infinite voxophones

Sending messages through the walls of the universe did not prepare me for meeting my sister. She is my double, and yet she is different. She is reserved, almost cold when she speaks to others. I gather that she has had a difficult past. While my mother supported my aspirations, hers did not. I easily gained admittance into the most prestigious University and she had to fight tooth and nail. While I had little trouble convincing my peers of my theories she was practically laughed out of academia. Yet she was able to obtain funding where I could not. She built the machine that brought me to this place, not me. Intellectually, we are equals. When it comes to her resolve, I cannot hope to match her.
—  Robert Lutece, October 29th, 1893
No amount of whispering through the walls of the universe could have prepared me for actually meeting Robert. He is not entirely what I expected. In many ways we are exactly alike. I have never met anyone who can match my intellect as keenly as he can. That said, we differ greatly in disposition. There is a level of kindness, a gentility in his eyes that I find almost unnerving. I can see now that he is not used to the concept of sacrifice, that for something to be gained something must also be given in return. Over the years I’ve had to sacrifice many things for the sake of progress. Compassion, friendship, even morality. On me, any of these traits would be seen as feminine weakness. Robert never had a need for such concerns. And despite the sordid circumstances surrounding his arrival, I have no doubt that my brother is a man of unwavering moral character, a trait which I can never hope to match.
—  Rosalind Lutece, October 30th, 1893
No Longer
Lady A. Comstock
No Longer
January the 5th, 1895

Lutece says the bastard is a creation not of her womb, but of some unholy science. I do not know which is true. The child is no more divine than I. What says that for my husband’s prophecy? He begs my silence, but I can only offer him forgiveness. But with repentance need come truth. I can suffer his lies no longer.

Zachary Hale Comstock

And then, the archangel showed a vision: 

a city, lighter than air.

I asked her, 

“Why do you show this to me, archangel?

I’m not a strong man.

I’m not a righteous man.

I am not a holy man.”

And she told me the most remarkable thing: 

“You’re right, Prophet.

But if grace is within the grasp of one such as you,

how can anyone else not see it in themselves?”

The nosebleeds would be almost tolerable if not for the accompanying headaches. I can only imagine how I looked the first time I met my sister. A short greeting followed by a veritable deluge of blood and a collapse brought on by extreme disorientation. I couldn’t bear to be in her presence for the first week as my mind struggled to adapt to her existence. Even now, we avoid talking about our past. Nothing ruins a conversation quite like a heavy nosebleed. Still, the attacks are less intense with every occurrence. A theory: It will be only a few years before my mind is completely adapted to this new reality. Until then I shall have to carry an extra handkerchief.
—  Robert Lutece, February 28th, 1894
Our first attempt at bringing Mr. DeWitt to Columbia was an immediate failure. The trauma caused by entering this universe overwhelmed him. His mind simply could not adapt; the worlds were too different. He seized and collapsed almost instantly. I question how Robert was able to make a successful transition and Mr. DeWitt was not. I believe the answer lies in readiness. My brother was prepared for the world he was stepping into even if adapting remained somewhat of a difficulty. There is no way for us to prepare DeWitt for what he will face here, therefore, we cannot bring him into Columbia directly. We will have to find another way.
—  Rosalind Lutece, Post Dislocation Entry 7
For I am Lonely, Too
Constance Field
For I am Lonely, Too

Madame Lutece - 

I have read all of your books on the sciences.

Mama says, “It’s not a fit occupation for a lady,”

but I think she’s jealous of our cleverness.

Is it true that only you are allowed to visit the girl in the tower?

If the Lamb is lonely, too, I should like to meet her,

as we would have much in common.

Warmest regards,



 Voxophone 062: Pen Pal

“This is for the Miracle Child. Hello! I’m sorry your mother, Lady Comstock, is dead. (I think she is altogether better than mine.) Since you live there, can you tell me why the tower has been closed? People say it’s poor weather, then the pox, then a haunting. If it is a secret, I promise not to tell a soul. – Your pen friend, Constance”

- Constance Field