Scene 7

'Don Juan Triumphant'

The set of the final scene of "Don Juan   Triumphan" A huge hall with an arch. Behind the   arch, which has curtains, is a bed. A fine table, laid for two.    They are a crowd of sixteenth century ruffians and   hoydens, proud of their master's reputation as a   libertine   Piangi, as Don Juan, emerges from behind the   arch.    Don Juan goes into   the curtained alcove where the bed awaits.   Although we do not yet know it, the Punjab Lasso has   done its work, and Piangi is no more. When next we see Don Juan, it will be the Phantom.   Meanwhile, we hear Aminta  singing happily in the distance   From behind the curtain

Chorus                        Passarino  Don Juan  (Piangi)        Aminta  (Christine,  offstage, entering)        Passarino  Don Juan  (Phantom)

Here the sire may serve the dam,  here the master takes his meat!  Here the sacrificial lamb  utters one despairing bleat!       Poor thing hasn't got a chance!   Here's my hat, my cloak and sword.   Conquest is assured,   if I do not forget myself and laugh . . .         ". . . no thoughts   within her head,   but thoughts of joy!   No dreams   within her heart   but dreams of love!"   Master?   Passarino - go away!   For the trap is set and waits for its prey . . .

 

Passarino leaves.  Aminta enters. She   takes off her cloak and sits down. Looks about her. No-one.  The Phantom, disguised as Don Juan pretending to   be Passarino, emerges. He wears Passarino's robe, the cowl of which hides his face. His first words startle her                                                                                                            By now the audience and the police have realised that Piangi is dead behind the curtain, and it is the Phantom who sings in his place.    He takes from his finger a ring and holds it out to her.   Slowly she takes it and puts it on her finger.             We never reach the word 'you', for Christine quite   calmly reveals the Phantom's face to the audience.    The Phantom sweeps his cloak around her and   vanishes.   Meg pulls the curtain upstage, revealing Piangi's   body garotted, propped against the bed, his head   gruesomely tilted to one side. She screams.

Don Juan  (Phantom)                                                        Aminta  (Christine)                                        Both                Phantom

You have come here   in pursuit of   your deepest urge,   in pursuit of   that wish,   which till now   has been silent,   silent . . .   Past the point   of no return -   no backward glances:   the games we've played   till now are at   an end . . .   Past all thought   of "if" or "when" -   no use resisting:   abandon thought,   and let the dream   descend . . .   What raging fire   shall flood the soul?   What rich desire   unlocks its door?   What sweet seduction   lies before   us . . .?   You have brought me   to that moment   where words run dry,   to that moment   where speech   disappears   into silence,   silence . . .   Past the point   of no return -   no going back now:   our passion-play   has now, at last,   begun . . .   Past all thought   of right or wrong -   one final question:   how long should we   two wait, before   we're one . . .?   Past the point   of no return   the final threshold -   the bridge   is crossed, so stand   and watch it burn . . .   We've passed the point   of no return . . .   Say you'll share with   me one   love, one lifetime . . .   Lead me, save me   from my solitude . . .   Say you want me   with you,   here beside you . . .   Anywhere you go   let me go too -   Christine   that's all I ask of . . .

 

Police, Stagehands etc. rush onto the stage in confusion, along with the cast.

Carlotta     Andre  Firmin  Giry  Raoul  Giry  Raoul  Giry

What is it? What has happened? Ubaldo!  Oh, my God . . . my God . . .  We're ruined, Andre - ruined!  Monsieur le Vicomte! Come with me!  But can I trust you?  You must. But remember: your hand at the level of your eyes!  But why . . .?  Why? The Punjab lasso, monsieur. First Buquet. Now Piangi.  Come with me, monsieur. Hurry, or we shall be too late . . .

 

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