September 30, 2011
"Anny-Ammy, Anny-Ammy!"
"Shhh, m'girl," Angelica bounced her daughter on her knee. "We're gonna see Aunty Ammy really soon, I promise."
"Where is she?" the little girl demanded, pouting and pointing at James. "Grumpy bear man said she'd be here."
"Grumpy bear man?" James sputtered.
"She's a little girl," Alicia soothed, passing him another mug of chocolat. "I'm 'chubby happy lady' if it makes you feel any better."
"I guess it does kind of suit you. The happy part anyway."
"Why, thank you. Charles, Alex, how're you holding up?"
"Checking the power levels," Alex called from his makeshift worktable, his brogue getting thicker as he muttered to himself. Charles leaned over his shoulder, pointing at the screen and murmuring softly.
"Papaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
"Pas maintenant, Aurore." Charles told his daughter. "Papa est occupé. For the love of God, Angelique, I thought we agreed it was too late for her to stay up."
"You shouldn't have mentioned Ammy within earshot of her, then," Angelica retorted. "Honestly, Charles, it's like you don't know your own daughter!"
"ANNY-AMMYYYYYY!"
"Put a sock in your kid's feckin' mouth, will ya!" Alex yelled.
September 19, 1882
"You better have a really good reason for this," Amélie muttered, shifting from one foot to the other as Erik led her up the stairs. "I could've been spending this time with Daniel."
"Trust me, you will not regret this," he told her, knocking on the door. An elderly lady opened the door.
"He is not taking visitors, Monsieur."
"Tell him Sébastien is here, Juliette. He will see me."
"Him who?" Amélie asked in English as Juliette went back inside. "Who was that?"
"You'll see," Erik said vaguely. Amélie stuck out her tongue at him, fuming. A moment later, Juliette came back and opened the door to allow them in. "Merci. Come, sister." He led her into the rooms, all darkly lit, and approached an armchair that was facing a window. "Victor?"
"Make this quick, my dear Sébastien, you know full well I prefer solitude."
"I've brought my sister."
"Sister, eh? How old?"
"Twenty-four, monsieur," Amélie answered.
"Twenty-four, hmm? Let me see you." A wrinkled hand reached out. Erik nudged Amélie forward. Through the light of the window's closed shutters, Amélie made out a white bearded face resting on the other hand. "What are you staring at?" the man asked gruffly.
"Victor… Victor Hugo?" she realized.
"That I am. What did you say your name was?" the author inquired.
"I didn't, Monsieur Hugo. And it is Amélie."
"Amélie," he repeated. "Twenty-four, eh? Married, then? My older girl was. Bless the poor child's soul, my poor Léopoldine."
"Demain, dès l'aube," Amélie whispered.
"You do know my works, then?"
"Oh, Monsieur, there is not a person in the world who does not know your works," Amélie told him earnestly. "Your books will last forever."
"I hope not, child," Hugo remarked. "For that would mean there would still be suffering in the world forever."
"Or just that they are wonderful stories."
"Truly wonderful stories have meaning in the world. For my books to have meaning, there must be suffering and tragedy."
"I don't know about that, Monsieur," Amélie whispered, placing her hand on his. "But I do know this, the world will remember you for all time." The old author smiled at her softly.
"If you truly believe so, my young mademoiselle. Sébastien, where have you been hiding this sister of yours? I like her."
"Victor, if you would ever actually read the programs when you came to the Opera, you'd know Amélie is our leading soprano."
"Oh, that's you, is it? You made a charming Fiordiligi in Cosí. Rather like how I pictured Cosette."
"Thank you." Amélie blushed furiously. Victor Hugo just complimented me. He just compared me to Cosette. "That means a lot to me, Monsieur Hugo."
"You like Cosette?"
"Very much so! Cosette is my favorite character!"
Hugo smiled at her again. "You come here again, my young mademoiselle Amélie, you hear me? I like you. And I should like to see more of you, if you can stand an old man."
"The honor would be all mine," Amélie said breathlessly.
"Though perhaps another time, Victor," interrupted Erik. "She does have a prior engagement with her fiancé, as she was so eager to remind me earlier." Amélie glared at him furiously. "Oh, now you're cross with me?"
