Post by Philippe Maurice de Chagny on May 19, 2012 21:56:11 GMT -5
PHILIPPE MAURICE DE CHAGNY
"You're young and in love and you can be foolish. I know... I was the same!"
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Player Name: Leffie still. :3
Years Roleplaying: About 2 or 3
Gender: Still a girl.
Contact me: See my other accounts
Anything else?: One million words later.......
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Basic Information
Age: 41
Canon or OC?: Technically an original character, but he's the brother of the 1986 Raoul.[/size]
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Appearance
Body type: Philippe walks with a natural aristocratic gait, however due to a battle injury he must use a cane. But he stands straight and proud, with broad shoulders and long running legs. He is rather muscular, but not overly so, and his age is catching up with him. His chin is always straight and in line with his back do to his proper upbringing. He always walks as if there's somewhere he needs to be.
Eye color: Dull blue.
Wardrobe: Being a part of nobility, Comte Philippe de Chagny is never seen in public without the most fashionable and distinguished clothing. During the summer he'll wear light colors, and one can often find him in his riding habit after a good ride on his private course on his beloved horse Aleta, a silver Andalusian. In the winter he dresses in darker, warmer fabrics, but always has a bit of silk on him, whether it be in a cravat or good waistcoat.
General Appearance: When one thinks of Philippe de Chagny, one thinks of a man who is an aristocrat not only in name and blood, but in his appearance as well. He stands tall, at a full six feet, but he seems taller to those who meet him because of his tendency to seem larger than life. When he walks he walks with a light bounce in his step, and he always has a smile on his face. Some have said he has the face of a god, but he is too modest to agree with them, especially since he tends to resemble his father (not the greatest compliment someone can give him). His brown-blonde hair has a natural bounce to it, and he keeps it cut at just the right length where it isn’t too long, but it’s not too short. He often runs his hands through it when he’s nervous. His eyes are a dull blue/gray, but they twinkle with his good humor and kindness when he speaks to anyone who gives him a reason to be merry. When he doesn’t, he will still contain his temper and his discomfort behind a mask of ease, poise, and calm. Some who hardly know him have thought him cold and detached, but he knows not to be the fool in situations where one would expect it of him. Philippe is the ultimate aristocrat, however he is not a fop, though many would like to place that stereotype on him. He dresses in the latest fashions, but he is not arrogant about it. Some say his affinity for horses is the reason for his frankness and for the genuine look of kindness about him. Even though he limps slightly, he doesn’t let that affect how people view him. Above all, he is a nobleman, and he has a duty to appear as such, lest people think harshly and that he shames the de Chagny name.
Played By: John Cudia
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Personality
Philippe is found to be introverted by most people. He isn’t necessarily fun to be around in the most sociable of circles (he’s called the man who is sober even when he’s drunk by most people), as he’s always conscious of what constitutes as going too far. He never wants history to repeat itself, and uses his father as his highest example of what not to do with his power and influence. He’s considered shy by some who hardly know him, but when that is rectified he’s just a bit quiet and calm, never really speaking unless he has something important to say. Instead, he likes to listen to people, and help them with their problems, though his advice isn’t always the best. He’s the kind of man who means well, but he’s a bit stubborn for his own good, and his advice reflects this.
Stubbornness runs in his family, as both his mother and his father were this way, and his brother Raoul is as pig headed as they come, but he doesn’t let his resolve rule his life, and is willing to compromise under the most extreme circumstances. His views of the world, after the things that have happened in his life, are a bit skewed, and he regards his aristocratic life as a gift rather than the curse he once thought it was. He is grateful for being able to sleep safely at night rather than being on the move like he was once upon a time, but still... when he dreams he dreams for something more than this, more than the parties and the business and the painted ladies. For this reason, he loves to ride.
Philippe’s entire life is dedicated to horses and raising them. Some people have compared him to the grace and resilience of a horse, and from the amount of time he spends around them he isn’t far off the mark. However, he also sometimes has the temper of horses as well, but since he was a boy he’s learned to keep it under control (though it sometimes rears its ugly head when he’s really mad). As head of the de Chagny family, he has to keep collected and stable so that he can be a good influence to his brother and those around him. In order to clear his head and to think, Philippe rides as a calming mechanism, especially when his old injury flails up, because riding lets his leg breathe.
Philippe is a very private person, though many would like to open him up. He’s been through a lot in his life that he sees things with perspective, and it affects how he feels about personal space and divulging information with people about his past. About his past, he uses his experiences to better himself, rather than to lower his self-esteem, and learns from his mistakes in order to move on. He’s good at that moving on thing, really, however he’s learned not to trust people because once upon a time he did trust too easily, however he’s always had the mind to be trustworthy toward other people. When someone proves that they can be trustworthy, however, he trusts and cares for them as if they were his own family. He is a very loyal man, learning to be in both the Navy and from protecting his mother for years and years.
Despite Philippe being a private person, he’s an honest and kind hearted man. Many would say compassionate, but he’s humble about his good humour (ironic, no?). He never goes back on a promise, even if it inconveniences him. He’s always willing to help out someone in need, but he’d been raised spoiled, naive and alone until a certain point in his life, so sometimes he doesn’t know what people need and can be awkward around them (which is why he still doesn’t have any real friends, just acquaintances). The only friend he really has is his brother, Raoul, who he hasn’t had an easy relationship with from the start.
Until their father died, Raoul and he never even saw each other, so he hardly knew what his brother was like. He wanted to know, but could never find the time. When Raoul became his responsibility, he tried his best to be the brother he should have been, but instead became more of a father figure to him (and secretly held motherly tendencies, after their mother made him promise he take care of Raoul as her dying wish). Because Raoul takes up a lot of his life, raising him has shaped his personality and the way he interacts with the people around Raoul, since the younger de Chagny is significantly more sociable. After his past experiences, he doesn’t approve of Raoul acting below his station. He doesn’t mind interacting with people who are a lower class, but when Raoul took an interest in the singer girl, he was incredibly disappointed, in both Raoul and himself, for not warning Raoul of the dangers of the bohemian world.
