The Phantom of the Opera
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 said, as he stood before me, dripping 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 spoke, but I had now no other wish than to know what I already
called the trick of the siren. He satisfied my curiosity, for Erik,
who is a real monster--I have seen him at work in Persia, alas--is
also, in certain respects, a regular child, vain and self-conceited,
and there is nothing he loves so much, after 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 said, "but 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."[1]
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 me, Erik? No more
murders!"
"Have I really committed murders?" he asked, putting on his most
amiable air.
"Wretched man!" I cried. "Have you forgotten the rosy hours of
Mazenderan?"
"Yes," he replied, in a sadder tone, "I 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 present, because, if I had
wished, there would have been none at all for you. Remember that,
Erik: 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 asked, "Erik, 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 sniggered, "I don't mind telling you about the chandelier!
... IT WASN'T I! ... The chandelier was very old and worn."
When Erik laughed, he was more terrible than ever. He jumped into the
boat, chuckling so horribly that I could not help trembling.
"Very old and worn, my dear daroga![2] 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!"
So saying, swinging to and fro, like a monkey, and still chuckling, he
pushed off and soon disappeared in the darkness of the lake.
From that day, I 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 entrance, for I had often seen Erik disappear in the third
cellar, when I was watching him, though I could not imagine how.
Ever since I had discovered Erik installed in the Opera, I lived in a
perpetual terror of his horrible fancies, not in so far as I was
concerned, but I dreaded everything for others.[3]
And whenever some accident, some fatal event happened, I always thought
to myself, "I should not be surprised if that were Erik," even as
others used to say, "It'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 flesh, I 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 that, at first, perplexed me most terribly--I could
not help shuddering when I thought of the monster. His horrible,
unparalleled and repulsive ugliness put him without the pale of
humanity; and it often seemed to me that, for 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 hand, I 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; but, all the same, I 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 and, remembering the lessons he had once given me, I
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 later, what 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 well, in the Communists' road and
sprinkling the forehead of Christine Daae, who had fainted. A white
horse, the horse out of the PROFETA, which had disappeared from the
stables under the Opera, was standing quietly beside them. I showed
myself. It was terrible. I saw sparks fly from those yellow eyes and,
before I had time to say a word, I received a blow on the head that
stunned me.
When I came to myself, Erik, Christine and the white horse had
disappeared. I felt sure that the poor girl was a prisoner in the
house on the lake. Without hesitation, I resolved to return to the
bank, notwithstanding the attendant danger. For twenty-four hours, I
lay in wait for the monster to appear; for I felt that he must go out,
driven by the need of obtaining provisions. And, in this connection, I
may say, that, when he went out in the streets or ventured to show
himself in public, he wore a pasteboard nose, with a mustache attached
to it, instead of his own horrible hole of a nose. This did not quite
take away his corpse-like air, but it made him almost, I say almost,
endurable to look at.
I therefore watched on the bank of the lake and, weary of long waiting,
was beginning to think that he had gone through the other door, the
door in the third cellar, when I heard a slight splashing in the dark,
I 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 said, "and 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 think, for 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 planks, waiting 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
again, if I prove to you that I am loved for my own sake?"
"Yes, I promise you," I replied, without hesitation, for 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