More excerpts from a letter from Sir Erich Lensherr to Sir Charles Xavier:
After that exchange with Erik, I retraced my steps, and before long, I had emerged into Box Five once more.
In my absence, a dress, or, rather, a semi-dress rehearsal had begun onstage. Several of the costumes apparently weren't ready or available. Katherine, in satin breeches, a ruffled shirt, and a vest, was moving about the person of a female who was, I first thought, seated on a sofa that was upholstered in a particularly repellant shade of pink, rather like a boiled ham—which, coincidentally, was an apt description of her performance. Then the woman took a step, and I realized that the sofa was her costume, and not a sofa after all.
It was then that the managers discovered where I had gone to ground. They descended on me with gladsome cries and greeted me with excessive fervor, combined with fulsome apologies for having kept me waiting so long, etcetera. It was quite a different reception from the one I had received from the Opera Populaire's true manager. Such is the power of money over those with smaller, weaker minds. They led me off for our meeting.
"This, of course, is the Managers' office," said Monsieur Firmin, self-importantly. It was an office like any number of others I have seen, so much dark and polished wood, inkwells, pen-stands in brass and marble. The table to which they directed me had a great heap of notes piled up in the center. "Please, have a seat. Would you care for a brandy?"
"Thank you, no. Not at this hour." I declined. "Perhaps some coffee, if it is readily available?"
Monsieur André rang for an office boy and issued orders, then took one of the other seats around the table with the evidence of Erik's attention to details mounded on it. "And now, as to the nature of our problem, which is not easily explained—."
M'sieu Firmin broke in. "It would be quite laughable, were it not for the twenty thousand francs—."
Neither seemed able to come right out and say it, so I took pity on them. Otherwise, they might hem and haw all day and never come to the point. "In your letter, gentlemen, you mentioned the loss of twenty thousand francs a month, as well as the revenues from Box Five. In one of her letters Katherine told me that the Opera Ghost demands twenty thousand francs a month, and that Box Five should be reserved for his personal use. It is perfectly clear to me that that you would like my advice on how to deal with your ghost. Or am I wrong?"
"No—you have it in a nutshell!" said Firmin.
The other agreed, but added, "It isn't only the money. He believes he runs the place. More than that, he thinks he owns it!"
"He keeps sending notes!" concluded Firmin. "Infuriating, demanding, incessant notes!"
"And these are some examples?" I indicated the pile.
"Yes. Just to give you an idea…"
The coffee arrived. "I will just have a look at these." I began by picking at random, but I soon started sorting them as I went through the pile.
One pile was for criticisms and praises. "Is 'Carlotta' the woman who was wearing the large pink—costume?" I asked.
"Yes. She's playing the role of the Countess. She's a world-renowned soprano."
"Your ghost doesn't care for her. This is the fourth letter of complaint about her." I commented.
"We're… aware of that." replied Firmin.
Directions on how operas should be cast and staged went into another pile. I began a third of requests for his salary and his private box. The fourth was for denials and denunciations.
I read a few of the more amusing ones aloud. "It was not I who stole those three cases of champagne, and I resent the accusation. '79 was a very bad year for Veuve Cliquot. I would not sully my palate with it. Smell Douvray's breath, and if what he belches smells like a moldy meadow, you will know why. O.G." I chuckled. "The Ghost knows his vintages. '79 was a bad year… 'You are a filthy pig. If you don't cease urinating in the lobby fountain, one night soon I will make you drink it. O.G.' Neither of you gentlemen, I trust?"
"That was addressed to one of our stagehands. Joseph Buquet. Quite a vulgar fellow." André jumped to reassure me.
"So it would seem." The fifth pile, maintenance and physical repairs, showed that Erik knew the opera house like he knew the back of his hand. "The water pipes in the ceiling of the connecting link are corroding and need to be replaced. Use copper, not bronze, and they will last longer this time. O. G." I looked up. "Gentlemen, quite a lot of what I am seeing are not outrageous demands, but sensible, practical statements pointing out what needs to be done, or making valid observations."
"What do you mean?" Firmin asked.
"Listen to this: 'Live animals onstage never fail to distract and detract from the performance. The gratuitous use of sheep in the Act Three ballet from Il Muto is the ultimate example of this. If you must have something for the dancing shepardesses to herd, why not dress up the most junior of the dancers-in-training in fleecy little costumes, and give them some stage experience? Five-and six-year-olds being themselves seem to require enough herding to make it seem realistic. O.G.' He's being facetious, but the idea is not without charm. And this one: 'Chewing chicle-gum is forbidden anywhere on the Opera premises. Violators will incur my extreme displeasure. O.G.' It's a filthy habit, and I don't blame him. Are these all the notes he's sent during your administration? "
"Not all, but most."
