The Phantom of the Opera, Page 22

  “Yes or no! If your answer is no, everybody will be dead and buried!”

  But I understood the sentence perfectly, for it corresponded in a terrible manner with my own dreadful thought.

  “Can you tell us where Erik is?” I asked.

  She replied that he must have left the house.

  “Could you make sure?”

  “No. I am fastened. I can not stir a limb.”

  When we heard this, M. de Chagny and I gave a yell of fury. Our safety, the safety of all three of us, depended on the girl’s liberty of movement.

  “But where are you?” asked Christine. “There are only two doors in my room, the Louis-Philippe room of which I told you, Raoul; a door through which Erik comes and goes, and another which he has never opened before me and which he has forbidden me ever to go through, because he says it is the most dangerous of the doors, the door of the torture-chamber!”

  “Christine, that is where we are!”

  “You are in the torture-chamber?”

  “Yes, but we can not see the door.”

  “Oh, if I could only drag myself so far! I would knock at the door and that would tell you where it is.”

  “Is it a door with a lock to it?” I asked.

  “Yes, with a lock.”

  “Mademoiselle,” I said, “it is absolutely necessary, that you should open that door to us!”

  “But how?” asked the poor girl tearfully.

  We heard her straining, trying to free herself from the bonds that held her.

  “I know where the key is,” she said, in a voice that seemed exhausted by the effort she had made. “But I am fastened so tight … Oh, the wretch!”

  And she gave a sob.

  “Where is the key?” I asked, signing to M. de Chagny not to speak and to leave the business to me, for we had not a moment to lose.

  “In the next room, near the organ, with another little bronze key, which he also forbade me to touch. They are both in a little leather bag which he calls the bag of life and death … Raoul! Raoul! Fly! Everything is mysterious and terrible here, and Erik will soon have gone quite mad, and you are in the torture-chamber! … Go back by the way you came. There must be a reason why the room is called by that name!”

  “Christine,” said the young man. “We will go from here together or die together!”

  “We must keep cool,” I whispered. “Why has he fastened you, mademoiselle? You can’t escape from his house; and he knows it!”

  “I tried to commit suicide! The monster went out last night, after carrying me here fainting and half chloroformed. He was going to his banker, so he said! … When he returned he found me with my face covered with blood … I had tried to kill myself by striking my forehead against the walls.”

  “Christine!” groaned Raoul; and he began to sob.

  “Then he bound me … I am not allowed to die until eleven o’clock to-morrow evening.”

  “Mademoiselle,” I declared, “the monster bound you … and he shall unbind you. You have only to play the necessary part! Remember that he loves you!”

  “Alas!” we heard. “Am I likely to forget it!”

  “Remember it and smile to him … entreat him … tell him that your bonds hurt you.”

  But Christine Daae said:

  “Hush! … I hear something in the wall on the lake! … It is he! … Go away! Go away! Go away!”

  “We could not go away, even if we wanted to,” I said, as impressively as I could. “We can not leave this! And we are in the torture-chamber!”

  “Hush!” whispered Christine again.

  Heavy steps sounded slowly behind the wall, then stopped and made the floor creak once more. Next came a tremendous sigh, followed by a cry of horror from Christine, and we heard Erik’s voice:

  “I beg your pardon for letting you see a face like this! What a state I am in, am I not? It’s the other one’s fault! Why did he ring? Do I ask people who pass to tell me the time? He will never ask anybody the time again! It is the siren’s fault.”

  Another sigh, deeper, more tremendous still, came from the abysmal depths of a soul.

  “Why did you cry out, Christine?”

  “Because I am in pain, Erik.”

  “I thought I had frightened you.”

  “Erik, unloose my bonds … Am I not your prisoner?”

  “You will try to kill yourself again.”

  “You have given me till eleven o’clock to-morrow evening, Erik.”

  The footsteps dragged along the floor again.

