Books: The Phantom of the Opera
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Gaston Leroux >> The Phantom of the Opera
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"I knocked at the door," said Remy. "They did not answer.
Perhaps they are not in the office. In any case, it's impossible
to find out, for they took the keys with them."
"They" were obviously the managers, who had given orders,
during the last entr'acte, that they were not to be disturbed
on any pretext whatever. They were not in to anybody.
"All the same," exclaimed Gabriel, "a singer isn't run away with,
from the middle of the stage, every day!"
"Did you shout that to them?" asked Mercier, impatiently.
"I'll go back again," said Remy, and 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-manager, frantically 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-man, who dispensed day and night at will on
the stage of the Opera.
"Mauclair is not to be found!" repeated Mercier, taken 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-manager, "that 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 away, shrugging his shoulders, fuming,
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 expedition, wearing 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 grin, Mercier a sigh and seemed about to speak...but,
meeting Gabriel's eye, said nothing.
However, Mercier felt his responsibility increased as the minutes
passed without the managers' appearing; and, at last, he could
stand it no longer.
"Look here, I'll go and hunt them out myself!"
Gabriel, turning very gloomy and serious, stopped 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 answer, Gabriel?...Ah, so you know something!
Well, you would do better to tell me, too, if you don't want me
to shout out that you are all going mad!...Yes, that'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 Gabriel, very 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 Gabriel, putting 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 Gabriel, looking 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 joke, made 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 Gabriel, "I 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 conversation, Mercier arrived,
all out of breath.
"There!" he said, in a gloomy voice. "It's worse than ever!...
I shouted, `It's a serious matter! Open the door! It's I, Mercier.'
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 job, too!' And he shut the door, after putting this
in my hand."
Mercier opened his hand; Remy and Gabriel looked.
"The safety-pin!" cried Remy.
"Strange! Strange!" muttered Gabriel, who 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 circumstances, the absurdity
of the question would have made them roar with laughter, if 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 thought, after Christine Daae's fantastic disappearance,
was to accuse Erik. He no longer doubted the almost supernatural
powers of the Angel of Music, in 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 moaned, calling 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 forward, he listened,
...he wandered over the stage like a madman. Ah, to 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 aside, laughing. They made fun of him.
They thought the poor lover's brain was gone!
By what mad road, through what passages of mystery and darkness
known to him alone had Erik dragged that pure-souled child to the
awful haunt, with the Louis-Philippe room, opening out on the lake?
"Christine! Christine!...Why don't you answer?...Are you
alive?..."
Hideous thoughts flashed through Raoul's congested brain.
Of course, Erik must have discovered their secret, must 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 before, and 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 day, had cats' eyes at night:
everybody knew that!...Yes, yes, he 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 skies, with 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. Oh, why had she refused to leave earlier?
Why had she toyed with the threatening catastrophe? Why toyed
with the monster's heart? Why, in a final access of pity,
had she insisted on flinging, as a last sop to that demon's soul,
her divine song:
"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed,
My spirit longs with thee to rest!"
Raoul, his throat filled with sobs, oaths and insults,
fumbled awkwardly at the great mirror that had opened one night,
before his eyes, to let Christine pass to the murky dwelling below.
He pushed, pressed, groped about, but 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 boy, he had heard that there were things
that obeyed the spoken word!
Suddenly, Raoul remembered something about a gate opening into
the Rue Scribe, an underground passage running straight to the Rue
Scribe from the lake....Yes, Christine had told him about that.
...And, when he found that the key was no longer in the box,
he nevertheless ran to the Rue Scribe. Outside, in the street,
he passed his trembling hands over the huge stones, felt 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 laughed, screamed with laughter! Raoul darted away,
roaring with anger, ran up-stairs, four stairs at a time,
down-stairs, rushed through the whole of the business side
of the opera-house, found himself once more in the light of the stage.
He stopped, with 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 and, amid a crowd
of men in evening-dress, all talking and gesticulating together,
appeared a man who seemed very calm and displayed a pleasant face,
all pink and chubby-cheeked, crowned with curly hair and lit up by a
pair of wonderfully serene blue eyes. Mercier, the 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 answer, and Remy, the secretary, volunteered 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. Mifroid, followed by an ever-increasing crowd, turned 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. Mifroid, in 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 room, a 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 around, with a stifled exclamation. The hand that was
laid on his shoulder was now placed on the lips of a person with an
ebony skin, with eyes of jade and with an astrakhan cap on his head:
the Persian! The stranger kept up the gesture that recommended
discretion and then, at 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 know, but which it
is my duty, as an historian, to 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. Oh, there had been wailing and gnashing
of teeth, indeed! And yet the thing had happened as simply as could be.
One morning, the 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. Giry, who 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 locked, they seized this
opportunity of laying hands, on the mysterious blackmailer.
And, after telling the whole story, under the promise of secrecy,
to Gabriel and Mercier, they put the twenty thousand francs into the
envelope and without asking for explanations, handed 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 Mercier, were hidden in such a way that
they did not lose sight of the envelope for a second during the
performance and even afterward, for, as the envelope had not moved,
those who watched it did not move either; and Mme. Giry went
away while the managers, Gabriel and Mercier were still there.
At last, they became tired of waiting and opened the envelope,
after ascertaining that the seals had not been broken.
At first sight, Richard 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 police, but Richard objected.
He no doubt had a plan, for 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.
Nevertheless, they had been so absolutely tricked that they were
bound to suffer a certain dejection. And, upon my word, it was not
difficult to understand. We must not forget that the managers had
an idea at the back of their minds, all the time, that 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 hand, Moncharmin was sometimes troubled with a suspicion
of Richard himself, who occasionally took fanciful whims into
his head. And so they were content to await events, while keeping
an eye on Mother Giry. Richard would not have her spoken to.
"If she is a confederate," he said, "the 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 time, I shall have taken my precautions."
The next time fell on the same day that beheld the disappearance
of Christine Daae. In the morning, a 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 envelope, but without closing it.
"And now," he said, "let's have Mother Giry in."
The old woman was sent for. She entered with a sweeping courtesy.
She still wore her black taffeta dress, the color of which was rapidly
turning to rust and lilac, to 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 Richard, most 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 you, among ourselves...you're no fool!"
"Why, sir," exclaimed the box-keeper, stopping the pleasant nodding
of the black feathers in her dingy bonnet, "I 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 asked, rather 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."
"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. Giry, drawing herself up, recited the letter with
touching eloquence:
MADAM:
1825. Mlle. Menetrier, leader of the ballet, became Marquise
de Cussy.
1832. Mlle. Marie Taglioni, a dancer, became Comtesse Gilbert
des Voisins.
1846. La Sota, a dancer, married a brother of the King of Spain.
1847. Lola Montes, a dancer, became the morganatic wife of King
Louis of Bavaria and was created Countess of Landsfeld.
1848. Mlle. Maria, a dancer, became Baronne d'Herneville.
1870. Theresa Hessier, a dancer, married Dom Fernando, brother to
the King of Portugal.
Richard and Moncharmin listened to the old woman, who, as she
proceeded with the enumeration of these glorious nuptials,
swelled out, took courage and, at last, in a voice bursting
with pride, flung out the last sentence of the prophetic letter:
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