"It's enough. Very well." I steepled my fingers in front of me. "Gentlemen, you have asked me for advice. I am now prepared to give it. Are you ready to follow it?"
"Yes!" puffed André.
"To the letter!" affirmed Firmin.
"Here it is, then. First, pay him twenty-five thousand francs a month—."
"What?" "You can't be serious?" Their faces were comic with astonishment.
"And—" I let the word hang in the air until they had composed themselves. "Find an office space in this building, at least as spacious as this one, that can be fitted up as handsomely, and designate it as his office. Then you will have somewhere that you can leave notes and messages for him. I'm not joking."
"But—why?"
"Because he's the hardest working person in the Opera Populaire. It's entirely true that he appointed himself to his position—which will require a title other than 'Opera Ghost', or even 'The Phantom of the Opera'—but, despite having appointed himself, he clearly is not shirking his duties. He pays the closest attention to every detail, from the piccolo player who needs a better instrument, to the trapdoor with a catch that needs replacing."
"But he's an obsessive madman who does nothing but harass us with ridiculous orders!" spluttered Firmin.
"Ah. There I am afraid I must correct you. He is a genius whose requests are made with the intent of transforming the Opera Populaire into the finest opera house in Europe, the one which will set the standards by which all others are judged. He may be somewhat eccentric—reclusive—and mysterious. But Genius must be allowed a few foibles."
"He is? He will? I mean—what do I mean?" asked André in confusion.
It is so difficult explaining anything to the Sapient, Charles. One might as well explain to a potato.
Excerpt from the Journals of Erik:
What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?
I see it. 'Good dog. Don't even think of playing with my Kitten, but here's a bone for you instead.'
I was at the office listening post, as Sir Erich Lensherr smoothly explained to the two fools that he thought they should take me seriously.
What was more, they were listening.
"But what if we lose money following his orders? What if no one comes?" agonized Firmin.
"It has not happened yet. I'm sure he understands that the Opera Populaire must make a profit." Sir Erich was speaking to them differently than he had spoken to me. Rather than veiling his contempt and sounding sincere, he was openly condescending to them.
I'm not sure they noticed. It sounded…familiar to me somehow.
He was speaking to them as I would.
"But would he use his office?" wondered André.
"Does it matter? The important thing is that he would have an office. Then when the Director of the Academy of the Arts comes by to ask why there's no Meyerbeer on the schedule, we say, 'You'll have to take that up with our….Director of Artistic Development—.'" said Firmin, his voice dawning with inspiration.
"I say, Firmin, that's not bad. 'Director of Artistic Development'."
"—his office is up one level, two doors down on the right hand side'. He trots on up and comes back down, and says, 'He's not in!' We say, 'He's a busy man, but if you leave him a note, he'll answer it!'" Firmin finished his speech.
"And now we can say Box Five is reserved for the use of our Director of Artistic Development—instead of saying it's reserved for the Opera Ghost and feeling like a damn fool." enthused André.
"My God, André—it's all starting to sound sane!"
"It's possible I may be doing the Ghost a disservice by setting your thoughts along these lines." mused Sir Erich. "I am quite sure he will be able to cope, however."
How kind of him to say so.
'Director of Artistic Development'
Rubbish.
"But how do we go about proposing these changes to him?" worried Firmin.
You already had. Dolt.
Sir Erich's reply proved he was not 'telepathic'. (Damn the man. I am even indebted to him for the very word 'telepathic')
"Put it in writing and leave it in Box Five, along with last month's and this month's salary. According to him, you are a month in arrears at this point. If you are a little short on liquid funds, I can arrange a small advance from my bank. You might also ask him his name. It would only be right to add him to the list of directors on the programs and wherever else they might appear."
"And on a brass plate for his office door, as ours are?" inquired André.
"That would be a thoughtful touch." answered Sir Erich.
There was the sound of chairs scraping the floor, as they stood up.
"Thank you, Sir Erich." gushed Firmin.
"Yes, you've turned the whole situation around for us!" André put in.
Led them around by the nose was more like it.
"If you would truly like to thank me, you might introduce me to Madame Giry." hinted Sir Erich. "I would like to thank her…"
They left the room, and I returned here. I must speak to Katherine. I must find out who else she told, and what she told them. If it is only Sir Erich, I can deal with him. He is only one man, but he is her guardian—she is likely to object if I kill him. Can I give him a mental command to forget? Would that work—against him?
Damn the dress rehearsal—she is likely to be inaccessible for another two hours. I would end it, but she needs that practice.
