Beyond the Music

By

Anne Burnside

Author's Note: This is an extremely detailed story with a warning that it has a bittersweet ending. You must be patient with it as it is the details that bring the story together. I am not a writer so my apology in advance for grammar and/or spelling errors – I try to catch them as I can but my main goal was to get this story out of my head that I have been carrying around for years. When I am finished with the story, I plan to go back and revise to release for a final version.

The hammering and pounding went on for days. Someone was bringing the opera house to life once again. He knew it would happen eventually. Something so beautiful would surly one day be noticed again. The opera house had fallen into disrepair, vacant with the last performance almost two years ago. At that time the opera house was abandoned – no one wanted to come near it after the events that happened. The falling chandelier, the strange night of singing with Christine Daae that led to violence. No one was clear what had happened but it struck terror in so many that none dared to try again. The owner declared bankruptcy and left.

But now there was the feeling of change. One that was loud and audible not only within but throughout the city of Paris. He felt it. To his relief however, the tale and legend still existed, and no one seemed to dare venture down below the Opera House. It seemed he was safe, at least for a while.

Not that the change didn't make him wonder and grow with concern. The past two years he had lived silently other than the music in his head. He ventured out into the night only when he needed to, rarely leaving his home. To most, it would be too much loneliness to bear. But he now found it rather oddly content given the circumstances of his past.

But now that quiet life was to be interrupted. At night he began to once more climb up to the Opera House. He began to watch with some interest at the restoration that was taking place. Each day a little more progress was being made. The theater seats were cleaned and some of them replaced. The walls ornate with gold angels were beginning to shine once again. It also appeared that work was being done in the middle of the ceiling where the chandelier had once hung. Perhaps a new one was going to be put in its place.

Despite all of this renovation, he had yet to see any attempt being made on an actual stage production. It was clear to him that this was certainly not an area of concern at the moment. He heard continued instructions during the day being said to the various workers that the visual images of the entire Opera House, especially the theater, were intended to be fully restored to its original beautification.

He continued to stay, for the most part, underneath the Opera House still trying to live the quiet life he had finally come to know. Then one day he heard singing.

Not the best signing, that was certain. It was something of a chorus, though not a very talented one. Still, he quietly made his way to Box 5 to view what it was he was hearing. He found a very young group of singers, a group that obviously had little or no experience in the Opera. There was a man that seemed to be selecting singers from a larger group, though it didn't appear if he had the talent to know what it was he was choosing.

He retreated back down below slightly disappointed. But perhaps in time, the actual music would return to its full glory. In the meantime, he would have to endure the amateur singing that would be taking over. Though he had to admit, the stir was bringing him somewhat back to life. His creative mind was stirring more, allowing him to compose even more complex pieces.

He was particularly involved in concentration one day, almost not even hearing the inexperienced chorus trying to sing, when the singing suddenly changed somehow. It was actually sounding more in tune, more than he had ever expected. Suddenly he was listening to what sounded like warm up exercises of the different voices something he knew none of them would have known how to even begin practicing.

He began to wonder if they had brought in an actual experienced director. Perhaps someone who could suddenly restore what opera was meant to be. He looked down at his music and tried to go back to concentrating. But the singing was growing stronger, if not even a little better in just these last few moments.

He put down his pen and got up reaching for his cloak. He quietly climbed the stairs and ramps to the opera house, reached the theater, and went up to box 5. He stood behind the curtain, and slowly peered around it.

He saw the chorus standing on the stage with somewhat of an amusing determination now on their faces. Before them stood a man and a woman. The man was issuing some instructions between scales. He looked very young, too young to be an experienced director. The woman appeared older, though still very young looking. She was watching silently, but with a serious look upon her face as she eyed the various singers attempting the warm up exercises.

The young man was now moving about the chorus, selecting individuals to come forward and sing scales. Some pairs would sing together, working to blend their voices by his instructions. They seem to be getting the just of what they were doing, and with each small success in blending their voices they began to show more enthusiasm.

Well, he may be quite young, but at least he seemed to know something.

Still, he was somewhat feeling a bit of disappointment though he wasn't quite sure why. He should have known with such an inexperienced cast, whoever was renovating the Opera House had no understanding of music. It would be a surprise to think a more experienced director would be hired.

He sighed quietly and turned to head back down. But then a loud voice, almost a shout, carried across the theater. He turned to look and saw an older man striding across the stage raising his voice over the singing so he could be heard. The man was thin, almost wiry, and his long legs carried him quickly.

