Chapter XIII A Master-Stroke of the Trap-Door Lover

Raoul and Christine ran, eager to escape from the roof and the blazing

eyes that showed only in the dark; and they did not stop before they

came to the eighth floor on the way down.

There was no performance at the Opera that night and the passages were

empty. Suddenly, a queer-looking form stood before them and blocked

the road:

"No, not this way!"

And the form pointed to another passage by which they were to reach the

wings. Raoul wanted to stop and ask for an explanation. But the form,

which wore a sort of long frock-coat and a pointed cap, said:

"Quick! Go away quickly!"

Christine was already dragging Raoul, compelling him to start running

again.

"But who is he? Who is that man?" he asked.

Christine replied: "It's the Persian."

"What's he doing here?"

"Nobody knows. He is always in the Opera."

"You are making me run away, for the first time in my life. If we

really saw Erik, what I ought to have done was to nail him to Apollo's

lyre, just as we nail the owls to the walls of our Breton farms; and

there would have been no more question of him."

"My dear Raoul, you would first have had to climb up to Apollo's lyre:

that is no easy matter."

"The blazing eyes were there!"

"Oh, you are getting like me now, seeing him everywhere! What I took

for blazing eyes was probably a couple of stars shining through the

strings of the lyre."

And Christine went down another floor, with Raoul following her.

"As you have quite made up your mind to go, Christine, I assure you it

would be better to go at once. Why wait for to-morrow? He may have

heard us to-night."

"No, no, he is working, I tell you, at his Don Juan Triumphant and not

thinking of us."

"You're so sure of that you keep on looking behind you!"

"Come to my dressing-room."

"Hadn't we better meet outside the Opera?"

"Never, till we go away for good! It would bring us bad luck, if I did

not keep my word. I promised him to see you only here."

"It's a good thing for me that he allowed you even that. Do you know,"

said Raoul bitterly, "that it was very plucky of you to let us play at

being engaged?"

"Why, my dear, he knows all about it! He said, 'I trust you,

Christine. M. de Chagny is in love with you and is going abroad.

Before he goes, I want him to be as happy as I am.' Are people so

unhappy when they love?"

"Yes, Christine, when they love and are not sure of being loved."

They came to Christine's dressing-room.

"Why do you think that you are safer in this room than on the stage?"

asked Raoul. "You heard him through the walls here, therefore he can

certainly hear us."

"No. He gave me his word not to be behind the walls of my dressing-room

again and I believe Erik's word. This room and my bedroom on the lake

are for me, exclusively, and not to be approached by him."

"How can you have gone from this room into that dark passage,

Christine? Suppose we try to repeat your movements; shall we?"

"It is dangerous, dear, for the glass might carry me off again; and,

instead of running away, I should be obliged to go to the end of the

secret passage to the lake and there call Erik."

"Would he hear you?"

"Erik will hear me wherever I call him. He told me so. He is a very

curious genius. You must not think, Raoul, that he is simply a man who

amuses himself by living underground. He does things that no other man

could do; he knows things which nobody in the world knows."

"Take care, Christine, you are making a ghost of him again!"

"No, he is not a ghost; he is a man of Heaven and earth, that is all."

"A man of Heaven and earth ... that is all! ... A nice way to speak of

him! ... And are you still resolved to run away from him?"

"Yes, to-morrow."

"To-morrow, you will have no resolve left!"

"Then, Raoul, you must run away with me in spite of myself; is that

understood?"

"I shall be here at twelve to-morrow night; I shall keep my promise,

whatever happens. You say that, after listening to the performance, he

is to wait for you in the dining-room on the lake?"

"Yes."

"And how are you to reach him, if you don't know how to go out by the

glass?"

"Why, by going straight to the edge of the lake."

Christine opened a box, took out an enormous key and showed it to Raoul.

"What's that?" he asked.

"The key of the gate to the underground passage in the Rue Scribe."

"I understand, Christine. It leads straight to the lake. Give it to

me, Christine, will you?"

"Never!" she said. "That would be treacherous!"

Suddenly Christine changed color. A mortal pallor overspread her

features.

"Oh heavens!" she cried. "Erik! Erik! Have pity on me!"