  “After all, as we are to die together … and I am just as eager as you … yes, I have had enough of this life, you know … Wait, don’t move, I will release you … You have only one word to say: ‘NO!’ And it will at once be over with everybody! … You are right, you are right; why wait till eleven o’clock to-morrow evening? True, it would have been grander, finer … But that is childish nonsense … We should only think of ourselves in this life, of our own death … the rest doesn’t matter … You’re looking at me because I am all wet? … Oh, my dear, it’s raining cats and dogs outside! … Apart from that, Christine, I think I am subject to hallucinations … You know, the man who rang at the siren’s door just now—go and look if he’s ringing at the bottom of the lake-well, he was rather like … There, turn round … are you glad? You’re free now … Oh, my poor Christine, look at your wrists: tell me, have I hurt them? … That alone deserves death … Talking of death, I must sing his requiem!”

  Hearing these terrible remarks, I received an awful presentiment … I too had once rung at the monster’s door … and, without knowing it, must have set some warning current in motion.

  And I remembered the two arms that had emerged from the inky waters … What poor wretch had strayed to that shore this time? Who was ‘the other one,’ the one whose requiem we now heard sung?

  Erik sang like the god of thunder, sang a Dies Irae that enveloped us as in a storm. The elements seemed to rage around us. Suddenly, the organ and the voice ceased so suddenly that M. de Chagny sprang back, on the other side of the wall, with emotion. And the voice, changed and transformed, distinctly grated out these metallic syllables: “What have you done with my bag?”

  Chapter XXIII

  The Tortures Begin

  THE PERSIAN’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED.

  THE VOICE REPEATED ANGRILY: “What have you done with my bag? So it was to take my bag that you asked me to release you!”

  We heard hurried steps, Christine running back to the Louis-Philippe room, as though to seek shelter on the other side of our wall.

  “What are you running away for?” asked the furious voice, which had followed her. “Give me back my bag, will you? Don’t you know that it is the bag of life and death?”

  “Listen to me, Erik,” sighed the girl. “As it is settled that we are to live together … what difference can it make to you?”

  “You know there are only two keys in it,” said the monster. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to look at this room which I have never seen and which you have always kept from me … It’s woman’s curiosity!” she said, in a tone which she tried to render playful.

  But the trick was too childish for Erik to be taken in by it.

  “I don’t like curious women,” he retorted, “and you had better remember the story of Blue-beard and be careful … Come, give me back my bag! … Give me back my bag! … Leave the key alone, will you, you inquisitive little thing?”

  And he chuckled, while Christine gave a cry of pain. Erik had evidently recovered the bag from her.

  At that moment, the viscount could not help uttering an exclamation of impotent rage.

  “Why, what’s that?” said the monster. “Did you hear, Christine?”

  “No, no,” replied the poor girl. “I heard nothing.”

  “I thought I heard a cry.”

  “A cry! Are you going mad, Erik? Whom do you expect to give
a cry, in this house? … I cried out, because you hurt me! I heard nothing.”

  “I don’t like the way you said that! … You’re trembling … You’re quite excited … You’re lying! … That was a cry, there was a cry! … There is some one in the torture-chamber! … Ah, I understand now!”

  “There is no one there, Erik!”

  “I understand!”

  “No one!”

  “The man you want to marry, perhaps!”

  “I don’t want to marry anybody, you know I don’t.”

  Another nasty chuckle. “Well, it won’t take long to find out. Christine, my love, we need not open the door to see what is happening in the torture-chamber. Would you like to see? Would you like to see? Look here! If there is some one, if there is really some one there, you will see the invisible window light up at the top, near the ceiling. We need only draw the black curtain and put out the light in here. There, that’s it … Let’s put out the light! You’re not afraid of the dark, when you’re with your little husband!”

  Then we heard Christine’s voice of anguish:

  “No! … I’m frightened! … I tell you, I’m afraid of the dark! … I don’t care about that room now … You’re always frightening me, like a child, with your torture-chamber! … And so I became inquisitive … But I don’t care about it now … not a bit … not a bit!”

