The Phantom of the Opera (Oxford World's Classics)

by Gaston Leroux

  ‘What do you mean “they don’t want anyone coming near them”?’

  ‘They don’t like anyone touching them!’

  ‘Did you really notice that they don’t want anyone to touch them? That is odd by any standards.’

  ‘So you agree! And none too soon! Furthermore, they’ve taken to walking backwards!’

  ‘Backwards? You saw both our Directors walking backwards? I thought it was only shrimps that walk backwards.’

  ‘Don’t laugh, Gabriel! This is no laughing matter!’

  ‘I’m not laughing,’ protested Gabriel, now looking as solemn ‘as a judge’.

  ‘Then perhaps you, being a close friend of both Directors, can tell me why during the “garden” interval, when I spotted M. Richard outside the foyer and went up to him with my hand out, M. Moncharmin whispered hurriedly in my ear: “Go away! Clear off! And in no circumstances must you touch the Director!…” Have I got the plague or what?’

  ‘Unbelievable!’

  ‘And a few moments later, when Ambassador La Borderie started making his way towards M. Richard, didn’t you see M. Moncharmin thrust himself between them and didn’t you hear him say: “Please, Ambassador, please, I beg you, don’t touch the Director!”’

  ‘I’m astounded!… And what was M. Richard doing meantime?’

  ‘What was he doing? You saw him! He turned round, faced the other way, bowed to someone standing in front of him although there wasn’t anyone there, and then left the room, walking backwards!’

  ‘Backwards??’

  ‘And Moncharmin, following Richard out, also half-turned round, that is, he did a half-turn, and then he too walked out backwards! And they carried on like that until they got to the stairs to their office, backwards!… backwards! So if they aren’t mad, please would you tell me what on earth is going on?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Gabriel without conviction, ‘they were rehearsing some sort of ballet steps?’

  Rémy felt grossly insulted by being fobbed off with such a crude excuse at such a critical moment. He furrowed his brows, pursed his lips and, leaning over, whispered into Gabriel’s ear:

  ‘Stop this foolery, Gabriel. Things are happening here which you and Mercier have had a hand in.’

  ‘Such as what?’ asked Gabriel.

  ‘Christine Daaé is not the only one who disappeared tonight!’

  ‘Tommy-rot!’

  ‘There’s no tommy-rot about it. Maybe you can explain why, when Mme Giry came down to the foyer just now, Mercier grabbed her by the wrist and bundled her out?’

  ‘Really?’ said Gabriel, ‘I didn’t notice.’

  ‘You noticed, all right, so much so that you followed Mercier and Mme Giry up to Mercier’s office. Subsequently, you and Mercier have been seen, but no one has had as much as a glimpse of Mme Giry.’

  ‘What? Do you think we ate her?’

  ‘No, but you double-locked her in Mercier’s office and do you know what anyone walking past the door could hear? A voice shouting: “Villains, crooks, the lot of them!”’

  At that point in this strange conversation Mercier arrived. He was out of breath.

  ‘Well, that’s it!’ he said glumly. ‘It’s the bally limit!… I shouted to them, “We’ve got a serious situation! Open the door! It’s me, Mercier!” I heard steps, the door opened and Moncharmin appeared. He was white as a sheet. He said: “What do you want?” I said: “Christine Daaé has been abducted!” And do you know what he replied: “Bully for her!” He slipped this into my hand before shutting the door.’

  Mercier unclosed his fist and Rémy and Gabriel stared.

  ‘The safety pin!’ cried Rémy.

  ‘Odd! Very odd!’ said Gabriel in a low murmur. He could not repress a shiver.

  And then a voice suddenly made all three turn round.

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, could you please tell me where I might find Christine Daaé?’

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, the question was so incongruous that they would certainly have burst out laughing if they had not been looking at a face so stricken their hearts went out to it immediately.

  It was the face of Viscount Raoul de Chagny.

  CHAPTER 16

  ‘Christine! Christine!’

