Disclaimer, or, Stating the Obvious: I do not own any aspect of Phantom of the Opera, or any of its characters.
For the next two years , I grew almost contented with my lot. It bothered me not a bit that the rest of the household ignored my existence. Rather, it gave me the freedom to pursue my interests unimpeded. I even ceased hiding from my father, once it became apparent that he'd tired of using me for entertainment purposes. After Henri was given charge of the household, from finances to making sure the very last spoon in the kitchen was polished, I saw him rarely. Of course, I missed him sorely, but my studies and most of all, my music engrossed me and in good part made up for his absence.
It was early in my tenth year when my fortunes began to spiral downward once more. It began with the death of my brother Etienne. As I mentioned before, Etienne had been sickly at birth, and he had never enjoyed the hearty constitution that I'd been blessed with. My father's legacy, which killed my mother and ravaged my face, apparently had evidenced itself internally with Etienne. At the age of twelve, and after numerous bouts of physical complaints, he fell into a swift decline, and died. When Henri came to me with the news, I already knew. I was the small ghost that haunted the LeMauvoisin estate, and my eyes and ears caught much. However, Henri reminded me of something, that in truth, had not occurred to me. With Etienne gone, I was now the Vicomte LeMauvoisin. I don't know what kind of reaction Henri expected, but I was not impressed. I did not then, and do not now, have any respect for the titles and trappings of the aristocracy, although I grudgingly admit that at times they come in handy.
So, Etienne was dead. As with my mother's passing, I felt no grief. Etienne and I had formed no attachment to one another, and in fact, I disliked him immensely. He had been a vapid and arrogant young fellow, who had treated me with contempt on the few occasions we'd spent time together. What's more, my life would be no better or no worse with him gone, or so I thought then. I was soon to be proven wrong.
It was exactly one week later that Henri came to me with a summons from my father. I shrunk back in horror at the news. Nothing good had ever come from a visit to my father, and I was certain that this time would be no different. And so, I greeted Henri's message with a string of expletives that I'd learned from eavesdropping on Yves, our stable hand. Henri merely chuckled, and complemented me on my latest skill. He then grew serious, and warned me that there was absolutely no choice as to whether I should obey my father's summons or not. I was to go, even if Henri had to drag me there. He then handed me a large parcel, and bid me to open it. I did as he asked, with no comment. Inside the parcel were clothing and shoes of a much finer quality than I'd ever had in my possession before. Henri explained that the outfit had been one of Etienne's vast wardrobe. I was to wear it when I paid my father my visit, as nothing I owned fit properly, or looked even remotely presentable. Resigned to the situation, I agreed reluctantly. I quickly washed, and changed into my new finery, which incidentally, was too large for me. Henri eyed me critically, and sighed. It would have to do, he told me, and bid me to follow him.
I cannot begin to describe the revulsion I felt when I entered the drawing room, and saw my father sitting there. I feared and loathed that man with every fiber of my being. I hated him so much, that I was able to draw some comfort and satisfaction by observing how he had changed since I'd last been in his presence. For, his illness, which had killed my siblings and my mother, was finally beginning to take its toll on him. The disease, in addition to his great vicissitudes had begun to show on his outer self the swine he truly was. He'd grown greatly in girth, and his bloated face had become jaundiced. From that doughy visage peered two small piggish eyes, which reflected my abhorrence of him, and shot back contempt for me. He did not greet me, nor make any polite small talk. He merely glared at me and demanded that I remove my mask.
I said not a word, nor made any move. There was nothing in the world that would have made me take the mask from my face. I would not, no, I could not comply. My father, mistaking my failure to obey for dull-wittedness, swore, arose and advanced toward me. I began backing away from him, preparing to run for my life. He must have known what my intentions were, for he shouted for assistance, and soon I was grappling with Yves, and his brother Rene, both much larger and stronger than I. It took them awhile to get me under control, and I am happy to say that the two of them did not come away unscathed. Inevitably, though, they were able to immobilize me, and my father approached, and tore off my mask. I heard the sharp intake of breath from the brothers, and felt Rene's hands tremble as he held me still. I did not want to see the expression on their faces, and so kept my eyes closed, tears of humiliation streaming from under my lids.
My father spat in disgust. "Pah!", I recall him saying, "It is worse than I remembered"! He declaimed loudly to everyone, and to no one in particular that he would be Damned if he would allow such a monstrosity to inherit his title. He declared me unfit to be a LeMauvoisin, and demanded that I be taken from his sight. No time was wasted in fulfilling his wishes, as Yves and Rene wished to be as far away from me as possible. They needn't have dragged me away as they did, however, I would have been more than happy to leave of my own volition.
Henri had waited outside of the drawing room door, and had heard all of what had transpired. He soon came to my room to offer comfort. I rebuffed him, refusing to listen to his kind words. While none of what had just occurred was Henri's doing, he still had been a part of it. I couldn't even look at him, but lie on my cot, face to the wall, until he left. It grieved me to treat him so poorly. I knew that if my father ordered, then Henri, honest and trustworthy, was obliged to obey. At that time, however, I needed someone to vent my pain on, and Henri was the only one I had. Bless him; he understood, and never held it against me.
It was three days before Henri came to me again. Once more he had unwelcome news. My father was anxious to see me, and I must go to him immediately. I could tell that my cousin dreaded to tell me this, knowing just as I did that only unpleasantness could come of such a summons. I could see the worry in his eyes, and assured him that it was quite all right, that everything would be fine. Of course I was lying, and Henri knew it, but it helped us both make a better face of things.
This time I did not bother to dress in my dead brother's finery to meet my father. I'd decided that if I was going to be a grotesque, it would at least be on my terms. As I entered the room, I was surprised to see him seated at a small table, set with a tea service. I was even further surprised to note that there were two places set. One for him, and one for…I looked around the room to see who else was there. My father laughed, motioned me over to the table, and invited me to sit down. I did so quite cautiously, and eyed him with the greatest of suspicion. He caught that look, and sighed loudly. He poured tea into my cup, and then into his own, paused, took a breath, and began to speak. While I cannot remember his exact words, this is in essence what he told me:
He had of late, become more aware of his own mortality. With the death of Etienne, the matter of an heir had taken on utmost importance. As I was now his only son, I was Vicomte, and someday would inherit the title of Comte. He noted the confusion on my face, and explained that his actions of the other day were due to his grief over losing Etienne, whom he'd loved greatly. My father claimed that he'd had time to reconsider his words, and to see how unfair he'd been. He asked me if I could forgive him, and start fresh with him.
There was no forgiveness in my heart for my father, nor did I wish to have any more to do with him than necessary. It was apparent, however, that it would go ill with me to say this, and so I pasted a smile on my face and nodded in affirmation. In my mind, I said a prayer that this audience would soon be over.
My prayer went unanswered, or perhaps it was answered, but not how I'd wished. My father gave me a delighted grin, and said happily that we might as well start immediately. In Rouen, he said, there was a carnival, and every boy loved a carnival, no? I refrained from observing that I'd never been to one, and so couldn't say. Instead, I just stared at him blankly, dreading what might come next.
What came next was a trip to the carnival. I didn't want to go. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have disappeared into one of my hiding places. It was not to be, however. Yves and Rene appeared, as if they'd been standing outside the door waiting, and I knew I had no choice. I was going to the carnival with my father, like it or not.