The Phantom of the Opera
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About this ebook
When I began to ransack the archives of the National Academy of Music I was at once struck by the surprising coincidences between the phenomena ascribed to the "ghost" and the most extraordinary and fantastic tragedy that ever excited the Paris upper classes; and I soon conceived the idea that this tragedy might reasonably be explained by the phenomena in question.
Gaston Leroux
Gaston Leroux was born in Paris in 1868. He grew up on the Normandy coast, where he developed a passion for fishing and sailing. Upon reaching adulthood, he qualified as a lawyer, but, upon his father's death, his received a large inheritance, and left the law to become a writer. He first found fame as an investigative reporter on L'Echo de Paris, and travelled the world in a variety of disguises, reporting on a wide range of topics from volcanic eruptions to palace revolutions. In 1907, he changed career once again, and started work as a novelist, finding critical and commercial success with works such as The Mystery of the Yellow Room (1907) and The Phantom of the Opera (1911). Leroux continued to be a prolific writer until his death in 1927 - the result of complications following an operation.
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Reviews for The Phantom of the Opera
2,159 ratings82 reviews
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5It's an ok read, but I suggest seeing the stage play instead.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Very enjoyable as an audiobook.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I find it impossible to separate the audiobook from the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. The novel, naturally, has more detail than the musical, but Webber did such a fantastic job of staying close to the original source material that even if I got busy and only half paid attention to the audiobook, I was never lost. If you are a fan of the musical, you will definitely enjoy this.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5An iconic love/ghost story... a deformed man haunts the Paris Opera House and mentors/ensnares a gifted, beautiful soprano. Tough sledding for non-readers but still worth reading. The Broadway musical will heighten its appeal.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Ok classic book
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Very exciting!
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Love triangle with a ghost. Kept me occupied
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5“I want to have a wife like everybody else and to take her out on Sundays. I have invented a mask that makes me look like anybody. People will not even turn round in the streets. You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased.”
Poor, unhappy Erik.
As many people know, the Phantom of the Opera's plot is like the fairytale Beauty and the Beast with tragic ending instead of a happy one. The beast, the Opera Ghost, named Erik lived under a Opera House. He haunted it with his craftsmanship of trickery and illusions. Christine Daae, on the other hand, was an opera singer who were lured by the Opera Ghost; she believed that Erik was the Angel of Music. Raoul de Chagny was her lover.
The author succeeded in interlocking his story to the real facts and events in real life. At the beginning, for a moment there, I was beginning to believe the story was real. But, I remember this book is under fiction. haha. I had a lull moment in the middle part which caused me to do something else and not finish this book at once. I picked the momentum again by reading ChapterXX (That's why I do not easily give up on books). I like the part of the Persian until the end of the book. - Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I felt this book was a little disappointing. I wasn't really interested in any of the characters until the end of the novel and even at that point I only really liked Raoul and the Persian. Christine was just so stupid and the Phantom was so annoying with his whole "I'm ugly; pity me!" There wasn't any point in the book where I really wanted to read it until the end as it was building up towards the climax. Then just I was starting to feel like this book was actually going to be great, Gaston Leroux gave it an awful ending. I'm only going to give this book 3.5 stars and I would only recommend to fans of Gothic Literature or movie.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I had always been a big fan of The Phantom of the Opera (both the play and the movies) hadn't read the book until recently. I thought I knew everything there was to know, but the book blew me away. Nothing like I expected, and I loved every moment. I loved the story before, and I grew to love it even more.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I didn't know the musical was based on a true story. It's the original true crime novel.