April 27th, 1886.
To my ever faithful Erik,
It's quite late as I write this but Raoul is asleep in this room so I daredn't turn the gaslamp up. Please excuse my writing should it begin to slope. I do hope Ayesha doesn't cause you much trouble these days. She must have been glad to see the last of me however!
I awaited your letter with great anticipation throughout the week. As the days went by, I found myself quite disappointed that there was no sign of such a thing existing in the first place. How joyful I was to hold it in my hands this very morning! I have just this evening found time to myself to read it, for Raoul knows nothing of our correspondence, nor do any of the maids or manservants, and I cannot very well tell my children, can I?
I have two sons now, twins whose fifth birthdays are fast approaching. I have the honour of telling you, dear Erik, that they are already displaying the kindness and chivalry I would expect of a modern gentleman. They both keep fine heads of slightly curly blond hair and Raoul and my blue eyes. Indeed, they are practically identical, but for the fact that Christopher seems to be growing better than his younger brother, Phillippe.
And yet I already see the differences in their characters: Christopher is a fine little musician, capable of playing almost any instrument handed to him within the week. I say almost because he cannot quite lift the trombone Count Marius Desrosiers gave him the other month. Phillippe on the other hand loves nothing better than to go for Sunday walks in the nearby countryside, and will often sit in the grass to observe the scenery and simply think. A very thoughtful, perhaps philosophical, young boy is our Phillippe.
Might I ask after the current state of the Opera? And of Madame Giry, who was always good to me and granted me one boiled sweet from the little boxes you gave her whenever she found a new one awaiting her? And what of her daughter?
Oh dear! Raoul has stirred! I must attend to him now, for I dread to think what he might do if he were to find your letter. It is not my safety I worry about, for Raoul would never lift a finger against me, but it is yours I fear for.
Adieu, Erik. Stay safe and well for
Your friend,
Christine.
(Vicomtess de Changy)
~•~•~•~•••
May 5th, 1886.
To my friend Christine,
I cannot nearly express my joy through written words! To hear of your children filled me with with such comfort. What better mother could they have than you, my dear? If Christopher should need lessons, I shall always be available. But I doubt you would send your own child down to me in this filthy house now. I shall simply have to hear his music through your words. Describe it carefully, my sweet; you hold my inspiration and muse in your precious hands, you always have.
Do not intrude on young Phillippe's inward ways, for many great minds came from childhood trances much like his. Simply allow him to look, to see and hear and think. He shall grow to be quite the intelligent man.
If I may be so bold as to offer advice, from a man whose own mother shunned him? Show your children love, unconditional love. Kiss them everyday, even if they become rather heavy burdens at times. If you cannot bring yourself to do so on the hardest days, do so in my name. I shall not live to see any child of my Angel growing to be like me.
As for Mme Giry and her daughter, the former is, quite sadly, now deceased. The Little Giry however was married just last year, and has adopted the title of Emperess! It is just as I predicted! She writes on the odd occasion; I do believe she is preparing for childbirth nowadays. A very happy time for her, I am sure. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like with a child of my own, but I laugh it off with Daroga more often than not; could you even imagine a child in my arms, in my protection? One might as well give a mouse to a snake to look after!
I have no business in the Opera anymore. I keep to myself Down Below and do not complain or demand my salary. On the odd occasion, I will take my seat in Box Five, but no longer fight for it otherwise, for I feel much too old to play the tricks of my youth now. I have simply resorted to letting them all be, even if the acting-managers do choose mediocre works to perform.
I have restrained myself - or rather, the Daroga has restrained me - from marching up and handing over my Don Juan Triumphant. A wise idea from a wise man, as usual.
I must, rather regrettably, leave this letter here, for I am dangerously low on paper and must ask Darius to fetch some more in the meantime. Ayesha sends her cold regards, as does the Daroga.
I remain, my dear,
Your humble admirer,
Erik.