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. This chapter gets a bit
melodramatic towards the end but it is not the final chapter. Anything
that appears in '' is remembered dialogue by Carlotta.
Note: I have decided from here on to follow the events as they happen in Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical and not the events of Leroux. Some of the dialogue in this chapter is from the musical and therefore does not belong to me. In addition, my writing is getting a bit weird; at least I think it is. I think the problem may lie in my tenses. (No, I won't be seeing a doctor about it.)
+ Carlotta: The Story of Her Life +
The day the new management arrived, we were rehearsing "Hannibal". Monsieur André, one of the new mangers who claimed to be an admirer of my work, asked for a rendition of Elissa's aria from Act Three. How could I refuse?
Barely had a word escaped my lips, though, when the stage echoed with the sound of something crashing. A piece of scenery fell mere inches from me. It was not hard to guess that the real star of our company was making his presence known. As was expected, I made a fuss and everyone fawned over me especially Piangi, poor, sweet Piangi. Of course the ballet rats, especially little Giry, started ranting about the phantom. Our new managers seemed to be unaware of our temperamental tormentor. The two fools tried to assure me that it was just an accident. My blood boiled. For five years, such things had happened. I could not have stayed another moment in that building to do so would have resulted in the premature death of Monsieur André.
As I left, I heard Daaé sing in my place. Her voice was a wonder, if slightly unsteady perhaps through fear. She sang with purity and innocence, like an angel. It reminded me so much of my own voice before the days of Carlotta. I realised then that the end for me was near. Who would want a wretched old woman, even a famous one, when a younger and more beautiful singer was ready to take centre stage?
For days, I fumed in my tiny apartment. I could not bear the thought that I would lose my position to a pitiful little girl who, six months earlier, could not sing at all. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Finding that the new management had the de Changy family's support and that Christine was the object of the Vicomte's affections only twisted my mind further. I began to see a plot against me. It became an all-consuming obsession. Daaé, I swore to myself, would not get away with taking my place.
The day after the gala, in which Christine had sung in my place to great ovation, I received a letter informing me that my time at the opera house had ended. The Vicomte and Christine, I told myself, it had to be them. I stormed into Firmin's office determined to make my feelings known. Of course, the Vicomte was there and denied all knowledge of the letter. To my astonishment I learned that Daaé had been missing since the performance, even de Changy did not know her whereabouts. I still felt in my heart that it was horrible plot by the Vicomte to put his lover in my place.
Madame Giry informed us that Christine had returned but would see no one much to the young Vicomte's disappointment. I never trusted Giry. There was something about her. Perhaps it was her strict nature or the fact that she seemed to know something about the ghost. I had formed a habit of crossing myself whenever our paths crossed. As silly as it was, I believed that she was a bad omen. Terrible things happened when she was near. This day was no exception. She had brought a note from the Opera Ghost. Apparently, our gracious spectre was pleased with Miss Daaé's performance so much that I was not to play the lead in Il Muto. It was the first time the ghost ever openly admitted any dislike of me. Of course, he had tried to frighten me in the past but I had not been the only one. The ghost scared Piangi, the ballet dancers, the stagehands, everybody at some point. Never before had he singled out one person for punishment.
Assured by the management that they were not taking orders from a ghost, I took my rightful place in the opera. In Il Muto, I was to play the role of the countess and Daaé the role of the pageboy. It was a mistake. We should have known better than to cross him. He had never before threatened us with disaster but tonight he promised there would if we disobeyed. I was a little on edge, snappier than usual as many of my fellow performers discovered to their great shock. At the back of my mind, a voice was screaming that I should flee the opera house. I wish I had listened to that voice. A few lines into the song, as with Hannibal, he made his presence felt.
'Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?'
I felt Christine tug at the sleeve of my costume like a frightened child.
'It's him… I know it… it's him…'
My patience gone, I turned on little Daaé. All restraint gone I lashed out at her.
'Your part is silent, little toad!'
'A toad madame?' The ghost asked. 'Perhaps it is you who are the toad…'
I continued to sing until I made that horrible sound, the sound of a toad. He laughed like a maniac and shouted to the audience, 'Behold! She is singing to bring down the chandelier!'
Too afraid not to look, I watched as the chandelier began to rock from side to side. My eagerness to perform evaporated and I ran off stage, Piangi following close behind. I locked myself in my dressing room and sank to the floor. The voice! I knew the voice. Never before had I heard the opera ghost speak but instinctively I recognised the ghost.
'Are you singing to bring down the chandelier?'
Erik had once asked me while I tried to sing a note beyond my reach. Far above, hiding from me, he managed to shake the chandelier of the old Venice opera house. I had watched in horror, afraid that he was going to bring it down.
'Stop it! Stop it right now, Erik.'
He laughed manically then but stopped whatever he had been doing.
'Did I frighten you, Elisa?'
'You most certainly did. Now come down here before someone catches you.'
'Oh, I very much doubt that anyone will ever catch me.'
His belief in his own invincibility had always irritated me. I found it hard to believe that anyone could expect to escape any crime without some form of reprisal but then Erik never seemed to have a conscience like the rest of us.
'One day,' I said in anger, 'you are going to be so reckless that someone will catch you and then you will pay probably with your life.'
I had warned him and he chose not to listen. So be it.
