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The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux

Contents
Chapter

PROLOGUE
I IS IT A GHOST?
II THE NEW MARGARITA
III THE MYSTERIOUS REASON
IV BOX FIVE
V THE ENCHANTED VIOLIN
VI A VISIT TO BOX FIVE
VII FAUST AND WHAT FOLLOWED
VIII THE MYSTERIOUS BROUGHAM
IX AT THE MASKED BALL
X FORGET THE NAME OF THE MAN'S VOICE
XI ABOVE THE TRAP-DOORS
XII APOLLO'S LYRE
XIII A MASTER-STROKE OF THE TRAP-DOOR LOVER
XIV THE SINGULAR ATTITUDE OF A SAFETY-PIN
XV CHRISTINE! CHRISTINE!
XVI MME. GIRY'S REVELATIONS
XVII THE SAFETY-PIN AGAIN
XVIII THE COMMISSARYTHE VISCOUNT AND THE PERSIAN
XIX THE VISCOUNT AND THE PERSIAN
XX IN THE CELLARS OF THE OPERA
XXI INTERESTING VICISSITUDES
XXII IN THE TORTURE CHAMBER
XXIII THE TORTURES BEGIN
XXIV BARRELS! BARRELS!
XXV THE SCORPION OR THE GRASSHOPPER: WHICH
XXVI THE END OF THE GHOST'S LOVE STORY
EPILOGUE

{plus a "bonus chapter" called "THE PARIS OPERA HOUSE"}

The Phantom of the Opera

Prologue

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THIS SINGULAR WORK INFORMS THE READER HOW
HE ACQUIRED THE CERTAINTY THAT THE OPERA GHOST REALLY EXISTED

The Opera ghost really existed. He was notas was long believed
a creature of the imagination of the artiststhe superstition of
the managersor a product of the absurd and impressionable brains
of the young ladies of the ballettheir mothersthe box-keepers


the cloak-room attendants or the concierge. Yeshe existed
in flesh and bloodalthough he assumed the complete appearance
of a real phantom; that is to sayof a spectral shade.

When I began to ransack the archives of the National Academy of
Music I was at once struck by the surprising coincidences between
the phenomena ascribed to the "ghost" and the most extraordinary
and fantastic tragedy that ever excited the Paris upper classes;
and I soon conceived the idea that this tragedy might reasonably
be explained by the phenomena in question. The events do not
date more than thirty years back; and it would not be difficult
to find at the present dayin the foyer of the balletold men
of the highest respectabilitymen upon whose word one could
absolutely relywho would remember as though they happened yesterday
the mysterious and dramatic conditions that attended the kidnapping
of Christine Daaethe disappearance of the Vicomte de Chagny
and the death of his elder brotherCount Philippewhose body
was found on the bank of the lake that exists in the lower cellars
of the Opera on the Rue-Scribe side. But none of those witnesses
had until that day thought that there was any reason for connecting
the more or less legendary figure of the Opera ghost with that terrible story.

The truth was slow to enter my mindpuzzled by an inquiry that
at every moment was complicated by events whichat first sight
might be looked upon as superhuman; and more than once I was
within an ace of abandoning a task in which I was exhausting
myself in the hopeless pursuit of a vain image. At last
I received the proof that my presentiments had not deceived me
and I was rewarded for all my efforts on the day when I acquired
the certainty that the Opera ghost was more than a mere shade.

On that dayI had spent long hours over THE MEMOIRS OF A MANAGER
the light and frivolous work of the too-skeptical Moncharminwho
during his term at the Operaunderstood nothing of the mysterious
behavior of the ghost and who was making all the fun of it that he
could at the very moment when he became the first victim of the
curious financial operation that went on inside the "magic envelope."

I had just left the library in despairwhen I met the delightful
acting-manager of our National Academywho stood chatting on a landing
with a lively and well-groomed little old manto whom he introduced
me gaily. The acting-manager knew all about my investigations
and how eagerly and unsuccessfully I had been trying to discover
the whereabouts of the examining magistrate in the famous Chagny case

M. Faure. Nobody knew what had become of himalive or dead;
and here he was back from Canadawhere he had spent fifteen years
and the first thing he had doneon his return to Pariswas to come
to the secretarial offices at the Opera and ask for a free seat.
The little old man was M. Faure himself.
We spent a good part of the evening together and he told me the whole
Chagny case as he had understood it at the time. He was bound to
conclude in favor of the madness of the viscount and the accidental
death of the elder brotherfor lack of evidence to the contrary;
but he was nevertheless persuaded that a terrible tragedy had taken
place between the two brothers in connection with Christine Daae.
He could not tell me what became of Christine or the viscount.
When I mentioned the ghosthe only laughed. Hetoohad been told
of the curious manifestations that seemed to point to the existence
of an abnormal beingresiding in one of the most mysterious
corners of the Operaand he knew the story of the envelope;
but he had never seen anything in it worthy of his attention
as magistrate in charge of the Chagny caseand it was as much
as he had done to listen to the evidence of a witness who appeared


of his own accord and declared that he had often met the ghost.
This witness was none other than the man whom all Paris called the
Persianand who was well-known to every subscriber to the Opera.
The magistrate took him for a visionary.


I was immensely interested by this story of the Persian. I wanted
if there were still timeto find this valuable and eccentric witness.
My luck began to improve and I discovered him in his little flat
in the Rue de Rivoliwhere he had lived ever since and where he died
five months after my visit. I was at first inclined to be suspicious;
but when the Persian had told mewith child-like candor
all that he knew about the ghost and had handed me the proofs
of the ghost's existence--including the strange correspondence
of Christine Daae--to do as I pleased withI was no longer able
to doubt. Nothe ghost was not a myth!


I haveI knowbeen told that this correspondence may have been
forged from first to last by a man whose imagination had certainly
been fed on the most seductive tales; but fortunately I discovered
some of Christine's writing outside the famous bundle of letters and
on a comparison between the twoall my doubts were removed.
I also went into the past history of the Persian and found that he
was an upright manincapable of inventing a story that might have
defeated the ends of justice.


Thismoreoverwas the opinion of the more serious people who
at one time or otherwere mixed up in the Chagny casewho were
friends of the Chagny familyto whom I showed all my documents
and set forth all my inferences. In this connectionI should
like to print a few lines which I received from General D------:


SIR:


I can not urge you too strongly to publish the results of your inquiry.
I remember perfectly thata few weeks before the disappearance
of that great singerChristine Daaeand the tragedy which
threw the whole of the Faubourg Saint-Germain into mourning
there was a great deal of talkin the foyer of the ballet
on the subject of the "ghost;" and I believe that it only ceased
to be discussed in consequence of the later affair that excited us
all so greatly. Butif it be possible--asafter hearing you
I believe--to explain the tragedy through the ghostthen I
beg you sirto talk to us about the ghost again.


Mysterious though the ghost may at first appearhe will always
be more easily explained than the dismal story in which malevolent
people have tried to picture two brothers killing each other
who had worshiped each other all their lives.


Believe meetc.


Lastlywith my bundle of papers in handI once more went over
the ghost's vast domainthe huge building which he had made
his kingdom. All that my eyes sawall that my mind perceived
corroborated the Persian's documents precisely; and a wonderful
discovery crowned my labors in a very definite fashion. It will be
remembered thatlaterwhen digging in the substructure of the Opera
before burying the phonographic records of the artist's voice
the workmen laid bare a corpse. WellI was at once able
to prove that this corpse was that of the Opera ghost. I made
the acting-manager put this proof to the test with his own hand;
and it is now a matter of supreme indifference to me if the papers
pretend that the body was that of a victim of the Commune.



The wretches who were massacredunder the Communein the cellars
of the Operawere not buried on this side; I will tell where their
skeletons can be found in a spot not very far from that immense crypt
which was stocked during the siege with all sorts of provisions.
I came upon this track just when I was looking for the remains
of the Opera ghostwhich I should never have discovered but for
the unheard-of chance described above.

But we will return to the corpse and what ought to be done with it.
For the presentI must conclude this very necessary introduction
by thanking M. Mifroid (who was the commissary of police called in for
the first investigations after the disappearance of Christine Daae)

M. Remythe late secretaryM. Mercierthe late acting-manager
M. Gabrielthe late chorus-masterand more particularly Mme. la
Baronne de Castelot-Barbezacwho was once the "little Meg"
of the story (and who is not ashamed of it)the most charming star
of our admirable corps de balletthe eldest daughter of the worthy
Mme. Girynow deceasedwho had charge of the ghost's private box.
All these were of the greatest assistance to me; andthanks to them
I shall be able to reproduce those hours of sheer love and terror
in their smallest detailsbefore the reader's eyes.
And I should be ungrateful indeed if I omittedwhile standing
on the threshold of this dreadful and veracious storyto thank
the present management the Operawhich has so kindly assisted me
in all my inquiriesand M. Messager in particulartogether with

M. Gabionthe acting-managerand that most amiable of men
the architect intrusted with the preservation of the building
who did not hesitate to lend me the works of Charles Garnier
although he was almost sure that I would never return them to him.
LastlyI must pay a public tribute to the generosity of my friend
and former collaboratorM. J. Le Crozewho allowed me to dip
into his splendid theatrical library and to borrow the rarest
editions of books by which he set great store.
GASTON LEROUX.


Chapter I Is it the Ghost?


It was the evening on which MM. Debienne and Polignythe managers of
the Operawere giving a last gala performance to mark their retirement.
Suddenly the dressing-room of La Sorellione of the principal dancers
was invaded by half-a-dozen young ladies of the balletwho had come
up from the stage after "dancing" Polyeucte. They rushed in amid
great confusionsome giving vent to forced and unnatural laughter
others to cries of terror. Sorelliwho wished to be alone for a moment
to "run through" the speech which she was to make to the resigning
managerslooked around angrily at the mad and tumultuous crowd.
It was little Jammes--the girl with the tip-tilted nose
the forget-me-not eyesthe rose-red cheeks and the lily-white
neck and shoulders--who gave the explanation in a trembling voice:


It's the ghost!And she locked the door.


Sorelli's dressing-room was fitted up with officialcommonplace elegance.
A pier-glassa sofaa dressing-table and a cupboard or two provided
the necessary furniture. On the walls hung a few engravings
relics of the motherwho had known the glories of the old Opera in
the Rue le Peletier; portraits of VestrisGardelDupontBigottini.
But the room seemed a palace to the brats of the corps de ballet
who were lodged in common dressing-rooms where they spent their



time singingquarrelingsmacking the dressers and hair-dressers
and buying one another glasses of cassisbeeror even rhum
until the call-boy's bell rang.


Sorelli was very superstitious. She shuddered when she heard
little Jammes speak of the ghostcalled her a "silly little fool"
and thenas she was the first to believe in ghosts in general
and the Opera ghost in particularat once asked for details:


Have you seen him?


As plainly as I see you now!said little Jammeswhose legs were
giving way beneath herand she dropped with a moan into a chair.


Thereupon little Giry--the girl with eyes black as sloes
hair black as inka swarthy complexion and a poor little skin
stretched over poor little bones--little Giry added:


If that's the ghost, he's very ugly!


Oh, yes!cried the chorus of ballet-girls.


And they all began to talk together. The ghost had appeared to them
in the shape of a gentleman in dress-clotheswho had suddenly stood
before them in the passagewithout their knowing where he came from.
He seemed to have come straight through the wall.


Pooh!said one of themwho had more or less kept her head.
You see the ghost everywhere!


And it was true. For several monthsthere had been nothing discussed
at the Opera but this ghost in dress-clothes who stalked about
the buildingfrom top to bottomlike a shadowwho spoke to nobody
to whom nobody dared speak and who vanished as soon as he was seen
no one knowing how or where. As became a real ghosthe made no noise
in walking. People began by laughing and making fun of this specter
dressed like a man of fashion or an undertaker; but the ghost legend
soon swelled to enormous proportions among the corps de ballet.
All the girls pretended to have met this supernatural being more
or less often. And those who laughed the loudest were not the most
at ease. When he did not show himselfhe betrayed his presence
or his passing by accidentcomic or seriousfor which the general
superstition held him responsible. Had any one met with a fall
or suffered a practical joke at the hands of one of the other girls
or lost a powderpuffit was at once the fault of the ghost
of the Opera ghost.


After allwho had seen him? You meet so many men in dress-clothes
at the Opera who are not ghosts. But this dress-suit had
a peculiarity of its own. It covered a skeleton. At least
so the ballet-girls said. Andof courseit had a death's head.


Was all this serious? The truth is that the idea of the skeleton
came from the description of the ghost given by Joseph Buquet
the chief scene-shifterwho had really seen the ghost. He had run
up against the ghost on the little staircaseby the footlights
which leads to "the cellars." He had seen him for a second--
for the ghost had fled--and to any one who cared to listen to him
he said:


He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton frame.
His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils.
You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull.
His skin, which is stretched across his bones like a drumhead,



is not white, but a nasty yellow. His nose is so little worth
talking about that you can't see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE
of that nose is a horrible thing TO LOOK AT. All the hair he
has is three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind
his ears.


This chief scene-shifter was a serioussobersteady man
very slow at imagining things. His words were received with interest
and amazement; and soon there were other people to say that they too
had met a man in dress-clothes with a death's head on his shoulders.
Sensible men who had wind of the story began by saying that Joseph
Buquet had been the victim of a joke played by one of his assistants.
And thenone after the otherthere came a series of incidents
so curious and so inexplicable that the very shrewdest people began
to feel uneasy.


For instancea fireman is a brave fellow! He fears nothing
least of all fire! Wellthe fireman in questionwho had gone
to make a round of inspection in the cellars and whoit seems
had ventured a little farther than usualsuddenly reappeared on
the stagepalescaredtremblingwith his eyes starting out of
his headand practically fainted in the arms of the proud mother
of little Jammes.[1] And why? Because he had seen coming toward him
AT THE LEVEL OF HIS HEADBUT WITHOUT A BODY ATTACHED TO IT
A HEAD OF FIRE! Andas I saida fireman is not afraid of fire.


[1] I have the anecdotewhich is quite authenticfrom M. Pedro
Gailhard himselfthe late manager of the Opera.
The fireman's name was Pampin.

The corps de ballet was flung into consternation. At first sight
this fiery head in no way corresponded with Joseph Buquet's
description of the ghost. But the young ladies soon persuaded
themselves that the ghost had several headswhich he changed about
as he pleased. Andof coursethey at once imagined that they
were in the greatest danger. Once a fireman did not hesitate
to faintleaders and front-row and back-row girls alike had plenty
of excuses for the fright that made them quicken their pace when
passing some dark corner or ill-lighted corridor. Sorelli herself
on the day after the adventure of the firemanplaced a horseshoe
on the table in front of the stage-door-keeper's boxwhich every
one who entered the Opera otherwise than as a spectator must
touch before setting foot on the first tread of the staircase.
This horse-shoe was not invented by me--any more than any other
part of this storyalas!--and may still be seen on the table
in the passage outside the stage-door-keeper's boxwhen you enter
the Opera through the court known as the Cour de l'Administration.

To return to the evening in question.

It's the ghost!little Jammes had cried.

An agonizing silence now reigned in the dressing-room. Nothing
was heard but the hard breathing of the girls. At lastJammes
flinging herself upon the farthest corner of the wallwith every
mark of real terror on her facewhispered:

Listen!

Everybody seemed to hear a rustling outside the door. There was no
sound of footsteps. It was like light silk sliding over the panel.


Then it stopped.


Sorelli tried to show more pluck than the others. She went up
to the door andin a quavering voiceasked:


Who's there?


But nobody answered. Then feeling all eyes upon herwatching her
last movementshe made an effort to show courageand said very loudly:


Is there any one behind the door?


Oh, yes, yes! Of course there is!cried that little dried plum
of a Meg Giryheroically holding Sorelli back by her gauze skirt.
Whatever you do, don't open the door! Oh, Lord, don't open
the door!


But Sorelliarmed with a dagger that never left herturned the key
and drew back the doorwhile the ballet-girls retreated to the inner
dressing-room and Meg Giry sighed:


Mother! Mother!


Sorelli looked into the passage bravely. It was empty;
a gas-flamein its glass prisoncast a red and suspicious light
into the surrounding darknesswithout succeeding in dispelling it.
And the dancer slammed the door againwith a deep sigh.


No,she saidthere is no one there.


Still, we saw him!Jammes declaredreturning with timid little steps
to her place beside Sorelli. "He must be somewhere prowling about.
I shan't go back to dress. We had better all go down to the foyer
togetherat oncefor the `speech' and we will come up again together."


And the child reverently touched the little coral finger-ring which
she wore as a charm against bad luckwhile Sorellistealthily
with the tip of her pink right thumb-nailmade a St. Andrew's cross
on the wooden ring which adorned the fourth finger of her left hand.
She said to the little ballet-girls:


Come, children, pull yourselves together! I dare say no one has
ever seen the ghost.


Yes, yes, we saw him--we saw him just now!cried the girls.
He had his death's head and his dress-coat, just as when he appeared
to Joseph Buquet!


And Gabriel saw him too!said Jammes. "Only yesterday!
Yesterday afternoon--in broad day-light----"


Gabriel, the chorus-master?


Why, yes, didn't you know?


And he was wearing his dress-clothes, in broad daylight?


Who? Gabriel?


Why, no, the ghost!


Certainly! Gabriel told me so himself. That's what he knew him by.
Gabriel was in the stage-manager's office. Suddenly the door opened
and the Persian entered. You know the Persian has the evil eye----



Oh, yes!answered the little ballet-girls in choruswarding off ill-luck by
pointing their forefinger and little finger at the absent Persianwhile their
second and third fingers were bent on the palm and held down by the thumb.


And you know how superstitious Gabriel is,continued Jammes.
However, he is always polite. When he meets the Persian, he just
puts his hand in his pocket and touches his keys. Well, the moment
the Persian appeared in the doorway, Gabriel gave one jump from
his chair to the lock of the cupboard, so as to touch iron!
In doing so, he tore a whole skirt of his overcoat on a nail.
Hurrying to get out of the room, he banged his forehead against a
hat-peg and gave himself a huge bump; then, suddenly stepping back,
he skinned his arm on the screen, near the piano; he tried to lean
on the piano, but the lid fell on his hands and crushed his fingers;
he rushed out of the office like a madman, slipped on the staircase
and came down the whole of the first flight on his back.
I was just passing with mother. We picked him up. He was covered
with bruises and his face was all over blood. We were frightened out
of our lives, but, all at once, he began to thank Providence that he
had got off so cheaply. Then he told us what had frightened him.
He had seen the ghost behind the Persian, THE GHOST WITH THE DEATH'S
HEAD just like Joseph Buquet's description!


Jammes had told her story ever so quicklyas though the ghost
were at her heelsand was quite out of breath at the finish.
A silence followedwhile Sorelli polished her nails in great excitement.
It was broken by little Girywho said:


Joseph Buquet would do better to hold his tongue.


Why should he hold his tongue?asked somebody.


That's mother's opinion,replied Meglowering her voice
and looking all about her as though fearing lest other ears
than those present might overhear.


And why is it your mother's opinion?


Hush! Mother says the ghost doesn't like being talked about.


And why does your mother say so?


Because--because--nothing--


This reticence exasperated the curiosity of the young ladies
who crowded round little Girybegging her to explain herself.
They were thereside by sideleaning forward simultaneously
in one movement of entreaty and fearcommunicating their terror
to one anothertaking a keen pleasure in feeling their blood freeze
in their veins.


I swore not to tell!gasped Meg.


But they left her no peace and promised to keep the secretuntil Meg
burning to say all she knewbeganwith her eyes fixed on the door:


Well, it's because of the private box.


What private box?


The ghost's box!


Has the ghost a box? Oh, do tell us, do tell us!



Not so loud!said Meg. "It's Box Fiveyou knowthe box
on the grand tiernext to the stage-boxon the left."

Oh, nonsense!

I tell you it is. Mother has charge of it. But you swear you
won't say a word?

Of course, of course.

Well, that's the ghost's box. No one has had it for over a month,
except the ghost, and orders have been given at the box-office
that it must never be sold.

And does the ghost really come there?

Yes.

Then somebody does come?

Why, no! The ghost comes, but there is nobody there.

The little ballet-girls exchanged glances. If the ghost came to the box
he must be seenbecause he wore a dress-coat and a death's head.
This was what they tried to make Meg understandbut she replied:

That's just it! The ghost is not seen. And he has no dress-coat
and no head! All that talk about his death's head and his head of
fire is nonsense! There's nothing in it. You only hear him when he
is in the box. Mother has never seen him, but she has heard him.
Mother knows, because she gives him his program.

Sorelli interfered.

Giry, child, you're getting at us!

Thereupon little Giry began to cry.

I ought to have held my tongue--if mother ever came to know!
But I was quite right, Joseph Buquet had no business to talk
of things that don't concern him--it will bring him bad luck-mother
was saying so last night----

There was a sound of hurried and heavy footsteps in the passage
and a breathless voice cried:

Cecile! Cecile! Are you there?

It's mother's voice,said Jammes. "What's the matter?"

She opened the door. A respectable ladybuilt on the lines of a
Pomeranian grenadierburst into the dressing-room and dropped groaning
into a vacant arm-chair. Her eyes rolled madly in her brick-dust colored face.

How awful!she said. "How awful!"

What? What?

Joseph Buquet

What about him?"

Joseph Buquet is dead!


The room became filled with exclamationswith astonished outcries
with scared requests for explanations.

Yes, he was found hanging in the third-floor cellar!

It's the ghost!little Giry blurtedas though in spite of herself;
but she at once corrected herselfwith her hands pressed to her mouth:
No, no!--I, didn't say it!--I didn't say it!----

All around herher panic-stricken companions repeated under
their breaths:

Yes--it must be the ghost!

Sorelli was very pale.

I shall never be able to recite my speech,she said.

Ma Jammes gave her opinionwhile she emptied a glass of liqueur
that happened to be standing on a table; the ghost must have
something to do with it.

The truth is that no one ever knew how Joseph Buquet met his death.
The verdict at the inquest was "natural suicide." In his Memoirs
of ManagerM. Moncharminone of the joint managers who succeeded MM.
Debienne and Polignydescribes the incident as follows:

A grievous accident spoiled the little party which MM.
Debienne and Poligny gave to celebrate their retirement. I was
in the manager's office, when Mercier, the acting-manager, suddenly
came darting in. He seemed half mad and told me that the body
of a scene-shifter had been found hanging in the third cellar under
the stage, between a farm-house and a scene from the Roi de Lahore.
I shouted:

`Come and cut him down!'

By the time I had rushed down the staircase and the Jacob's ladder,
the man was no longer hanging from his rope!

So this is an event which M. Moncharmin thinks natural. A man
hangs at the end of a rope; they go to cut him down; the rope
has disappeared. OhM. Moncharmin found a very simple explanation!
Listen to him:

It was just after the ballet; and leaders and dancing-girls lost
no time in taking their precautions against the evil eye.

There you are! Picture the corps de ballet scuttling down the
Jacob's ladder and dividing the suicide's rope among themselves
in less time than it takes to write! Whenon the other hand
I think of the exact spot where the body was discovered-the
third cellar underneath the stage!--imagine that SOMEBODY
must have been interested in seeing that the rope disappeared
after it had effected its purpose; and time will show if I am wrong.

The horrid news soon spread all over the Operawhere Joseph Buquet
was very popular. The dressing-rooms emptied and the ballet-girls
crowding around Sorelli like timid sheep around their shepherdess
made for the foyer through the ill-lit passages and staircases
trotting as fast as their little pink legs could carry them.


Chapter II The New Margarita

On the first landingSorelli ran against the Comte de Chagny
who was coming up-stairs. The countwho was generally so calm
seemed greatly excited.

I was just going to you,he saidtaking off his hat. "OhSorelli
what an evening! And Christine Daae: what a triumph!"

Impossible!said Meg Giry. "Six months agoshe used to sing like
a CROCK! But do let us get bymy dear count continues the brat,
with a saucy curtsey. We are going to inquire after a poor man
who was found hanging by the neck."

Just then the acting-manager came fussing past and stopped when he
heard this remark.

What!he exclaimed roughly. "Have you girls heard already?
Wellplease forget about it for tonight--and above all don't let

M. Debienne and M. Poligny hear; it would upset them too much
on their last day."
They all went on to the foyer of the balletwhich was already full
of people. The Comte de Chagny was right; no gala performance ever
equalled this one. All the great composers of the day had conducted their
own works in turns. Faure and Krauss had sung; andon that evening
Christine Daae had revealed her true selffor the first time
to the astonished and enthusiastic audience. Gounod had conducted
the Funeral March of a Marionnette; Reyerhis beautiful overture
to Siguar; Saint Saensthe Danse Macabre and a Reverie Orientale;
Massenetan unpublished Hungarian march; Guiraudhis Carnaval;
Delibesthe Valse Lente from Sylvia and the Pizzicati from Coppelia.
Mlle. Krauss had sung the bolero in the Vespri Siciliani;
and Mlle. Denise Bloch the drinking song in Lucrezia Borgia.


But the real triumph was reserved for Christine Daaewho had
begun by singing a few passages from Romeo and Juliet. It was
the first time that the young artist sang in this work of Gounod
which had not been transferred to the Opera and which was revived
at the Opera Comique after it had been produced at the old Theatre
Lyrique by Mme. Carvalho. Those who heard her say that her voice
in these passageswas seraphic; but this was nothing to the superhuman
notes that she gave forth in the prison scene and the final trio
in FAUSTwhich she sang in the place of La Carlottawho was ill.
No one had ever heard or seen anything like it.


Daae revealed a new Margarita that nighta Margarita of a splendor
a radiance hitherto unsuspected. The whole house went mad
rising to its feetshoutingcheeringclappingwhile Christine
sobbed and fainted in the arms of her fellow-singers and had to be
carried to her dressing-room. A few subscribershoweverprotested.
Why had so great a treasure been kept from them all that time?
Till thenChristine Daae had played a good Siebel to Carlotta's
rather too splendidly material Margarita. And it had needed
Carlotta's incomprehensible and inexcusable absence from this gala
night for the little Daaeat a moment's warningto show all that she
could do in a part of the program reserved for the Spanish diva!
Wellwhat the subscribers wanted to know waswhy had Debienne
and Poligny applied to Daaewhen Carlotta was taken ill? Did they
know of her hidden genius? Andif they knew of itwhy had they
kept it hidden? And why had she kept it hidden? Oddly enough
she was not known to have a professor of singing at that moment.



She had often said she meant to practise alone for the future.
The whole thing was a mystery.

The Comte de Chagnystanding up in his boxlistened to all this
frenzy and took part in it by loudly applauding. Philippe Georges
Marie Comte de Chagny was just forty-one years of age.
He was a great aristocrat and a good-looking manabove middle
height and with attractive featuresin spite of his hard forehead
and his rather cold eyes. He was exquisitely polite to the women
and a little haughty to the menwho did not always forgive him
for his successes in society. He had an excellent heart and an
irreproachable conscience. On the death of old Count Philibert
he became the head of one of the oldest and most distinguished
families in Francewhose arms dated back to the fourteenth century.
The Chagnys owned a great deal of property; andwhen the old count
who was a widowerdiedit was no easy task for Philippe to accept
the management of so large an estate. His two sisters and his
brotherRaoulwould not hear of a division and waived their claim
to their sharesleaving themselves entirely in Philippe's hands
as though the right of primogeniture had never ceased to exist.
When the two sisters marriedon the same daythey received their
portion from their brothernot as a thing rightfully belonging
to thembut as a dowry for which they thanked him.

The Comtesse de Chagnynee de Moerogis de La Martynierehad died in
giving birth to Raoulwho was born twenty years after his elder brother.
At the time of the old count's deathRaoul was twelve years of age.
Philippe busied himself actively with the youngster's education.
He was admirably assisted in this work first by his sisters
and afterward by an old auntthe widow of a naval officer
who lived at Brest and gave young Raoul a taste for the sea.
The lad entered the Borda training-shipfinished his course
with honors and quietly made his trip round the world. Thanks to
powerful influencehe had just been appointed a member of the official
expedition on board the Requinwhich was to be sent to the Arctic
Circle in search of the survivors of the D'Artoi's expedition
of whom nothing had been heard for three years. Meanwhilehe was
enjoying a long furlough which would not be over for six months;
and already the dowagers of the Faubourg Saint-Germain were pitying
the handsome and apparently delicate stripling for the hard work
in store for him.

The shyness of the sailor-lad--I was almost saying his innocence-was
remarkable. He seemed to have but just left the women's
apron-strings. As a matter of factpetted as he was by his two
sisters and his old aunthe had retained from this purely feminine
education mnnners that were almost candid and stamped with a charm
that nothing had yet been able to sully. He was a little over
twenty-one years of age and looked eighteen. He had a small
fair mustachebeautiful blue eyes and a complexion like a girl's.

Philippe spoiled Raoul. To begin withhe was very proud of him
and pleased to foresee a glorious career for his junior in the navy
in which one of their ancestorsthe famous Chagny de La Roche
had held the rank of admiral. He took advantage of the young
man's leave of absence to show him Pariswith all its luxurious
and artistic delights. The count considered thatat Raoul's age
it is not good to be too good. Philippe himself had a character
that was very well-balanced in work and pleasure alike;
his demeanor was always faultless; and he was incapable of setting
his brother a bad example. He took him with him wherever he went.
He even introduced him to the foyer of the ballet. I know that
the count was said to be "on terms" with Sorelli. But it could
hardly be reckoned as a crime for this noblemana bachelor


with plenty of leisureespecially since his sisters were settled
to come and spend an hour or two after dinner in the company
of a dancerwhothough not so veryvery wittyhad the finest
eyes that ever were seen! Andbesidesthere are places where
a true Parisianwhen he has the rank of the Comte de Chagny
is bound to show himself; and at that time the foyer of the ballet
at the Opera was one of those places.


LastlyPhilippe would perhaps not have taken his brother behind
the scenes of the Opera if Raoul had not been the first to ask him
repeatedly renewing his request with a gentle obstinacy which
the count remembered at a later date.


On that eveningPhilippeafter applauding the Daaeturned to
Raoul and saw that he was quite pale.


Don't you see,said Raoulthat the woman's fainting?


You look like fainting yourself,said the count. "What's the matter?"


But Raoul had recovered himself and was standing up.


Let's go and see,he saidshe never sang like that before.


The count gave his brother a curious smiling glance and seemed quite pleased.
They were soon at the door leading from the house to the stage.
Numbers of subscribers were slowly making their way through.
Raoul tore his gloves without knowing what he was doing and Philippe
had much too kind a heart to laugh at him for his impatience.
But he now understood why Raoul was absent-minded when spoken to
and why he always tried to turn every conversation to the subject
of the Opera.


They reached the stage and pushed through the crowd of gentlemen
scene-shifterssupers and chorus-girlsRaoul leading the way
feeling that his heart no longer belonged to himhis face set
with passionwhile Count Philippe followed him with difficulty
and continued to smile. At the back of the stageRaoul had to stop
before the inrush of the little troop of ballet-girls who blocked
the passage which he was trying to enter. More than one chaffing
phrase darted from little made-up lipsto which he did not reply;
and at last he was able to passand dived into the semi-darkness
of a corridor ringing with the name of "Daae! Daae!" The count
was surprised to find that Raoul knew the way. He had never taken
him to Christine's himself and came to the conclusion that Raoul must
have gone there alone while the count stayed talking in the foyer
with Sorelliwho often asked him to wait until it was her time to
go onand sometimes handed him the little gaiters in which she ran
down from her dressing-room to preserve the spotlessness of her satin
dancing-shoes and her flesh-colored tights. Sorelli had an excuse;
she had lost her mother.


Postponing his usual visit to Sorelli for a few minutesthe count
followed his brother down the passage that led to Daae's dressing-room
and saw that it had never been so crammed as on that evening
when the whole house seemed excited by her success and also by her
fainting fit. For the girl had not yet come to; and the doctor
of the theater had just arrived at the moment when Raoul entered
at his heels. Christinethereforereceived the first aid
of the onewhile opening her eyes in the arms of the other.
The count and many more remained crowding in the doorway.


Don't you think, Doctor, that those gentlemen had better clear
the room?asked Raoul coolly. "There's no breathing here."



You're quite right,said the doctor.


And he sent every one awayexcept Raoul and the maidwho looked
at Raoul with eyes of the most undisguised astonishment.
She had never seen him before and yet dared not question him;
and the doctor imagined that the young man was only acting as he did
because he had the right to. The viscountthereforeremained in
the room watching Christine as she slowly returned to life
while even the joint managersDebienne and Polignywho had come
to offer their sympathy and congratulationsfound themselves thrust
into the passage among the crowd of dandies. The Comte de Chagny
who was one of those standing outsidelaughed:


Oh, the rogue, the rogue!And he addedunder his breath:
Those youngsters with their school-girl airs! So he's a Chagny
after all!


He turned to go to Sorelli's dressing-roombut met her on the way
with her little troop of trembling ballet-girlsas we have seen.


MeanwhileChristine Daae uttered a deep sighwhich was answered
by a groan. She turned her headsaw Raoul and started. She looked
at the doctoron whom she bestowed a smilethen at her maid
then at Raoul again.


Monsieur,she saidin a voice not much above a whisper
who are you?


Mademoiselle,replied the young mankneeling on one knee
and pressing a fervent kiss on the diva's handI AM THE LITTLE
BOY WHO WENT INTO THE SEA TO RESCUE YOUR SCARF.


Christine again looked at the doctor and the maid; and all three
began to laugh.


Raoul turned very red and stood up.


Mademoiselle,he saidsince you are pleased not to recognize me,
I should like to say something to you in private, something very important.


When I am better, do you mind?And her voice shook. "You have
been very good."


Yes, you must go,said the doctorwith his pleasantest smile.
Leave me to attend to mademoiselle.


I am not ill now,said Christine suddenlywith strange
and unexpected energy.


She rose and passed her hand over her eyelids.


Thank you, Doctor. I should like to be alone. Please go away,
all of you. Leave me. I feel very restless this evening.


The doctor tried to make a short protestbutperceiving the girl's
evident agitationhe thought the best remedy was not to thwart her.
And he went awaysaying to Raouloutside:


She is not herself to-night. She is usually so gentle.


Then he said good night and Raoul was left alone. The whole of this
part of the theater was now deserted. The farewell ceremony was
no doubt taking place in the foyer of the ballet. Raoul thought



that Daae might go to it and he waited in the silent solitude
even hiding in the favoring shadow of a doorway. He felt a terrible pain
at his heart and it was of this that he wanted to speak to Daae without delay.


Suddenly the dressing-room door opened and the maid came out by herself
carrying bundles. He stopped her and asked how her mistress was.
The woman laughed and said that she was quite wellbut that he
must not disturb herfor she wished to be left alone. And she
passed on. One idea alone filled Raoul's burning brain: of course
Daae wished to be left alone FOR HIM! Had he not told her that he
wanted to speak to her privately?


Hardly breathinghe went up to the dressing-room andwith his
ear to the door to catch her replyprepared to knock. But his
hand dropped. He had heard A MAN'S VOICE in the dressing-roomsaying
in a curiously masterful tone:


Christine, you must love me!


And Christine's voiceinfinitely sad and tremblingas though
accompanied by tearsreplied:


How can you talk like that? WHEN I SING ONLY FOR YOU!


Raoul leaned against the panel to ease his pain. His heart
which had seemed gone for everreturned to his breast and
was throbbing loudly. The whole passage echoed with its beating and
Raoul's ears were deafened. Surelyif his heart continued to make
such a noisethey would hear it insidethey would open the door and
the young man would be turned away in disgrace. What a position for a Chagny!
To be caught listening behind a door! He took his heart in his two hands
to make it stop.


The man's voice spoke again: "Are you very tired?"


Oh, to-night I gave you my soul and I am dead!Christine replied.


Your soul is a beautiful thing, child,replied the grave man's voice
and I thank you. No emperor ever received so fair a gift.
THE ANGELS WEPT TONIGHT.


Raoul heard nothing after that. Neverthelesshe did not go away
butas though he feared lest he should be caughthe returned to
his dark cornerdetermined to wait for the man to leave the room.
At one and the same timehe had learned what love meantand hatred.
He knew that he loved. He wanted to know whom he hated. To his
great astonishmentthe door opened and Christine Daae appeared
wrapped in furswith her face hidden in a lace veilalone. She closed
the door behind herbut Raoul observed that she did not lock it.
She passed him. He did not even follow her with his eyesfor his
eyes were fixed on the doorwhich did not open again.


When the passage was once more desertedhe crossed it
opened the door of the dressing-roomwent in and shut the door.
He found himself in absolute darkness. The gas had been turned out.


There is some one here!said Raoulwith his back against
the closed doorin a quivering voice. "What are you hiding for?"


All was darkness and silence. Raoul heard only the sound of his
own breathing. He quite failed to see that the indiscretion
of his conduct was exceeding all bounds.


You shan't leave this until I let you!he exclaimed. "If you



don't answeryou are a coward! But I'll expose you!"


And he struck a match. The blaze lit up the room. There was no
one in the room! Raoulfirst turning the key in the doorlit the
gas-jets. He went into the dressing-closetopened the cupboards
hunted aboutfelt the walls with his moist hands. Nothing!


Look here!he saidaloud. "Am I going mad?"


He stood for ten minutes listening to the gas flaring in the silence
of the empty room; lover though he washe did not even think of stealing
a ribbon that would have given him the perfume of the woman he loved.
He went outnot knowing what he was doing nor where he was going.
At a given moment in his wayward progressan icy draft struck
him in the face. He found himself at the bottom of a staircase
down whichbehind hima procession of workmen were carrying a sort
of stretchercovered with a white sheet.


Which is the way out, please?he asked of one of the men.


Straight in front of you, the door is open. But let us pass.


Pointing to the stretcherhe asked mechanically: "What's that?"


The workmen answered:


`That' is Joseph Buquet, who was found in the third cellar,
hanging between a farm-house and a scene from the ROI DE LAHORE.


He took off his hatfell back to make room for the procession
and went out.


Chapter III The Mysterious Reason


During this timethe farewell ceremony was taking place.
I have already said that this magnificent function was being given
on the occasion of the retirement of M. Debienne and M. Poligny
who had determined to "die game as we say nowadays. They had been
assisted in the realization of their ideal, though melancholy,
program by all that counted in the social and artistic world of Paris.
All these people met, after the performance, in the foyer of the ballet,
where Sorelli waited for the arrival of the retiring managers
with a glass of champagne in her hand and a little prepared speech
at the tip of her tongue. Behind her, the members of the Corps
de Ballet, young and old, discussed the events of the day in whispers
or exchanged discreet signals with their friends, a noisy crowd
of whom surrounded the supper-tables arranged along the slanting floor.


A few of the dancers had already changed into ordinary dress; but most
of them wore their skirts of gossamer gauze; and all had thought it
the right thing to put on a special face for the occasion: all, that is,
except little Jammes, whose fifteen summers--happy age!--seemed already
to have forgotten the ghost and the death of Joseph Buquet. She never
ceased to laugh and chatter, to hop about and play practical jokes,
until Mm. Debienne and Poligny appeared on the steps of the foyer,
when she was severely called to order by the impatient Sorelli.


Everybody remarked that the retiring managers looked cheerful,
as is the Paris way. None will ever be a true Parisian who has
not learned to wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows and one
of sadness, boredom or indifference over his inward joy. You know



that one of your friends is in trouble; do not try to console him:
he will tell you that he is already comforted; but, should he have met
with good fortune, be careful how you congratulate him: he thinks
it so natural that he is surprised that you should speak of it.
In Paris, our lives are one masked ball; and the foyer of the ballet
is the last place in which two men so knowing" as M. Debienne
and M. Poligny would have made the mistake of betraying their grief
however genuine it might be. And they were already smiling rather
too broadly upon Sorelliwho had begun to recite her speech
when an exclamation from that little madcap of a Jammes broke
the smile of the managers so brutally that the expression of distress
and dismay that lay beneath it became apparent to all eyes:

The Opera ghost!

Jammes yelled these words in a tone of unspeakable terror; and her
finger pointedamong the crowd of dandiesto a face so pallid
so lugubrious and so uglywith two such deep black cavities
under the straddling eyebrowsthat the death's head in question
immediately scored a huge success.

The Opera ghost! The Opera ghost!Everybody laughed and pushed
his neighbor and wanted to offer the Opera ghost a drinkbut he
was gone. He had slipped through the crowd; and the others vainly
hunted for himwhile two old gentlemen tried to calm little Jammes
and while little Giry stood screaming like a peacock.

Sorelli was furious; she had not been able to finish her speech;
the managershad kissed herthanked her and run away as fast as
the ghost himself. No one was surprised at thisfor it was known
that they were to go through the same ceremony on the floor above
in the foyer of the singersand that finally they were themselves
to receive their personal friendsfor the last timein the great
lobby outside the managers' officewhere a regular supper would
be served.

Here they found the new managersM. Armand Moncharmin and

M. Firmin Richardwhom they hardly knew; neverthelessthey were
lavish in protestations of friendship and received a thousand
flattering compliments in replyso that those of the guests who had
feared that they had a rather tedious evening in store for them
at once put on brighter faces. The supper was almost gay and a
particularly clever speech of the representative of the government
mingling the glories of the past with the successes of the future
caused the greatest cordiality to prevail.
The retiring managers had already handed over to their successors
the two tiny master-keys which opened all the doors--thousands of doors--
of the Opera house. And those little keysthe object of general curiosity
were being passed from hand to handwhen the attention of some of
the guests was diverted by their discoveryat the end of the table
of that strangewan and fantastic facewith the hollow eyes
which had already appeared in the foyer of the ballet and been
greeted by little Jammes' exclamation:


The Opera ghost!


There sat the ghostas natural as could beexcept that he neither
ate nor drank. Those who began by looking at him with a smile ended
by turning away their headsfor the sight of him at once provoked
the most funereal thoughts. No one repeated the joke of the foyer
no one exclaimed:


There's the Opera ghost!



He himself did not speak a word and his very neighbors could not
have stated at what precise moment he had sat down between them;
but every one felt that if the dead did ever come and sit at
the table of the livingthey could not cut a more ghastly figure.
The friends of Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin thought that this
lean and skinny guest was an acquaintance of Debienne's or Poligny's
while Debienne's and Poligny's friends believed that the cadaverous
individual belonged to Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin's party.

The result was that no request was made for an explanation;
no unpleasant remark; no joke in bad tastewhich might have offended
this visitor from the tomb. A few of those present who knew the story
of the ghost and the description of him given by the chief scene-shifter-they
did not know of Joseph Buquet's death--thoughtin their own minds
that the man at the end of the table might easily have passed for him;
and yetaccording to the storythe ghost had no nose and the person
in question had. But M. Moncharmin declaresin his Memoirs
that the guest's nose was transparent: "longthin and transparent"
are his exact words. Ifor my partwill add that this might
very well apply to a false nose. M. Moncharmin may have taken
for transparcncy what was only shininess. Everybody knows
that orthopaedic science provides beautiful false noses for
those who have lost their noses naturally or as the result of an operation.

Did the ghost really take a seat at the managers' supper-table
that nightuninvited? And can we be sure that the figure was
that of the Opera ghost himself? Who would venture to assert
as much? I mention the incidentnot because I wish for a second
to make the reader believe--or even to try to make him believe-that
the ghost was capable of such a sublime piece of impudence;
but becauseafter allthe thing is impossible.

M. Armand Moncharminin chapter eleven of his Memoirssays:
When I think of this first evening, I can not separate the secret
confided to us by MM. Debienne and Poligny in their office from
the presence at our supper of that GHOSTLY person whom none of us knew.

What happened was this: Mm. Debienne and Polignysitting at
the center of the tablehad not seen the man with the death's head.
Suddenly he began to speak.

The ballet-girls are right,he said. "The death of that poor
Buquet is perhaps not so natural as people think."

Debienne and Poligny gave a start.

Is Buquet dead?they cried.

Yes,replied the manor the shadow of a manquietly. "He was found
this eveninghanging in the third cellarbetween a farm-house
and a scene from the Roi de Lahore."

The two managersor rather ex-managersat once rose and stared
strangely at the speaker. They were more excited than they need
have beenthat is to saymore excited than any one need be by
the announcement of the suicide of a chief scene-shifter. They looked
at each other. Theyhad both turned whiter than the table-cloth.
At lastDebienne made a sign to Mm. Richard and Moncharmin;
Poligny muttered a few words of excuse to the guests; and all four
went into the managers' office. I leave M. Mencharmin to complete
the story. In his Memoirshe says:


Mm. Debienne and Poligny seemed to grow more and more excited,
and they appeared to have something very difficult to tell us.
First, they asked us if we knew the man, sitting at the end of the table,
who had told them of the death of Joseph Buquet; and, when we answered
in the negative, they looked still more concerned. They took the
master-keys from our hands, stared at them for a moment and advised
us to have new locks made, with the greatest secrecy, for the rooms,
closets and presses that we might wish to have hermetically closed.
They said this so funnily that we began to laugh and to ask if there
were thieves at the Opera. They replied that there was something worse,
which was the GHOST. We began to laugh again, feeling sure that
they were indulging in some joke that was intended to crown our
little entertainment. Then, at their request, we became `serious,'
resolving to humor them and to enter into the spirit of the game.
They told us that they never would have spoken to us of the ghost,
if they had not received formal orders from the ghost himself
to ask us to be pleasant to him and to grant any request that he
might make. However, in their relief at leaving a domain where
that tyrannical shade held sway, they had hesitated until the last
moment to tell us this curious story, which our skeptical minds
were certainly not prepared to entertain. But the announcement of
the death of Joseph Buquet had served them as a brutal reminder that,
whenever they had disregarded the ghost's wishes, some fantastic
or disastrous event had brought them to a sense of their dependence.

During these unexpected utterances made in a tone of the most secret
and important confidenceI looked at Richard. Richardin his
student dayshad acquired a great reputation for practical joking
and he seemed to relish the dish which was being served up to him
in his turn. He did not miss a morsel of itthough the seasoning
was a little gruesome because of the death of Buquet. He nodded
his head sadlywhile the others spokeand his features assumed
the air of a man who bitterly regretted having taken over the Opera
now that he knew that there was a ghost mixed up in the business.
I could think of nothing better than to give him a servile imitation
of this attitude of despair. Howeverin spite of all our efforts
we could notat the finishhelp bursting out laughing in the faces
of MM. Debienne and Polignywhoseeing us pass straight from
the gloomiest state of mind to one of the most insolent merriment
acted as though they thought that we had gone mad.

The joke became a little tedious; and Richard asked half-seriously
and half in jest:

`Butafter allwhat does this ghost of yours want?'

M. Poligny went to his desk and returned with a copy of the
memorandum-book. The memorandum-book begins with the well-known
words saying that `the management of the Opera shall give to
the performance of the National Academy of Music the splendor that
becomes the first lyric stage in France' and ends with Clause 98,
which says that the privilege can be withdrawn if the manager
infringes the conditions stipulated in the memorandum-book.
This is followed by the conditions, which are four in number.

The copy produced by M. Poligny was written in black ink
and exactly similar to that in our possessionexcept that
at the endit contained a paragraph in red ink and in a queer
labored handwritingas though it had been produced by dipping
the heads of matches into the inkthe writing of a child
that has never got beyond the down-strokes and has not learned
to join its letters. This paragraph ranword for wordas follows:

`5. Or if the manager, in any month, delay for more than a fortnight


the payment of the allowance which he shall make to the Opera ghost,
an allowance of twenty thousand francs a month, say two hundred
and forty thousand francs a year.'


M. Poligny pointed with a hesitating finger to this last clause
which we certainly did not expect.


`Is this all? Does he not want anything else?' asked Richard,
with the greatest coolness.


`Yeshe does' replied Poligny.


And he turned over the pages of the memorandum-book until he
came to the clause specifying the days on which certain private
boxes were to be reserved for the free use of the president of
the republic, the ministers and so on. At the end of this clause,
a line had been added, also in red ink:


`Box Five on the grand tier shall be placed at the disposal
of the Opera ghost for every performance.'


