The Phantom of the Opera
locked into the torture-chamber. We shall see how the scene thus
obtained was twice altered instantaneously into two successive other
scenes, by means of the automatic rotation of the drums or rollers in
the corners. These were divided into three sections, fitting into the
angles of the mirrors and each supporting a decorative scheme that came
into sight as the roller revolved upon its axis.
The walls of this strange room gave the patient nothing to lay hold of,
because, apart from the solid decorative object, they were simply
furnished with mirrors, thick enough to withstand any onslaught of the
victim, who was flung into the chamber empty-handed and barefoot.
There was no furniture. The ceiling was capable of being lit up. An
ingenious system of electric heating, which has since been imitated,
allowed the temperature of the walls and room to be increased at will.
I am giving all these details of a perfectly natural invention,
producing, with a few painted branches, the supernatural illusion of an
equatorial forest blazing under the tropical sun, so that no one may
doubt the present balance of my brain or feel entitled to say that I am
mad or lying or that I take him for a fool.[1]
I now return to the facts where I left them. When the ceiling lit up
and the forest became visible around us, the viscount's stupefaction
was immense. That impenetrable forest, with its innumerable trunks and
branches, threw him into a terrible state of consternation. He passed
his hands over his forehead, as though to drive away a dream; his eyes
blinked; and, for a moment, he forgot to listen.
I have already said that the sight of the forest did not surprise me at
all; and therefore I listened for the two of us to what was happening
next door. Lastly, my attention was especially attracted, not so much
to the scene, as to the mirrors that produced it. These mirrors were
broken in parts. Yes, they were marked and scratched; they had been
"starred," in spite of their solidity; and this proved to me that the
torture-chamber in which we now were HAD ALREADY SERVED A PURPOSE.
Yes, some wretch, whose feet were not bare like those of the victims of
the rosy hours of Mazenderan, had certainly fallen into this "mortal
illusion" and, mad with rage, had kicked against those mirrors which,
nevertheless, continued to reflect his agony. And the branch of the
tree on which he had put an end to his own sufferings was arranged in
such a way that, before dying, he had seen, for his last consolation, a
thousand men writhing in his company.
Yes, Joseph Buquet had undoubtedly been through all this! Were we to
die as he had done? I did not think so, for I knew that we had a few
hours before us and that I could employ them to better purpose than
Joseph Buquet was able to do. After all, I was thoroughly acquainted
with most of Erik's "tricks;" and now or never was the time to turn my
knowledge to account.
To begin with, I gave up every idea of returning to the passage that
had brought us to that accursed chamber. I did not trouble about the
possibility of working the inside stone that closed the passage; and
this for the simple reason that to do so was out of the question. We
had dropped from too great a height into the torture-chamber; there was
no furniture to help us reach that passage; not even the branch of the
iron tree, not even each other's shoulders were of any avail.
There was only one possible outlet, that opening into the
Louis-Philippe room in which Erik and Christine Daae were. But, though
this outlet looked like an ordinary door on Christine's side, it was
absolutely invisible to us. We must therefore try to open it without
even knowing where it was.
When I was quite sure that there was no hope for us from Christine
Daae's side, when I had heard the monster dragging the poor girl from
the Louis-Philippe room LEST SHE SHOULD INTERFERE WITH OUR TORTURES, I
resolved to set to work without delay.
But I had first to calm M. de Chagny, who was already walking about
like a madman, uttering incoherent cries. The snatches of conversation
which he had caught between Christine and the monster had contributed
not a little to drive him beside himself: add to that the shock of the
magic forest and the scorching heat which was beginning to make the
prespiration{sic} stream down his temples and you will have no
difficulty in understanding his state of mind. He shouted Christine's
name, brandished his pistol, knocked his forehead against the glass in
his endeavors to run down the glades of the illusive forest. In short,
the torture was beginning to work its spell upon a brain unprepared for
it.
I did my best to induce the poor viscount to listen to reason. I made
him touch the mirrors and the iron tree and the branches and explained
to him, by optical laws, all the luminous imagery by which we were
surrounded and of which we need not allow ourselves to be the victims,
like ordinary, ignorant people.
"We are in a room, a little room; that is what you must keep saying to
yourself. And we shall leave the room as soon as we have found the
door."
And I promised him that, if he let me act, without disturbing me by
shouting and walking up and down, I would discover the trick of the
door in less than an hour's time.
Then he lay flat on the floor, as one does in a wood, and declared that
he would wait until I found the door of the forest, as there was
nothing better to do! And he added that, from where he was, "the view
was splendid!" The torture was working, in spite of all that I had
said.
Myself, forgetting the forest, I tackled a glass panel and began to
finger it in every direction, hunting for the weak point on which to
press in order to turn the door in accordance with Erik's system of
pivots. This weak point might be a mere speck on the glass, no larger
than a pea, under which the spring lay hidden. I hunted and hunted. I
felt as high as my hands could reach. Erik was about the same height
as myself and I thought that he would not have placed the spring higher
than suited his stature.