"Hold your tongue!" said Raoul. "You told me he could hear you!"

But the singer's attitude became more and more inexplicable. She wrung

her fingers, repeating, with a distraught air:

"Oh, Heaven! Oh, Heaven!"

"But what is it? What is it?" Raoul implored.

"The ring ... the gold ring he gave me."

"Oh, so Erik gave you that ring!"

"You know he did, Raoul! But what you don't know is that, when he gave

it to me, he said, 'I give you back your liberty, Christine, on

condition that this ring is always on your finger. As long as you keep

it, you will be protected against all danger and Erik will remain your

friend. But woe to you if you ever part with it, for Erik will have

his revenge!' ... My dear, my dear, the ring is gone! ... Woe to us

both!"

They both looked for the ring, but could not find it. Christine

refused to be pacified.

"It was while I gave you that kiss, up above, under Apollo's lyre," she

said. "The ring must have slipped from my finger and dropped into the

street! We can never find it. And what misfortunes are in store for

us now! Oh, to run away!"

"Let us run away at once," Raoul insisted, once more.

She hesitated. He thought that she was going to say yes... Then her

bright pupils became dimmed and she said:

"No! To-morrow!"

And she left him hurriedly, still wringing and rubbing her fingers, as

though she hoped to bring the ring back like that.

Raoul went home, greatly perturbed at all that he had heard.

[Illustration: They Sat Like that for a Moment in Silence]

"If I don't save her from the hands of that humbug," he said, aloud, as

he went to bed, "she is lost. But I shall save her."

He put out his lamp and felt a need to insult Erik in the dark. Thrice

over, he shouted:

"Humbug! ... Humbug! ... Humbug!"

But, suddenly, he raised himself on his elbow. A cold sweat poured

from his temples. Two eyes, like blazing coals, had appeared at the

foot of his bed. They stared at him fixedly, terribly, in the darkness

of the night.

Raoul was no coward; and yet he trembled. He put out a groping,

hesitating hand toward the table by his bedside. He found the matches

and lit his candle. The eyes disappeared.

Still uneasy in his mind, he thought to himself:

"She told me that HIS eyes only showed in the dark. His eyes have

disappeared in the light, but HE may be there still."

And he rose, hunted about, went round the room. He looked under his

bed, like a child. Then he thought himself absurd, got into bed again

and blew out the candle. The eyes reappeared.

He sat up and stared back at them with all the courage he possessed.

Then he cried:

"Is that you, Erik? Man, genius, or ghost, is it you?"

He reflected: "If it's he, he's on the balcony!"

Then he ran to the chest of drawers and groped for his revolver. He

opened the balcony window, looked out, saw nothing and closed the

window again. He went back to bed, shivering, for the night was cold,

and put the revolver on the table within his reach.

The eyes were still there, at the foot of the bed. Were they between

the bed and the window-pane or behind the pane, that is to say, on the

balcony? That was what Raoul wanted to know. He also wanted to know

if those eyes belonged to a human being... He wanted to know

everything. Then, patiently, calmly, he seized his revolver and took

aim. He aimed a little above the two eyes. Surely, if they were eyes

and if above those two eyes there was a forehead and if Raoul was not

too clumsy ...

The shot made a terrible din amid the silence of the slumbering house.

And, while footsteps came hurrying along the passages, Raoul sat up

with outstretched arm, ready to fire again, if need be.

This time, the two eyes had disappeared.

Servants appeared, carrying lights; Count Philippe, terribly anxious:

"What is it?"

"I think I have been dreaming," replied the young man. "I fired at two

stars that kept me from sleeping."

"You're raving! Are you ill? For God's sake, tell me, Raoul: what

happened?"

And the count seized hold of the revolver.

"No, no, I'm not raving... Besides, we shall soon see ..."

He got out of bed, put on a dressing-gown and slippers, took a light

from the hands of a servant and, opening the window, stepped out on the

balcony.

The count saw that the window had been pierced by a bullet at a man's

height. Raoul was leaning over the balcony with his candle: "Aha!" he

said. "Blood! ... Blood! ... Here, there, more blood! ... That's a

good thing! A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!" he grinned.

"Raoul! Raoul! Raoul!"