"Go on, my dear. Love is a precious thing," Victor interjected. "But do come again, I insist."
"We will," Erik told him, taking Amélie by the elbow and guiding her towards the door. "Perhaps we'll even manage to lure you out for the wedding."
"Bah. You're welcome to try," the author chuckled. "I mean it, young Amélie. Come back and see me. I should like to hear your thoughts on my books in more detail."
"I should like to share my thoughts on your books in more detail," Amélie replied before Erik pushed her out the door. "You know Victor Hugo!" she gasped. "I just met the most famous French author of all time, and… oh, my God."
"I thought you might be impressed." Erik smirked at her.
"How do you know him? How does someone become friends with Victor Hugo?"
"Ah, come now, sister dear, I'm not about to give away all my secrets," Erik teased. "It's been an acquaintance of several years, however. Sébastien did exist before you created a fake brother."
"Well, I knew that. I saw a letter in your old grotto addressed to Sébastien. That's why I used it for my fake brother," she retorted. "But… why? You know it's all ending tomorrow."
"I do. Which is why I thought it best to have you meet him with as little opportunity to become attached as possible."
"That seems cruel."
"You might still reconsider your options. Stay here, marry Daniel, become the Marquise de Poigny—"
"You know I won't."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
"I… I don't know."
"You might be even more of a fool than I am, if that's the case."
EXCERPT FROM THE EVENING EDITION OF THE ECHO, SEPTEMBER 20, 1882
This afternoon, Mlle. Amélie Cammelle, the latest ingenue of the Paris Opéra and fiancée of the Marquis de Poigny, lost her balance on the Pont du Choice and was claimed by the waters of the Seine. Police retrieved her body from the river within minutes, but the young soprano was already past help.
EXCERPT FROM THE EVENING EDITION OF THE ECHO, SEPTEMBER 21, 1882
Paris has, this day, suffered its second tragic loss. Less than a day after the drowning of his fiancée, Mlle. Amélie Cammelle, Marquis Daniel d'Angennes-Poigny was found dead beside the body of the woman who was to have been his wife.
There is no denying that the beloved young soprano's death was a tragic accident of fate, but it seems that the Marquis chose to follow his intended to the grave, a feat worthy of any opera. M. Sébastien Cammelle, manager of the Opéra Populaire and elder brother to the late ingenue, has released the following statement for our readers.
There are no words I can use to properly articulate the regret that I feel. The loss of my sister was painful enough, but the fact that the man I would have called brother was so devastated as to have taken his own life is even more upsetting. I feel some measure of responsibility in all of this, as he did so in my home.
Out of respect for both my sister and the man she loved, the Opéra Populaire will be giving a memorial concert on the twenty-fourth of this month, following their funeral services. No further comments will be given by the management regarding this tragedy.
S. Cammelle
M. Cammelle's partner, Henri Larocque has similarly refused to offer any words on the subject, but Mlle. Meg Giry, of the corps de ballet, was willing to share some remarks:"The real tragedy is that this isn't at all surprising. They adored one another, I don't believe the Marquis would have ever been whole again without Amélie. I hope that they are together in Heaven. It is what they deserve."
September 23, 1882
Amélie was back in her nightmare of drowning, burning, and falling. But this time, someone caught her as her eyes opened. "Hello, Aimée," Daniel said softly, his warm brown eyes looking into hers.
"Daniel." She wrapped her arms around him tightly. "We're alive. Oh, thank God." After a brief moment in his embrace, she pulled away to take a look at their surroundings.
They were in the grotto Erik had given her back when she had first arrived. Amélie's modern clothes lay neatly folded in the far corner. And standing over the clothes was Erik, who had apparently cast aside all traces of his Sébastien persona, because he looked exactly as he had the day Amélie had first awoken in the caverns beneath the lake.
"Welcome back." He bent down and picked up the clothes, tossing them to Amélie, who caught them easily. "We have perhaps ten minutes before midnight, best you change quickly, Amélie. Daniel, if you'll come with me, we'll oversee our own final preparations."
"Right." Daniel kissed Amélie quickly before standing and following Erik out of the cavern. Amélie stripped off the simple white dress she'd been put in, followed by her shift, corset and petticoats.
