Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters.
A/N: Thank you, Misty Breyer for your kind words. Erik does more to say about Christine, but not much. Sour Grapes? Maybe. ;)
I am not the sole occupant of this dark underworld. There are many who live in the caverns and catacombs which spread endlessly beneath Paris. They are the offal, the rejects of life, thieves, murderers, madmen and grotesques. Some are wanted by the law in the outside world, some are unwanted by anyone. It matters not why they are here. The darkness is not does not care. Together they form a large, loose-knit community, the mirror image of the above-ground city. I've always known of these people, and have avoided them. They have nothing to offer me, and so are nothing to me.
My choices for living quarters were dictated by my desire to have as little to do with these forgotten ones as possible. They tend to settle, as I initially did, along the underground waterways which thread through our world. Knowing this, I sought out places far from the canals and rivers, places that would provide me with safety and anonymity
My present residence is the remains of an old Roman villa, buried, built over, and forgotten for centuries. Nothing remains of the original structure but portions of its ground floor and basement, but there is more than ample space for me. It is filled and furnished with items that reflect my varied and eclectic interests. What's more, I have restored the old Roman bath, and renovated the heating system beneath it. After tapping into both gas and water mains, I now have a luxury I'd never dreamed of. This place has become home to me.
My home is situated under a large elaborate house which is attached to a sizeable park. Soon after I settled in here, I contacted Henri, and through him, the reclusive Comte LeMauvoisin purchased the house as his Paris residence. I did not intend to live there. I have become uncomfortable with windows and open space. I dislike the feeling of vulnerability and exposure such places offer. I much prefer the close comfort of the silence here in the underground. The house, however was a convenient place to conduct the occasional business associated with my title and holdings. Henri manages everything; but I still need to sign papers now and again. I kept a staff of servants there, who tended to things while the Master was "away".
And so, I live, and life is not unbearable. Time has softened the memories of five years past, and I have been able to examine them honestly, my mind unclouded by the passions that governed me then. While I can see the madness that engulfed me, and the fool's quest I was on, I feel little remorse for my actions. After all, what sort of lessons had my life taught me about love, or of any human intimacies? None at all. Everything I knew about the human condition, I'd learned at the opera house, from the operas I so avidly followed. In opera, love is pure and true, and it improbably triumphs over all obstacles. In opera, the wicked are punished, and the hero prevails. And, make no mistake, at that time I was certain that I was the hero. I never knew that the hero could be vanquished, his lover won over by the wicked adversary. That was my first real lesson on the true human drama , and I learned it too late. I have been called a genius. My knowledge and talents are enormous, and yet I am completely ignorant of the human heart. It is not a course of study which I care to renew, however. The first time proved too painful.
This is not to say that I have entombed myself here. Old habits continue. I write my music, and follow my myriad interests. The Opera Populaire has been rebuilt, with the help of very generous donations from the Comte LeMauvoisin. Without my guidance, it rapidly deteriorated into near burlesque, and I withdrew my support. I made use of my own resources, and designed and funded a new opera house to be built on the empty parkland which belongs to me. L'Opera Eclectique is beautiful thing, perfectly designed for my music. And so I once more haunt an opera house, this time not as a ghost, but as the owner. The Comte is known as an eccentric and reclusive genius. I rely on my manager to relay my directives and decisions to the rest of the opera troupe. Christien, oldest son of Henri, serves me well in this capacity. He is a capable young man, who does not question my choice of communication. I still prefer the written word over the spoken for this manner of business. It is more reliable, I feel, less subject to misunderstanding. It also spares me the necessity of personal contact with another human being, a prospect that becomes less and less attractive as time wears on.
Of course, L'Opera Eclectique showcases my own work. It was what it was designed for. I also feature opera by other composers, if I feel that the music is suitable. It must be different and unique. There are not many who have the sensibilities to appreciate this music. The few who do are regular and enthusiastic patrons of my opera house. The others who attend the opera do so because it is now considered chic to be seen there. They are idiots, but they are paying idiots, and L'Opera Eclectique is a success.
I have my private opera box, of course, where I can sit unobserved, and enjoy my music. I initially had toyed with taking box five as my own, amused by the irony of it. In the end, I decided on box two. Box five provides a poor view of the stage, and so I assigned it to the Vicomte and Vicomtess DeChagny when they became patrons. How droll it is to watch them there. What consternation it would cause should they discover who the Comte LeMauvoisin truly is! It is my own secret joke, and I never tire of it.
I have observed that the DeChagny's are well suited for one another, far more so than Christine and I would have been. She was brought up in the rarified atmosphere of the opera house, and while she was well educated in dance, and of music, she knew of little else. I had spent years expanding my realm of knowledge and expertise, while Christine remained sheltered and limited. Much of the simplicity and innocence which had appealed so greatly to me, was simply her lack of more than a basic education. I wonder now what would have happened if she had chosen me over the little Vicomte. What would we have talked about? We could not always be singing, or making love. What pastimes could we have spent together? I know that having been her teacher for so many years, I would not have had the patience to begin again. I suspect that in time our relationship would have palled on me. And then what would I have done? Could I have sent her away with the full knowledge of me and all of my secrets. I doubt it, and I care not to think about what I might have done. Instead, I prefer to watch the Vicomte and Vicomtess, and smile at what an adorable, and rather shallow couple they make together. It has worked out for the best.