Phantom of the Opera (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (21 page)

“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, 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!”
⁷

Christine stopped, at the thought of the vision that had scared her, while the echoes of the night, which had repeated the name of Erik, now thrice moaned the cry:

“Horror! ... Horror! ... Horror!”

Raoul and Christine, clasping each other closely, raised 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 and, with a long shiver, continued:

“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 me, grinding his teeth, and, as I fell upon my knees, he hissed mad, incoherent words and curses at me. Leaning over me, he cried, ‘Look! You want to see! See! Feast your eyes, glut 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 me, eh? You wanted to know what I looked like! Oh, you women are so inquisitive! Well, are you satisfied? I’m a very good-looking fellow, eh? ... When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me. She loves me for ever. I am a kind of Don Juan, you know!’ And, drawing himself up to his full height, with his hand on his hip, wagging the hideous thing that was his head on his shoulders, he roared, ‘Look at me!
I am Don Juan triumphant!’
And, when I turned away my head and begged for mercy, he drew it to him, brutally, twisting his dead fingers into my hair.”

“Enough! Enough!” cried Raoul. “I will kill him. In Heaven’s name, Christine, tell 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 room, closed 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 long, awful, magnificent sob. But, little by little, it expressed every emotion, every suffering of which mankind is capable. It intoxicated me; and I opened the door that separated us. Erik rose, as I entered,
but 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; and, if ever again I shiver when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking of the splendour of your genius!’ Then Erik turned round, for he believed me, and I also had faith in myself. He fell at my feet, with 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, ‘/
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 goodbye to him. Poor Erik! Poor Erik!”

“Christine,” said Raoul, rising, “you 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-looking, would you love me, Christine?”

She rose in her turn, put 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 asunder, they fled as at the approach of a storm and their eyes, filled with dread of Erik, showed them, before they disappeared, high up above them, an immense night-bird that stared at them with its blazing eyes and seemed to cling to the string of Apollo’s lyre.

R
aoul and Christine ran, eager 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. Suddenly, a 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 form, which wore a sort of long frock-coat and a pointed cap, said:

“Quick! Go away quickly!”

Christine was already dragging Raoul, compelling 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 floor, with 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 tomorrow? He may have heard us tonight.”

“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 bitterly, “that 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 here, therefore 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, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, 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 tomorrow 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 box, took 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 colour. A mortal pallor over-spread 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 fingers, repeating, with 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!”