When we saw this, there was nothing else for us to do but to rise
from our chairs, shake our two predecessors warmly by the hand
and congratulate them on thinking of this charming little joke,
which proved that the old French sense of humor was never likely
to become extinct. Richard added that he now understood why MM.
Debienne and Poligny were retiring from the management of the National
Academy of Music. Business was impossible with so unreasonable
a ghost.


`Certainlytwo hundred and forty thousand francs are not be picked up
for the asking' said M. Polignywithout moving a muscle of his face.
`And have you considered what the loss over Box Five meant to us?
We did not sell it once; and not only thatbut we had to return
the subscription: whyit's awful! We really can't work to keep ghosts!
We prefer to go away!'


`Yes,' echoed M. Debienne, `we prefer to go away. Let us go.'


And he stood up. Richard said: `Butafter all allit seems
to me that you were much too kind to the ghost. If I had such
a troublesome ghost as thatI should not hesitate to have him arrested.'


`But how? Where?' they cried, in chorus. `We have never seen him!'


`But when he comes to his box?'


'WE HAVE NEVER SEEN HIM IN HIS BOX.'


`Then sell it.'


`Sell the Opera ghost's box! Well, gentlemen, try it.'


Thereupon we all four left the office. Richard and I had `never
laughed so much in our lives.'"


Chapter IV Box Five


Armand Moncharmin wrote such voluminous Memoirs during the fairly long
period of his co-management that we may well ask if he ever found
time to attend to the affairs of the Opera otherwise than by telling



what went on there. M. Moncharmin did not know a note of music
but he called the minister of education and fine arts by his
Christian namehad dabbled a little in society journalism and enjoyed
a considerable private income. Lastlyhe was a charming fellow
and showed that he was not lacking in intelligenceforas soon as he
made up his mind to be a sleeping partner in the Operahe selected
the best possible active manager and went straight to Firmin Richard.

Firmin Richard was a very distinguished composerwho had published
a number of successful pieces of all kinds and who liked nearly every
form of music and every sort of musician. Clearlythereforeit was
the duty of every sort of musician to like M. Firmin Richard.
The only things to be said against him were that he was rather
masterful in his ways and endowed with a very hasty temper.

The first few days which the partners spent at the Opera were given
over to the delight of finding themselves the head of so magnificent
an enterprise; and they had forgotten all about that curious
fantastic story of the ghostwhen an incident occurred that
proved to them that the joke--if joke it were--was not over.

M. Firmin Richard reached his office that morning at eleven
o'clock. His secretaryM. Remyshowed him half a dozen letters
which he had not opened because they were marked "private."
One of the letters had at once attracted Richard's attention not
only because the envelope was addressed in red inkbut because he
seemed to have seen the writing before. He soon rememberd that it
was the red handwriting in which the memorandum-book had been
so curiously completed. He recognized the clumsy childish hand.
He opened the letter and read:
DEAR MR. MANAGER:

I am sorry to have to trouble you at a time when you must be
so very busyrenewing important engagementssigning fresh ones
and generally displaying your excellent taste. I know what you
have done for CarlottaSorelli and little Jammes and for a few
others whose admirable qualities of talent or genius you have suspected.

Of coursewhen I use these wordsI do not mean to apply them
to La Carlottawho sings like a squirt and who ought never to
have been allowed to leave the Ambassadeurs and the Cafe Jacquin;
nor to La Sorelliwho owes her success mainly to the coach-builders;
nor to little Jammeswho dances like a calf in a field. And I am
not speaking of Christine Daae eitherthough her genius is certain
whereas your jealousy prevents her from creating any important part.
When all is saidyou are free to conduct your little business as you
think bestare you not?

All the sameI should like to take advantage of the fact that you
have not yet turned Christine Daae out of doors by hearing her
this evening in the part of Siebelas that of Margarita has been
forbidden her since her triumph of the other evening; and I will
ask you not to dispose of my box to-day nor on the FOLLOWING DAYS
for I can not end this letter without telling you how disagreeably
surprised I have been once or twiceto hearon arriving at the Opera
that my box had been soldat the box-officeby your orders.

I did not protestfirstbecause I dislike scandalandsecond
because I thought that your predecessorsMM. Debienne and Poligny
who were always charming to mehad neglectedbefore leaving
to mention my little fads to you. I have now received a reply
from those gentlemen to my letter asking for an explanation
and this reply proves that you know all about my Memorandum-Book and
consequentlythat you are treating me with outrageous contempt.


IF YOU WISH TO LIVE IN PEACEYOU MUST NOT BEGIN BY TAKING AWAY
MY PRIVATE BOX.

Believe me to bedear Mr. Managerwithout prejudice to these
little observations
Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant
OPERA GHOST.

The letter was accompanied by a cutting from the agony-column
of the Revue Theatralewhich ran:

O. G.--There is no excuse for R. and M. We told them and left
your memorandum-book in their hands. Kind regards.
M. Firmin Richard had hardly finished reading this letter when
M. Armand Moncharmin enteredcarrying one exactly similar.
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
They are keeping up the joke,said M. Richardbut I don't call
it funny.

What does it all mean?asked M. Moncharmin. "Do they imagine that
because they have been managers of the Operawe are going to let
them have a box for an indefinite period?"

I am not in the mood to let myself be laughed at long,
said Firmin Richard.

It's harmless enough,observed Armand Moncharmin. "What is it
they really want? A box for to-night?"

M. Firmin Richard told his secretary to send Box Five on the grand
tier to Mm. Debienne and Polignyif it was not sold. It was not.
It was sent off to them. Debienne lived at the corner of the Rue
Scribe and the Boulevard des Capucines; Polignyin the Rue Auber.
O. Ghost's two letters had been posted at the Boulevard des
Capucines post-officeas Moncharmin remarked after examining
the envelopes.
You see!said Richard.

They shrugged their shoulders and regretted that two men of that age
should amuse themselves with such childish tricks.

They might have been civil, for all that!said Moncharmin.
Did you notice how they treat us with regard to Carlotta,
Sorelli and Little Jammes?

Why, my dear fellow, these two are mad with jealousy! To think that
they went to the expense of, an advertisement in the Revue Theatrale!
Have they nothing better to do?

By the way,said Moncharminthey seem to be greatly interested
in that little Christine Daae!

You know as well as I do that she has the reputation of being
quite good,said Richard.

Reputations are easily obtained,replied Moncharmin. "Haven't I
a reputation for knowing all about music? And I don't know one key
from another."

Don't be afraid: you never had that reputation,Richard declared.


Thereupon he ordered the artists to be shown inwhofor the last
two hourshad been walking up and down outside the door behind
which fame and fortune--or dismissal--awaited them.

The whole day was spent in discussingnegotiatingsigning or
cancelling contracts; and the two overworked managers went
to bed earlywithout so much as casting a glance at Box Five
to see whether M. Debienne and M. Poligny were enjoying the performance.

Next morningthe managers received a card of thanks from the ghost:

DEARMR. MANAGER:

Thanks. Charming evening. Daae exquisite. Choruses want waking up.
Carlotta a splendid commonplace instrument. Will write you soon
for the 240000 francsor 233424 fr. 70 c.to be correct.
Mm. Debienne and Poligny have sent me the 6575 fr. 30 c.
representing the first ten days of my allowance for the current year;
their privileges finished on the evening of the tenth inst.

Kind regards. O. G.

On the other handthere was a letter from Mm. Debienne and Poligny:

GENTLEMEN:

We are much obliged for your kind thought of usbut you will
easily understand that the prospect of again hearing Faust
pleasant though it is to ex-managers of the Operacan not make us
forget that we have no right to occupy Box Five on the grand tier
which is the exclusive property of HIM of whom we spoke to you when
we went through the memorandum-book with you for the last time.
See Clause 98final paragraph.

Acceptgentlemenetc.

Oh, those fellows are beginning to annoy me!shouted Firmin Richard
snatching up the letter.

And that evening Box Five was sold.

The next morningMm. Richard and Moncharminon reaching their office
found an inspector's report relating to an incident that had happened
the night beforein Box Five. I give the essential part of the report:

I was obliged to call in a municipal guard twicethis evening
to clear Box Five on the grand tieronce at the beginning and once
in the middle of the second act. The occupantswho arrived
as the curtain rose on the second actcreated a regular scandal
by their laughter and their ridiculous observations. There
were cries of "Hush!" all around them and the whole house was
beginning to protestwhen the box-keeper came to fetch me. I entered
the box and said what I thought necessary. The people did not seem
to me to be in their right mind; and they made stupid remarks.
I said thatif the noise was repeatedI should be compelled
to clear the box. The moment I leftI heard the laughing again
with fresh protests from the house. I returned with a municipal
guardwho turned them out. They protestedstill laughing
saying they would not go unless they had their money back. At last
they became quiet and I allowed them to enter the box again.
The laughter at once recommenced; andthis timeI had them turned
out definitely.

Send for the inspector,said Richard to his secretarywho had


already read the report and marked it with blue pencil.

M. Remythe secretaryhad foreseen the order and called
the inspector at once.
Tell us what happened,said Richard bluntly.

The inspector began to splutter and referred to the report.

Well, but what were those people laughing at?asked Moncharmin.

They must have been dining, sir, and seemed more inclined to lark
about than to listen to good music. The moment they entered the box,
they came out again and called the box-keeper, who asked them what
they wanted. They said, `Look in the box: there's no one there,
is there?' `No,' said the woman. `Well,' said they, `when we went in,
we heard a voice saying THAT THE BOX WAS TAKEN!'

M. Moncharmin could not help smiling as he looked at M. Richard;
but M. Richard did not smile. He himself had done too much in
that way in his time not to recognizein the inspector's story
all the marks of one of those practical jokes which begin
by amusing and end by enraging the victims. The inspector
to curry favor with M. Moncharminwho was smilingthought it
best to give a smile too. A most unfortunate smile! M. Richard
glared at his subordinatewho thenceforth made it his business
to display a face of utter consternation.
However, when the people arrived,roared Richardthere was
no one in the box, was there?

Not a soul, sir, not a soul! Nor in the box on the right, nor in
the box on the left: not a soul, sir, I swear! The box-keeper
told it me often enough, which proves that it was all a joke.

Oh, you agree, do you?said Richard. "You agree! It's a joke!
And you think it funnyno doubt?"

I think it in very bad taste, sir.

And what did the box-keeper say?

Oh, she just said that it was the Opera ghost. That's all she said!

And the inspector grinned. But he soon found that he had made
a mistake in grinningfor the words had no sooner left his mouth
than M. Richardfrom gloomybecame furious.

Send for the box-keeper!he shouted. "Send for her! This minute!
This minute! And bring her in to me here! And turn all those
people out!"

The inspector tried to protestbut Richard closed his mouth
with an angry order to hold his tongue. Thenwhen the wretched
man's lips seemed shut for everthe manager commanded him to open
them once more.

Who is this `Opera ghost?'he snarled.

But the inspector was by this time incapable of speaking a word.
He managed to conveyby a despairing gesturethat he knew nothing
about itor rather that he did not wish to know.

Have you ever seen him, have you seen the Opera ghost?


The inspectorby means of a vigorous shake of the headdenied ever
having seen the ghost in question.


Very well!said M. Richard coldly.


The inspector's eyes started out of his headas though to ask why
the manager had uttered that ominous "Very well!"


Because I'm going to settle the account of any one who has not
seen him!explained the manager. "As he seems to be everywhere
I can't have people telling me that they see him nowhere.
I like people to work for me when I employ them!"


Having said thisM. Richard paid no attention to the inspector
and discussed various matters of business with his acting-manager
who had entered the room meanwhile. The inspector thought he
could go and was gently--ohso gently!--sidling toward the door
when M. Richard nailed the man to the floor with a thundering:


Stay where you are!


M. Remy had sent for the box-keeper to the Rue de Provence
close to the Operawhere she was engaged as a porteress.
She soon made her appearance.
What's your name?

Mme. Giry. You know me well enough, sir; I'm the mother
of little Giry, little Meg, what!

This was said in so rough and solemn a tone thatfor a moment

M. Richard was impressed. He looked at Mme. Giryin her faded shawl
her worn shoesher old taffeta dress and dingy bonnet. It was quite
evident from the manager's attitudethat he either did not know
or could not remember having met Mme. Girynor even little Giry
nor even "little Meg!" But Mme. Giry's pride was so great that
the celebrated box-keeper imagined that everybody knew her.
Never heard of her!the manager declared. "But that's no reason
Mme. Girywhy I shouldn't ask you what happened last night to make
you and the inspector call in a municipal guard

I was just wanting to see you, sir, and talk to you about it,
so that you mightn't have the same unpleasantness as M. Debienne
and M. Poligny. They wouldn't listen to me either, at first.

I'm not asking you about all that. I'm asking what happened
last night.

Mme. Giry turned purple with indignation. Never had she been
spoken to like that. She rose as though to gogathering up
the folds of her skirt and waving the feathers of her dingy bonnet
with dignitybutchanging her mindshe sat down again and said
in a haughty voice:

I'll tell you what happened. The ghost was annoyed again!

Thereuponas M. Richard was on the point of bursting outM. Moncharmin
interfered and conducted the interrogatorywhence it appeared
that Mme. Giry thought it quite natural that a voice should be heard
to say that a box was takenwhen there was nobody in the box.
She was unable to explain this phenomenonwhich was not new to her
except by the intervention of the ghost. Nobody could see the ghost


in his boxbut everybody could hear him. She had often heard him;
and they could believe herfor she always spoke the truth.
They could ask M. Debienne and M. Polignyand anybody who knew her;
and also M. Isidore Saackwho had had a leg broken by the ghost!


Indeed!said Moncharmininterrupting her. "Did the ghost break
poor Isidore Saack's leg?"


Mme. Giry opened her eyes with astonishment at such ignorance.
Howevershe consented to enlighten those two poor innocents.
The thing had happened in M. Debienne and M. Poligny's timealso in
Box Five and also during a performance of FAUST. Mme. Giry coughed
cleared her throat--it sounded as though she were preparing to sing
the whole of Gounod's score--and began:


It was like this, sir. That night, M. Maniera and his lady,
the jewelers in the Rue Mogador, were sitting in the front of the box,
with their great friend, M. Isidore Saack, sitting behind Mme. Maniera.
Mephistopheles was singing--Mme. Giry here burst into song herself--"
`Catarinawhile you play at sleeping' and then M. Maniera heard
a voice in his right ear (his wife was on his left) saying`Haha!
Julie's not playing at sleeping!' His wife happened to be called
Julie. So. M. Maniera turns to the right to see who was talking
to him like that. Nobody there! He rubs his ear and asks himself
if he's dreaming. Then Mephistopheles went on with his serenade.
... Butperhaps I'm boring you gentlemen?"


No, no, go on.


You are too good, gentlemen,with a smirk. "Wellthen
Mephistopheles went on with his serenade"--Mme. Giryburst into
song again--" `Saintunclose thy portals holy and accord the bliss
to a mortal bending lowlyof a pardon-kiss.' And then M. Maniera
again hears the voice in his right earsayingthis time`Haha!
Julie wouldn't mind according a kiss to Isidore!' Then he turns
round againbutthis timeto the left; and what do you think
he sees? Isidorewho had taken his lady's hand and was covering
it with kisses through the little round place in the glove--
like thisgentlemen"--rapturously kissing the bit of palm left bare
in the middle of her thread gloves. "Then they had a lively time
between them! Bang! Bang! M. Manierawho was big and strong
like youM. Richardgave two blows to M. Isidore Saack
who was small and weak like M. Moncharminsaving his presence.
There was a great uproar. People in the house shouted`That will do!
Stop them! He'll kill him!' Thenat lastM. Isidore Saack managed
to run away."


Then the ghost had not broken his leg?asked M. Moncharmin
a little vexed that his figure had made so little impression on
Mme. Giry.


He did break it for him, sir,replied Mme. Giry haughtily.
He broke it for him on the grand staircase, which he ran down
too fast, sir, and it will be long before the poor gentleman will
be able to go up it again!


Did the ghost tell you what he said in M. Maniera's right ear?
asked M. Moncharminwith a gravity which he thought exceedingly humorous.


No, sir, it was M. Maniera himself. So----


But you have spoken to the ghost, my good lady?


As I'm speaking to you now, my good sir!Mme. Giry replied.



And, when the ghost speaks to you, what does he say?

Well, he tells me to bring him a footstool!

This timeRichard burst out laughingas did Moncharmin and Remy
the secretary. Only the inspectorwarned by experiencewas careful
not to laughwhile Mme. Giry ventured to adopt an attitude that
was positively threatening.

Instead of laughing,she cried indignantlyyou'd do better
to do as M. Poligny did, who found out for himself.

Found out about what?asked Moncharminwho had never been so much
amused in his life.

About the ghost, of course!...Look here...

She suddenly calmed herselffeeling that this was a solemn moment
in her life:

LOOK HERE,she repeated. "They were playing La Juive. M. Poligny
thought he would watch the performance from the ghost's box.
...Wellwhen Leopold cries`Let us fly!'--you know--and Eleazer
stops them and says`Whither go ye?'...wellM. Poligny-I
was watching him from the back of the next boxwhich was empty-


M. Poligny got up and walked out quite stifflylike a statue
and before I had time to ask him`Whither go ye?' like Eleazer
he was down the staircasebut without breaking his leg.
Still, that doesn't let us know how the Opera ghost came to ask
you for a footstool,insisted M. Moncharmin.

Well, from that evening, no one tried to take the ghost's private
box from him. The manager gave orders that he was to have it at
each performance. And, whenever he came, he asked me for a footstool.

Tut, tut! A ghost asking for a footstool! Then this ghost
of yours is a woman?

No, the ghost is a man.

How do you know?

He has a man's voice, oh, such a lovely man's voice! This is
what happens: When he comes to the opera, it's usually in the middle
of the first act. He gives three little taps on the door of Box Five.
The first time I heard those three taps, when I knew there was
no one in the box, you can think how puzzled I was! I opened
the door, listened, looked; nobody! And then I heard a voice say,
`Mme. Jules' my poor husband's name was Jules--`a footstool, please.'
Saving your presence, gentlemen, it made me feel all-overish like.
But the voice went on, `Don't be frightened, Mme. Jules, I'm the
Opera ghost!' And the voice was so soft and kind that I hardly
felt frightened. THE VOICE WAS SITTING IN THE CORNER CHAIR,
ON THE RIGHT, IN THE FRONT ROW.

Was there any one in the box on the right of Box Five?
asked Moncharmin.

No; Box Seven, and Box Three, the one on the left, were both empty.
The curtain had only just gone up.

And what did you do?


Well, I brought the footstool. Of course, it wasn't for himself
he wanted it, but for his lady! But I never heard her nor saw her.


Eh? What? So now the ghost is married!The eyes of the two
managers traveled from Mme. Giry to the inspectorwhostanding behind
the box-keeperwas waving his arms to attract their attention.
He tapped his forehead with a distressful forefingerto convey
his opinion that the widow Jules Giry was most certainly mad
a piece of pantomime which confirmed M. Richard in his determination
to get rid of an inspector who kept a lunatic in his service.
Meanwhilethe worthy lady went on about her ghostnow painting
his generosity:


At the end of the performance, he always gives me two francs,
sometimes five, sometimes even ten, when he has been many days
without coming. Only, since people have begun to annoy him again,
he gives me nothing at all.


Excuse memy good woman said Moncharmin, while Mme. Giry tossed
the feathers in her dingy hat at this persistent familiarity,
excuse mehow does the ghost manage to give you your two francs?"


Why, he leaves them on the little shelf in the box, of course.
I find them with the program, which I always give him. Some evenings,
I find flowers in the box, a rose that must have dropped from his
lady's bodice...for he brings a lady with him sometimes; one day,
they left a fan behind them.


Oh, the ghost left a fan, did he? And what did you do with it?


Well, I brought it back to the box next night.


Here the inspector's voice was raised.


You've broken the rules; I shall have to fine you, Mme. Giry.


Hold your tongue, you fool!muttered M. Firmin Richard.


You brought back the fan. And then?


Well, then, they took it away with them, sir; it was not there
at the end of the performance; and in its place they left me a box
of English sweets, which I'm very fond of. That's one of the ghost's
pretty thoughts.


That will do, Mme. Giry. You can go.


When Mme. Giry had bowed herself outwith the dignity that never
deserted herthe manager told the inspector that they had decided
to dispense with that old madwoman's services; andwhen he
had gone in his turnthey instructed the acting-manager to make
up the inspector's accounts. Left alonethe managers told
each other of the idea which they both had in mindwhich was
that they should look into that little matter of Box Five themselves.


Chapter V The Enchanted Violin


Christine Daaeowing to intrigues to which I will return later
did not immediately continue her triumph at the Opera. After the
famous gala nightshe sang once at the Duchess de Zurich's;



but this was the last occasion on which she was heard in private.
She refusedwithout plausible excuseto appear at a charity concert
to which she had promised her assistance. She acted throughout
as though she were no longer the mistress of her own destiny and as
though she feared a fresh triumph.


She knew that the Comte de Chagnyto please his brotherhad done
his best on her behalf with M. Richard; and she wrote to thank him
and also to ask him to cease speaking in her favor. Her reason
for this curious attitude was never known. Some pretended that it
was due to overweening pride; others spoke of her heavenly modesty.
But people on the stage are not so modest as all that; and I think
that I shall not be far from the truth if I ascribe her action
simply to fear. YesI believe that Christine Daae was frightened
by what had happened to her. I have a letter of Christine's (it
forms part of the Persian's collection)relating to this period
which suggests a feeling of absolute dismay:


I don't know myself when I sing,writes the poor child.


She showed herself nowhere; and the Vicomte de Chagny tried
in vain to meet her. He wrote to herasking to call upon her
but despaired of receiving a reply whenone morningshe sent
him the following note:


MONSIEUR:


I have not forgotten the little boy who went into the sea
to rescue my scarf. I feel that I must write to you to-day
when I am going to Perrosin fulfilment of a sacred duty.
To-morrow is the anniversary of the death of my poor father
whom you knew and who was very fond of you. He is buried there
with his violinin the graveyard of the little churchat the bottom
of the slope where we used to play as childrenbeside the road where
when we were a little biggerwe said good-by for the last time.


The Vicomte de Chagny hurriedly consulted a railway guide
dressed as quickly as he couldwrote a few lines for his valet
to take to his brother and jumped into a cab which brought him
to the Gare Montparnasse just in time to miss the morning train.
He spent a dismal day in town and did not recover his spirits
until the eveningwhen he was seated in his compartment in the
Brittany express. He read Christine's note over and over again
smelling its perfumerecalling the sweet pictures of his childhood
and spent the rest of that tedious night journey in feverish dreams
that began and ended with Christine Daae. Day was breaking when he
alighted at Lannion. He hurried to the diligence for Perros-Guirec.
He was the only passenger. He questioned the driver and learned that
on the evening of the previous daya young lady who looked
like a Parisian had gone to Perros and put up at the inn known
as the Setting Sun.


The nearer he drew to herthe more fondly he remembered the story
of the little Swedish singer. Most of the details are still unknown
to the public.


There was oncein a little market-town not far from Upsalaa peasant
who lived there with his familydigging the earth during the week
and singing in the choir on Sundays. This peasant had a little daughter
to whom he taught the musical alphabet before she knew how to read.
Daae's father was a great musicianperhaps without knowing it.
Not a fiddler throughout the length and breadth of Scandinavia
played as he did. His reputation was widespread and he was always
invited to set the couples dancing at weddings and other festivals.



His wife died when Christine was entering upon her sixth year.
Then the fatherwho cared only for his daughter and his musicsold his
patch of ground and went to Upsala in search of fame and fortune.
He found nothing but poverty.


He returned to the countrywandering from fair to fair
strumming his Scandinavian melodieswhile his childwho never
left his sidelistened to him in esctasy or sang to his playing.
One dayat Ljimby FairProfessor Valerius heard them and took
them to Gothenburg. He maintained that the father was the first
violinist in the world and that the daughter had the making of a
great artist. Her education and instruction were provided for.
She made rapid progress and charmed everybody with her prettiness
her grace of manner and her genuine eagerness to please.


When Valerius and his wife went to settle in Francethey took Daae
and Christine with them. "Mamma" Valerius treated Christine as
her daughter. As for Daaehe began to pine away with homesickness.
He never went out of doors in Parisbut lived in a sort of dream
which he kept up with his violin. For hours at a timehe remained
locked up in his bedroom with his daughterfiddling and singing
veryvery softly. Sometimes Mamma Valerius would come and listen
behind the doorwipe away a tear and go down-stairs again on tiptoe
sighing for her Scandinavian skies.


Daae seemed not to recover his strength until the summer
when the whole family went to stay at Perros-Guirecin a far-away
corner of Brittanywhere the sea was of the same color as in his
own country. Often he would play his saddest tunes on the beach
and pretend that the sea stopped its roaring to listen to them.
And then he induced Mamma Valerius to indulge a queer whim of his.
At the time of the "pardons or Breton pilgrimages, the village
festival and dances, he went off with his fiddle, as in the old days,
and was allowed to take his daughter with him for a week.
They gave the smallest hamlets music to last them for a year and
slept at night in a barn, refusing a bed at the inn, lying close
together on the straw, as when they were so poor in Sweden.
At the same time, they were very neatly dressed, made no collection,
refused the halfpence offered them; and the people around could
not understand the conduct of this rustic fiddler, who tramped
the roads with that pretty child who sang like an angel from Heaven.
They followed them from village to village.


One day, a little boy, who was out with his governess, made her take
a longer walk than he intended, for he could not tear himself from
the little girl whose pure, sweet voice seemed to bind him to her.
They came to the shore of an inlet which is still called Trestraou,
but which now, I believe, harbors a casino or something of the sort.
At that time, there was nothing but sky and sea and a stretch
of golden beach. Only, there was also a high wind, which blew
Christine's scarf out to sea. Christine gave a cry and put out
her arms, but the scarf was already far on the waves. Then she heard
a voice say:


It's all rightI'll go and fetch your scarf out of the sea."


And she saw a little boy running fastin spite of the outcries
and the indignant protests of a worthy lady in black. The little boy
ran into the seadressed as he wasand brought her back her scarf.
Boy and scarf were both soaked through. The lady in black made a
great fussbut Christine laughed merrily and kissed the little boy
who was none other than the Vicomte Raoul de Chagnystaying at
Lannion with his aunt.



During the seasonthey saw each other and played together almost
every day. At the aunt's requestseconded by Professor Valerius
Daae consented to give the young viscount some violin lessons.
In this wayRaoul learned to love the same airs that had charmed
Christine's childhood. They also both had the same calm and dreamy
little cast of mind. They delighted in storiesin old Breton legends;
and their favorite sport was to go and ask for them at the cottage-doors
like beggars:


Ma'am...orKind gentleman...have you a little story
to tell us, please?


And it seldom happened that they did not have one "given" them;
for nearly every old Breton grandame hasat least once in her life
seen the "korrigans" dance by moonlight on the heather.


But their great treat wasin the twilightin the great silence
of the eveningafter the sun had set in the seawhen Daae came
and sat down by them on the roadside andin a low voiceas though
fearing lest he should frighten the ghosts whom he evokedtold them
the legends of the land of the North. Andthe moment he stopped
the children would ask for more.


There was one story that began:


A king sat in a little boat on one of those deep, still lakes
that open like a bright eye in the midst of the Norwegian mountains...


And another:


Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden
as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes.
She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her
frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved,
when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music.


While the old man told this storyRaoul looked at Christine's
blue eyes and golden hair; and Christine thought that Lotte was
very lucky to hear the Angel of Music when she went to sleep.
The Angel of Music played a part in all Daddy Daae's tales;
and he maintained that every great musicianevery great artist
received a visit from the Angel at least once in his life.
Sometimes the Angel leans over their cradleas happened to Lotte
and that is how there are little prodigies who play the fiddle
at six better than men at fiftywhichyou must admit
is very wonderful. Sometimesthe Angel comes much later
because the children are naughty and won't learn their lessons
or practise their scales. Andsometimeshe does not come at all
because the children have a bad heart or a bad conscience.


No one ever sees the Angel; but he is heard by those who are meant
to hear him. He often comes when they least expect himwhen they
are sad and disheartened. Then their ears suddenly perceive celestial
harmoniesa divine voicewhich they remember all their lives.
Persons who are visited by the Angel quiver with a thrill unknown
to the rest of mankind. And they can not touch an instrument
or open their mouths to singwithout producing sounds that put
all other human sounds to shame. Then people who do not know
that the Angel has visited those persons say that they have genius.


Little Christine asked her father if he had heard the Angel of Music.
But Daddy Daae shook his head sadly; and then his eyes lit up
as he said:



You will hear him one day, my child! When I am in Heaven,
I will send him to you!

Daddy was beginning to cough at that time.

Three years laterRaoul and Christine met again at Perros.
Professor Valerius was deadbut his widow remained in France
with Daddy Daae and his daughterwho continued to play the violin
and singwrapping in their dream of harmony their kind patroness
who seemed henceforth to live on music alone. The young man
as he now washad come to Perros on the chance of finding them
and went straight to the house in which they used to stay.
He first saw the old man; and then Christine enteredcarrying the
tea-tray. She flushed at the sight of Raoulwho went up to her
and kissed her. She asked him a few questionsperformed her duties
as hostess prettilytook up the tray again and left the room.
Then she ran into the garden and took refuge on a bencha prey
to feelings that stirred her young heart for the first time.
Raoul followed her and they talked till the eveningvery shyly.
They were quite changedcautious as two diplomatistsand told each
other things that had nothing to do with their budding sentiments.
When they took leave of each other by the roadsideRaoulpressing a
kiss on Christine's trembling handsaid:

Mademoiselle, I shall never forget you!

And he went away regretting his wordsfor he knew that Christine
could not be the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny.

As for Christineshe tried not to think of him and devoted herself
wholly to her art. She made wonderful progress and those who heard
her prophesied that she would be the greatest singer in the world.
Meanwhilethe father died; andsuddenlyshe seemed to have lost
with himher voiceher soul and her genius. She retained just
but only justenough of this to enter the CONSERVATOIREwhere she
did not distinguish herself at allattending the classes without
enthusiasm and taking a prize only to please old Mamma Valerius
with whom she continued to live.

The first time that Raoul saw Christine at the Operahe was charmed
by the girl's beauty and by the sweet images of the past which
it evokedbut was rather surprised at the negative side of her art.
He returned to listen to her. He followed her in the wings. He waited
for her behind a Jacob's ladder. He tried to attract her attention.
More than oncehe walked after her to the door of her boxbut she
did not see him. She seemedfor that matterto see nobody.
She was all indifference. Raoul sufferedfor she was very beautiful
and he was shy and dared not confess his loveeven to himself.
And then came the lightning-flash of the gala performance:
the heavens torn asunder and an angel's voice heard upon earth for
the delight of mankind and the utter capture of his heart.

And then...and then there was that man's voice behind
the door--"You must love me!"--and no one in the room. ...

Why did she laugh when he reminded her of the incident of the scarf?
Why did she not recognize him? And why had she written to him?...

Perros was reached at last. Raoul walked into the smoky sitting-room
of the Setting Sun and at once saw Christine standing before him
smiling and showing no astonishment.

So you have come,she said. "I felt that I should find you here
when I came back from mass. Some one told me soat the church."


Who?asked Raoultaking her little hand in his.

Why, my poor father, who is dead.

There was a silence; and then Raoul asked:

Did your father tell you that I love you, Christine, and that I
can not live without you?


Christine blushed to the eyes and turned away her head.
In a trembling voiceshe said:


Me? You are dreaming, my friend!


And she burst out laughingto put herself in countenance.


Don't laugh, Christine; I am quite serious,Raoul answered.


And she replied gravely: "I did not make you come to tell me
such things as that."


You `made me come,' Christine; you knew that your letter would
not leave me indignant and that I should hasten to Perros.
How can you have thought that, if you did not think I loved you?


I thought you would remember our games here, as children, in which
my father so often joined. I really don't know what I thought.
... Perhaps I was wrong to write to you....This anniversary
and your sudden appearance in my room at the Opera, the other evening,
reminded me of the time long past and made me write to you as
the little girl that I then was. ...


There was something in Christine's attitude that seemed to Raoul
not natural. He did not feel any hostility in her; far from it:
the distressed affection shining in her eyes told him that.
But why was this affection distressed? That was what he wished to know
and what was irritating him.


When you saw me in your dressing-room, was that the first time
you noticed me, Christine?


She was incapable of lying.


No,she saidI had seen you several times in your brother's box.
And also on the stage.


I thought so!said Raoulcompressing his lips. "But then why
when you saw me in your roomat your feetreminding you that I
had rescued your scarf from the seawhy did you answer as though
you did not know me and also why did you laugh?"


The tone of these questions was so rough that Christine stared
at Raoul without replying. The young man himself was aghast at
the sudden quarrel which he had dared to raise at the very moment
when he had resolved to speak words of gentlenesslove and
submission to Christine. A husbanda lover with all rights
would talk no differently to a wifea mistress who had offended him.
But he had gone too far and saw no other way out of the ridiculous
position than to behave odiously.


You don't answer!he said angrily and unhappily. "WellI will
answer for you. It was because there was some one in the room
who was in your wayChristinesome one that you did not wish



to know that you could be interested in any one else!"


If any one was in my way, my friend,Christine broke in coldly
if any one was in my way, that evening, it was yourself, since I
told you to leave the room!


Yes, so that you might remain with the other!


What are you saying, monsieur?asked the girl excitedly.
And to what other do you refer?


To the man to whom you said, `I sing only for you!...to-night
I gave you my soul and I am dead!'


Christine seized Raoul's arm and clutched it with a strength
which no one would have suspected in so frail a creature.


Then you were listening behind the door?


Yes, because I love you everything....And I heard everything....


You heard what?


And the young girlbecoming strangely calmreleased Raoul's arm.


He said to you, `Christine, you must love me!'


At these wordsa deathly pallor spread over Christine's face
dark rings formed round her eyesshe staggered and seemed on the
point of swooning. Raoul darted forwardwith arms outstretched
but Christine had overcome her passing faintness and said
in a low voice:


Go on! Go on! Tell me all you heard!


At an utter loss to understandRaoul answered: "I heard
him replywhen you said you had given him your soul
`Your soul is a beautiful thingchildand I thank you.
No emperor ever received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight.'"


Christine carried her hand to her hearta prey to indescribable
emotion. Her eyes stared before her like a madwoman's. Raoul
was terror-stricken. But suddenly Christine's eyes moistened
and two great tears trickledlike two pearlsdown her ivory cheeks.


Christine!


Raoul!


The young man tried to take her in his armsbut she escaped
and fled in great disorder.


While Christine remained locked in her roomRaoul was at his wit's
end what to do. He refused to breakfast. He was terribly concerned
and bitterly grieved to see the hourswhich he had hoped to find
so sweetslip past without the presence of the young Swedish girl.
Why did she not come to roam with him through the country where they
had so many memories in common? He heard that she had had a mass said
that morningfor the repose of her father's soul and spent a long
time praying in the little church and on the fiddler's tomb.
Thenas she seemed to have nothing more to do at Perros and
in factwas doing nothing therewhy did she not go back to Paris
at once?



Raoul walked awaydejectedlyto the graveyard in which the church
stood and was indeed alone among the tombsreading the inscriptions;
butwhen he turned behind the apsehe was suddenly struck by the
dazzling note of the flowers that straggled over the white ground.
They were marvelous red roses that had blossomed in the morning
in the snowgiving a glimpse of life among the deadfor death was
all around him. It alsolike the flowersissued from the ground
which had flung back a number of its corpses. Skeletons and skulls
by the hundred were heaped against the wall of the churchheld in
position by a wire that left the whole gruesome stack visible.
Dead men's bonesarranged in rowslike bricksto form the first
course upon which the walls of the sacristy had been built.
The door of the sacristy opened in the middle of that bony structure
as is often seen in old Breton churches.


Raoul said a prayer for Daae and thenpainfully impressed by all
those eternal smiles on the mouths of skullshe climbed the slope
and sat down on the edge of the heath overlooking the sea.
The wind fell with the evening. Raoul was surrounded by icy darkness
but he did not feel the cold. It was herehe remembered
that he used to come with little Christine to see the Korrigans
dance at the rising of the moon. He had never seen anythough his
eyes were goodwhereas Christinewho was a little shortsighted
pretended that she had seen many. He smiled at the thought and then
suddenly gave a start. A voice behind him said:


Do you think the Korrigans will come this evening?


It was Christine. He tried to speak. She put her gloved hand
on his mouth.


Listen, Raoul. I have decided to tell you something serious,
very serious....Do you remember the legend of the Angel
of Music?


I do indeed,he said. "I believe it was here that your father
first told it to us."


And it was here that he said, `When I am in Heaven, my child,
I will send him to you.' Well, Raoul, my father is in Heaven,
and I have been visited by the Angel of Music.


I have no doubt of it,replied the young man gravelyfor it
seemed to him that his friendin obedience to a pious thought
was connecting the memory of her father with the brilliancy of her
last triumph.


Christine appeared astonished at the Vicomte de Chagny's coolness:


How do you understand it?she askedbringing her pale face
so close to his that he might have thought that Christine was going
to give him a kiss; but she only wanted to read his eyes in spite
of the dark.


I understand,he saidthat no human being can sing as you
sang the other evening without the intervention of some miracle.
No professor on earth can teach you such accents as those.
You have heard the Angel of Music, Christine.


Yes,she said solemnlyIN MY DRESSING-ROOM. That is where he
comes to give me my lessons daily.


In your dressing-room?he echoed stupidly.



Yes, that is where I have heard him; and I have not been the only
one to hear him.


Who else heard him, Christine?


You, my friend.


I? I heard the Angel of Music?


Yes, the other evening, it was he who was talking when you were
listening behind the door. It was he who said, `You must love me.'
But I then thought that I was the only one to hear his voice.
Imagine my astonishment when you told me, this morning, that you could
hear him too,


Raoul burst out laughing. The first rays of the moon came and
shrouded the two young people in their light. Christine turned
on Raoul with a hostile air. Her eyesusually so gentleflashed fire.


What are you laughing at? YOU think you heard a man's voice,
I suppose?


Well!...replied the young manwhose ideas began to grow
confused in the face of Christine's determined attitude.


It's you, Raoul, who say that? You, an old playfellow of my own!
A friend of my father's! But you have changed since those days.
What are you thinking of? I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny,
and I don't lock myself up in my dressing-room with men's voices.
If you had opened the door, you would have seen that there was nobody
in the room!


That's true! I did open the door, when you were gone, and I found
no one in the room.


So you see!...Well?


The viscount summoned up all his courage.


Well, Christine, I think that somebody is making game of you.


She gave a cry and ran away. He ran after herbutin a tone
of fierce angershe called out: "Leave me! Leave me!"
And she disappeared.


Raoul returned to the inn feeling very wearyvery low-spirited
and very sad. He was told that Christine had gone to her bedroom
saying that she would not be down to dinner. Raoul dined alone
in a very gloomy mood. Then he went to his room and tried to read
went to bed and tried to sleep. There was no sound in the next room.


The hours passed slowly. It was about half-past eleven when he
distinctly heard some one movingwith a lightstealthy step
in the room next to his. Then Christine had not gone to bed!
Without troubling for a reasonRaoul dressedtaking care not
to make a soundand waited. Waited for what? How could he tell?
But his heart thumped in his chest when he heard Christine's door
turn slowly on its hinges. Where could she be goingat this hour
when every one was fast asleep at Perros? Softly opening the doorhe saw
Christine's white formin the moonlightslipping along the passage.
She went down the stairs and he leaned over the baluster above her.
Suddenly he heard two voices in rapid conversation. He caught
one sentence: "Don't lose the key."



It was the landlady's voice. The door facing the sea was opened
and locked again. Then all was still.

Raoul ran back to his room and threw back the window.
Christine's white form stood on the deserted quay.

The first floor of the Setting Sun was at no great height and a tree
growing against the wall held out its branches to Raoul's impatient
arms and enabled him to climb down unknown to the landlady.
Her amazementthereforewas all the greater whenthe next morning
the young man was brought back to her half frozenmore dead
than aliveand when she learned that he had been found stretched
at full length on the steps of the high altar of the little church.
She ran at once to tell Christinewho hurried down and
with the help of the landladydid her best to revive him.
He soon opened his eyes and was not long in recovering when he saw
his friend's charming face leaning over him.

A few weeks laterwhen the tragedy at the Opera compelled the intervention
of the public prosecutorM. Mifroidthe commissary of policeexamined the
Vicomte de Chagny touching the events of the night at Perros. I quote
the questions and answers as given in the official report pp. 150 et seq.:

Q. "Did Mlle. Daae not see you come down from your room
by the curious road which you selected?"
R. "Nomonsieurnoalthoughwhen walking behind herI took no
pains to deaden the sound of my footsteps. In factI was anxious
that she should turn round and see me. I realized that I had no excuse
for following her and that this way of spying on her was unworthy
of me. But she seemed not to hear me and acted exactly as though
I were not there. She quietly left the quay and then suddenly
walked quickly up the road. The church-clock had struck a quarter
to twelve and I thought that this must have made her hurryfor she
began almost to run and continued hastening until she came to the church."
Q. "Was the gate open?"
R. "Yesmonsieurand this surprised mebut did not seem
to surprise Mlle. Daae."
Q. "Was there no one in the churchyard?"
R. "I did not see any one; andif there had beenI must have seen him.
The moon was shining on the snow and made the night quite light."
Q. "Was it possible for any one to hide behind the tombstones?"
R. "Nomonsieur. They were quite smallpoor tombstonespartly hidden
under the snowwith their crosses just above the level of the ground.
The only shadows were those of the crosses and ourselves.
The church stood out quite brightly. I never saw so clear a night.
It was very fine and very cold and one could see everything."
Q. "Are you at all superstitious?"
R. "NomonsieurI am a practising Catholic
Q. In what condition of mind were you?"
R. "Very healthy and peacefulI assure you. Mlle. Daae's curious
action in going out at that hour had worried me at first; butas soon
as I saw her go to the churchyardI thought that she meant to fulfil
some pious duty on her father's grave and I considered this so natural

that I recovered all my calmness. I was only surprised that she
had not heard me walking behind herfor my footsteps were quite
audible on the hard snow. But she must have been taken up with her
intentions and I resolved not to disturb her. She knelt down by
her father's gravemade the sign of the cross and began to pray.
At that momentit struck midnight. At the last strokeI saw
Mlle. Daae life{sic} her eyes to the sky and stretch out her arms
as though in ecstasy. I was wondering what the reason could be
when I myself raised my head and everything within me seemed drawn
toward the invisibleWHICH WAS PLAYING THE MOST PERFECT MUSIC!
Christine and I knew that music; we had heard it as children.
But it had never been executed with such divine arteven by M. Daae.
I remembered all that Christine had told me of the Angel of Music.
The air was The Resurrection of Lazaruswhich old M. Daae
used to play to us in his hours of melancholy and of faith.
If Christine's Angel had existedhe could not have played better
that nighton the late musician's violin. When the music stopped
I seemed to hear a noise from the skulls in the heap of bones;
it was as though they were chuckling and I could not help shuddering."


Q. "Did it not occur to you that the musician might be hiding
behind that very heap of bones?"
R. "It was the one thought that did occur to memonsieurso much
so that I omitted to follow Mlle. Daaewhen she stood up and walked
slowly to the gate. She was so much absorbed just then that I
am not surprised that she did not see me."
Q. "Then what happened that you were found in the morning lying
half-dead on the steps of the high altar?"
R. "First a skull rolled to my feet...then another...then
another...It was as if I were the mark of that ghastly game
of bowls. And I had an idea that false step must have destroyed
the balance of the structure behind which our musician was concealed.
This surmise seemed to be confirmed when I saw a shadow suddenly
glide along the sacristy wall. I ran up. The shadow had already
pushed open the door and entered the church. But I was quicker than
the shadow and caught hold of a corner of its cloak. At that moment
we were just in front of the high altar; and the moonbeams fell
straight upon us through the stained-glass windows of the apse.
As I did not let go of the cloakthe shadow turned round; and I
saw a terrible death's headwhich darted a look at me from a pair
of scorching eyes. I felt as if I were face to face with Satan;
andin the presence of this unearthly apparitionmy heart gave way
my courage failed me...and I remember nothing more until I
recovered consciousness at the Setting Sun."
Chapter V A Visit to Box Five

We left M. Firmin Richard and M. Armand Moncharmin at the moment
when they were deciding "to look into that little matter of Box Five."

Leaving behind them the broad staircase which leads from the lobby
outside the managers' offices to the stage and its dependencies
they crossed the stagewent out by the subscribers' door and
entered the house through the first little passage on the left.
Then they made their way through the front rows of stalls and
looked at Box Five on the grand tierThey could not see it well
because it was half in darkness and because great covers were flung
over the red velvet of the ledges of all the boxes.


They were almost alone in the hugegloomy house; and a great silence
surrounded them. It was the time when most of the stage-hands go
out for a drink. The staff had left the boards for the moment
leaving a scene half set. A few rays of lighta wansinister light
that seemed to have been stolen from an expiring luminary
fell through some opening or other upon an old tower that raised
its pasteboard battlements on the stage; everythingin this
deceptive lightadopted a fantastic shape. In the orchestra stalls
the drugget covering them looked like an angry seawhose glaucous
waves had been suddenly rendered stationary by a secret order
from the storm phantomwhoas everybody knowsis called Adamastor.
MM. Moncharmin and Richard were the shipwrecked mariners
amid this motionless turmoil of a calico sea. They made
for the left boxesplowing their way like sailors who leave their
ship and try to struggle to the shore. The eight great polished
columns stood up in the dusk like so many huge piles supporting
the threateningcrumblingbig-bellied cliffs whose layers were
represented by the circularparallelwaving lines of the balconies
of the grandfirst and second tiers of boxes. At the top
right on top of the clifflost in M. Lenepveu's copper ceiling
figures grinned and grimacedlaughed and jeered at MM. Richard and
Moncharmin's distress. And yet these figures were usually very serious.
Their names were IsisAmphitriteHebePandoraPsycheThetis
PomonaDaphneClytieGalatea and Arethusa. YesArethusa herself
and Pandorawhom we all know by her boxlooked down upon the two
new managers of the Operawho ended by clutching at some piece
of wreckage and from there stared silently at Box Five on the grand tier.

I have said that they were distressed. At leastI presume so.

M. Moncharminin any caseadmits that he was impressed. To quote
his own wordsin his Memoirs:
This moonshine about the Opera ghost in which, since we first
took over the duties of MM. Poligny and Debienne, we had been
so nicely steeped--Moncharmin's style is not always irreproachable-"
had no doubt ended by blinding my imaginative and also my
visual faculties. It may be that the exceptional surroundings
in which we found ourselvesin the midst of an incredible silence
impressed us to an unusual extent. It may be that we were the sport
of a kind of hallucination brought about by the semi-darkness of
the theater and the partial gloom that filled Box Five. At any rate
I saw and Richard also saw a shape in the box. Richard said nothing
nor I either. But we spontaneously seized each other's hand.
We stood like that for some minuteswithout movingwith our
eyes fixed on the same point; but the figure had disappeared.
Then we went out andin the lobbycommunicated our impressions
to each other and talked about `the shape.' The misfortune was that
my shape was not in the least like Richard's. I had seen a thing
like a death's head resting on the ledge of the boxwhereas Richard
saw the shape of an old woman who looked like Mme. Giry. We soon
discovered that we had really been the victims of an illusion
whereuponwithout further delay and laughing like madmenwe ran
to Box Five on the grand tierwent inside and found no shape of any kind."

Box Five is just like all the other grand tier boxes. There is
nothing to distinguish it from any of the others. M. Moncharmin
and M. Richardostensibly highly amused and laughing at each other
moved the furniture of the boxlifted the cloths and the chairs
and particularly examined the arm-chair in which "the man's voice"
used to sit. But they saw that it was a respectable arm-chair
with no magic about it. Altogetherthe box was the most ordinary box
in the worldwith its red hangingsits chairsits carpet and its ledge
covered in red velvet. Afterfeeling the carpet in the most serious


manner possibleand discovering nothing more here or anywhere else
they went down to the corresponding box on the pit tier below.
In Box Five on the pit tierwhich is just inside the first exit
from the stalls on the leftthey found nothing worth mentioning either.

