Work Text:
Mme. Giry,
I apologize for stirring the dust of memory so long after it has settled, but I have seen a vision that compelled me to shed light upon my earlier actions, which have until now remained obscure.
The Opera Populaire had problems that nobody else saw.
The owners were propping up Carlotta's career, which otherwise would have faded. Carlotta was amazing! But she was old-hat. Her long-standing fans would be frustrated if she were not given a lead part, but they would still attend such an opera (if only to shake their fists at it). Meanwhile, young folk had no allegiance to her, and besides felt that the opera was no longer representative of real life. They felt it was disconnected, overwrought, unconcerned with reality. I would have loved to bring Carlotta back as a lead after a season or two, had things turned out differently - but we needed a fresh face to expand our audience.
And, too, the world was birthing new wonders. I had recently seen a kinematoscope that could show images far greater than we could reproduce on stage at any reasonable cost: people appeared and disappeared without walking onto or off of the stage, with no expensive (and sometimes dangerous) trapdoors or counterweights.
And I had heard Edison's cylinders. The first one I heard was garbled and difficult to make out. Not two years later I heard one so clear that I could have sworn that the orator was right next to me, and not a mere echo of an earlier day.
I foresaw, in an instant, that the opera would dwindle to irrelevance. Audiences would flock to these new entertainments, which could be reproduced at a far lower cost than paying a cast and crew and orchestra. I knew that the years during which audiences would still attend the opera en masse were severely limited.
And yes. I also owed Christine's parents a gambling debt. My stake in the Opera Populaire was small - never exceeding five per cent - but valued such that I could have discharged that debt by giving it to them. I wanted to retain it, though, as it was the main source of my standing within my coterie of artists and critics.
And so, I created that dark specter: the Phantom. I hired a family of circus performers, who were adept at constructing illusions, to expand the cellars of the Opera Populaire, building that dread lair. The torches were held by bronze casts of the hands of the patriarch of that family; the bedsheets were of finest Egyptian cotton, selected by the mother. One of the siblings, the elder brother, had been burned in an accident some years previously. I engaged him to play the part of poor, tortured Erik.
(Do note that in fact he is happily married. His wife even aided us! She helped him with his costume changes, and on occasion would even don his cloak and mask, so that "he" might appear in multiple places at once.)
You likely wonder why I write you now. Why exhume these graying ghosts? Why re-tread ground so long swept clean?
I have just returned, Mme. Giry, from a work that I believe truly vindicates my old concerns about the place of opera within the worlds of both art and commerce.
The Opera Populaire ceased operation in 1933, six years after The Jazz Singer was first shown. At the time, I was uncertain of my own convictions - surely, this emerging form could hardly hold a candle to opera!
I had watched with dread the rise of Melies' tricks, Hollywood studios, German Expressionism - none could match the glories of the opera. If people stopped attending the Opera, it was because they lacked money, not interest. The pictures were far less artistic, but far more accessible. Opera, I felt then, was truly still superior.
As I exited the theater where I saw The Jazz Singer, I had two great sadnesses. First, the Opera Populaire had closed in spite of my efforts. And second, opera retained its spot as artistic apotheosis. Given these facts, had my efforts not all been in vain?
But today, at the age of three score and eight, I have seen it.
I have seen the film that proves that opera was on the way out, whether we knew it or not.
I have seen MGM Studios' "The Wizard Of Oz".
The effects transcend what we were capable of. The voices are trite - Garland is no great talent compared to the likes of Christine or Carlotta, much less Lind - but Garland, on celluloid, can sing in a hundred cities at a time, every night, without tiring.
I hope that you forgive me for what I set in motion; I hope, as well, that you continue to sustain Christine and Carlotta both, whose pensions must prove cold comfort in this modern age.
(To say nothing of the families of Buquet and Piangi. Buquet's death was tragically necessary in order to maintain the secret of our conspiracy; Piangi's was accidental. The chandelier landed precisely where we had planned, but Piangi was not where we had hoped. Improvisational blocking is always difficult.)
But I was right. Opera will be all but forgotten, except perhaps (ironically) among fans of Universal's 1925 picture based on my very deceptions.
I leave you with one final request. I have heard that the former grounds of the Opera Populaire are now a museum, and that you hold some sway with that museum's Board of Directors. I would ask you to offer tours of the Phantom's lair, charging money for such tours, and forwarding the proceeds to Avocat M. Etienne Sur-Cassell, Av. du Carnier, Monaco, who will disburse them to "Erik" and his family.
- O.G.
WZA89w6 (Guest) Sat 06 Dec 2025 03:05AM UTC
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