Moussorgsy's symphony begins as the tallest point of the mountain unfurls to reveal the devil himself, Chernabog. Stretching his shadowy limbs down the to the peaceful village, he raises the specters of the departed from the cemeteries, the gallows, the bloody battlefields below, to perform an orgiastic dance of the dead in the skies, swirling about in blind decadence. All is observed and controlled by this omnipotent puppeteer, these grotesque apparitions reveling in his demonic glory. Flames ignite, harpies soar, evil is unfettered. As this cacophonous bacchanalia approaches a fevered climax, the eventual dawn approaches.
Church bells chime in the distance.
The spirits descend back into their graves. Chernabog, his sinewy wings wrapping about him, is forced to return to his cold resting place high on the mountain top, forever defeated by these sounds of holiness. Mrs. Potts sings of this beauty and this beast, this tale as old as time, this song as old as rhyme. We enter with them into the gilded palace ballroom. The camera swoops up to the ceiling, past a spectacularly ornate chandelier, toward a mural of tiny cherubs in the clouds, gazing wistfully down upon the couple below.