Those people are all making fools of us!Firmin Richard ended
by exclaiming. "It will be FAUST on Saturday: let us both see
the performance from Box Five on the grand tier!"

Chapter VII Faust and What Followed

On the Saturday morningon reaching their officethe joint
managers found a letter from O. G. worded in these terms:

MY DEAR MANAGERS:

So it is to be war between us?

If you still care for peacehere is my ultimatum. It consists
of the four following conditions:

1. You must give me back my private box; and I wish it to be at
my free disposal from henceforward.
2. The part of Margarita shall be sung this evening by Christine Daae.
Never mind about Carlotta; she will be ill.
3. I absolutely insist upon the good and loyal services of Mme. Giry
my box-keeperwhom you will reinstate in her functions forthwith.
4. Let me know by a letter handed to Mme. Girywho will see
that it reaches methat you acceptas your predecessors did
the conditions in my memorandum-book relating to my monthly allowance.
I will inform you later how you are to pay it to me.
If you refuseyou will give FAUST to-night in a house with a curse
upon it.

Take my advice and be warned in time. O. G.

Look here, I'm getting sick of him, sick of him!shouted Richard
bringing his fists down on his officetable.

Just thenMercierthe acting-managerentered.

Lachcnel would like to see one of you gentlemen,he said.
He says that his business is urgent and he seems quite upset.

Who's Lachcnel?asked Richard.

He's your stud-groom.

What do you mean? My stud-groom?

Yes, sir,explained Mercierthere are several grooms at the Opera
and M. Lachcnel is at the head of them.

And what does this groom do?

He has the chief management of the stable.


What stable?
Why, yours, sir, the stable of the Opera.


Is there a stable at the Opera? Upon my word, I didn't know.
Where is it?


In the cellars, on the Rotunda side. It's a very important department;
we have twelve horses.


Twelve horses! And what for, in Heaven's name?


Why, we want trained horses for the processions in the Juive,
The Profeta and so on; horses `used to the boards.' It is the grooms'
business to teach them. M. Lachcnel is very clever at it. He used
to manage Franconi's stables.


Very well...but what does he want.
I don't know; I never saw him in such a state."


He can come in.


M. Lachenel came incarrying a riding-whipwith which he struck
his right boot in an irritable manner.
Good morning, M. Lachenel,said Richardsomewhat impressed.
To what do we owe the honor of your visit?

Mr. Manager, I have come to ask you to get rid of the whole stable.
What, you want to get rid of our horses?

I'm not talking of the horses, but of the stablemen.
How many stablemen have you, M. Lachenel?

Six stablemen! That's at least two too many.

These are `places,'Mercier interposedcreated and forced
upon us by the under-secretary for fine arts. They are filled
by protegees of the government and, if I may venture to...

I don't care a hang for the government!roared Richard.
We don't need more than four stablemen for twelve horses.

Eleven,said the head riding-mastercorrecting him.

Twelve,repeated Richard.
Eleven,repeated Lachenel.


Oh, the acting-manager told me that you had twelve horses!
I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since Cesar was stolen.


And M. Lachenel gave himself a great smack on the boot with his whip.


Has Cesar been stolen?cried the acting-manager. "Cesarthe white
horse in the Profeta?"

There are not two Cesars,said the stud-groom dryly. "I was ten
years at Franconi's and I have seen plenty of horses in my time.
Wellthere are not two Cesars. And he's been stolen."


How?

I don't know. Nobody knows. That's why I have come to ask you
to sack the whole stable.

What do your stablemen say?

All sorts of nonsense. Some of them accuse the supers.
Others pretend that it's the acting-manager's doorkeeper...

My doorkeeper? I'll answer for him as I would for myself!
protested Mercier.

But, after all, M. Lachenel,cried Richardyou must have some idea.

Yes, I have,M. Lachenel declared. "I have an idea and I'll
tell you what it is. There's no doubt about it in my mind."
He walked up to the two managers and whispered. "It's the ghost
who did the trick!"

Richard gave a jump.

What, you too! You too!

How do you mean, I too? Isn't it natural, after what I saw?

What did you see?

I saw, as clearly as I now see you, a black shadow riding a white
horse that was as like Cesar as two peas!

And did you run after them?

I did and I shouted, but they were too fast for me and disappeared
in the darkness of the underground gallery.

M. Richard rose. "That will doM. Lachenel. You can go....
We will lodge a complaint against THE GHOST."
And sack my stable?

Oh, of course! Good morning.

M. Lachenel bowed and withdrew. Richard foamed at the mouth.
Settle that idiot's account at once, please.

He is a friend of the government representative's!Mercier ventured
to say.

And he takes his vermouth at Tortoni's with Lagrene, Scholl and Pertuiset,
the lion-hunter,added Moncharmin. "We shall have the whole press
against us! He'll tell the story of the ghost; and everybody
will be laughing at our expense! We may as well be dead as ridiculous!"

All right, say no more about it.

At that moment the door opened. It must have been deserted
by its usual Cerberusfor Mme. Giry entered without ceremony
holding a letter in her handand said hurriedly:

I beg your pardon, excuse me, gentlemen, but I had a letter this
morning from the Opera ghost. He told me to come to you, that you


had something to...


She did not complete the sentence. She saw Firmin Richard's face;
and it was a terrible sight. He seemed ready to burst. He said nothing
he could not speak. But suddenly he acted. Firsthis left arm
seized upon the quaint person of Mme. Giry and made her describe
so unexpected a semicircle that she uttered a despairing cry.
Nexthis right foot imprinted its sole on the black taffeta of a
skirt which certainly had never before undergone a similar outrage
in a similar place. The thing happened so quickly that Mme. Giry
when in the passagewas still quite bewildered and seemed not
to understand. Butsuddenlyshe understood; and the Opera
rang with her indignant yellsher violent protests and threats.


About the same timeCarlottawho had a small house of her own
in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honorerang for her maidwho brought
her letters to her bed. Among them was an anonymous missive
written in red inkin a hesitatingclumsy handwhich ran:


If you appear to-nightyou must be prepared for a great misfortune
at the moment when you open your mouth to sing...a misfortune
worse than death.


The letter took away Carlotta's appetite for breakfast.
She pushed back her chocolatesat up in bed and thought hard.
It was not the first letter of the kind which she had received
but she never had one couched in such threatening terms.


She thought herselfat that timethe victim of a thousand jealous
attempts and went about saying that she had a secret enemy who had
sworn to ruin her. She pretended that a wicked plot was being hatched
against hera cabal which would come to a head one of those days;
but she added that she was not the woman to be intimidated.


The truth is thatif there was a cabalit was led by Carlotta
herself against poor Christinewho had no suspicion of it.
Carlotta had never forgiven Christine for the triumph which she had
achieved when taking her place at a moment's notice. When Carlotta
heard of the astounding reception bestowed upon her understudy
she was at once cured of an incipient attack of bronchitis and a
bad fit of sulking against the management and lost the slightest
inclination to shirk her duties. From that timeshe worked with all
her might to "smother" her rivalenlisting the services of influential
friends to persuade the managers not to give Christine an opportunity
for a fresh triumph. Certain newspapers which had begun to extol
the talent of Christine now interested themselves only in the fame
of Carlotta. Lastlyin the theater itselfthe celebrated
but heartless and soulless diva made the most scandalous remarks
about Christine and tried to cause her endless minor unpleasantnesses.


When Carlotta had finished thinking over the threat contained
in the strange lettershe got up.


We shall see,she saidadding a few oaths in her native Spanish
with a very determined air.


The first thing she sawwhen looking out of her windowwas a hearse.
She was very superstitious; and the hearse and the letter convinced
her that she was running the most serious dangers that evening.
She collected all her supporterstold them that she was threatened
at that evening's performance with a plot organized by Christine Daae
and declared that they must play a trick upon that chit by filling
the house with herCarlotta'sadmirers. She had no lack of them
had she? She relied upon them to hold themselves prepared for any



eventuality and to silence the adversariesifas she feared
they created a disturbance.

M. Richard's private secretary called to ask after the diva's health
and returned with the assurance that she was perfectly well and that
were she dying,she would sing the part of Margarita that evening.
The secretary urged herin his chief's nameto commit no imprudence
to stay at home all day and to be careful of drafts; and Carlotta could
not helpafter he had gonecomparing this unusual and unexpected
advice with the threats contained in the letter.
It was five o'clock when the post brought a second anonymous letter
in the same hand as the first. It was short and said simply:

You have a bad cold. If you are wiseyou will see that it
is madness to try to sing to-night.

Carlotta sneeredshrugged her handsome shoulders and sang two
or three notes to reassure herself.

Her friends were faithful to their promise. They were all at the Opera
that nightbut looked round in vain for the fierce conspirators
whom they were instructed to suppress. The only unusual thing
was the presence of M. Richard and M. Moncharmin in Box Five.
Carlotta's friends thought thatperhapsthe managers had wind
on their sideof the proposed disturbance and that they had
determined to be in the houseso as to stop it then and there;
but this was unjustifiable suppositionas the reader knows.

M. Richard and M. Moncharmin were thinking of nothing but their ghost.
Vain! In vain do I call, through my vigil weary, On creation
and its Lord! Never reply will break the silence dreary! No sign!
No single word!


The famous baritoneCarolus Fontahad hardly finished Doctor Faust's
first appeal to the powers of darknesswhen M. Firmin Richard
who was sitting in the ghost's own chairthe front chair on the right
leaned over to his partner and asked him chaffingly:


Well, has the ghost whispered a word in your ear yet?


Wait, don't be in such a hurry,replied M. Armand Moncharmin
in the same gay tone. "The performance has only begun and you know
that the ghost does not usually come until the middle of the first act."


The first act passed without incidentwhich did not surprise
Carlotta's friendsbecause Margarita does not sing in this act.
As for the managersthey looked at each otherwhen the curtain fell.


That's one!said Moncharmin.


Yes, the ghost is late,said Firmin Richard.


It's not a bad house,said Moncharminfor `a house with a curse
on it.'


M. Richard smiled and pointed to a fatrather vulgar woman
dressed in blacksitting in a stall in the middle of the auditorium
with a man in a broadcloth frock-coat on either side of her.
Who on earth are `those?'asked Moncharmin.

`Those,' my dear fellow, are my concierge, her husband and her brother.


Did you give them their tickets?'


I did. .. My concierge had never been to the Opera--this is
the first time--andas she is now going to come every night
I wanted her to have a good seatbefore spending her time showing
other people to theirs."


Moncharmin asked what he meant and Richard answered that he had
persuaded his conciergein whom he had the greatest confidence
to come and take Mme. Giry's place. Yeshe would like to see if
with that woman instead of the old lunaticBox Five would continue
to astonish the natives?


By the way,said Moncharminyou know that Mother Giry is going
to lodge a complaint against you.


With whom? The ghost?


The ghost! Moncharmin had almost forgotten him. Howeverthat mysterious
person did nothing to bring himself to the memory of the managers;
and they were just saying so to each other for the second time
when the door of the box suddenly opened to admit the startled
stage-manager.


What's the matter?they both askedamazed at seeing him there
at such a time.


It seems there's a plot got up by Christine Daae's friends
against Carlotta. Carlotta's furious.


What on earth...?said Richardknitting his brows.


But the curtain rose on the kermess scene and Richard made a sign
to the stage-manager to go away. When the two were alone again
Moncharmin leaned over to Richard:


Then Daae has friends?he asked.


Yes, she has.


Whom?


Richard glanced across at a box on the grand tier containing
no one but two men.


The Comte de Chagny?


Yes, he spoke to me in her favor with such warmth that, if I
had not known him to be Sorelli's friend...


Really? Really?said Moncharmin. "And who is that pale young
man beside him?"


That's his brother, the viscount.


He ought to be in his bed. He looks ill.


The stage rang with gay song:


Red or white liquor,
Coarse or fine!
What can it matter,
So we have wine?



Studentscitizenssoldiersgirls and matrons whirled light-heartedly
before the inn with the figure of Bacchus for a sign. Siebel made
her entrance. Christine Daae looked charming in her boy's clothes;
and Carlotta's partisans expected to hear her greeted with an ovation
which would have enlightened them as to the intentions of her friends.
But nothing happened.

On the other handwhen Margarita crossed the stage and sang
the only two lines allotted her in this second act:

No, my lord, not a lady am I, nor yet a beauty,
And do not need an arm to help me on my way,

Carlotta was received with enthusiastic applause. It was so
unexpected and so uncalled for that those who knew nothing about
the rumors looked at one another and asked what was happening.
And this act also was finished without incident.


Then everybody said: "Of courseit will be during the next act."


Somewho seemed to be better informed than the restdeclared that
the "row" would begin with the ballad of the KING OF THULE and rushed
to the subscribers' entrance to warn Carlotta. The managers left
the box during the entr'acte to find out more about the cabal of which
the stage-manager had spoken; but they soon returned to their seats
shrugging their shoulders and treating the whole affair as silly.


The first thing they sawon entering the boxwas a box of English
sweets on the little shelf of the ledge. Who had put it there?
They asked the box-keepersbut none of them knew. Then they went back
to the shelf andnext to the box of sweetsfound an opera glass.
They looked at each other. They had no inclination to laugh.
All that Mme. Giry had told them returned to their memory...and
then...and then...they seemed to feel a curious sort of draft
around them....They sat down in silence.


The scene represented Margarita's garden:


Gentle flow'rs in the dew,
Be message from me...


As she sang these first two lineswith her bunch of roses and lilacs
in her handChristineraising her headsaw the Vicomte de Chagny
in his box; andfrom that momenther voice seemed less sure
less crystal-clear than usual. Something seemed to deaden and dull
her singing. ...

What a queer girl she is!said one of Carlotta's friends
in the stallsalmost aloud. "The other day she was divine;
and to-night she's simply bleating. She has no experienceno training."

Gentle flow'rs, lie ye there
And tell her from me...


The viscount put his head under his hands and wept. The countbehind him
viciously gnawed his mustacheshrugged his shoulders and frowned.
For himusually so cold and correctto betray his inner feelings
like thatby outward signsthe count must be very angry. He was.
He had seen his brother return from a rapid and mysterious journey
in an alarming state of health. The explanation that followed was
unsatisfactory and the count asked Christine Daae for an appointment.
She had the audacity to reply that she could not see either him
or his brother. ...


Would she but deign to hear me
And with one smile to cheer me...

The little baggage!growled the count.

And he wondered what she wanted. What she was hoping for.
...She was a virtuous girlshe was said to have no friend
no protector of any sort....That angel from the North must be
very artful!

Raoulbehind the curtain of his hands that veiled his boyish tears
thought only of the letter which he received on his return to Paris
where Christinefleeing from Perros like a thief in the night
had arrived before him:

MY DEAR LITTLE PLAYFELLOW:

You must have the courage not to see me againnot to speak of
me again. If you love me just a littledo this for mefor me
who will never forget youmy dear Raoul. My life depends upon it.
Your life depends upon it. YOUR LITTLE CHRISTINE.

Thunders of applause. Carlotta made her entrance.

I wish I could but know who was he
That addressed me,
If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is...


When Margarita had finished singing the ballad of the KING OF THULE
she was loudly cheered and again when she came to the end
of the jewel song:

Ah, the joy of past compare
These jewels bright to wear!...


Thenceforthcertain of herselfcertain of her friends in the house
certain of her voice and her successfearing nothingCarlotta flung
herself into her part without restraint of modesty....She was no
longer Margaritashe was Carmen. She was applauded all the more;
and her debut with Faust seemed about to bring her a new success
when suddenly...a terrible thing happened.

Faust had knelt on one knee:

Let me gaze on the form below me,
While from yonder ether blue
Look how the star of eve, bright and tender,
lingers o'er me,
To love thy beauty too!

And Margarita replied:

Oh, how strange!

Like a spell does the evening bind me!
And a deep languid charm
I feel without alarm


With its melody enwind me
And all my heart subdue.


At that momentat that identical momentthe terrible thing happened.
...Carlotta croaked like a toad:

Co-ack!


There was consternation on Carlotta's face and consternation on
the faces of all the audience. The two managers in their box could
not suppress an exclamation of horror. Every one felt that the thing
was not naturalthat there was witchcraft behind it. That toad
smelt of brimstone. Poorwretcheddespairingcrushed Carlotta!

The uproar in the house was indescribable. If the thing had
happened to any one but Carlottashe would have been hooted.
But everybody knew how perfect an instrument her voice was;
and there was no display of angerbut only of horror and dismay
the sort of dismay which men would have felt if they had witnessed
the catastrophe that broke the arms of the Venus de Milo.
... And even then they would have seen...and understood...

But here that toad was incomprehensible! So much so that
after some seconds spent in asking herself if she had really
heard that notethat soundthat infernal noise issue from
her throatshe tried to persuade herself that it was not so
that she was the victim of an illusionan illusion of the ear
and not of an act of treachery on the part of her voice. ...

Meanwhilein Box FiveMoncharmin and Richard had turned very pale.
This extraordinary and inexplicable incident filled them with a dread
which was the more mysterious inasmuch as for some little while
they hadfallen within the direct influence of the ghost. They had
felt his breath. Moncharmin's hair stood on end. Richard wiped the
perspiration from his forehead. Yesthe ghost was therearound them
behind thembeside them; they felt his presence without seeing him
they heard his breathclosecloseclose to them!...They were
sure that there were three people in the box....They trembled
....They thought of running away....They dared not....
They dared not make a movement or exchange a word that would
have told the ghost that they knew that he was there!...What
was going to happen?

This happened.

Co-ack!Their joint exclamation of horror was heard all over the house.
THEY FELT THAT THEY WERE SMARTING UNDER THE GHOST'S ATTACKS.
Leaning over the ledge of their boxthey stared at Carlotta
as though they did not recognize her. That infernal girl must
have given the signal for some catastrophe. Ahthey were waiting
for the catastrophe! The ghost had told them it would come!
The house had a curse upon it! The two managers gasped and panted
under the weight of the catastrophe. Richard's stifled voice was
heard calling to Carlotta:

Well, go on!

NoCarlotta did not go on....Bravelyheroicallyshe started
afresh on the fatal line at the end of which the toad had appeared.

An awful silence succeeded the uproar. Carlotta's voice alone once
more filled the resounding house:

I feel without alarm...

The audience also feltbut not without alarm. ..

I feel without alarm...
I feel without alarm--co-ack!
With its melody enwind me--co-ack!
And all my heart sub--co-ack!



The toad also had started afresh!


The house broke into a wild tumult. The two managers collapsed
in their chairs and dared not even turn round; they had not
the strength; the ghost was chuckling behind their backs!
Andat lastthey distinctly heard his voice in their right ears
the impossible voicethe mouthless voicesaying:


SHE IS SINGING TO-NIGHT TO BRING THE CHANDELIER DOWN!


With one accordthey raised their eyes to the ceiling and uttered
a terrible cry. The chandelierthe immense mass of the chandelier was
slipping downcoming toward themat the call of that fiendish voice.
Released from its hookit plunged from the ceiling and came smashing
into the middle of the stallsamid a thousand shouts of terror.
A wild rush for the doors followed.


The papers of the day state that there were numbers wounded
and one killed. The chandelier had crashed down upon the head
of the wretched woman who had come to the Opera for the first time
in her lifethe one whom M. Richard had appointed to succeed
Mme. Girythe ghost's box-keeperin her


I functions! She died on the spot andthe next morninga newspaper
appeared with this heading:


TWO HUNDRED KILOS ON THE HEAD OF A CONCIERGE


That was her sole epitaph!


Chapter VIII The Mysterious Brougham


That tragic evening was bad for everybody. Carlotta fell ill.
As for Christine Daaeshe disappeared after the performance.
A fortnight elapsed during which she was seen neither at the Opera
nor outside.


Raoulof coursewas the first to be astonished at the prima
donna's absence. He wrote to her at Mme. Valerius' flat and received
no reply. His grief increased and he ended by being seriously alarmed
at never seeing her name on the program. FAUST was played without her.


One afternoon he went to the managers' office to ask the reason
of Christine's disappearance. He found them both looking
extremely worried. Their own friends did not recognize them:
they had lost all their gaiety and spirits. They were seen crossing
the stage with hanging headscare-worn browspale cheeksas though
pursued by some abominable thought or a prey to some persistent sport of fate.


The fall of the chandelier had involved them in no little responsibility;
but it was difficult to make them speak about it. The inquest had
ended in a verdict of accidental deathcaused by the wear and tear
of the chains by which the chandelier was hung from the ceiling;
but it was the duty of both the old and the new managers to have
discovered this wear and tear and to have remedied it in time.
And I feel bound to say that MM. Richard and Moncharmin at this
time appeared so changedso absent-mindedso mysterious
so incomprehensible that many of the subscribers thought that some
event even more horrible than the fall of the chandelier must
have affected their state of mind.



In their daily intercoursethey showed themselves very impatient
except with Mme. Girywho had been reinstated in her functions.
And their reception of the Vicomte de Chagnywhen he came to ask
about Christinewas anything but cordial. They merely told him
that she was taking a holiday. He asked how long the holiday was for
and they replied curtly that it was for an unlimited period
as Mlle. Daae had requested leave of absence for reasons of health.


Then she is ill!he cried. "What is the matter with her?"


We don't know.


Didn't you send the doctor of the Opera to see her?


No, she did not ask for him; and, as we trust her, we took her word.


Raoul left the building a prey to the gloomiest thoughts. He resolved
come what mightto go and inquire of Mamma Valerius. He remembered
the strong phrases in Christine's letterforbidding him to make
any attempt to see her. But what he had seen at Perroswhat he had
heard behind the dressing-room doorhis conversation with Christine
at the edge of the moor made him suspect some machination which
devilish though it might bewas none the less human. The girl's
highly strung imaginationher affectionate and credulous mind
the primitive education which had surrounded her childhood with a
circle of legendsthe constant brooding over her dead father and
above allthe state of sublime ecstasy into which music threw her
from the moment that this art was made manifest to her in certain
exceptional conditionsas in the churchyard at Perros; all this
seemed to him to constitute a moral ground only too favorable for
the malevolent designs of some mysterious and unscrupulous person.
Of whom was Christine Daae the victim? This was the very reasonable
question which Raoul put to himself as he hurried off to Mamma Valerius.


He trembled as he rang at a little flat in the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Victoires.
The door was opened by the maid whom he had seen coming out of Christine's
dressing-room one evening. He asked if he could speak to Mme. Valerius.
He was told that she was ill in bed and was not receiving visitors.


Take in my card, please,he said.


The maid soon returned and showed him into a small and scantily
furnished drawing-roomin which portraits of Professor Valerius
and old Daae hung on opposite walls.


Madame begs Monsieur le Vicomte to excuse her,said the servant.
She can only see him in her bedroom, because she can no longer stand
on her poor legs.


Five minutes laterRaoul was ushered into an ill-lit room where he
at once recognized the goodkind face of Christine's benefactress
in the semi-darkness of an alcove. Mamma Valerius' hair was now
quite whitebut her eyes had grown no older; neveron the contrary
had their expression been so brightso pureso child-like.


M. de Chagny!she cried gailyputting out both her hands to her visitor.
Ah, it's Heaven that sends you here!...We can talk of HER.


This last sentence sounded very gloomily in the young man's ears.
He at once asked:


Madame...where is Christine?


And the old lady replied calmly:



She is with her good genius!

What good genius?exclaimed poor Raoul.

Why, the Angel of Music!

The viscount dropped into a chair. Really? Christine was with
the Angel of Music? And there lay Mamma Valerius in bedsmiling to
him and putting her finger to her lipsto warn him to be silent!
And she added:

You must not tell anybody!

You can rely on me,said Raoul.

He hardly knew what he was sayingfor his ideas about Christine
already greatly confusedwere becoming more and more entangled;
and it seemed as if everything was beginning to turn around him
around the roomaround that extraordinary good lady with the white hair
and forget-me-not eyes.

I know! I know I can!she saidwith a happy laugh. "But why don't
you come near meas you used to do when you were a little boy?
Give me your handsas when you brought me the story of little Lotte
which Daddy Daae had told you. I am very fond of youM. Raoul
you know. And so is Christine too!"

She is fond of me!sighed the young man. He found a difficulty
in collecting his thoughts and bringing them to bear on Mamma Valerius'
good genius,on the Angel of Music of whom Christine had spoken
to him so strangelyon the death's head which he had seen in a sort
of nightmare on the high altar at Perros and also on the Opera ghost
whose fame had come to his ears one evening when he was standing
behind the sceneswithin hearing of a group of scene-shifters
who were repeating the ghastly description which the hanged man
Joseph Buquethad given of the ghost before his mysterious death.

He asked in a low voice: "What makes you think that Christine
is fond of memadame?"

She used to speak of you every day.

Really?...And what did she tell you?

She told me that you had made her a proposal!

And the good old lady began laughing wholeheartedly. Raoul sprang
from his chairflushing to the templessuffering agonies.

What's this? Where are you going? Sit down again at once,
will you?...Do you think I will let you go like that?...If
you're angry with me for laughing, I beg your pardon. .. After all,
what has happened isn't your fault. .. Didn't you know?...Did
you think that Christine was free?...

Is Christine engaged to be married?the wretched Raoul asked
in a choking voice.

Why no! Why no!...You know as well as I do that Christine
couldn't marry, even if she wanted to!

But I don't know anything about it!...And why can't Christine marry?"


Because of the Angel of Music, of course!...

I don't follow...

Yes, he forbids her to!...

He forbids her!...The Angel of Music forbids her to marry!

Oh, he forbids her...without forbidding her. It's like this:
he tells her that, if she got married, she would never hear
him again. That's all!...And that he would go away for ever!
.. So, you understand, she can't let the Angel of Music go.
It's quite natural.


Yes, yes,echoed Raoul submissivelyit's quite natural.


Besides, I thought Christine had told you all that, when she met
you at Perros, where she went with her good genius.


Oh, she went to Perros with her good genius, did she?


That is to say, he arranged to meet her down there,
in Perros churchyard, at Daae's grave. He promised
to play her The Resurrection of Lazarus on her father's violin!


Raoul de Chagny rose andwith a very authoritative air
pronounced these peremptory words:


Madame, you will have the goodness to tell me where that genius lives.


The old lady did not seem surprised at this indiscreet command.
She raised her eyes and said:


In Heaven!


Such simplicity baffled him. He did not know what to say in
the presence of this candid and perfect faith in a genius who came
down nightly from Heaven to haunt the dressing-rooms at the Opera.


He now realized the possible state of mind of a girl brought up
between a superstitious fiddler and a visionary old lady and he
shuddered when he thought of the consequences of it all.


Is Christine still a good girl?he asked suddenlyin spite
of himself.


I swear it, as I hope to be saved!exclaimed the
old womanwhothis timeseemed to be incensed.
And, if you doubt it, sir, I don't know what you are here for!


Raoul tore at his gloves.


How long has she known this `genius?'


About three months....Yes, it's quite three months since he
began to give her lessons.


The viscount threw up his arms with a gesture of despair.


The genius gives her lessons!...And where, pray?


Now that she has gone away with him, I can't say; but, up to a fortnight ago,
it was in Christine's dressing-room. It would be impossible in this
little flat. The whole house would hear them. Whereas, at the Opera,



at eight o'clock in the morning, there is no one about, do you see!

Yes, I see! I see!cried the viscount.

And he hurriedly took leave of Mme. Valeriuswho asked herself
if the young nobleman was not a little off his head.


He walked home to his brother's house in a pitiful state.
He could have struck himselfbanged his head against the walls!
To think that he had believed in her innocencein her purity!
The Angel of Music! He knew him now! He saw him! It was beyond
a doubt some unspeakable tenora good-looking jackanapeswho mouthed
and simpered as he sang! He thought himself as absurd and as wretched
as could be. Ohwhat a miserablelittleinsignificantsilly young
man was M. le Vicomte de Chagny! thought Raoulfuriously. And she
what a bold and damnable sly creature!


His brother was waiting for him and Raoul fell into his arms
like a child. The count consoled himwithout asking for explanations;
and Raoul would certainly have long hesitated before telling him
the story of the Angel of Music. His brother suggested taking him
out to dinner. Overcome as he was with despairRaoul would probably
have refused any invitation that eveningif the count had not
as an inducementtold him that the lady of his thoughts had been seen
the night beforein company of the other sex in the Bois.
At firstthe viscount refused to believe; but he received such exact
details that he ceased protesting. She had been seenit appeared
driving in a broughamwith the window down. She seemed to be slowly
taking in the icy night air. There was a glorious moon shining.
She was recognized beyond a doubt. As for her companiononly his
shadowy outline was distinguished leaning back in the dark.
The carriage was going at a walking pace in a lonely drive behind
the grand stand at Longchamp.


Raoul dressed in frantic hasteprepared to forget his distress
by flinging himselfas people sayinto "the vortex of pleasure."
Alashe was a very sorry guest andleaving his brother early
found himselfby ten o'clock in the eveningin a cab
behind the Longchamp race-course.


It was bitterly cold. The road seemed deserted and very bright
under the moonlight. He told the driver to wait for him patiently at
the corner of a near turning andhiding himself as well as he could
stood stamping his feet to keep warm. He had been indulging
in this healthy exercise for half an hour or sowhen a carriage
turned the corner of the road and came quietly in his direction
at a walking pace.


As it approachedhe saw that a woman was leaning her head from
the window. Andsuddenlythe moon shed a pale gleam over her features.


Christine!


The sacred name of his love had sprung from his heart and his lips.
He could not keep it back. .. He would have given anything
to withdraw itfor that nameproclaimed in the stillness of
the nighthad acted as though it were the preconcerted signal
for a furious rush on the part of the whole turn-outwhich dashed
past him before he could put into execution his plan of leaping
at the horses' heads. The carriage window had been closed and
the girl's face had disappeared. And the broughambehind which
he was now runningwas no more than a black spot on the white road.


He called out again: "Christine!"



No reply. And he stopped in the midst of the silence.


With a lack-luster eyehe stared down that colddesolate road
and into the paledead night. Nothing was colder than his heart
nothing half so dead: he had loved an angel and now he despised
a woman!


Raoulhow that little fairy of the North has trifled with you!
Was it reallywas it really necessary to have so fresh and young
a facea forehead so shy and always ready to cover itself with
the pink blush of modesty in order to pass in the lonely night
in a carriage and pairaccompanied by a mysterious lover?
Surely there should be some limit to hypocrisy and lying!...


She had passed without answering his cry....And he was thinking
of dying; and he was twenty years old!...


His valet found him in the morning sitting on his bed. He had not
undressed and the servant fearedat the sight of his facethat some
disaster had occurred. Raoul snatched his letters from the man's hands.
He had recognized Christine's paper and hand-writing. She said:


DEAR:


Go to the masked ball at the Opera on the night after to-morrow.
At twelve o'clockbe in the little room behind the chimney-place
of the big crush-room. Stand near the door that leads to the Rotunda.
Don't mention this appointment to any one on earth. Wear a white
domino and be carefully masked. As you love medo not let yourself
be recognized. CHRISTINE.


Chapter IX At the Masked Ball


The envelope was covered with mud and unstamped. It bore the words
To be handed to M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny,with the address
in pencil. It must have been flung out in the hope that a passer-by
would pick up the note and deliver itwhich was what happened.
The note had been picked up on the pavement of the Place de l'Opera.


Raoul read it over again with fevered eyes. No more was needed
to revive his hope. The somber picture which he had for a moment
imagined of a Christine forgetting her duty to herself made way
for his original conception of an unfortunateinnocent child
the victim of imprudence and exaggerated sensibility. To what extent
at this timewas she really a victim? Whose prisoner was she?
Into what whirlpool had she been dragged? He asked himself these
questions with a cruel anguish; but even this pain seemed endurable
beside the frenzy into which he was thrown at the thought of a lying
and deceitful Christine. What had happened? What influence had
she undergone? What monster had carried her off and by what means?
...


By what means indeed but that of music? He knew Christine's story.
After her father's deathshe acquired a distaste of everything in life
including her art. She went through the CONSERVATOIRE like a poor
soulless singing-machine. Andsuddenlyshe awoke as though through the
intervention of a god. The Angel of Music appeared upon the scene!
She sang Margarita in FAUST and triumphed!...


The Angel of Music!...For three months the Angel of Music had been



giving Christine lessons....Ahhe was a punctual singing-master!...
And now he was taking her for drives in the Bois!...


Raoul's fingers clutched at his fleshabove his jealous heart.
In his inexperiencehe now asked himself with terror what game
the girl was playing? Up to what point could an opera-singer make
a fool of a good-natured young manquite new to love? O misery!...


Thus did Raoul's thoughts fly from one extreme to the other.
He no longer knew whether to pity Christine or to curse her;
and he pitied and cursed her turn and turn about. At all events
he bought a white domino.


The hour of the appointment came at last. With his face in a mask
trimmed with longthick lacelooking like a pierrot in his white wrap
the viscount thought himself very ridiculous. Men of the world
do not go to the Opera ball in fancy-dress! It was absurd.
One thoughthoweverconsoled the viscount: he would certainly
never be recognized!


This ball was an exceptional affairgiven some time before Shrovetide
in honor of the anniversary of the birth of a famous draftsman;
and it was expected to be much gayernoisiermore Bohemian than
the ordinary masked ball. Numbers of artists had arranged to go
accompanied by a whole cohort of models and pupilswhoby midnight
began to create a tremendous din. Raoul climbed the grand staircase
at five minutes to twelvedid not linger to look at the motley
dresses displayed all the way up the marble stepsone of the richest
settings in the worldallowed no facetious mask to draw him into
a war of witsreplied to no jests and shook off the bold familiarity
of a number of couples who had already become a trifle too gay.
Crossing the big crush-room and escaping from a mad whirl of dancers
in which he was caught for a momenthe at last entered the room
mentioned in Christine's letter. He found it crammed; for this
small space was the point where all those who were going to supper
in the Rotunda crossed those who were returning from taking a glass
of champagne. The funherewaxed fast and furious.


Raoul leaned against a door-post and waited. He did not wait long.
A black domino passed and gave a quick squeeze to the tips of
his fingers. He understood that it was she and followed her:


Is that you, Christine?he askedbetween his teeth.


The black domino turned round promptly and raised her finger
to her lipsno doubt to warn him not to mention her name again.
Raoul continued to follow her in silence.


He was afraid of losing herafter meeting her again in such
strange circumstances. His grudge against her was gone. He no
longer doubted that she had "nothing to reproach herself with
however peculiar and inexplicable her conduct might seem. He was
ready to make any display of clemency, forgiveness or cowardice.
He was in love. And, no doubt, he would soon receive a very natural
explanation of her curious absence.


The black domino turned back from time to time to see if the white
domino was still following.


As Raoul once more passed through the great crush-room, this time
in the wake of his guide, he could not help noticing a group crowding
round a person whose disguise, eccentric air and gruesome appearance
were causing a sensation. It was a man dressed all in scarlet,
with a huge hat and feathers on the top of a wonderful death's head.



From his shoulders hung an immense red-velvet cloak, which trailed
along the floor like a king's train; and on this cloak was embroidered,
in gold letters, which every one read and repeated aloud,
Don't touch me! I am Red Death stalking abroad!"


Then onegreatly daringdid try to touch him...but a skeleton
hand shot out of a crimson sleeve and violently seized the rash
one's wrist; and hefeeling the clutch of the knucklebones
the furious grasp of Deathuttered a cry of pain and terror.
When Red Death released him at lasthe ran away like a very madman
pursued by the jeers of the bystanders.


It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funereal
masqueraderwho had just happened to turn in his direction.
And he nearly exclaimed:


The death's head of Perros-Guirec!


He had recognized him!...He wanted to dart forwardforgetting Christine;
but the black dominowho also seemed a prey to some strange excitement
caught him by the arm and dragged him from the crush-room
far from the mad crowd through which Red Death was stalking. ...


The black domino kept on turning back andapparentlyon two
occasions saw something that startled herfor she hurried
her pace and Raoul's as though they were being pursued.


They went up two floors. Herethe stairs and corridors
were almost deserted. The black domino opened the door of a
private box and beckoned to the white domino to follow her.
Then Christinewhom he recognized by the sound of her voice
closed the door behind them and warned himin a whisper
to remain at the back of the box and on no account to show himself.
Raoul took off his mask. Christine kept hers on. Andwhen Raoul
was about to ask her to remove ithe was surprised to see her put
her ear to the partition and listen eagerly for a sound outside.
Then she opened the door ajarlooked out into the corridor and
in a low voicesaid:


He must have gone up higher.Suddenly she exclaimed: "He is
coming down again!"


She tried to close the doorbut Raoul prevented her; for he had seen
on the top step of the staircase that led to the floor above
A RED FOOTfollowed by another...and slowlymajestically
the whole scarlet dress of Red Death met his eyes. And he once
more saw the death's head of Perros-Guirec.


It's he!he exclaimed. "This timehe shall not escape me!..."


But Christian{sic} had slammed the door at the moment when Raoul
was on the point of rushing out. He tried to push her aside.


Whom do you mean by `he'?she askedin a changed voice.
Who shall not escape you?


Raoul tried to overcome the girl's resistance by forcebut she
repelled him with a strength which he would not have suspected in her.
He understoodor thought he understoodand at once lost his temper.


Who?he repeated angrily. "Whyhethe man who hides behind
that hideous mask of death!...The evil genius of the churchyard
at Perros!...Red Death!...In a wordmadamyour friend...
your Angel of Music!...But I shall snatch off his mask



as I shall snatch off my own; andthis timewe shall look each
other in the facehe and Iwith no veil and no lies between us;
and I shall know whom you love and who loves you!"


He burst into a mad laughwhile Christine gave a disconsolate moan
behind her velvet mask. With a tragic gestureshe flung out her
two armswhich fixed a barrier of white flesh against the door.


In the name of our love, Raoul, you shall not pass!...


He stopped. What had she said?...In the name of their love?...
Never before had she confessed that she loved him. And yet she
had had opportunities enough....Poohher only object was to gain
a few seconds!...She wished to give the Red Death time to escape...
Andin accents of childish hatredhe said:


You lie, madam, for you do not love me and you have never loved me!
What a poor fellow I must be to let you mock and flout me as you
have done! Why did you give me every reason for hope, at Perros...
for honest hope, madam, for I am an honest man and I believed you
to be an honest woman, when your only intention was to deceive me!
Alas, you have deceived us all! You have taken a shameful advantage
of the candid affection of your benefactress herself, who continues
to believe in your sincerity while you go about the Opera ball
with Red Death!...I despise you!...


And he burst into tears. She allowed him to insult her.
She thought of but one thingto keep him from leaving the box.


You will beg my pardon, one day, for all those ugly words, Raoul,
and when you do I shall forgive you!


He shook his head. "Nonoyou have driven me mad! When I think
that I had only one object in life: to give my name to an opera wench!"


Raoul!...How can you?


I shall die of shame!


No, dear, live!said Christine's grave and changed voice.
And...good-by. Good-by, Raoul...


The boy stepped forwardstaggering as he went. He risked one
more sarcasm:


Oh, you must let me come and applaud you from time to time!


I shall never sing again, Raoul!...


Really?" he repliedstill more satirically. "So he is taking
you off the stage: I congratulate you!...But we shall meet
in the Boisone of these evenings!"


Not in the Bois nor anywhere, Raoul: you shall not see me again
...


May one ask at least to what darkness you are returning?...For
what hell are you leaving, mysterious lady...or for what paradise?


I came to tell you, dear, but I can't tell you now...you would
not believe me! You have lost faith in me, Raoul; it is finished!


She spoke in such a despairing voice that the lad began to feel
remorse for his cruelty.



But look here!he cried. "Can't you tell me what all this means!
... You are freethere is no one to interfere with you. ...
You go about Paris....You put on a domino to come to the ball.
... Why do you not go home?...What have you been doing this
past fortnight?...What is this tale about the Angel of Music
which you have been telling Mamma Valerius? Some one may have taken
you inplayed upon your innocence. I was a witness of it myself
at Perros...but you know what to believe now! You seem to me
quite sensibleChristine. You know what you are doing....And
meanwhile Mamma Valerius lies waiting for you at home and appealing
to your `good genius!'...Explain yourselfChristineI beg of you!
Any one might have been deceived as I was. What is this farce?"


Christine simply took off her mask and said: "Dearit is a tragedy!"


Raoul now saw her face and could not restrain an exclamation of
surprise and terror. The fresh complexion of former days was gone.
A mortal pallor covered those featureswhich he had known so
charming and so gentleand sorrow had furrowed them with pitiless
lines and traced dark and unspeakably sad shadows under her eyes.


My dearest! My dearest!he moanedholding out his arms.
You promised to forgive me...


Perhaps!...Some day, perhaps!she saidresuming her mask;
and she went awayforbidding himwith a gestureto follow her.


He tried to disobey her; but she turned round and repeated her gesture
of farewell with such authority that he dared not move a step.


He watched her till she was out of sight. Then he also went down among
the crowdhardly knowing what he was doingwith throbbing temples
and an aching heart; andas he crossed the dancing-floorhe asked
if anybody had seen Red Death. Yesevery one had seen Red Death;
but Raoul could not find him; andat two o'clock in the morning
he turned down the passagebehind the scenesthat led to
Christine Daae's dressing-room.


His footsteps took him to that room where he had first known suffering.
He tapped at the door. There was no answer. He enteredas he
had entered when he looked everywhere for "the man's voice."
The room was empty. A gas-jet was burningturned down low.
He saw some writing-paper on a little desk. He thought of writing
to Christinebut he heard steps in the passage. He had only time
to hide in the inner roomwhich was separated from the dressing-room
by a curtain.


Christine enteredtook off her mask with a weary movement and flung
it on the table. She sighed and let her pretty head fall into her
two hands. What was she thinking of? Of Raoul? Nofor Raoul
heard her murmur: "Poor Erik!"


At firsthe thought he must be mistaken. To begin withhe was
persuaded thatif any one was to be pitiedit was heRaoul.
It would have been quite natural if she had saidPoor Raoul,
after what had happened between them. Butshaking her head
she repeated: "Poor Erik!"


What had this Erik to do with Christine's sighs and why was she
pitying Erik when Raoul was so unhappy?


Christine began to writedeliberatelycalmly and so placidly
that Raoulwho was still trembling from the effects of the tragedy



that separated themwas painfully impressed.

What coolness!he said to himself.

She wrote onfilling twothreefour sheets. Suddenlyshe raised
her head and hid the sheets in her bodice....She seemed
to be listening... Raoul also listened... Whence came
that strange soundthat distant rhythm?...A faint singing
seemed to issue from the walls...yesit was as though
the walls themselves were singing!...The song became plainer
...the words were now distinguishable...he heard a voice
a very beautifulvery softvery captivating voice...but
for all its softnessit remained a male voice...The voice came
nearer and nearer...it came through the wall...it approached
...and now the voice was IN THE ROOMin front of Christine.
Christine rose and addressed the voiceas though speaking to some one:


Here I am, Erik,she said. "I am ready. But you are late."


Raoulpeeping from behind the curtaincould not believe his eyes
which showed him nothing. Christine's face lit up. A smile
of happiness appeared upon her bloodless lipsa 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 insidiousmore delicatemore powerfulin 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 eveningbefore the stupefied audiencewith accents of a beauty
hitherto unknownof a superhuman exaltationwhile doubtless still
under the influence of the mysterious and invisible master.


The voice was singing the Wedding-night Song from Romeo and Juliet.
Raoul saw Christine stretch out her arms to the voice as she
had donein Perros churchyardto the invisible violin playing The
Resurrection of Lazarus. And nothing could describe the passion
with which the voice sang:


Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!


The strains went through Raoul's heart. Struggling against the charm
that seemed to deprive him of all his will and all his energy and
of almost all his lucidity at the moment when he needed them most
he succeeded in drawing back the curtain that hid him and he walked to
where Christine stood. She herself was moving to the back of the room
the whole wall of which was occupied by a great mirror that reflected her
imagebut not hisfor he was just behind her and entirely covered by her.


Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!


Christine walked toward her image in the glass and the image came
toward her. The two Christines--the real one and the reflection--
ended by touching; and Raoul put out his arms to clasp the two
in one embrace. Butby a sort of dazzling miracle that sent
him staggeringRaoul was suddenly flung backwhile an icy blast swept
over his face; he sawnot twobut foureighttwenty Christines
spinning round himlaughing at him and fleeing so swiftly that he
could not touch one of them. At lasteverything stood still again;
and he saw himself in the glass. But Christine had disappeared.


He rushed up to the glass. He struck at the walls. Nobody!
And meanwhile the room still echoed with a distant passionate singing:



Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!

Which waywhich way had Christine gone?...Which way would she
return?...

Would she return? Alashad she not declared to him that everything
was finished? And was the voice not repeating:

Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!

To me? To whom?

Thenworn outbeatenempty-brainedhe sat down on the chair
which Christine had just left. Like herhe let his head fall into
his hands. When he raised itthe tears were streaming down his
young cheeksrealheavy tears like those which jealous children shed
tears that wept for a sorrow which was in no way fancifulbut which
is common to all the lovers on earth and which he expressed aloud:

Who is this Erik?he said.

Chapter X Forget the Name of the Man's Voice

The day after Christine had vanished before his eyes in a sort
of dazzlement that still made him doubt the evidence of his senses

M. le Vicomte de Chagny called to inquire at Mamma Valerius'.
He came upon a charming picture. Christine herself was seated
by the bedside of the old ladywho was sitting up against
the pillowsknitting. The pink and white had returned to the young
girl's cheeks. The dark rings round her eyes had disappeared.
Raoul no longer recognized the tragic face of the day before.
If the veil of melancholy over those adorable features had not
still appeared to the young man as the last trace of the weird
drama in whose toils that mysterious child was struggling
he could have believed that Christine was not its heroine at all.
She rosewithout showing any emotionand offered him her hand.
But Raoul's stupefaction was so great that he stood there dumfounded
without a gesturewithout a word.


Well, M. de Chagny,exclaimed Mamma Valeriusdon't you know
our Christine? Her good genius has sent her back to us!


Mamma!the girl broke in promptlywhile a deep blush mantled to
her eyes. "I thoughtmammathat there was to be no more question
of that!...You know there is no such thing as the Angel of Music!"


But, child, he gave you lessons for three months!


Mamma, I have promised to explain everything to you one of these days;
and I hope to do so but you have promised me, until that day,
to be silent and to ask me no more questions whatever!


Provided that you promised never to leave me again! But have you
promised that, Christine?


Mamma, all this can not interest M. de Chagny.


On the contrary, mademoiselle,said the young manin a voice
which he tried to make firm and bravebut which still trembled
anything that concerns you interests me to an extent which perhaps



you will one day understand. I do not deny that my surprise equals
my pleasure at finding you with your adopted mother and that,
after what happened between us yesterday, after what you said and
what I was able to guess, I hardly expected to see you here so soon.
I should be the first to delight at your return, if you were not
so bent on preserving a secrecy that may be fatal to you...and I
have been your friend too long not to be alarmed, with Mme. Valerius,
at a disastrous adventure which will remain dangerous so long as we
have not unraveled its threads and of which you will certainly end
by being the victim, Christine.


At these wordsMamma Valerius tossed about in her bed.


What does this mean?she cried. "Is Christine in danger?"


Yes, madame,said Raoul courageouslynotwithstanding the signs
which Christine made to him.


My God!exclaimed the goodsimple old womangasping for breath.
You must tell me everything, Christine! Why did you try to reassure me?
And what danger is it, M. de Chagny?


An impostor is abusing her good faith.


Is the Angel of Music an impostor?


She told you herself that there is no Angel of Music.


But then what is it, in Heaven's name? You will be the death
of me!


There is a terrible mystery around us, madame, around you,
around Christine, a mystery much more to be feared than any number
of ghosts or genii!


Mamma Valerius turned a terrified face to Christinewho had already
run to her adopted mother and was holding her in her arms.


Don't believe him, mummy, don't believe him,she repeated.


Then tell me that you will never leave me again,implored the widow.


Christine was silent and Raoul resumed.


That is what you must promise, Christine. It is the only thing
that can reassure your mother and me. We will undertake not to ask
you a single question about the past, if you promise us to remain
under our protection in future.