Yet in all of this, I cannot help but think I am missing some cue. Why did he not, with his tremendous powers, bring the place apart down around my ears? Why did he not lead down a score or two of followers, an army? Why did he not seize Katherine by the wrist and command her home to England? Why is he toying with me? Perhaps, just because he can?
I do not understand.
Still further excerpts from the same letter from Sir Erich to Sir Charles:
If I recall correctly, Kitty described Madame Giry as 'the most alarmingly Parisian woman'. I did not find her alarming, but I could see what Kitty meant. Madame Giry is a sleek black dove with a red-gold crest, a handsome woman of about forty, dressed with sophistication and taste, her face and figure a pleasing assemblage of curves without excessive flesh. I said no more than the usual pleasantries until the managers had left us alone and she closed the door of her office.
"Now that they have gone, I hope that we may talk freely to one another, Madame."
"About what, M'sieu le Baron?" she inquired.
"About Katherine, of course. About why you would choose to champion a Jewish girl from America, even to the point of taking her into your home. I am very grateful to you, but I cannot help but wonder. Such…goodness of the heart is rare."
"I thank you for that, sir, but you give me too much credit. What I did was only right—and, I must confess, not entirely done out of personal disinterest. " She cast her eyes down, and sat at her desk, indicating that I should take the chair opposite.
I find it very pleasant to have an exchange of wits with an attractive woman, and more so when I am sure she is not going to slip a glass dagger between my ribs.
Mystique may be an infinite variety of women in one, shape-shifter that she is, but she is the purest poison. I have learned my lesson there. Not to mention that she has twice abandoned her newborn babies. She is no more than a female crocodile who lays her eggs, leaves, and, like as not, eats her own hatchlings should she come across them later.
"You will have to explain that intriguing statement, Madame. I do not doubt that it is significant." I slipped into the chair, and smiled at her.
"From earliest childhood." she explained, "my life has been the ballet. I left it for a few years, when I married—and returned to it when I became a widow. I brought my daughter Margaret up to be a dancer. I became the Opera's ballet mistress and choreographer—I am the first woman to be accorded such professional status here. But I have come to it at a time when ballet is not respected or highly regarded. Nine out of ten of the girls are no better than they should be—professionally or morally—and the male danseurs are great swaggering boys, barnyard cocks and worse…My prima ballerina is the worst of them all. I had thought of abandoning my career—and then Katherine Pryde came here and auditioned for me."
"It was at my suggestion that she came here. She had been bitterly disappointed in love."
"Yes, I could tell something had happened to her. It showed. It has been the making of her, artistically. And in other ways, I think…One cannot dance tragedy, until one has known it. Or dance love, if one's heart has never been touched. I cannot fault her technique, she has the intelligence and emotional depth for any role—and then there is some quality about her that I cannot define. She—barely seems to touch the earth, when she dances. If you were to tell me she was a child of the fée, a spirit such as Ariel from Shakespeare's play—I would not disbelieve you."
"And why? Because I know you know one other such. The spirit of this place. The Phantom of the Opera. Erik—in a word. Or a name." I knew I would shock her.
"She never told you!" She leaned over her desk and stared at me with pleading eyes.
"She did. In a letter. I know where she spent her week of illness, Madame, and with who. In fact, I've already been to see him. I wanted to know what sort of man he was, so I made my way down from Box Five. Not all the way. He met me on the stairs."
"And you are alive?" She was compelled to grip the corner of her desk until her knuckles turned white.
"As you can see. I found him to be proud, but not improperly so. Respectful—to a point, at least. I believe Katherine's account of his behavior, after meeting him, and I trust her opinion of his mind. She is quite an intelligent young person herself. She was academically doing work on a collegiate level when she was not even fourteen. I think they are well suited to each other, in fact."
"Even though—even though you know about his powers—and his face?"
"Perhaps I think they are especially so, because of his powers. And she finds him handsome enough. But what I should like to know, Madame, is what you know of him."
"What—what I know? You don't know what you're asking of me…"
I coaxed the story out of her. It was not terribly surprising, for the most part. She thinks he is at least five years younger than she is, probably younger still, although she cannot be sure. He was being exhibited as a freak in a traveling show—she was moved by his plight, freed him, and hid him.
Over the next few years, she gave him what aid she could—and then his powers began to develop. He could not control them; small wonder. Telekinesis, telepathy and pyrokinesis together are an unpredictable combination, and a dangerous one. She was terrified—terrified for him. She thought he was possessed and tried to drag him to a priest. He struck out at her— knocked her down, and disappeared for several years.