  FOLLOWING Christine Daaé’s startlingly phantasmagoric disappearance, Raoul’s first thought had been to suspect Erik. He was no longer in any doubt that the Angel of Music possessed almost supernatural powers, at least within the purlieus of the Opera House where he had established his devilish reign.

  Raoul had rushed backstage mad with despair and love. ‘Christine! Christine!’ he groaned, not knowing which way to turn, calling her just as he felt she must now be calling him from the depths of the darkness where the monster had taken her, like a beast with its prey, still trembling in saint-like ecstasy, still robed in the white shroud she was wearing when she had offered herself to the angels in paradise!

  ‘Christine! Christine!’ he called again… and he seemed to hear her cries through the thin floorboards which separated her from him! He bent down and listened, wandering this way and that across the stage like a mad thing! Yes, he must somehow go down, down, down into that pit of shadows to which every entrance was barred to him!

  First, the traps which normally opened moved so smoothly to reveal the black abyss to which all his desires were now drawn… wooden boards which creaked under his feet and made the immense void beneath the stage reverberate… those flimsy traps were not only firmly closed tonight but seemed permanently fixed!… They gave an impression of solidity, of never having moved at all… and now no one was allowed access to the steps leading down beneath the stage!…

  ‘Christine! Christine!’

  He was turned away by people who laughed and scoffed, thinking that he, the poor fiancé, had lost his mind.

  By what wild, headlong charge, through caverns of night and mystery known only to him, had Erik dragged Christine to his dismal lair and the Louis-Philippe drawing room whose door opened on to the Lake of Hell?

  ‘Christine! Christine! Why don’t you answer? At least tell me you’re still alive! Or did you succumb in a moment of ultimate horror, overcome by the scorching breath of that monster!’

  Terrible thoughts flashed like lightning through Raoul’s over-heated brain.

  It was clear that somehow Erik had discovered their plans and knew that Christine had betrayed him! Oh, what vengeance would be his!

  To what lengths would the Angel of Music, humbled in his pride, not go? Christine had fallen into the terrible clutches of the monster and was doomed!

  Raoul remembered the smouldering twin stars which had skulked on his balcony the night before. Why hadn’t he put their light out for good with his gun?

  Now, some people have extraordinary eyes which dilate in the dark and shine like stars or like the eyes of cats. (Certain albino men who look as if they have eyes like a rabbit’s by day have cat’s eyes at night, as every schoolboy knows!)

  But he’d shot at Erik! So why had he not killed him? The monster had got away by the drainpipe, like a cat or a convict who—every schoolboy knows this too—could scramble over any roof as long as they had a drainpipe to climb up.

  It was probable that Erik had been planning some decisive move against Raoul. But he’d been wounded and made good his escape intending to turn his attention to poor Christine instead.

  Raoul’s head was filled with this deadly thought as he hurried to her dressing room.

  ‘Christine! Christine!’

  Bitter tears stung his eyes when he saw, set out on tables and chairs, the clothes Christine had been planning to wear for their escape!… Oh, why had she refused to go earlier? Why had she insisted on waiting so long?… Why had she played with fire?… and paid such attention to the monster’s feelings?… Why, with a supreme act of pity, had she made her ultimate bounty the gift of her final aria:

  ‘Angels so pure, Angels bright!

  Angels so pure, Angels of light!
<
br />   Transport my soul to heaven above!’

  Raoul, his throat choked by sobs, oaths and insults, ran his clumsy hands over the surface of the large mirror which he had seen open one night and allow Christine to pass into the sinister depths below. He pressed on it, he pushed and felt it… but it seemed that the mirror obeyed no one but Erik… Perhaps pushing and touching had no effect on such a mirror?… Perhaps all it took was to say certain words aloud?… When he was a boy he’d been told that there were objects which responded to the human voice!

  Suddenly, Raoul remembered: ‘an iron gate opening on to the Rue Scribe… an underground passage that rises straight from the Lake to street-level’!… Yes Christine had told him about it… He looked but the large key was unfortunately not in its box. Nevertheless he rushed out to the Rue Scribe.