He often blames himself for things, such as not being able to protect his mother from their father. He blames himself for her death, despite the fact that many thought he would blame Raoul. Raoul was just a babe when it happened, and he doesn’t seek to hold it against him. Although he finds he made wrong choices in his life, he tries not to let that control his life, so he wears a pair of rose tinted glasses when remembering his mother’s lost life. However, he can’t say the same for his father, and remembers his father with only bitterness and hardship, though his father had been kind to him at the end. He was not kind to Raoul, and he could never forgive him for that. Philippe has that tendency to hold grudges when they are left unresolved, which makes him bitter when subjects like his father and his childhood are brought up.
Dreams and Goals: He wanted to have a family of his own, but he’s a bit too old now (he still dreams). He wants to have a better relationship with his brother, and to find a decent enough woman who won’t cheat on him.
Strengths: Horseback riding is his passion. He’s competed, but not in a long while. It’s mostly just an enthusiastic hobby. He’s a kind and compassionate man, and honest to boot. He’s attractive, if that says anything, but he’s not too interested in just ladies, but finding THE lady. Otherwise he’s calm, collected, and noble. He has a good sense of responsibility. Musically talented, but doesn’t pursue it.
Weaknesses: He doesn’t trust people very easily. Also he has a hard time making friends, at least real ones. Doesn’t forgive easily, especially people who have wronged him. He has a horrible habit of twiddling his fingers, but he usually catches himself when he does so.
Fears: Raoul succumbing to Christine (or another woman like her) and her bohemian ways; never being able to ride a horse again; his father (when he was alive); Raoul becoming like his father; HE becoming like his father, etc.
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The Past
History: Philippe Maurice, le Vicomte de Chagny, was born to Comte and Comtesse Philibert and Isabelle on a windy April morning in Perros-Guirec, France, in the year eighteen-hundred-and-forty-one. He was a beautiful child, and his father praised his son's strength and determination when he began crawling and walking sooner than was expected of infants. As he grew his mother fretted over his every movement, but his father was a little more lenient and allowed him to follow him wherever he went. Though Philibert was the Comte de Chagny, his youth and spirit made him a caring and compassionate father at first, so Philippe grew up around a man who was proud of his station and was a loving family man.
This was Philippe's basic perception of his father, though he couldn't know the truth at his young age. For his age, he was a rather smart lad, but he was very trusting. He excelled in everything his parents put him through, hardly ever complaining. He believed that his rather successful parents knew better than he did, so he became skilled in economics, English, other studious subjects, swimming, fencing, dancing (to impress a future wife), and most importantly horseback riding. Philippe wasn't entirely sold on the other things he was expected to master as Vicomte's should (though he did put his all into them), but if anything, he was a boy who loved horses, deep in his core. He began on training horses, but soon his father found he drove them too hard, and had to replace them with more experienced mounts. This was the beginnings of his passion, as horseback riding would be his escape from reality when things became too difficult or he just needed to get away from it all (which would happen rather often in his teenage years).
Over time, Philippe increasingly saw less of his father due to the Comte's duties as a noble, and his escapades with his equally rich peers, so the boy grew close to his mother. Isabelle de Chagny was a rather musical woman, but married Philibert young and had to give up a promising career. Still, she taught her young son to play the piano, and they often played duets together in the afternoons. She was a beautiful woman, and one could most definitely say Philippe was essentially a "momma's boy," and tied to her metaphorical apron strings. However, he always tried to impress his father, because his mother looked up to him so. She would constantly fret over Philippe's appearance and manners, lest Philibert see his son as unkempt and wild. He would often see Philibert cursing dancers and musicians on the streets, and the man hated it when his son fancied them. Philibert was very proud of their station, and drilled it into both his and his mother’s heads that they did need not patronize those who couldn’t care less about their lot in life, and lived on the streets. Philippe, being young, always thought his father was right, but still questioned him. He felt different when he rode horses or dreamed of adventures outside of France, and thought that must be what free people, like those he saw performing and smiling and having fun, felt like. Though he longed to be like them, he felt the need to grow up and move on from childish dreams because he felt he was inferior to the man his mother always tried to impress. The Comte had started to come home late by the time Philippe was nine, but Philippe was never under the notion that his father did not love him and his mother.
However, darkness began to descend on their family and his view of his father became one of shame. One night when Philippe was ten years old, the still inherently young and naive Comte Philibert came home drunk and distraught one night from gambling with his "friends." He informed Philippe's mother that he'd lost a significant amount of money in a bet, as well as Philippe's best horse, Merriweather (Philippe had become enamored with American tales of the great frontier he read in his schoolbooks, and named the stallion after the early 19th century explorer) to a visiting Englishman whom Philibert hadn't met before that night, and never would again. They weren't destitute, but thanks to Philibert's big ego he'd brought shame to the de Chagny name, and people began to take the Comte and his family for a joke. Philippe, being a sensible and level-headed lad, began to see that his father wasn't the great role-model he'd made him out to be.
Because of this, Philippe began to act differently. He stopped studying as much, and spent more and more time with his mother, and with his horse. His new horse wasn't nearly as capable as Merriweather, but it would do for the time being. Isabelle was saddened by the change in her son, as he spent less time laughing and more time looking serious. Now that her eyes were beginning to open as well, she was afraid that her son would become what her husband was becoming. Philibert was drunk more often than not, and when he wasn't he was a strict monarch in the household, yet another reason for Philippe to stay away from him.