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5My prior exposure to The Phantom of the Opera is almost exclusively tied to the Broadway musical (or the movie musical adaptation of the Broadway play). Apart from that, all I knew about the Phantom came from random references in Scooby Doo or other peripherally related media. Thus I wasn't at all surprised to find the book have significant differences from what I know of the Phantom. Still, I felt a general sense of familiarity to the story and could envision many of the scenes…probably my biggest struggle was to stop internally singing songs from the play as I read the book.As was the case of many of the novels of the time, this book includes significant commentary from the author as he emphasizes that this is a true story that he has happened upon and researched over time. The author assures us that he has personally vetted out the claims of the research materials he has used and that he has personally investigated the locations of the story. This technique always strikes me as a little interesting and makes me laugh a little at the mindset of novelists and readers of a century ago. In spite of the fact that this story is certainly a work of fiction, it is very evident that Leroux conducted at least a moderate degree of research. At the very least, he had a great knowledge of the layout, look and feel of the Paris Opera House. The edition I read included an article in the appendix from a historian who commented on the attention to detail and accuracy. The article commented on the nature of the descriptions of the Opera House in the book as compared with reality. It indicated that there was certain literary license in some areas of the description (particularly with regards to some of the secret passages and such), but for the most part the book presented a true and accurate representation of the Opera House and could serve as a valid reference.Apart from the accuracy of the descriptions, I found the descriptive nature of the text very engaging but not overly so. I wasn't distracted from the descriptions, but I felt like I had a vivid feel for the Opera House (and other locales) and could truly envision the scenes presented. The characters felt a little stereotypical and predictable to me…though part of that could be due to my knowledge of the story as well as the fact that this story is a century old and perhaps when it initially came out, the characters were more unique than they are today.For those who have seen or are familiar with the Broadway play, you'll be familiar with a lot of the general aspects of the story. I can't speak to other film versions of the story. There are quite a few significant differences in the story as well. Probably the biggest difference is that there are many more scenes that happen away from the Opera House. In the play, we go up on the roof at one point and I believe the graveyard scene is supposed to happen away from the Opera House (it's been a while since I saw the play…and my memory is unclear). In the book, we find out where Raul and his brother live. We find out where Christine grew up and lives away from the Opera House. We wander the streets around the city. There's more backstory given to Christine as well as to her earlier interaction with Raul. We hear the folk story around the "Angel of Music" and understand even more why he is so enticing to her. All of these elements helped enrich the book and will certainly throw some interesting light on the play.Where things got a little weird for me in the book was in the character of the Phantom as well as a character not in the play…the Persian. We get an interesting back story on the Phantom's life prior to coming to the Paris Opera House. This story is intriguing though I think a lot of my interest was more in the way the story was laid out. Rather than giving you the whole story at once, which could have been done easily enough, we get hints and allegations throughout that allude to the Phantom having previously "haunted" another large building in similar ways. This was an interesting revelation to me. What was fun though was not only learning more and more about the Phantom (who is given a name in the book…but I'll leave readers to find that out as they read on their own) but also learning about the kingdom he'd built in the Opera House. As a contractor helping work on the construction of the Opera House, he had full access to all the nooks and crannies of the building and was able to make his own modifications as well. Once the construction was finished, he simply stayed behind and continued building his fortress. In addition to the trap doors and secret passageways, the Phantom was a sort of technological illusionist and had built a number of very complex rooms and areas with devious intent. There's a scene near the end of the book where we learn of a room called the Torture Chamber. We stumble into the room (along with other characters) in the dark and it's a while before we fully learn the workings of the room. Initially I envisioned a room with Medieval torture devices…a Rack, a Wheel, an Iron Maiden, Knee Splitters, Cats Paws, and others. Instead the room was a sort of "Sensory Illusion" or "Sensory Overload" chamber. By using light, mirrors, sound recordings, image projection, environmental control (hot/cold/etc) and quickly changing "set pieces" moving in and out, the Phantom used the room to conduct psychological torture on his victims by sending them "virtually" into a variety of locations specially organized to drive a person insane. The concept of this actually being torturous seemed laughable as I read it. However, as you think back to the late 19th and early 20th century when this sort of "magic" was inconceivable, I suppose it is more likely to consider that a person may be driven insane by creative manipulation of their environment. After all, there are reports of audience members being terrified as they watched an early "movie" of a train barreling towards the screen…many jumped out of the way. So even though we know/imagine these effects aren't 100% realistic, when we consider no other basis for evaluation, it could have been terrifying.The Phantom is one of those paradoxical characters…we are made to both pity him and to fear him. He is a misshapen, grotesque misunderstood human being who has been shunned and despised all his life and as a result turned into a recluse. On the flip side, he also took advantage of his reclusive moments to frighten, torture and murder people who got too close to his personal kingdom. While he's very smart, his moral logic was very young and fraught with the childish snap judgements and vengeful ideas that you might hear in