From somewhere comes the drip of water. There's a distinct chill in the
air. A low moan echoes, bouncing around the cavernous space. It's followed
by a gasp and a sob.
"My music...why did they destroy my music..." The dark shadow that's
crouched by the wall holds sodden, torn papers in trembling hands. The
hands are soft and delicate as they caress the edges, and fingertips caress
the painstakingly written notes and staves, and the ink runs in droplets,
dripping onto the shadows dark cloak. More water drops onto the cloak. Not
ink, not water exactly. The shadow lifts it's head and in the darkness a
white blur takes form and shape. Tears run down the white mask. The shadow,
Erik moves, taking the papers with him. Erik, the Opera Ghost, Angel of
Music, the trapdoor lover...a man of many names. Erik laughs, a bitter
sound. A man of many names...and nothing. She's gone, the music's
gone...surely there's nothing left for me now. Erik begins the slow ascent
towards the streets far above the gloomy cellars.
Christine de Chagny is smiling. She holds fast to her husband's arm as she watches the spectacle before her. "This is all in celebration of you." Raoul de Chagny says, smiling at his wife. The dancers and revellers below them twirl and twist in bright splashes of colour. Raoul clears his throat and the rooms stills. Taking Christine's hand, Raoul begins to lead her down the staircase. "The Count and Countess de Changy," A gay voice calls, and everyone begins to applaud the handsome young groom and his blushing bride. Christine's eyes are wide, and she feels Raoul's arms around her. From somewhere off to her left plays a violin, and Raoul sweeps her into a dance. Faces and colours blur and merge as she spins and spins. The violin keeps playing. Then it stops, and an altogether new tune starts. She nearly faints. "Resurrection of Lazarus." Her lips part in silent protest. Raoul keep whirling her around and around. She wants to tell him to stop, but her mind is frozen. Nothing matters but the music. Nothing matters...but him. Over the waves of music, Christine hears the faint but unmistakable sound: the voice. It's singing to her, calling her. Just as Christine starts to think again, the music stops, and applause takes over. "W-what?" She stammers. Raoul is smiling at her, still holding her left hand. She realises no such tune was played, no voice sang. It's all in her mind. She feels ill. "Perhaps you'd sing for us, Christine?" Raoul asks. He notices the loss of colour in her cheeks. "Are you alright?" He's worried. The stress of everything that had happened over the past weeks must finally have taken their toll, he thinks. God! The murders, this marriage, that monster. "No, no." Christine protests, a steely look passing briefly over her eyes. "I'd like very much to sing." She steps away from Raoul. People smile at her, and the pianist plays out a quick scale. Christine is grateful, she quickly follows the lead, warming her voice. "The song I should like to sing tonight...it's for my father. Whom I know would be so delighted for me, and whom I know would have loved to have been here on this night. This was not to be. Many people would have known him as Daddy Daae. He passed away three years ago, so to pay hommage to his memory, I have chosen this song." Christine speaks clearly, her eyes bright. She notes the slow nods in the room as she mentions her father, the respectful bowing of heads. She begins to sing: the notes are delicate, sad. She is not singing for her father. Erik! Hear me!
Christine de Chagny is smiling. She holds fast to her husband's arm as she watches the spectacle before her. "This is all in celebration of you." Raoul de Chagny says, smiling at his wife. The dancers and revellers below them twirl and twist in bright splashes of colour. Raoul clears his throat and the rooms stills. Taking Christine's hand, Raoul begins to lead her down the staircase. "The Count and Countess de Changy," A gay voice calls, and everyone begins to applaud the handsome young groom and his blushing bride. Christine's eyes are wide, and she feels Raoul's arms around her. From somewhere off to her left plays a violin, and Raoul sweeps her into a dance. Faces and colours blur and merge as she spins and spins. The violin keeps playing. Then it stops, and an altogether new tune starts. She nearly faints. "Resurrection of Lazarus." Her lips part in silent protest. Raoul keep whirling her around and around. She wants to tell him to stop, but her mind is frozen. Nothing matters but the music. Nothing matters...but him. Over the waves of music, Christine hears the faint but unmistakable sound: the voice. It's singing to her, calling her. Just as Christine starts to think again, the music stops, and applause takes over. "W-what?" She stammers. Raoul is smiling at her, still holding her left hand. She realises no such tune was played, no voice sang. It's all in her mind. She feels ill. "Perhaps you'd sing for us, Christine?" Raoul asks. He notices the loss of colour in her cheeks. "Are you alright?" He's worried. The stress of everything that had happened over the past weeks must finally have taken their toll, he thinks. God! The murders, this marriage, that monster. "No, no." Christine protests, a steely look passing briefly over her eyes. "I'd like very much to sing." She steps away from Raoul. People smile at her, and the pianist plays out a quick scale. Christine is grateful, she quickly follows the lead, warming her voice. "The song I should like to sing tonight...it's for my father. Whom I know would be so delighted for me, and whom I know would have loved to have been here on this night. This was not to be. Many people would have known him as Daddy Daae. He passed away three years ago, so to pay hommage to his memory, I have chosen this song." Christine speaks clearly, her eyes bright. She notes the slow nods in the room as she mentions her father, the respectful bowing of heads. She begins to sing: the notes are delicate, sad. She is not singing for her father. Erik! Hear me!