Love Never Dies: How I Knew the Phantom of the Opera.
My name is Juliet Daaè. I am a Parisian and live in New York with my Father. But, he wasn't always my Father. In fact, he didn't know I was his daughter. We only discovered each other five years ago on that fateful day in Coney Island. This is the story of how we found each other and sought each other in a world of night and music and how we developed not only a kind of love but a special bond that will last for a life time.
It started in Paris, when I was ten years old, back when I was Juliet de Chagny. My Mother was the famous opera singer, Christine Daaè and the man I thought was my father was Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. Mother had a career for a long time at the Opera Populaire, where she started out in the corps de ballet and became the lead soprano. However, in 1895, the opera house mysteriously burned down and mother became unemployed. As for father, he didn't work because he had a family fortune enough to last a while. But as the money slowly dwindled down, we became desperate. Then a miracle happened.
Mother one day received a letter saying to come to Coney Island to perform an aria written in her honor by an admirer at a fair for an enormous sum of American money which would be enough to pay our debts to the bank and save a lot for ourselves to boot. Mother and father said yes immediately. I was excited along with Mother to go to America because it would be an adventure but father was reluctant since he preferred to stay in France. But we needed the money, so we packed our bags and left. People in France had always talked about Coney Island and how beautiful the beach was there, so I was thinking that I could learn to swim while I was there.
When we arrived in New York, we were greeted by three circus performers who told us of the fair where mother would perform: Phantasma. The name sent an excited chill down my spine; Phantasma sounded mysterious and thrilling, but had a sense of beauty. I looked at Mother, who I thought would be as excited as I was but in her eyes, I saw a slight look of reminiscing and fright. The three performers then took us to our hotel in a horseless carriage which was the strangest thing I had ever seen. But it was comfy and warm since it had started to rain. When we arrived, we found out that the manager was paying for our suite, which was I thought a generous thing to do, but father mumbled, "Does he think we are incapable of payments?" Mother and father went in, but one of the performers stopped me. I turned and he gave me a red box with a silver bow. "For you," he said, "from all of us at Phantasma."
I curtsied. "Thank you, monsieur." I ran into what was to be my room. There was a canopy bed and a bureau with a closest and bookshelf and the room had large windows that showed the skyline. I lay down on the bed and opened the gift. It was a snow globe with tents of black and white with a ferris wheel and little tiny performers inside. There was a black sign which in silvery script said "Phantasma". I turned the key on the side of the globe and Phantasma came to life with twinkling little lights. The globe also played a song I had never heard before but it was so enchanting and brooding. I smiled at the gift and went to show mother and father.
They were in the sitting room and father was yelling about how this was a "dreadful town" with "filthy American money". He then pulled out a brandy bottle and began to drink. That was one of the reasons money ran out: father began to drink more and more after mother lost her job at the Opera Populaire. Mother was standing near by, silent as a tomb. This was one of father's rants and whenever this happened, she remained silent and let father go on to vent his anger. "Father, come play with me!" I cheered. He didn't hear me. He kept griping about Coney Island. "Father, come play with me, please." I repeated; nothing. "Father, come play with me! Look at this toy the performers gave me!" "Juliet!" he bellowed, "No! Not now!" I shut my mouth.
I then noticed the piano in the suite. I let out a little gasp of delight; I loved the piano so much. Mother had given me singing lessons when I was old enough and that piqued my curiosity about instruments. So, I was given piano lessons. I had a hidden talent that I didn't know about it seemed for my teacher called me a prodigy. So I sat down and began to play a song. For some reason, music was always forming in my head. Not just music I'd heard before but music that I made up in my mind. This song was just a soft, light aria I had been thinking of.
"What is that song?" father asked, seeming to have calmed down. "Just a song in my head," I replied. Mother stared at me, eyes wide. "In your head?" "Yes. For some reason, I have these beautiful little songs that I create floating around in my mind like water. I can't explain it; it's just something I do." Father gave a little nod and went back to his brandy while mother continued to stare at me, her mouth slightly open.
