The Phantom of the Opera

It was the evening on which MM. Debienne and Poligny, the managers of the Opera, were giving a last gala performance to mark their retirement. Suddenly the dressing-room of La Sorelli, one of the principal dancers, was invaded by half-a-dozen young ladies of the ballet, who had come up from the stage after “dancing” Polyeucte. They rushed in amid great confusion, some giving vent to forced and unnatural laughter, others to cries of terror. Sorelli, who wished to be alone for a moment to “run through” the speech which she was to make to the resigning managers, looked around angrily at the mad and tumultuous crowd. It was little Jammes⁠—the girl with the tip-tilted nose, the forget-me-not eyes, the 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.

Hardly breathing, he went up to the dressing-room and, with his ear to the door to catch her reply, prepared to knock. But his hand dropped. He had heard a man’s voice in the dressing-room, saying, in a curiously masterful tone:

“Christine, you must love me!”

And Christine’s voice, infinitely sad and trembling, as though accompanied by tears, replied:

“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 forever, returned to his breast and was throbbing loudly. The whole passage echoed with its beating and Raoul’s ears were deafened. Surely, if his heart continued to make such a noise, they would hear it inside, they 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, tonight 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.”

“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, ‘Mame 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, Mame 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.”

“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 box, they stared at Carlotta as though they did not recognize her. That infernal girl must have given the signal for some catastrophe. Ah, they 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!”

No, Carlotta did not go on.⁠ ⁠… Bravely, heroically, she 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 felt, but 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! And, at last, they distinctly heard his voice in their right ears, the impossible voice, the mouthless voice, saying:

“She is singing tonight to bring the chandelier down!”

With one accord, they raised their eyes to the ceiling and uttered a terrible cry. The chandelier, the immense mass of the chandelier was slipping down, coming toward them, at the call of that fiendish voice.

The Persian had hardly finished speaking, when a fantastic face came in sight⁠ ⁠… a whole fiery face, not only two yellow eyes!

Yes, a head of fire came toward them, at a man’s height, but with no body attached to it. The face shed fire, looked in the darkness like a flame shaped as a man’s face.

“Oh,” said the Persian, between his teeth. “I have never seen this before!⁠ ⁠… Pampin was not mad, after all: he had seen it!⁠ ⁠… What can that flame be? It is not he, but he may have sent it!⁠ ⁠… Take care!⁠ ⁠… Take care!⁠ ⁠… Your hand at the level of your eyes, in Heaven’s name, at the level of your eyes!⁠ ⁠… I know most of his tricks⁠ ⁠… but not this one.⁠ ⁠… Come, let 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 seconds, that seemed to them like long minutes, they stopped.