When Philippe became a teenager, he was given more privileges and was allowed to go out with friends and socialize, make a name for himself before he assumed his duties as the Vicomte de Chagny. He entertained the idea of preparing for the Navy, as the kind of adventures he read in his American books seemed similar to what he'd heard of the high seas (his favorite novel, one he talked about all the time till his parents ears bled, was Moby Dick). However, his friends were more enamored with the blossoming ladies they saw at social gatherings. Philippe was bored with their painted faces and pink fans, their perfect ringlets that all seemed the same. He kept trying to compare them to his mother, who in private was a free spirit with loose hair and a caring gaze, but found it was useless to try and find someone as compassionate as Isabelle. He thought the world of his mother, as she was the rock he leaned on when his father insulted him, and she always had a brave face when her husband became suddenly uninterested in his wife, in favor of the ladies with the pretty fans. Philippe preferred to be alone, riding his horses and forgetting all the cares in the world. He started keeping a journal around this time, as some of his friends and both his parents did, and recorded his thoughts about the world-- and his drunk father.
The problem with his father came to its peak the first time Philibert slapped Isabelle in a drunken stupor. He had come home early as Philippe and his mother were having dinner. It was the first night Isabelle told their cook, Marie, not to put a place setting for the master. Marie had been skeptical and gossiped with the other servants, but she did as she was told. Philippe had eyed his mother warily, knowing this might be a bad idea, but he said nothing, only ate his dinner and made polite conversation. Suddenly, his father dragged himself through the door, and demanded why there wasn't a dinner waiting for him. He ordered Marie to make him a plate, but Isabelle told Marie not to. "You need rest, Philibert," Philippe remembers her saying. "I shall tell Marie to make us a large breakfast in the morning! That way, darli--" and he slapped her. Philippe only remembers not being able to move, and seeing his mother’s tears as his father begging her forgiveness.
It became a regular occurrence. Isabelle, because of her station, the fact that she was a woman, and the fact that she did not want anyone to treat her son differently because of what his father did, knew that she couldn't go to anyone, and so she made her son promise to tell no one, as well. She told him not to worry about her, because his father never meant the things he said or did, but Philippe always knew better. Still, he did as he was told, being the obedient son, though every time his father hurt his mother he would wait quietly by her door until his father left for more drink (as he always did) and tend to any wounds she might have had. He hated his father now, but he remembered how he used to be, so he could never betray him by going to the authorities. Even if both he and his mother spoke to anyone about it, no one would believe the flighty wife of the seemingly capable Comte de Chagny and his ignorant teenage son.
Instead of speaking out against his more powerful father, he wrote his sorrows in his journal, a growing staple of his life. It calmed him, and often he would address entries to his father or his mother. He hid his journal carefully, however, lest either of them find it. Philippe grew to have a shy temperament, and he rarely talked to anyone, and those who had once been his friends now found him odd and eccentric, with his strange obsession with horses, America, and of a life outside of the aristocracy. The only person he could talk to was his mother, and even then he couldn’t tell her how much he wished she and him would leave their father together, for she constantly tried to put on the facade of the perfect family, for deep down she still loved her husband. Thus, the de Chagnys appeared normal to any who visited, and his father was always sober when they had guests, the perfect gentleman, and Philippe resented him all the more for it.
When Philippe turned fifteen, he began fraternizing with folk his parents would never approve of. While his former friends were becoming the men their fathers raised, Philippe tried his damnedest to become the opposite of what he was brought up to be. His entire life was consumed by horses, and so one day while riding in the country he met a group of strange, vagrant looking teenagers who were living on the streets, who were taming wild horses in the fields. He had never seen anyone like them. They did magic tricks for him, and they sang folk songs and laughed till dawn. He found them magical, and just what he needed when he felt miserable all the time. They liked him, even though they knew he was a stuffy aristocrat, because he talked and dreamed like they did. They asked him if he wanted to come away with them and join a gypsy camp, but he declined, knowing he couldn’t leave his mother behind in the hands of his father. A few of them went off and did so, leaving him behind, but some stayed with him, and they formed close bonds with each other.
One of his friends, Matthieu, introduced him to another gypsy camp, and while they were touring the grounds he suddenly locked eyes with a pair of dark eyes. He was drawn to them and their depth, and he found from across the way that they belonged to a Spanish beauty. She had joined the camp at a young age when they were in the south of Spain. Her olive skin and luscious flowing hair was the exact opposite of the pale French dolls his parents kept introducing to him at home. Her name was Aleta, and he fell in love almost instantly. Aleta found his shy and tongue-tied nature charming, and let him follow her wherever she went. Everything about her was beautiful. She was a marvelous dancer, the best in the camp, and she had a voice like no other. He often told her she made him feel as if he was soaring above the clouds. She would laugh and say, sometimes in Spanish, and sometimes in the most endearing broken French, that “I give you wings,” a reference to the meaning of her name; “to have wings.” Then she’d kiss him and he’d fly.
His father found out about his love when she, unknowing of his situation (mostly because he was embarrassed to tell anyone), came knocking. Philibert was at first confused, for his son couldn’t possibly know the girl in scandalous rags, but Philippe made the mistake of crying her name when he saw her at the door. Philibert immediately sent Aleta away, and forbade Philippe from seeing her ever again. Philippe, in his journal, told him to go to hell. In reality, he argued. He argued and argued. Philippe asked him why. The answer was simple of course; she was an immoral, sexual, and satanic piece of scum. All gypsies were, in his eyes. They were nothing but freaks and witches. His mother did not approve of the match either. When he accidentally told his father he wanted to marry her, his father promptly slapped him. Philibert told him that if he wanted to, Philippe could marry the girl and join a band of gypsies, but he would never have the safety he had in his house, would never eat a healthy meal again, and would never be around decent people for the rest of his life. He would be regarded as a street-rat and a vagabond. He would grow up a man no one trusted, respected, or loved. Philibert was positive Aleta did not love Philippe. No gypsy woman could love in his eyes.
