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Don Juan Unbound Most of you are familiar with the Phantom of the Opera in one form or another, either by the original novel by Gaston Leroux, the numerous movie incarnations from Lon Chaney onward, or with Weber's recent stage play version. In all of these incarnations, the Phantom has held an attraction that compels generation after generation to feel pity, horror and sympathy for this pariah of the operatic world. Numerous characters inspired by him have appeared over the years, including such oddities as the Phantom of the Paradise in the '70's, and the comic book character from the '30's the Fantom of the Fair, whose subterranean dwelling and hidden face are so uncannily similar to Leroux's creation. Even that grandfather of modern costumed adventurers, the Shadow, seems to owe much to the imagery Lon Chaney gave to the role in the silent movie version. The story of Erik (the Phantom) carrying off the sunny Miss Daae, and her conflict between the underworld land he holds sway over and the bright world of the theater above is at least as old as the old Greek myth of Hades and Proserpina. Some feel that it may owe much of its fascination to this dichotomy between lightness and darkness, the beautiful and the ugly, the known and the unknown. Many have added bits and pieces to this legend over the years -- and most use the Claude Rains version of the scarred man, who had once been part of the world above but was exiled for his disfigurement. But the original Erik was a far different creature, a man of great talent who was set aside from birth onward by the disfigurement he carried. I began researching this fascinating literary figure while investigating character influences. The above mentioned Fantom of the Fair is one of the heroes written into The Age of Heroes, a series set in pre-World War II which uses many of the comic book characters of the time. During convention shows in mid 1995, I was previewing this project. At one show, I got into a discussion about the character of the Fantom and his relation to the earlier Phantom of the Opera with a man I shall call E.L. He mentioned that he had a manuscript that might interest me that would shed some light on the personality of the original. Thinking that he might be a would-be writer, I told him that I looked at all proposals, and to send it to me. Several weeks after that convention, I was surprised to find in my PO box an old manuscript, written in red ink in an old fashioned ledger book, in French. I skimmed it, and realized that either I had a literary find of unusual magnitude, or someone was subjecting me to a tremendous hoax. A note within the package claimed that the possessor's ancestors had brought the original manuscript across with them from France during the early years of the Second World War, and that it had remained hidden until several years ago among papers stashed in his Grandmother's attic. E.L. had decided that my literary contacts were sufficiently greater than his, and that I should handle the manuscript as I saw fit, with a fair share to be negotiated for E.L. to be paid upon any publication. My first step was to contact the local library and museum to attempt to find out whether this could possibly be what it claimed to be. Leroux claimed that the original "Phantom" book was constructed from letters, interviews, police reports, and, most significantly, the letters of Christine Daae and the Persian's uncompleted manuscript of the events surrounding Miss Daae's kidnapping and the Comte de Chagny's death. E.L.'s manuscript claims to be written by the unfortunate protagonist of Leroux's novel, Erik the Phantom. It tells his version, not only of the events of The Phantom of the Opera, but of Erik's whole life. Both the museum and the library confirmed that the manuscript was written on paper that was over 100 years old, and the calligraphy matched both that described by Leroux and samples of lettering produced in mid to late 19th century France. Feeling that, whether authentic or not, this could be a literary find of great value, I began translating the text while investigating the legal ramifications of the manuscript. Fortunately, both my lawyer and the agents I worked through informed me that there would be no legal problems with publishing an English translation of this manuscript. One will find in this tale some discrepancies between the story told here and that which Leroux reconstructed from his sources. Some of this can be accounted for by point of view differences, especially those where the Persian is concerned. This tale gives a quite different account of his motivations than Leroux does. Other differences might be accounted for by varying translations of certain words -- my own French is sometimes shaky, and I had to rely greatly on both a dictionary and a friend at work who speaks the language fluently. And, of course, some of it may be chalked up to dramatic license on Leroux's part -- particularly the account of the chandelier's fall. Leroux was, above all, a story teller, and the dramatic ploy of having the entire chandelier fall, rather than just a piece, appears to have been too great for him to resist. I have attempted to investigate historical accuracy of this manuscript whenever possible, and it is documented that the chandelier had a piece fall on the date given in this manuscript. Whether the shows described were playing at the time or not I cannot tell, though they do match with Leroux's account. Though I have contacted both the Bibliotheque Nationale and the Paris Opera House about this manuscript, neither have been helpful in letting me verify any information contained in it. Hopefully, now that this translation is in print, they will allow further investigation to more closely examine the claims made herein. Perhaps, by tracing my friend E.L.'s family both in America and in France, other documents might even come to light some day -- perhaps Christine Daae's letters, referred to by Leroux, or even the liberetto, or full manuscript of Eric's masterpiece, Don Juan Triumphant. I believe Weber may have had access to fragments of this work during the writing of his stage play. I hope to place the original of this manuscript on display someday, perhaps even in one of the aforementioned French organizations' facilities. Perhaps the untranslated French version of this tale might even be published eventually. Be that as it may, I hope that the reader will enjoy this tale, hoax or not, and perhaps gain more insight into the character of Erik, the Opera Ghost. Enjoy. Mark P. Steele. Kalamazoo Sept. 10, 1995 CE |
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