After a year away from them, underpants, bras, t-shirts and blue jeans suddenly made her feel oddly naked and confined at the same time. They all fit so snugly against her body, but they were deliciously soft and breathable, giving her more mobility than anything she'd worn in the past twelve months. After she'd pulled on her jacket and shouldered her computer bag, she stepped out to the main grotto, where Erik and Daniel were waiting by the water's edge. When he saw her, Daniel's jaw dropped a little, making Erik give one of his trademark eerie grins.
"All except for the hair, you look exactly as you did when you first showed up on my shores," he said. Amélie rolled her eyes, smacking him upside the head with her free hand. Quick as ever, Erik caught her wrist and ran a knife over the pad of her palm, flicking the scarlet drops into the water. "The wires."
"Right…" Trying not to smear blood on her things, Amélie pulled her old iPod Classic out of her bag and turned it on before pulling it open and dropping it in the water. Sparks began to fly as a whirlpool spun into existence. Erik cut Daniel's palm in the same place he had Amélie.
"Quickly now, there's a very small window of opportunity," he told them as Daniel's blood began to mingle with Amélie's. "Daniel… Good luck to you."
"Thank you. And to you as well," Daniel replied, smiling softly. "I do mean it. Thank you."
"I believe you." Erik turned to Amélie. "You… You have quite a future ahead of you, Amélie. And I believe you might have given me one as well. I know you are sick of hearing it, but you are a remarkable woman. More than remarkable." He pulled her close in a gentle embrace, whispering in her ear. "You are the Opera Shadow, Amélie. The one at the edge of the light and the dark, of fantasy and reality. And I thank you. Go on now."
Amélie lifted the corner of his mask and kissed his cheek. "Au revoir, mon frère. Vous êtes vraiment l'ange de la musique." She took her fiancé's uncut hand and stepped into the water. There was a roar and a bang, and as the water swallowed them, the last thing Amélie saw was Erik smiling at her.
October 1, 2011
"Papa! Momma! Grumpy bear man! Lookit! Lookit!" Aurora squirmed in her mother's lap, pointing a finger at the water. James rolled his eyes at the toddler's antics
"Oh, my God, she's right." Alicia shot up and ran to the lagoon's edge. The blue was becoming stained with red, and a moment later, two figures shot up from beneath the surface, landing on the shore. "AMMY!"
"Amélie?" James rose and approached hesitantly as the smaller figure sat up coughing. It was her… albeit with long blonde hair. "Oh, my God."
"Hi…" she said, smiling weakly. "Did you miss m… oh… Daniel!" She turned to the person beside her, prodding at his shoulders as she switched to French. "Daniel… Daniel, je vous en prie, Daniel…" When he didn't respond, she raised his head and pressed her mouth to his. The man's hand twitched to life, wrapping around her waist. Amélie pulled away and smacked him across the face. "You scared me to death!"
"I hope you'll forgive me." The man, Daniel, apparently, rubbed his jaw contritely.
"Ammy, what's going on?" Angelica interrupted, putting Aurora on her hip and approaching her sister. "Who's the hottie?"
"Daniel," Amélie stood and pulled her dark-haired companion up beside her. "May I present my twin sister, Angelica L'Ange, and my niece, Aurora. Angel, this is Daniel, my fiancé." Angelica let out a loud squeal and hugged her sister tightly. "Let go!" Amélie wriggled away. "Please, give us a little space."
"It's all over, thank God," Charles muttered from his seat.
"But how? That's what I'm curious about," Alex interjected.
"All of that can wait," Alicia said. "I think right now, what these two need is the chance to rest. Especially since Ammy has to be in London tonight."
"Ohgodtheconcert!"Amélie blurted, gripping Daniel's arm a little tighter. Daniel leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Surprisingly, the wave of jealousy James had been expecting to rise in his stomach didn't rise. Amélie's smile no longer had the power to sway him.
"The Crawley jet is at your disposal," he offered. "It'll be much faster, we can get you there in plenty of time."
"Monsieur le Marquis should stay here, however," Charles announced, standing up and walking over to Daniel. "I have certain materials for him. And for you, Amélie, when you return. But right now, I agree, bed is the best choice. Particularly for a certain someone." He gave his daughter a very pointed look, and Aurora whimpered, burying her face in her mother's neck.