Philippe was so tired of his father putting him down. When he was younger, he had wanted to be just like him. Now, when he’s finally found happiness, his father had broken his heart. He still visited her, but knowing his mother was home he couldn’t run away with Aleta, no matter how much he wanted to. One day Aleta told him that the gypsy camp was moving. He was devastated. He still, after all this time, could not leave. He wanted to, oh how he wanted to. He asked Aleta to marry him, but she turned him down, now knowing the price he must pay if he left his family behind. This furthered his belief that Aleta had a kind heart, and that his father was wrong. His father was so wrong... about everything.
The boy had had the final straw one day just after he turned sixteen. He had just come home from the gypsy camp on his mare, and was putting her in the stables. He heard noises coming from the house, and as he came closer, he saw his parents silhouettes in the curtain-drawn windows, from the light of the lamps. They were shouting. His father sounded very drunk. Philippe drew closer, and suddenly an object flew through the air. He would learn later that it had been a bottle of brandy when he picked pieces of its glass from his mother’s arm. Philippe heard his mother scream, and saw his father go after her. He ran inside. In the sitting room his father was suspended over his mother on the sofa, beating her to death.
Despite the fact that his father had always found him to be weak compared to other boys, he proved surprisingly strong when dragging his father away from his shivering mother. Philippe shoved Philibert to the ground. Enough was enough. “Get out!” he shouted. “Get out of this house!” he screamed, pointing to the door. Philibert was so shocked at his son’s display of courage that he immediately fled the house, taking his own horse and riding away. Philippe didn’t know where he went that night, nor did he care. He only cared that his mother’s arm was broken, and the other filled with glass shards of drunken habit.
He went quickly to mending his mother’s wounds, pulling out glass piece by piece until he was sure his mother wouldn’t be infected. Then he tended to her bruises and broken arm, calling the family doctor and swearing him to secrecy. His mother remarked with a flinch, as he held her hand as the doctor set the bone so that it would heal, that he was becoming much more of a man than his father had ever been.
Then it hit Philippe. He and his mother would be under his father’s control no more. Once the doctor left, he packed his own mother’s things, and he took her to his spinster aunt’s home to live, telling her everything his father had ever done, despite Isabelle’s protests. He kissed his mother and promised to come back one day. She was worried about him, but she saw that look in his eyes that told her he was a boy in love for the first time. She held him close and told him to be careful, to both guard his mind and his heart. He laughed and told her not to fret, but she was still anxious for him. She had once been like them, she said. She told him, finally, that she had almost joined a gypsy camp herself once, but his father had saved her from that. He replied: “And what has father given you? Broken glass in one arm and a broken heart. I am done with the kind of life father leads, mother. I... I am sorry if that displeases you,” he whispered. She reluctantly let him go.
He returned home and waited for his father to return himself. When Philibert did come home, it was to only Philippe, sitting by the door with his bags packed. He would not tell Philibert where Isabelle was, but his father, now sober, was not in a violent mood. He wanted to reconcile with Isabelle and his son. Philippe told him that it was too late. He told his father that he needed to think about his actions, and when he’d realized that apologizing was not enough, he might just tell his father where his mother was. Philippe said that that was fair. He was wild... he never knew what he might do. However, Philibert expected that Philippe would stay with him. Oh, how wrong he was. Philippe smiled at his father one last time, and grabbed his bag. He climbed on his mare and began to leave. “Where are you going?!” Philibert cried. “If you go to that harlot, she’ll only break your heart!”
“I don’t believe you!” Philippe called back, but he doubted his father heard him, for he was already galloping away. When he reached it, the camp seemed to already be gone, but there was still a trail. He caught up to the camp and found Aleta atop a gray stallion. He rode beside her and told her everything. He promised to take care of her, and he asked her to marry him one more time. This time, she accepted. Philippe was made the happiest man in a few short hours (in more ways than one). He joined the gypsy camp, mostly helping with the horses. He performed tricks on his horses, and found he was handy with a pistol with practice. It called to his mind tales of Buffalo Bill and the Wild West, and rekindled his love of all things American.
He wrote to his mother almost every day, at least when they were in town so that he could post it. He told her about Aleta and how happy he was, finally free from his father’s life. If they stayed in town long enough, his mother would write back saying that she was happy as well, and that her arms had healed. She was giving piano lessons to children to make money to pay back her sister (though the sister always insisted she didn’t need to), and whenever she talked of one of her students it brought a smile to his face. He’d read the letters to Aleta, so proud of his mother, and yet... he was becoming blind.
Aleta wasn’t looking at him the same anymore, but he didn’t notice. She was growing bored with the boy, not yet a man, who was obsessed with his past. She told him that the whole point of becoming a gypsy was to sever all bonds to your previous life and start over, free and wild. Philippe found it rather difficult due to his proper upbringing to let go of his old ways, and Aleta was constantly annoyed by this. He told her not to worry, that he just needed time adjusting, but adjusting wasn’t enough for her...
One day after running into town to drop off another letter to his mother, he came back to the gypsy camp and couldn’t find Aleta anywhere. He asked all around and hardly anyone could tell him anything. Finally a young boy, the grandson of one of the gypsy matriarchs, told him that he might have seen Aleta picking berries while he was in the woods. Elated, Philippe returned to his mare and went to find her. He trotted at a brisk pace to where he knew there were berry bushes nearby, when suddenly heard a noise. He slowed his horse and listened closer, and he realized it was groaning, a voice in pain, and it sounded like Aleta. He galloped toward the sound, crying “Aleta! Aleta!” When he found her, however, he regretted ever searching for her at all, for she bare, in the arms of another man.
Philippe rode away. When he returned to the gypsy camp, he began to pack what little he’d brought with him from home. Aleta followed him back, and asked him where he was going. He replied home. She laughed, replying that once you’re a gypsy, you’re always a gypsy. Philippe found it truly hilarious that she said this now, when not long ago she told him he wasn’t cut out to be a gypsy. He left then, with what little dignity he felt he still had. He rode his mare until she was spent and had to rest. He was lucky it was in another town, and he could stay the night and hire a cab in the morning.