a playground argument. When it becomes evident to him that Christine will not likely opt to love him and be his bride, his moral logic gets all the more desperate and he turns to a "if I can't have her, nobody will" mentality. The Phantom gives Christine two choices, in the figures of a scorpion and a grasshopper. He explains that she must either choose to love him, or she and everyone else will die. Turning the scorpion or the grasshopper invokes one of the Phantoms inventions. Once again, the confrontation in this moment felt a little silly but the mechanisms involved did create serious tension…especially when it became clear that either choice has catastrophic consequences in Christine's life (the extent of the "good" choice also being bad isn't crystal clear to her but as a reader, we can quickly deduce what will happen with each choice…in either case, someone is meant to die).As the story draws to its conclusion, the Phantom grows more and more pitiable but never forgivable (since he never exhibits any true remorse or responsibility for his actions). I think in these final chapters/pages, we are meant to be drawn in by his anguish and feel some sort of compassion on him. I can say that I did feel bad about his situation, but he still was certainly not a lovable character. By the same token, I didn't feel that much love for the other love interest (Raul) as he felt like a stereotypical hero…rather flat and predictable. Still, he had redeemable qualities.Overall, I'm glad to have read this classic novel. It's an interesting view into literature and life in the late 19th and early 20th century. The scenes, characters, and descriptions are all well-crafted and very vivid. There are a number of scenes that were a little dry and more boring than informative, but they were easy enough to skim by. I didn't feel the sense of horror and fear that this book may have created when first released, but if I put on the mystical goggles of the early 20th century, I can appreciate the form and function of the plot devices and see how this could have been terrifying to readers. In some way, this story and the way it's presented reminds me of some of the crime dramas on TV these days…insofar as we are not only told the story of kidnapping and murder in a prominent location, but that we also get to see the psychological element of the Phantom and how he became what he is.While it seems to hold up generally over time, the sometimes slower pace and the outrageous plot devices may be a little hard to swallow for many modern readers. But if you have interest in "classic literature" at all, or in the workings of early 1900s Paris, this will likely be an interesting read for you. Otherwise, you may want to stick with the Broadway play or movie.****3.5 out of 5 stars
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This is the one and only time you will hear me say 'I liked the movie/play better' Because I did. Its still an enjoyable book, very creepy and romantic but I miss the music. Maybe if I listen to the soundtrack while I read it?
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I thought this was good in most parts yet at times I found it either dull or confusing. But the good outweighs the bad.I think the third-person narrator swapping over to first person - allowing the Persian character to take over - was a mistake. I would rather have 'seen' what was going on with the heroine and the villain, rather than 'listening' to what the Persian and the hero could hear. The novel features as much humour as it does Gothic horror, which I enjoyed. I had to smile at the amount of times the hero bursts into tears through his passionate love for the heroine - she seldom cries yet he's easily set off!
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5What is interesting about this novel in light of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, is that the novel seems devoid of a hero. Erik, the Phantom, is a murderous psychopath. His muse, Christine, is a fragile wreck, and her lover Raoul is described as childish and whiny by the author. Yet, the gothic tale is very suspenseful, and we almost don't know who to root for. Erik's background is fascinating, and his genius almost overshadows his murderous rampages. The decent beneath the Opera House is very compelling in its mystery and suspense. Leroux's strength is in his scenic descriptions. It is through flashbacks that we best sympathize with the characters, as the author's dialogue does his characters no favors. For fans of the musical, much more is explained between the relationship between Madame Giry and the Phantom, how Christine came to the Opera, and, best of all, how the Phantom constructed his underground lair. His description of the impressive hideaway blows the Broadway scenery right out of the water.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5perhaps the reader. i couldn't focus well. maybe the writing style. tom liked this but he read it. so different from the musical!
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I was obsessed with The Phantom of the Opera in the sixth grade, after our otherwise useless music teacher taught a unit on the actual opera. I then read the book for a reading project in regular class.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I found this hilariously over the top, for the most part, helped by the fact that in one of the versions I read, all emphasis was done by capitalisation. It just made me think of Erik as a troll on the internet, honestly...
It's interesting how much more popular I'm told the musical is, than the book. And the book did badly originally, if I remember that rightly. There is something very dramatic about the book that might be best dealt with on the stage. And, of course, you can't hear the enchantment of Erik's singing, in the book.