  Once there, he ran his trembling hands in the dark over the enormous stone blocks of which the walls were built, searching for exits and doors… he felt bars… were those the right bars?… or these others… or were they an air-vent?… He peered helplessly through the bars… it was black as pitch inside!… he listened!… utter silence!… He walked right round the great building!… He came across large, iron bars!… immensely strong gates!… Beyond them was the courtyard which houses the offices.

  Raoul hurried across to the concierge’s lodge.

  ‘Excuse me, Madame, could you tell me where I’d find a door, or rather an iron gate, made of bars… iron bars… that opens into the Rue Scribe?… and goes down to the Lake!… You know the Lake I mean? Yes, lake! The underground lake… under the Opera!’

  ‘Well, dear, I know there’s a lake under the Opera, but I don’t know any door as leads to it… I never been there meself!…’

  ‘Well, what about the Rue Scribe? You know, the Rue Scribe? Have you ever been in the Rue Scribe?’

  She laughed! Oh how she laughed! Raoul fled, cursing with frustration. He dashed up steps, ran down others, through offices and finally came out into the bright lights of the stage.

  There he stopped, chest heaving, his heart beating and ready to burst. Maybe Christine Daaé had been found! He saw a group of men and asked:

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, could you please tell me where I might find Christine Daaé?’

  And they laughed too.

  At that very moment, the stage began to buzz with excitement. In the middle of a noisy crowd of men in dress suits talking and waving their arms, appeared a man who in contrast was calmness itself. He had a kindly face. It was pink and chubby-cheeked, framed by curly hair and lit by a pair of splendidly imperturbable eyes. Mercier, the Administrator, pointed out the newcomer to the Viscount de Chagny and said:

  ‘Here’s the man you should ask. Let me introduce Inspector Mifroid, of the Paris Police.’

  ‘Ah! M. de Chagny! I’m delighted to meet you, sir,’ said the Inspector. ‘If you’d be good enough to follow me, sir… And now, where would I find the Directors?… Where are they?’

  Since the Administrator said nothing, Rémy, the secretary, took it upon himself to inform the Inspector that both Directors had locked themselves inside their office and still did not even know that an incident had occurred.

  ‘That hardly seems possible!… Let’s go to their office!’

  Inspector Mifroid, pursued by a growing procession, made his way towards the offices of the Directors. Mercier took advantage of the confusion to slip a key into Gabriel’s hand:

  ‘This is not going at all well,’ he muttered to him… ‘Go, get Mme Giry off the premises.’

  Dutifully, Gabriel slipped away.

  Moments later, Inspector Mifroid halted outside the door of the Directors’ office. Mercier beat on it but in vain: it remained closed.

  ‘Open in the name of the law!’ barked the clear but slightly concerned voice of Inspector Mifroid.

  Eventually the door opened. The crowd all piled into the office hard on the Inspector’s heels.

  Raoul brought up the rear. But as he was about to follow the rest inside, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard these words whispered in his ear:

  ‘Erik’s secrets are nobody’s business but his!’

  He turned and stifled a cry. The hand which had settled on his shoulder was now being held to the lips of an individual with ebony skin and green eyes. He was wearing an astrakhan fez… It was the Persian!

  The man held his hand where it was, urging discretion. Then, before the astonished Viscount could ask him to explain his mysterious intervention, he bowed and was gone.

  CHAPTER 17

  Mme Giry’s amazing revelations of her personal dealings with the Phantom of the Opera

  BEFORE following Inspector Mifroid into the Directors’ office, perhaps the reader will allow me to mention certain highly unusual events which had just occurred in the said office, to which Rémy, the secretary, and Mercier, the Administrator, had both tried and failed to gain entry, and in which Messrs Richard and Moncharmin had locked themselves for reasons still unclear to the reader which it is my duty as chronicler to keep hidden from him no longer.

  I have had occasion to observe that, over a period, the mood of both Directors had changed for the worse. I have also let it be understood that this change was not entirely attributable to the fall of the chandelier in circumstances which have been widely reported.