He did so, and he went straight back to his mother. The moment he knocked on her door, tears streaming down his face, his eyes red from crying and his hair a mess from lack of sleep, his mother welcomed him with open arms. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been wrong, so very wrong, and that his father had been right, but somehow he found he had no choice. His mother told him that it didn’t give his father any more power than he wanted to give him, but what else could he do when he had been made the fool? He sat alone in the attic of his aunt’s home staring out the window. It was a cosy little room, and it suited how he felt: alone and isolated. His mother would visit him upstairs, and bring him food, every once in a while dragging him down to eat or to join the sisters in conversation. Sometimes he would play with his mother for her students, but for the most part he felt used and wasted, as if he was infringing upon life by being so selfish and naive.
One day, his mother convinced him to ride again. He had forsaken it because it reminded of Aleta’s free spirit and his days at the gypsy camp, but his mother had reminded him how it made his troubles slip away. On his ride, he passed by a group of men in uniform on their horses, and realized they were a part of the Navy. He asked them what they were doing in town, and they told him they were recruiting for a mission to America. Philippe was delighted! This was the perfect chance to make him forget about what had happened with Aleta, and to move on. Philippe had always wanted to join the Navy, and he loved the sound of being on American waters and soil. He promptly enlisted, however when he told his mother, she immediately fainted. At seventeen years old, Vicomte Philippe de Chagny set out to be a sailor. His mother disapproved, remembering that her husband had served a short time in the Navy before marrying her, and she knew that the Navy changed people, but Philippe wouldn’t be swayed, as it was something he’d dreamed of since he was young, without his father’s influence. He left with a long goodbye from his mother and set sail, however, when he left port, he could have sworn he saw two dark eyes gazing at him from the crowd...
Philippe did not fare as well as he thought he would on the waters, however he was well-liked by his bunkmates (however the rest of the crew roughed him up a bit). He was a bit too quiet, and was constantly writing in his journal, and to his mother, and often the men around him would spout similar words to that of Aleta, that he was tied to his past. They joked with him that the only girl waiting for him at home was his mother, but Philippe knew better than to listen to them... Though they weren’t far off the mark when he looked back in his journal, and littering the pages were drawings of his former love and poems about how beautiful she was. He wasn’t a very good crewman on his ship, and his superiors often chastised him for having his head in the clouds.
The boy, now becoming a man, loved everywhere they went, especially America, and when he did write back to his mother they were tales of the things he did in the places he went. Philippe found that out in the real world he had developed a slight temper, so when he initially set out to “conquer the world,” as he told his mother, he often got a bit in trouble, sometimes with a black eye and sometimes with a wounded ego. After a while, however, Philippe grew tired being pegged as weak and easily angered, so he began working to keep his emotions under control. He thought of his mother and her steadfast courage against his father, and he began to gain the reputation of being respected, trusted, and well-liked. Ironic, because he would never forget his father’s words when he found out about Aleta, and what being with her would do to him. After being with her, he moved on, and being able to move on meant his father hadn’t won, to him.
Philippe expected to serve at least five years in the Navy, and was even promoted to Aspirant for his hard work and enthusiasm, but his service ended sooner than he expected. On a return trip to France, the ship he sailed on was attacked by pirates. Philippe fought bravely, but was wounded in his thigh, but had taken down a considerable amount of the scalawags. Thus, when the ship returned home, he was promoted to Lieutenant de vaisseau and honorably discharged, after only almost two years of service, for when he began to heal he walked with a limp. He had been terrified the limp would mean that he wouldn’t be able to ride horses, but when mounted a stallion again he found the pain eased slightly, which caused him to love horseback riding even more.
He decided to return home, or at least to where his mother lived, but when he arrived, his aunt had told him that she’d moved out six months prior, back to their old house. Philippe was terrified that Comte Philibert had found his mother, and rode to their home in Perros-Guirec immediately. There, he did find his mother, and his father. However, it seemed all was well. Through the window, the very same window he saw Philibert abusing his mother through, he saw the both of them sitting on that very same sofa and laughing. They looked more in love than he’d seen them in a long time, and he realized his father must have reconciled with her. He went to the door and pasted a smile on his face, even though he was not looking forward to seeing his father again. Philippe was unfortunate, or so he thought, because his father answered the door. He could only stare at him, even when Philibert repeated his name, over and over again. Suddenly, his mother came into view, and all his worries melted away. His smile became genuine when she flung her arms around him, tearful yet elated that he was home.
Despite the fact that the Comte and Comtesse were clearly together again, Philippe put on a brave face and recounted his stories of pirates and the world, especially how much he loved America. When he remarked on how he was promoted to Lieutenant de vaisseau, his father embraced him, which caused Philippe some alarm. Later, when his mother retired after dinner, his father and he talked in the Comte’s study for a few hours. Philippe was shocked that his father had been sober for quite some time, and still only recently rekindled his relationship with his wife. Philippe was indeed quite proud of his father, and Philibert revealed that he was equally proud of his son. He told Philippe that because he stood up to him all those years ago, and because he had the conviction enough not to stay with the gypsy woman who had broken his heart (his mother had told all, it seemed) despite the fact that had still loved her, and because he brought honour to the de Chagny name by serving in the Navy, he had gained his father’s respect, trust, and love again. Philippe was stunned, and though he could never forget the things his father did to his mother, and indeed to him, he would forgive him and move on.
While Philippe had been out at sea, his father and mother surprised him with a house of his own when he returned home. Philippe moved to the countryside, where, with the land he acquired with his new estate, he began a horse ranch where he allowed anyone who could pay to ride and train the horses, and even started a small horse riding class where he taught young ones, as he had once been, the love of horses. His father was even more proud of him, and began to introduce his son to all the right people, so that his passion could be celebrated by all who knew him. They went to parties, and Philippe was aware that a new opera house was to be opened the next year. His father was uninterested in the actual operas being performed, but he saw a good investment in it, and suggested to his son that he put some money into it. He did so, since of course he trusted his now sober father’s judgement, and funded the final moments of the Opéra Populaire being built.
