L’Ange de
Musique
Copyright 2003 by Riene
The Opera was silent. The figure in Box Five stirred from where he had been sitting in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the empty, still building.
Silence. Not even the hiss of the gaslights, nor hum of electricity. Blessed silence, the one time of the year he could be guaranteed solitude. Slowly he rose to walk unseen through the massive building, patrolling the corridors, ascertaining the doors were locked and barred, that no human presence remained hidden in dressing room, practice area, or office.
Returning to his Box Five, Erik retrieved the black case.
He was not skilled in the art of communication. Communication was an art that required two or more for expression. Music was his speech, his outlet, and now his sole raison d’etre. Music needed only one for expression….
Erik stepped up onto the grand stage, hushed and shrouded in utter darkness. Gently he laid the scuffed black case on the floor and opened it. From his pocket he removed a single pillar candle and a lucifer. Striking it, he lit the candle, placing it in a small porcelain dish to catch the betraying wax drips.
Long tapering fingers reverently lifted the polished instrument, its mellow brown varnished surface gleaming golden in the soft candlelight. The violin had been crafted by a master…and this one man had a master’s touch to play it.
He drew the bow across the strings, making them moan, transitioning them to a high keening sound of grief. Resolutely Erik turned his mind from the violin’s sob and lifted it to his chin. Eyes shut, swaying without awareness, he began to play.
A Concerto for a Winter’s Night echoed through the Palais Garnier. The tall thin man gave himself over to the music, as though the very Deity who had denied him any warmth of human contact in this life spoke directly to his soul, a wordless communication of the spirit and the essence of song.
Once someone had actually called him the Angel of Music….
Erik played for the nonexistent audience, played the music no one else would now ever hear, allowing himself this one night of performance on stage, reveling in the glorious sweep of sound that swelled across the stalls and boxes. After all, it was Christmas, and even the Phantom of Music deserved some small pleasure.