  And that which I feared above all things began, automatically. We were suddenly flooded with light! Yes, on our side of the wall, everything seemed aglow. The Vicomte de Chagny was so much taken aback that he staggered. And the angry voice roared:

  “I told you there was some one! Do you see the window now? The lighted window, right up there? The man behind the wall can’t see it! But you shall go up the folding steps: that is what they are there for! … You have often asked me to tell you; and now you know! … They are there to give a peep into the torture-chamber … you inquisitive little thing!”

  “What tortures? … Who is being tortured? … Erik, Erik, say you are only trying to frighten me! … Say it, if you love me, Erik! … There are no tortures, are there?”

  “Go and look at the little window, dear!”

  I do not know if the viscount heard the girl’s swooning voice, for he was too much occupied by the astounding spectacle that now appeared before his distracted gaze. As for me, I had seen that sight too often, through the little window, at the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan; and I cared only for what was being said next door, seeking for a hint how to act, what resolution to take.

  “Go and peep through the little window! Tell me what he looks like!”

  We heard the steps being dragged against the wall.

  “Up with you! … No! … No, I will go up myself, dear!”

  “Oh, very well, I will go up. Let me go!”

  “Oh, my darling, my darling! … How sweet of you! …hHow nice of you to save me the exertion at my age! … Tell me what he looks like!”

  At that moment, we distinctly heard these words above our heads:

  “There is no one there, dear!”

  “No one? … Are you sure there is no one?”

  “Why, of course not … no one!”

  “Well, that’s all right! … What’s the matter, Christine? You’re not going to faint, are you … as there is no one there? … Here … come down … there! … Pull yourself together … as there is no one there! … but … But how do you like the landscape?”

  “Oh, very much!”

  “There, that’s better! … You’re better now, are you not? … That’s all right, you’re better! … No excitement! … And what a funny house, isn’t it, with landscapes like that in it?”

  “Yes, it’s like the Musee Grevin … But, say, Erik … there are no tortures in there! … What a fright you gave me!”

  “Why … as there is no one there?”

  “Did you design that room? It’s very handsome. You’re a great artist, Erik.”

  “Yes, a great artist, in my own line.”

  “But tell me, Erik, why did you call that room the torture-chamber?”

  “Oh, it’s very simple. First of all, what did you see?”

  “I saw a forest.”

  “And what is in a forest?”

  “Trees.”

  “And what is in a tree?”

  “Birds.”

  “Did you see any birds?”

  “No, I did not see any birds.”

  “Well, what did you see? Think! You saw branches And what are the branches?” asked the terrible voice. “There’s a gibbet! That is why I call my wood the torture-chamber! … You see, it’s all a joke. I never express myself like other people. But I am very tired of it! … I’m sick and tired of having a forest and a torture-chamber in my house and of living like a mountebank, in a house with a false bottom! … I’m tired of it! I want to have a nice, quiet flat, with ordinary doors and windows and a wife inside it, like anybody else! A wife whom I could love and take out on Sundays and keep amused on week-days … Here, shall I show you some card-tricks? That will help us to pass a few minutes, while waiting for eleven o’clock to-morrow evening … My dear little Christine! … Are you listening to me? … Tell me you love me! … No, you don’t love me … but no matter, you will! … Once, you could not look at my mask because you knew what was behind … And now you don’t mind looking at it and you forget what is behind! … One can get used to everything … if one wishes … Plenty of young people who did not care for each other before marriage have adored each other since! Oh, I don’t know what I am talking about! But you would have lots of fun with me. For instance, I am the greatest ventriloquist that ever lived, I am the first ventriloquist in the world! … You’re laughing … Perhaps you don’t believe me? Listen.”

  The wretch, who really was the first ventriloquist in the world, was only trying to divert the child’s attention from the torture-chamber; but it was a stupid scheme, for Christine thought of nothing but us! She repeatedly besought him, in the gentlest tones which she could assume:

  “Put out the light in the little window! … Erik, do put out the light in the little window!”

