The POTO Book…
The Phantom of the Opera book was great!
The book shows the past of both Crhistine and Raoul. It also shows a little of the Phantom’s indefinite past. The Phantom’s name’s Erik! I also found out that "O.G." meant "Opera Ghost". It mentions Christine’s and Raoul’s romantic childhood.
The book gives a better description of the Phantom’s voice. Here’s a quote:
She wrote on, filling two, three, four sheets. Suddenly, she raised
her head and hid the sheets in her bodice….She seemed
to be listening… Raoul also listened… Whence came
that strange sound, that distant rhythm?…A faint singing
seemed to issue from the walls…yes, it was as though
the walls themselves were singing!…The song became plainer
…the words were now distinguishable…he heard a voice,
a very beautiful, very soft, very captivating voice…but,
for all its softness, it remained a male voice…The voice came
nearer and nearer…it came through the wall…it approached
…and now the voice was IN THE ROOM, in front of Christine.
Christine rose and addressed the voice, as though speaking to some one:"Here I am, Erik," she said. "I am ready. But you are late."
Raoul, peeping from behind the curtain, could not believe his eyes,
which showed him nothing. Christine’s face lit up. A smile
of happiness appeared upon her bloodless lips, a smile like that
of sick people when they receive the first hope of recovery.The voice without a body went on singing; and certainly Raoul had
never in his life heard anything more absolutely and heroically sweet,
more gloriously insidious, more delicate, more powerful, in short,
more irresistibly triumphant. He listened to it in a fever and he
now began to understand how Christine Daae was able to appear
one evening, before the stupefied audience, with accents of a beauty
hitherto unknown, of a superhuman exaltation, while doubtless still
under the influence of the mysterious and invisible master.
And here’s a description of he makes his Don Juan Triumphant:
"Then I saw the keyboard of an organ which filled one whole side
of the walls. On the desk was a music-book covered with red notes.
I asked leave to look at it and read, `Don Juan Triumphant.’
`Yes,’ he said, `I compose sometimes.’ I began that work twenty years ago.
When I have finished, I shall take it away with me in that coffin
and never wake up again.’ `You must work at it as seldom as you can,’
I said. He replied, `I sometimes work at it for fourteen days
and nights together, during which I live on music only,
and then I rest for years at a time.’ `Will you play me something
out of your Don Juan Triumphant?’ I asked, thinking to please him.
`You must never ask me that,’ he said, in a gloomy voice.
`I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will only make you weep;
but my Don Juan, Christine, burns; and yet he is not struck by fire
from Heaven.’ Thereupon we returned to the drawing-room. I noticed
that there was no mirror in the whole apartment. I was going
to remark upon this, but Erik had already sat down to the piano.
He said, `You see, Christine, there is some music that is so terrible
that it consumes all those who approach it. Fortunately, you have
not come to that music yet, for you would lose all your pretty
coloring and nobody would know you when you returned to Paris.
Let us sing something from the Opera, Christine Daae.’
He spoke these last words as though he were flinging an insult
at me."
Here’s a description of the song:
"He had let go of me at last and was dragging himself about on the floor,
uttering terrible sobs. And then he crawled away like a snake,
went into his room, closed the door and left me alone to my reflections.
Presently I heard the sound of the organ; and then I began
to understand Erik’s contemptuous phrase when he spoke about Opera music.
What I now heard was utterly different from what I had heard up to then.
His Don Juan Triumphant (for I had not a doubt but that he had rushed
to his masterpiece to forget the horror of the moment) seemed to me
at first one long, awful, magnificent sob. But, little by little,
it expressed every emotion, every suffering of which mankind is capable.
It intoxicated me; and I opened the door that separated us.
Erik rose, as I entered, BUT DARED NOT TURN IN MY DIRECTION.
`Erik,’ I cried, `show me your face without fear! I swear that you
are the most unhappy and sublime of men; and, if ever again I shiver
when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking of the splendor
of your genius!’ Then Erik turned round, for he believed me, and I
also had faith in myself. He fell at my feet, with words of love…
with words of love in his dead mouth…and the music had ceased…
He kissed the hem of my dress and did not see that I closed my eyes.
Here’s my last quotation. And I really love this. It clearly shows how he felt…
Erik here rose solemnly. Then he continued, but, as he spoke,
he was overcome by all his former emotion and began to tremble
like a leaf:"Yes, she was waiting for me…waiting for me erect and alive,
a real, living bride…as she hoped to be saved….And,
when I…came forward, more timid than…a little child,
she did not run away…no, no…she stayed…she waited
for me….I even believe…daroga…that she put out
her forehead…a little…oh, not much…just a little…
like a living bride….And…and…I…kissed her!…
I!…I!…I!…And she did not die!…Oh, how good it is,
daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead!…You can’t tell!…
But I! I!…My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never
…let me kiss her….She used to run away…and throw me my mask!
…Nor any other woman…ever, ever!…Ah, you can understand,
my happiness was so great, I cried. And I fell at her feet, crying
…and I kissed her feet…her little feet…crying. You’re crying, too,
daroga…and she cried also…the angel cried!…" Erik
sobbed aloud and the Persian himself could not retain his tears
in the presence of that masked man, who, with his shoulders shaking
and his hands clutched at his chest, was moaning with pain and love
by turns."Yes, daroga…I felt her tears flow on my forehead…on mine,
mine!…They were soft…they were sweet!…They trickled
under my mask…they mingled with my tears in my eyes…yes
…they flowed between my lips….Listen, daroga, listen to
what I did….I tore off my mask so as not to lose one of her
tears…and she did not run away!…And she did not die!…
She remained alive, weeping over me, with me. We cried together!
I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer!"And Erik fell into a chair, choking for breath:
"Ah, I am not going to die yet…presently I shall…but let
me cry!…Listen, daroga…listen to this….While
I was at her feet…I heard her say, `Poor, unhappy Erik!’
… AND SHE TOOK MY HAND!…I had become no more, you know,
than a poor dog ready to die for her….I mean it, daroga!…
I held in my hand a ring, a plain gold ring which I had given her
…which she had lost…and which I had found again…
a wedding-ring, you know….I slipped it into her little hand
and said, `There!…Take it!…Take it for you…and him!
…It shall be my wedding-present a present from your poor,
unhappy Erik…..I know you love the boy…don’t cry any more!
…She asked me, in a very soft voice, what I meant….
Then I made her understand that, where she was concerned,
I was only a poor dog, ready to die for her…but that she could
marry the young man when she pleased, because she had cried with me
and mingled her tears with mine!…"Erik’s emotion was so great that he had to tell the Persian not
to look at him, for he was choking and must take off his mask.
The daroga went to the window and opened it. His heart was full
of pity, but he took care to keep his eyes fixed on the trees in
the Tuileries gardens, lest he should see the monster’s face….
Read it. You’ll love it.
I’ve also found a cool site. It’s the official POTO movie site in Japan. It shows short videos of the original musical.