I lowered my head to the floor and prayed for the whole affair to be over. For six months, the opera house was quiet but the New Year brought new trouble.
Note: I have decided from here on to follow the events as they happen in Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical and not the events of Leroux. Some of the dialogue in this chapter is from the musical and therefore does not belong to me. In addition, my writing is getting a bit weird; at least I think it is. I think the problem may lie in my tenses. (No, I won't be seeing a doctor about it.)
+ Carlotta: The Story of Her Life +
The day the new management arrived, we were rehearsing "Hannibal". Monsieur André, one of the new mangers who claimed to be an admirer of my work, asked for a rendition of Elissa's aria from Act Three. How could I refuse?
Barely had a word escaped my lips, though, when the stage echoed with the sound of something crashing. A piece of scenery fell mere inches from me. It was not hard to guess that the real star of our company was making his presence known. As was expected, I made a fuss and everyone fawned over me especially Piangi, poor, sweet Piangi. Of course the ballet rats, especially little Giry, started ranting about the phantom. Our new managers seemed to be unaware of our temperamental tormentor. The two fools tried to assure me that it was just an accident. My blood boiled. For five years, such things had happened. I could not have stayed another moment in that building to do so would have resulted in the premature death of Monsieur André.
As I left, I heard Daaé sing in my place. Her voice was a wonder, if slightly unsteady perhaps through fear. She sang with purity and innocence, like an angel. It reminded me so much of my own voice before the days of Carlotta. I realised then that the end for me was near. Who would want a wretched old woman, even a famous one, when a younger and more beautiful singer was ready to take centre stage?
For days, I fumed in my tiny apartment. I could not bear the thought that I would lose my position to a pitiful little girl who, six months earlier, could not sing at all. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Finding that the new management had the de Changy family's support and that Christine was the object of the Vicomte's affections only twisted my mind further. I began to see a plot against me. It became an all-consuming obsession. Daaé, I swore to myself, would not get away with taking my place.
The day after the gala, in which Christine had sung in my place to great ovation, I received a letter informing me that my time at the opera house had ended. The Vicomte and Christine, I told myself, it had to be them. I stormed into Firmin's office determined to make my feelings known. Of course, the Vicomte was there and denied all knowledge of the letter. To my astonishment I learned that Daaé had been missing since the performance, even de Changy did not know her whereabouts. I still felt in my heart that it was horrible plot by the Vicomte to put his lover in my place.
Madame Giry informed us that Christine had returned but would see no one much to the young Vicomte's disappointment. I never trusted Giry. There was something about her. Perhaps it was her strict nature or the fact that she seemed to know something about the ghost. I had formed a habit of crossing myself whenever our paths crossed. As silly as it was, I believed that she was a bad omen. Terrible things happened when she was near. This day was no exception. She had brought a note from the Opera Ghost. Apparently, our gracious spectre was pleased with Miss Daaé's performance so much that I was not to play the lead in Il Muto. It was the first time the ghost ever openly admitted any dislike of me. Of course, he had tried to frighten me in the past but I had not been the only one. The ghost scared Piangi, the ballet dancers, the stagehands, everybody at some point. Never before had he singled out one person for punishment.
Assured by the management that they were not taking orders from a ghost, I took my rightful place in the opera. In Il Muto, I was to play the role of the countess and Daaé the role of the pageboy. It was a mistake. We should have known better than to cross him. He had never before threatened us with disaster but tonight he promised there would if we disobeyed. I was a little on edge, snappier than usual as many of my fellow performers discovered to their great shock. At the back of my mind, a voice was screaming that I should flee the opera house. I wish I had listened to that voice. A few lines into the song, as with Hannibal, he made his presence felt.
'Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?'
I felt Christine tug at the sleeve of my costume like a frightened child.
'It's him… I know it… it's him…'
My patience gone, I turned on little Daaé. All restraint gone I lashed out at her.
'Your part is silent, little toad!'
'A toad madame?' The ghost asked. 'Perhaps it is you who are the toad…'
I continued to sing until I made that horrible sound, the sound of a toad. He laughed like a maniac and shouted to the audience, 'Behold! She is singing to bring down the chandelier!'
Too afraid not to look, I watched as the chandelier began to rock from side to side. My eagerness to perform evaporated and I ran off stage, Piangi following close behind. I locked myself in my dressing room and sank to the floor. The voice! I knew the voice. Never before had I heard the opera ghost speak but instinctively I recognised the ghost.
'Are you singing to bring down the chandelier?'
Erik had once asked me while I tried to sing a note beyond my reach. Far above, hiding from me, he managed to shake the chandelier of the old Venice opera house. I had watched in horror, afraid that he was going to bring it down.
'Stop it! Stop it right now, Erik.'
He laughed manically then but stopped whatever he had been doing.
'Did I frighten you, Elisa?'
'You most certainly did. Now come down here before someone catches you.'
'Oh, I very much doubt that anyone will ever catch me.'
His belief in his own invincibility had always irritated me. I found it hard to believe that anyone could expect to escape any crime without some form of reprisal but then Erik never seemed to have a conscience like the rest of us.
'One day,' I said in anger, 'you are going to be so reckless that someone will catch you and then you will pay probably with your life.'
I had warned him and he chose not to listen. So be it.
I lowered my head to the floor and prayed for the whole affair to be over. For six months, the opera house was quiet but the New Year brought new trouble.