles. As the darkness gradually receded, my eyes made out a wondrous sight. There, at the very front of the chapel, framed on both sides by fantastic stained glass windows, was an organ! I believe that Henri had to remind me to breathe. Henri bid me to seat myself, and placed a sheet of music before me. I took a deep breath, placed my fingers on the keys, and began to play. I wish I could write that heavenly music filled the chapel, but that would not be the truth. My fingers were stiff and unaccustomed to playing. They would not do as my mind bid them. The sounds they made were painfully discordant, and I burst into tears of dismay and disappointment. Henri became quite stern with me, as I recall. He commented on my habitual lack of patience, and reminded me about exercise and practice. I knew he was right, of course, and every night from then on, found me in the chapel, doing my exercises, over and over again. When I finally did play that piece again, it was heavenly, and once more I cried. This time however, it was from happiness.
The next two years of my life were the best I'd ever known. I had books, my music, and companionship. I became less reclusive, and was seen once more during the daytime. Henri even tried to surreptitiously unite me with my brother . Etienne, who was fast becoming the arrogant young Vicomte that he was supposed to be, had no interest in knowing his ill favored younger brother. That bothered Henri greatly, and me not a bit. I probably held Etienne in as much distaste as he did me.
At the age of nine I composed my first piece. By the age of ten I was composing regularly. I was engrossed, immersed in music. It filled all of the emptiness of my soul. For the first time in my existence I felt whole; complete. I was happy.
But of course, life intrudes.