FLASH
Shkruar nga Pamfleti
I have told you many tales in those distant nights, but my tale - never. She is also interesting. It is the tale of the starving jester who sang and danced in the slums of London, and then gathered love. This is my fairy tale!
My daughter, It is night. Christmas night. All the guards of my little castle have fallen asleep. Your brother and sister are sleeping. Even your mother sleeps now. Only the birds, newly awakened and drowsy, flocked to this half-lit room. How far I am from you!
I would have fallen asleep if your portrait, if only for a moment, had been removed from my sight. He is here on my desk, next to my heart. Where are you? Far away, in the Paris of fairy tales, on the stages of the magnificent theaters of the Champs Elysees. I know those scenes well. In the stillness of the night I hear your footsteps and watch your eyes shine like stars in the winter sky.
I feel how you play the part of the Persian Beauty, the slave of the Khan of the Tartars, in this splendid festive spectacle. Keep up the good work and dance! Keep being a star and shine! But when you will feel that the ovation and appreciation of the public begin to intoxicate you, or when the smell of the wreath of fresh flowers will dull your thought, sit in a corner and read my letter. Hear your father's voice.
I'm your father, Geraldine! I'm Charlie, Charlie Chaplin! Do you know how many nights I stayed by your bed, telling you stories about Sleeping Beauty and dragons, when you were very little? And when sleep weighed down my old eyelids, I laughed and said: "Go away! My sleep, these are my daughter's dreams! I sleep with her dreams!”
I saw your dreams, Geraldine, I saw your future, I saw you, today. I saw the daughter dancing on the stage and how she ascended to the sky. I heard the audience say: "Hey, look at this girl? She is the daughter of the old gastor. Remember, he was called Charlie?” Yes, I am Chaplin! The old chef! Today, it's your turn. Jump! I danced in torn trousers, and you dance in a silk princess dress. These strong dances and claps, almost ascend to the sky. Fly! Fly there! But, come down to the ground! You must see the life of the people, the life of those street dancers, who dance when they are shivering from cold and hunger. I was like them, Geraldine. It was those magical nights, when you slept lulled by my fairy tales, and I was awake. I looked over the three faces, listened to the beating of your hearts and asked myself: "Charlie, do these kittens know you at all?" You don't know me, Geraldine.
I have told you many tales in those distant nights, but my tale - never. She is also interesting. It is the tale of the starving jester who sang and danced in the slums of London, and then gathered love. This is my fairy tale! I knew what it was like to be hungry and what it was like not to have a roof over your head. Still more, I experienced the humiliating pain of the jester dancer, in whose breast the storm of hatred rose in an ocean of pride. And.. this pride was hurt painfully by the coins that were thrown. However, I lived. But let's leave it at that. Better let's talk about you. After your name Geraldine, is my last name, Chaplin. With this surname, for more than forty years I have confused the minds of people around the world. I cried a lot, even though they were laughing. Geraldina, in the world where you live there is not only dancing and music!. At midnight, when you leave the great hall, you happen to forget about your rich supporters, but don't forget to ask about his wife, the taxi driver who takes you home.
And.. if she is pregnant and has no money to buy diapers for the baby that will come, put some money in his pocket. Take the subway or bus from time to time, walk and see the city See the people! Behold the widows and the fatherless! And.. even once a day say to yourself: "I am the same as them". Yes, you are one of them, my daughter! There is more. Art, before giving man wings to soar, usually breaks his legs. And.. if there comes a day when you will feel yourself above the public, immediately, leave the stage. Take the first taxi to any of the areas of Paris. I know them very well! There you will see many dancers like you, even more beautiful, grateful and with great pride. The blinding lights of your theater spotlights are not there, nor are they supposed to be there. The spotlight for those girls is the Moon. Look well, observe! Don't they dance better than you? Think honestly, my daughter! There will always be those who dance better!
And don't forget: There were no heartless people in the Charlie family to insult the taxi driver, or snarl at those standing on the banks of the Seine. I will die, you will live. I want you to never know poverty. With this letter I send you a block of checks, so that you can spend as much as you want. But when you spend two francs, remember that the third coin is not yours.
She meets an unknown man who needs her. You will find one easily. It is enough to want to look at these poor unknowns and everywhere, you will meet them. I talk to you about money even though I know its devilish power. I spent a lot of time in the circus and always worried a lot about the pehlivans on the wire. But I have to tell you, that on solid ground, people fall more often than pehlivans on the swinging wire. It may happen that in one of the spectacular evenings, you will be blinded by the brilliance of the diamonds. It is precisely this moment that puts you on the dangerous wire, from where the fall becomes inevitable. On a fine day you may see the handsome face of a prince. Okay, that day, you become an inexperienced pehlivane, and…. those without experience always fall.
Do not sell your heart for gold and expensive things. You know, the biggest brilliant is the sun. Fortunately, it shines for everyone. And.. when the time comes that you will love, you must love that person with all your heart. I told your mother to write to you about it. She understands love better than I do, so it's better that she talks to you about it. Your job is hard, I know that. Your body is covered with only a little silk.
The pleasure of art may require you to appear on stage naked, but you must return from there not only dressed, but also cleaner. I am old and my words may sound strange. But, according to me, your exposed body should belong to those who love the nakedness of your soul. Do not be afraid, if my understanding of this matter seems very old and belongs to the past. Don't be afraid, these ten years don't make you old.
But I want you to be the last of those who will become citizens of the island of snails. I know that there is always a duel between fathers and children. I fight with myself, with my thoughts, my daughter! I don't like submissive children. However, before tears fall from my eyes on this letter, I want to believe that this is Christmas night, the night of the miracle. I want the miracle to have happened and you really understood all that I wanted to tell you. Charlie now aged Geraldine.
Sooner or later, instead of the white stage dress, you will have to wear mourning clothes to come to my grave. Now, I don't want to trouble you any more. Only, every time you look in the mirror, you will see my features there. My blood flows in your veins. Even when the blood flow in my arteries will have stopped, I want you not to forget your father, Charlie. I was not an angel, but I always tried to be human. You try too.
*The letter was sent on Christmas Eve 1965!
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