"Bed sounds nice," Amélie admitted, leaning against Alicia drowsily before mumbling something in French to Daniel.
October 3, 2011
"Done. James, can you leave Alicia's photos for a second and come review this?" Amélie beckoned her impromptu editor over to take a look. James complied, taking the seat on Amélie's left, since the one on the right was occupied by Daniel, who had been sitting and watching patiently as Amélie had typed furiously through the night to produce her final draft, the shortest time she'd ever taken to write something. On the screen, three pages of text stared at her, half of it copied over from her journal.
In September of 1911, a small novel circulated around France, based on true events that had occurred at the Paris Opera. Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, written by Gaston Leroux, would have faded into obscurity had it not been for director Carl Laemmle's 1925 silent film adaptation, starring Lon Chaney, Sr., Mary Philbin, and Norman Kerry. Since then, the Phantom's legend has been adapted countless times, most famously in Andrew Lloyd Webber's beloved musical, which this year celebrates its twenty-fifth year running in London's famed West End. But what is the true depth of what passed in the arches of the Palais Garnier, a structure that resembles a train station from the outside, and a Turkish bath inside, to paraphrase Claude Debussy?
I was graciously granted permission to explore the vaults that are believe to have been the Phantom's hideaway, but I found far more than my expectations. In many ways, the Phantom is both less and more than the legends of him, but one fact remains undeniably true. Le Fantôme de l'Opéra vraiment existé. He did indeed feel the most intense desire for life and for love, and he saw his escape in the young soprano, Christine Daaé.
I will spare you all a synopsis of the plot, because I am certain you know it in one form or another, and offer my commentary on the novel. It is no Les Misérables, that much is certain. Gaston Leroux, unlike his more famous countrymen, had a very factual and analytical style of writing, which I, as a journalist, very much appreciate. He approached the story as a mystery to be uncovered by the reader as the characters did. There was very little grand romanticism or wordy travelogues about Parisian sewers and the like. There has never been a particularly faithful adaptation to the original novel since the 1925 silent film, mainly due to the fact that Leroux's original story did not emphasize what the public wanted: A hopeless romance, a doomed love. People were infatuated with the idea of a monstrous man so in love with a beautiful young woman, that all later adaptations would focus more on the "love triangle" than the original had.
Of course, this story is more than a simple fairy tale about a prince, a princess, and a monster. As such, any adaptation of this work already has an immense task ahead of it, because they must have something that makes their adaptation unique. This may come in the form of a modernization, such as Brian dePalma's The Phantom of the Paradise, or a relocation, such as the adaptation starring Maximilian Schell and set in Hungary, or simply a rather innovative version of the Phantom's disfigurement, as utilised in the Charles Dance miniseries.
There is very little that is truly supernatural about the original Phantom story, save for its ambience, and the curious description of the Phantom. Most of the tricks are derived the techniques that modern magicians use: sleight of hand, ventriloquism, trap doors and the like. Depending upon which film adaptation one chooses to view, there may be elements of the more mystical macabre, commonly along the lines of Faustian deals and the like. If such things are to your liking, I recommend the adaptation from 1989, which stars Robert Englund as the Phantom, though one should be wary of that comes with the genre of 1980's horror films.
As I said before, most choose to focus on the competition for Christine's affections between her childhood playmate and love, Raoul de Chagny, and her mysterious teacher, the Phantom, also called Erik. The production to tap this resource most thoroughly is the Lloyd Webber musical, which has been called 'the world's most haunting love story.' The show boasts lush costumes, a clever set design, some of the most sumptuous and sweeping music ever composed (lawsuits over similarities in melodies notwithstanding, and its own peculiar brand of magic that has kept it circulating since its opening in London twenty-five years ago.
The performance at the Royal Albert Hall was truly a spectacle to behold, capturing most of the essence of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, though I did not find the casting to be much to my liking. I found the three main leads, while charming offstage, lacked what I felt would have been proper understanding of the characters. However, this can be attributed just as much to direction as the actors' personal choices. Phantom newcomer Hadley Fraser proved to be overly pompous and rough as Raoul, Sierra Boggess' performance seemed to me a very mechanical and contrived Christine, and Ramin Karimloo presented a Phantom far too belligerent and gritty. All three delivered decent vocal performances, though not dazzling.