The chorus, startled, stopped and looked at him. He motioned to the woman and she moved forward to speak with him. The man turned and was quickly walking off backstage with her following.

He looked at the Chorus who had suddenly gone very quiet. The young man had almost an uncertainty look upon his face as if he was almost not quite sure what to do next. But he turned back to the chorus and made them continue with their scales.

He turned and headed down the steps in the secret passage behind the balcony. But when he got to the main landing he couldn't help but hear something of a commotion. More voices were speaking in louder tones echoing through the large entry hall. He peered around a doorway in time to see the woman disappearing into the Music room. Something made him decide to see what was happening, though he wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps the changes in the Opera House were arousing his overall interest. He just had the feeling of striking curiosity…something that he hadn't felt in quite a long time.

He crept along the back passageway to the Music Room. This was a very convenient room for him to see anything. The room had a number of large mirrors on each wall. Some of them, unknowingly to anyone, were made so he could see vividly through into the room. He stood behind one of them watching the man he had seen earlier already in the room. He seemed to be instructing the woman to stay where she was. He turned and left the room abruptly and more of the louder voices were heard echoing again.

Another man, not much older than him, was walking swiftly into the room. His entrance was somewhat loud, his shoes walking quite firmly on the floor. It was almost as if he was announcing his status as one would call a gentleman, though it more came off as arrogance. It was obvious from his fine silk suit, a rather large gold pocket watch chain gleaming from his vest underneath the tuxedo coat, that this was most likely that someone who was spending the money to restore the Opera House.

He walked straight up to the woman who had been left standing in the room after being instructed to do so. The other man who was in the room previously was walking quickly to catch up to him.

"Monsieur Garier, may I present Madame Duprey," he said breathlessly.

"So this is the woman director," Monsieur Garier asked in a condescending voice.

Behind the mirror, his reaction was complete surprise. He looked at the woman who was standing there, who politely curtsied, not raising her head. He had never before heard of a woman who directed.

The man continued talking. "So….petite. Certainly not at all what one would expect for a woman who can direct opera. One would expect a more robust, taller woman to be in charge of a Company."

This was true. For the first time he took a closer look at her. She wasn't just short, but rather small. Petite was in fact the perfect word. She was dressed rather plainly, wearing a very simple light blue gown. Madame Duprey was a mature woman, definitely not an innocent looking girl, but still several years younger than him. She exhibited an appearance of unassuming grace with her poise and mannerisms, though she wore her hair only part way up, rather than all the way as most women did. The back of her hair fell down well below her shoulders with a few loose curls at the end. He thought to himself that it was actually very pretty even though it had far fewer curls than Christine's hair.

He paused for a moment in these thoughts. Why was he suddenly thinking of Christine and comparing this woman to her? This woman was nothing like Christine. That part in his life was over, done. He was only here to satisfy his interest in the ongoing of the Opera House renovation.

Monsieur Garier began to circle around her. "Certainly not very glamorous though, are you?" he asked, his eyes clearly roaming over her.

Madame Duprey did not move, her head lowered, her eyes looking at the floor. She gave no reaction to his question.

"Though I must say," he said suddenly stopping short in front of her and lifting her chin with his hand, "A fair, young face…with rosebud lips no less." He paused, looking into her eyes. His fingers were right below her chin, his thumb resting just under her lips. Her eyes for an instant looked up and met his, but quickly went back down to gazing at the floor.

From behind the mirror, his eyes narrowed at this inappropriate touch with a woman, especially one that this man had just met. Clearly there was had no interest in any of her skills as a director. He was only making sure she was decent enough to present. This was confirmed by Monsieur Garier turning toward the other man and smiling.

"She is exactly what we need."

The other man, hands behind his back, raised his chin and half smiled. His gaze shifted and fell directly on her. She had still not moved. "I must say, Monsieur that you made an excellent decision," said the man. He eyes came back to Monsieur Garier. "Have you given any thought to my suggestion on the guest opera singers?"

Monsieur Garier responded with a scoff. "Why on earth would I want to do that? I have spent enough money on the restoration of this Opera House. I don't need to spend more on some spoiled diva that I have to cater to."

The man's face looked slightly concerned. "But it is what the public will expect. And besides, some of their voices are extremely beautiful. It may draw large crowds to hear famous singers with the music we will be selecting."

