And so it was that he came to live, if you can call it that, in the bowels of the opera, deep below the world. And so it came about that he loved an angel. Such is the stuff of fairy tales. The beauty and the beast. But what the fairy tales don't mention is that beauty isn't really a wonderful person, and the beast, well, he doesn't get any better. That's it folks, welcome to real life. Buy your tickets at the gate. Come one, come all, see the fools in the mirror.
It started, like most fairy tales, in a castle. Well, the Opera, but close enough to a castle, anyhow. There was the beautiful innocent maiden, and there was the beast lurking in the shadows. The beast, as if on script, fell in love with the angel singing on the stage. What a lucky beast he was, for he had something beauty needed. The beast, it seems, sang more like an angel than anything that e'er graced the vault of heaven. Were he not a beast, he could have been the toast of the world. He could do anything, go anywhere, with that voice.
But he was trapped in the cellars of the Paris Opera House. Well, not trapped literally, but with a face like his, he might as well have been more than metaphorically caged. The world wasn't as enlightened back when he was born, which was somewhere about 1840, by anyone's guess. At least he didn't want for necessities. He had a cozy and well-protected home, regular income from blackmail, and the Opera as his window to the world. His angel was an aspiring opera diva.
Christine, his angel, didn't have the luxury of formal training. All she had while wandering around the upper reaches of the world was her papa Daae and tales of the Angel of Music. When she arrived at the Opera after her father died, she was badly in need of a teacher and a career. For some reason, the beast decided to give her both. And beauty, naively, as was her nature, accepted the hidden beast as her Angel. In voice, at least, he was an Angel.
Although Christine was trusting, her friends were not. Her long-time admirer, the Vicomte de Chagney, Raoul to her, was quite suspicious. Practical and suspicious boy, Raoul. But not very smart. It wasn't until the Daroga, ex-Daroga, really, but let the old man keep some dignity, of Mazandarin began to nose around the Opera that Raoul thought anything was really wrong. Copyright 2000 jackdiamond@postmaster.co.uk Continue reading-Chapters 1 and 2 Return to Remember Prologue Return to Phantom page Return to the main page