The count was shaking him as though he were trying to waken a

sleep-walker.

"But, my dear brother, I'm not asleep!" Raoul protested impatiently.

"You can see the blood for yourself. I thought I had been dreaming and

firing at two stars. It was Erik's eyes ... and here is his blood! ...

After all, perhaps I was wrong to shoot; and Christine is quite capable

of never forgiving me ... All this would not have happened if I had

drawn the curtains before going to bed."

"Raoul, have you suddenly gone mad? Wake up!"

"What, still? You would do better to help me find Erik ... for, after

all, a ghost who bleeds can always be found."

The count's valet said:

"That is so, sir; there is blood on the balcony."

The other man-servant brought a lamp, by the light of which they

examined the balcony carefully. The marks of blood followed the rail

till they reached a gutter-spout; then they went up the gutter-spout.

"My dear fellow," said Count Philippe, "you have fired at a cat."

"The misfortune is," said Raoul, with a grin, "that it's quite

possible. With Erik, you never know. Is it Erik? Is it the cat? Is

it the ghost? No, with Erik, you can't tell!"

Raoul went on making this strange sort of remarks which corresponded so

intimately and logically with the preoccupation of his brain and which,

at the same time, tended to persuade many people that his mind was

unhinged. The count himself was seized with this idea; and, later, the

examining magistrate, on receiving the report of the commissary of

police, came to the same conclusion.

"Who is Erik?" asked the count, pressing his brother's hand.

"He is my rival. And, if he's not dead, it's a pity."

He dismissed the servants with a wave of the hand and the two Chagnys

were left alone. But the men were not out of earshot before the

count's valet heard Raoul say, distinctly and emphatically:

"I shall carry off Christine Daae to-night."

This phrase was afterward repeated to M. Faure, the

examining-magistrate. But no one ever knew exactly what passed between

the two brothers at this interview. The servants declared that this

was not their first quarrel. Their voices penetrated the wall; and it

was always an actress called Christine Daae that was in question.

At breakfast--the early morning breakfast, which the count took in his

study--Philippe sent for his brother. Raoul arrived silent and gloomy.

The scene was a very short one. Philippe handed his brother a copy of

the Epoque and said:

"Read that!"

The viscount read:

"The latest news in the Faubourg is that there is a promise of marriage

between Mlle. Christine Daae, the opera-singer, and M. le Vicomte Raoul

de Chagny. If the gossips are to be credited, Count Philippe has sworn

that, for the first time on record, the Chagnys shall not keep their

promise. But, as love is all-powerful, at the Opera as--and even more

than--elsewhere, we wonder how Count Philippe intends to prevent the

viscount, his brother, from leading the new Margarita to the altar.

The two brothers are said to adore each other; but the count is

curiously mistaken if he imagines that brotherly love will triumph over

love pure and simple."

"You see, Raoul," said the count, "you are making us ridiculous! That

little girl has turned your head with her ghost-stories."

The viscount had evidently repeated Christine's narrative to his

brother, during the night. All that he now said was:

"Good-by, Philippe."

"Have you quite made up your mind? You are going to-night? With her?"

No reply.

"Surely you will not do anything so foolish? I SHALL know how to

prevent you!"

"Good-by, Philippe," said the viscount again and left the room.

This scene was described to the examining-magistrate by the count

himself, who did not see Raoul again until that evening, at the Opera,

a few minutes before Christine's disappearance.

Raoul, in fact, devoted the whole day to his preparations for the

flight. The horses, the carriage, the coachman, the provisions, the

luggage, the money required for the journey, the road to be taken (he

had resolved not to go by train, so as to throw the ghost off the

scent): all this had to be settled and provided for; and it occupied

him until nine o'clock at night.

At nine o'clock, a sort of traveling-barouche with the curtains of its

windows close-down, took its place in the rank on the Rotunda side. It

was drawn by two powerful horses driven by a coachman whose face was

almost concealed in the long folds of a muffler. In front of this

traveling-carriage were three broughams, belonging respectively to

Carlotta, who had suddenly returned to Paris, to Sorelli and, at the

head of the rank, to Comte Philippe de Chagny. No one left the

barouche. The coachman remained on his box, and the three other

coachmen remained on theirs.