That is an undertaking which I have not asked of you and a promise
which I refuse to make you!said the young girl haughtily.
I am mistress of my own actions, M. de Chagny: you have no right
to control them, and I will beg you to desist henceforth.
As to what I have done during the last fortnight, there is only one man
in the world who has the right to demand an account of me: my husband!
Well, I have no husband and I never mean to marry!


She threw out her hands to emphasize her words and Raoul turned pale
not only because of the words which he had heardbut because he
had caught sight of a plain gold ring on Christine's finger.


You have no husband and yet you wear a wedding-ring.


He tried to seize her handbut she swiftly drew it back.



That's a present!she saidblushing once more and vainly striving
to hide her embarrassment.


Christine! As you have no husband, that ring can only have been
given by one who hopes to make you his wife! Why deceive us further?
Why torture me still more? That ring is a promise; and that promise
has been accepted!


That's what I said!exclaimed the old lady.


And what did she answer, madame?


What I chose,said Christinedriven to exasperation.
Don't you think, monsieur, that this cross-examination has lasted
long enough? As far as I am concerned...


Raoul was afraid to let her finish her speech. He interrupted her:


I beg your pardon for speaking as I did, mademoiselle. You know
the good intentions that make me meddle, just now, in matters which,
you no doubt think, have nothing to do with me. But allow me to
tell you what I have seen--and I have seen more than you suspect,
Christine--or what I thought I saw, for, to tell you the truth,
I have sometimes been inclined to doubt the evidence of my eyes.


Well, what did you see, sir, or think you saw?


I saw your ecstasy AT THE SOUND OF THE VOICE, Christine: the voice
that came from the wall or the next room to yours...yes,
YOUR ECSTASY! And that is what makes me alarmed on your behalf.
You are under a very dangerous spell. And yet it seems that you
are aware of the imposture, because you say to-day THAT THERE
IS NO ANGEL OF MUSIC! In that case, Christine, why did you follow
him that time? Why did you stand up, with radiant features,
as though you were really hearing angels?...Ah, it is a very
dangerous voice, Christine, for I myself, when I heard it, was so much
fascinated by it that you vanished before my eyes without my seeing
which way you passed! Christine, Christine, in the name of Heaven,
in the name of your father who is in Heaven now and who loved you
so dearly and who loved me too, Christine, tell us, tell your
benefactress and me, to whom does that voice belong? If you do,
we will save you in spite of yourself. Come, Christine, the name
of the man! The name of the man who had the audacity to put a ring
on your finger!


M. de Chagny,the girl declared coldlyyou shall never know!


Thereuponseeing the hostility with which her ward had addressed
the viscountMamma Valerius suddenly took Christine's part.


And, if she does love that man, Monsieur le Vicomte, even then it
is no business of yours!


Alas, madame,Raoul humbly repliedunable to restrain his tears
alas, I believe that Christine really does love him!...But
it is not only that which drives me to despair; for what I am not
certain of, madame, is that the man whom Christine loves is worthy
of her love!


It is for me to be the judge of that, monsieur!said Christine
looking Raoul angrily in the face.


When a man,continued Raouladopts such romantic methods



to entice a young girl's affections. ..

The man must be either a villain, or the girl a fool: is that it?

Christine!

Raoul, why do you condemn a man whom you have never seen,
whom no one knows and about whom you yourself know nothing?

Yes, Christine....Yes....I at least know the name
that you thought to keep from me for ever....The name
of your Angel of Music, mademoiselle, is Erik!

Christine at once betrayed herself. She turned as white as a sheet
and stammered: "Who told you?"

You yourself!

How do you mean?

By pitying him the other night, the night of the masked ball.
When you went to your dressing-room, did you not say, `Poor Erik?'
Well, Christine, there was a poor Raoul who overheard you.

This is the second time that you have listened behind the door,

M. de Chagny!
I was not behind the door...I was in the dressing-room,
in the inner room, mademoiselle.

Oh, unhappy man!moaned the girlshowing every sign
of unspeakable terror. "Unhappy man! Do you want to be killed?"

Perhaps.

Raoul uttered this "perhaps" with so much love and despair in his
voice that Christine could not keep back a sob. She took his hands
and looked at him with all the pure affection of which she was capable:

Raoul,she saidforget THE MAN'S VOICE and do not even remember
its name. .. You must never try to fathom the mystery of THE
MAN'S VOICE.

Is the mystery so very terrible?

There is no more awful mystery on this earth. Swear to me that you
will make no attempt to find out,she insisted. "Swear to me
that you will never come to my dressing-roomunless I send for you."

Then you promise to send for me sometimes, Christine?

I promise.

When?

To-morrow.

Then I swear to do as you ask.

He kissed her hands and went awaycursing Erik and resolving
to be patient.


Chapter XI Above the Trap-Doors

The next dayhe saw her at the Opera. She was still wearing
the plain gold ring. She was gentle and kind to him. She talked
to him of the plans which he was formingof his futureof his career.

He told her that the date of the Polar expedition had been put forward
and that he would leave France in three weeksor a month at latest.
She suggestedalmost gailythat he must look upon the voyage
with delightas a stage toward his coming fame. And when he
replied that fame without love was no attraction in his eyes
she treated him as a child whose sorrows were only short-lived.

How can you speak so lightly of such serious things?he asked.
Perhaps we shall never see each other again! I may die during
that expedition.

Or I,she said simply.

She no longer smiled or jested. She seemed to be thinking
of some new thing that had entered her mind for the first time.
Her eyes were all aglow with it.

What are you thinking of, Christine?

I am thinking that we shall not see each other again...

And does that make you so radiant?

And that, in a month, we shall have to say good-by for ever!

Unless, Christine, we pledge our faith and wait for each other
for ever.

She put her hand on his mouth.

Hush, Raoul!...You know there is no question of that...
And we shall never be married: that is understood!

She seemed suddenly almost unable to contain an overpowering gaiety.
She clapped her hands with childish glee. Raoul stared at her
in amazement.

But...but,she continuedholding out her two hands to Raoul
or rather giving them to himas though she had suddenly resolved
to make him a present of thembut if we can not be married, we can
... we can be engaged! Nobody will know but ourselves, Raoul.
There have been plenty of secret marriages: why not a secret
engagement?...We are engaged, dear, for a month! In a month,
you will go away, and I can be happy at the thought of that month
all my life long!

She was enchanted with her inspiration. Then she became serious again.

This,she saidIS A HAPPINESS THAT WILL HARM NO ONE.

Raoul jumped at the idea. He bowed to Christine and said:

Mademoiselle, I have the honor to ask for your hand.

Why, you have both of them already, my dear betrothed!...
Oh, Raoul, how happy we shall be!...We must play at being
engaged all day long.


It was the prettiest game in the world and they enjoyed it like
the children that they were. Ohthe wonderful speeches they made
to each other and the eternal vows they exchanged! They played at
hearts as other children might play at ball; onlyas it was really
their two hearts that they flung to and frothey had to be very
very handy to catch themeach timewithout hurting them.

One dayabout a week after the game beganRaoul's heart was badly
hurt and he stopped playing and uttered these wild words:

I shan't go to the North Pole!

Christinewhoin her innocencehad not dreamed of such a possibility
suddenly discovered the danger of the game and reproached herself bitterly.
She did not say a word in reply to Raoul's remark and went straight home.

This happened in the afternoonin the singer's dressing-room
where they met every day and where they amused themselves by dining
on three biscuitstwo glasses of port and a bunch of violets.
In the eveningshe did not sing; and he did not receive his
usual letterthough they had arranged to write to each other daily
during that month. The next morninghe ran off to Mamma Valerius
who told him that Christine had gone away for two days. She had
left at five o'clock the day before.

Raoul was distracted. He hated Mamma Valerius for giving him such
news as that with such stupefying calmness. He tried to sound her
but the old lady obviously knew nothing.

Christine returned on the following day. She returned in triumph.
She renewed her extraordinary success of the gala performance.
Since the adventure of the "toad Carlotta had not been able
to appear on the stage. The terror of a fresh co-ack" filled her
heart and deprived her of all her power of singing; and the theater
that had witnessed her incomprehensible disgrace had become odious
to her. She contrived to cancel her contract. Daae was offered
the vacant place for the time. She received thunders of applause in
the Juive.

The viscountwhoof coursewas presentwas the only one
to suffer on hearing the thousand echoes of this fresh triumph;
for Christine still wore her plain gold ring. A distant voice
whispered in the young man's ear:

She is wearing the ring again to-night; and you did not give it
to her. She gave her soul again tonight and did not give it to you.
... If she will not tell you what she has been doing the past two
days...you must go and ask Erik!

He ran behind the scenes and placed himself in her way. She saw
him for her eyes were looking for him. She said:

Quick! Quick!...Come!

And she dragged him to her dressing-room.

Raoul at once threw himself on his knees before her. He swore
to her that he would go and he entreated her never again to withhold
a single hour of the ideal happiness which she had promised him.
She let her tears flow. They kissed like a despairing brother
and sister who have been smitten with a common loss and who meet
to mourn a dead parent.


Suddenlyshe snatched herself from the young man's soft and timid
embraceseemed to listen to somethingandwith a quick gesture
pointed to the door. When he was on the thresholdshe said
in so low a voice that the viscount guessed rather than heard her words:


To-morrow, my dear betrothed! And be happy, Raoul: I sang
for you to-night!


He returned the next day. But those two days of absence had broken
the charm of their delightful make-believe. They looked at each other
in the dressing-roomwith their sad eyeswithout exchanging a word.
Raoul had to restrain himself not to cry out:


I am jealous! I am jealous! I am jealous!


But she heard him all the same. Then she said:


Come for a walk, dear. The air will do you good.


Raoul thought that she would propose a stroll in the country
far from that building which he detested as a prison whose jailer
he could feel walking within the walls...the jailer Erik....
But she took him to the stage and made him sit on the wooden
curb of a wellin the doubtful peace and coolness of a first scene
set for the evening's performance.


On another dayshe wandered with himhand inhandalong the deserted
paths of a garden whose creepers had been cut out by a decorator's
skilful hands. It was as though the real skythe real flowers
the real earth were forbidden her for all time and she condemned
to breathe no other air than that of the theater. An occasional
fireman passedwatching over their melancholy idyll from afar.
And she would drag him up above the cloudsin the magnificent
disorder of the gridwhere she loved to make him giddy by running
in front of him along the frail bridgesamong the thousands of ropes
fastened to the pulleysthe windlassesthe rollersin the midst
of a regular forest of yards and masts. If he hesitatedshe said
with an adorable pout of her lips:


You, a sailor!


And then they returned to terra firmathat is to sayto some
passage that led them to the little girls' dancing-schoolwhere
brats between six and ten were practising their stepsin the hope
of becoming great dancers one daycovered with diamonds....
Meanwhile, Christine gave them sweets instead.


She took him to the wardrobe and property-rooms, took him all over
her empire, which was artificial, but immense, covering seventeen
stories from the ground-floor to the roof and inhabited by an
army of subjects. She moved among them like a popular queen,
encouraging them in their labors, sitting down in the workshops,
giving words of advice to the workmen whose hands hesitated to cut
into the rich stuffs that were to clothe heroes. There were
inhabitants of that country who practised every trade. There
were cobblers, there were goldsmiths. All had learned to know
her and to love her, for she always interested herself in all
their troubles and all their little hobbies.


She knew unsuspected corners that were secretly occupied by little
old couples. She knocked at their door and introduced Raoul to them
as a Prince Charming who had asked for her hand; and the two of them,
sitting on some worm-eaten property would listen to the legends
of the Opera, even as, in their childhood, they had listened to the old



Breton tales. Those old people remembered nothing outside the Opera.
They had lived there for years without number. Past managements
had forgotten them; palace revolutions had taken no notice of them;
the history of France had run its course unknown to them; and nobody
recollected their existence.

The precious days sped in this way; and Raoul and Christine,
by affecting excessive interest in outside matters, strove awkwardly
to hide from each other the one thought of their hearts. One fact
was certain, that Christine, who until then had shown herself
the stronger of the two, became suddenly inexpressibly nervous.
When on their expeditions, she would start running without reason
or else suddenly stop; and her hand, turning ice-cold in a moment,
would hold the young man back. Sometimes her eyes seemed to
pursue imaginary shadows. She cried, This way and This way
and This way laughing a breathless laugh that often ended
in tears. Then Raoul tried to speak, to question her, in spite
of his promises. But, even before he had worded his question,
she answered feverishly:

Nothing...I swear it is nothing."

Oncewhen they were passing before an open trapdoor on the stage
Raoul stopped over the dark cavity.

You have shown me over the upper part of your empire, Christine,
but there are strange stories told of the lower part. Shall we
go down?

She caught him in her armsas though she feared to see him disappear
down the black holeandin a trembling voicewhispered:

Never!...I will not have you go there!...Besides, it's not
mine...EVERYTHING THAT IS UNDERGROUND BELONGS TO HIM!

Raoul looked her in the eyes and said roughly:

So he lives down there, does he?

I never said so....Who told you a thing like that? Come away!
I sometimes wonder if you are quite sane, Raoul....You always
take things in such an impossible way....Come along! Come!

And she literally dragged him awayfor he was obstinate and wanted
to remain by the trap-door; that hole attracted him.

Suddenlythe trap-door was closed and so quickly that they did
not even see the hand that worked it; and they remained quite dazed.

Perhaps HE was there,Raoul saidat last.

She shrugged her shouldersbut did not seem easy.

No, no, it was the `trap-door-shutters.' They must do something,
you know....They open and shut the trap-doors without
any particular reason....It's like the `door-shutters:'
they must spend their time somehow.

But suppose it were HE, Christine?

No, no! He has shut himself up, he is working.

Oh, really! He's working, is he?


Yes, he can't open and shut the trap-doors and work at the same time.
She shivered.


What is he working at?


Oh, something terrible!...But it's all the better for us.
...When he's working at that, he sees nothing; he does not eat,
drink, or breathe for days and nights at a time...he becomes a
living dead man and has no time to amuse himself with the trap-doors.
She shivered again. She was still holding him in her arms.
Then she sighed and saidin her turn:


Suppose it were HE!


Are you afraid of him?


No, no, of course not,she said.


For all thaton the next day and the following daysChristine was
careful to avoid the trap-doors. Her agitation only increased as
the hours passed. At lastone afternoonshe arrived very late
with her face so desperately pale and her eyes so desperately red
that Raoul resolved to go to all lengthsincluding that which he
foreshadowed when he blurted out that he would not go on the North Pole
expedition unless she first told him the secret of the man's voice.


Hush! Hush, in Heaven's name I Suppose HE heard you,
you unfortunate Raoul!


And Christine's eyes stared wildly at everything around her.


I will remove you from his power, Christine, I swear it.
And you shall not think of him any more.


Is it possible?


She allowed herself this doubtwhich was an encouragernent
while dragging the young man up to the topmost floor of the theater
farvery far from the trap-doors.


I shall hide you in some unknown corner of the world, where HE
can not come to look for you. You will be safe; and then I shall
go away...as you have sworn never to marry.


Christine seized Raoul's hands and squeezed them with incredible rapture.
Butsuddenly becoming alarmed againshe turned away her head.


Higher!was all she said. "Higher still!"


And she dragged him up toward the summit.


He had a difficulty in following her. They were soon under
the very roofin the maze of timber-work. They slipped
through the buttressesthe raftersthe joists; they ran
from beam to beam as they might have run from tree to tree in a forest.


Anddespite the care which she took to look behind her at every moment
she failed to see a shadow which followed her like her own shadow
which stopped when she stoppedwhich started again when she did
and which made no more noise than a well-conducted shadow should.
As for Raoulhe saw nothing either; forwhen he had Christine in
front of himnothing interested him that happened behind.



Chapter XII Apollo's Lyre


On this waythey reached the roof. Christine tripped over it
as lightly as a swallow. Their eyes swept the empty space between
the three domes and the triangular pediment. She breathed freely
over Paristhe whole valley of which was seen at work below.
She called Raoul to come quite close to her and they walked side
by side along the zinc streetsin the leaden avenues; they looked
at their twin shapes in the huge tanksfull of stagnant waterwhere
in the hot weatherthe little boys of the balleta score or so
learn to swim and dive.


The shadow had followed behind them clinging to their steps;
and the two children little suspected its presence when they at
last sat downtrustinglyunder the mighty protection of Apollo
whowith a great bronze gesturelifted his huge lyre to the heart
of a crimson sky.


It was a gorgeous spring evening. Cloudswhich had just received
their gossamer robe of gold and purple from the setting sun
drifted slowly by; and Christine said to Raoul:


Soon we shall go farther and faster than the clouds, to the end of
the world, and then you will leave me, Raoul. But, if, when the moment
comes APOLLO' for you to take me away, I refuse to go with you--
well you must carry me off by force!


Are you afraid that you will change your mind, Christine?


I don't know,she saidshaking her head in an odd fashion.
He is a demon!And she shivered and nestled in his arms with a moan.
I am afraid now of going back to live with him...in the ground!


What compels you to go back, Christine?


If I do not go back to him, terrible misfortunes may happen!...
But I can't do it, I can't do it!...I know one ought to be sorry
for people who live underground....But he is too horrible!
And yet the time is at hand; I have only a day left; and, if I
do not go, he will come and fetch me with his voice. And he will
drag me with him, underground, and go on his knees before me,
with his death's head. And he will tell me that he loves me!
And he will cry! Oh, those tears, Raoul, those tears in the two
black eye-sockets of the death's head! I can not see those tears
flow again!


She wrung her hands in anguishwhile Raoul pressed her to his heart.


No, no, you shall never again hear him tell you that he loves you!
You shall not see his tears! Let us fly, Christine, let us fly
at once!


And he tried to drag her awaythen and there. But she stopped him.


No, no,she saidshaking her head sadly. "Not now!...It would
be too cruel...let him hear me sing to-morrow evening...and then
we will go away. You must come and fetch me in my dressing-room
at midnight exactly. He will then be waiting for me in the dining-room
by the lake...we shall be free and you shall take me away....
You must promise me thatRaouleven if I refuse; for I feel that
if I go back this timeI shall perhaps never return."



And she gave a sigh to which it seemed to her that another sigh
behind herreplied.


Didn't you hear?


Her teeth chattered.


No,said RaoulI heard nothing.


It is too terrible,she confessedto be always trembling
like this!...And yet we run no danger here; we are at home,
in the sky, in the open air, in the light. The sun is flaming;
and night-birds can not bear to look at the sun. I have never seen
him by daylight...it must be awful!...Oh, the first time I
saw him!...I thought that he was going to die.


Why?asked Raoulreally frightened at the aspect which this
strange confidence was taking.


BECAUSE I HAD SEEN HIM!


This timeRaoul and Christine turned round at the same time:


There is some one in pain,said Raoul. "Perhaps some one has
been hurt. Did you hear?"


I can't say,Christine confessed. "Even when he is not there
my ears are full of his sighs. Stillif you heard..."


They stood up and looked around them. They were quite alone
on the immense lead roof. They sat down again and Raoul said:


Tell me how you saw him first.


I had heard him for three months without seeing him. The first time I
heard it, I thought, as you did, that that adorable voice was singing
in another room. I went out and looked everywhere; but, as you know,
Raoul, my dressing-room is very much by itself; and I could not find
the voice outside my room, whereas it went on steadily inside.
And it not only sang, but it spoke to me and answered my questions,
like a real man's voice, with this difference, that it was as beautiful
as the voice of an angel. I had never got the Angel of Music whom
my poor father had promised to send me as soon as he was dead.
I really think that Mamma Valerius was a little bit to blame.
I told her about it; and she at once said, `It must be the Angel;
at any rate, you can do no harm by asking him.' I did so;
and the man's voice replied that, yes, it was the Angel's voice,
the voice which I was expecting and which my father had promised me.
From that time onward, the voice and I became great friends.
It asked leave to give me lessons every day. I agreed and never failed
to keep the appointment which it gave me in my dressing-room. You
have no idea, though you have heard the voice, of what those lessons
were like.


No, I have no idea,said Raoul. "What was your accompaniment?"


We were accompanied by a music which I do not know: it was behind
the wall and wonderfully accurate. The voice seemed to understand
mine exactly, to know precisely where my father had left off
teaching me. In a few weeks' time, I hardly knew myself when I sang.
I was even frightened. I seemed to dread a sort of witchcraft
behind it; but Mamma Valerius reassured me. She said that she
knew I was much too simple a girl to give the devil a hold on me.
... My progress, by the voice's own order, was kept a secret



between the voice, Mamma Valerius and myself. It was a curious
thing, but, outside the dressing-room, I sang with my ordinary,
every-day voice and nobody noticed anything. I did all that the
voice asked. It said, `Wait and see: we shall astonish Paris!'
And I waited and lived on in a sort of ecstatic dream. It was then
that I saw you for the first time one evening, in the house.
I was so glad that I never thought of concealing my delight when I
reached my dressing-room. Unfortunately, the voice was there before
me and soon noticed, by my air, that something had happened.
It asked what was the matter and I saw no reason for keeping our
story secret or concealing the place which you filled in my heart.
Then the voice was silent. I called to it, but it did not reply;
I begged and entreated, but in vain. I was terrified lest it had
gone for good. I wish to Heaven it had, dear!...That night,
I went home in a desperate condition. I told Mamma Valerius, who said,
`Why, of course, the voice is jealous!' And that, dear, first revealed
to me that I loved you.


Christine stopped and laid her head on Raoul's shoulder. They sat
like that for a momentin silenceand they did not seedid not
perceive the movementat a few steps from themof the creeping
shadow of two great black wingsa shadow that came along the roof
so nearso near them that it could have stifled them by closing
over them.


The next day,Christine continuedwith a sighI went back
to my dressing-room in a very pensive frame of mind. The voice
was there, spoke to me with great sadness and told me plainly that,
if I must bestow my heart on earth, there was nothing for the voice
to do but to go back to Heaven. And it said this with such an accent
of HUMAN sorrow that I ought then and there to have suspected
and begun to believe that I was the victim of my deluded senses.
But my faith in the voice, with which the memory of my father
was so closely intermingled, remained undisturbed. I feared
nothing so much as that I might never hear it again; I had thought
about my love for you and realized all the useless danger of it;
and I did not even know if you remembered me. Whatever happened,
your position in society forbade me to contemplate the possibility
of ever marrying you; and I swore to the voice that you were no
more than a brother to me nor ever would be and that my heart was
incapable of any earthly love. And that, dear, was why I refused to
recognize or see you when I met you on the stage or in the passages.
Meanwhile, the hours during which the voice taught me were spent in
a divine frenzy, until, at last, the voice said to me, `You can now,
Christine Daae, give to men a little of the music of Heaven.'
I don't know how it was that Carlotta did not come to the theater
that night nor why I was called upon to sing in her stead; but I
sang with a rapture I had never known before and I felt for a moment
as if my soul were leaving my body!


Oh, Christine,said Raoulmy heart quivered that night at every
accent of your voice. I saw the tears stream down your cheeks and I
wept with you. How could you sing, sing like that while crying?


I felt myself fainting,said ChristineI closed my eyes.
When I opened them, you were by my side. But the voice was
there also, Raoul! I was afraid for your sake and again I would
not recognize you and began to laugh when you reminded me that
you had picked up my scarf in the sea!...Alas, there is no
deceiving the voice!...The voice recognized you and the voice
was jealous!...It said that, if I did not love you, I would not
avoid you, but treat you like any other old friend. It made me
scene upon scene. At last, I said to the voice, `That will do!
I am going to Perros to-morrow, to pray on my father's grave, and I



shall ask M. Raoul de Chagny to go with me.' `Do as you please,'
replied the voice, `but I shall be at Perros too, for I am wherever
you are, Christine; and, if you are still worthy of me, if you
have not lied to me, I will play you The Resurrection of Lazarus,
on the stroke of midnight, on your father's tomb and on your
father's violin.' That, dear, was how I came to write you the
letter that brought you to Perros. How could I have been
so beguiled? How was it, when I saw the personal, the selfish
point of view of the voice, that I did not suspect some impostor?
Alas, I was no longer mistress of myself: I had become his thing!

But, after all,cried Raoulyou soon came to know the truth!
Why did you not at once rid yourself of that abominable nightmare?

Know the truth, Raoul? Rid myself of that nightmare? But, my poor boy,
I was not caught in the nightmare until the day when I learned
the truth!...Pity me, Raoul, pity me!...You remember
the terrible evening when Carlotta thought that she had been
turned into a toad on the stage and when the house was suddenly
plunged in darkness through the chandelier crashing to the floor?
There were killed and wounded that night and the whole theater rang
with terrified screams. My first thought was for you and the voice.
I was at once easy, where you were concerned, for I had seen you
in your brother's box and I knew that you were not in danger.
But the voice had told me that it would be at the performance and I
was really afraid for it, just as if it had been an ordinary person
who was capable of dying. I thought to myself, `The chandelier
may have come down upon the voice.' I was then on the stage
and was nearly running into the house, to look for the voice among
the killed and wounded, when I thought that, if the voice was safe,
it would be sure to be in my dressing-room and I rushed to my room.
The voice was not there. I locked my door and, with tears in my eyes,
besought it, if it were still alive, to manifest itself to me.
The voice did not reply, but suddenly I heard a long, beautiful wail
which I knew well. It is the plaint of Lazarus when, at the sound
of the Redeemer's voice, he begins to open his eyes and see the light
of day. It was the music which you and I, Raoul, heard at Perros.
And then the voice began to sing the leading phrase, Come! And believe
in me! Whoso believes in me shall live! Walk! Whoso hath believed
in me shall never die!...' I can not tell you the effect which that
music had upon me. It seemed to command mepersonallyto come
to stand up and come to it. It retreated and I followed. `Come! And
believe in me!' I believed in itI came....I came and-this
was the extraordinary thing--my dressing-roomas I moved
seemed to lengthen out...to lengthen out....Evidently
it must have been an effect of mirrors...for I had the mirror
in front of me....AndsuddenlyI was outside the room without
knowing how!"

What! Without knowing how? Christine, Christine, you must really
stop dreaming!

I was not dreaming, dear, I was outside my room without
knowing how. You, who saw me disappear from my room one evening,
may be able to explain it; but I can not. I can only tell you that,
suddenly, there was no mirror before me and no dressing-room.
I was in a dark passage, I was frightened and I cried out.
It was quite dark, but for a faint red glimmer at a distant corner
of the wall. I tried out. My voice was the only sound,
for the singing and the violin had stopped. And, suddenly,
a hand was laid on mine...or rather a stone-cold, bony thing
that seized my wrist and did not let go. I cried out again.
An arm took me round the waist and supported me. I struggled
for a little while and then gave up the attempt. I was dragged


toward the little red light and then I saw that I was in the hands
of a man wrapped in a large cloak and wearing a mask that hid
his whole face. I made one last effort; my limbs stiffened,
my mouth opened to scream, but a hand closed it, a hand which I
felt on my lips, on my skin...a hand that smelt of death.
Then I fainted away.


When I opened my eyeswe were still surrounded by darkness.
A lanternstanding on the groundshowed a bubbling well.
The water splashing from the well disappearedalmost at once
under the floor on which I was lyingwith my head on the knee
of the man in the black cloak and the black mask. He was bathing
my temples and his hands smelt of death. I tried to push them
away and asked`Who are you? Where is the voice?' His only
answer was a sigh. Suddenlya hot breath passed over my face
and I perceived a white shapebeside the man's black shape
in the darkness. The black shape lifted me on to the white shape
a glad neighing greeted my astounded ears and I murmured
`Cesar!' The animal quivered. RaoulI was lying half back on
a saddle and I had recognized the white horse out of the PROFETA
which I had so often fed with sugar and sweets. I remembered that
one eveningthere was a rumor in the theater that the horse
had disappeared and that it had been stolen by the Opera ghost.
I believed in the voicebut had never believed in the ghost.
NowhoweverI began to wonderwith a shiverwhether I was
the ghost's prisoner. I called upon the voice to help mefor I
should never have imagined that the voice and the ghost were one.
You have heard about the Opera ghosthave you notRaoul?"


Yes, but tell me what happened when you were on the white horse
of the Profeta?


I made no movement and let myself go. The black shape held me up,
and I made no effort to escape. A curious feeling of peacefulness
came over me and I thought that I must be under the influence of
some cordial. I had the full command of my senses; and my eyes became
used to the darkness, which was lit, here and there, by fitful gleams.
I calculated that we were in a narrow circular gallery, probably running
all round the Opera, which is immense, underground. I had once
been down into those cellars, but had stopped at the third floor,
though there were two lower still, large enough to hold a town.
But the figures of which I caught sight had made me run away.
There are demons down there, quite black, standing in front of boilers,
and they wield shovels and pitchforks and poke up fires and stir up
flames and, if you come too near them, they frighten you by suddenly
opening the red mouths of their furnaces....Well, while Cesar was quietly
carrying me on his back, I saw those black demons in the distance,
looking quite small, in front of the red fires of their furnaces:
they came into sight, disappeared and came into sight again, as we
went on our winding way. At last, they disappeared altogether.
The shape was still holding me up and Cesar walked on, unled and
sure-footed. I could not tell you, even approximately, how long
this ride lasted; I only know that we seemed to turn and turn and
often went down a spiral stair into the very heart of the earth.
Even then, it may be that my head was turning, but I don't think so:
no, my mind was quite clear. At last, Cesar raised his nostrils,
sniffed the air and quickened his pace a little. I felt a moistness
in the air and Cesar stopped. The darkness had lifted. A sort
of bluey light surrounded us. We were on the edge of a lake,
whose leaden waters stretched into the distance, into the darkness;
but the blue light lit up the bank and I saw a little boat fastened
to an iron ring on the wharf!


A boat!



Yes, but I knew that all that existed and that there was nothing
supernatural about that underground lake and boat. But think of the
exceptional conditions in which I arrived upon that shore! I don't
know whether the effects of the cordial had worn off when the man's
shape lifted me into the boat, but my terror began all over again.
My gruesome escort must have noticed it, for he sent Cesar back
and I heard his hoofs trampling up a staircase while the man jumped
into the boat, untied the rope that held it and seized the oars.
He rowed with a quick, powerful stroke; and his eyes, under the mask,
never left me. We slipped across the noiseless water in the bluey
light which I told you of; then we were in the dark again and we
touched shore. And I was once more taken up in the man's arms.
I cried aloud. And then, suddenly, I was silent, dazed by the light.
...Yes, a dazzling light in the midst of which I had been put down.
I sprang to my feet. I was in the middle of a drawing-room that
seemed to me to be decorated, adorned and furnished with nothing
but flowers, flowers both magnificent and stupid, because of
the silk ribbons that tied them to baskets, like those which they
sell in the shops on the boulevards. They were much too civilized
flowers, like those which I used to find in my dressing-room
after a first night. And, in the midst of all these flowers,
stood the black shape of the man in the mask, with arms crossed,
and he said, `Don't be afraid, Christine; you are in no danger.'
IT WAS THE VOICE!


My anger equaled my amazement. I rushed at the mask and tried
to snatch it awayso as to see the face of the voice. The man said
`You are in no dangerso long as you do not touch the mask.'
Andtaking me gently by the wristshe forced me into a chair
and then went down on his knees before me and said nothing more!
His humility gave me back some of my courage; and the light restored
me to the realties of life. However extraordinary the adventure might be
I was now surrounded by mortalvisibletangible things.
The furniturethe hangingsthe candlesthe vases and the very
flowers in their basketsof which I could almost have told whence
they came and what they costwere bound to confine my imagination
to the limits of a drawing-room quite as commonplace as any that
at leasthad the excuse of not being in the cellars of the Opera.
I hadno doubtto do with a terribleeccentric personwhoin some
mysterious fashionhad succeeded in taking up his abode there
under the Opera housefive stories below the level of the ground.
And the voicethe voice which I had recognized under the mask
was on its knees before meWAS A MAN! And I began to cry. ...
The manstill kneelingmust have understood the cause of my tears
for he said`It is trueChristine!...I am not an Angel
nor a geniusnor a ghost...I am Erik!'"


Christine's narrative was again interrupted. An echo behind them
seemed to repeat the word after her.


Erik!


What echo?...They both turned round and saw that night had fallen.
Raoul made a movement as though to risebut Christine kept him
beside her.


Don't go,she said. "I want you to know everything HERE!"


But why here, Christine? I am afraid of your catching cold.


We have nothing to fear except the trap-doors, dear, and here we
are miles away from the trap-doors...and I am not allowed to
see you outside the theater. This is not the time to annoy him.



We must not arouse his suspicion.


Christine! Christine! Something tells me that we are wrong
to wait till to-morrow evening and that we ought to fly at once.


I tell you that, if he does not hear me sing tomorrow, it will
cause him infinite pain.


It is difficult not to cause him pain and yet to escape from him
for good.


You are right in that, Raoul, for certainly he will die of my flight.
And she added in a dull voiceBut then it counts both ways...
for we risk his killing us.


Does he love you so much?


He would commit murder for me.


But one can find out where he lives. One can go in search of him.
Now that we know that Erik is not a ghost, one can speak to him
and force him to answer!


Christine shook her head.


No, no! There is nothing to be done with Erik except to run away!


Then why, when you were able to run away, did you go back to him?


Because I had to. And you will understand that when I tell you
how I left him.


Oh, I hate him!cried Raoul. "And youChristinetell me
do you hate him too?"


No,said Christine simply.


No, of course not....Why, you love him! Your fear, your terror,
all of that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind
which people do not admit even to themselves,said Raoul bitterly.
The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it.
... Picture it: a man who lives in a palace underground!
And he gave a leer.


Then you want me to go back there?said the young girl cruelly.
Take care, Raoul; I have told you: I should never return!


There was an appalling silence between the three of them:
the two who spoke and the shadow that listenedbehind them.


Before answering that,said Raoulat lastspeaking very slowly
I should like to know with what feeling he inspires you, since you
do not hate him.


With horror!she said. "That is the terrible thing about it.
He fills me with horror and I do not hate him. How can I
hate himRaoul? Think of Erik at my feetin the house on
the lakeunderground. He accuses himselfhe curses himself
he implores my forgiveness!...He confesses his cheat.
He loves me! He lays at my feet an immense and tragic love.
... He has carried me off for love!...He has imprisoned me
with himundergroundfor love!...But he respects me: he crawls
he moanshe weeps!...Andwhen I stood upRaouland told
him that I could only despise him if he did notthen and there



give me my liberty...he offered it...he offered to show me
the mysterious road...Only...only he rose too...and I
was made to remember thatthough he was not an angelnor a ghost
nor a geniushe remained the voice...for he sang. And I listened
... and stayed!...That nightwe did not exchange another word.
He sang me to sleep.


When I woke up, I was alone, lying on a sofa in a simply furnished
little bedroom, with an ordinary mahogany bedstead, lit by a lamp
standing on the marble top of an old Louis-Philippe chest of drawers.
I soon discovered that I was a prisoner and that the only outlet from my
room led to a very comfortable bath-room. On returning to the bedroom,
I saw on the chest of drawers a note, in red ink, which said,
`My dear Christine, you need have no concern as to your fate.
You have no better nor more respectful friend in the world than myself.
You are alone, at present, in this home which is yours. I am going
out shopping to fetch you all the things that you can need.'
I felt sure that I had fallen into the hands of a madman.
I ran round my little apartment, looking for a way of escape which I
could not find. I upbraided myself for my absurd superstition,
which had caused me to fall into the trap. I felt inclined to laugh
and to cry at the same time.


This was the state of mind in which Erik found me. After giving
three taps on the wallhe walked in quietly through a door which I
had not noticed and which he left open. He had his arms full
of boxes and parcels and arranged them on the bedin a leisurely
fashionwhile I overwhelmed him with abuse and called upon
him to take off his maskif it covered the face of an honest man.
He replied serenely`You shall never see Erik's face.' And he
reproached me with not having finished dressing at that time of day:
he was good enough to tell me that it was two o'clock in the afternoon.
He said he would give me half an hour andwhile he spokewound up
my watch and set it for me. After whichhe asked me to come to
the dining-roomwhere a nice lunch was waiting for us.


I was very angry, slammed the door in his face and went to the
bath-room....When I came out again, feeling greatly refreshed,
Erik said that he loved me, but that he would never tell me
so except when I allowed him and that the rest of the time would
be devoted to music. `What do you mean by the rest of the time?'
I asked. `Five days,' he said, with decision. I asked him if I
should then be free and he said, `You will be free, Christine, for,
when those five days are past, you will have learned not to see me;
and then, from time to time, you will come to see your poor Erik!'
He pointed to a chair opposite him, at a small table, and I sat down,
feeling greatly perturbed. However, I ate a few prawns and the wing
of a chicken and drank half a glass of tokay, which he had himself,
he told me, brought from the Konigsberg cellars. Erik did not eat
or drink. I asked him what his nationality was and if that name
of Erik did not point to his Scandinavian origin. He said that he
had no name and no country and that he had taken the name of Erik
by accident.


After lunchhe rose and gave me the tips of his fingers
saying he would like to show me over his flat; but I snatched away
my hand and gave a cry. What I had touched was cold andat the
same timebony; and I remembered that his hands smelt of death.
`Ohforgive me!' he moaned. And he opened a door before me.
`This is my bedroomif you care to see it. It is rather curious.'
His mannershis wordshis attitude gave me confidence and I went
in without hesitation. I felt as if I were entering the room of a
dead person. The walls were all hung with blackbutinstead of
the white trimmings that usually set off that funereal upholstery



there was an enormous stave of music with the notes of the DIES IRAE
many times repeated. In the middle of the room was a canopy
from which hung curtains of red brocaded stuffandunder the canopy
an open coffin. `That is where I sleep' said Erik. `One has to get
used to everything in lifeeven to eternity.' The sight upset me
so much that I turned away my head.


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.


What did you do?


I had no time to think about the meaning he put into his words.
We at once began the duet in Othello and already the catastrophe
was upon us. I sang Desdemona with a despair, a terror which I
had never displayed before. As for him, his voice thundered
forth his revengeful soul at every note. Love, jealousy, hatred,
burst out around us in harrowing cries. Erik's black mask made
me think of the natural mask of the Moor of Venice. He was
Othello himself. Suddenly, I felt a need to see beneath the mask.
I wanted to know the FACE of the voice, and, with a movement
which I was utterly unable to control, swiftly my fingers tore
away the mask. Oh, horror, horror, horror!


Christine stoppedat the thought of the vision that had scared her
while the echoes of the nightwhich had repeated the name of Erik
now thrice moaned the cry:


Horror!...Horror!...Horror!


Raoul and Christineclasping each other closelyraised their eyes
to the stars that shone in a clear and peaceful sky. Raoul said:


Strange, Christine, that this calm, soft night should be so full
of plaintive sounds. One would think that it was sorrowing with us.


When you know the secret, Raoul, your ears, like mine, will be
full of lamentations.


She took Raoul's protecting hands in hers andwith a long shivercontinued:


Yes, if I lived to be a hundred, I should always hear the superhuman
cry of grief and rage which he uttered when the terrible sight appeared



before my eyes....Raoul, you have seen death's heads, when they
have been dried and withered by the centuries, and, perhaps, if you
were not the victim of a nightmare, you saw HIS death's head at Perros.
And then you saw Red Death stalking about at the last masked ball.
But all those death's heads were motionless and their dumb horror
was not alive. But imagine, if you can, Red Death's mask suddenly
coming to life in order to express, with the four black holes of its eyes,
its nose, and its mouth, the extreme anger, the mighty fury of a demon;
AND NOT A RAY OF LIGHT FROM THE SOCKETS, for, as I learned later,
you can not see his blazing eyes except in the dark.


I fell back against the wall and he came up to megrinding his
teethandas I fell upon my kneeshe hissed madincoherent words
and curses at me. Leaning over mehe cried`Look! You want
to see! See! Feast your eyesglut your soul on my cursed ugliness!
Look at Erik's face! Now you know the face of the voice! You were
not content to hear meeh? You wanted to know what I looked like!
Ohyou women are so inquisitive! Wellare you satisfied?
I'm a very good-looking felloweh?...When a woman has seen me
as you haveshe belongs to me. She loves me for ever. I am a kind
of Don Juanyou know!' Anddrawing himself up to his full height
with his hand on his hipwagging the hideous thing that was
his head on his shouldershe roared`Look at me! I AM DON
JUAN TRIUMPHANT!' Andwhen I turned away my head and begged for mercy
he drew it to himbrutallytwisting his dead fingers into my hair."


Enough! Enough!cried Raoul. "I will kill him. In Heaven's
nameChristinetell me where the dining-room on the lake is!
I must kill him!"


Oh, be quiet, Raoul, if you want to know!


Yes, I want to know how and why you went back; I must know!...
But, in any case, I will kill him!


Oh, Raoul, listen, listen!...He dragged me by my hair and then
...and then...Oh, it is too horrible!


Well, what? Out with it!exclaimed Raoul fiercely.
Out with it, quick!


Then he hissed at me. `Ah, I frighten you, do I?...I dare
say!...Perhaps you think that I have another mask, eh, and that
this...this...my head is a mask? Well,' he roared,
`tear it off as you did the other! Come! Come along! I insist!
Your hands! Your hands! Give me your hands!' And he seized my
hands and dug them into his awful face. He tore his flesh with
my nails, tore his terrible dead flesh with my nails!...`Know,'
he shouted, while his throat throbbed and panted like a furnace,
`know that I am built up of death from head to foot and that it
is a corpse that loves you and adores you and will never,
never leave you!...Look, I am not laughing now, I am crying,
crying for you, Christine, who have torn off my mask and who therefore
can never leave me again!...As long as you thought me handsome,
you could have come back, I know you would have come back...but,
now that you know my hideousness, you would run away for good.
...So I shall keep you here!...Why did you want to see me?
Oh, mad Christine, who wanted to see me!...When my own father
never saw me and when my mother, so as not to see me, made me
a present of my first mask!'


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 roomclosed 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 longawfulmagnificent sob. Butlittle by little
it expressed every emotionevery suffering of which mankind is capable.
It intoxicated me; and I opened the door that separated us.
Erik roseas I enteredBUT 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; andif ever again I shiver
when I look at youit will be because I am thinking of the splendor
of your genius!' Then Erik turned roundfor he believed meand I
also had faith in myself. He fell at my feetwith 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.


What more can I tell you, dear? You now know the tragedy.
It went on for a fortnight--a fortnight during which I lied to him.
My lies were as hideous as the monster who inspired them;
but they were the price of my liberty. I burned his mask;
and I managed so well that, even when he was not singing,
he tried to catch my eye, like a dog sitting by its master.
He was my faithful slave and paid me endless little attentions.
Gradually, I gave him such confidence that he ventured to take me
walking on the banks of the lake and to row me in the boat on its
leaden waters; toward the end of my captivity he let me out through
the gates that closed the underground passages in the Rue Scribe.
Here a carriage awaited us and took us to the Bois. The night when we
met you was nearly fatal to me, for he is terribly jealous of you
and I had to tell him that you were soon going away....Then,
at last, after a fortnight of that horrible captivity, during which I
was filled with pity, enthusiasm, despair and horror by turns,
he believed me when I said, `I WILL COME BACK!'


And you went back, Christine,groaned Raoul.


Yes, dear, and I must tell you that it was not his frightful
threats when setting me free that helped me to keep my word,
but the harrowing sob which he gave on the threshold of the tomb.
... That sob attached me to the unfortunate man more than I myself
suspected when saying good-by to him. Poor Erik! Poor Erik!


Christine,said Raoulrisingyou tell me that you love me;
but you had recovered your liberty hardly a few hours before you
returned to Erik! Remember the masked ball!


Yes; and do you remember those hours which I passed with you,
Raoul...to the great danger of both of us?


I doubted your love for me, during those hours.


Do you doubt it still, Raoul?...Then know that each of my
visits to Erik increased my horror of him; for each of those visits,
instead of calming him, as I hoped, made him mad with love!
And I am so frightened, so frightened!...


You are frightened...but do you love me? If Erik were
good-lookingwould you love meChristine?"


She rose in her turnput her two trembling arms round the young
man's neck and said:


Oh, my betrothed of a day, if I did not love you, I would not give



you my lips! Take them, for the first time and the last.


He kissed her lips; but the night that surrounded them was rent
asunderthey fled as at the approach of a storm and their eyes
filled with dread of Erikshowed thembefore they disappeared
high up above theman immense night-bird that stared at them with
its blazing eyes and seemed to cling to the string of Apollo's lyre.


Chapter XIII A Master-Stroke of the Trap-Door Lover


Raoul and Christine raneager to escape from the roof
and the blazing eyes that showed only in the dark; and they
did not stop before they came to the eighth floor on the way down.


There was no performance at the Opera that night and the passages
were empty. Suddenlya queer-looking form stood before them
and blocked the road:


No, not this way!


And the form pointed to another passage by which they were to reach
the wings. Raoul wanted to stop and ask for an explanation.
But the formwhich wore a sort of long frock-coat and a pointed
capsaid:


Quick! Go away quickly!


Christine was already dragging Raoulcompelling him to start
running again.


But who is he? Who is that man?he asked.


Christine replied: "It's the Persian."


What's he doing here?


Nobody knows. He is always in the Opera.


You are making me run away, for the first time in my life.
If we really saw Erik, what I ought to have done was to nail him
to Apollo's lyre, just as we nail the owls to the walls of our
Breton farms; and there would have been no more question of him.


My dear Raoul, you would first have had to climb up to Apollo's lyre:
that is no easy matter.


The blazing eyes were there!


Oh, you are getting like me now, seeing him everywhere!
What I took for blazing eyes was probably a couple of stars shining
through the strings of the lyre.


And Christine went down another floorwith Raoul following her.


As you have quite made up your mind to go, Christine, I assure
you it would be better to go at once. Why wait for to-morrow? He
may have heard us to-night.


No, no, he is working, I tell you, at his Don Juan Triumphant
and not thinking of us.



You're so sure of that you keep on looking behind you!

Come to my dressing-room.

Hadn't we better meet outside the Opera?

Never, till we go away for good! It would bring us bad luck,
if I did not keep my word. I promised him to see you only here.

It's a good thing for me that he allowed you even that. Do you know,
said Raoul bitterlythat it was very plucky of you to let us play
at being engaged?

Why, my dear, he knows all about it! He said, `I trust you,
Christine. M. de Chagny is in love with you and is going abroad.
Before he goes, I want him to be as happy as I am.' Are people
so unhappy when they love?

Yes, Christine, when they love and are not sure of being loved.

They came to Christine's dressing-room.

Why do you think that you are safer in this room than on the stage?
asked Raoul. "You heard him through the walls heretherefore he
can certainly hear us."

No. He gave me his word not to be behind the walls of my dressing-room
again and I believe Erik's word. This room and my bedroom
on the lake are for me, exclusively, and not to be approached by him.

How can you have gone from this room into that dark passage,
Christine? Suppose we try to repeat your movements; shall we?

It is dangerous, dear, for the glass might carry me off again;
and, instead of running away, I should be obliged to go to the end
of the secret passage to the lake and there call Erik.

Would he hear you?

Erik will hear me wherever I call him. He told me so. He is a
very curious genius. You must not think, Raoul, that he is simply
a man who amuses himself by living underground. He does things that
no other man could do; he knows things which nobody in the world knows.

Take care, Christine, you are making a ghost of him again!

No, he is not a ghost; he is a man of Heaven and earth, that is all.

A man of Heaven and earth...that is all!...A nice way to speak of him!
...And are you still resolved to run away from him?

Yes, to-morrow.

To-morrow, you will have no resolve left!

Then, Raoul, you must run away with me in spite of myself;
is that understood?

I shall be here at twelve to-morrow night; I shall keep my promise,
whatever happens. You say that, after listening to the performance,
he is to wait for you in the dining-room on the lake?

Yes.


And how are you to reach him, if you don't know how to go out
by the glass?

Why, by going straight to the edge of the lake.

Christine opened a boxtook out an enormous key and showed it
to Raoul.

What's that?he asked.

The key of the gate to the underground passage in the Rue Scribe.

I understand, Christine. It leads straight to the lake.
Give it to me, Christine, will you?

Never!she said. "That would be treacherous!"