On his return to Perros-Guirec from Paris, he payed a visit to his parents at his childhood home. However, upon walking up to the door, he noticed his mother in the window where the... incident had occurred. She looked sad and forlorn. He quickly ran inside and asked her what was the matter, but she was crying and would not speak. He sat beside her for comfort, but she would not say a word, so he merely held her hand until she was ready to retire. His father didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight.
When he returned to his own estate, Philippe lie restlessly awake. He worried endlessly about his mother and what his father was doing, terrified that he’d reverted to his old ways. But he trusted Philibert, now, didn’t he? He’d proven himself as trustworthy since Philippe had returned from the Navy, both to his mother and to him. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since that horrible day, and he and Isabelle were getting along swimmingly. Then why did he feel so uneasy?
A few days later, after quite a few rides to clear his head and to strengthen his resolve, he returned to his parent’s home and confronted his mother and father. The Comte had returned from business it seemed, and were entertaining a few guests. He pulled his mother to the side to speak with her, but she dismissed his questions as nonsense. She “had no idea” what Philippe was talking about, despite the fact that Philippe clearly remembered her so distraught and upset. They returned to his father and the guests, but he was not convinced. Philippe learned over the course of the evening that the guests were in fact some of the de Chagny’s closest friends, or so they said, but Philippe had never met them. He also learned the reason they had been called on to have dinner with them.
Isabelle was with child.
On the outside, his mother looked thrilled, but he saw in her eyes something else. She still smiled happily, and the Comte looked like he couldn’t be more pleased. “Isn’t this wonderful, darling?” she asked Philippe. “You’re going to be a brother! Oh, I know you’ve grown, but I always wanted to have another child, but you were such a handful!” she said. She drew him to the side as his father chatted with their friends about the future Vicomte or Vicomtesse. “Philippe... You are such a good child.” He had frowned at her cryptic words, and thought she might say something else, but she moved away to join her husband. She... she looked so happy, and yet Philippe felt something was most definitely amiss. His suspicion wasn’t pleasant, and he would never know the truth, but he was almost positive that he was right. His sibling...
He tried not to think about it, instead preparing himself to be a brother. He’d never been the most caring of children toward others his age when he was younger, but he’d hardly had friends, apart from his horses, to begin with. He had his own life to deal with, and already foresaw not being able to care for his brother or sister the way he knew his mother wished he would. He was busy funding the growing opera house, making regular visits to Paris to oversee its completion, and was busy with his ranch. He was also looking for a wife.
Philippe had long since given up his lost love Aleta. He knew now that despite his father’s shortcomings, he had been correct in that she was no good for him. Her kind were always fickle, he’d learned during his short stay with them. However, he wanted to settle down, to find a good-and aristocratic- lady to court and eventually fall in love with. Perhaps a woman who shared his love of horses and music. However, he’d had no luck with the women in Paris. They were just as he’d remembered them. The similar painted girls had become painted women, and their smiles were as false as the rouge on their cheeks. Instead of marrying, he spent time with his mother, who he kept company when she went into confinement.
Eventually, just after Philippe’s twenty-first birthday, he was staying with his parents to celebrate when his mother went into labor. He and his father waited hours outside of the room where she was giving birth, he more affected by his mother’s screams of pain than his father seemed to be. He was very agitated, and nervous about becoming a brother. Finally, however, after hours of labor, they heard the babe’s cry. They were so relieved. The midwives only let Philibert enter the room to see his new son, leaving Philippe to wait impatiently in the hall.
The midwives began to leave after a few minutes, but as soon as they opened the door, he heard his father’s voice cry out his mother’s name in anguish. Philippe’s eyes widened, and he immediately ran past the midwives into the room, to find his mother clutching her stomach in pain. His father was holding his new sibling by his mother’s side, as well as cradling her head with his other arm. “Isabelle...” he sobbed. “What’s the matter?” Philippe looked to the midwives, but they were already gone. He cursed them, and went to his mother, sitting beside her and stroking her hair. “Mother, whatever is the matter?” he said weakly. She looked so pale, and her eyes were nearly shut.
“Philippe,” she said, but her voice was barely there. She looked up to her husband and smiled at him... or perhaps it was at her child. Philibert got up and walked away, the child in his arms. Philippe thought he saw a tear in his father's eyes. He turned back to his mother, holding her in his arms and stroking her hair. “Philippe...” she repeated, pointing at him weakly, flinching and gasping for air. She pointed to their father holding the child. Tears streamed down her face. “Raoul... Raoul Ch-Christophe...” she whispered with a smile. “Take care... of your brother... don’t... don’t let h-him...!”
With that, she died. Philippe never knew why, whether it was the midwives’s carelessness or... for other reasons. All he remembers is dying himself, on the inside. That, and screaming. Just screaming...
The funeral was a few days later, and the Comte and Vicomte de Chagny were left with nothing but memories and a crying infant.
Now that his mother was gone, the only thing keeping Philippe from abandoning his father was all together was the younger Vicomte in Philibert’s care. He would never forget his mother’s dying words, nor the fact that his father wouldn’t even hold her while she was fading. He kept his relationship with his father, who seemed to love him more than ever. Philippe was annoyed that he paid little attention to his newborn son, and would often sneak up to Raoul’s nursery and hold him, because his own father wouldn’t. Of course Raoul had a nurse to tend to him, since his mother was no longer in the world, but again... Philippe was an honorable man, and would never forsake a promise.
Despite his love for his brother, Philippe still had business with the Opera and had his own home to worry about. His ranch was not faring so well due to his frequent absences, and was losing money fast. People weren’t buying--or learning how to ride--horses like they used to, so he had to spend time fixing the situation. Unfortunately, this meant that he left his brother all alone. He felt so ashamed, but he just needed time to think that was away from the father he no longer loved.