It's also interesting how devoid of a hero this book is, at least from my perspective. Christine is central, in that it's her that Erik fixates on, and who Raoul loves. Erik is central, in that he's probably the most fascinating figure of the book, but he's also self-centered and murderous and more like a villain. Raoul is important, but doesn't take much action. The Persian, with his ideas of saving Christine, is perhaps the most heroic, but rather in the background for most of the book. There's not much to hang onto and care about, in terms of characters. - Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I was really enjoying this, and then I found out the translation I am reading is inaccurate and abridged! :(
I guess I'll just have to read it again later. I think I'll wait until the new Mireille Ribière translation comes out in March. - Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Delightful. I was a fan of the play first, of course, but the book adds so much more dimension to a story that is already beautiful and tragic. I loved learning more about Eric (the phantom), where he came from and how terrifyingly clever he was. Much more frightening than the musical. I'm trying to re-read it in French, but I keep getting side-tracked.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I appreciate the Opera of the Phantom MANY times more now that the holes in the storyline of the opera are patched up. This is an intriguing mystery, a complex story about human frailty, but mostly, it is a lovely love story.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Have you been mystified and enchanted by Andrew Lloyd Weber's "The Phantom of the Opera"? Did you know that the musical was based on a book? Gaston Leroux's "The Phantom of the Opera" is an excellent read for anyone who loves the musical or anyone who loves detective novels. The novel is written almost as a documentary, with the author trying to figure out if the Phantom of the Paris Opera was ideed real or not. He recounts the strange events attributed to the Phantom, and claims that they are all real events because the Phantom is a real man. He was not a ghost or ghoul, but a real man with real emotions.This book is very similar to the musical, but offers more insight into the thoughts of Christine, Raoul, and Erik (the Phantom). It also introduces a few new characters who help smooth out some of the rough/confusing parts of the musical.This novel proved to be an excellent example of our "who's the hero" theme. Raoul is a daring, physical hero who risks life and limb to save the love of his life. Christine is the selfless, internal hero who gives up all of her happiness for the happiness of others. It could be said that Erik is a hero as well, due to his undying love and selfless acts at the end of the novel. There are several heroes in this book, and all are special in their own unique way. It was interesting to see how they faced their various moral dilemmas.I really liked this book. Personally, I had just seen Phantom of the Opera on Broadway in November. I had never known the storyline before then. I was slightly confused about some of the things that happened in the play, so reading this book really cleared things up. The detective/mystery style layout of this book made the book really fun and easy to read. I really enjoyed it and I recommend it to anyone who loves the Phantom or just a good mystery!
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I borrowed this book from a friend because I really loved the soundtrack about two years ago when I first heard it. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to read the actual book. I read it in the span of a day while traveling on vacation (in the car and on the train). It was a pretty good book, though I felt it was dragged on a bit and I got a bit bored sometimes. But I loved the suspense and I kept wanting to read. I love mysteries about history, so I thought this was a pretty good book.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5sat unread for years.this translation ( or prose style ) is not the easiest or most engaging to read. but after slogging it through it's a little bit better than expected/anticipated
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Ohhh this is one of the best books i have ever read. i love how the phantom is so madly inlove wiht christe that he will do anything and nothing will stop him from loving the beautiful melodies that spring out of Christine Daae's voice. not even Roul will stop him
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I consider The Phantom of the Opera to be a retelling of the "Beauty and the Beast" fairy tale. The phantom in this version is kind of a creepy stalker guy. We get depth in some aspects missing in the musical (although we do not have the depth of feeling that the musical conveys), but really, if you want a good retelling of this story, read Susan Kay's Phantom. Leroux gets credit for the story line, but his writing is just as boring as that of other authors whose works have been turned into really awesome musicals- Victor Hugo and Charles Dickens. Were men of that general period just completely incapable of writing?
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5My daughter made me read this before we could go see Andrew Lloyd Webber's movie. I have wanted to see it for a long time because of the music, but never knew more than the outline of the plot. It was a good story. Very readable and a page turner. Anything lacking in style is probably due to translation difficulties. Like Frankenstein, it is the story of a great man who cannot be accepted because of his utter ugliness and is driven mad because of it.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This book gives us an insight into the depravities and, conversly the beauties of humanity. The ugliness of the phantom is contrasted with the beauty of his music and understandably, Christine feels an undeniably pity for him, whereas the naive Raoul only feels anger towards him. One of the best characters that was left out of the musical version was the Persian, who presents important background into the phantom's life. This book totally made me cry at the end!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I loved this book. It is more a melodramatic love story than the horror story it is made out to be and it's neither the musical nor the black and white silent so it should not be judged based on them. It is dark and passionate and surprisingly very funny.
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5OMG WORST BOOK EVER.
Book preview
The Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
House
Prologue
IN WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THIS SINGULAR WORK INFORMS THE READER HOW HE ACQUIRED THE CERTAINTY THAT THE OPERA GHOST REALLY EXISTED
The Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloak-room attendants or the concierge. Yes, he existed in flesh and blood, although he assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom; that is to say, of a spectral shade.
When I began to ransack the archives of the National Academy of Music I was at once struck by the surprising coincidences between the phenomena ascribed to the ghost
and the most extraordinary and fantastic tragedy that ever excited the Paris upper classes; and I soon conceived the idea that this tragedy might reasonably be explained by the phenomena in question. The events do not date more than thirty years back; and it would not be difficult to find at the present day, in the foyer of the ballet, old men of the highest respectability, men upon whose word one could absolutely rely, who would remember as though they happened yesterday the mysterious and dramatic conditions that attended the kidnapping of Christine Daae, the disappearance of the Vicomte de Chagny and the death of his elder brother, Count Philippe, whose body was found on the bank of the lake that exists in the lower cellars of the Opera on the Rue-Scribe side. But none of those witnesses had until that day thought that there was any reason for connecting the more or less legendary figure of the Opera ghost with that terrible story.