Suddenly Christine changed color. A mortal pallor overspread
her features.

Oh heavens!she cried. "Erik! Erik! Have pity on me!"

Hold your tongue!said Raoul. "You told me he could hear you!"

But the singer's attitude became more and more inexplicable.
She wrung her fingersrepeatingwith a distraught air;

Oh, Heaven! Oh, Heaven!

But what is it? What is it?Raoul implored.

The ring...the gold ring he gave me.

Oh, so Erik gave you that ring!

You know he did, Raoul! But what you don't know is that,
when he gave it to me, he said, `I give you back your liberty,
Christine, on condition that this ring is always on your finger.
As long as you keep it, you will be protected against all danger
and Erik will remain your friend. But woe to you if you ever part
with it, for Erik will have his revenge!'...My dear, my dear,
the ring is gone!...Woe to us both!

They both looked for the ringbut could not find it.
Christine refused to be pacified.

It was while I gave you that kiss, up above, under Apollo's lyre,
she said. "The ring must have slipped from my finger and dropped
into the street! We can never find it. And what misfortunes are
in store for us now! Ohto run away!"

Let us run away at once,Raoul insistedonce more.

She hesitated. He thought that she was going to say yes.
... Then her bright pupils became dimmed and she said:

No! To-morrow!

And she left him hurriedlystill wringing and rubbing her fingers
as though she hoped to bring the ring back like that.

Raoul went homegreatly perturbed at all that he had heard.

{two page color illustration}


They Sat Like that for a Moment in Silence

If I don't save her from the hands of that humbug,he said
aloudas he went to bedshe is lost. But I shall save her.

He put out his lamp and felt a need to insult Erik in the dark.
Thrice overhe shouted:

Humbug!...Humbug!...Humbug!

Butsuddenlyhe raised himself on his elbow. A cold sweat poured
from his temples. Two eyeslike blazing coalshad appeared
at the foot of his bed. They stared at him fixedlyterribly
in the darkness of the night.

Raoul was no coward; and yet he trembled. He put out a groping
hesitating hand toward the table by his bedside. He found the matches
and lit his candle. The eyes disappeared.

Still uneasy in his mindhe thought to himself:

She told me that HIS eyes only showed in the dark. His eyes
have disappeared in the light, but HE may be there still.

And he rosehunted aboutwent round the room. He looked
under his bedlike a child. Then he thought himself absurd
got into bed again and blew out the candle. The eyes reappeared.

He sat up and stared back at them with all the courage he possessed.
Then he cried:

Is that you, Erik? Man, genius, or ghost, is it you?

He reflected: "If it's hehe's on the balcony!"

Then he ran to the chest of drawers and groped for his revolver.
He opened the balcony windowlooked outsaw nothing and closed
the window again. He went back to bedshiveringfor the night
was coldand put the revolver on the table within his reach.

The eyes were still thereat the foot of the bed. Were they
between the bed and the window-pane or behind the panethat is
to sayon the balcony? That was what Raoul wanted to know.
He also wanted to know if those eyes belonged to a human being.
...He wanted to know everything. Thenpatientlycalmlyhe seized
his revolver and took aim. He aimed a little above the two eyes.
Surelyif they were eyes and if above those two eyes there was
a forehead and if Raoul was not too clumsy...

The shot made a terrible din amid the silence of the slumbering house.
Andwhile footsteps came hurrying along the passagesRaoul sat
up with outstretched armready to fire againif need be.

This timethe two eyes had disappeared.

Servants appearedcarrying lights; Count Philippeterribly anxious:

What is it?

I think I have been dreaming,replied the young man. "I fired
at two stars that kept me from sleeping."

You're raving! Are you ill? For God's sake, tell me, Raoul:
what happened?


And the count seized hold of the revolver.

No, no, I'm not raving. .. Besides, we shall soon see...

He got out of bedput on a dressing-gown and slipperstook a light
from the hands of a servant andopening the windowstepped out
on the balcony.

The count saw that the window had been pierced by a bullet at a
man's height. Raoul was leaning over the balcony with his candle:
Aha!he said. "Blood!...Blood!..... Heretheremore blood!
... That's a good thing! A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!"
he grinned.

Raoul! Raoul! Raoul!

The count was shaking him as though he were trying to waken
a sleep-walker.

But, my dear brother, I'm not asleep!Raoul protested impatiently.
You can see the blood for yourself. I thought I had been dreaming
and firing at two stars. It was Erik's eyes...and here is his
blood!...After all, perhaps I was wrong to shoot; and Christine
is quite capable of never forgiving me....All this would not
have happened if I had drawn the curtains before going to bed.

Raoul, have you suddenly gone mad? Wake up!

What, still? You would do better to help me find Erik...for,
after all, a ghost who bleeds can always be found.

The count's valet said:

That is so, sir; there is blood on the balcony.

The other man-servant brought a lampby the light of which they
examined the balcony carefully. The marks of blood followed the rail
till they reached a gutter-spout; then they went up the gutter-spout.

My dear fellow,said Count Philippeyou have fired at a cat.

The misfortune is,said Raoulwith a grinthat it's
quite possible. With Erik, you never know. Is it Erik?
Is it the cat? Is it the ghost? No, with Erik, you can't tell!

Raoul went on making this strange sort of remarks which corresponded
so intimately and logically with the preoccupation of his brain
and whichat the same timetended to persuade many people
that his mind was unhinged. The count himself was seized with
this idea; andlaterthe examining magistrateon receiving
the report of the commissary of policecame to the same conclusion.

Who is Erik?asked the countpressing his brother's hand.

He is my rival. And, if he's not dead, it's a pity.

He dismissed the servants with a wave of the hand and the two
Chagnys were left alone. But the men were not out of earshot
before the count's valet heard Raoul saydistinctly and emphatically:

I shall carry off Christine Daae to-night.

This phrase was afterward repeated to M. Faurethe examining-magistrate.


But no one ever knew exactly what passed between the two
brothers at this interview. The servants declared that this
was not their first quarrel. Their voices penetrated the wall;
and it was always an actress called Christine Daae that was in question.


At breakfast--the early morning breakfastwhich the count took
in his study--Philippe sent for his brother. Raoul arrived silent
and gloomy. The scene was a very short one. Philippe handed
his brother a copy of the Epoque and said:


Read that!


The viscount read:


The latest news in the Faubourg is that there is a promise of marriage
between Mlle. Christine Daae, the opera-singer, and M. le Vicomte
Raoul de Chagny. If the gossips are to be credited, Count Philippe
has sworn that, for the first time on record, the Chagnys shall not
keep their promise. But, as love is all-powerful, at the Opera as--
and even more than--elsewhere, we wonder how Count Philippe intends
to prevent the viscount, his brother, from leading the new Margarita
to the altar. The two brothers are said to adore each other;
but the count is curiously mistaken if he imagines that brotherly
love will triumph over love pure and simple.


You see, Raoul,said the countyou are making us ridiculous!
That little girl has turned your head with her ghost-stories.


The viscount had evidently repeated Christine's narrative
to his brotherduring the night. All that he now said was:


Good-by, Philippe.


Have you quite made up your mind? You are going to-night? With her?


No reply.


Surely you will not do anything so foolish? I SHALL know
how to prevent you!


Good-by, Philippe,said the viscount again and left the room.


This scene was described to the examining-magistrate by the
count himselfwho did not see Raoul again until that evening
at the Operaa few minutes before Christine's disappearance.


Raoulin factdevoted the whole day to his preparations for
the flight. The horsesthe carriagethe coachmanthe provisions
the luggagethe money required for the journeythe road to be
taken (he had resolved not to go by trainso as to throw the ghost
off the scent): all this had to be settled and provided for;
and it occupied him until nine o'clock at night.


At nine o'clocka sort of traveling-barouche with the curtains of its
windows close-downtook its place in the rank on the Rotunda side.
It was drawn by two powerful horses driven by a coachman whose
face was almost concealed in the long folds of a muffler.
In front of this traveling-carriage were three broughams
belonging respectively to Carlottawho had suddenly returned to Paris
to Sorelli andat the head of the rankto Comte Philippe de Chagny.
No one left the barouche. The coachman remained on his box
and the three other coachmen remained on theirs.


A shadow in a long black cloak and a soft black felt hat passed along



the pavement between the Rotunda and the carriagesexamined the barouche
carefullywent up to the horses and the coachman and then moved away
without saying a wordThe magistrate afterward believed that this
shadow was that of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny; but I do not agree
seeing that that eveningas every eveningthe Vicomte de Chagny
was wearing a tall hatwhich hatbesideswas subsequently found.
I am more inclined to think that the shadow was that of the ghost
who knew all about the whole affairas the reader will soon perceive.


They were giving FAUSTas it happenedbefore a splendid house.
The Faubourg was magnificently represented; and the paragraph
in that morning's EPOQUE had already produced its effectfor all
eyes were turned to the box in which Count Philippe sat alone
apparently in a very indifferent and careless frame of mind.
The feminine element in the brilliant audience seemed curiously puzzled;
and the viscount's absence gave rise to any amount of whispering
behind the fans. Christine Daae met with a rather cold reception.
That special audience could not forgive her for aiming so high.


The singer noticed this unfavorable attitude of a portion
of the house and was confused by it.


The regular frequenters of the Operawho pretended to know
the truth about the viscount's love-storyexchanged significant
smiles at certain passages in Margarita's part; and they made a show
of turning and looking at Philippe de Chagny's box when Christine sang:


I wish I could but know who was he
That addressed me,
If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is.


The count sat with his chin on his hand and seemed to pay no attention
to these manifestations. He kept his eyes fixed on the stage;
but his thoughts appeared to be far away.


Christine lost her self-assurance more and more. She trembled.
She felt on the verge of a breakdown....Carolus Fonta
wondered if she was illif she could keep the stage until the end
of the Garden Act. In the front of the housepeople remembered
the catastrophe that had befallen Carlotta at the end of that act
and the historic "co-ack" which had momentarily interrupted her
career in Paris.


Just thenCarlotta made her entrance in a box facing the stage
a sensational entrance. Poor Christine raised her eyes upon this
fresh subject of excitement. She recognized her rival. She thought
she saw a sneer on her lips. That saved her. She forgot everything
in order to triumph once more.


From that moment the prima donna sang with all her heart and soul.
She tried to surpass all that she had done till then; and she succeeded.
In the last act when she began the invocation to the angels
she made all the members of the audience feel as though they too
had wings.


In the center of the amphitheater a man stood up and remained standing
facing the singer. It was Raoul.


Holy angel, in Heaven blessed...


And Christineher arms outstretchedher throat filled with music
the glory of her hair falling over her bare shouldersuttered the
divine cry:



My spirit longs with thee to rest!


It was at that moment that the stage was suddenly plunged in darkness.
It happened so quickly that the spectators hardly had time to utter
a sound of stupefactionfor the gas at once lit up the stage again.
But Christine Daae was no longer there!


What had become of her? What was that miracle? All exchanged
glances without understandingand the excitement at once reached
its height. Nor was the tension any less great on the stage itself.
Men rushed from the wings to the spot where Christine had been
singing that very instant. The performance was interrupted amid
the greatest disorder.


Where had Christine gone? What witchcraft had snatched her
away before the eyes of thousands of enthusiastic onlookers and from
the arms of Carolus Fonta himself? It was as though the angels
had really carried her up "to rest."


Raoulstill standing up in the amphitheaterhad uttered a cry.
Count Philippe had sprung to his feet in his box. People looked
at the stageat the countat Raouland wondered if this
curious event was connected in any way with the paragraph in that
morning's paper. But Raoul hurriedly left his seatthe count
disappeared from his box andwhile the curtain was lowered
the subscribers rushed to the door that led behind the scenes.
The rest of the audience waited amid an indescribable hubbub.
Every one spoke at once. Every one tried to suggest an explanation
of the extraordinary incident.


At lastthe curtain rose slowly and Carolus Fonta stepped
to the conductor's desk andin a sad and serious voicesaid:


Ladies and gentlemen, an unprecedented event has taken place and
thrown us into a state of the greatest alarm. Our sister-artist,
Christine Daae, has disappeared before our eyes and nobody can
tell us how!


Chapter XIV The Singular Attitude of a Safety-Pin


Behind the curtainthere was an indescribable crowd.
Artistsscene-shiftersdancerssuperschoristerssubscribers
were all asking questionsshouting and hustling one another.


What became of her?


She's run away.


With the Vicomte de Chagny, of course!


No, with the count!


Ah, here's Carlotta! Carlotta did the trick!


No, it was the ghost!And a few laughedespecially as a
careful examination of the trap-doors and boards had put the idea
of an accident out of the question.


Amid this noisy throngthree men stood talking in a low voice
and with despairing gestures. They were Gabrielthe chorus-master;
Mercierthe acting-manager; and Remythe secretary. They retired



to a corner of the lobby by which the stage communicates
with the wide passage leading to the foyer of the ballet.
Here they stood and argued behind some enormous "properties."


I knocked at the door,said Remy. "They did not answer.
Perhaps they are not in the office. In any caseit's impossible
to find outfor they took the keys with them


They" were obviously the managerswho had given orders
during the last entr'actethat they were not to be disturbed
on any pretext whatever. They were not in to anybody.


All the same,exclaimed Gabriela singer isn't run away with,
from the middle of the stage, every day!


Did you shout that to them?asked Mercierimpatiently.


I'll go back again,said Remyand disappeared at a run.


Thereupon the stage-manager arrived.


Well, M. Mercier, are you coming? What are you two doing here?
You're wanted, Mr. Acting-Manager.


I refuse to know or to do anything before the commissary arrives,
declared Mercier. "I have sent for Mifroid. We shall see when
he comes!"


And I tell you that you ought to go down to the organ at once.


Not before the commissary comes.


I've been down to the organ myself already.


Ah! And what did you see?


Well, I saw nobody! Do you hear--nobody!


What do you want me to do down there for{sic}?


You're right!said the stage-managerfrantically pushing his
hands through his rebellious hair. "You're right! But there
might be some one at the organ who could tell us how the stage came
to be suddenly darkened. Now Mauclair is nowhere to be found.
Do you understand that?"


Mauclair was the gas-manwho dispensed day and night at will on
the stage of the Opera.


Mauclair is not to be found!repeated Merciertaken aback.
Well, what about his assistants?


There's no Mauclair and no assistants! No one at the lights,
I tell you! You can imagine,roared the stage-managerthat that
little girl must have, been carried off by somebody else: she didn't
run away by herself! It was a calculated stroke and we have to find
out about it....And what are the managers doing all this time?
... I gave orders that no one was to go down to the lights and I
posted a fireman in front of the gas-man's box beside the organ.
Wasn't that right?


Yes, yes, quite right, quite right. And now let's wait
for the commissary.



The stage-manager walked awayshrugging his shouldersfuming
muttering insults at those milksops who remained quietly squatting
in a corner while the whole theater was topsyturvy{sic}.


Gabriel and Mercier were not so quiet as all that. Only they
had received an order that paralyzed them. The managers were not
to be disturbed on any account. Remy had violated that order
and met with no success.


At that moment he returned from his new expeditionwearing a
curiously startled air.


Well, have you seen them?asked Mercier.


Moncharmin opened the door at last. His eyes were starting out
of his head. I thought he meant to strike me. I could not get
a word in; and what do you think he shouted at me? `Have you
a safety-pin?' `No!' `Well, then, clearout!' I tried to tell him
that an unheard-of thing had happened on the stage, but he roared,
`A safety-pin! Give me a safety-pin at once!' A boy heard him--
he was bellowing like a bull--ran up with a safety-pin and gave it
to him; whereupon Moncharmin slammed the door in my face, and there
you are!


And couldn't you have said, `Christine Daae.'


I should like to have seen you in my place. He was foaming at
the mouth. He thought of nothing but his safety-pin. I believe,
if they hadn't brought him one on the spot, he would have fallen
down in a fit!...Oh, all this isn't natural; and our managers
are going mad!...Besides, it can't go on like this! I'm not used
to being treated in that fashion!


Suddenly Gabriel whispered:


It's another trick of O. G.'s.


Rimy gave a grinMercier a sigh and seemed about to speak...but
meeting Gabriel's eyesaid nothing.


HoweverMercier felt his responsibility increased as the minutes
passed without the managers' appearing; andat lasthe could
stand it no longer.


Look here, I'll go and hunt them out myself!


Gabrielturning very gloomy and seriousstopped him.


Be careful what you're doing, Mercier! If they're staying
in their office, it's probably because they have to! O. G. has
more than one trick in his bag!


But Mercier shook his head.


That's their lookout! I'm going! If people had listened to me,
the police would have known everything long ago!


And he went.


What's everything?asked Remy. "What was there to tell the police?
Why don't you answerGabriel?...Ahso you know something!
Wellyou would do better to tell metooif you don't want me
to shout out that you are all going mad!...Yesthat's what
you are: mad!"



Gabriel put on a stupid look and pretended not to understand
the private secretary's unseemly outburst.

What `something' am I supposed to know?he said. "I don't know
what you mean."

Remy began to lose his temper.

This evening, Richard and Moncharmin were behaving like lunatics,
here, between the acts.

I never noticed it,growled Gabrielvery much annoyed.

Then you're the only one!...Do you think that I didn't see
them?...And that M. Parabise, the manager of the Credit Central,
noticed nothing?...And that M. de La Borderie, the ambassador,
has no eyes to see with?...Why, all the subscribers were pointing
at our managers!

But what were our managers doing?asked Gabrielputting on his
most innocent air.

What were they doing? You know better than any one what they
were doing!...You were there!...And you were watching them,
you and Mercier!...And you were the only two who didn't laugh.

I don't understand!"

Gabriel raised his arms and dropped them to his sides again
which gesture was meant to convey that the question did not interest
him in the least. Remy continued:

What is the sense of this new mania of theirs? WHY WON'T THEY
HAVE ANY ONE COME NEAR, THEM NOW?

What? WON'T THEY, HAVE ANY ONE COME NEAR THEM?

AND THEY WON'T LET ANY ONE TOUCH THEM!

Really? Have you noticed THAT THEY WON'T LET ANY ONE TOUCH
THEM? That is certainly odd!

Oh, so you admit it! And high time, too! And THEN, THEY WALK BACKWARD!

BACKWARD! You have seen our managers WALK BACKWARD? Why, I thought
that only crabs walked backward!

Don't laugh, Gabriel; don't laugh!

I'm not laughing,protested Gabriellooking as solemn as a judge.

Perhaps you can tell me this, Gabriel, as you're an intimate friend
of the management: When I went up to M. Richard, outside the foyer,
during the Garden interval, with my hand out before me, why did

M. Moncharmin hurriedly whisper to me, `Go away! Go away!
Whatever you do, don't touch M. le Directeur!' Am I supposed to have
an infectious disease?
It's incredible!

And, a little later, when M. de La Borderie went up to M. Richard,
didn't you see M. Moncharmin fling himself between them and hear
him exclaim, `M. l'Ambassadeur I entreat you not to touch


M. le Directeur'?
It's terrible!...And what was Richard doing meanwhile?

What was he doing? Why, you saw him! He turned about,
BOWED IN FRONT OF HIM, THOUGH THERE WAS NOBODY IN FRONT OF HIM,
AND WITHDREW BACKWARD.


BACKWARD?


And Moncharmin, behind Richard, also turned about; that is,
he described a semicircle behind Richard and also WALKED
BACKWARD!...And they went LIKE THAT to the staircase leading
to the managers' office: BACKWARD, BACKWARD, BACKWARD!
... Well, if they are not mad, will you explain what it means?


Perhaps they were practising a figure in the ballet,suggested Gabriel
without much conviction in his voice.


The secretary was furious at this wretched jokemade at so
dramatic a moment. He knit his brows and contracted his lips.
Then he put his mouth to Gabriel's ear:


Don't be so sly, Gabriel. There are things going on for which you
and Mercier are partly responsible.


What do you mean?asked Gabriel.


Christine Daae is not the only one who suddenly disappeared to-night.


Oh, nonsense!


There's no nonsense about it. Perhaps you can tell me why,
when Mother Giry came down to the foyer just now, Mercier took
her by the hand and hurried her away with him?


Really?said GabrielI never saw it.


You did see it, Gabriel, for you went with Mercier and Mother Giry
to Mercier's office. Since then, you and Mercier have been seen,
but no one has seen Mother Giry.


Do you think we've eaten her?


No, but you've locked her up in the office; and any one passing
the office can hear her yelling, `Oh, the scoundrels! Oh,
the scoundrels!'


At this point of this singular conversationMercier arrived
all out of breath.


There!he saidin a gloomy voice. "It's worse than ever!...
I shouted`It's a serious matter! Open the door! It's IMercier.'
I heard footsteps. The door opened and Moncharmin appeared.
He was very pale. He said`What do you want?' I answered`Some one
has run away with Christine Daae.' What do you think he said?
`And a good jobtoo!' And he shut the doorafter putting this
in my hand."


Mercier opened his hand; Remy and Gabriel looked.


The safety-pin!cried Remy.


Strange! Strange!muttered Gabrielwho could not help shivering.



Suddenly a voice made them all three turn round.


I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Could you tell me where Christine
Daae is?


In spite of the seriousness of the circumstancesthe absurdity
of the question would have made them roar with laughterif they
had not caught sight of a face so sorrow-stricken that they were
at once seized with pity. It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.


Chapter XV Christine! Christine!


Raoul's first thoughtafter Christine Daae's fantastic disappearance
was to accuse Erik. He no longer doubted the almost supernatural
powers of the Angel of Musicin this domain of the Opera in
which he had set up his empire. And Raoul rushed on the stage
in a mad fit of love and despair.


Christine! Christine!he moanedcalling to her as he felt
that she must be calling to him from the depths of that dark pit
to which the monster had carried her. "Christine! Christine!"


And he seemed to hear the girl's screams through the frail boards
that separated him from her. He bent forwardhe listened
...he wandered over the stage like a madman. Ahto descend
to descend into that pit of darkness every entrance to which was
closed to him...for the stairs that led below the stage were
forbidden to one and all that night!


Christine! Christine!...


People pushed him asidelaughing. They made fun of him.
They thought the poor lover's brain was gone!


By what mad roadthrough what passages of mystery and darkness
known to him alone had Erik dragged that pure-souled child to the
awful hauntwith the Louis-Philippe roomopening out on the lake?


Christine! Christine!...Why don't you answer?...Are you
alive?...


Hideous thoughts flashed through Raoul's congested brain.
Of courseErik must have discovered their secretmust have known
that Christine had played him false. What a vengeance would be his!


And Raoul thought again of the yellow stars that had come
the night beforeand roamed over his balcony. Why had he not put
them out for good? There were some men's eyes that dilated in the
darkness and shone like stars or like cats' eyes. Certainly Albinos
who seemed to have rabbits' eyes by dayhad cats' eyes at night:
everybody knew that!...Yesyeshe had undoubtedly fired at Erik.
Why had he not killed him? The monster had fled up the gutter-spout
like a cat or a convict who--everybody knew that also--would scale
the very skieswith the help of a gutter-spout....No doubt Erik
was at that time contemplating some decisive step against Raoul
but he had been wounded and had escaped to turn against poor
Christine instead.


Such were the cruel thoughts that haunted Raoul as he ran
to the singer's dressing-room.



Christine! Christine!

Bitter tears scorched the boy's eyelids as he saw scattered over
the furniture the clothes which his beautiful bride was to have worn
at the hour of their flight. Ohwhy had she refused to leave earlier?

Why had she toyed with the threatening catastrophe? Why toyed
with the monster's heart? Whyin a final access of pity
had she insisted on flingingas a last sop to that dcmon's soul
her divine song:

Holy angel, in Heaven blessed,
My spirit longs with thee to rest!


Raoulhis throat filled with sobsoaths and insults
fumbled awkwardly at the great mirror that had opened one night
before his eyesto let Christine pass to the murky dwelling below.
He pushedpressedgroped aboutbut the glass apparently obeyed
no one but Erik....Perhaps actions were not enough with a glass
of the kind? Perhaps he was expected to utter certain words?
When he was a little boyhe had heard that there were things
that obeyed the spoken word!


SuddenlyRaoul remembered something about a gate opening into
the Rue Scribean underground passage running straight to the Rue
Scribe from the lake....YesChristine had told him about that.
...Andwhen he found that the key was no longer in the box
he nevertheless ran to the Rue Scribe. Outsidein the street
he passed his trembling hands over the huge stonesfelt for outlets
...met with iron bars...were those they?...Or these?...
Or could it be that air-hole?...He plunged his useless eyes
through the bars....How dark it was in there!...He listened....
All was silence!...He went round the building...and came to bigger bars
immense gates!...It was the entrance to the Cour de I'Administration.


Raoul rushed into the doorkeeper's lodge.


I beg your pardon, madame, could you tell me where to find a gate
or door, made of bars, iron bars, opening into the Rue Scribe...
and leading to the lake?...You know the lake I mean?...Yes,
the underground lake...under the Opera.


Yes, sir, I know there is a lake under the Opera, but I don't know
which door leads to it. I have never been there!


And the Rue Scribe, madame, the Rue Scribe? Have you never been
to the Rue Scribe?


The woman laughedscreamed with laughter! Raoul darted away
roaring with angerran up-stairsfour stairs at a time
down-stairsrushed through the whole of the business side
of the opera-housefound himself once more in the light of the stage.


He stoppedwith his heart thumping in his chest: suppose Christine
Daae had been found? He saw a group of men and asked:


I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Could you tell me where Christine
Daae is?


And somebody laughed.


At the same moment the stage buzzed with a new sound andamid a crowd
of men in evening-dressall talking and gesticulating together



appeared a man who seemed very calm and displayed a pleasant face
all pink and chubby-cheekedcrowned with curly hair and lit up by a
pair of wonderfully serene blue eyes. Mercierthe acting-manager
called the Vicomte de Chagny's attention to him and said:

This is the gentleman to whom you should put your question, monsieur.
Let me introduce Mifroid, the commissary of police.

Ah, M. le Vicomte de Chagny! Delighted to meet you, monsieur,
said the commissary. "Would you mind coming with me?...And
now where are the managers?...Where are the managers?"

Mercier did not answerand Remythe secretaryvolunteered the
information that the managers were locked up in their office
and that they knew nothing as yet of what had happened.

You don't mean to say so! Let us go up to the office!

And M. Mifroidfollowed by an ever-increasing crowdturned toward
the business side of the building. Mercier took advantage
of the confusion to slip a key into Gabriel's hand:

This is all going very badly,he whispered. "You had better let
Mother Giry out."

And Gabriel moved away.

They soon came to the managers' door. Mercier stormed in vain:
the door remained closed.

Open in the name of the law!commanded M. Mifroidin a loud
and rather anxious voice.

At last the door was opened. All rushed in to the office
on the commissary's heels.

Raoul was the last to enter. As he was about to follow the rest
into the rooma hand was laid on his shoulder and he heard these words
spoken in his ear:

ERIK'S SECRETS CONCERN NO ONE BUT HIMSELF!

He turned aroundwith a stifled exclamation. The hand that was
laid on his shoulder was now placed on the lips of a person with an
ebony skinwith eyes of jade and with an astrakhan cap on his head:
the Persian! The stranger kept up the gesture that recommended
discretion and thenat the moment when the astonished viscount
was about to ask the reason of his mysterious intervention
bowed and disappeared.

Chapter XVI Mme. Giry's Astounding Revelations as to Her
Personal Relations with the Opera Ghost

Before following the commissary into the manager's office I
must describe certain extraordinary occurrences that took place
in that office which Remy and Mercier had vainly tried to enter
and into which MM. Richard and Moncharmin had locked themselves
with an object which the reader does not yet knowbut which it
is my dutyas an historianto reveal without further postponement.

I have had occasion to say that the managers' mood had undergone


a disagreeable change for some time past and to convey the fact
that this change was due not only to the fall of the chandelier
on the famous night of the gala performance.

The reader must know that the ghost had calmly been paid his first
twenty thousand francs. Ohthere had been wailing and gnashing
of teethindeed! And yet the thing had happened as simply as could be.

One morningthe managers found on their table an envelope
addressed to "Monsieur O. G. (private)" and accompanied by a note
from O. G. himself:

The time has come to carry out the clause in the memorandum-book.
Please put twenty notes of a thousand francs each into this envelope
seal it with your own seal and hand it to Mme. Girywho will do
what is necessary.

The managers did not hesitate; without wasting time in asking
how these confounded communications came to be delivered in an
office which they were careful to keep lockedthey seized this
opportunity of laying handson the mysterious blackmailer.
Andafter telling the whole storyunder the promise of secrecy
to Gabriel and Mercierthey put the twenty thousand francs into the
envelope and without asking for explanationshanded it to Mme. Giry
who had been reinstated in her functions. The box-keeper displayed
no astonishment. I need hardly say that she was well watched.
She went straight to the ghost's box and placed the precious envelope
on the little shelf attached to the ledge. The two managers
as well as Gabriel and Mercierwere hidden in such a way that
they did not lose sight of the envelope for a second during the
performance and even afterwardforas the envelope had not moved
those who watched it did not move either; and Mme. Giry went
away while the managersGabriel and Mercier were still there.
At lastthey became tired of waiting and opened the envelope
after ascertaining that the seals had not been broken.

At first sightRichard and Moncharmin thought that the notes were
still there; but soon they perceived that they were not the same.
The twenty real notes were gone and had been replaced by twenty notes
of the "Bank of St. Farce"![2]

[2] Flash notes drawn on the "Bank of St. Farce" in France
correspond with those drawn on the "Bank of Engraving" in England.--
Translator's Note.
The managers' rage and fright were unmistakable. Moncharmin wanted
to send for the commissary of policebut Richard objected.
He no doubt had a planfor he said:

Don't let us make ourselves ridiculous! All Paris would laugh at us.

O. G. has won the first game: we will win the second.
He was thinking of the next month's allowance.

Neverthelessthey had been so absolutely tricked that they were
bound to suffer a certain dejection. Andupon my wordit was not
difficult to understand. We must not forget that the managers had
an idea at the back of their mindsall the timethat this strange
incident might be an unpleasant practical joke on the part of their
predecessors and that it would not do to divulge it prematurely.
On the other handMoncharmin was sometimes troubled with a suspicion
of Richard himselfwho occasionally took fanciful whims into
his head. And so they were content to await eventswhile keeping


an eye on Mother Giry. Richard would not have her spoken to.

If she is a confederate,he saidthe notes are gone long ago.
But, in my opinion, she is merely an idiot.

She's not the only idiot in this business,said Moncharmin pensively.

Well, who could have thought it?moaned Richard. "But don't
be afraid...next timeI shall have taken my precautions."

The next time fell on the same day that beheld the disappearance
of Christine Daae. In the morninga note from the ghost reminded them
that the money was due. It read:

Do just as you did last time. It went very well. Put the twenty
thousand in the envelope and hand it to our excellent Mme. Giry.

And the note was accompanied by the usual envelope. They had only
to insert the notes.

This was done about half an hour before the curtain rose on the
first act of Faust. Richard showed the envelope to Moncharmin.
Then he counted the twenty thousand-franc notes in front of him
and put the notes into the envelopebut without closing it.

And now,he saidlet's have Mother Giry in.

The old woman was sent for. She entered with a sweeping courtesy.
She still wore her black taffeta dressthe color of which was rapidly
turning to rust and lilacto say nothing of the dingy bonnet.
She seemed in a good temper. She at once said:

Good evening, gentlemen! It's for the envelope, I suppose?

Yes, Mme. Giry,said Richardmost amiably. "For the envelope
... and something else besides."

At your service, M. Richard, at your service. And what is
the something else, please?

First of all, Mme. Giry, I have a little question to put to you.

By all means, M. Richard: Mme. Giry is here to answer you.

Are you still on good terms with the ghost?

Couldn't be better, sir; couldn't be better.

Ah, we are delighted....Look here, Mme. Giry,said Richard
in the tone of making an important confidence. "We may just as well
tell youamong ourselves...you're no fool!"

Why, sir,exclaimed the box-keeperstopping the pleasant nodding
of the black feathers in her dingy bonnetI assure you no one has
ever doubted that!

We are quite agreed and we shall soon understand one another.
The story of the ghost is all humbug, isn't it?...Well,
still between ourselves,...it has lasted long enough.

Mme. Giry looked at the managers as though they were talking Chinese.
She walked up to Richard's table and askedrather anxiously:

What do you mean? I don't understand.


Oh, you, understand quite well. In any case, you've got to understand.
... And, first of all, tell us his name.
Whose name?
The name of the man whose accomplice you are, Mme. Giry!
I am the ghost's accomplice? I?...His accomplice in what, pray?
You do all he wants.
Oh! He's not very troublesome, you know.
And does he still tip you?
I mustn't complain.
How much does he give you for bringing him that envelope?
Ten francs.
MME. GIRY'
You poor thing! That's not much, is it?


Why?"
I'll tell you that presently, Mme. Giry. Just now we should like
to know for what extraordinary reason you have given yourself body
and soul, to this ghost...Mme. Giry's friendship and devotion
are not to be bought for five francs or ten francs.

That's true enough....And I can tell you the reason, sir.
There's no disgrace about it. .. on the contrary.

We're quite sure of that, Mme. Giry!
Well, it's like this...only the ghost doesn't like me to talk
about his business.


Indeed?sneered Richard.
But this is a matter that concerns myself alone....Well,
it was in Box Five one evening, I found a letter addressed to myself,
a sort of note written in red ink. I needn't read the letter to


you sir; I know it by heart, and I shall never forget it if I live
to be a hundred!
And Mme. Girydrawing herself uprecited the letter with


touching eloquence:
MADAM:
1825. Mlle. Menetrierleader of the balletbecame Marquise


de Cussy.


1832. Mlle. Marie Taglionia dancerbecame Comtesse Gilbert
des Voisins.
1846. La Sotaa dancermarried a brother of the King of Spain.
1847. Lola Montesa dancerbecame the morganatic wife of King


Louis of Bavaria and was created Countess of Landsfeld.



1848. Mlle. Mariaa dancerbecame Baronne d'Herneville.

1870. Theresa Hessiera dancermarried Dom Fernandobrother to
the King of Portugal.

Richard and Moncharmin listened to the old womanwhoas she
proceeded with the enumeration of these glorious nuptials
swelled outtook courage andat lastin a voice bursting
with prideflung out the last sentence of the prophetic letter:

1885. Meg GiryEmpress!

Exhausted by this supreme effortthe box-keeper fell into
a chairsaying:

Gentlemen, the letter was signed, `Opera Ghost.' I had heard much
of the ghost, but only half believed in him. From the day when he
declared that my little Meg, the flesh of my flesh, the fruit
of my womb, would be empress, I believed in him altogether.

And really it was not necessary to make a long study of Mme. Giry's
excited features to understand what could be got out of that fine
intellect with the two words "ghost" and "empress."

But who pulled the strings of that extraordinary puppet?
That was the question.

You have never seen him; he speaks to you and you believe all he says?
asked Moncharmin.

Yes. To begin with, I owe it to him that my little Meg was promoted
to be the leader of a row. I said to the ghost, `If she is to be empress
in 1885, there is no time to lose; she must become a leader at once.'
He said, `Look upon it as done.' And he had only a word to say
to M. Poligny and the thing was done.

So you see that M. Poligny saw him!

No, not any more than I did; but he heard him. The ghost said
a word in his ear, you know, on the evening when he left Box Five,
looking so dreadfully pale.

Moncharmin heaved a sigh. "What a business!" he groaned.

Ah!said Mme. Giry. "I always thought there were secrets between
the ghost and M. Poligny. Anything that the ghost asked M. Poligny
to do M. Poligny did. M. Poligny could refuse the ghost nothing."

You hear, Richard: Poligny could refuse the ghost nothing.

Yes, yes, I hear!said Richard. "M. Poligny is a friend of
the ghost; andas Mme. Giry is a friend of M. Polignythere we are!
... But I don't care a hang about M. Poligny he added roughly.
The only person whose fate really interests me is Mme. Giry.
... Mme. Girydo you know what is in this envelope?"

Why, of course not,she said.

Well, look.

Mine. Giry looked into the envelope with a lackluster eye
which soon recovered its brilliancy.


Thousand-franc notes!she cried.

Yes, Mme. Giry, thousand-franc notes! And you knew it!

I, sir? I?...I swear...

Don't swear, Mme. Giry!...And now I will tell you the second
reason why I sent for you. Mme. Giry, I am going to have you arrested.

The two black feathers on the dingy bonnetwhich usually affected
the attitude of two notes of interrogationchanged into two notes
of exclamation; as for the bonnet itselfit swayed in menace
on the old lady's tempestuous chignon. Surpriseindignation
protest and dismay were furthermore displayed by little Meg's mother
in a sort of extravagant movement of offended virtuehalf bound
half slidethat brought her right under the nose of M. Richard
who could not help pushing back his chair.

HAVE ME ARRESTED!

The mouth that spoke those words seemed to spit the three teeth
that were left to it into Richard's face.

M. Richard behaved like a hero. He retreated no farther.
His threatening forefinger seemed already to be pointing out
the keeper of Box Five to the absent magistrates.
I am going to have you arrested, Mme. Giry, as a thief!


Say that again!


And Mme. Giry caught Mr. Manager Richard a mighty box on the ear
before Mr. Manager Mencharmin had time to intervene. But it
was not the withered hand of the angry old beldame that fell on
the managerial earbut the envelope itselfthe cause of all the trouble
the magic envelope that opened with the blowscattering the bank-notes
which escaped in a fantastic whirl of giant butterflies.


The two managers gave a shoutand the same thought made them both
go on their kneesfeverishlypicking up and hurriedly examining
the precious scraps of paper.


Are they still genuine, Moncharmin?


Are they still genuine, Richard?


Yes, they are still genuine!


Above their headsMme. Giry's three teeth were clashing in a
noisy contestfull of hideous interjections. But all that could
be dearly distinguished was this LEIT-MOTIF:


I, a thief!...I, a thief, I?


She choked with rage. She shouted:


I never heard of such a thing!


Andsuddenlyshe darted up to Richard again.


In any case,she yelpedyou, M. Richard, ought to know better
than I where the twenty thousand francs went to!


I?asked Richardastounded. "And how should I know?"



Moncharminlooking severe and dissatisfiedat once insisted
that the good lady should explain herself.

What does this mean, Mme. Giry?he asked. "And why do you say that

M. Richard ought to know better than you where the twenty-thousand
francs went to?"
As for Richardwho felt himself turning red under Moncharmin's eyes
he took Mme. Giry by the wrist and shook it violently. In a voice
growling and rolling like thunderhe roared:


Why should I know better than you where the twenty-thousand francs
went to? Why? Answer me!


Because they went into your pocket!gasped the old woman
looking at him as if he were the devil incarnate.


Richard would have rushed upon Mme. Giryif Moncharmin had not
stayed his avenging hand and hastened to ask hermore gently:


How can you suspect my partner, M. Richard, of putting twenty-thousand
francs in his pocket?


I never said that,declared Mme. Giryseeing that it was myself
who put the twenty-thousand francs into M. Richard's pocket.
And she addedunder her voiceThere! It's out!...And may
the ghost forgive me!


Richard began bellowing anewbut Moncharmin authoritatively ordered
him to be silent.


Allow me! Allow me! Let the woman explain herself. Let me
question her.And he added: "It is really astonishing that you
should take up such a tone!...We are on the verge of clearing
up the whole mystery. And you're in a rage!...You're wrong
to behave like that. .. I'm enjoying myself immensely."


Mme. Girylike the martyr that she wasraised her headher face
beaming with faith in her own innocence.


You tell me there were twenty-thousand francs in the envelope
which I put into M. Richard's pocket; but I tell you again that I
knew nothing about it... Nor M. Richard either, for that matter!


Aha!said Richardsuddenly assuming a swaggering air which
Moncharmin did not like. "I knew nothing either! You put
twenty-thousand francs in my pocket and I knew nothing either!
I am very glad to hear itMme. Giry!"


Yes,the terrible dame agreedyes, it's true. We neither of us
knew anything. But you, you must have ended by finding out!


Richard would certainly have swallowed Mme. Giry alive
if Moncharmin had not been there! But Moncharmin protected her.
He resumed his questions:


What sort of envelope did you put in M. Richard's pocket?
It was not the one which we gave you, the one which you took to Box
Five before our eyes; and yet that was the one which contained
the twenty-thousand francs.


I beg your pardon. The envelope which M. le Directeur gave
me was the one which I slipped into M. le Directeur's pocket,



explained Mme. Giry. "The one which I took to the ghost's box was
another envelopejust like itwhich the ghost gave me beforehand
and which I hid up my sleeve."

So sayingMme. Giry took from her sleeve an envelope ready prepared
and similarly addressed to that containing the twenty-thousand francs.
The managers took it from her. They examined it and saw that it
was fastened with seals stamped with their own managerial seal.
They opened it. It contained twenty Bank of St. Farce notes like
those which had so much astounded them the month before.

How simple!said Richard.

How simple!repeated Moncharmin. And he continued with his eyes
fixed upon Mme. Giryas though trying to hypnotize her.

So it was the ghost who gave you this envelope and told you to
substitute it for the one which we gave you? And it was the ghost
who told you to put the other into M. Richard's pocket?

Yes, it was the ghost.

Then would you mind giving us a specimen of your little talents?
Here is the envelope. Act as though we knew nothing.

As you please, gentlemen.

Mme. Giry took the envelope with the twenty notes inside
it and made for the door. She was on the point of going
out when the two managers rushed at her:

Oh, no! Oh, no! We're not going to be `done' a second time!
Once bitten, twice shy!

I beg your pardon, gentlemen,said the old womanin self-excuse
you told me to act as though you knew nothing....Well,
if you knew nothing, I should go away with your envelope!

And then how would you slip it into my pocket?argued Richard
whom Moncharmin fixed with his left eyewhile keeping his right on
Mme. Giry: a proceeding likely to strain his sightbut Mon-MME. GIRY'
charmin was prepared to go to any length to discover the truth.

I am to slip it into your pocket when you least expect it, sir.
You know that I always take a little turn behind the scenes,
in the course of the evening, and I often go with my daughter
to the ballet-foyer, which I am entitled to do, as her mother;
I bring her her shoes, when the ballet is about to begin...in fact,
I come and go as I please....The subscribers come and go too.
... So do you, sir....There are lots of people about...
I go behind you and slip the envelope into the tail-pocket of your
dress-coat....There's no witchcraft about that!

No witchcraft!growled Richardrolling his eyes like Jupiter Tonans.
No witchcraft! Why, I've just caught you in a lie, you old witch!

Mme. Giry bristledwith her three teeth sticking out of her mouth.

And why, may I ask?

Because I spent that evening watching Box Five and the sham envelope
which you put there. I did not go to the ballet-foyer for a second.

No, sir, and I did not give you the envelope that evening, but at


the next performance...on the evening when the under-secretary
of state for fine arts...

At these wordsM. Richard suddenly interrupted Mme. Giry:

Yes, that's true, I remember now! The under-secretary went behind
the scenes. He asked for me. I went down to the ballet-foyer
for a moment. I was on the foyer steps....The under-secretary
and his chief clerk were in the foyer itself. I suddenly turned
around...you had passed behind me, Mme. Giry... You seemed
to push against me....Oh, I can see you still, I can see you still!

Yes, that's it, sir, that's it. I had just finished my little business.
That pocket of yours, sir, is very handy!

And Mme. Giry once more suited the action to the wordShe passed
behind M. Richard andso nimbly that Moncharmin himself was impressed
by itslipped the envelope into the pocket of one of the tails
of M. Richard's dress-coat.

Of course!exclaimed Richardlooking a little pale. "It's very
clever of O. G. The problem which he had to solve was this:
how to do away with any dangerous intermediary between the man
who gives the twenty-thousand francs and the man who receives it.
And by far the best thing he could hit upon was to come and take
the money from my pocket without my noticing itas I myself did not
know that it was there. It's wonderful!"

Oh, wonderful, no doubt!Moncharmin agreed. "Onlyyou forget
Richardthat I provided ten-thousand francs of the twenty
and that nobody put anything in my pocket!"

Chapter XVII The Safety-Pin Again

Moncharmin's last phrase so dearly expressed the suspicion in which he
now held his partner that it was bound to cause a stormy explanation
at the end of which it was agreed that Richard should yield to all
Moncharmin's wisheswith the object of helping him to discover
the miscreant who was victimizing them.

This brings us to the interval after the Garden Actwith the strange
conduct observed by M. Remy and those curious lapses from the dignity
that might be expected of the managers. It was arranged between
Richard and Moncharminfirstthat Richard should repeat the exact
movements which he had made on the night of the disappearance
of the first twenty-thousand francs; andsecondthat Moncharmin
should not for an instant lose sight of Richard's coat-tail pocket
into which Mme. Giry was to slip the twenty-thousand francs.

M. Richard went and placed himself at the identical spot where he
had stood when he bowed to the under-secretary for fine arts.
M. Moncharmin took up his position a few steps behind him.
Mme. Giry passedrubbed up against M. Richardgot rid of her
twenty-thousand francs in the manager's coat-tail pocket
and disappeared....Or rather she was conjured away.
In accordance with the instructions received from Moncharmin a few
minutes earlierMercier took the good lady to the acting-manager's
office and turned the key on herthus making it impossible
for her to communicate with her ghost.


MeanwhileM. Richard was bending and bowing and scraping and
walking backwardjust as if he had that high and mighty minister
the under-secretary for fine artsbefore him. Onlythough these
marks of politeness would have created no astonishment if the
under-secretary of state had really been in front of M. Richard
they caused an easily comprehensible amazement to the spectators
of this very natural but quite inexplicable scene when M. Richard
had no body in front of him.

M. Richard bowed...to nobody; bent his back...before nobody;
and walked backward...before nobody....Anda few steps
behind himM. Moncharmin did the same thing that he was doing
in addition to pushing away M. Remy and begging M. de La Borderie
the ambassadorand the manager of the Credit Central "not to touch
M. le Directeur."
Moncharminwho had his own ideasdid not want Richard to come
to him presentlywhen the twenty-thousand francs were gone
and say:


Perhaps it was the ambassador...or the manager of the Credit
Central...or Remy.


The more so asat the time of the first scene
as Richard himself admittedRichard had met nobody
in that part of the theater after Mme. Giry had brushed up against him. ...


Having begun by walking backward in order to bowRichard continued
to do so from prudenceuntil he reached the passage leading
to the offices of the management. In this wayhe was constantly
watched by Moncharmin from behind and himself kept an eye on any
one approaching from the front. Once morethis novel method
of walking behind the scenesadopted by the managers of our
National Academy of Musicattracted attention; but the managers
themselves thought of nothing but their twenty-thousand francs.


On reaching the half-dark passageRichard said to Moncharmin
in a low voice:


I am sure that nobody has touched me....You had now better
keep at some distance from me and watch me till I come to door
of the office: it is better not to arouse suspicion and we can
see anything that happens.


But Moncharmin replied. "NoRichardno! You walk ahead and I'll
walk immediately behind you! I won't leave you by a step!"


But, in that case,exclaimed Richardthey will never steal
our twenty-thousand francs!


I should hope not, indeed!declared Moncharmin.


Then what we are doing is absurd!


We are doing exactly what we did last time....Last time,
I joined you as you were leaving the stage and followed close behind
you down this passage.


That's true!sighed Richardshaking his head and passively
obeying Moncharmin.


Two minutes laterthe joint managers locked themselves into
their office. Moncharmin himself put the key in his pocket:



We remained locked up like this, last time,he saiduntil you
left the Opera to go home.


That's so. No one came and disturbed us, I suppose?


No one.


Then,said Richardwho was trying to collect his memorythen I
must certainly have been robbed on my way home from the Opera.


No,said Moncharmin in a drier tone than everno, that's impossible.
For I dropped you in my cab. The twenty-thousand francs disappeared
at your place: there's not a shadow of a doubt about that.


It's incredible!protested Richard. "I am sure of my servants...
and if one of them had done ithe would have disappeared since."


Moncharmin shrugged his shouldersas though to say that he
did not wish to enter into detailsand Richard began to think
that Moncharmin was treating him in a very insupportable fashion.


Moncharmin, I've had enough of this!


Richard, I've had too much of it!