It was fairly clear that the selection of these three leads was to appeal to the general following of the musical, which is largely composed of overreactive 'phangirls,' who respond to stars with a high sex appeal. And menopausal women for whom that is doubly true. The fact that Boggess and Karimloo were reprising roles they originated in Lloyd Webber's truly bizarre sequel, Love Never Dies, only made the production more contrived and awkward. The true emotion of the performance derived from the energy of the ensemble and supporting cast, which far outstripped that of the leads.
I am no die-hard follower of this musical, but even I mourned the loss of many of Maria Bjørnson's stunning sets in exchange for obviously pixelated LCD backdrops, and the explosion of the chandelier was not nearly as frightening as I anticipated. However, even I was moved by the appearance of the original London cast, and the four Phantoms who sang the titular song with Sarah Brightman (who has aged quite gracefully both vocally and physically), followed by Music of the Night. Karimloo bowed to the original man in the mask, Michael Crawford, and the evening was complete. It is a night that will continue to live in theatrical history, and I was honoured to be a part of it, despite my personal opinions of the cast.
And now, I must reveal something no one else knows: what this story, and the Phantom, were to me. On the night I set foot in the cellars of the opera, a very strange set of circumstances threw me thirteen decades into the past, right into the middle of the world's most famous ghost story.
How can I even begin to describe a man such as the infamous Phantom? I came to know Erik as my jailer, as my mentor, and, however improbably, eventually as my brother and friend. I will not claim that he was a good man, because when I met him, he was not. I bear the scars to prove that he was not about harming people. When he looked at us, he did not see individuals, he saw a mass of hatred, and tools he could use to achieve his ends. When we met, he forced me into a pact with him to help him on pain of death, and it was only with double-talk that I agreed.
But I believe this is what sets me apart from anyone else he had ever known: I never asked to see his face. I never asked him to remove his mask, and when I did see, it was an unplanned moment that ended up surprising both of us. I do not regret what I saw, because it only gave me a better understanding of the man behind the mask and the face that had caused so many people to shun him and despise him.
I fully realise how impossible this story seems. That is why this is to be my last piece as a journalist. I intend to release the record of my encounter with the Phantom as a memoir, which will be entitled Opera Shadow, after the name Erik gave me, the last thing he ever said to me: "You are the Opera Shadow, Amélie. The one at the edge of the light and the dark, of fantasy and reality. And I thank you."
My name is Amélie Cammelle. I am the Opera Shadow. And I thank all of you.
"The last bit is a risk," James said finally. "But it'll sell copies. I suggest taking out the line about the phangirls and menopausal women, there's no need to alienate everyone. You're not a theatre critic, Amélie, and the tone disagrees with the rest of the piece."
"I thought it was funny."
"I think he has a point, Aimée," said Daniel. "It's rather like being in polite society. One must find a way to say certain things without being unpleasant."
"You're taking his side?" Amélie whined.
"I am trying to support your work and help you make it the best that it can be. And you do seem to cross the line into unkind."
"Let me see." Amélie highlighted the offensive passage, reworking it so that it read: The main trio of Ramin Karimloo (the Phantom), Sierra Boggess (Christine) and Phantom newcomer Hadley Fraser (Raoul) all offered very strong, emotion-driven performances, whilst still being suitably nuanced for the broadcast closeups for those not attending the performance live.
However, the leads seem to have been cast based more on their recognizability than anything else. Mr. Karimloo and Mr. Fraser are well known among the theatrical circuits as having been Enjolras and Grantaire in the 25th Anniversary Concert of Les Misérables last year, and Ms. Boggess has a certain appeal to younger audiences as the original Little Mermaid on Broadway. Furthermore, Boggess and Karimloo were also pre-reprising roles they originated last year in Lloyd Webber's truly bizarre sequel, Love Never Dies, which would also explain the very apparent traces of foreshadowing for said sequel. The true beauty of the performance derived from the energy of the entire cast, all of whom clearly put in the full measure of their passion and drive to this project.