A shadow in a long black cloak and a soft black felt hat passed along

the pavement between the Rotunda and the carriages, examined the

barouche carefully, went up to the horses and the coachman and then

moved away without saying a word, The magistrate afterward believed

that this shadow was that of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny; but I do not

agree, seeing that that evening, as every evening, the Vicomte de

Chagny was wearing a tall hat, which hat, besides, was subsequently

found. I am more inclined to think that the shadow was that of the

ghost, who knew all about the whole affair, as the reader will soon

perceive.

They were giving FAUST, as it happened, before a splendid house. The

Faubourg was magnificently represented; and the paragraph in that

morning's EPOQUE had already produced its effect, for all eyes were

turned to the box in which Count Philippe sat alone, apparently in a

very indifferent and careless frame of mind. The feminine element in

the brilliant audience seemed curiously puzzled; and the viscount's

absence gave rise to any amount of whispering behind the fans.

Christine Daae met with a rather cold reception. That special audience

could not forgive her for aiming so high.

The singer noticed this unfavorable attitude of a portion of the house

and was confused by it.

The regular frequenters of the Opera, who pretended to know the truth

about the viscount's love-story, exchanged significant smiles at

certain passages in Margarita's part; and they made a show of turning

and looking at Philippe de Chagny's box when Christine sang:

"I wish I could but know who was he

That addressed me,

If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is."

The count sat with his chin on his hand and seemed to pay no attention

to these manifestations. He kept his eyes fixed on the stage; but his

thoughts appeared to be far away.

Christine lost her self-assurance more and more. She trembled. She

felt on the verge of a breakdown ... Carolus Fonta wondered if she was

ill, if she could keep the stage until the end of the Garden Act. In

the front of the house, people remembered the catastrophe that had

befallen Carlotta at the end of that act and the historic "co-ack"

which had momentarily interrupted her career in Paris.

Just then, Carlotta made her entrance in a box facing the stage, a

sensational entrance. Poor Christine raised her eyes upon this fresh

subject of excitement. She recognized her rival. She thought she saw

a sneer on her lips. That saved her. She forgot everything, in order

to triumph once more.

From that moment the prima donna sang with all her heart and soul. She

tried to surpass all that she had done till then; and she succeeded.

In the last act when she began the invocation to the angels, she made

all the members of the audience feel as though they too had wings.

In the center of the amphitheater a man stood up and remained standing,

facing the singer. It was Raoul.

"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed ..."

And Christine, her arms outstretched, her throat filled with music, the

glory of her hair falling over her bare shoulders, uttered the divine

cry:

"My spirit longs with thee to rest!"

It was at that moment that the stage was suddenly plunged in darkness.

It happened so quickly that the spectators hardly had time to utter a

sound of stupefaction, for the gas at once lit up the stage again. But

Christine Daae was no longer there!

What had become of her? What was that miracle? All exchanged glances

without understanding, and the excitement at once reached its height.

Nor was the tension any less great on the stage itself. Men rushed

from the wings to the spot where Christine had been singing that very

instant. The performance was interrupted amid the greatest disorder.

Where had Christine gone? What witchcraft had snatched her, away

before the eyes of thousands of enthusiastic onlookers and from the

arms of Carolus Fonta himself? It was as though the angels had really

carried her up "to rest."

Raoul, still standing up in the amphitheater, had uttered a cry. Count

Philippe had sprung to his feet in his box. People looked at the

stage, at the count, at Raoul, and wondered if this curious event was

connected in any way with the paragraph in that morning's paper. But

Raoul hurriedly left his seat, the count disappeared from his box and,

while the curtain was lowered, the subscribers rushed to the door that

led behind the scenes. The rest of the audience waited amid an

indescribable hubbub. Every one spoke at once. Every one tried to

suggest an explanation of the extraordinary incident.

At last, the curtain rose slowly and Carolus Fonta stepped to the

conductor's desk and, in a sad and serious voice, said:

"Ladies and gentlemen, an unprecedented event has taken place and

thrown us into a state of the greatest alarm. Our sister-artist,

Christine Daae, has disappeared before our eyes and nobody can tell us

how!"