He told her, when he returned, that he had been getting an education. A pity it was not at your school, Charles. Over the next decade, he came and went for months, up to a year at a time, to work on commissions, according to him. About five years ago, he came back, apparently for good, and has been living under the Opera Populaire ever since.
Then Katherine came. "I had not thought of him as less than a man," Madame Giry explained, "but he had always kept at such a distance. From everyone. He is an estranged creature, alienated. Not precisely human. If a hand was held out to him in welcome, he would look for a weapon in it. He does not even trust me. But he saw that same quality in Katherine that I did, and he fell in love with her." She paused and took a breath. "I have talked to her about him. Discreetly, you understand."
"Oh, yes."
"She was not reluctant to talk about him. But the way she talks about him! This is, of all things, the most unaccountable. If she were afraid, petrified with terror of him, I would comprehend that. If she were madly in love with him, if she was sick with love of him, I could understand that. If she were both at the same time, it would only make sense. Yet when she speaks of him as if he were an utterly normal man whose offer of marriage she is considering, I do not know what to make of it!"
I laughed. I could not help it.
"And now you have come here, and to you, he is just the same! You—you speak of them as well-suited to each other! You went down to his demesnes, and came back, came back alive, without a hole in your memory, and—"
There was a knock on the door. I had been wondering how I might best distract her. I believe the classic way is to kiss a woman, but it seemed a trifle forward, and I would prefer to know that we were the same species before I took such a step.
It was a pretty blonde child, about Katherine's age. "Mother—Oh, I beg your pardon, M'sieu, but Madame is wanted on stage."
"I understand."
"My daughter, Meg Giry." She explained. "Meg, this gentleman is Baron Ware, Katherine's guardian."
"I am honored to make your acquaintance, sir." Meg curtsied beautifully.
"Enchanted, Mademoiselle. Madame, before we part—have you spoken to Katherine about your professional plans for her? I am safe in assuming you have plans, am I not?" She stood up, so naturally, I did so also, and we moved toward the door together."
"Yes, I have—plans, that is, but I have not spoken to her of them, as yet."
"I think that you should, and soon. I would like to be there. We have no time to plan this now, but I will return after lunch, once I have stopped in at my hotel. Might I speak with you later?"
"Certainly, M'sieu."
And that brings us to the present moment. After I post this letter to you, I shall return to the Opera Populaire.
Sincerely yours,
Erich Lensherr
A/N Hi, folks!
Several people (that's you, Pickledishkiller, and you, Lor, and Queen Ame, and Hobbit Babe) noticed that Erik really seems to want trouble with Sir Erich. This is true. The poor guy has just barely gotten the idea in his head that Katherine actually likes him, and that's after he's nursed her through cholera and found they like the same books and both play chess and she stuck up for him with the Daroga.
He's not prepared to trust a stranger yet. Things will get even more interesting, especially since Professor Xavier got the letter Sir Erich wrote on the train, and three people from Xavier House are even now en route to the Opera Populaire to try and avert a catastrophe.
Thornwitch: As you can tell, I was already thinking along the same lines, although it's too early to say what will happen. He's attracted; she's intrigued. I first saw Miranda Richardson as Queen Elizabeth in Blackadder, and I adored her. And even though Ian Mckellan's personal notion of a love interest for Gandalf would be Legolas, not Galadriel, the actor is not the character, and this is my story, anyway! Yes, Kitty is now taking singing lessons from Erik on a regular basis, but there hasn't been an occasion to write about them yet.
Thanks for the good word, JP—I'll seewhat I can do about Kitty's letters—most of the ones in the story thus far have been 'best behavior' letters—once she has some juicy bits (and there will be juicy bits) to tell Illyana, perhaps it will round her out. She's not all that indifferent to Erik's attractions—who could be? And as for horror and suspense, conflict, drama and action—how about the potential murder of fifteen million people? Hint!
Hi, Lexy! I like the Uncanny X-men, and the Ultimate X-Menare great too. I just got a trade paperback of the Ultimate X-Men called Hated and Feared, which is excellent—Mystique is just so, so cold! And if Kurt really does stick with the priesthood, what a waste! I like the old stuff they did in the eighties, by Claremont and Byrne. Sometimes I get confused by all the story lines and A/Us in the ones they have going now—and I'm not easily confused! It sucks to be broke, but it's great they even have the X-men in libraries.
Several people have now written to say how surprised they were when they found out they like my story, even though it looks like it should be stupid. You have no idea how happy that makes me. I knew, going in, that a Phantom/X-men crossover sounded dumb, dumb dumb –but I decided to write it anyway. If there is a trick or a secret, it's that I try to write them as people, not as SUPERHEROS. And I like doing research—such as watching Giselle. So, thank you, thank you, thank you! I virtual hug you all!