While groping over the successive panels with the greatest care, I
endeavored not to lose a minute, for I was feeling more and more
overcome with the heat and we were literally roasting in that blazing
forest.
I had been working like this for half an hour and had finished three
panels, when, as ill-luck would have it, I turned round on hearing a
muttered exclamation from the viscount.
"I am stifling," he said. "All those mirrors are sending out an
infernal heat! Do you think you will find that spring soon? If you
are much longer about it, we shall be roasted alive!"
I was not sorry to hear him talk like this. He had not said a word of
the forest and I hoped that my companion's reason would hold out some
time longer against the torture. But he added:
"What consoles me is that the monster has given Christine until eleven
to-morrow evening. If we can't get out of here and go to her
assistance, at least we shall be dead before her! Then Erik's mass can
serve for all of us!"
And he gulped down a breath of hot air that nearly made him faint.
As I had not the same desperate reasons as M. le Vicomte for accepting
death, I returned, after giving him a word of encouragement, to my
panel, but I had made the mistake of taking a few steps while speaking
and, in the tangle of the illusive forest, I was no longer able to find
my panel for certain! I had to begin all over again, at random,
feeling, fumbling, groping.
Now the fever laid hold of me in my turn ... for I found nothing,
absolutely nothing. In the next room, all was silence. We were quite
lost in the forest, without an outlet, a compass, a guide or anything.
Oh, I knew what awaited us if nobody came to our aid ... or if I did
not find the spring! But, look as I might, I found nothing but
branches, beautiful branches that stood straight up before me, or
spread gracefully over my head. But they gave no shade. And this was
natural enough, as we were in an equatorial forest, with the sun right
above our heads, an African forest.
M. de Chagny and I had repeatedly taken off our coats and put them on
again, finding at one time that they made us feel still hotter and at
another that they protected us against the heat. I was still making a
moral resistance, but M. de Chagny seemed to me quite "gone." He
pretended that he had been walking in that forest for three days and
nights, without stopping, looking for Christine Daae! From time to
time, he thought he saw her behind the trunk of a tree, or gliding
between the branches; and he called to her with words of supplication
that brought the tears to my eyes. And then, at last:
"Oh, how thirsty I am!" he cried, in delirious accents.
I too was thirsty. My throat was on fire. And, yet, squatting on the
floor, I went on hunting, hunting, hunting for the spring of the
invisible door ... especially as it was dangerous to remain in the
forest as evening drew nigh. Already the shades of night were
beginning to surround us. It had happened very quickly: night falls
quickly in tropical countries ... suddenly, with hardly any twilight.
Now night, in the forests of the equator, is always dangerous,
particularly when, like ourselves, one has not the materials for a fire
to keep off the beasts of prey. I did indeed try for a moment to break
off the branches, which I would have lit with my dark lantern, but I
knocked myself also against the mirrors and remembered, in time, that
we had only images of branches to do with.
The heat did not go with the daylight; on the contrary, it was now
still hotter under the blue rays of the moon. I urged the viscount to
hold our weapons ready to fire and not to stray from camp, while I went
on looking for my spring.
Suddenly, we heard a lion roaring a few yards away.
"Oh," whispered the viscount, "he is quite close! ... Don't you see
him? ... There ... through the trees ... in that thicket! If he roars
again, I will fire! ..."
And the roaring began again, louder than before. And the viscount
fired, but I do not think that he hit the lion; only, he smashed a
mirror, as I perceived the next morning, at daybreak. We must have
covered a good distance during the night, for we suddenly found
ourselves on the edge of the desert, an immense desert of sand, stones
and rocks. It was really not worth while leaving the forest to come
upon the desert. Tired out, I flung myself down beside the viscount,
for I had had enough of looking for springs which I could not find.
I was quite surprised--and I said so to the viscount--that we had
encountered no other dangerous animals during the night. Usually,
after the lion came the leopard and sometimes the buzz of the tsetse
fly. These were easily obtained effects; and I explained to M. de
Chagny that Erik imitated the roar of a lion on a long tabour or
timbrel, with an ass's skin at one end. Over this skin he tied a
string of catgut, which was fastened at the middle to another similar
string passing through the whole length of the tabour. Erik had only
to rub this string with a glove smeared with resin and, according to
the manner in which he rubbed it, he imitated to perfection the voice
of the lion or the leopard, or even the buzzing of the tsetse fly.
The idea that Erik was probably in the room beside us, working his
trick, made me suddenly resolve to enter into a parley with him, for we
must obviously give up all thought of taking him by surprise. And by
this time he must be quite aware who were the occupants of his
torture-chamber. I called him: "Erik! Erik!"
I shouted as loudly as I could across the desert, but there was no
answer to my voice. All around us lay the silence and the bare