Do you dare to suspect me?


Yes, of a silly joke.


One doesn't joke with twenty-thousand francs.


That's what I think,declared Mohcharminunfolding a newspaper
and ostentatiously studying its contents.


What are you doing?asked Richard. "Are you going to read
the paper next?"


Yes, Richard, until I take you home.


Like last time?


Yes, like last time.


Richard snatched the paper from Moncharmint's hands.
Moncharmin stood upmore irritated than everand found himself
faced by an exasperated Richardwhocrossing his arms on his chestsaid:


Look here, I'm thinking of this, I'M THINKING OF WHAT I MIGHT
THINK if, like last time, after my spending the evening alone
with you, you brought me home and if, at the moment of parting,
I perceived that twenty-thousand francs had disappeared from my
coat-pocket...like last time.


And what might you think?asked Moncharmincrimson with rage.


I might think that, as you hadn't left me by a foot's breadth
and as, by your own wish, you were the only one to approach me,
like last time, I might think that, if that twenty-thousand francs
was no longer in my pocket, it stood a very good chance of being
in yours!


Moncharmin leaped up at the suggestion.


Oh!he shouted. "A safety-pin!"



What do you want a safety-pin for?

To fasten you up with!...A safety-pin!...A safety-pin!

You want to fasten me with a safety-pin?

Yes, to fasten you to the twenty-thousand francs! Then, whether
it's here, or on the drive from here to your place, or at your place,
you will feel the hand that pulls at your pocket and you will
see if it's mine! Oh, so you're suspecting me now, are you?
A safety-pin!


And that was the moment when Moncharmin opened the door
on the passage and shouted:


A safety-pin!...somebody give me a safety-pin!


And we also know howat the same momentRemywho had no safety-pin
was received by Moncharminwhile a boy procured the pin so eagerly
longed for. And what happened was this: Moncharmin first locked
the door again. Then he knelt down behind Richard's back.


I hope,he saidthat the notes are still there?


So do I,said Richard.


The real ones?asked Moncharminresolved not to be "had" this time.


Look for yourself,said Richard. "I refuse to touch them."


Moncharmin took the envelope from Richard's pocket and drew
out the bank-notes with a trembling handforthis time
in order frequently to make sure of the presence of the notes
he had not sealed the envelope nor even fastened it. He felt
reassured on finding that they were all there and quite genuine.
He put them back in the tail-pocket and pinned them with great care.
Then he sat down behind Richard's coat-tails and kept his eyes
fixed on themwhile Richardsitting at his writing-tabledid
not stir.


A little patience, Richard,said Moncharmin. "We have only
a few minutes to wait....The clock will soon strike twelve.
Last timewe left at the last stroke of twelve."


Oh, I shall have all the patience necessary!


The time passedslowheavymysteriousstifling. Richard tried
to laugh.


I shall end by believing in the omnipotence of the ghost,he said.
Just now, don't you find something uncomfortable, disquieting,
alarming in the atmosphere of this room?


You're quite right,said Moncharminwho was really impressed.


The ghost!continued Richardin a low voiceas though fearing lest
he should be overheard by invisible ears. "The ghost! Supposeall
the sameit were a ghost who puts the magic envelopes on the table
... who talks in Box Five...who killed Joseph Buquet...
who unhooked the chandelier...and who robs us! Forafter all
after allafter allthere is no one here except you and me
andif the notes disappear and neither you nor I have anything to
do with itwellwe shall have to believe in the ghost...in the ghost."



At that momentthe clock on the mantlepiece gave its warning click
and the first stroke of twelve struck.

The two managers shuddered. The perspiration streamed from
their foreheads. The twelfth stroke sounded strangely in their ears.

When the clock stoppedthey gave a sigh and rose from their chairs.

I think we can go now,said Moncharmin.

I think so,Richard a agreed.

Before we go, do you mind if I look in your pocket?

But, of course, Moncharmin, YOU MUST!...Well?he asked
as Moncharmin was feeling at the pocket.

Well, I can feel the pin.

Of course, as you said, we can't be robbed without noticing it.

But Moncharminwhose hands were still fumblingbellowed:

I can feel the pin, but I can't feel the notes!

Come, no joking, Moncharmin!...This isn't the time for it.

Well, feel for yourseIf.

Richard tore off his coat. The two managers turned the pocket
inside out. THE POCKET WAS EMPTY. And the curious thing was
that the pin remainedstuck in the same place.

Richard and Moncharmin turned pale. There was no longer any doubt
about the witchcraft.

The ghost!muttered Moncharmin.

But Richard suddenly sprang upon his partner.

No one but you has touched my pocket! Give me back my twenty-thousand
francs!...Give me back my twenty-thousand francs!...

On my soul,sighed Moncharminwho was ready to swoonon my soul,
I swear that I haven't got it!

Then somebody knocked at the door. Moncharmin opened it automatically
seemed hardly to recognize Mercierhis business-managerexchanged
a few words with himwithout knowing what he was saying and
with an unconscious movementput the safety-pinfor which he
had no further useinto the hands of his bewildered subordinate....

Chapter XVIII The CommissaryThe Viscount and the Persian

The first words of the commissary of policeon entering
the managers' officewere to ask after the missing prima donna.

Is Christine Daae here?

Christine Daae here?echoed Richard. "No. Why?"


As for Moncharminhe had not the strength left to utter a word.


Richard repeatedfor the commissary and the compact crowd which
had followed him into the office observed an impressive silence.


Why do you ask if Christine Daae is here, M. LE COMMISSAIRE?


Because she has to be found,declared the commissary of police solemnly.


What do you mean, she has to be found? Has she disappeared?


In the middle of the performance!


In the middle of the performance? This is extraordinary!


Isn't it? And what is quite as extraordinary is that you should
first learn it from me!


Yes,said Richardtaking his head in his hands and muttering.
What is this new business? Oh, it's enough to make a man send in
his resignation!


And he pulled a few hairs out of his mustache without even knowing
what he was doing.


So she...so she disappeared in the middle of the performance?
he repeated.


Yes, she was carried off in the Prison Act, at the moment when she
was invoking the aid of the angels; but I doubt if she was carried
off by an angel.


And I am sure that she was!


Everybody looked round. A young manpale and trembling
with excitementrepeated:


I am sure of it!


Sure of what?asked Mifroid.


That Christine Daae' was carried off by an angel, M. LE COMMISSAIRE
and I can tell you his name.


Aha, M. le Vicomte de Chagny! So you maintain that Christine Daae
was carried off by an angel: an angel of the Opera, no doubt?


Yes, monsieur, by an angel of the Opera; and I will tell you
where he lives...when we are alone.


You are right, monsieur.


And the commissary of policeinviting Raoul to take a chair
cleared the room of all the restexcepting the managers.


Then Raoul spoke:


M. le Commissaire, the angel is called Erik, he lives in the Opera
and he is the Angel of Music!


The Angel of Music! Really! That is very curious!...The
Angel of Music!Andturning to the managersM. Mifroid asked
Have you an Angel of Music on the premises, gentlemen?



Richard and Moncharmin shook their headswithout even speaking.

Oh,said the viscountthose gentlemen have heard of the Opera ghost.
Well, I am in a position to state that the Opera ghost and the Angel
of Music are one and the same person; and his real name is Erik.

M. Mifroid rose and looked at Raoul attentively.
I beg your pardon, monsieur but is it your intention to make fun
of the law? And, if not, what is all this about the Opera ghost?

I say that these gentlemen have heard of him.

Gentlemen, it appears that you know the Opera ghost?

Richard rosewith the remaining hairs of his mustache in his hand.

No, M. Commissary, no, we do not know him, but we wish that we did,
for this very evening he has robbed us of twenty-thousand francs!

And Richard turned a terrible look on Moncharminwhich seemed
to say:

Give me back the twenty-thousand francs, or I'll tell the whole story.

Moncharmin understood what he meantforwith a distracted gesture
he said:

Oh, tell everything and have done with it!

As for Mifroidhe looked at the managers and at Raoul by turns
and wondered whether he had strayed into a lunatic asylum.
He passed his hand through his hair.

A ghost,he saidwho, on the same evening, carries off
an opera-singer and steals twenty-thousand francs is a ghost who
must have his hands very full! If you don't mind, we will take
the questions in order. The singer first, the twenty-thousand
francs after. Come, M. de Chagny, let us try to talk seriously.
You believe that Mlle. Christine Daae has been carried off by an
individual called Erik. Do you know this person? Have you seen him?

Yes.

Where?

In a church yard.

M. Mifroid gave a startbegan to scrutinize Raoul again and said:
Of course!...That's where ghosts usually hang out!...And
what were you doing in that churchyard?

Monsieur,said RaoulI can quite understand how absurd my replies
must seem to you. But I beg you to believe that I am in full
possession of my faculties. The safety of the person dearest
to me in the world is at stake. I should like to convince you
in a few words, for time is pressing and every minute is valuable.
Unfortunately, if I do not tell you the strangest story that ever
was from the beginning, you will not believe me. I will tell you all
I know about the Opera ghost, M. Commissary. Alas, I do not know much!...

Never mind, go on, go on!exclaimed Richard and Moncharmin


suddenly greatly interested.

Unfortunately for their hopes of learning some detail that could put
them on the track of their hoaxerthey were soon compelled to accept
the fact that M. Raoul de Chagny had completely lost his head.
All that story about Perros-Guirecdeath's heads and enchanted violins
could only have taken birth in the disordered brain of a youth
mad with love. It was evidentalsothat Mr. Commissary Mifroid
shared their view; and the magistrate would certainly have cut
short the incoherent narrative if circumstances had not taken
it upon themselves to interrupt it.

The door opened and a man enteredcuriously dressed in an enormous
frock-coat and a tall hatat once shabby and shinythat came down to
his ears. He went up to the commissary and spoke to him in a whisper.
It was doubtless a detective come to deliver an important communication.

During this conversationM. Mifroid did not take his eyes off Raoul.
At lastaddressing himhe said:

Monsieur, we have talked enough about the ghost. We will
now talk about yourself a little, if you have no objection:
you were to carry off Mlle. Christine Daae to-night?

Yes, M. le Commissaire.

After the performance?

Yes, M. le Commissaire.

All your arrangements were made?

Yes, M. le Commissaire.

The carriage that brought you was to take you both away.
... There were fresh horses in readiness at every stage.
...

That is true, M. le Commissaire.

And nevertheless your carriage is still outside the Rotunda
awaiting your orders, is it not?

Yes, M. le Commissaire.

Did you know that there were three other carriages there,
in addition to yours?

I did not pay the least attention.

They were the carriages of Mlle. Sorelli, which could not find room
in the Cour de l'Administration; of Carlotta; and of your brother,

M. le Comte de Chagny. ...
Very likely. ...

What is certain is that, though your carriage and Sorelli's
and Carlotta's are still there, by the Rotunda pavement, M. le
Comte de Chagny's carriage is gone.

This has nothing to say to...

I beg your pardon. Was not M. le Comte opposed to your marriage
with Mlle. Daae?


That is a matter that only concerns the family.

You have answered my question: he was opposed to it...and that
was why you were carrying Christine Daae out of your brother's reach.
... Well, M. de Chagny, allow me to inform you that your brother has
been smarter than you! It is he who has carried off Christine Daae!

Oh, impossible!moaned Raoulpressing his hand to his heart.
Are you sure?

Immediately after the artist's disappearance, which was procured
by means which we have still to ascertain, he flung into his carriage,
which drove right across Paris at a furious pace.

Across Paris?asked poor Raoulin a hoarse voice. "What do you
mean by across Paris?"

Across Paris and out of Paris...by the Brussels road.

Oh,cried the young manI shall catch them!And he rushed
out of the office.

And bring her back to us!cried the commisary gaily...."Ah
that's a trick worth two of the Angel of Music's!"

Andturning to his audienceM. Mifroid delivered a little lecture
on police methods.

I don't know for a moment whether M. le Comte de Chagny has really
carried Christine Daae off or not...but I want to know and I
believe that, at this moment, no one is more anxious to inform us
than his brother....And now he is flying in pursuit of him!
He is my chief auxiliary! This, gentlemen, is the art of the police,
which is believed to be so complicated and which, nevertheless appears
so simple as soon its you see that it consists in getting your work
done by people who have nothing to do with the police.

But M. le Commissaire de Police Mifroid would not have been quite
so satisfied with himself if he had known that the rush of his rapid
emissary was stopped at the entrance to the very first corridor.
A tall figure blocked Raoul's way.

Where are you going so fast, M. de Chagny?asked a voice.

Raoul impatiently raised his eyes and recognized the astrakhan cap
of an hour ago. He stopped:

It's you!he criedin a feverish voice. "Youwho know Erik's
secrets and don't want me to speak of them. Who are you?"

You know who I am!...I am the Persian!

Chapter XIX The Viscount and the Persian

Raoul now remembered that his brother had once shown him that
mysterious personof whom nothing was known except that he was a Persian
and that he lived in a little old-fashioned flat in the Rue de Rivoli.

The man with the ebony skinthe eyes of jade and the astrakhan
cap bent over Raoul.


I hope, M. de Chagny,he saidthat you have not betrayed
Erik's secret?

And why should I hesitate to betray that monster, sir?
Raoul rejoined haughtilytrying to shake off the intruder.
Is he your friend, by any chance?

I hope that you said, nothing about Erik, sir, because Erik's
secret is also Christine Daae's and to talk about one is to talk
about the other!

Oh, sir,said Raoulbecoming more and more impatientyou seem
to know about many things that interest me; and yet I have no time
to listen to you!

Once more, M. de Chagny, where are you going so fast?

Can not you guess? To Christine Daae's assistance. ...

Then, sir, stay here, for Christine Daae is here!

With Erik?

With Erik.

How do you know?

I was at the performance and no one in the world but Erik could
contrive an abduction like that!...Oh,he saidwith a deep sigh
I recognized the monster's touch!...

You know him then?

The Persian did not replybut heaved a fresh sigh.

Sir,said RaoulI do not know what your intentions are, but can
you do anything to help me? I mean, to help Christine Daae?

I think so, M. de Chagny, and that is why I spoke to you.

What can you do?

Try to take you to her...and to him.

If you can do me that service, sir, my life is yours!...One
word more: the commissary of police tells me that Christine Daae
has been carried off by my brother, Count Philippe.

Oh, M. de Chagny, I don't believe a word of it.

It's not possible, is it?

I don't know if it is possible or not; but there are ways and
ways of carrying people off; and M. le Comte Philippe has never,
as far as I know, had anything to do with witchcraft.

Your arguments are convincing, sir, and I am a fool!...Oh,
let us make haste! I place myself entirely in your hands!...
How should I not believe you, when you are the only one to believe
me...when you are the only one not to smile when Erik's name
is mentioned?

And the young man impetuously seized the Persian's hands.


They were ice-cold.

Silence!said the Persianstopping and listening to the distant
sounds of the theater. "We must not mention that name here.
Let us say `he' and `him;' then there will be less danger of attracting
his attention."

Do you think he is near us?

It is quite possible, Sir, if he is not, at this moment,
with his victim, IN THE HOUSE ON THE LAKE.

Ah, so you know that house too?

If he is not there, he may be here, in this wall, in this floor,
in this ceiling!...Come!

And the Persianasking Raoul to deaden the sound of his footsteps
led him down passages which Raoul had never seen beforeeven at the
time when Christine used to take him for walks through that labyrinth.

If only Darius has come!said the Persian.

Who is Darius?

Darius? My servant.

They were now in the center of a real deserted squarean immense
apartment ill-lit by a small lamp. The Persian stopped Raoul and
in the softest of whispersasked:

What did you say to the commissary?

I said that Christine Daae's abductor was the Angel of Music,
ALIAS the Opera ghost, and that the real name was...

Hush!...And did he believe you?

No.

He attached no importance to what you said?

No.

He took you for a bit of a madman?

Yes.

So much the better!sighed the Persian.

And they continued their road. After going up and down several
staircases which Raoul had never seen beforethe two men
found themselves in front of a door which the Persian opened
with a master-key. The Persian and Raoul were bothof course
in dress-clothes; butwhereas Raoul had a tall hatthe Persian
wore the astrakhan cap which I have already mentioned. It was
an infringement of the rule which insists upon the tall hat behind
the scenes; but in France foreigners are allowed every license:
the Englishman his traveling-capthe Persian his cap of astrakhan.

Sir,said the Persianyour tall hat will be in your way:
you would do well to leave it in the dressing-room.

What dressing-room?asked Raoul.


Christine Daae's.


And the Persianletting Raoul through the door which he
had just openedshowed him the actress' room opposite.
They were at the end of the passage the whole length of which Raoul
had been accustomed to traverse before knocking at Christine's door.


How well you know the Opera, sir!


Not so well as `he' does!said the Persian modestly.


And he pushed the young man into Christine's dressing-room
which was as Raoul had left it a few minutes earlier.


Closing the doorthe Persian went to a very thin partition that
separated the dressing-room from a big lumber-room next to it.
He listened and then coughed loudly.


There was a sound of some one stirring in the lumber-room; anda few
seconds latera finger tapped at the door.


Come in,said the Persian.


A man enteredalso wearing an astrakhan cap and dressed in a long
overcoat. He bowed and took a richly carved case from under his coat
put it on the dressing-tablebowed once again and went to the door.


Did no one see you come in, Darius?


No, master.


Let no one see you go out.


The servant glanced down the passage and swiftly disappeared.


The Persian opened the case. It contained a pair of long pistols.


When Christine Daae was carried off, sir, I sent word to my servant
to bring me these pistols. I have had them a long time and they
can be relied upon.


Do you mean to fight a duel?asked the young man.


It will certainly be a duel which we shall have to fight,
said the otherexamining the priming of his pistols. "And what a duel!"
Handing one of the pistols to Raoulhe addedIn this duel,
we shall be two to one; but you must be prepared for everything,
for we shall be fighting the most terrible adversary that you
can imagine. But you love Christine Daae, do you not?


I worship the ground she stands on! But you, sir, who do not
love her, tell me why I find you ready to risk your life for her!
You must certainly hate Erik!


No, sir,said the Persian sadlyI do not hate him. If I hated him,
he would long ago have ceased doing harm.


Has he done you harm?


I have forgiven him the harm which he has done me.


I do not understand you. You treat him as a monster, you speak
of his crime, he has done you harm and I find in you the same



inexplicable pity that drove me to despair when I saw it in Christine!


The Persian did not reply. He fetched a stool and set it
against the wall facing the great mirror that filled the whole
of the wall-space opposite. Then he climbed on the stool and
with his nose to the wallpaperseemed to be looking for something.


Ah,he saidafter a long searchI have it!Andraising his
finger above his headhe pressed against a corner in the pattern
of the paper. Then he turned round and jumped off the stool:


In half a minute,he saidhe shall be ON HIS ROAD!and crossing
the whole of the dressing-room he felt the great mirror.


No, it is not yielding yet,he muttered.


Oh, are we going out by the mirror?asked Raoul. "Like Christine Daae."


So you knew that Christine Daae went out by that mirror?


She did so before my eyes, sir! I was hidden behind the curtain
of the inner room and I saw her vanish not by the glass, but in
the glass!


And what did you do?


I thought it was an aberration of my senses, a mad dream.


Or some new fancy of the ghost's!" chuckled the Persian.
Ah, M. de Chagny,he continuedstill with his hand on the mirror
would that we had to do with a ghost! We could then leave our pistols
in their case....Put down your hat, please...there...
and now cover your shirt-front as much as you can with your coat...
as I am doing....Bring the lapels forward...turn up
the collar....We must make ourselves as invisible as possible.


Bearing against the mirrorafter a short silencehe said:


It takes some time to release the counterbalance, when you press
on the spring from the inside of the room. It is different when you
are behind the wall and can act directly on the counterbalance.
Then the mirror turns at once and is moved with incredible rapidity.


What counterbalance?asked Raoul.


Why, the counterbalance that lifts the whole of this wall on
to its pivot. You surely don't expect it to move of itself,
by enchantment! If you watch, you will see the mirror first rise
an inch or two and then shift an inch or two from left to right.
It will then be on a pivot and will swing round.


It's not turning!said Raoul impatiently.


Oh, wait! You have time enough to be impatient, sir! The mechanism
has obviously become rusty, or else the spring isn't working.
...Unless it is something else,added the Persiananxiously.


What?


He may simply have cut the cord of the counterbalance and blocked
the whole apparatus.


Why should he? He does not know that we are coming this way!



I dare say he suspects it, for he knows that I understand the system.

It's not turning!...And Christine, sir, Christine?

The Persian said coldly:

We shall do all that it is humanly possible to do!...But
he may stop us at the first step!...He commands the walls,
the doors and the trapdoors. In my country, he was known by a name
which means the `trap-door lover.'

But why do these walls obey him alone? He did not build them!

Yes, sir, that is just what he did!

Raoul looked at him in amazement; but the Persian made a sign to him
to be silent and pointed to the glass....There was a sort
of shivering reflection. Their image was troubled as in a rippling
sheet of water and then all became stationary again.

You see, sir, that it is not turning! Let us take another road!

To-night, there is no other!declared the Persianin a singularly
mournful voice. "And nowlook out! And be ready to fire."

He himself raised his pistol opposite the glass. Raoul imitated
his movement. With his free armthe Persian drew the young man
to his chest andsuddenlythe mirror turnedin a blinding daze
of cross-lights: it turned like one of those revolving doors
which have lately been fixed to the entrances of most restaurants
it turnedcarrying Raoul and the Persian with it and suddenly
hurling them from the full light into the deepest darkness.

Chapter XX In the Cellars of the Opera

Your hand high, ready to fire!repeated Raoul's companion quickly.

The wallbehind themhaving completed the circle which it
described upon itselfclosed again; and the two men stood
motionless for a momentholding their breath.

At lastthe Persian decided to make a movement; and Raoul heard
him slip on his knees and feel for something in the dark with his
groping hands. Suddenlythe darkness was made visible by a small dark
lantern and Raoul instinctively stepped backward as though to escape
the scrutiny of a secret enemy. But he soon perceived that the light
belonged to the Persianwhose movements he was closely observing.
The little red disk was turned in every direction and Raoul
saw that the floorthe walls and the ceiling were all formed
of planking. It must have been the ordinary road taken by Erik
to reach Christine's dressing-room and impose upon her innocence.
And Raoulremembering the Persian's remarkthought that it had been
mysteriously constructed by the ghost himself. Laterhe learned
that Erik had foundall prepared for hima secret passage
long known to himself alone and contrived at the time of the Paris
Commune to allow the jailers to convey their prisoners straight
to the dungeons that had been constructed for them in the cellars;
for the Federates had occupied the opera-house immediately after
the eighteenth of March and had made a starting-place right at
the top for their Mongolfier balloonswhich carried their incendiary
proclamations to the departmentsand a state prison right at the bottom.


The Persian went on his knees and put his lantern on the ground.
He seemed to be working at the floor; and suddenly he turned off
his light. Then Raoul heard a faint click and saw a very pale
luminous square in the floor of the passage. It was as though
a window had opened on the Opera cellarswhich were still lit.
Raoul no longer saw the Persianbut he suddenly felt him by his side
and heard him whisper:


Follow me and do all that I do.


Raoul turned to the luminous aperture. Then he saw the Persian
who was still on his kneeshang by his hands from the rim of the opening
with his pistol between his teethand slide into the cellar below.


Curiously enoughthe viscount had absolute confidence in the Persian
though he knew nothing about him. His emotion when speaking of the
monsterstruck him as sincere; andif the Persian had cherished
any sinister designs against himhe would not have armed him with
his own hands. BesidesRaoul must reach Christine at all costs.
He therefore went on his knees also and hung from the trap with both hands.


Let go!said a voice.


And he dropped into the arms of the Persianwho told him to lie
down flatclosed the trap-door above him and crouched down beside him.
Raoul tried to ask a questionbut the Persian's hand was on his mouth
and he heard a voice which he recognized as that of the commissary
of police.


Raoul and the Persian were completely hidden behind a wooden partition.
Near thema small staircase led to a little room in which the
commissary appeared to be walking up and downasking questions.
The faint light was just enough to enable Raoul to distinguish the
shape of things around him. And he could not restrain a dull cry:
there were three corpses there.


The first lay on the narrow landing of the little staircase;
the two others had rolled to the bottom of the staircase.
Raoul could have touched one of the two poor wretches by passing
his fingers through the partition.


Silence!whispered the Persian.


He too had seen the bodies and he gave one word in explanation:


HE!


The commissary's voice was now heard more distinctly.
He was asking for information about the system of lighting
which the stage-manager supplied. The commissary therefore
must be in the "organ" or its immediate neighborhood.


Contrary to what one might thinkespecially in connection with an
opera-housethe "organ" is not a musical instrument. At that time
electricity was employed only for a very few scenic effects and for
the bells. The immense building and the stage itself were still
lit by gas; hydrogen was used to regulate and modify the lighting
of a scene; and this was done by means of a special apparatus which
because of the multiplicity of its pipeswas known as the "organ."
A box beside the prompter's box was reserved for the chief gas-man
who from there gave his orders to his assistants and saw that they
were executed. Mauclair stayed in this box during all the performances.



But now Mauclair was not in his box and his assistants not
in their places.


Mauclair! Mauclair!


The stage-manager's voice echoed through the cellars. But Mauclair
did not reply.


I have said that a door opened on a little staircase that led
to the second cellar. The commissary pushed itbut it resisted.


I say,he said to the stage-managerI can't open this door:
is it always so difficult?


The stage-manager forced it open with his shoulder. He saw that
at the same timehe was pushing a human body and he could not keep
back an exclamationfor he recognized the body at once:


Mauclair! Poor devil! He is dead!


But Mr. Commissary Mifroidwhom nothing surprisedwas stooping
over that big body.


No,he saidhe is dead-drunk, which is not quite the same thing.


It's the first time, if so,said the stage-manager


Then some one has given him a narcotic. That is quite possible.


Mifroid went down a few steps and said:


Look!


By the light of a little red lanternat the foot of the stairs
they saw two other bodies. The stage-manager recognized Mauclair's
assistants. Mifroid went down and listened to their breathing.


They are sound asleep,he said. "Very curious business!
Some person unknown must have interfered with the gas-man and his
staff...and that person unknown was obviously working on behalf
of the kidnapper....But what a funny idea to kidnap a performer
on the stage!...Send for the doctor of the theaterplease."
And Mifroid repeatedCurious, decidedly curious business!


Then he turned to the little roomaddressing the people whom Raoul
and the Persian were unable to see from where they lay.


What do you say to all this, gentlemen? You are the only ones
who have not given your views. And yet you must have an opinion
of some sort.


ThereuponRaoul and the Persian saw the startled faces of the joint
managers appear above the landing--and they heard Moncharmin's
excited voice:


There are things happening here, Mr. Commissary, which we are
unable to explain.


And the two faces disappeared.


Thank you for the information, gentlemen,said Mifroidwith a jeer.


But the stage-managerholding his chin in the hollow of his
right handwhich is the attitude of profound thoughtsaid:



It is not the first time that Mauclair has fallen asleep in the theater.
I remember finding him, one evening, snoring in his little recess,
with his snuff-box beside him.


Is that long ago?asked M. Mifroidcarefully wiping his eye-glasses.


No, not so very long ago....Wait a bit!...It was the night
... of course, yes...It was the night when Carlotta--you know,
Mr. Commissary--gave her famous `co-ack'!


Really? The night when Carlotta gave her famous `co-ack'?


And M. Mifroidreplacing his gleaming glasses on his nose
fixed the stage-manager with a contemplative stare.


So Mauclair takes snuff, does he?he asked carelessly.


`Yes, Mr. Commissary....Look, there is his snuff-box
on that little shelf....Oh! he's a great snuff-taker!


So am I,said Mifroid and put the snuff-box in his pocket.


Raoul and the Persianthemselves unobservedwatched the removal
of the three bodies by a number of scene-shifterswho were
followed by the commissary and all the people with him.
Their steps were heard for a few minutes on the stage above.
When they were alone the Persian made a sign to Raoul to stand up.
Raoul did so; butas he did not lift his hand in front of his eyes
ready to firethe Persian told him to resume that attitude and to
continue itwhatever happened.


But it tires the hand unnecessarily,whispered Raoul. "If I
do fireI shan't be sure of my aim."


Then shift your pistol to the other hand,said the Persian.


I can't shoot with my left hand.


Thereuponthe Persian made this queer replywhich was certainly
not calculated to throw light into the young man's flurried brain:


It's not a question of shooting with the right hand or the left;
it's a question of holding one of your hands as though you
were going to pull the trigger of a pistol with your arm bent.
As for the pistol itself, when all is said, you can put that in
your pocket!And he addedLet this be clearly understood,
or I will answer for nothing. It is a matter of life and death.
And now, silence and follow me!


The cellars of the Opera are enormous and they are five in number.
Raoul followed the Persian and wondered what he would have done
without his companion in that extraordinary labyrinth. They went
down to the third cellar; and their progress was still lit by some
distant lamp.


The lower they wentthe more precautions the Persian seemed to take.
He kept on turning to Raoul to see if he was holding his arm properly
showing him how he himself carried his hand as if always ready to fire
though the pistol was in his pocket.


Suddenlya loud voice made them stop. Some one above them shouted:


All the door-shutters on the stage! The commissary of police



wants them!

Steps were heard and shadows glided through the darkness. The Persian
drew Raoul behind a set piece. They saw passing before and above
them old men bent by age and the past burden of opera-scenery.
Some could hardly drag themselves along; othersfrom habit
with stooping bodies and outstretched handslooked for doors to shut.

They were the door-shuttersthe oldworn-out scene-shifterson
whom a charitable management had taken pitygiving them the job
of shutting doors above and below the stage. They went about
incessantlyfrom top to bottom of the buildingshutting the doors;
and they were also called "The draft-expellers at least at
that time, for I have little doubt that by now they are all dead.
Drafts are very bad for the voice, wherever they may come from.[3]

[3] M. Pedro Gailhard has himself told me that he created a few
additional posts as door-shutters for old stage-carpenters whom
he was unwilling to dismiss from the service of the Opera.
The two men might have stumbled over them, waking them up and
provoking a request for explanations. For the moment, M. Mifroid's
inquiry saved them from any such unpleasant encounters.


The Persian and Raoul welcomed this incident, which relieved them
of inconvenient witnesses, for some of those door-shutters, having
nothing else to do or nowhere to lay their heads, stayed at the Opera,
from idleness or necessity, and spent the night there.


But they were not left to enjoy their solitude for long. Other shades
now came down by the same way by which the door-shutters had gone up.
Each of these shades carried a little lantern and moved it about,
above, below and all around, as though looking for something or somebody.


Hang it!" muttered the Persian. "I don't know what they are
looking forbut they might easily find us....Let us get away
quick!...Your hand upsirready to fire!...Bend your arm
... more...that's it!...Hand at the level of your eye
as though you were fighting a duel and waiting for the word
to fire! Ohleave your pistol in your pocket. Quickcome along
down-stairs. Level of your eye! Question of life or death!...
Herethis waythese stairs!" They reached the fifth cellar.
Oh, what a duel, sir, what a duel!


Once in the fifth cellarthe Persian drew breath. He seemed
to enjoy a rather greater sense of security than he had displayed
when they both stopped in the third; but he never altered the attitude
of his hand. And Raoulremembering the Persian's observation--"I
know these pistols can be relied upon"--was more and more astonished
wondering why any one should be so gratified at being able to rely
upon a pistol which he did not intend to use!


But the Persian left him no time for reflection. Telling Raoul
to stay where he washe ran up a few steps of the staircase
which they had just left and then returned.


How stupid of us!he whispered. "We shall soon have seen the end
of those men with their lanterns. It is the firemen going their
rounds."[4]


[4] In those daysit was still part of the firemen's duty to watch
over the safety of the Opera house outside the performances;

but this service has since been suppressed. I asked M. Pedro
Gailhard the reasonand he replied:
It was because the management was afraid that, in their utter
inexperience of the cellars of the Opera, the firemen might set
fire to the building!

The two men waited five minutes longer. Then the Persian took Raoul
up the stairs again; but suddenly he stopped him with a gesture.
Something moved in the darkness before them.

Flat on your stomach!whispered the Persian.

The two men lay flat on the floor.

They were only just in time. A shadethis time carrying no light
just a shade in the shadepassed. It passed close to them
near enough to touch them.

They felt the warmth of its cloak upon them. For they could
distinguish the shade sufficiently to see that it wore a cloak which
shrouded it from head to foot. On its head it had a soft felt hat....

It moved awaydrawing its feet against the walls and sometimes
giving a kick into a corner.

Whew!said the Persian. "We've had a narrow escape; that shade
knows me and has twice taken me to the managers' office."

Is it some one belonging to the theater police?asked Raoul.

It's some one much worse than that!replied the Persian
without giving any further explanation.[5]

[5] Like the PersianI can give no further explanation touching
the apparition of this shade. Whereasin this historic narrative
everything else will be normally explainedhowever abnormal
the course of events may seemI can not give the reader expressly
to understand what the Persian meant by the wordsIt is some one
much worse than that!The reader must try to guess for himself
for I promised M. Pedro Gailhardthe former manager of the Opera
to keep his secret regarding the extremely interesting and useful
personality of the wanderingcloaked shade whichwhile condemning
itself to live in the cellars of the Operarendered such immense
services to those whoon gala eveningsfor instanceventure to stray
away from the stage. I am speaking of state services; andupon my
word of honorI can say no more.
It's not...he?

He?...If he does not come behind us, we shall always see his
yellow eyes! That is more or less our safeguard to-night. But he
may come from behind, stealing up; and we are dead men if we do not
keep our hands as though about to fire, at the level of our eyes,
in front!

The Persian had hardly finished speakingwhen a fantastic face
came in sight...a whole fiery facenot only two yellow eyes!

Yesa head of fire came toward themat a man's heightbut with no
body attached to it. The face shed firelooked in the darkness
like a flame shaped as a man's face.


Oh,said the Persianbetween his teeth. "I have never seen this
before!...Pampin was not madafter all: he had seen it!...
What can that flame be? It is not HEbut he may have sent it!
...Take care!...Take care! Your hand at the level of your eyes
in Heaven's nameat the level of your eyes!...know most of his tricks...
but not this one....Comelet us run....it is safer.
Hand at the level of your eyes!"


And they fled down the long passage that opened before them.


After a few secondsthat seemed to them like long minutes
they stopped.


He doesn't often come this way,said the Persian. "This side
has nothing to do with him. This side does not lead to the lake
nor to the house on the lake....But perhaps he knows that we
are at his heels...although I promised him to leave him alone
and never to meddle in his business again!"


So sayinghe turned his head and Raoul also turned his head;
and they again saw the head of fire behind their two heads.
It had followed them. And it must have run alsoand perhaps faster
than theyfor it seemed to be nearer to them.


At the same timethey began to perceive a certain noise of which they
could not guess the nature. They simply noticed that the sound
seemed to move and to approach with the fiery face. It was a noise
as though thousands of nails had been scraped against a blackboard
the perfectly unendurable noise that is sometimes made by a little
stone inside the chalk that grates on the blackboard.


They continued to retreatbut the fiery face came oncame on
gaining on them. They could see its features clearly now. The eyes
were round and staringthe nose a little crooked and the mouth large
with a hanging lower lipvery like the eyesnose and lip of the moon
when the moon is quite redbright red.


How did that red moon manage to glide through the darkness
at a man's heightwith nothing to support itat least apparently?
And how did it go so fastso straight aheadwith such staring
staring eyes? And what was that scratchingscrapinggrating sound
which it brought with it?


The Persian and Raoul could retreat no farther and flattened
themselves against the wallnot knowing what was going to happen
because of that incomprehensible head of fireand especially now
because of the more intenseswarminglivingnumeroussound
for the sound was certainly made up of hundreds of little sounds
that moved in the darknessunder the fiery face.


And the fiery face came on...with its noise...came level
with them!...


And the two companionsflat against their wallfelt their hair
stand on end with horrorfor they now knew what the thousand
noises meant. They came in a troophustled along in the shadow
by innumerable little hurried wavesswifter than the waves
that rush over the sands at high tidelittle night-waves foaming
under the moonunder the fiery head that was like a moon.
And the little waves passed between their legsclimbing up
their legsirresistiblyand Raoul and the Persian could no
longer restrain their cries of horrordismay and pain. Nor could
they continue to hold their hands at the level of their eyes:
their hands went down to their legs to push back the waves



which were full of little legs and nails and claws and teeth.


YesRaoul and the Persian were ready to faintlike Pampin the fireman.
But the head of fire turned round in answcr to their cries
and spoke to them:


Don't move! Don't move!...Whatever you do, don't come after me!
... I am the rat-catcher!...Let me pass, with my rats!...


And the head of fire disappearedvanished in the darkness
while the passage in front of it lit upas the result of the change
which the rat-catcher had made in his dark lantern. Beforeso as not
to scare the rats in front of himhe had turned his dark lantern
on himselflighting up his own head; nowto hasten their flight
he lit the dark space in front of him. And he jumped along
dragging with him the waves of scratching ratsall the thousand sounds.


Raoul and the Persian breathed againthough still trembling.


I ought to have remembered that Erik talked to me about the rat-catcher,
said the Persian. "But he never told me that he looked like that...
and it's funny that I should never have met him before....
Of courseErik never comes to this part!"


{two page color illustration}


Are we very far from the lake, sir?asked Raoul. "When shall we
get there?...Take me to the lakeohtake me to the lake!...
When we are at the lakewe will call out!...Christine will
hear us!...And HE will hear ustoo!...Andas you know him
we shall talk to him!" "Baby!" said the Persian. "We shall never
enter the house on the lake by the lake!...I myself have never
landed on the other bank...the bank on which the house stands.
...You have to cross the lake first...and it is well guarded!
...I fear that more than one of those men--old scene-shifters
old door-shutters--who have never been seen again were simply tempted
to cross the lake....It is terrible....I myself would have
been nearly killed there...if the monster had not recognized me
in time!...One piece of advicesir; never go near the lake.
...Andabove allshut your ears if you hear the voice singing
under the waterthe siren's voice!"


But then, what are we here for?asked Raoulin a transport of fever
impatience and rage. "If you can do nothing for Christineat least
let me die for her!" The Persian tried to calm the young man.


We have only one means of saving Christine Daae, believe me,
which is to enter the house unperceived by the monster.


And is there any hope of that, sir?


Ah, if I had not that hope, I would not have come to fetch you!


And how can one enter the house on the lake without crossing
the lake?


From the third cellar, from which we were so unluckily driven away.
We will go back there now....I will tell you,said the Persian
with a sudden change in his voiceI will tell you the exact
place, sir: it is between a set piece and a discarded scene from
ROI DE LAHORE, exactly at the spot where Joseph Buquet died.
... Come, sir, take courage and follow me! And hold your hand
at the level of your eyes!...But where are we?



The Persian lit his lamp again and flung its rays down two enormous
corridors that crossed each other at right angles.

We must be,he saidin the part used more particularly
for the waterworks. I see no fire coming from the furnaces.

He went in front of Raoulseeking his roadstopping abruptly
when he was afraid of meeting some waterman. Then they had to
protect themselves against the glow of a sort of underground forge
which the men were extinguishingand at which Raoul recognized
the demons whom Christine had seen at the time of her first captivity.

In this waythey gradually arrived beneath the huge cellars below
the stage. They must at this time have been at the very bottom
of the "tub" and at an extremely great depthwhen we remember
that the earth was dug out at fifty feet below the water that lay
under the whole of that part of Paris.[6]

[6] All the water had to be exhaustedin the building of the Opera.
To give an idea of the amount of water that was pumped upI can
tell the reader that it represented the area of the courtyard
of the Louvre and a height half as deep again as the towers of
Notre Dame. And nevertheless the engineers had to leave a lake.
The Persian touched a partition-wall and said:

If I am not mistaken, this is a wall that might easily belong
to the house on the lake.

He was striking a partition-wall of the "tub and perhaps it would be
as well for the reader to know how the bottom and the partition-walls
of the tub were built. In order to prevent the water surrounding
the building-operations from remaining in immediate contact
with the walls supporting the whole of the theatrical machinery,
the architect was obliged to build a double case in every direction.
The work of constructing this double case took a whole year.
It was the wall of the first inner case that the Persian struck
when speaking to Raoul of the house on the lake. To any one
understanding the architecture of the edifice, the Persian's
action would seem to indicate that Erik's mysterious house had
been built in the double case, formed of a thick wall constructed
as an embankment or dam, then of a brick wall, a tremendous
layer of cement and another wall several yards in thickness.

At the Persian's words, Raoul flung himself against the wall
and listened eagerly. But he heard nothing...nothing
... except distant steps sounding on the floor of the upper

portions of the theater.

The Persian darkened his lantern again.

Look out!" he said. "Keep your hand up! And silence! For we
shall try another way of getting in."

And he led him to the little staircase by which they had come
down lately.

They went upstopping at each steppeering into the darkness
and the silencetill they came to the third cellar. Here the
Persian motioned to Raoul to go on his knees; andin this way
crawling on both knees and one hand--for the other hand was held
in the position indicated--they reached the end wall.


Against this wall stood a large discarded scene from the ROI DE LAHORE.
Close to this scene was a set piece. Between the scene and the set
piece there was just room for a body...for a body which one day
was found hanging there. The body of Joseph Buquet.


The Persianstill kneelingstopped and listened. For a moment
he seemed to hesitate and looked at Raoul; then he turned his
eyes upwardtoward the second cellarwhich sent down the faint
glimmer of a lanternthrough a cranny between two boards.
This glimmer seemed to trouble the Persian.


At lasthe tossed his head and made up his mind to act. He slipped
between the set piece and the scene from the ROI DE LAHOREwith Raoul
close upon his heels. With his free handthe Persian felt the wall.
Raoul saw him bear heavily upon the walljust as he had pressed
against the wall in Christine's dressing-room. Then a stone gave way
leaving a hole in the wall.


This timethe Persian took his pistol from his pocket and made
a sign to Raoul to do as he did. He cocked the pistol.


Andresolutelystill on his kneeshe wiggled through the hole
in the wall. Raoulwho had wished to pass firsthad to be content
to follow him.


The hole was very narrow. The Persian stopped almost at once.
Raoul heard him feeling the stones around him. Then the Persian took
out his dark lantern againstooped forwardexamined something beneath
him and immediately extinguished his lantern. Raoul heard him say
in a whisper:


We shall have to drop a few yards, without making a noise;
take off your boots.


The Persian handed his own shoes to Raoul.


Put them outside the wall,he said. "We shall find them there
when we leave."[7]


[7] These two pairs of bootswhich were placedaccording to the Persian's
papersjust between the set piece and the scene from the ROI DE LAHORE
on the spot where Joseph Buquet was found hangingwere never discovered.
They must have been taken by some stage-carpenter or "door-shutter."
He crawled a little farther on his kneesthen turned right round
and said:

I am going to hang by my hands from the edge of the stone and
let myself drop INTO HIS HOUSE. You must do exactly the same.
Do not be afraid. I will catch you in my arms.

Raoul soon heard a dull soundevidently produced by the fall
of the Persianand then dropped down.

He felt himself clasped in the Persian's arms.

Hush!said the Persian.

And they stood motionlesslistening.

The darkness was thick around themthe silence heavy and terrible.


Then the Persian began to make play with the dark lantern again
turning the rays over their headslooking for the hole through
which they had comeand failing to find it:

Oh!he said. "The stone has closed of itself!"

And the light of the lantern swept down the wall and over the floor.

The Persian stooped and picked up somethinga sort of cord
which he examined for a second and flung away with horror.

The Punjab lasso!he muttered.

What is it?asked Raoul.

The Persian shivered. "It might very well be the rope by which
the man was hangedand which was looked for so long."

Andsuddenly seized with fresh anxietyhe moved the little red disk
of his lantern over the walls. In this wayhe lit up a curious thing:
the trunk of a treewhich seemed still quite alivewith its leaves;
and the branches of that tree ran right up the walls and disappeared
in the ceiling.

Because of the smallness of the luminous diskit was difficult
at first to make out the appearance of things: they saw a corner
of a branch...and a leaf...and another leaf...and
next to itnothing at allnothing but the ray of light
that seemed to reflect itself....Raoul passed his hand over
that nothingover that reflection.

Hullo!he said. "The wall is a looking-glass!"

Yes, a looking-glass!said the Persianin a tone of deep emotion.
Andpassing the hand that held the pistol over his moist forehead
he addedWe have dropped into the torture-chamber!

What the Persian knew of this torture-chamber and what there befell
him and his companion shall be told in his own wordsas set down
in a manuscript which he left behind himand which I copy VERBATIM.

Chapter XXI Interesting and Instructive Vicissitudes of a
Persian in the Cellars of the Opera

THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE

It was the first time that I entered the house on the lake.
I had often begged the "trap-door lover as we used to call Erik
in my country, to open its mysterious doors to me. He always refused.
I made very many attempts, but in vain, to obtain admittance.
Watch him as I might, after I first learned that he had taken up
his permanent abode at the Opera, the darkness was always too thick
to enable me to see how he worked the door in the wall on the lake.
One day, when I thought myself alone, I stepped into the boat
and rowed toward that part of the wall through which I had seen
Erik disappear. It was then that I came into contact with the siren
who guarded the approach and whose charm was very nearly fatal
to me.

I had no sooner put off from the bank than the silence amid which I
floated on the water was disturbed by a sort of whispered singing


that hovered all around me. It was half breath, half music;
it rose softly from the waters of the lake; and I was surrounded by it
through I knew not what artifice. It followed me, moved with me
and was so soft that it did not alarm me. On the contrary, in my
longing to approach the source of that sweet and enticing harmony,
I leaned out of my little boat over the water, for there was no doubt
in my mind that the singing came from the water itself. By this time,
I was alone in the boat in the middle of the lake; the voice-for
it was now distinctly a voice--was beside me, on the water.
I leaned over, leaned still farther. The lake was perfectly calm,
and a moonbeam that passed through the air hole in the Rue Scribe
showed me absolutely nothing on its surface, which was smooth and
black as ink. I shook my ears to get rid of a possible humming;
but I soon had to accept the fact that there was no humming in
the ears so harmonious as the singing whisper that followed and now
attracted me.

Had I been inclined to superstition, I should have certainly thought
that I had to do with some siren whose business it was to confound
the traveler who should venture on the waters of the house on
the lake. Fortunately, I come from a country where we are too
fond of fantastic things not to know them through and through;
and I had no doubt but that I was face to face with some new
invention of Erik's. But this invention was so perfect that,
as I leaned out of the boat, I was impelled less by a desire
to discover its trick than to enjoy its charm; and I leaned out,
leaned out until I almost overturned the boat.

Suddenly, two monstrous arms issued from the bosom of the waters
and seized me by the neck, dragging me down to the depths
with irresistible force. I should certainly have been lost,
if I had not had time to give a cry by which Erik knew me.
For it was he; and, instead of drowning me, as was certainly
his first intention, he swam with me and laid me gently on the bank:

How imprudent you are!" he saidas he stood before medripping with water.
Why try to enter my house? I never invited you! I don't want you there,
nor anybody! Did you save my life only to make it unbearable to me?
However great the service you rendered him, Erik may end by forgetting
it; and you know that nothing can restrain Erik, not even Erik himself.

He spokebut I had now no other wish than to know what I already
called the trick of the siren. He satisfied my curiosityfor Erik
who is a real monster--I have seen him at work in Persiaalas--is also
in certain respectsa regular childvain and self-conceited
and there is nothing he loves so muchafter astonishing people
as to prove all the really miraculous ingenuity of his mind.

He laughed and showed me a long reed.

It's the silliest trick you ever saw,he saidbut it's very useful for
breathing and singing in the water. I learned it from the Tonkin pirates,
who are able to remain hidden for hours in the beds of the rivers.[8]

[8] An official report from Tonkinreceived in Paris at the end
of July1909relates how the famous pirate chief De Tham
was trackedtogether with his menby our soldiers; and how
all of them succeeded in escapingthanks to this trick of the reeds.
I spoke to him severely.

It's a trick that nearly killed me!I said. "And it may have
been fatal to others! You know what you promised meErik?


No more murders!"