The truth was slow to enter my mind, puzzled by an inquiry that at every moment was complicated by events which, at first sight, might be looked upon as superhuman; and more than once I was within an ace of abandoning a task in which I was exhausting myself in the hopeless pursuit of a vain image. At last, I received the proof that my presentiments had not deceived me, and I was rewarded for all my efforts on the day when I acquired the certainty that the Opera ghost was more than a mere shade.
On that day, I had spent long hours over THE MEMOIRS OF A MANAGER, the light and frivolous work of the too-skeptical Moncharmin, who, during his term at the Opera, understood nothing of the mysterious behavior of the ghost and who was making all the fun of it that he could at the very moment when he became the first victim of the curious financial operation that went on inside the magic envelope.
I had just left the library in despair, when I met the delightful acting-manager of our National Academy, who stood chatting on a landing with a lively and well-groomed little old man, to whom he introduced me gaily. The acting-manager knew all about my investigations and how eagerly and unsuccessfully I had been trying to discover the whereabouts of the examining magistrate in the famous Chagny case, M. Faure. Nobody knew what had become of him, alive or dead; and here he was back from Canada, where he had spent fifteen years, and the first thing he had done, on his return to Paris, was to come to the secretarial offices at the Opera and ask for a free seat. The little old man was M. Faure himself.
We spent a good part of the evening together and he told me the whole Chagny case as he had understood it at the time. He was bound to conclude in favor of the madness of the viscount and the accidental death of the elder brother, for lack of evidence to the contrary; but he was nevertheless persuaded that a terrible tragedy had taken place between the two brothers in connection with Christine Daae. He could not tell me what became of Christine or the viscount. When I mentioned the ghost, he only laughed. He, too, had been told of the curious manifestations that seemed to point to the existence of an abnormal being, residing in one of the most mysterious corners of the Opera, and he knew the story of the envelope; but he had never seen anything in it worthy of his attention as magistrate in charge of the Chagny case, and it was as much as he had done to listen to the evidence of a witness who appeared of his own accord and declared that he had often met the ghost. This witness was none other than the man whom all Paris called the Persian
and who was well-known to every subscriber to the Opera. The magistrate took him for a visionary.
I was immensely interested by this story of the Persian. I wanted, if there were still time, to find this valuable and eccentric witness. My luck began to improve and I discovered him in his little flat in the Rue de Rivoli, where he had lived ever since and where he died five months after my visit. I was at first inclined to be suspicious; but when the Persian had told me, with child-like candor, all that he knew about the ghost and had handed me the proofs of the ghost's existence—including the strange correspondence of Christine Daae—to do as I pleased with, I was no longer able to doubt. No, the ghost was not a myth!
I have, I know, been told that this correspondence may have been forged from first to last by a man whose imagination had certainly been fed on the most seductive tales; but fortunately I discovered some of Christine's writing outside the famous bundle of letters and, on a comparison between the two, all my doubts were removed. I also went into the past history of the Persian and found that he was an upright man, incapable of inventing a story that might have defeated the ends of justice.
This, moreover, was the opinion of the more serious people who, at one time or other, were mixed up in the Chagny case, who were friends of the Chagny family, to whom I showed all my documents and set forth all my inferences. In this connection, I should like to print a few lines which I received from General D——:
SIR:
I can not urge you too strongly to publish the results of your inquiry. I remember perfectly that, a few weeks before the disappearance of that great singer, Christine Daae, and the tragedy which threw the whole of the Faubourg Saint-Germain into mourning, there was a great deal of talk, in the foyer of the ballet, on the subject of the ghost;
and I believe that it only ceased to be discussed in consequence of the later affair that excited us all so greatly. But, if it be possible—as, after hearing you, I believe—to explain the tragedy through the ghost, then I beg you sir, to talk to us about the ghost again.
Mysterious though the ghost may at first appear, he will always be more easily explained than the dismal story in which malevolent people have tried to picture two brothers killing each other who had worshiped each other all their lives.
Believe me, etc.
Lastly, with my bundle of papers in hand, I once more went over the ghost's vast domain, the huge building which he had made his kingdom. All that my eyes saw, all that my mind perceived, corroborated the Persian's documents precisely; and a wonderful discovery crowned my labors in a very definite fashion. It will be remembered that, later, when digging in the substructure of the Opera, before burying the phonographic records of the artist's voice, the workmen laid bare a corpse. Well, I was at once able to prove that this corpse was that of the Opera ghost. I made the acting-manager put this proof to the test with his own hand; and it is now a matter of supreme indifference to me if the papers pretend that the body was that of a victim of the Commune.