Desperately Philippe kept searching for a wife. He might of come close once, but the girl was unfortunately promised to another. It seemed he couldn’t win, and all the while he kept thinking of his lost love, Aleta. He never saw her again, and didn’t know if he wanted to. He was afraid he would do something foolish if he ever saw her again, and he couldn’t be thinking of a gypsy girl who scorned him when he was meant to be fulfilling his duty as the Vicomte de Chagny. He rode more to clear his mind, and he saw to it that his brother was well taken care of. Raoul would never really know him the way he wished he could. He was too old to be the brother he needed.
Raoul grew up in a similar way that he did: alone and friendless. However he was without a mother to comfort him. He wanted to be like that to him, but being near his father made his skin crawl. By no means was the Comte horrible to the boy. If anything he was just a bit neglectful, but he wished he could take Raoul as far away from him as possible anyway. However, he couldn’t. When he looked into his father’s eyes, he saw all the hurt in the world. It was the same hurt he felt, and knew Philibert mourned Isabelle’s passing as much as he did. This was one of the main reasons why he let his brother stay with him. Though he hardly paid attention to him, deep down Philippe knew their father loved Raoul, simply because he was what his mother left behind.
Over time as his brother grew and developed, he noticed how shy he had become, and blamed himself for it. He could have been more involved, like his mother had wanted, but he just looked so much like her... it was difficult to look at him. He didn’t see as much of Raoul as he’d hoped, and when he visited one day it seemed as if he hardly knew him at all. His brother was always proper around him, as if he was some visiting king whom he had to impress. It was unnerving... and alienating.
Suddenly, when his brother was twelve years old, their father died.
Philippe suspected it was the years of alcohol abuse. Or... perhaps it was karma catching up with him. Either way, Philippe had inherited the title of le Comte de Chagny, and he hardly knew what to do with it. The only thing he did know was that taking care of his little brother now fell to him, as he’d wanted to for years and years. However, Raoul was hardly responsive to his care. The fact that he had to move to Philippe’s home probably disheartened him, so he decided to stay in Perros-Guirec until Raoul felt ready, and entrusted his horse ranch with his capable workers, making regular visits once a month to check up on things. Raoul seemed to be the free spirit he was at his age, but he hardly spoke to him, instead keeping with his governess, Elizabeth.
One day his brother came home soaking wet, and he soon found out why. For once, Raoul seemed the utmost happy, and he found that it was because of a girl he met on the beach. Philippe was not outraged, but he was worried beyond belief. He felt his entire life playing out before his eyes again, and he did not want his brother to meet the same fate, especially when he learned the girl was a peasant. He had nothing against peasants, but he knew what they were like. He’d lived among them and experienced things as one of them, and he knew how young and naive Raoul was. He cautioned him not to spend too much time to the girl, but Raoul would hear nothing of it, and would often come home with stories after spending time with her of someone named “Little Lotte,” and of an “Angel of Music.” Philippe found it all preposterous, but did not want to alienate the brother he hardly knew anymore than he already had, so he kept his silence.
When Raoul finished his schooling, he pushed his brother to join the Navy, as he had, in the hopes that it would take his mind of this Christine girl he was so enamoured with. He did so, but with regret. Raoul left soon after he suggested it, and he could do nothing but miss his brother’s presence.
Philippe did what he normally did during Raoul’s five-year absence. He rode horses and tended to the affairs of the opera. When it looked like the Opera wasn’t doing so well after it’s dramatic and past-her-prime diva seemed to be losing ticket sales and it became a bad investment to patronize it, he pulled his money from it and invested it in a rival orchestra that was starting up, and frequented less of Paris and more to his estate. He built a house near Paris, however, that Raoul might live in when he returned, so that he would be able introduce Raoul to all the most important people in Paris and gain some connections.
When Raoul came home, he seemed a changed lad. He was less shy and more lively, and it reminded him of himself... and their father. He was delighted, however, to have that familiar face home, and was exuberant when he came home with such a high rank in the Navy. He surprised him with his new house just outside of Paris, and organized parties and arranged meetings with all the right people for his brother. Over a meal one day he mentioned to his brother that the Opera, which had come into dire straits ever since those rumors of an “opera ghost” began to spread, was getting new managers and could use a wealthy patron. He did not mention, however, that he used to patronize it himself. Raoul immediately decided to fund it.
A few weeks later his brother wrote to him (by this time they were living in their separate estates) telling him of a gala that he was to attend in honor of the new managers. He was delighted, and decided to ride out to Paris to surprise him by attending with him. However, he ran into trouble with his carriage and arrived a day late, unfortunately while his brother was out. Still, he decided to stay anyway, and await his brother’s return.
However, on that particular Sunday morning the paper ran a peculiar story as he read it at lunchtime: SOPRANO MYSTERIOUSLY FLED AFTER PERFORMANCE: SUSPECTED ELOPEMENT WITH VICOMTE DE CHAGNY!
Philippe was absolutely appaulled as he read the article. Christine Daaé?! What the devil had happened to Carlotta?! And what nerve did these newspapers have accusing his brother of--?! And then he read that Christine was last seen in her dressing room, and the person last seen entering her dressing room was... his brother.... whom once had been in love with a Christine.
Outraged, Philippe immediately set out for Paris and the Opéra Populaire. Upon arriving at the opera house, he ran into his brother, as luck would have it. However, luck would not have it that he literally ran into him. He was knocked to the ground, but when he looked up... a curious sight indeed.
RP Sample
".... which, incidentally, gave him cause for alarm. I doubt Claude meant any harm, but all the same, Louise is a much better woman for it, I am sure. As it stands, she will not speak to me, but of course this is to be expected. I doubt she is speaking to Claude either, so perhaps it was not all in vain for the third party I mentioned.