Have I really committed murders?he askedputting on his most
amiable air.


Wretched man!I cried. "Have you forgotten the rosy hours
of Mazenderan?"


Yes,he repliedin a sadder toneI prefer to forget them.
I used to make the little sultana laugh, though!


All that belongs to the past,I declared; "but there is the present
... and you are responsible to me for the presentbecause
if I had wishedthere would have been none at all for you.
Remember thatErik: I saved your life!"


And I took advantage of the turn of conversation to speak to him
of something that had long been on my mind:


Erik,I askedErik, swear that...


What?he retorted. "You know I never keep my oaths. Oaths are
made to catch gulls with."


Tell me...you can tell me, at any rate. ...


Well?


Well, the chandelier...the chandelier, Erik?...


What about the chandelier?


You know what I mean.


Oh,he sniggeredI don't mind telling you about the chandelier!
...IT WASN'T I!...The chandelier was very old and worn.


When Erik laughedhe was more terrible than ever. He jumped into
the boatchuckling so horribly that I could not help trembling.


Very old and worn, my dear daroga![9] Very old and worn,
the chandelier!...It fell of itself!...It came down
with a smash!...And now, daroga, take my advice and go
and dry yourself, or you'll catch a cold in the head!...
And never get into my boat again....And, whatever you do,
don't try to enter my house: I'm not always there...daroga!
And I should be sorry to have to dedicate my Requiem Mass to you!


[9] DAROGA is Persian for chief of police.
So sayingswinging to and frolike a monkeyand still chuckling
he pushed off and soon disappeared in the darkness of the lake.

From that dayI gave up all thought of penetrating into his
house by the lake. That entrance was obviously too well guarded
especially since he had learned that I knew about it. But I felt
that there must be another entrancefor I had often seen Erik
disappear in the third cellarwhen I was watching himthough I
could not imagine how.

Ever since I had discovered Erik installed in the OperaI lived
in a perpetual terror of his horrible fanciesnot in so far as I
was concernedbut I dreaded everything for others.[10]


[10] The Persian might easily have admitted that Erik's fate also
interested himselffor he was well aware thatif the government
of Teheran had learned that Erik was still aliveit would have
been all up with the modest pension of the erstwhile daroga.
It is only fairhoweverto add that the Persian had a noble and
generous heart; and I do not doubt for a moment that the catastrophes
which he feared for others greatly occupied his mind. His conduct
throughout this businessproves it and is above all praise.
And whenever some accidentsome fatal event happenedI always
thought to myselfI should not be surprised if that were Erik,
even as others used to sayIt's the ghost!How often have I
not heard people utter that phrase with a smile! Poor devils!
If they had known that the ghost existed in the fleshI swear they
would not have laughed!


Although Erik announced to me very solemnly that he had changed
and that he had become the most virtuous of men SINCE HE WAS LOVED
FOR HIMSELF--a sentence thatat firstperplexed me most terribly--
I could not help shuddering when I thought of the monster.
His horribleunparalleled and repulsive ugliness put him without
the pale of humanity; and it often seemed to me thatfor this reason
he no longer believed that he had any duty toward the human race.
The way in which he spoke of his love affairs only increased my alarm
for I foresaw the cause of fresh and more hideous tragedies in this
event to which he alluded so boastfully.


On the other handI soon discovered the curious moral traffic
established between the monster and Christine Daae. Hiding in
the lumber-room next to the young prima donna's dressing-room
I listened to wonderful musical displays that evidently flung Christine
into marvelous ecstasy; butall the sameI would never have thought
that Erik's voice--which was loud as thunder or soft as angels' voices
at will--could have made her forget his ugliness. I understood all when
I learned that Christine had not yet seen him! I had occasion to go
to the dressing-room andremembering the lessons he had once
given meI had no difficulty in discovering the trick that made
the wall with the mirror swing round and I ascertained the means
of hollow bricks and so on--by which he made his voice carry
to Christine as though she heard it close beside her. In this way
also I discovered the road that led to the well and the dungeon--
the Communists' dungeon--and also the trap-door that enabled Erik
to go straight to the cellars below the stage.


A few days laterwhat was not my amazement to learn by my own eyes
and ears that Erik and Christine Daae saw each other and to catch
the monster stooping over the little wellin the Communists'
road and sprinkling the forehead of Christine Daaewho had fainted.
A white horsethe horse out of the PROFETAwhich had disappeared
from the stables under the Operawas standing quietly beside them.
I showed myself. It was terrible. I saw sparks fly from those yellow
eyes andbefore I had time to say a wordI received a blow on
the head that stunned me.


When I came to myselfErikChristine and the white horse had disappeared.
I felt sure that the poor girl was a prisoner in the house on
the lake. Without hesitationI resolved to return to the bank
notwithstanding the attendant danger. For twenty-four hoursI lay
in wait for the monster to appear; for I felt that he must go out
driven by the need of obtaining provisions. Andin this connection
I may saythatwhen he went out in the streets or ventured to show
himself in publiche wore a pasteboard nosewith a mustache



attached to itinstead of his own horrible hole of a nose.
This did not quite take away his corpse-like airbut it made
him almostI say almostendurable to look at.

I therefore watched on the bank of the lake andweary of long waiting
was beginning to think that he had gone through the other door
the door in the third cellarwhen I heard a slight splashing in
the darkI saw the two yellow eyes shining like candles and soon
the boat touched shore. Erik jumped out and walked up to me:

You've been here for twenty-four hours,he saidand you're
annoying me. I tell you, all this will end very badly. And you
will have brought it upon yourself; for I have been extraordinarily
patient with you. You think you are following me, you great booby,
whereas it's I who am following you; and I know all that you know
about me, here. I spared you yesterday, in MY COMMUNISTS' ROAD;
but I warn you, seriously, don't let me catch you there again!
Upon my word, you don't seem able to take a hint!

He was so furious that I did not thinkfor the moment
of interrupting him. After puffing and blowing like a walrus
he put his horrible thought into words:

Yes, you must learn, once and for all--once and for all, I say-to
take a hint! I tell you that, with your recklessness--for you
have already been twice arrested by the shade in the felt hat,
who did not know what you were doing in the cellars and took you to
the managers, who looked upon you as an eccentric Persian interested
in stage mechanism and life behind the scenes: I know all about it,
I was there, in the office; you know I am everywhere--well, I tell
you that, with your recklessness, they will end by wondering what
you are after here...and they will end by knowing that you
are after Erik...and then they will be after Erik themselves
and they will discover the house on the lake....If they do,
it will be a bad lookout for you, old chap, a bad lookout!...
I won't answer for anything.

Again he puffed and blew like a walrus.

I won't answer for anything!...If Erik's secrets cease to be
Erik's secrets, IT WILL BE A BAD LOOKOUT FOR A GOODLY NUMBER
OF THE HUMAN RACE! That's all I have to tell you, and unless you
are a great booby, it ought to be enough for you...except
that you don't know how to take a hint.

He had sat down on the stern of his boat and was kicking his
heels against the plankswaiting to hear what I had to answer.
I simply said:

It's not Erik that I'm after here!

Who then?

You know as well as I do: it's Christine Daae,I answered.

He retorted: "I have every right to see her in my own house.
I am loved for my own sake."

That's not true,I said. "You have carried her off and are
keeping her locked up."

Listen,he said. "Will you promise never to meddle with my
affairs againif I prove to you that I am loved for my own sake?"


Yes, I promise you,I repliedwithout hesitationfor I felt
convinced that for such a monster the proof was impossible.

Well, then, it's quite simple....Christine Daae shall leave
this as she pleases and come back again!...Yes, come back again,
because she wishes...come back of herself, because she loves me
for myself!...

Oh, I doubt if she will come back!...But it is your duty to let
her go.My duty, you great booby!...It is my wish...
my wish to let her go; and she will come back again...for she
loves me!...All this will end in a marriage...a marriage
at the Madeleine, you great booby! Do you believe me now?
When I tell you that my nuptial mass is written...wait till
you hear the KYRIE. ...

He beat time with his heels on the planks of the boat and sang:

KYRIE!...KYRIE!...KYRIE ELEISON!...Wait till you hear,
wait till you hear that mass.

Look here,I said. "I shall believe you if I see Christine Daae
come out of the house on the lake and go back to it of her own accord."

And you won't meddle any more in my affairs?

No.

Very well, you shall see that to-night. Come to the masked ball.
Christine and I will go and have a look round. Then you can hide
in the lumber-room and you shall see Christine, who will have gone
to her dressing-room, delighted to come back by the Communists' road.
...And, now, be off, for I must go and do some shopping!

To my intense astonishmentthings happened as he had announced.
Christine Daae left the house on the lake and returned to it
several timeswithoutapparentlybeing forced to do so. It was
very difficult for me to clear my mind of Erik. HoweverI resolved
to be extremely prudentand did not make the mistake of returning
to the shore of the lakeor of going by the Communists' road.
But the idea of the secret entrance in the third cellar haunted me
and I repeatedly went and waited for hours behind a scene from the Roi
de Lahorewhich had been left there for some reason or other.
At last my patience was rewarded. One dayI saw the monster come
toward meon his knees. I was certain that he could not see me.
He passed between the scene behind which I stood and a set piece
went to the wall and pressed on a spring that moved a stone and
afforded him an ingress. He passed through thisand the stone closed
behind him.

I waited for at least thirty minutes and then pressed the spring
in my turn. Everything happened as with Erik. But I was careful
not to go through the hole myselffor I knew that Erik was inside.
On the other handthe idea that I might be caught by Erik suddenly
made me think of the death of Joseph Buquet. I did not wish
to jeopardize the advantages of so great a discovery which might
be useful to many peopleto a goodly number of the human race,
in Erik's words; and I left the cellars of the Opera after carefully
replacing the stone.

I continued to be greatly interested in the relations between Erik
and Christine Daaenot from any morbid curiositybut because of
the terrible thought which obsessed my mind that Erik was capable
of anythingif he once discovered that he was not loved for his


own sakeas he imagined. I continued to wandervery cautiously
about the Opera and soon learned the truth about the monster's
dreary love-affair.


He filled Christine's mindthrough the terror with which he
inspired herbut the dear child's heart belonged wholly to the
Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. While they played aboutlike an innocent
engaged coupleon the upper floors of the Operato avoid the monster
they little suspected that some one was watching over them.
I was prepared to do anything: to kill the monsterif necessary
and explain to the police afterward. But Erik did not show himself;
and I felt none the more comfortable for that.


I must explain my whole plan. I thought that the monster
being driven from his house by jealousywould thus enable me to
enter itwithout dangerthrough the passage in the third cellar.
It was importantfor everybody's sakethat I should know exactly
what was inside. One daytired of waiting for an opportunity
I moved the stone and at once heard an astounding music:
the monster was working at his Don Juan Triumphantwith every door
in his house wide open. I knew that this was the work of his life.
I was careful not to stir and remained prudently in my dark hole.


He stopped playingfor a momentand began walking about his place
like a madman. And he said aloudat the top of his voice:


It must be finished FIRST! Quite finished!


This speech was not calculated to reassure me andwhen the
music recommencedI closed the stone very softly.


On the day of the abduction of Christine DaaeI did not come
to the theater until rather late in the eveningtrembling lest I
should hear bad news. I had spent a horrible dayforafter reading
in a morning paper the announcement of a forthcoming marriage
between Christine and the Vicomte de ChagnyI wondered whether
after allI should not do better to denounce the monster.
But reason returned to meand I was persuaded that this action
could only precipitate a possible catastrophe.


Whenmy cab set me down before the OperaI was really almost
astonished to see it still standing! But I am something of a fatalist
like all good Orientalsand I entered readyfor anything.


Christine Daae's abduction in the Prison Actwhich naturally
surprised everybodyfound me prepared. I was quite certain
that she had been juggled away by Erikthat prince of conjurers.
And I thought positively that this was the end of Christine and perhaps
of everybodyso much so that I thought of advising all these people
who were staying on at the theater to make good their escape.
I felthoweverthat they would be sure to look upon me as mad
and I refrained.


On the other handI resolved to act without further delay
as far as I was concerned. The chances were in my favor that Erik
at that momentwas thinking only of his captive. This was the
moment to enter his house through the third cellar; and I resolved
to take with me that poor little desperate viscountwhoat the
first suggestionacceptedwith an amount of confidence in myself
that touched me profoundly. I had sent my servant for my pistols.
I gave one to the viscount and advised him to hold himself ready
to fireforafter allErik might be waiting for us behind the wall.
We were to go by the Communists' road and through the trap-door.



Seeing my pistolsthe little viscount asked me if we were going
to fight a duel. I said:

Yes; and what a duel!Butof courseI had no time to explain
anything to him. The little viscount is a brave fellowbut he
knew hardly anything about his adversary; and it was so much
the better. My great fear was that he was already somewhere near us
preparing the Punjab lasso. No one knows better than he how to throw
the Punjab lassofor he is the king of stranglers even as he is
the prince of conjurors. When he had finished making the little
sultana laughat the time of the "rosy hours of Mazenderan
she herself used to ask him to amuse her by giving her a thrill.
It was then that he introduced the sport of the Punjab lasso.

He had lived in India and acquired an incredible skill in the art
of strangulation. He would make them lock him into a courtyard
to which they brought a warrior--usually, a man condemned to death-armed
with a long pike and broadsword. Erik had only his lasso;
and it was always just when the warrior thought that he was going
to fell Erik with a tremendous blow that we heard the lasso whistle
through the air. With a turn of the wrist, Erik tightened the noose
round his adversary's neck and, in this fashion, dragged him before
the little sultana and her women, who sat looking from a window
and applauding. The little sultana herself learned to wield the Punjab
lasso and killed several of her women and even of the friends who
visited her. But I prefer to drop this terrible subject of the rosy
hours of Mazenderan. I have mentioned it only to explain why,
on arriving with the Vicomte de Chagny in the cellars of the Opera,
I was bound to protect my companion against the ever-threatening
danger of death by strangling. My pistols could serve no purpose,
for Erik was not likely to show himself; but Erik could always
strangle us. I had no time to explain all this to the viscount;
besides, there was nothing to be gained by complicating the position.
I simply told M. de Chagny to keep his hand at the level of his eyes,
with the arm bent, as though waiting for the command to fire.
With his victim in this attitude, it is impossible even for
the most expert strangler to throw the lasso with advantage.
It catches you not only round the neck, but also round the arm
or hand. This enables you easily to unloose the lasso, which then
becomes harmless.

After avoiding the commissary of police, a number of door-shutters
and the firemen, after meeting the rat-catcher and passing the man
in the felt hat unperceived, the viscount and I arrived without
obstacle in the third cellar, between the set piece and the scene
from the Roi de Lahore. I worked the stone, and we jumped
into the house which Erik had built himself in the double case
of the foundation-walls of the Opera. And this was the easiest
thing in the world for him to do, because Erik was one of the chief
contractors under Philippe Garnier, the architect of the Opera,
and continued to work by himself when the works were officially
suspended, during the war, the siege of Paris and the Commune.

I knew my Erik too well to feel at all comfortable on jumping into
his house. I knew what he had made of a certain palace at Mazenderan.
From being the most honest building conceivable, he soon turned it
into a house of the very devil, where you could not utter a word
but it was overheard or repeated by an echo. With his trap-doors
the monster was responsible for endless tragedies of all kinds.
He hit upon astonishing inventions. Of these, the most curious,
horrible and dangerous was the so-called torture-chamber. Except
in special cases, when the little sultana amused herself by inflicting
suffering upon some unoffending citizen, no one was let into it
but wretches condemned to death. And, even then, when these had


had enough they were always at liberty to put an end to themselves
with a Punjab lasso or bowstring, left for their use at the foot
of an iron tree.

My alarm, therefore, was great when I saw that the room into
which M. le Vicomte de Chagny and I had dropped was an exact
copy of the torture-chamber of the rosy hours of Mazenderan.
At our feet, I found the Punjab lasso which I had been dreading
all the evening. I was convinced that this rope had already done
duty for Joseph Buquet, who, like myself, must have caught Erik one
evening working the stone in the third cellar. He probably tried it
in his turn, fell into the torture-chamber and only left it hanged.
I can well imagine Erik dragging the body, in order to get rid of it,
to the scene from the Roi de Lahore, and hanging it there as an example,
or to increase the superstitious terror that was to help him
in guarding the approaches to his lair! Then, upon reflection,
Erik went back to fetch the Punjab lasso, which is very curiously
made out of catgut, and which might have set an examining
magistrate thinking. This explains the disappearance of the rope.

And now I discovered the lasso, at our feet, in the torture-chamber!
... I am no coward, but a cold sweat covered my forehead as I
moved the little red disk of my lantern over the walls.

M. de Chagny noticed it and asked:
What is the mattersir?"

I made him a violent sign to be silent.

Chapter XXII In the Torture Chamber

THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED

We were in the middle of a little six-cornered roomthe sides
of which were covered with mirrors from top to bottom.
In the cornerswe could clearly see the "joins" in the glasses
the segments intended to turn on their gear; yesI recognized
them and I recognized the iron tree in the cornerat the bottom
of one of those segments...the iron treewith its iron branch
for the hanged men.

I seized my companion's arm: the Vicomte de Chagny was all a-quiver
eager to shout to his betrothed that he was bringing her help.
I feared that he would not be able to contain himself.

Suddenlywe heard a noise on our left. It sounded at first
like a door opening and shutting in the next room; and then there
was a dull moan. I clutched M. de Chagny's arm more firmly still;
and then we distinctly heard these words:

You must make your choice! The wedding mass or the requiem mass!
I recognized the voice of the monster.

There was another moanfollowed by a long silence.

I was persuaded by now that the monster was unaware of our presence
in his housefor otherwise he would certainly have managed not
to let us hear him. He would only have had to close the little
invisible window through which the torture-lovers look down into
the torture-chamber. BesidesI was certain thatif he had known


of our presencethe tortures would have begun at once.


The important thing was not to let him know; and I dreaded
nothing so much as the impulsiveness of the Vicomte de Chagny
who wanted to rush through the walls to Christine Daaewhose moans
we continued to hear at intervals.


The requiem mass is not at all gay,Erik's voice resumed
whereas the wedding mass--you can take my word for it--is magnificent!
You must take a resolution and know your own mind! I can't go
on living like this, like a mole in a burrow! Don Juan Triumphant
is finished; and now I want to live like everybody else. I want
to have a wife like everybody else and to take her out on Sundays.
I have invented a mask that makes me look like anybody. People will not
even turn round in the streets. You will be the happiest of women.
And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight.
You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked.
Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself.
If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do
anything with me that you pleased.


Soon the moans that accompanied this sort of love's litany increased
and increased. I have never heard anything more despairing;
and M. de Chagny and I recognized that this terrible lamentation came
from Erik himself. Christine seemed to be standing dumb with horror
without the strength to cry outwhile the monster was on his knees
before her.


Three times overErik fiercely bewailed his fate:


You don't love me! You don't love me! You don't love me!


And thenmore gently:


Why do you cry? You know it gives me pain to see you cry!


A silence.


Each silence gave us fresh hope. We said to ourselves:


Perhaps he has left Christine behind the wall.


And we thought only of the possibility of warning Christine Daae
of our presenceunknown to the monster. We were unable to leave
the torture-chamber nowunless Christine opened the door to us;
and it was only on this condition that we could hope to help her
for we did not even know where the door might be.


Suddenlythe silence in the next room was disturbed by the ringing
of an electric bell. There was a bound on the other side of the wall
and Erik's voice of thunder:


Somebody ringing! Walk in, please!


A sinister chuckle.


Who has come bothering now? Wait for me here....I AM GOING
TO TELL THE SIREN TO OPEN THE DOOR.


Steps moved awaya door closed. I had no time to think of the fresh
horror that was preparing; I forgot that the monster was only going
out perhaps to perpetrate a fresh crime; I understood but one thing:
Christine was alone behind the wall!



The Vicomte de Chagny was already calling to her:

Christine! Christine!

As we could hear what was said in the next roomthere was
no reason why my companion should not be heard in his turn.
Neverthelessthe viscount had to repeat his cry time after time.


At lasta faint voice reached us.


I am dreaming!it said.


Christine, Christine, it is I, Raoul!


A silence.


But answer me, Christine!...In Heaven's name, if you are alone,
answer me!


Then Christine's voice whispered Raoul's name.


Yes! Yes! It is I! It is not a dream!...Christine,
trust me!...We are here to save you...but be prudent!
When you hear the monster, warn us!


Then Christine gave way to fear. She trembled lest Erik should
discover where Raoul was hidden; she told us in a few hurried words
that Erik had gone quite mad with love and that he had decided TO
KILL EVERYBODY AND HIMSELF WITH EVERYBODY if she did not consent
to become his wife. He had given her till eleven o'clock the next
evening for reflection. It was the last respite. She must choose
as he saidbetween the wedding mass and the requiem.


And Erik had then uttered a phrase which Christine did not
quite understand:


Yes or no! If your answer is no, everybody will be dead AND BURIED!


But I understood the sentence perfectlyfor it corresponded
in a terrible manner with my own dreadful thought.


Can you tell us where Erik is?I asked.


She replied that he must have left the house.


Could you make sure?


No. I am fastened. I can not stir a limb.


When we heard thisM. de Chagny and I gave a yell of fury.
Our safetythe safety of all three of usdepended on the girl's
liberty of movement.


But where are you?asked Christine. "There are only two doors
in my roomthe Louis-Philippe room of which I told youRaoul; a door
through which Erik comes and goesand another which he has never
opened before me and which he has forbidden me ever to go through
because he says it is the most dangerous of the doorsthe door
of the torture-chamber!"


Christine, that is where we are!


You are in the torture-chamber?



Yes, but we can not see the door.


Oh, if I could only drag myself so far! I would knock at the door
and that would tell you where it is.


Is it a door with a lock to it?I asked.


Yes, with a lock.


Mademoiselle,I saidit is absolutely necessary, that you
should open that door to us!


But how?asked the poor girl tearfully.


We heard her strainingtrying to free herself from the bonds
that held her.


I know where the key is,she saidin a voice that seemed exhausted
by the effort she had made. "But I am fastened so tight....Oh
the wretch!"


And she gave a sob.


Where is the key?I askedsigning to M. de Chagny not to speak
and to leave the business to mefor we had not a moment to lose.


In the next room, near the organ, with another little bronze key,
which he also forbade me to touch. They are both in a little
leather bag which he calls the bag of life and death.
... Raoul! Raoul! Fly! Everything is mysterious and
terrible here, and Erik will soon have gone quite mad, and you
are in the torture-chamber!...Go back by the way you came.
There must be a reason why the room is called by that name!


Christine,said the young man. "we will go from here together
or die together!"


We must keep cool,I whispered. "Why has he fastened you
mademoiselle? You can't escape from his house; and he knows it!"


I tried to commit suicide! The monster went out last night,
after carrying me here fainting and half chloroformed. He was
going TO HIS BANKER, so he said!...When he returned he found
me with my face covered with blood....I had tried to kill
myself by striking my forehead against the walls.


Christine!groaned Raoul; and he began to sob.


Then he bound me....I am not allowed to die until eleven
o'clock to-morrow evening.


Mademoiselle,I declaredthe monster bound you...and he
shall unbind you. You have only to play the necessary part!
Remember that he loves you!


Alas!we heard. "Am I likely to forget it!"


Remember it and smile to him...entreat him...tell him
that your bonds hurt you.


But Christine Daae said:


Hush!...I hear something in the wall on the lake!...It
is he!...Go away! Go away! Go away!



We could not go away, even if we wanted to,I saidas impressively
as I could. "We can not leave this! And we are in the torture-chamber!"


Hush!whispered Christine again.


Heavy steps sounded slowly behind the wallthen stopped and made
the floor creak once more. Next came a tremendous sighfollowed by
a cry of horror from Christineand we heard Erik's voice:


I beg your pardon for letting you see a face like this!
What a state I am in, am I not? It's THE OTHER ONE'S FAULT!
Why did he ring? Do I ask people who pass to tell me the time?
He will never ask anybody the time again! It is the siren's fault.


{two page color illustration}


Another sighdeepermore tremendous stillcame from the abysmal
depths of a soul.


Why did you cry out, Christine?


Because I am in pain, Erik.


I thought I had frightened you.


Erik, unloose my bonds....Am I not your prisoner?


You will try to kill yourself again.


You have given me till eleven o'clock to-morrow evening, Erik.


The footsteps dragged along the floor again.


After all, as we are to die together...and I am just as eager
as you...yes, I have had enough of this life, you know.
...Wait, don't move, I will release you....You have only
one word to say: `NO!' And it will at once be over WITH EVERYBODY!
...You are right, you are right; why wait till eleven o'clock
to-morrow evening? True, it would have been grander, finer....But
that is childish nonsense....We should only think of ourselves
in this life, of our own death...the rest doesn't matter.
...YOU'RE LOOKING AT ME BECAUSE I AM ALL WET?... Oh,
my dear, it's raining cats and dogs outside!...Apart from that,
Christine, I think I am subject to hallucinations....You know,
the man who rang at the siren's door just now--go and look if he's
ringing at the bottom of the lake-well, he was rather like.
...There, turn round...are you glad? You're free now.
...Oh, my poor Christine, look at your wrists: tell me, have I
hurt them?...That alone deserves death....Talking of death,
I MUST SING HIS REQUIEM!


Hearing these terrible remarksI received an awful presentiment
...I too had once rung at the monster's door...and
without knowing itmust have set some warning current in motion.


And I remembered the two arms that had emerged from the inky waters.
...What poor wretch had strayed to that shore this time?
Who was `the other one' the one whose requiem we now heard sung?


Erik sang like the god of thundersang a DIES IRAE that enveloped
us as in a storm. The elements seemed to rage around us.
Suddenlythe organ and the voice ceased so suddenly that M. de
Chagny sprang backon the other side of the wallwith emotion.



And the voicechanged and transformeddistinctly grated
out these metallic syllables: "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BAG?"

Chapter XXIII The Tortures Begin

THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED.

The voice repeated angrily: "What have you done with my bag?
So it was to take my bag that you asked me to release you!"

We heard hurried stepsChristine running back to the Louis-Philippe
roomas though to seek shelter on the other side of our wall.

What are you running away for?asked the furious voice
which had followed her. "Give me back my bagwill you?
Don't you know that it is the bag of life and death?"

Listen to me, Erik,sighed the girl. "As it is settled that we
are to live together...what difference can it make to you?"

You know there are only two keys in it,said the monster.
What do you want to do?

I want to look at this room which I have never seen and which you
have always kept from me....It's woman's curiosity!she said
in a tone which she tried to render playful.

But the trick was too childish for Erik to be taken in by it.

I don't like curious women,he retortedand you had better
remember the story of BLUE-BEARD and be careful....Come, give me
back my bag!...Give me back my bag!...Leave the key alone,
will you, you inquisitive little thing?

And he chuckledwhile Christine gave a cry of pain. Erik had
evidently recovered the bag from her.

At that momentthe viscount could not help uttering an exclamation
of impotent rage.

Why, what's that?said the monster. "Did you hearChristine?"

No, no,replied the poor girl. "I heard nothing."

I thought I heard a cry.

A cry! Are you going mad, Erik? Whom do you expect to give a cry,
in this house?...I cried out, because you hurt me! I heard nothing.

I don't like the way you said that!...You're trembling.
... You're quite excited....You're lying!...That was a cry,
there was a cry!...There is some one in the torture-chamber!...
Ah, I understand now!

There is no one there, Erik!

I understand!

No one!

The man you want to marry, perhaps!


I don't want to marry anybody, you know I don't.


Another nasty chuckle. "Wellit won't take long to find out.
Christinemy lovewe need not open the door to see what is happening
in the torture-chamber. Would you like to see? Would you like
to see? Look here! If there is some oneif there is really some
one thereyou will see the invisible window light up at the top
near the ceiling. We need only draw the black curtain and put out
the light in here. Therethat's it....Let's put out the light!
You're not afraid of the darkwhen you're with your little husband!"


Then we heard Christine's voice of anguish:


No!...I'm frightened!...I tell you, I'm afraid of the dark!...
I don't care about that room now....You're always frightening me,
like a child, with your torture-chamber!...And so I became inquisitive.
...But I don't care about it now...not a bit...not a bit!


And that which I feared above all things beganAUTOMATICALLY.
We were suddenly flooded with light! Yeson our side of the wall
everything seemed aglow. The Vicomte de Chagny was so much taken
aback that he staggered. And the angry voice roared:


I told you there was some one! Do you see the window now?
The lighted window, right up there? The man behind the wall can't
see it! But you shall go up the folding steps: that is what they
are there for!...You have often asked me to tell you; and now you
know!...They are there to give a peep into the torture-chamber
...you inquisitive little thing!


What tortures?...Who is being tortured?...Erik, Erik, say you
are only trying to frighten me!...Say it, if you love me,
Erik!...There are no tortures, are there?


Go and look at the little window, dear!


I do not know if the viscount heard the girl's swooning voice
for he was too much occupied by the astounding spectacle that now
appeared before his distracted gaze. As for meI had seen that sight
too oftenthrough the little windowat the time of the rosy hours
of Mazenderan; and I cared only for what was being said next door
seeking for a hint how to actwhat resolution to take.


Go and peep through the little window! Tell me what he looks like!


We heard the steps being dragged against the wall.


Up with you!...No!...No, I will go up myself, dear!


Oh, very well, I will go up. Let me go!


Oh, my darling, my darling!...How sweet of you!...How nice
of you to save me the exertion at my age!...Tell me what he
looks like!


At that momentwe distinctly heard these words above our heads:


There is no one there, dear!


No one?...Are you sure there is no one?


Why, of course not...no one!



Well, that's all right!...What's the matter, Christine?
You're not going to faint, are you...as there is no one there?...
Here...come down...there!...Pull yourself together...as there
is no one there!...BUT HOW DO YOU LIKE THE LANDSCAPE?


Oh, very much!


There, that's better!...You're better now, are you not?...
That's all right, you're better!...No excitement!...And
what a funny house, isn't it, with landscapes like that in it?


Yes, it's like the Musee Grevin....But, say, Erik...there
are no tortures in there!...What a fright you gave me!


Why...as there is no one there?


Did you design that room? It's very handsome. You're a
great artist, Erik.


Yes, a great artist, in my own line.


But tell me, Erik, why did you call that room the torture-chamber?


Oh, it's very simple. First of all, what did you see?


I saw a forest.


And what is in a forest?


Trees.


And what is in a tree?


Birds.


Did you see any birds?


No, I did not see any birds.


Well, what did you see? Think! You saw branches And what are
the branches?asked the terrible voice. "THERE'S A GIBBET!
That is why I call my wood the torture-chamber!...You see
it's all a joke. I never express myself like other people.
But I am very tired of it!...I'm sick and tired of having a forest
and a torture-chamber in my house and of living like a mountebank
in a house with a false bottom!...I'm tired of it! I want to
have a nicequiet flatwith ordinary doors and windows and a wife
inside itlike anybody else! A wife whom I could love and take
out on Sundays and keep amused on week-days...Hereshall I show
you some card-tricks? That will help us to pass a few minutes
while waiting for eleven o'clock to-morrow evening....My dear little
Christine!...Are you listening to me?...Tell me you love me!...
Noyou don't love me...but no matteryou will!...Once
you could not look at my mask because you knew what was behind.
...And now you don't mind looking at it and you forget what is
behind!...One can get used to everything...if one wishes.
...Plenty of young people who did not care for each other
before marriage have adored each other since! OhI don't know
what I am talking about! But you would have lots of fun with me.
For instanceI am the greatest ventriloquist that ever livedI am
the first ventriloquist in the world!...You're laughing....
Perhaps you don't believe me? Listen."


The wretchwho really was the first ventriloquist in the world



was only trying to divert the child's attention from the torture-chamber;
but it was a stupid schemefor Christine thought of nothing but us!
She repeatedly besought himin the gentlest tones which she
could assume:


Put out the light in the little window!...Erik, do put out
the light in the little window!


For she saw that this lightwhich appeared so suddenly and of
which the monster had spoken in so threatening a voicemust mean
something terrible. One thing must have pacified her for a moment;
and that was seeing the two of usbehind the wallin the midst
of that resplendent lightalive and well. But she would certainly
have felt much easier if the light had been put out.


Meantimethe other had already begun to play the ventriloquist.
He said:


Here, I raise my mask a little....Oh, only a little!...
You see my lips, such lips as I have? They're not moving!...My
mouth is closed--such mouth as I have--and yet you hear my voice.
...Where will you have it? In your left ear? In your right ear?
In the table? In those little ebony boxes on the mantelpiece?...
Listen, dear, it's in the little box on the right of the mantelpiece:
what does it say? `SHALL I TURN THE SCORPION?'...And now, crack!
What does it say in the little box on the left? `SHALL I TURN
THE GRASSHOPPER?'...And now, crack! Here it is in the little
leather bag....What does it say? `I AM THE LITTLE BAG OF LIFE
AND DEATH!'...And now, crack! It is in Carlotta's throat,
in Carlotta's golden throat, in Carlotta's crystal throat, as I live!
What does it say? It says, `It's I, Mr. Toad, it's I singing!
I FEEL WITHOUT ALARM--CO-ACK--WITH ITS MELODY ENWIND ME--CO-ACK!'...
And now, crack! It is on a chair in the ghost's box and it says,
`MADAME CARLOTTA IS SINGING TO-NIGHT TO BRING THE CHANDELIER DOWN!'
...And now, crack! Aha! Where is Erik's voice now?
Listen, Christine, darling! Listen! It is behind the door of the
torture-chamber! Listen! It's myself in the torture-chamber! And
what do I say? I say, `Woe to them that have a nose, a real nose,
and come to look round the torture-chamber! Aha, aha, aha!'


Ohthe ventriloquist's terrible voice! It was everywhereeverywhere.
It passed through the little invisible windowthrough the walls.
It ran around usbetween us. Erik was therespeaking to us!
We made a movement as though to fling ourselves upon him.
Butalreadyswiftermore fleeting than the voice of the echo
Erik's voice had leaped back behind the wall!


Soon we heard nothing more at allfor this is what happened:


Erik! Erik!said Christine's voice. "You tire me with your voice.
Don't go onErik! Isn't it very hot here?"


Oh, yes,replied Erik's voicethe heat is unendurable!


But what does this mean?...The wall is really getting quite
hot!...The wall is burning!


I'll tell you, Christine, dear: it is because of the forest
next door.


Well, what has that to do with it? The forest?


WHY, DIDN'T YOU SEE THAT IT WAS AN AFRICAN FOREST?



And the monster laughed so loudly and hideously that we could no
longer distinguish Christine's supplicating cries! The Vicomte de
Chagny shouted and banged against the walls like a madman. I could
not restrain him. But we heard nothing except the monster's laughter
and the monster himself can have heard nothing else. And then there
was the sound of a body falling on the floor and being dragged along
and a door slammed and then nothingnothing more around us save
the scorching silence of the south in the heart of a tropical forest!


Chapter XXIV Barrels!...Barrels!...Any Barrels to Sell?"


THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED


I have said that the room in which M. le Vicomte de Chagny and I
were imprisoned was a regular hexagonlined entirely with mirrors.
Plenty of these rooms have been seen sincemainly at exhibitions:
they are called "palaces of illusion or some such name.
But the invention belongs entirely to Erik, who built the first
room of this kind under my eyes, at the time of the rosy hours
of Mazenderan. A decorative object, such as a column, for instance,
was placed in one of the corners and immediately produced a hall
of a thousand columns; for, thanks to the mirrors, the real room
was multiplied by six hexagonal rooms, each of which, in its turn,
was multiplied indefinitely. But the little sultana soon tired
of this infantile illusion, whereupon Erik altered his invention
into a torture-chamber." For the architectural motive placed
in one cornerhe substituted an iron tree. This treewith its
painted leaveswas absolutely true to life and was made of iron
so as to resist all the attacks of the "patient" who was locked into
the torture-chamber. We shall see how the scene thus obtained was twice
altered instantaneously into two successive other scenesby means
of the automatic rotation of the drums or rollers in the corners.
These were divided into three sectionsfitting into the angles
of the mirrors and each supporting a decorative scheme that came into
sight as the roller revolved upon its axis.


The walls of this strange room gave the patient nothing to lay
hold ofbecauseapart from the solid decorative objectthey were
simply furnished with mirrorsthick enough to withstand any onslaught
of the victimwho was flung into the chamber empty-handed and barefoot.


There was no furniture. The ceiling was capable of being lit up.
An ingenious system of electric heatingwhich has since been imitated
allowed the temperature of the walls and room to be increased
at will.


I am giving all these details of a perfectly natural invention
producingwith a few painted branchesthe supernatural illusion
of an equatorial forest blazing under the tropical sunso that no
one may doubt the present balance of my brain or feel entitled
to say that I am mad or lying or that I take him for a fool.[11]


[11] It is very natural thatat the time when the Persian was writing
he should take so many precautions against any spirit of incredulity
on the part of those who were likely to read his narrative.
Nowadayswhen we have all seen this sort of roomhis precautions
would be superfluous.
I now return to the facts where I left them. When the ceiling lit up
and the forest became visible around usthe viscount's stupefaction


was immense. That impenetrable forestwith its innumerable
trunks and branchesthrew him into a terrible state of consternation.
He passed his hands over his foreheadas though to drive away a dream;
his eyes blinked; andfor a momenthe forgot to listen.


I have already said that the sight of the forest did not surprise
me at all; and therefore I listened for the two of us to what was
happening next door. Lastlymy attention was especially attracted
not so much to the sceneas to the mirrors that produced it.
These mirrors were broken in parts. Yesthey were marked and scratched;
they had been "starred in spite of their solidity; and this proved
to me that the torture-chamber in which we now were HAD ALREADY
SERVED A PURPOSE.


Yes, some wretch, whose feet were not bare like those of the victims
of the rosy hours of Mazenderan, had certainly fallen into this
mortal illusion" andmad with ragehad kicked against those
mirrors whichneverthelesscontinued to reflect his agony.
And the branch of the tree on which he had put an end to his own
sufferings was arranged in such a way thatbefore dyinghe had seen
for his last consolationa thousand men writhing in his company.


YesJoseph Buquet had undoubtedly been through all this!
Were we to die as he had done? I did not think sofor I knew
that we had a few hours before us and that I could employ them
to better purpose than Joseph Buquet was able to do. After all
I was thoroughly acquainted with most of Erik's "tricks;" and now
or never was the time to turn my knowledge to account.


To begin withI gave up every idea of returning to the passage that
had brought us to that accursed chamber. I did not trouble about
the possibility of working the inside stone that closed the passage;
and this for the simple reason that to do so was out of the question.
We had dropped from too great a height into the torture-chamber;
there was no furniture to help us reach that passage; not even
the branch of the iron treenot even each other's shoulders were
of any avail.


There was only one possible outletthat opening into the Louis-Philippe
room in which Erik and Christine Daae were. Butthough this outlet looked
like an ordinary door on Christine's sideit was absolutely invisible
to us. We must therefore try to open it without even knowing where it was.


When I was quite sure that there was no hope for us from Christine
Daae's sidewhen I had heard the monster dragging the poor girl from
the Louis-Philippe room LEST SHE SHOULD INTERFERE WITH OUR TORTURES
I resolved to set to work without delay.


But I had first to calm M. de Chagnywho was already walking
about like a madmanuttering incoherent cries. The snatches of
conversation which he had caught between Christine and the monster
had contributed not a little to drive him beside himself:
add to that the shock of the magic forest and the scorching heat
which was beginning to make the prespiration{sic} stream down his
temples and you will have no difficulty in understanding his state
of mind. He shouted Christine's namebrandished his pistol
knocked his forehead against the glass in his endeavors to run
down the glades of the illusive forest. In shortthe torture
was beginning to work its spell upon a brain unprepared for it.


I did my best to induce the poor viscount to listen to reason.
I made him touch the mirrors and the iron tree and the branches
and explained to himby optical lawsall the luminous imagery
by which we were surrounded and of which we need not allow ourselves



to be the victimslike ordinaryignorant people.


We are in a room, a little room; that is what you must keep saying
to yourself. And we shall leave the room as soon as we have found
the door.


And I promised him thatif he let me actwithout disturbing me
by shouting and walking up and downI would discover the trick
of the door in less than an hour's time.


Then he lay flat on the flooras one does in a woodand declared
that he would wait until I found the door of the forestas there
was nothing better to do! And he added thatfrom where he was
the view was splendid!The torture was workingin spite of all
that I had said.


Myselfforgetting the forestI tackled a glass panel and began
to finger it in every directionhunting for the weak point on which
to press in order to turn the door in accordance with Erik's system
of pivots. This weak point might be a mere speck on the glass
no larger than a peaunder which the spring lay hidden.
I hunted and hunted. I felt as high as my hands could reach.
Erik was about the same height as myself and I thought that he would
not have placed the spring higher than suited his stature.


While groping over the successive panels with the greatest care
I endeavored not to lose a minutefor I was feeling more and more
overcome with the heat and we were literally roasting in that
blazing forest.


I had been working like this for half an hour and had finished
three panelswhenas ill-luck would have itI turned round
on hearing a muttered exclamation from the viscount.


I am stifling,he said. "All those mirrors are sending out
an infernal heat! Do you think you will find that spring soon?
If you are much longer about itwe shall be roasted alive!"


I was not sorry to hear him talk like this. He had not said a word
of the forest and I hoped that my companion's reason would hold
out some time longer against the torture. But he added:


What consoles me is that the monster has given Christine until
eleven to-morrow evening. If we can't get out of here and go
to her assistance, at least we shall be dead before her!
Then Erik's mass can serve for all of us!


And he gulped down a breath of hot air that nearly made him faint.


As I had not the same desperate reasons as M. le Vicomte for
accepting deathI returnedafter giving him a word of encouragement
to my panelbut I had made the mistake of taking a few steps while
speaking andin the tangle of the illusive forestI was no longer
able to find my panel for certain! I had to begin all over again
at randomfeelingfumblinggroping.


Now the fever laid hold of me in my turn...for I found nothing
absolutely nothing. In the next roomall was silence. We were
quite lost in the forestwithout an outleta compassa guide
or anything. OhI knew what awaited us if nobody came to our aid...
or if I did not find the spring! Butlook as I mightI found
nothing but branchesbeautiful branches that stood straight up
before meor spread gracefully over my head. But they gave no shade.
And this was natural enoughas we were in an equatorial forest



with the sun right above our headsan African forest.

M. de Chagny and I had repeatedly taken off our coats and put them
on againfinding at one time that they made us feel still hotter
and at another that they protected us against the heat. I was still
making a moral resistancebut M. de Chagny seemed to me quite "gone."
He pretended that he had been walking in that forest for three
days and nightswithout stoppinglooking for Christine Daae!
From time to timehe thought he saw her behind the trunk of a tree
or gliding between the branches; and he called to her with words
of supplication that brought the tears to my eyes. And then
at last:
Oh, how thirsty I am!he criedin delirious accents.


I too was thirsty. My throat was on fire. Andyetsquatting on
the floorI went on huntinghuntinghunting for the spring of
the invisible door...especially as it was dangerous to remain
in the forest as evening drew nigh. Already the shades of night
were beginning to surround us. It had happened very quickly:
night falls quickly in tropical countries...suddenlywith hardly
any twilight.


Now nightin the forests of the equatoris always dangerous
particularly whenlike ourselvesone has not the materials for a
fire to keep off the beasts of prey. I did indeed try for a moment
to break off the brancheswhich I would have lit with my dark lantern
but I knocked myself also against the mirrors and remembered
in timethat we had only images of branches to do with.


The heat did not go with the daylight; on the contraryit was now
still hotter under the blue rays of the moon. I urged the viscount
to hold our weapons ready to fire and not to stray from camp
while I went on looking for my spring.


Suddenlywe heard a lion roaring a few yards away.


Oh,whispered the viscounthe is quite close!...Don't you
see him?...There...through the trees...in that thicket!
If he roars again, I will fire!...


And the roaring began againlouder than before. And the viscount fired
but I do not think that he hit the lion; onlyhe smashed a mirror
as I perceived the next morningat daybreak. We must have covered
a good distance during the nightfor we suddenly found ourselves on
the edge of the desertan immense desert of sandstones and rocks.
It was really not worth while leaving the forest to come upon
the desert. Tired outI flung myself down beside the viscount
for I had had enough of looking for springs which I could not find.


I was quite surprised--and I said so to the viscount--that we
had encountered no other dangerous animals during the night.
Usuallyafter the lion came the leopard and sometimes the buzz
of the tsetse fly. These were easily obtained effects; and I
explained to M. de Chagny that Erik imitated the roar of a lion
on a long tabour or timbrelwith an ass's skin at one end.
Over this skin he tied a string of catgutwhich was fastened
at the middle to another similar string passing through the whole
length of the tabour. Erik had only to rub this string with a glove
smeared with resin andaccording to the manner in which he rubbed it
he imitated to perfection the voice of the lion or the leopard
or even the buzzing of the tsetse fly.


The idea that Erik was probably in the room beside usworking his trick



made me suddenly resolve to enter into a parley with himfor we
must obviously give up all thought of taking him by surprise.
And by this time he must be quite aware who were the occupants
of his torture-chamber. I called him: "Erik! Erik!"

I shouted as loudly as I could across the desertbut there was no answer
to my voice. All around us lay the silence and the bare immensity of that
stony desert. What was to become of us in the midst of that awful solitude?

We were beginning literally to die of heathunger and thirst...
of thirst especially. At lastI saw M. de Chagny raise himself
on his elbow and point to a spot on the horizon. He had discovered
an oasis!

Yesfar in the distance was an oasis...an oasis with limpid water
which reflected the iron trees!...Tushit was the scene of
the mirage....I recognized it at once...the worst of the
three!...No one had been able to fight against it...no one.
...I did my utmost to keep my head AND NOT TO HOPE FOR WATER
because I knew thatif a man hoped for waterthe water that
reflected the iron treeand ifafter hoping for waterhe struck
against the mirrorthen there was only one thing for him to do:
to hang himself on the iron tree!

So I cried to M. de Chagny:

It's the mirage!...It's the mirage!...Don't believe
in the water!...It's another trick of the mirrors!...

Then he flatly told me to shut upwith my tricks of the mirrors
my springsmy revolving doors and my palaces of illusions!
He angrily declared that I must be either blind or mad to imagine
that all that water flowing over thereamong those splendid
numberless treeswas not real water!...And the desert was real!
...And so was the forest!...And it was no use trying to take
him in...he was an oldexperienced traveler...he had been
all over the place!

And he dragged himself alongsaying: "Water! Water!"

And his mouth was openas though he were drinking.

And my mouth was open tooas though I were drinking.

For we not only saw the waterbut WE HEARD IT!...We heard
it flowwe heard it ripple!...Do you understand that word
ripple?...IT IS A SOUND WHICH YOU HEAR WITH YOUR TONGUE!
...You put your tongue out of your mouth to listen to it better!

Lastly--and this was the most pitiless torture of all--we heard
the rain and it was not raining! This was an infernal invention.
...OhI knew well enough how Erik obtained it! He filled
with little stones a very long and narrow boxbroken up inside
with wooden and metal projections. The stonesin falling
struck against these projections and rebounded from one to another;
and the result was a series of pattering sounds that exactly imitated
a rainstorm.

Ahyou should have seen us putting out our tongues and dragging ourselves
toward the rippling river-bank! Our eyes and ears were full of water
but our tongues were hard and dry as horn!

When we reached the mirrorM.de Chagny licked it...and I
also licked the glass.


It was burning hot!

Then we rolled on the floor with a hoarse cry of despair.

M. de Chagny put the one pistol that was still loaded to his temple;
and I stared at the Punjab lasso at the foot of the iron tree.
I knew why the iron tree had returnedin this third change of scene!...
The iron tree was waiting for me!...
Butas I stared at the Punjab lassoI saw a thing that made me
start so violently that M. de Chagny delayed his attempt at suicide.
I took his arm. And then I caught the pistol from him...and then
I dragged myself on my knees toward what I had seen.