  For she saw that this light, which appeared so suddenly and of which the monster had spoken in so threatening a voice, must mean something terrible. One thing must have pacified her for a moment; and that was seeing the two of us, behind the wall, in the midst of that resplendent light, alive and well. But she would certainly have felt much easier if the light had been put out.

  Meantime, the other had already begun to play the ventriloquist. He said:

  “Here, I raise my mask a little … Oh, only a little! … You see my lips, such lips as I have? They’re not moving! … My mouth is closed—such mouth as I have—and yet you hear my voice … Where will you have it? In your left ear? In your right ear? In the table? In those little ebony boxes on the mantelpiece? … Listen, dear, it’s in the little box on the right of the mantelpiece: what does it say? ‘Shall I turn the scorpion?’ … And now, crack! What does it say in the little box on the left? ‘Shall I turn the grasshopper?’ … And now, crack! Here it is in the little leather bag … What does it say? ‘I am the little bag of life and death!’ … And now, crack! It is in Carlotta’s throat, in Carlotta’s golden throat, in Carlotta’s crystal throat, as I live! What does it say? It says, ‘It’s I, Mr. Toad, it’s I singing! I feel without alarm—co-ack—with its melody enwind me—co-ack!’ … And now, crack! It is on a chair in the ghost’s box and it says, ‘Madame Carlotta is singing to-night to bring the chandelier down!’ … And now, crack! Aha! Where is Erik’s voice now? Listen, Christine, darling! Listen! It is behind the door of the torture-chamber! Listen! It’s myself in the torture-chamber! And what do I say? I say, ‘Woe to them that have a nose, a real nose, and come to look round the torture-chamber! Aha, aha, aha!’”

  Oh, the ventriloquist’s terrible voice! It was everywhere, everywhere. It passed through the little invisible window, through the wal
ls. It ran around us, between us. Erik was there, speaking to us! We made a movement as though to fling ourselves upon him. But, already, swifter, more fleeting than the voice of the echo, Erik’s voice had leaped back behind the wall!

  Soon we heard nothing more at all, for this is what happened:

  “Erik! Erik!” said Christine’s voice. “You tire me with your voice. Don’t go on, Erik! Isn’t it very hot here?”

  “Oh, yes,” replied Erik’s voice, “the heat is unendurable!”

  “But what does this mean? … The wall is really getting quite hot! … The wall is burning!”

  “I’ll tell you, Christine, dear: it is because of the forest next door.”

  “Well, what has that to do with it? The forest?”

  “Why, didn’t you see that it was an African forest?”

  And the monster laughed so loudly and hideously that we could no longer distinguish Christine’s supplicating cries! The Vicomte de Chagny shouted and banged against the walls like a madman. I could not restrain him. But we heard nothing except the monster’s laughter, and the monster himself can have heard nothing else. And then there was the sound of a body falling on the floor and being dragged along and a door slammed and then nothing, nothing more around us save the scorching silence of the south in the heart of a tropical forest!

  Chapter XXIV

  “Barrels! … Barrels! … Any Barrels to Sell?”

  THE PERSIAN’S NARRATIVE CONTINUED

  I HAVE SAID THAT the room in which M. le Vicomte de Chagny and I were imprisoned was a regular hexagon, lined entirely with mirrors. Plenty of these rooms have been seen since, mainly at exhibitions: they are called “palaces of illusion,” or some such name. But the invention belongs entirely to Erik, who built the first room of this kind under my eyes, at the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan. A decorative object, such as a column, for instance, was placed in one of the corners and immediately produced a hall of a thousand columns; for, thanks to the mirrors, the real room was multiplied by six hexagonal rooms, each of which, in its turn, was multiplied indefinitely. But the little sultana soon tired of this infantile illusion, whereupon Erik altered his invention into a “torture-chamber.” For the architectural motive placed in one corner, he substituted an iron tree. This tree, with its painted leaves, was absolutely true to life and was made of iron so as to resist all the attacks of the “patient” who was 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.