At the end of the song, I went up to father since he looked calmer. "Father, look at this toy I was given by one of the performers from Phantasma. When you wind it, it plays a song." I sat on the floor and turned the key and the globe lit up. Father sat in the chaise and watched politely and with slight intrigue. When the song ended, I looked up at him. "Isn't it lovely?" "I suppose so if you're into that sort of thing," he replied. I looked at mother. "Isn't it lovely, maman?" Mother didn't answer; she seemed to be in another place and frightened of it. I stood up, concerned. "Maman? Are you alright?" She gave a slight jolt and turned. "What? Oh! Yes, the toy is lovely. Very lovely indeed darling. How generous." "Do you know what the song is?" Mother stared at the globe. "It's from an opera I was in called Don Juan Triumphant. It's the Point of No Return."
There came a knock at the door. "What?" father groaned, rubbing his temples. In walked a telegraph boy and he held out a small envelope. "Message for you, sir." Father snatched the bit of paper and tore it open. His eyes whizzed back and forth and then he gave a smile, or what would seem to others a sort of smirk. "It's Phantasma's Manager. He wants to meet with me in the hotel lobby. No doubt he'll apologize for sending his freaks." Father grabbed his coat and buttoned it up. I walked tentatively forward. "Father, when you get back, will you play with me or go for a walk? The rain's let up." "No, Juliet." He replied absently. "Father, please…" He jerked his head at me. "Please what?" he mocked back. I blushed and looked at my shoes. "Nothing." He strutted off and shut the door.
I stared at my new globe and felt a burn at the back of my throat as my eyes watered. Father was always mocking me and shooting back retorts and it felt cruel, like having a girl wasn't his idea. Like he just never wanted to share his love with anyone else but my mother and I was a nagging interference. And it made me feel inferior. "Father never plays with me," I sniffled, "doesn't he love me?" "Oh, darling," pitied mother. She walked over and sat down on the footstool, putting her hand gently and comfortingly on my cheek. She then began to sing.
"Love's a curious thing. It often comes disguised.
Look at love the wrong way, it goes unrecognized."
Mother then put her hand gently over my chest and I sadly smiled.
"So, look with your heart and not with your eyes,
The heart understands, the heart never lies.
Believe what it feels and trust what it shows,
Look with your heart, the heart always knows."
"Love's not always beautiful," she caressed and gave my nose a friendly caring tweak. I let out a giggle as I brushed my nose and looked up at her radiant face. She then took my hands and spread my arms wide, our eyes beaming at one another
"Not at the start.
So, open your arms and close your eyes tight.
Look with your heart, and when it finds love, your heart will be bright."
I squeezed her hand and sat beside her on the footstool. She let me lay across her lap and she stroked my hair as I closed my eyes and drank in her voice; a voice more precious than diamonds and gold.
"Learn from someone who knows.
Make sure you don't forget,
Love you misunderstand
Is love that you'll regret." And her voice faded out.
I didn't notice it then, but it's something that I often think about now. When Mother sang about love that you regret, it sounded as if she knew what that felt like firsthand. As if she had misunderstood a love long ago that she chose not to take and she was regretting it now. Sometimes, I ponder and wonder if father knew about the lost love of Mother's even then and if that's why their relationship was so troubled. But at that time, I took over singing.
"Look with your heart and not with your eyes.
The heart can't be fooled."
Mother seemed to recover and joined in, sitting me back up. "The heart is too wise."
"Forget what you think." I declared.
"Ignore what you hear," Mother chimed in and we both sang:
"Look with your heart, it always sees clear."
"Love's not always beautiful," I repeated as I tweaked Mother's nose back and she laughed. "Not at the start." Mother kissed my bang covered forehead and held my face as she sang:
"But open your arms and close your eyes tight.
But look with your heart, and when it finds love,
Your heart will be right."