Now that this whole confusing affair has been taken care of, I can finally focus on what is important: my brother is coming home tomorrow. I must confess I am quite excited, but in his last letter to me Christopher was a bit short with me... I've no idea why, as I we've not seen each other in four months. I hope that he is in a more agreeable mood when I meet him tomorrow at the docks......"
Philippe paused, picking up his pen and examining what he'd written. He sighed, disheartened that not even in the privacy of his journal he could not speak how he really felt. He set his pen down on the page and picked up his cup of tea, sipping it slowly.
He liked to think the small café was quiet and peaceful, but the chatter around him was maddening. It was the hushed whispers paired with the soft clanging of other people's china that made him tap his foot impatiently. The journal's page was begging him to write more, but words were escaping him. At least the correct words were.
"Monsieur?" a voice beside him said, startling him. He hadn't even realized he'd been looking out the window to the busy street. He looked up, and the waiter was there with his meal. He looked down and realized his journal was in the way, and promptly moved it. He closed it, realizing it was useless trying to write now on an empty stomach, so he closed the book and set it aside.
"Merci," he said absently as the waiter nodded slightly and walked off. He ate slowly, thinking as he stared out the window again.
His brother was indeed coming home. In reality, he was thrilled to have Raoul home, but every time he came home on leave he was a different person. He had no idea what to expect this time. He wondered why Raoul was retiring in the first place. Philippe had been told that he was promoted to Aspirant, which is a great accomplishment, so why stop there? And now that he was home, Raoul would have to be entertained. He was not sure what more his brother enjoyed besides adventure, and he seemed to want to leave all that by retiring. Philippe had thought endlessly about introducing him to the right people, help him form connections as his father had done for him. He was now a successful, well liked man, but he knew how people talked...
Even his father had often compared Raoul to Philippe, and now that Raoul would be introduced to society, he was afraid that this would happen again. He did not want to be compared to his brother, because they were two entirely different people, but there was de Chagny blood in both their veins. Raoul was noble, yes, for being involved in the Navy, but what more did he have than that?
Philippe sighed again, for the twentieth time that day, and glanced down at the table. He noticed Le Petit Parisien stick out from under the paperwork he'd laid to the side, and resigned himself to reading the week's news.
The front page article was a sight to behold. There was a drawing of a ghastly figure, clothed in the blackest night and having the figure of a spectral shade. The headline read: "OPÉRA POPULAIRE MANAGER RETIRING; NEW OPERA TO PREMIERE IN HIS HONOR."
Philippe took a closer look. The article read that the long time manager of the opera was retiring due to his health. He remembered when he first met the man back when he funded the Populaire in its infant stages. He'd been disappointed to hear it was doing poorly, but now it seemed a new opera by Chalumeau might stir things up a bit. He always did love the opera...
Philippe's eyes widened. That was it! He must mention this to Raoul. The boy did love music, however he never showed it. Perhaps he might use his money to invest in his old haunt. The opera always did remind him of his mother...
Now that this whole confusing affair has been taken care of, I can finally focus on what is important: my brother is coming home tomorrow. I must confess I am quite excited, but in his last letter to me Christopher was a bit short with me... I've no idea why, as I we've not seen each other in four months. I hope that he is in a more agreeable mood when I meet him tomorrow at the docks......"
Philippe paused, picking up his pen and examining what he'd written. He sighed, disheartened that not even in the privacy of his journal he could not speak how he really felt. He set his pen down on the page and picked up his cup of tea, sipping it slowly.
He liked to think the small café was quiet and peaceful, but the chatter around him was maddening. It was the hushed whispers paired with the soft clanging of other people's china that made him tap his foot impatiently. The journal's page was begging him to write more, but words were escaping him. At least the correct words were.
"Monsieur?" a voice beside him said, startling him. He hadn't even realized he'd been looking out the window to the busy street. He looked up, and the waiter was there with his meal. He looked down and realized his journal was in the way, and promptly moved it. He closed it, realizing it was useless trying to write now on an empty stomach, so he closed the book and set it aside.
"Merci," he said absently as the waiter nodded slightly and walked off. He ate slowly, thinking as he stared out the window again.
His brother was indeed coming home. In reality, he was thrilled to have Raoul home, but every time he came home on leave he was a different person. He had no idea what to expect this time. He wondered why Raoul was retiring in the first place. Philippe had been told that he was promoted to Aspirant, which is a great accomplishment, so why stop there? And now that he was home, Raoul would have to be entertained. He was not sure what more his brother enjoyed besides adventure, and he seemed to want to leave all that by retiring. Philippe had thought endlessly about introducing him to the right people, help him form connections as his father had done for him. He was now a successful, well liked man, but he knew how people talked...
Even his father had often compared Raoul to Philippe, and now that Raoul would be introduced to society, he was afraid that this would happen again. He did not want to be compared to his brother, because they were two entirely different people, but there was de Chagny blood in both their veins. Raoul was noble, yes, for being involved in the Navy, but what more did he have than that?
Philippe sighed again, for the twentieth time that day, and glanced down at the table. He noticed Le Petit Parisien stick out from under the paperwork he'd laid to the side, and resigned himself to reading the week's news.
The front page article was a sight to behold. There was a drawing of a ghastly figure, clothed in the blackest night and having the figure of a spectral shade. The headline read: "OPÉRA POPULAIRE MANAGER RETIRING; NEW OPERA TO PREMIERE IN HIS HONOR."
Philippe took a closer look. The article read that the long time manager of the opera was retiring due to his health. He remembered when he first met the man back when he funded the Populaire in its infant stages. He'd been disappointed to hear it was doing poorly, but now it seemed a new opera by Chalumeau might stir things up a bit. He always did love the opera...
Philippe's eyes widened. That was it! He must mention this to Raoul. The boy did love music, however he never showed it. Perhaps he might use his money to invest in his old haunt. The opera always did remind him of his mother...
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