The wretches who were massacred, under the Commune, in the cellars of the Opera, were not buried on this side; I will tell where their skeletons can be found in a spot not very far from that immense crypt which was stocked during the siege with all sorts of provisions. I came upon this track just when I was looking for the remains of the Opera ghost, which I should never have discovered but for the unheard-of chance described above.
But we will return to the corpse and what ought to be done with it. For the present, I must conclude this very necessary introduction by thanking M. Mifroid (who was the commissary of police called in for the first investigations after the disappearance of Christine Daae), M. Remy, the late secretary, M. Mercier, the late acting-manager, M. Gabriel, the late chorus-master, and more particularly Mme. la Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac, who was once the little Meg
of the story (and who is not ashamed of it), the most charming star of our admirable corps de ballet, the eldest daughter of the worthy Mme. Giry, now deceased, who had charge of the ghost's private box. All these were of the greatest assistance to me; and, thanks to them, I shall be able to reproduce those hours of sheer love and terror, in their smallest details, before the reader's eyes.
And I should be ungrateful indeed if I omitted, while standing on the threshold of this dreadful and veracious story, to thank the present management the Opera, which has so kindly assisted me in all my inquiries, and M. Messager in particular, together with M. Gabion, the acting-manager, and that most amiable of men, the architect intrusted with the preservation of the building, who did not hesitate to lend me the works of Charles Garnier, although he was almost sure that I would never return them to him. Lastly, I must pay a public tribute to the generosity of my friend and former collaborator, M. J. Le Croze, who allowed me to dip into his splendid theatrical library and to borrow the rarest editions of books by which he set great store.
GASTON LEROUX.
Chapter I Is it the Ghost?
It was the evening on which MM. Debienne and Poligny, the managers of the Opera, were giving a last gala performance to mark their retirement. Suddenly the dressing-room of La Sorelli, one of the principal dancers, was invaded by half-a-dozen young ladies of the ballet, who had come up from the stage after dancing
Polyeucte. They rushed in amid great confusion, some giving vent to forced and unnatural laughter, others to cries of terror. Sorelli, who wished to be alone for a moment to run through
the speech which she was to make to the resigning managers, looked around angrily at the mad and tumultuous crowd. It was little Jammes—the girl with the tip-tilted nose, the forget-me-not eyes, the rose-red cheeks and the lily-white neck and shoulders—who gave the explanation in a trembling voice:
It's the ghost!
And she locked the door.
Sorelli's dressing-room was fitted up with official, commonplace elegance. A pier-glass, a sofa, a dressing-table and a cupboard or two provided the necessary furniture. On the walls hung a few engravings, relics of the mother, who had known the glories of the old Opera in the Rue le Peletier; portraits of Vestris, Gardel, Dupont, Bigottini. But the room seemed a palace to the brats of the corps de ballet, who were lodged in common dressing-rooms where they spent their time singing, quarreling, smacking the dressers and hair-dressers and buying one another glasses of cassis, beer, or even rhum, until the call-boy's bell rang.
Sorelli was very superstitious. She shuddered when she heard little Jammes speak of the ghost, called her a silly little fool
and then, as she was the first to believe in ghosts in general, and the Opera ghost in particular, at once asked for details:
Have you seen him?
As plainly as I see you now!
said little Jammes, whose legs were giving way beneath her, and she dropped with a moan into a chair.
Thereupon little Giry—the girl with eyes black as sloes, hair black as ink, a swarthy complexion and a poor little skin stretched over poor little bones—little Giry added:
If that's the ghost, he's very ugly!
Oh, yes!
cried the chorus of ballet-girls.
And they all began to talk together. The ghost had appeared to them in the shape of a gentleman in dress-clothes, who had suddenly stood before them in the passage, without their knowing where he came from. He seemed to have come straight through the wall.
Pooh!
said one of them, who had more or less kept her head. You see the ghost everywhere!
And it was true. For several months, there had been nothing discussed at the Opera but this ghost in dress-clothes who stalked about the building, from top to bottom, like a shadow, who spoke to nobody, to whom nobody dared speak and who vanished as soon as he was seen, no one knowing how or where. As became a real ghost, he made no noise in walking. People began by laughing and making fun of this specter dressed like a man of fashion or an undertaker; but the ghost legend soon swelled to enormous proportions among the corps de ballet. All the girls pretended to have met this supernatural being more or less often. And those who laughed the loudest were not the most at ease. When he did not show himself, he betrayed his presence or his passing by accident, comic or serious, for which the general superstition held him responsible. Had any one met with a fall, or suffered a practical joke at the hands of one of the other girls, or lost a powderpuff, it was at once the fault of the ghost, of the Opera ghost.