I had discoverednear the Punjab lassoin a groove in the floor
a black-headed nail of which I knew the use. At last I had discovered
the spring! I felt the nail....I lifted a radiant face to


M. de Chagny....The black-headed nail yielded to my pressure....
And then....

And then we saw not a door opened in the wallbut a cellar-flap
released in the floor. Cool air came up to us from the black
hole below. We stooped over that square of darkness as though over
a limpid well. With our chins in the cool shadewe drank it in.
And we bent lower and lower over the trap-door. What could there
be in that cellar which opened before us? Water? Water to drink?

I thrust my arm into the darkness and came upon a stone and another
stone...a staircase...a dark staircase leading into the cellar.
The viscount wanted to fling himself down the hole; but I
fearing a new trick of the monster'sstopped himturned on
my dark lantern and went down first.

The staircase was a winding one and led down into pitchy darkness.
But ohhow deliciously cool were the darkness and the stairs?
The lake could not be far away.

We soon reached the bottom. Our eyes were beginning to accustom
themselves to the darkto distinguish shapes around us...
circular shapes...on which I turned the light of my lantern.

Barrels!

We were in Erik's cellar: it was here that he must keep his wine
and perhaps his drinking-water. I knew that Erik was a great lover
of good wine. Ahthere was plenty to drink here!

M. de Chagny patted the round shapes and kept on saying:
Barrels! Barrels! What a lot of barrels!...

Indeedthere was quite a number of themsymmetrically arranged
in two rowsone on either side of us. They were small barrels
and I thought that Erik must have selected them of that size
to facilitate their carriage to the house on the lake.

We examined them successivelyto see if one of them had not
a funnelshowing that it had been tapped at some time or another.
But all the barrels were hermetically closed.

Thenafter half lifting one to make sure it was fullwe went
on our knees andwith the blade of a small knife which I carried
I prepared to stave in the bung-hole.


At that momentI seemed to hearcoming from very fara sort
of monotonous chant which I knew wellfrom often hearing it
in the streets of Paris:


Barrels!...Barrels!...Any barrels to sell?


My hand desisted from its work. M. de Chagny had also heard.
He said:


That's funny! It sounds as if the barrel were singing!"


The song was renewedfarther away:


Barrels!...Barrels!...Any barrels to sell?...


Oh, I swear,said the viscountthat the tune dies away
in the barrel!...


We stood up and went to look behind the barrel.


It's inside,said M. de Chagnyit's inside!


But we heard nothing there and were driven to accuse the bad condition
of our senses. And we returned to the bung-hole. M. de Chagny
put his two hands together underneath it andwith a last effort
I burst the bung.


What's this?cried the viscount. "This isn't water!"


The viscount put his two full hands close to my lantern....I
stooped to look...and at once threw away the lantern with such
violence that it broke and went outleaving us in utter darkness.


What I had seen in M. de Chagny's hands...was gun-powder!


Chapter XXV The Scorpion or the Grasshopper: Which?


THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONCLUDED


The discovery flung us into a state of alarm that made us forget all
our past and present sufferings. We now knew all that the monster
meant to convey when he said to Christine Daae:


Yes or no! If your answer is no, everybody will be dead AND BURIED!


Yesburied under the ruins of the Paris Grand Opera!


The monster had given her until eleven o'clock in the evening.
He had chosen his time well. There would be many peoplemany
members of the human race,up therein the resplendent theater.
What finer retinue could be expected for his funeral? He would go
down to the tomb escorted by the whitest shoulders in the world
decked with the richest jewels.


Eleven o'clock to-morrow evening!


We were all to be blown up in the middle of the performance...
if Christine Daae said no!


Eleven o'clock to-morrow evening!...



And what else could Christine say but no? Would she not prefer
to espouse death itself rather than that living corpse? She did
not know that on her acceptance or refusal depended the awful fate
of many members of the human race!


Eleven o'clock to-morrow evening!


And we dragged ourselves through the darknessfeeling our way
to the stone stepsfor the light in the trap-door overhead that
led to the room of mirrors was now extinguished; and we repeated
to ourselves:


Eleven o'clock to-morrow evening!


At lastI found the staircase. Butsuddenly I drew myself up
on the first stepfor a terrible thought had come to my mind:


What is the time?


Ahwhat was the time?...Forafter alleleven o'clock to-morrow
evening might be nowmight be this very moment! Who could tell us
the time? We seemed to have been imprisoned in that hell for days
and days...for years...since the beginning of the world.
Perhaps we should be blown up then and there! Aha sound! A crack!
Did you hear that?...There, in the corner...good heavens!...
Like a sound of machinery!...Again!...Oh, for a light!...
Perhaps it's the machinery that is to blow everything up!...
I tell you, a cracking sound: are you deaf?


M. de Chagny and I began to yell like madmen. Fear spurred us on.
We rushed up the treads of the staircasestumbling as we went
anything to escape the darkto return to the mortal light of the room
of mirrors!
We found the trap-door still openbut it was now as dark
in the room of mirrors as in the cellar which we had left.
We dragged ourselves along the floor of the torture-chamberthe floor
that separated us from the powder-magazine. What was the time?
We shoutedwe called: M. de Chagny to ChristineI to Erik.
I reminded him that I had saved his life. But no answersave that
of our despairof our madness: what was the time? We argued
we tried to calculate the time which we had spent therebut we were
incapable of reasoning. If only we could see the face of a watch!...
Mine had stoppedbut M. de Chagny's was still going...
He told me that he had wound it up before dressing for the Opera....
We had not a match upon us....And yet we must know....


M. de Chagny broke the glass of his watch and felt the two hands.
...He questioned the hands of the watch with his finger-tips
going by the position of the ring of the watch....Judging
by the space between the handshe thought it might be just eleven
o'clock!
But perhaps it was not the eleven o'clock of which we stood in dread.
Perhaps we had still twelve hours before us!

SuddenlyI exclaimed: "Hush!"

I seemed to hear footsteps in the next room. Some one tapped
against the wall. Christine Daae's voice said:

Raoul! Raoul!We were now all talking at onceon either side
of the wall. Christine sobbed; she was not sure that she would
find M. de Chagny alive. The monster had been terribleit seemed


had done nothing but ravewaiting for her to give him the "yes"
which she refused. And yet she had promised him that "yes if he
would take her to the torture-chamber. But he had obstinately declined,
and had uttered hideous threats against all the members of the
human race! At last, after hours and hours of that hell, he had
that moment gone out, leaving her alone to reflect for the last time.


Hours and hours? What is the time now? What is the timeChristine?"


It is eleven o'clock! Eleven o'clock, all but five minutes!


But which eleven o'clock?


The eleven o'clock that is to decide life or death!...He told me
so just before he went....He is terrible....He is quite mad:
he tore off his mask and his yellow eyes shot flames!...He did
nothing but laugh!...He said, `I give you five minutes to spare
your blushes! Here,' he said, taking a key from the little bag
of life and death, `here is the little bronze key that opens the two
ebony caskets on the mantelpiece in the Louis-Philippe room.
...In one of the caskets, you will find a scorpion, in the other,
a grasshopper, both very cleverly imitated in Japanese bronze:
they will say yes or no for you. If you turn the scorpion round,
that will mean to me, when I return, that you have said yes.
The grasshopper will mean no.' And he laughed like a drunken demon.
I did nothing but beg and entreat him to give me the key of
the torture-chamber, promising to be his wife if he granted me
that request....But he told me that there was no future need
for that key and that he was going to throw it into the lake!...
And he again laughed like a drunken demon and left me. Oh, his last
words were, `The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper!
A grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops
jolly high!'


The five minutes had nearly elapsed and the scorpion and the grasshopper
were scratching at my brain. NeverthelessI had sufficient
lucidity left to understand thatif the grasshopper were turned
it would hop...and with it many members of the human race!
There was no doubt but that the grasshopper controlled an electric
current intended to blow up the powder-magazine!


M. de Chagnywho seemed to have recovered all his moral force
from hearing Christine's voiceexplained to herin a few
hurried wordsthe situation in which we and all the Opera were.
He told her to turn the scorpion at once.
There was a pause.


Christine,I criedwhere are you?


By the scorpion.


Don't touch it!


The idea had come to me--for I knew my Erik--that the monster had
perhaps deceived the girl once more. Perhaps it was the scorpion
that would blow everything up. After allwhy wasn't he there?
The five minutes were long past...and he was not back.
...Perhaps he had taken shelter and was waiting for the explosion!
...Why had he not returned?...He could not really expect
Christine ever to consent to become his voluntary prey!...Why
had he not returned?


Don't touch the scorpion!I said.



Here he comes!cried Christine. "I hear him! Here he is!"


We heard his steps approaching the Louis-Philippe room. He came
up to Christinebut did not speak. Then I raised my voice:


Erik! It is I! Do you know me?


With extraordinary calmnesshe at once replied:


So you are not dead in there? Well, then, see that you keep quiet.


I tried to speakbut he said coldly:


Not a word, daroga, or I shall blow everything up.And he added
The honor rests with mademoiselle....Mademoiselle has not
touched the scorpion--how deliberately he spoke!--"mademoiselle
has not touched the grasshopper"--with that composure!--"but it
is not too late to do the right thing. ThereI open the caskets
without a keyfor I am a trap-door lover and I open and shut
what I please and as I please. I open the little ebony caskets:
mademoisellelook at the little dears inside. Aren't they pretty?
If you turn the grasshoppermademoisellewe shall all be blown up.
There is enough gun-powder under our feet to blow up a whole quarter
of Paris. If you turn the scorpionmademoiselleall that powder
will be soaked and drowned. Mademoiselleto celebrate our wedding
you shall make a very handsome present to a few hundred Parisians
who are at this moment applauding a poor masterpiece of Meyerbeer's
...you shall make them a present of their lives....For
with your own fair handsyou shall turn the scorpion....
And merrilymerrilywe will be married!"


A pause; and then:


If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion,
I shall turn the grasshopper...and the grasshopper, I tell you,
HOPS JOLLY HIGH!


The terrible silence began anew. The Vicomte de Chagny
realizing that there was nothing left to do but praywent down
on his knees and prayed. As for memy blood beat so fiercely
that I had to take my heart in both handslest it should burst.
At lastwe heard Erik's voice:


The two minutes are past....Good-by, mademoiselle.
...Hop, grasshopper! Erik cried Christine, do you swear
to memonsterdo you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn?


Yes, to hop at our wedding.


Ah, you see! You said, to hop!


At our wedding, ingenuous child!...The scorpion opens the ball.
...But that will do!...You won't have the scorpion? Then I
turn the grasshopper!


Erik!


Enough!


I was crying out in concert with Christine. M. de Chagny was still
on his kneespraying.


Erik! I have turned the scorpion!



Ohthe second through which we passed!


Waiting! Waiting to find ourselves in fragmentsamid the roar
and the ruins!


Feeling something crack beneath our feethearing an appalling hiss
through the open trap-doora hiss like the first sound of a rocket!


It came softlyat firstthen louderthen very loud. But it
was not the hiss of fire. It was more like the hiss of water.
And now it became a gurgling sound: "Guggle! Guggle!"


We rushed to the trap-door. All our thirstwhich vanished when
the terror camenow returned with the lapping of the water.


The water rose in the cellarabove the barrelsthe powder-barrels--"Barrels!
...Barrels! Any barrels to sell?"--and we went down to it
with parched throats. It rose to our chinsto our mouths.
And we drank. We stood on the floor of the cellar and drank. And
we went up the stairs again in the darkstep by stepwent up with the water.


The water came out of the cellar with us and spread over the floor
of the room. Ifthis went onthe whole house on the lake would
be swamped. Thefloor of the torture-chamber had itself become
a regular little lakein which our feet splashed. Surely there
was water enough now! Erik must turn off the tap!


Erik! Erik! That is water enough for the gunpowder! Turn off
the tap! Turn off the scorpion!


But Erik did not reply. We heard nothing but the water rising:
it was half-way to our waists!


Christine!cried M. de Chagny. "Christine! The water is up
to our knees!"


But Christine did not reply....We heard nothing but the water rising.


No oneno one in the next roomno one to turn the tapno one
to turn the scorpion!


We were all alonein the darkwith the dark water that seized us
and clasped us and froze us!


Erik! Erik!


Christine! Christine!


By this timewe had lost our foothold and were spinning round
in the watercarried away by an irresistible whirlfor the water
turned with us and dashed us against the dark mirrorwhich thrust
us back again; and our throatsraised above the whirlpool
roared aloud.


Were we to die heredrowned in the torture-chamber? I had never
seen that. Erikat the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan
had never shown me thatthrough the little invisible window.


Erik! Erik!I cried. "I saved your life! Remember!...You
were sentenced to death! But for meyou would be dead now!...
Erik!"


We whirled around in the water like so much wreckage.



Butsuddenlymy straying hands seized the trunk of the iron tree!
I called M. de Chagnyand we both hung to the branch of the iron tree.


And the water rose still higher.


Oh! Oh! Can you remember? How much space is there between the branch
of the tree and the dome-shaped ceiling? Do try to remember!...
After all, the water may stop, it must find its level!...There,
I think it is stopping!...No, no, oh, horrible!...Swim!
Swim for your life!


Our arms became entangled in the effort of swimming; we choked;
we fought in the dark water; already we could hardly breathe the dark
air above the dark waterthe air which escapedwhich we could hear
escaping through some vent-hole or other.


Oh, let us turn and turn and turn until we find the air hole
and then glue our mouths to it!


But I lost my strength; I tried to lay hold of the walls!
Ohhow those glass walls slipped from under my groping
fingers!...We whirled round again!...We began to sink!
...One last effort!...A last cry: "Erik!...Christine!..."


Guggle, guggle, guggle!in our ears. "Guggle! Guggle!" At the
bottom of the dark waterour ears wentGuggle! Guggle!


Andbefore losing consciousness entirelyI seemed to hear
between two guggles:


Barrels! Barrels! Any barrels to sell?


Chapter XXVI The End of the Ghost's Love Story


The previous chapter marks the conclusion of the written narrative
which the Persian left behind him.


Notwithstanding the horrors of a situation which seemed definitely
to abandon them to their deathsM. de Chagny and his companion
were saved by the sublime devotion of Christine Daae. And I
had the rest of the story from the lips of the daroga himself.


When I went to see himhe was still living in his little flat
in the Rue de Rivoliopposite the Tuileries. He was very ill
and it required all my ardor as an historian pledged to the truth to
persuade him to live the incredible tragedy over again for my benefit.
His faithful old servant Darius showed me in to him. The daroga
received me at a window overlooking the garden of the Tuileries.
He still had his magnificent eyesbut his poor face looked very worn.
He had shaved the whole of his headwhich was usually covered with
an astrakhan cap; he was dressed in a longplain coat and amused
himself by unconsciously twisting his thumbs inside the sleeves;
but his mind was quite clearand he told me his story with
perfect lucidity.


It seems thatwhen he opened his eyesthe daroga found himself
lying on a bed. M. de Chagny was on a sofabeside the wardrobe.
An angel and a devil were watching over them.


After the deceptions and illusions of the torture-chamberthe precision
of the details of that quiet little middle-class room seemed to have



been invented for the express purpose of puzzling the mind of the
mortal rash enough to stray into that abode of living nightmare.
The wooden bedsteadthe waxed mahogany chairsthe chest of drawers
those brassesthe little square antimacassars carefully placed
on the backs of the chairsthe clock on the mantelpiece and the
harmless-looking ebony caskets at either endlastlythe whatnot
filled with shellswith red pin-cushionswith mother-of-pearl boats
and an enormous ostrich-eggthe whole discreetly lighted by a shaded
lamp standing on a small round table: this collection of ugly
peaceablereasonable furnitureAT THE BOTTOM OF THE OPERA CELLARS
bewildered the imagination more than all the late fantastic happenings.


And the figure of the masked man seemed all the more formidable
in this old-fashionedneat and trim little frame. It bent down
over the Persian and saidin his ear:


Are you better, daroga?...You are looking at my furniture?...
It is all that I have left of my poor unhappy mother.


Christine Daae did not say a word: she moved about noiselessly
like a sister of charitywho had taken a vow of silence.
She brought a cup of cordialor of hot teahe did not remember which.
The man in the mask took it from her hands and gave it to the Persian.


M. de Chagny was still sleeping.
Erik poured a drop of rum into the daroga's cup andpointing to
the viscountsaid:

He came to himself long before we knew if you were still alive,
daroga. He is quite well. He is asleep. We must not wake him.

Erik left the room for a momentand the Persian raised himself
on his elbowlooked around him and saw Christine Daae sitting
by the fireside. He spoke to hercalled herbut he was
still very weak and fell back on his pillow. Christine came
to himlaid her hand on his forehead and went away again.
And the Persian remembered thatas she wentshe did not give
a glance at M. de Chagnywhoit is truewas sleeping peacefully;
and she sat down again in her chair by the chimney-corner
silent as a sister of charity who had taken a vow of silence.

Erik returned with some little bottles which he placed on
the mantelpiece. Andagain in a whisperso as not to wake M. de
Chagnyhe said to the Persianafter sitting down and feeling his pulse:

You are now saved, both of you. And soon I shall take you up
to the surface of the earth, TO PLEASE MY WIFE.

Thereupon he rosewithout any further explanationand disappeared
once more.

The Persian now looked at Christine's quiet profile under the lamp.
She was reading a tiny bookwith gilt edgeslike a religious book.
There are editions of THE IMITATION that look like that. The Persian
still had in his ears the natural tone in which the other had said
to please my wife.Very gentlyhe called her again; but Christine
was wrapped up in her book and did not hear him.

Erik returnedmixed the daroga a draft and advised him not to speak to
his wifeagain nor to any oneBECAUSE IT MIGHT BE VERY DANGEROUS
TO EVERYBODY'S HEALTH.

Eventuallythe Persian fell asleeplike M. de Chagnyand did not
wake until he was in his own roomnursed by his faithful Darius


who told him thaton the night beforehe was found propped against
the door of his flatwhere he had been brought by a stranger
who rang the bell before going away.


As soon as the daroga recovered his strength and his witshe sent
to Count Philippe's house to inquire after the viscount's health.
The answer was that the young man had not been seen and that Count
Philippe was dead. His body was found on the bank of the Opera lake
on the Rue-Scribe side. The Persian remembered the requiem mass
which he had heard from behind the wall of the torture-chamber
and had no doubt concerning the crime and the criminal.
Knowing Erik as he didhe easily reconstructed the tragedy.
Thinking that his brother had run away with Christine Daae
Philippe had dashed in pursuit of him along the Brussels Road
where he knew that everything was prepared for the elopement.
Failing to find the pairhe hurried back to the Operaremembered
Raoul's strange confidence about his fantastic rival and learned
that the viscount had made every effort to enter the cellars of
the theater and that he had disappearedleaving his hat in the prima
donna's dressing-room beside an empty pistol-case. And the count
who no longer entertained any doubt of his brother's madnessin his
turn darted into that infernal underground maze. This was enough
in the Persian's eyesto explain the discovery of the Comte
de Chagny's corpse on the shore of the lakewhere the siren
Erik's sirenkept watch.


The Persian did not hesitate. He determined to inform the police.
Now the case was in the hands of an examining-magistrate called Faure
an incredulouscommonplacesuperficial sort of person(I write
as I think)with a mind utterly unprepared to receive a confidence
of this kind. M. Faure took down the daroga's depositions and
proceeded to treat him as a madman.


Despairing of ever obtaining a hearingthe Persian sat down to write.
As the police did not want his evidenceperhaps the press would be
glad of it; and he had just written the last line of the narrative
I have quoted in the preceding chapterswhen Darius announced
the visit of a stranger who refused his namewho would not show
his face and declared simply that he did not intend to leave
the place until he had spoken to the daroga.


The Persian at once felt who his singular visitor was and ordered
him to be shown in. The daroga was right. It was the ghost
it was Erik!


He looked extremely weak and leaned against the wallas though he
were afraid of falling. Taking off his hathe revealed a forehead
white as wax. The rest of the horrible face was hidden by the mask.


The Persian rose to his feet as Erik entered.


Murderer of Count Philippe, what have you done with his brother
and Christine Daae?


Erik staggered under this direct attackkept silent for a moment
dragged himself to a chair and heaved a deep sigh. Thenspeaking in
short phrases and gasping for breath between the words:


Daroga, don't talk to me...about Count Philippe....He was dead...
by the time...I left my house...he was dead... when...
the siren sang....It was an...accident...a sad...a very sad
...accident. He fell very awkwardly... but simply and naturally...
into the lake!...



You lie!shouted the Persian.

Erik bowed his head and said:

I have not come here...to talk about Count Philippe...
but to tell you that...I am going...to die. ...


Where are Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae?


I am going to die.


Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae?"


Of love...daroga...I am dying...of love...That is how it is....
loved her so!...And I love her still...daroga...and I am dying
of love for her, I...I tell you!...If you knew how beautiful she was...
when she let me kiss her...alive...It was the first...time, daroga,
the first...time I ever kissed a woman.... Yes, alive....I kissed her alive
...and she looked as beautiful as if she had been dead!


The Persian shook Erik by the arm:


Will you tell me if she is alive or dead."


Why do you shake me like that?asked Erikmaking an effort
to speak more connectedly. "I tell you that I am going to die.
...YesI kissed her alive...."


And now she is dead?


I tell you I kissed her just like that, on her forehead...
and she did not draw back her forehead from my lips!...Oh,
she is a good girl!...As to her being dead, I don't think so;
but it has nothing to do with me....No, no, she is not dead!
And no one shall touch a hair of her head! She is a good,
honest girl, and she saved your life, daroga, at a moment when I
would not have given twopence for your Persian skin. As a matter
of fact, nobody bothered about you. Why were you there with
that little chap? You would have died as well as he! My word,
how she entreated me for her little chap! But I told her that,
as she had turned the scorpion, she had, through that very fact,
and of her own free will, become engaged to me and that she did
not need to have two men engaged to her, which was true enough.


As for youyou did not existyou had ceased to existI tell you
and you were going to die with the other!...Onlymark me
darogawhen you were yelling like the devilbecause of the water
Christine came to me with her beautiful blue eyes wide openand swore
to meas she hoped to be savedthat she consented to be MY LIVING
WIFE!...Until thenin the depths of her eyesdarogaI had
always seen my dead wife; it was the first time I saw MY LIVING
WIFE there. She was sincereas she hoped to be saved. She would
not kill herself. It was a bargain....Half a minute later
all the water was back in the lake; and I had a hard job with you
darogaforupon my honorI thought you were done for!...
However!...There you were!...It was understood that I was
to take you both up to the surface of the earth. Whenat last
I cleared the Louis-Philippe room of youI came back alone...."


What have you done with the Vicomte de Chagny?asked the Persian
interrupting him.


Ah, you see, daroga, I couldn't carry HIM up like that, at once.
...He was a hostage....But I could not keep him in the house on



the lake, either, because of Christine; so I locked him up comfortably,
I chained him up nicely--a whiff of the Mazenderan scent had left him
as limp as a rag--in the Communists' dungeon, which is in the most
deserted and remote part of the Opera, below the fifth cellar,
where no one ever comes, and where no one ever hears you.
Then I came back to Christine, she was waiting for me.


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:


Yesshe was waiting for me...waiting for me erect and alive
a realliving bride...as she hoped to be saved....And
when I...came forwardmore timid than...a little child
she did not run away...nono...she stayed...she waited
for me....I even believe...daroga...that she put out
her forehead...a little...ohnot much...just a little...
like a living bride....And...and...I...kissed her!...
I!...I!...I!...And she did not die!...Ohhow good it is
darogato kiss somebody on the forehead!...You can't tell!...
But I! I!...My motherdarogamy poorunhappy mother would never
...let me kiss her....She used to run away...and throw me my mask!
...Nor any other woman...everever!...Ahyou can understand
my happiness was so greatI cried. And I fell at her feetcrying
...and I kissed her feet...her little feet...crying. You're cryingtoo
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 manwhowith his shoulders shaking
and his hands clutched at his chestwas 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 chairchoking 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 himfor he was choking and must take off his mask.
The daroga went to the window and opened it. His heart was full
of pitybut he took care to keep his eyes fixed on the trees in
the Tuileries gardenslest he should see the monster's face.



I went and released the young man,Erik continuedand told
him to come with me to Christine....They kissed before me
in the Louis-Philippe room....Christine had my ring....
I made Christine swear to come back, one night, when I was dead,
crossing the lake from the Rue-Scribe side, and bury me in the greatest
secrecy with the gold ring, which she was to wear until that moment.
...I told her where she would find my body and what to do with it.
...Then Christine kissed me, for the first time, herself, here,
on the forehead--don't look, daroga!--here, on the forehead...on
my forehead, mine--don't look, daroga!--and they went off together.
...Christine had stopped crying....I alone cried....Daroga, daroga,
if Christine keeps her promise, she will come back soon!...

The Persian asked him no questions. He was quite reassured
as to the fate of Raoul Chagny and Christine Daae; no one could
have doubted the word of the weeping Erik that night.

The monster resumed his mask and collected his strength to leave
the daroga. He told him thatwhen he felt his end to be very
near at handhe would send himin gratitude for the kindness
which the Persian had once shown himthat which he held dearest
in the world: all Christine Daae's paperswhich she had written
for Raoul's benefit and left with Eriktogether with a few
objects belonging to hersuch as a pair of glovesa shoe-buckle
and two pocket-handkerchiefs. In reply to the Persian's questions
Erik told him that the two young peopleat soon as they found
themselves freehad resolved to go and look for a priest in some
lonely spot where they could hide their happiness and that
with this object in viewthey had started from "the northern
railway station of the world." LastlyErik relied on the Persian
as soon as he received the promised relics and papersto inform
the young couple of his death and to advertise it in the EPOQUE.

That was all. The Persian saw Erik to the door of his flat
and Darius helped him down to the street. A cab was waiting for him.
Erik stepped in; and the Persianwho had gone back to the window
heard him say to the driver:

Go to the Opera.

And the cab drove off into the night.

The Persian had seen the poorunfortunate Erik for the last time.
Three weeks laterthe Epoque published this advertisement:

Erik is dead.

Epilogue.

I have now told the singularbut veracious story of the Opera ghost.
As I declared on the first page of this workit is no longer possible
to deny that Erik really lived. There are to-day so many proofs
of his existence within the reach of everybody that we can follow
Erik's actions logically through the whole tragedy of the Chagnys.

There is no need to repeat here how greatly the case excited the capital.
The kidnapping of the artistthe death of the Comte de Chagny
under such exceptional conditionsthe disappearance of his brother
the drugging of the gas-man at the Opera and of his two assistants:
what tragedieswhat passionswhat crimes had surrounded the idyll


of Raoul and the sweet and charming Christine!...What had become
of that wonderfulmysterious artist of whom the world was never
never to hear again?...She was represented as the victim of a
rivalry between the two brothers; and nobody suspected what had
really happenednobody understood thatas Raoul and Christine
had both disappearedboth had withdrawn far from the world to
enjoy a happiness which they would not have cared to make public
after the inexplicable death of Count Philippe....They took
the train one day from "the northern railway station of the world."
...PossiblyI too shall take the train at that stationone day
and go and seek around thy lakesO NorwayO silent Scandinavia
for the perhaps still living traces of Raoul and Christine and also
of Mamma Valeriuswho disappeared at the same time!...Possibly
some dayI shall hear the lonely echoes of the North repeat
the singing of her who knew the Angel of Music!...

Long after the case was pigeonholed by the unintelligent care
of M. le Juge d'Instruction Faurethe newspapers made efforts
at intervalsto fathom the mystery. One evening paper alone
which knew all the gossip of the theaterssaid:

We recognize the touch of the Opera ghost.

And even that was written by way of irony.

The Persian alone knew the whole truth and held the main proofs
which came to him with the pious relics promised by the ghost. It fell
to my lot to complete those proofs with the aid of the daroga himself.
Day by dayI kept him informed of the progress of my inquiries;
and he directed them. He had not been to the Opera for years and years
but he had preserved the most accurate recollection of the building
and there was no better guide than he possible to help me discover
its most secret recesses. He also told me where to gather further
informationwhom to ask; and he sent me to call on M. Poligny
at a moment when the poor man was nearly drawing his last breath.
I had no idea that he was so very illand I shall never forget
the effect which my questions about the ghost produced upon him.
He looked at me as if I were the devil and answered only in a few
incoherent sentenceswhich showedhowever--and that was the main thing-the
extent of the perturbation which O. G.in his timehad brought
into that already very restless life (for M. Poligny was what people
call a man of pleasure).

When I came and told the Persian of the poor result of my visit
to M. Polignythe daroga gave a faint smile and said:

Poligny never knew how far that extraordinary blackguard of an Erik
humbugged him.--The Persianby the wayspoke of Erik sometimes
as a demigod and sometimes as the lowest of the low--"Poligny
was superstitious and Erik knew it. Erik knew most things about
the public and private affairs of the Opera. When M. Poligny heard
a mysterious voice tell himin Box Fiveof the manner in which he
used to spend his time and abuse his partner's confidencehe did
not wait to hear any more. Thinking at first that it was a voice
from Heavenhe believed himself damned; and thenwhen the voice
began to ask for moneyhe saw that he was being victimized by a
shrewd blackmailer to whom Debienne himself had fallen a prey.
Both of themalready tired of management for various reasons
went away without trying to investigate further into the personality
of that curious O. G.who had forced such a singular memorandum-book
upon them. They bequeathed the whole mystery to their successors
and heaved a sigh of relief when they were rid of a business
that had puzzled them without amusing them in the least."


I then spoke of the two successors and expressed my surprise that
in his Memoirs of a ManagerM. Moncharmin should describe the Opera
ghost's behavior at such length in the first part of the book and hardly
mention it at all in the second. In reply to thisthe Persian
who knew the MEMOIRS as thoroughly as if he had written them himself
observed that I should find the explanation of the whole business
if I would just recollect the few lines which Moncharmin devotes
to the ghost in the second part aforesaid. I quote these lines
which are particularly interesting because they describe the very
simple manner in which the famous incident of the twenty-thousand
francs was closed:


As for O. G., some of whose curious tricks I have related in the
first part of my Memoirs, I will only say that he redeemed by one
spontaneous fine action all the worry which he had caused my dear
friend and partner and, I am bound to say, myself. He felt, no doubt,
that there are limits to a joke, especially when it is so expensive
and when the commissary of police has been informed, for, at the moment
when we had made an appointment in our office with M. Mifroid to tell him
the whole story, a few days after the disappearance of Christine Daae,
we found, on Richard's table, a large envelope, inscribed, in red ink,
WITH O. G.'S COMPLIMENTS." It contained the large sum of money
which he had succeeded in playfully extractingfor the time being
from the treasury. Richard was at once of the opinion that we must
be content with that and drop the business. I agreed with Richard.
All's well that ends well. What do you sayO. G.?"


Of courseMoncharminespecially after the money had been restored
continued to believe that he hadfor a short whilebeen the butt
of Richard's sense of humorwhereas Richardon his side
was convinced that Moncharmin had amused himself by inventing
the whole of the affair of the Opera ghostin order to revenge
himself for a few jokes.


I asked the Persian to tell me by what trick the ghost had taken
twenty-thousand francs from Richard's pocket in spite of the
safety-pin. He replied that he had not gone into this little detail
but thatif I myself cared to make an investigation on the spot
I should certainly find the solution to the riddle in the managers'
office by remembering that Erik had not been nicknamed the trap-door
lover for nothing. I promised the Persian to do so as soon as I
had timeand I may as well tell the reader at once that the results
of my investigation were perfectly satisfactory; and I hardly
believed that I should ever discover so many undeniable proofs
of the authenticity of the feats ascribed to the ghost.


The Persian's manuscriptChristine Daae's papersthe statements made
to me by the people who used to work under MM. Richard and Moncharmin
by little Meg herself (the worthy Madame GiryI am sorry to sayis no more)
and by Sorelliwho is now living in retirement at Louveciennes:
all the documents relating to the existence of the ghostwhich I
propose to deposit in the archives of the Operahave been checked
and confirmed by a number of important discoveries of which I am
justly proud. I have not been able to find the house on the lake
Erik having blocked up all the secret entrances.[12] On the other hand
I have discovered the secret passage of the Communiststhe planking
of which is falling to pieces in partsand also the trap-door
through which Raoul and the Persian penetrated into the cellars
of the opera-house. In the Communists' dungeonI noticed numbers of
initials traced on the walls by the unfortunate people confined in it;
and among these were an "R" and a "C." R. C.: Raoul de Chagny.
The letters are there to this day.



[12] Even soI am convinced that it would be easy to reach it
by draining the lakeas I have repeatedly requested the Ministry
of Fine Arts to do. I was speaking about it to M. Dujardin-Beaumetz
the under-secretary for fine artsonly forty-eight hours before
the publication of this book. Who knows but that the score of DON
JUAN TRIUMPHANT might yet be discovered in the house on the lake?
If the reader will visit the Opera one morning and ask leave to stroll
where he pleaseswithout being accompanied by a stupid guide
let him go to Box Five and knock with his fist or stick on
the enormous column that separates this from the stage-box. He
will find that the column sounds hollow. After thatdo not be
astonished by the suggestion that it was occupied by the voice
of the ghost: there is room inside the column for two men.
If you are surprised thatwhen the various incidents occurred
no one turned round to look at the columnyou must remember
that it presented the appearance of solid marbleand that
the voice contained in it seemed rather to come from the opposite
sideforas we have seenthe ghost was an expert ventriloquist.

The column was elaborately carved and decorated with the
sculptor's chisel; and I do not despair of one day discovering
the ornament that could be raised or lowered at willso as to admit
of the ghost's mysterious correspondence with Mme. Giry and of his generosity.

Howeverall these discoveries are nothingto my mindcompared with
that which I was able to makein the presence of the acting-manager
in the managers' officewithin a couple of inches from the desk-chair
and which consisted of a trap-doorthe width of a board in the flooring
and the length of a man's fore-arm and no longer; a trap-door that
falls back like the lid of a box; a trap-door through which I can
see a hand come and dexterously fumble at the pocket of a swallow-tail coat.

That is the way the forty-thousand francs went!.... And that also
is the way by whichthrough some trick or otherthey were returned.

Speaking about this to the PersianI said:

So we may take it, as the forty-thousand francs were returned,
that Erik was simply amusing himself with that memorandum-book
of his?

Don't you believe it!he replied. "Erik wanted money. Thinking himself
without the pale of humanityhe was restrained by no scruples and
he employed his extraordinary gifts of dexterity and imagination
which he had received by way of compensation for his extraordinary
uglinesssto prey upon his fellow-men. His reason for restoring
the forty-thousand francsof his own accordwas that he no longer
wanted it. He had relinquished his marriage with Christine Daae.
He had relinquished everything above the surface of the earth."

According to the Persian's accountErik was born in a small town
not far from Rouen. He was the son of a master-mason. He ran away at
an early age from his father's housewhere his ugliness was a subject
of horror and terror to his parents. For a timehe frequented
the fairswhere a showman exhibited him as the "living corpse."
He seems to have crossed the whole of Europefrom fair to fair
and to have completed his strange education as an artist and magician
at the very fountain-head of art and magicamong the Gipsies.
A period of Erik's life remained quite obscure. He was seen at the fair
of Nijni-Novgorodwhere he displayed himself in all his hideous glory.
He already sang as nobody on this earth had ever sung before; he practised
ventriloquism and gave displays of legerdemain so extraordinary
that the caravans returning to Asia talked about it during the whole


length of their journey. In this wayhis reputation penetrated
the walls of the palace at Mazenderanwhere the little sultana
the favorite of the Shah-in-Shahwas boring herself to death.
A dealer in fursreturning to Samarkand from Nijni-Novgorod
told of the marvels which he had seen performed in Erik's tent.
The trader was summoned to the palace and the daroga of Mazenderan
was told to question him. Next the daroga was instructed to go
and find Erik. He brought him to Persiawhere for some months
Erik's will was law. He was guilty of not a few horrorsfor he
seemed not to know the difference between good and evil. He took
part calmly in a number of political assassinations; and he turned
his diabolical inventive powers against the Emir of Afghanistan
who was at war with the Persian empire. The Shah took a liking
to him.

This was the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderanof which the daroga's
narrative has given us a glimpse. Erik had very original ideas on
the subject of architecture and thought out a palace much as a conjuror
contrives a trick-casket. The Shah ordered him to construct an edifice
of this kind. Erik did so; and the building appears to have been
so ingenious that His Majesty was able to move about in it unseen and
to disappear without a possibility of the trick's being discovered.
When the Shah-in-Shah found himself the possessor of this gem
he ordered Erik's yellow eyes to be put out. But he reflected that
even when blindErik would still be able to build so remarkable
a house for another sovereign; and also thatas long as Erik
was alivesome one would know the secret of the wonderful palace.
Erik's death was decided upontogether with that of all the laborers
who had worked under his orders. The execution of this abominable
decree devolved upon the daroga of Mazenderan. Erik had shown
him some slight services and procured him many a hearty laugh.
He saved Erik by providing him with the means of escapebut nearly
paid with his head for his generous indulgence.

Fortunately for the darogaa corpsehalf-eaten by the birds
of preywas found on the shore of the Caspian Seaand was taken
for Erik's bodybecause the daroga's friends had dressed the remains
in clothing that belonged to Erik. The daroga was let off with
the loss of the imperial favorthe confiscation of his property
and an order of perpetual banishment. As a member of the Royal House
howeverhe continued to receive a monthly pension of a few hundred
francs from the Persian treasury; and on this he came to live in Paris.

As for Erikhe went to Asia Minor and thence to Constantinople
where he entered the Sultan's employment. In explanation of the services
which he was able to render a monarch haunted by perpetual terrors
I need only say that it was Erik who constructed all the famous trap-doors
and secret chambers and mysterious strong-boxes which were found
at Yildiz-Kiosk after the last Turkish revolution. He also invented
those automatadressed like the Sultan and resembling the Sultan in
all respects[13] which made people believe that the Commander of the
Faithful was awake at one placewhenin realityhe was asleep elsewhere.

[13] See the interview of the special correspondent of the MATIN
with Mohammed-Ali Beyon the day after the entry of the Salonika
troops into Constantinople.
Of coursehe had to leave the Sultan's service for the same reasons
that made him fly from Persia: he knew too much. Thentired of
his adventurousformidable and monstrous lifehe longed to be some
one "like everybody else." And he became a contractorlike any
ordinary contractorbuilding ordinary houses with ordinary bricks.
He tendered for part of the foundations in the Opera.


His estimate was accepted. When he found himself in the cellars
of the enormous playhousehis artisticfantasticwizard nature
resumed the upper hand. Besideswas he not as ugly as ever?
He dreamed of creating for his own use a dwelling unknown
to the rest of the earthwhere he could hide from men's eyes for all time.


The reader knows and guesses the rest. It is all in keeping with
this incredible and yet veracious story. Poorunhappy Erik!
Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be "some one
like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hide his
genius OR USE IT TO PLAY TRICKS WITH, when, with an ordinary face,
he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had
a heart that could have held the empire of the world; and, in the end,
he had to content himself with a cellar. Ah, yes, we must needs
pity the Opera ghost.


I have prayed over his mortal remains, that God might show him
mercy notwithstanding his crimes. Yes, I am sure, quite sure
that I prayed beside his body, the other day, when they took it
from the spot where they were burying the phonographic records.
It was his skeleton. I did not recognize it by the ugliness of the head,
for all men are ugly when they have been dead as long as that,
but by the plain gold ring which he wore and which Christine Daae
had certainly slipped on his finger, when she came to bury him
in accordance with her promise.


The skeleton was lying near the little well, in the place where the Angel
of Music first held Christine Daae fainting in his trembling arms,
on the night when he carried her down to the cellars of the opera-house.


And, now, what do they mean to do with that skeleton? Surely they
will not bury it in the common grave!...I say that the place
of the skeleton of the Opera ghost is in the archives of the National
Academy of Music. It is no ordinary skeleton.


THE END


The Paris Opera House


THE SCENE OF GASTON LEROUX'S NOVEL, THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA"


That Mr. Leroux has usedfor the scene of his storythe Paris
Opera House as it really is and has not created a building out
of his imaginationis shown by this interesting description of it
taken from an article which appeared in Scribner's Magazine in 1879
a short time after the building was completed:


The new Opera House, commenced under the Empire and finished under
the Republic, is the most complete building of the kind in the world
and in many respects the most beautiful. No European capital
possesses an opera house so comprehensive in plan and execution,
and none can boast an edifice equally vast and splendid.


The site of the Opera House was chosen in 1861. It was determined
to lay the foundation exceptionally deep and strong. It was
well known that water would be met withbut it was impossible
to foresee at what depth or in what quantity it would be found.
Exceptional depth also was necessaryas the stage arrangements
were to be such as to admit a scene fifty feet high to be lowered



on its frame. It was therefore necessary to lay a foundation
in a soil soaked with water which should be sufficiently solid
to sustain a weight of 22000000 poundsand at the same time to be
perfectly dryas the cellars were intended for the storage
of scenery and properties. While the work was in progress
the excavation was kept free from water by means of eight pumps
worked by steam powerand in operationwithout interruption
day and nightfrom March second to October thirteenth. The floor
of the cellar was covered with a layer of concretethen with two
coats of cementanother layer of concrete and a coat of bitumen.
The wall includes an outer wall built as a coffer-dama brick wall
a coat of cementand a wall propera little over a yard thick.
After all this was done the whole was filled with waterin order
that the fluidby penetrating into the most minute interstices
might deposit a sediment which would close them more surely and
perfectly than it would be possible to do by hand. Twelve years
elapsed before the completion of the buildingand during that time
it was demonstrated that the precautions taken secured absolute
impermeability and solidity.


The events of 1870 interrupted work just as it was about to be
prosecuted most vigorously, and the new Opera House was put
to new and unexpected uses. During the siege, it was converted
into a vast military storehouse and filled with a heterogeneous
mass of goods. After the siege the building fell into the hands
of the Commune and the roof was turned into a balloon station.
The damage done, however, was slight.


The fine stone employed in the construction was brought from
quarries in SwedenScotlandItalyAlgeriaFinlandSpain
Belgium and France. While work on the exterior was in progress
the building was covered in by a wooden shellrendered transparent
by thousands of small panes of glass. In 1867 a swarm of men
supplied with hammers and axesstripped the house of its habit
and showed in all its splendor the great structure. No picture can
do justice to the rich colors of the edifice or to the harmonious
tone resulting from the skilful use of many diverse materials.
The effect of the frontage is completed by the cupola of the auditorium
topped with a cap of bronze sparingly adorned with gilding.
Farther onon a level with the towers of Notre-Dameis the gable
end of the roof of the stagea `Pegasus'by M. Lequesne
rising at either end of the roofand a bronze group by M. Millet
representing `Apollo lifting his golden lyre'commanding the apex.
Apolloit may here be mentionedis useful as well as ornamental
for his lyre is tipped with a metal point which does duty as a
lightning-rodand conducts the fluid to the body and down the nether
limbs of the god.


The spectator, having climbed ten steps and left behind him a gateway,
reaches a vestibule in which are statues of Lully, Rameau, Gluck,
and Handel. Ten steps of green Swedish marble lead to a second vestibule
for ticket-sellers. Visitors who enter by the pavilion reserved for
carriages pass through a hallway where ticket offices are situated.
The larger number of the audience, before entering the auditorium,
traverse a large circular vestibule located exactly beneath it.
The ceiling of this portion of the building is upheld by sixteen fluted
columns of Jura stone, with white marble capitals, forming a portico.
Here servants are to await their masters, and spectators may remain
until their carriages are summoned. The third entrance, which is
quite distinct from the others, is reserved for the Executive.
The section of the building set aside for the use of the Emperor
Napoleon was to have included an antechamber for the bodyguards;
a salon for the aides-de-camp; a large salon and a smaller one
for the Empress; hat and cloak rooms, etc. Moreover, there were



to be in close proximity to the entrance, stables for three coaches,
for the outriders' horses, and for the twenty-one horsemen acting
as an escort; a station for a squad of infantry of thirty-one men
and ten cent-gardes, and a stable for the horses of the latter;
and, besides, a salon for fifteen or twenty domestics. Thus arrangements
had to be made to accommodate in this part of the building about
one hundred persons, fifty horses, and half-a-dozen carriages.
The fall of the Empire suggested some changes, but ample provision
still exists for emergencies.

Its novel conceptionperfect fitnessand rare splendor of material
make the grand stairway unquestionably one of the most remarkable
features of the building. It presents to the spectatorwho has
just passed through the subscribers' paviliona gorgeous picture.
From this point he beholds the ceiling formed by the central landing;
this and the columns sustaining itbuilt of Echaillon stone
are honeycombed with arabesques and heavy with ornaments;
the steps are of white marbleand antique red marble balusters
rest on green marble sockets and support a balustrade of onyx.
To the right and to the left of this landing are stairways to the floor
on a plane with the first row of boxes. On this floor stand thirty
monolith columns of Sarrancolin marblewith white marble bases
and capitals. Pilasters of peach-blossom and violet stone are against
the corresponding walls. More than fifty blocks had to be extracted
from the quarry to find thirty perfect monoliths.

The foyer de la danse has particular interest for the habitues
of the Opera. It is a place of reunion to which subscribers to three
performances a week are admitted between the acts in accordance
with a usage established in 1870. Three immense looking-glasses
cover the back wall of the FOYER, and a chandelier with one
hundred and seven burners supplies it with light. The paintings
include twenty oval medallions, in which are portrayed the twenty
danseuses of most celebrity since the opera has existed in France,
and four panels by M. Boulanger, typifying `The War Dance', `The
Rustic Dance', `The Dance of Love' and `The Bacchic Dance.'
While the ladies of the ballet receive their admirers in this foyer,
they can practise their steps. Velvet-cushioned bars have to this
end been secured at convenient points, and the floor has been given
the same slope as that of the stage, so that the labor expended
may be thoroughly profitable to the performance. The singers' foyer,
on the same floor, is a much less lively resort than the
foyer de la danse, as vocalists rarely leave their dressing-rooms
before they are summoned to the stage. Thirty panels with portraits
of the artists of repute in the annals of the Opera adorn this foyer.

Some estimate...may be arrived at by sitting before the concierge
an hour or so before the representation commences. First appear
the stage carpenterswho are always seventyand sometimes
when L'Africainefor examplewith its ship sceneis the opera
one hundred and ten strong. Then come stage upholsterers
whose sole duty is to lay carpetshang curtainsetc.; gas-menand
a squad of firemen. Claqueurscall-boysproperty-mendressers
coiffeurssupernumerariesand artistsfollow. The supernumeraries
number about one hundred; some are hired by the yearbut the
`masses' are generally recruited at the last minute and are
generally working-men who seek to add to their meagre earnings.
There are about a hundred choristersand about eighty musicians.

Next we behold equeries, whose horses are hoisted on the stage by means
of an elevator; electricians who manage the light-producing batteries;
hydrauliciens to take charge of the water-works in ballets like La Source;
artificers who prepare the conflagration in Le Profeta; florists who
make ready Margarita's garden, and a host of minor employees.


This personnel is provided for as follows: Eighty dressing-rooms
are reserved for the artists, each including a small antechamber,
the dressing-room proper, and a little closet. Besides these apartments,
the Opera has a dressing-room for sixty male, and another for
fifty female choristers; a third for thirty-four male dancers;
four dressing-rooms for twenty female dancers of different grades;
a dressing-room for one hundred and ninety supernumeraries, etc.

A few figures taken from the article will suggest the enormous
capacity and the perfect convenience of the house. "There are
2531 doors and 7593 keys; 14 furnaces and grates heat the house;
the gaspipes if connected would form a pipe almost 16 miles long;
9 reservoirsand two tanks hold 22222 gallons of water and
distribute their contents through 22829 2-5 feet of piping;
538 persons have places assigned wherein to change their attire.
The musicians have a foyer with 100 closets for their instruments."

The author remarks of his visit to the Opera House that it "was
almost as bewildering as it was agreeable. Giant stairways and
colossal hallshuge frescoes and enormous mirrorsgold and marble
satin and velvetmet the eye at every turn."

In a recent letter Mr. Andre Castaignewhose remarkable pictures
illustrate the textspeaks of a river or lake under the Opera House
and mentions the fact that there are now also three metropolitan
railway tunnelsone on top of the other.