It’s night. Christmas night. All the armed men went to sleep my little fortress. Sleep is your brother, your sister. Even your mother was asleep. I almost woke asleep chicks, getting to this poluosveschennoy room.How far are you away from me! But let me become blind if your image is not always before my eyes. Your portrait – here on the table, and here, near my heart. And where are you? There, in a fantasy Paris, dancing in the grand theatrical stage on the Champs Elysees. I know this, and yet it seems to me that in the stillness of the night I hear your footsteps, I see your eyes that shine like stars in the winter sky. I hear you play in this festive and light play the role of the Persian beauty, the captive Tatar khan. Be beautiful and dance! Be a star and shine! But if the public admiration and gratitude to you drunk, if the scent of flowers presented to swallow your head, then sit in the little corner and read my email, listen to the voice of your heart.
I am your father, Geraldine!I’m Charlie, Charlie Chaplin!Do you know how many nights I sat in your crib when you were a baby, telling you the tale of Sleeping Beauty, a watchful dragon? And when my old man’s dream smezhal eyes, I laughed at him and said, “Go away! My dream – a dream of my daughter!
“I have seen your dreams, Geraldine, have seen your future and your date. I saw a girl dancing on stage, fairy, moving across the sky. Heard the public say, “See that girl?She is the daughter of the old fool. Remember, his name was Charlie? “Yes, I’m Charlie! I’m an old fool!Today is your turn. Dance! I danced on a large ragged pants, and you dance in a silk dress princess. These dances and applause at times will offer you to heaven.
Fly!Fly over there! But go down and down! You should see people’s lives, the lives of the street dancers who dance, shivering with cold and hunger. I was like them, Geraldine. In the nights of those magical nights when you’re asleep, lulled by my tales, I was awake. I looked at your face, listening to your heart beats and asked himself: “Charlie, do this kitten will ever know you?”
You do not know me, Geraldine … Many stories told me you in those nights, but his tale – never. And it also is interesting. This is a tale about a hungry fool, who sang and danced in the slums of London, and then collected alms … … Here is my story! I knew what hunger that is not to have a roof over your head. More than that, I experienced the humiliating pain wanderer, a jester, in the chest by an ocean raging pride, and this pride was wounded painfully tossed coins. And yet I live, so leave it at that.It is better to talk about you.
After your name – Geraldine – should be my name – Chaplin. With this name for over forty years I have amused people in the world. But I was crying more than laughing.Geraldine, a world in which you live, there’s not just dancing and music!At midnight, when you come out of the huge hall, you can forget the rich fans, but do not forget to ask the taxi driver, who will carry you home, his wife. And if she is pregnant, if they do not have money for diapers for the unborn child, put the money in his pocket. I ordered the bank to pay your expenses are. But all the other pay strictly on the account.
From time to time ezdi the subway or the bus, walk on foot and explore the city. Looking into people! Look for the widows and orphans! And at least once a day say to himself: “I am the same as they are.”Yes, you’re one of them, girl! More than that. Art, before you give a man wings to soar aloft, he could usually breaks his leg. And if someday you will find yourself above the audience, immediately throw the scene. At the first taxi you can go to the neighborhood of Paris. I know them very well! There you will see a lot of dancers like you even more beautiful, graceful, with more pride. The dazzling limelight of your theater will not be there at all. Searchlight for them – the Moon. Peer good, look! Do not dance if they are better than you? Admit it, my girl! There is always one who dances better than you, who is playing better than you! And remember, the family Charlie was not such rude, who blasted a cab or nadsmeyalsya over the poor, who sits on the banks of the Seine …
I will die, but you will live … I want you never knew poverty. With this letter I am sending you a checkbook, so you could spend as you wish. But when two francs to spend, do not forget to remind ourselves that the third coin – not yours. It must belong to a stranger who needs it. And this you can find easily. One has only to want to see these strangers poor, and you’ll meet them everywhere. I’m talking to you about money, because they knew the devil’s power.I spent a lot of time in the circus. And always very worried about high-wire. But I must tell you that most people fall on hard ground, tightrope walkers than with unreliable wire. Perhaps one of the soiree you bedazzle any diamond. At the same time it will be dangerous for your rope, and falling for you is inevitable. Maybe one day you capture the beautiful face of a prince. On the same day you become a novice tightrope walkers, but the simple drop ever. Do not sell your heart with gold and jewels. Know that most huge diamond – the sun. Fortunately, it shines for all.
And when the time comes, and you love, then love this man with all my heart. I told your mother, so she wrote to you about it. She understands me more in love, and her very best to talk to you about it.The work you hard, I know. Your body is covered with a piece of silk. For the sake of art can appear on the scene and naked, but come back out to be not only dressed, but more pure.
I am old, and maybe my words sound funny. But, in my opinion, your naked body should belong to those who fall in love with your naked soul. Do not be afraid if your opinion on this issue a decade ago, that is owned by the departing time. Do not worry, these ten years, not aged you. But be that as it may, I want you to be the last man of the people who will be subjects of the island bare.I know that fathers and children are among a perpetual duel.
Voyuy with me, with my thoughts, my girl! I do not like obedient children. And yet from my eyes no tears flowed as of this writing, I want to believe that today’s Christmas night – the night of miracles. I wish that a miracle happened, and you really understood everything that I wanted to tell you.Charlie is old, Geraldine. Sooner or later, instead of a white dress for a scene you have to go into mourning, to come to my grave. Now I do not want to upset you. Only from time to time peered into the mirror – there you’ll see my features. In your veins my blood. Even when the blood in my veins is cool, I want you to not forget his father, Charlie. I am not an angel, but always wanted to be a man. Try as you.
I kiss you, Geraldine.