"Better?" she asked. The two men exchanged glances, then nodded. "James, I'm saving it to a memory stick now, can I trust you to get all of this past your father without him seeing?"
"Of course." James took the black plastic drive from her and slipped it in his coat pocket. "Thank you for everything, Amélie, we'll wire the payment to your account first thing in the morning, plus a bonus if the edition sells well."
"Mmm, you're a darling." Amélie murmured, leaning back at staring up at the ceiling for a moment. "And I'm spent. Daniel, can you pass me the chocolat?"
"Absolutely."
As Daniel pulled the silver pot across the table and refilled her mug, Amélie looked up at him inquisitively. "So, what was it my arse of a brother-in-law wanted to talk to you about whilst I endured hours of show tunes?"
"Charles had a collection of documents at his home. An entire identity for me to assume. Erik thought of everything, it seems."
"Oh, my clever brother," Amélie smiled wistfully. "Let me see them." Daniel handed over a passport for her inspection. "Hm. Daniel Poirier. I like it."
"So do I." Daniel kissed her cheek. "But there was more. He set up funds for us. The documents for the accounts are all in here." He held up a dark blue folder, then passed her a oak box, its cover inlaid with a golden image of Apollo's lyre. "And this is meant for both of us."
"What's inside? Did he tell you?" Amélie flicked open the latch and lifted the lid. The crisp scent of parchment and wax hit her nose, reminding her of Erik. Inside lay a stack of carefully preserved letters, the one on the top with her name written in Erik's signature red ink. Amélie carefully lifted it up and broke the seal, turning it over to read what was written.
My dear Amélie,
It has been a very long time since you and I last saw one another. And so much has changed since then, little shadow. Before you worry about anything else, I did everything we discussed. Monsieur Leroux has received the manuscript, with the instructions, and I have watched him carefully as he documented my "true" history. If the timeline is altered, it shall be against the best of my efforts.
My fondest greetings to Daniel if you are sharing this with him. By this point, I am sure he knows that his inheritance is secure, provided my successors have not wasted the funds we laid aside.
I should probably explain that: I took in a orphaned boy named Nicolas as my ward approximately two years after you left. I daresay you would have liked him. He seems to like the stories I told him of his Tante Amélie, in any case. You two are quite alike. I suppose that's part of why I chose him. He is called Nicolas L'Ange now, and is my successor in all things: my position, my fortunes, and in the task of ensuring you and Daniel arrive safely, though that is a duty that may pass to one of his own heirs. I trust him. You and he have been the best of my life, my redemption.
I'm sure you're curious as to what became of the rest of us. Roger serves as godfather to Nicolas, and finally has the child he and his wife always desired: a little girl they named Danielle. Emmeline and Jerome's careers both progressed very well, until their joint retirement and marriage. Every one of their gaggle of daughters are now in the corps de ballet, and I sympathize deeply with the mistress who must deal with those little terrors.
I say mistress because at this point, Madame Giry has likewise retired, and is living comfortably in the estate of her son-in-law. Meg, despite all her complaints, managed to snag a baron for herself. I still visit them quite frequently. No one has forgotten you. Least of all Christine and Raoul. Their first son bears the second name of Daniel, and their third and final daughter the Christian name of Amélie.
Nicolas has acted as my emissary in procuring items for your perusal and use in that project which we discussed. You shall find those items in this chest. I trust that you will do me adequate justice, dear sister.
I am an old man now, Amélie, older even than Victor was when you met him. I have a tendency to lose my train of thought, and I know your impatience with such things, so I shall conclude this now.
I will never be able to repay the debt I owe you. All the good in my life has surely come from you, dear child, and if there is an afterlife, I can only hope to see you there and thank you for all that.
I love you, Amélie. Remember me well.
Erik
"That sentimental old…" Amélie trailed off, trying not to cry. Daniel started rubbing her shoulders gently. "Thank you."
"Get some rest, Aimée. You need it. The letters will be here in the morning, and everyone else has already gone to bed."
"L'Ange… Charles, he's… it all makes sense now…"
"Sleep," Daniel said again. "S'il vous plaît. Por moi."
"Oui, oui, je vais,"she mumbled. "Good night."
A/N: I have one chapter left on this baby to wrap up the loose ends. I'll see you next time!