Monsieur Garier glared at the man. "She is the publicity," he said roughly. He returned his focus on Madame Duprey. "Not the music."

Behind the mirror, he frowned slightly. He observed that for the first time that she raised her head and looked directly at Monsieur Garier. But it was somewhat of an expressionless gaze, almost entirely unemotional as if she was taking in some sort of just plain, factual information. Or was it some sort of strong will she had, a message that he was not going to break her?

Monsieur Garier glared back at her and she lowered her eyes with her head once more. He turned abruptly and strode out of the room, the other man quickly following him.

Madame Duprey stood there for a moment, still motionless. She quietly walked over to the grand piano in the room and sat down on the bench, gazing at the keys.

He had certainly had enough information for the day. He also suddenly felt as if he were intruding on a private moment of hers. She hadn't shown any emotion during the encounter with Monsieur Garier, and now, she appeared almost somber at the piano. He could not but help feel a bit sorry for her. Even if she didn't have talent, it was obvious now from her sadness that she cared enough to try.

It was time to leave. He turned and began to make his way down the back corridor, his thoughts dwelling on the conversation he had just heard. But he suddenly stopped in his tracks when he heard the piano playing.

She was actually very good. He didn't recognize the song she was playing. But just as soon as he was starting to listen, it abruptly stopped.

Then started.

Then stopped.

He suddenly heard a loud noise, somewhat like a thud, but also a low creaking sound. Curious, he turned back and peered through the mirror. He saw that she had lifted open and propped the top of the grand piano, something he was surprised she had done given her small physical size. She was peering inside, reaching in with her arm. She went back down and sat at the bench. She again began to play, and stopped with a look of irritation on her face.

He knew why. The piano was slightly out of tune. It had not been touched for the last few years though an attempt had been made recently by some of the orchestra musicians who had been in the room. He had observed them a few days before as they were having a good look around the large Opera House. One of them had automatically sat down at the piano upon seeing it and began to play. Both had attempted to tune the piano.

Tilting His head with interest behind the mirror, he had to admit he was somewhat impressed that she even heard the piano slightly out of tune. To the untrained ear, it would not have even been recognized.

She quickly got up and literally marched across the room where old trunks and boxes were temporarily piled against one of the walls. She knelt down and began to rummage through a trunk. After a few moments, it became quite apparent to him that she was growing rather impatient with whatever it was she could not find. He knew this because she was beginning to toss items out of the trunk, not even caring if they were heavier items such as various props like small statues and books. The items were landing on the floor hard, the noise echoing throughout the large room.

She lifted out of the trunk what appeared to be part of a skeleton of a human arm. She looked at it briefly in surprise, then simply frowned and tossed it aside. Most likely it was, of course fake, a prop of some sort. Or at least she certainly thought it was. However, he wasn't quite as sure. Over the years there had been so many numerous "things" that had taken to storage in the Opera House, including past reminders of the war when it was used to house prisoners. Not to mention a few untimely deaths when the Opera Ghost legend was at its peak.

She continued her search until finally she lifted out a tuning fork. She strode back over to the piano (stepping over the numerous items she had thrown on the floor), and began to use the tuning fork listening to the pitch and comparing to the notes she selected to play. She stood up and once again peered inside the piano. He watched as she reached in to adjust something.

But she realized that she was simply too short to reach whatever it was that had her concentration. She straightened back up slightly frowning. She took a quick step and jumped forward, lifting her entire body up and over the inside to reach where she wanted.

Once again, she completely surprised him. Seeing her do such a thing which would be considered definitely an "un-lady like" act. In fact, it was actually quite amusing to him as he saw her almost kicking her feet in the air to help her reach further inside.

She jumped back down to the floor and quickly sat down on the bench using the tuning fork playing once again a few notes. He realized that the sound of those few notes was already sounding better. However, she was certainly not satisfied as once again she stood and hopped up the side of the piano to reach inside.

He shook his head, still slightly amused at this and began to walk back down the corridor. But he stopped for a moment and turned to look at her again. She was definitely interesting, he gave her that. And maybe even a bit talented in her keen ear to the piano, though he wasn't quite sure this would extend to her directing. However, he found himself feeling somewhat pleased after the earlier conversation he had heard with Monsieur Garier not caring at all about music, only publicity.

He slowly walked down the corridor and down the steps leading to the catacombs below, still listening to the sounds of her tuning efforts.