After all, who had seen him? You meet so many men in dress-clothes at the Opera who are not ghosts. But this dress-suit had a peculiarity of its own. It covered a skeleton. At least, so the ballet-girls said. And, of course, it had a death's head.
Was all this serious? The truth is that the idea of the skeleton came from the description of the ghost given by Joseph Buquet, the chief scene-shifter, who had really seen the ghost. He had run up against the ghost on the little staircase, by the footlights, which leads to the cellars.
He had seen him for a second—for the ghost had fled—and to any one who cared to listen to him he said:
He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton frame. His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils. You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull. His skin, which is stretched across his bones like a drumhead, is not white, but a nasty yellow. His nose is so little worth talking about that you can't see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE of that nose is a horrible thing TO LOOK AT. All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind his ears.
This chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at imagining things. His words were received with interest and amazement; and soon there were other people to say that they too had met a man in dress-clothes with a death's head on his shoulders. Sensible men who had wind of the story began by saying that Joseph Buquet had been the victim of a joke played by one of his assistants. And then, one after the other, there came a series of incidents so curious and so inexplicable that the very shrewdest people began to feel uneasy.
For instance, a fireman is a brave fellow! He fears nothing, least of all fire! Well, the fireman in question, who had gone to make a round of inspection in the cellars and who, it seems, had ventured a little farther than usual, suddenly reappeared on the stage, pale, scared, trembling, with his eyes starting out of his head, and practically fainted in the arms of the proud mother of little Jammes.[1] And why? Because he had seen coming toward him, AT THE LEVEL OF HIS HEAD, BUT WITHOUT A BODY ATTACHED TO IT, A HEAD OF FIRE! And, as I said, a fireman is not afraid of fire.
The fireman's name was Pampin.
The corps de ballet was flung into consternation. At first sight, this fiery head in no way corresponded with Joseph Buquet's description of the ghost. But the young ladies soon persuaded themselves that the ghost had several heads, which he changed about as he pleased. And, of course, they at once imagined that they were in the greatest danger. Once a fireman did not hesitate to faint, leaders and front-row and back-row girls alike had plenty of excuses for the fright that made them quicken their pace when passing some dark corner or ill-lighted corridor. Sorelli herself, on the day after the adventure of the fireman, placed a horseshoe on the table in front of the stage-door-keeper's box, which every one who entered the Opera otherwise than as a spectator must touch before setting foot on the first tread of the staircase. This horse-shoe was not invented by me—any more than any other part of this story, alas!—and may still be seen on the table in the passage outside the stage-door-keeper's box, when you enter the Opera through the court known as the Cour de l'Administration.
To return to the evening in question.
It's the ghost!
little Jammes had cried.
An agonizing silence now reigned in the dressing-room. Nothing was heard but the hard breathing of the girls. At last, Jammes, flinging herself upon the farthest corner of the wall, with every mark of real terror on her face, whispered:
Listen!
Everybody seemed to hear a rustling outside the door. There was no sound of footsteps. It was like light silk sliding over the panel. Then it stopped.
Sorelli tried to show more pluck than the others. She went up to the door and, in a quavering voice, asked:
Who's there?
But nobody answered. Then feeling all eyes upon her, watching her last movement, she made an effort to show courage, and said very loudly:
Is there any one behind the door?
Oh, yes, yes! Of course there is!
cried that little dried plum of a Meg Giry, heroically holding Sorelli back by her gauze skirt. Whatever you do, don't open the door! Oh, Lord, don't open the door!
But Sorelli, armed with a dagger that never left her, turned the key and drew back the door, while the ballet-girls retreated to the inner dressing-room and Meg Giry sighed:
Mother! Mother!
Sorelli looked into the passage bravely. It was empty; a gas-flame, in its glass prison, cast a red and suspicious light into the surrounding darkness, without succeeding in dispelling it. And the dancer slammed the door again, with a deep sigh.
No,
she said, there is no one there.
Still, we saw him!
Jammes declared, returning with timid little steps to her place beside Sorelli. He must be somewhere prowling about. I shan't go back to dress. We had better all go down to the foyer together, at once, for the 'speech,' and we will come up again together.
And the child reverently touched the little coral finger-ring which she wore as a charm against bad luck, while Sorelli, stealthily, with the tip of her pink right thumb-nail, made a St. Andrew's cross on the wooden ring which adorned the fourth finger of her left hand. She said to the little ballet-girls:
Come, children, pull yourselves together! I dare say no one has ever seen the ghost.