  The reader should know—despite the Directors’ earnest wish to bury the subject for ever—that first payment of the Phantom’s monthly 20,000 francs had gone smoothly. But there had been such weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth! Still, the transaction had taken place without a hitch:

  One morning, the Directors had found a ready-prepared envelope on their desk. It was addressed to The P. of the O., Esquire, and marked ‘personal’. In it was a note from the Phantom himself:

  ‘The moment has come to implement the clauses of the schedule of agreement. You will place twenty 1,000-franc notes in this envelope which you will then close with your own seal. You will then give it to Mme Giry who will do the rest.’

  The Directors did not wait to be told twice. Without wasting time asking how such devilish communications could find their way to an office which they were always careful to keep locked, they decided that here was an excellent opportunity to collar the mysterious blackmailer. They told the whole story to Gabriel and Mercier after swearing them to secrecy. Then they put 20,000 francs into the envelope and gave it, without asking for explanations, to Mme Giry who had been reinstated. She showed no surprise. I hardly need say that her every move was closely watched! She went straight to the Phantom’s box and put the envelope on the ledge by the front armrest. The two Directors, along with Gabriel and Mercier, stayed hidden, but in such a way that the envelope was never out of their sight for a single moment throughout the performance and even when it was over. The envelope had not moved and the watching men did not move either. The theatre emptied, Mme Giry went home and still both Directors, Gabriel and Mercier remained at their post. Finally they wearied of the game and, after making sure that the seal was intact, they opened the envelope.

  At first, Richard and Moncharmin thought the notes were still inside. But on closer inspection, they saw that they were not the same. The twenty notes had gone and been replaced by twenty others issued by the ‘Bank of Saint Farce’!* Their fury was quickly followed by fear.

  ‘He’s more slippery than Robert Houdin!’* cried Gabriel.

  ‘True,’ said Richard, ‘but he’d have come cheaper!’

  Moncharmin wanted to send for Inspector Mifroid. Richard was against it. He seemed to have a plan.

  ‘Don’t let’s make ourselves ridiculous,’ he said. ‘We’d be the laughing stock of all Paris! The Phantom has won the first round. But we’ll win the next,’ he added, obviously thinking of the second payment to come.

  Even so, they’d been so completely outmanoeuvred that during the weeks that followed they were unable to throw off the feeling that they had bitten off more than they could chew. Which was all too
understandable. If the Inspector hadn’t been called in at that point, it was because it must not be forgotten that the Directors kept thinking privately that the whole bizarre episode was probably no more than some nasty practical joke played on them by their predecessors about which it was best to say nothing until they had found ‘the key to the mystery’. But for Moncharmin, this policy was at times undermined by a suspicion he harboured about Richard who was himself an occasional hoaxer. And so, ready for every contingency, they waited on events, watching Mme Giry and having her watched. Richard insisted that she be kept in the dark.

  ‘If she is an accomplice,’ he said, ‘those banknotes are long gone. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s just a stupid woman.’

  ‘There are lots of stupid people involved in this business,’ replied Moncharmin pensively.

  ‘Who’d have thought it?’ groaned Richard. ‘But fear not!… next time I’ll be ready for him!’

  The next time eventually came round… as it happened, on the very day of Christine Daaé’s disappearance.

  In the morning, a note from the Phantom reminded them that payment was due. It was very helpful:

  ‘Proceed exactly as you did the last time. It all went smoothly then. Give the envelope containing the 20,000 francs to the excellent Mme Giry.’

  The note was accompanied by the same self-directed envelope. It only needed to be filled.

  The operation was due to be carried out the same evening, half an hour before the performance was due to begin. So it is approximately half an hour before the curtain rose on that all-too-famous performance of Faust that we set out to beard both Directors in their den.

  Richard shows Moncharmin the envelope. Then he counts out the 20,000 francs and puts them in the envelope, but without sealing it.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘call Mme Giry.’

  The concierge was fetched. She entered and curtsied low. She still wore the same black taffeta dress (though the black was now turning to rust and lilac) and the familiar dingy hat with the feathers. She seemed in fine fettle and spoke out directly: