Disclaimer: "The Phantom of the Opera" was written by Gaston Leroux. This
fan fiction story is based on the musical "The Phantom of the Opera" by
Andrew Lloyd Webber and the book "Phantom" by Susan Kay. I have no
permission to use the characters and I am making no money out of
Leroux/ALW/Kay's work. Rightly or wrongly, I decided to give Carlotta a
past and let the Prima Donna have centre stage. Anything that appears in
'' is remembered dialogue by Carlotta.
+ Carlotta: The Story of Her Life +
I am Carlotta Guidicelli! After drinking heavily on the journey back to Venice, I shouted at anyone who passed by "I am Carlotta Guidicelli". It felt good. I felt like I had been reborn. Carlotta was a blank canvas onto which I could paint any picture that took my fancy. The management thought I was eccentric and accepted my new identity without question. In fact, it proved to be quite a good move. People flocked to see Carlotta Guidicelli to see if she was as good as the original. Gossip, rumour and intrigue spread like an uncontrollable fire. Everyone was curious. Who was this girl? Could it be the real Carlotta Guidicelli?
No one knew anything of my true past except the name of my mother and father - Carlotta Guidicelli and Marco Segarra. They were two well-known names in Italy, everyone had heard of them but knew very little of them. Mother had been a famous singer but guarded her private life fiercely. Only her closest friends and family knew the real Carlotta. The public, of course, knew very little. She married, leaving a promising career, and died in childbirth. Stories of her ghost haunting various opera houses emerged over time. A very busy spirit if she truly haunted every opera house in which she had performed. My over-imaginative mind used to think that it saw her everywhere. I would catch a glimpse of a figure only to discover it was my own reflection. Resurrecting her seemed such a good idea.
As Carlotta, I became an instant success more because of the name than my actual abilities as a singer. Yet, it was not long before people came to the opera to hear my voice. A wonderful voice everyone agreed, critics and rivals alike. No one ever had a bad word to say. I cannot recall one person who did not like me, except Monsieur le Fantôme. French pig! No, I am not angry with Erik but I have feelings too. What he did, what he said, was unforgivable. Toad, indeed. How does a toad become prima donna? I am not a toad.
I should not have left Venice but the opportunity to tour Europe allowed me to expand my fame beyond the borders of Venice, beyond Italy. Word of my talent spread to every corner of Europe. Fame and fortune, I had both. It should have been my mother but, in a sense, it was she, never me. As well as I could sing, it was not my voice. In taking her name, her spirit possessed me. Elisa, slowly and peacefully, died without anyone to mourn her. Should I have shed a tear? Perhaps but I was too consumed by my own power to care.
With fame came the so-called friends. People came and fawned over me. Many men asked for my hand in marriage. The little part of Elisa that remained stopped me from accepting such offers. I pretended that the real reason I refused to marry was the prospect of having to end my career. No man was worthy of that sacrifice except Erik. If he asked that of me, I would do it without question. If my childish fears had not consumed me, my life would have been so different. I am on my own because of wrong decisions. I wanted someone to love me, not for my fame or my wealth but for me. Is that not what everyone wants? Alas, I was destined never to know true happiness with any man.
When the new Paris Opera House was completed, the management asked that I take the position of lead soprano. I refused. Part of me did not want to settle in one place. It had been years, over twenty, since Venice. Travelling was a way of life and I did not intend to give it up. Yet there was something about the building, the atmosphere, which made me stay in Paris longer than I planned.
The soprano who took the position I had refused did not last long. Erik had made sure of that. Silly little girl was highly superstitious. If the slightest thing happened, the ballet rats would blame the phantom. La Chantefleurie, as the public knew her though God only knows why she went by that ridiculous name, was highly susceptible to the little girls' rants. Being French and religious to the point of fanaticism, she believed in ghosts. Of course, Erik exploited her fears for his own amusement. Why else would he terrorise such a competent singer? She left after a nervous break down during a performance. The performance was nothing special, as I recall for I had been there, but for some reason the poor girl burst into tears. No one could stop her. She babbled on about the ghost, saying that he had promised to take her away, make her his bride of eternal darkness… or something like that. The poor little thing did not want to die and she knew that what the ghost had spoken the truth. I believe she now resides at a sanatorium in her native Lyon.
The French put too much into their silly little superstitions, in my opinion. Although I am superstitious, I do have the ability to think rationally. Si! A ghost, indeed! A ghost who demands money! A ghost who can write letters! Perhaps the management should have sold tickets for those performances and not the opera. They would most assuredly have made more money that way.
It was not long before the question of a replacement came up. Only one name did anyone consider and six months after La Chantefleurie's dramatic departure, Carlotta Guidicelli became lead soprano. From the moment I set foot in the opera house, it was war. Not satisfied with tormenting one soprano, the phantom decided he would pick on the new arrival. His mistake as I did not bend, I did not break. If he had not been there then I would have left within a month. Life with him was interesting - falling scenery, candles flickering in a windless room, voices without bodies. Little things that would happen, things that would have driven a lesser woman mad but not me. I was in my element. Nothing frightened me but I could pretend it had like no other. He says I cannot act. Ha! If only he knew the half of it. People expect certain behaviour from a prima donna and I lived up to every expectation.
The new management changed everything. They awoke something in the phantom. No longer was it playful mischief for his amusement, no, it became deadlier.
Little side note: The name La Chantefleurie comes from Victor Hugo's "Notre Dame de Paris". It is the name of La Esmeralda's mother and means flowersong. La Chantefleurie went mad because of the disappearance of her daughter, who she believed gypsies had eaten. In the end, La Chantefleurie died trying to save her daughter's life. Nothing of relevance to this story, of course.
+ Carlotta: The Story of Her Life +
I am Carlotta Guidicelli! After drinking heavily on the journey back to Venice, I shouted at anyone who passed by "I am Carlotta Guidicelli". It felt good. I felt like I had been reborn. Carlotta was a blank canvas onto which I could paint any picture that took my fancy. The management thought I was eccentric and accepted my new identity without question. In fact, it proved to be quite a good move. People flocked to see Carlotta Guidicelli to see if she was as good as the original. Gossip, rumour and intrigue spread like an uncontrollable fire. Everyone was curious. Who was this girl? Could it be the real Carlotta Guidicelli?
No one knew anything of my true past except the name of my mother and father - Carlotta Guidicelli and Marco Segarra. They were two well-known names in Italy, everyone had heard of them but knew very little of them. Mother had been a famous singer but guarded her private life fiercely. Only her closest friends and family knew the real Carlotta. The public, of course, knew very little. She married, leaving a promising career, and died in childbirth. Stories of her ghost haunting various opera houses emerged over time. A very busy spirit if she truly haunted every opera house in which she had performed. My over-imaginative mind used to think that it saw her everywhere. I would catch a glimpse of a figure only to discover it was my own reflection. Resurrecting her seemed such a good idea.
As Carlotta, I became an instant success more because of the name than my actual abilities as a singer. Yet, it was not long before people came to the opera to hear my voice. A wonderful voice everyone agreed, critics and rivals alike. No one ever had a bad word to say. I cannot recall one person who did not like me, except Monsieur le Fantôme. French pig! No, I am not angry with Erik but I have feelings too. What he did, what he said, was unforgivable. Toad, indeed. How does a toad become prima donna? I am not a toad.
I should not have left Venice but the opportunity to tour Europe allowed me to expand my fame beyond the borders of Venice, beyond Italy. Word of my talent spread to every corner of Europe. Fame and fortune, I had both. It should have been my mother but, in a sense, it was she, never me. As well as I could sing, it was not my voice. In taking her name, her spirit possessed me. Elisa, slowly and peacefully, died without anyone to mourn her. Should I have shed a tear? Perhaps but I was too consumed by my own power to care.
With fame came the so-called friends. People came and fawned over me. Many men asked for my hand in marriage. The little part of Elisa that remained stopped me from accepting such offers. I pretended that the real reason I refused to marry was the prospect of having to end my career. No man was worthy of that sacrifice except Erik. If he asked that of me, I would do it without question. If my childish fears had not consumed me, my life would have been so different. I am on my own because of wrong decisions. I wanted someone to love me, not for my fame or my wealth but for me. Is that not what everyone wants? Alas, I was destined never to know true happiness with any man.
When the new Paris Opera House was completed, the management asked that I take the position of lead soprano. I refused. Part of me did not want to settle in one place. It had been years, over twenty, since Venice. Travelling was a way of life and I did not intend to give it up. Yet there was something about the building, the atmosphere, which made me stay in Paris longer than I planned.
The soprano who took the position I had refused did not last long. Erik had made sure of that. Silly little girl was highly superstitious. If the slightest thing happened, the ballet rats would blame the phantom. La Chantefleurie, as the public knew her though God only knows why she went by that ridiculous name, was highly susceptible to the little girls' rants. Being French and religious to the point of fanaticism, she believed in ghosts. Of course, Erik exploited her fears for his own amusement. Why else would he terrorise such a competent singer? She left after a nervous break down during a performance. The performance was nothing special, as I recall for I had been there, but for some reason the poor girl burst into tears. No one could stop her. She babbled on about the ghost, saying that he had promised to take her away, make her his bride of eternal darkness… or something like that. The poor little thing did not want to die and she knew that what the ghost had spoken the truth. I believe she now resides at a sanatorium in her native Lyon.
The French put too much into their silly little superstitions, in my opinion. Although I am superstitious, I do have the ability to think rationally. Si! A ghost, indeed! A ghost who demands money! A ghost who can write letters! Perhaps the management should have sold tickets for those performances and not the opera. They would most assuredly have made more money that way.
It was not long before the question of a replacement came up. Only one name did anyone consider and six months after La Chantefleurie's dramatic departure, Carlotta Guidicelli became lead soprano. From the moment I set foot in the opera house, it was war. Not satisfied with tormenting one soprano, the phantom decided he would pick on the new arrival. His mistake as I did not bend, I did not break. If he had not been there then I would have left within a month. Life with him was interesting - falling scenery, candles flickering in a windless room, voices without bodies. Little things that would happen, things that would have driven a lesser woman mad but not me. I was in my element. Nothing frightened me but I could pretend it had like no other. He says I cannot act. Ha! If only he knew the half of it. People expect certain behaviour from a prima donna and I lived up to every expectation.
The new management changed everything. They awoke something in the phantom. No longer was it playful mischief for his amusement, no, it became deadlier.
Little side note: The name La Chantefleurie comes from Victor Hugo's "Notre Dame de Paris". It is the name of La Esmeralda's mother and means flowersong. La Chantefleurie went mad because of the disappearance of her daughter, who she believed gypsies had eaten. In the end, La Chantefleurie died trying to save her daughter's life. Nothing of relevance to this story, of course.