Yes, yes, we saw him—we saw him just now!
cried the girls. He had his death's head and his dress-coat, just as when he appeared to Joseph Buquet!
And Gabriel saw him too!
said Jammes. Only yesterday! Yesterday afternoon—in broad day-light——
Gabriel, the chorus-master?
Why, yes, didn't you know?
And he was wearing his dress-clothes, in broad daylight?
Who? Gabriel?
Why, no, the ghost!
Certainly! Gabriel told me so himself. That's what he knew him by. Gabriel was in the stage-manager's office. Suddenly the door opened and the Persian entered. You know the Persian has the evil eye——
Oh, yes!
answered the little ballet-girls in chorus, warding off ill-luck by pointing their forefinger and little finger at the absent Persian, while their second and third fingers were bent on the palm and held down by the thumb.
And you know how superstitious Gabriel is,
continued Jammes. However, he is always polite. When he meets the Persian, he just puts his hand in his pocket and touches his keys. Well, the moment the Persian appeared in the doorway, Gabriel gave one jump from his chair to the lock of the cupboard, so as to touch iron! In doing so, he tore a whole skirt of his overcoat on a nail. Hurrying to get out of the room, he banged his forehead against a hat-peg and gave himself a huge bump; then, suddenly stepping back, he skinned his arm on the screen, near the piano; he tried to lean on the piano, but the lid fell on his hands and crushed his fingers; he rushed out of the office like a madman, slipped on the staircase and came down the whole of the first flight on his back. I was just passing with mother. We picked him up. He was covered with bruises and his face was all over blood. We were frightened out of our lives, but, all at once, he began to thank Providence that he had got off so cheaply. Then he told us what had frightened him. He had seen the ghost behind the Persian, THE GHOST WITH THE DEATH'S HEAD just like Joseph Buquet's description!
Jammes had told her story ever so quickly, as though the ghost were at her heels, and was quite out of breath at the finish. A silence followed, while Sorelli polished her nails in great excitement. It was broken by little Giry, who said:
Joseph Buquet would do better to hold his tongue.
Why should he hold his tongue?
asked somebody.
That's mother's opinion,
replied Meg, lowering her voice and looking all about her as though fearing lest other ears than those present might overhear.
And why is it your mother's opinion?
Hush! Mother says the ghost doesn't like being talked about.
And why does your mother say so?
Because—because—nothing—
This reticence exasperated the curiosity of the young ladies, who crowded round little Giry, begging her to explain herself. They were there, side by side, leaning forward simultaneously in one movement of entreaty and fear, communicating their terror to one another, taking a keen pleasure in feeling their blood freeze in their veins.
I swore not to tell!
gasped Meg.
But they left her no peace and promised to keep the secret, until Meg, burning to say all she knew, began, with her eyes fixed on the door:
Well, it's because of the private box.
What private box?
The ghost's box!
Has the ghost a box? Oh, do tell us, do tell us!
Not so loud!
said Meg. It's Box Five, you know, the box on the grand tier, next to the stage-box, on the left.
Oh, nonsense!
I tell you it is. Mother has charge of it. But you swear you won't say a word?
Of course, of course.
Well, that's the ghost's box. No one has had it for over a month, except the ghost, and orders have been given at the box-office that it must never be sold.
And does the ghost really come there?
Yes.
Then somebody does come?
Why, no! The ghost comes, but there is nobody there.
The little ballet-girls exchanged glances. If the ghost came to the box, he must be seen, because he wore a dress-coat and a death's head. This was what they tried to make Meg understand, but she replied:
That's just it! The ghost is not seen. And he has no dress-coat and no head! All that talk about his death's head and his head of fire is nonsense! There's nothing in it. You only hear him when he is in the box. Mother has never seen him, but she has heard him. Mother knows, because she gives him his program.
Sorelli interfered.
Giry, child, you're getting at us!
Thereupon little Giry began to cry.
I ought to have held my tongue—if mother ever came to know! But I was quite right, Joseph Buquet had no business to talk of things that don't concern him—it will bring him bad luck—mother was saying so last night——
There was a sound of hurried and heavy footsteps in the passage and a breathless voice cried:
Cecile! Cecile! Are you there?
It's mother's voice,
said Jammes. What's the matter?
She opened the door. A respectable lady, built on the lines of a Pomeranian grenadier, burst into the dressing-room and dropped groaning into a vacant arm-chair. Her eyes rolled madly in her brick-dust colored face.
How awful!
she said. How awful!
What? What?
Joseph Buquet!
What about him?
Joseph Buquet is dead!
The room became filled with exclamations, with astonished outcries, with scared requests for explanations.
"Yes, he was found