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    The Phantom of the Opera
    The Phantom of the Opera
    The Phantom of the Opera
    Ebook365 pages5 hours

    The Phantom of the Opera

    By Gastón Leroux

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    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.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPubMe
    Release dateJul 10, 2015
    ISBN9786051768502
    Author

    Gastón Leroux

    Gaston Leroux (1868–1927) was a French writer best known for his novel The Phantom of the Opera. Born in Paris, Leroux initially worked as a critic and court reporter for the newspapers L’Écho de Paris and Le Matin. In 1918 he formed a film company called the Société des Cinéromans. After quitting journalism to focus on writing fiction, Leroux went on to publish dozens of novels. He died at his home in Nice, France. 

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    Reviews for The Phantom of the Opera

    4/5

    2,160 ratings83 reviews

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    • 3/5
      It's an ok read, but I suggest seeing the stage play instead.
    • 4/5
      An 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.
    • 4/5
      I 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.
    • 3/5
      Very enjoyable as an audiobook.
    • 5/5
      I 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.
    • 5/5
      I didn't know the musical was based on a true story. It's the original true crime novel.
    • 4/5
      I 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.
    • 4/5
      “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.
    • 5/5
      Very exciting!
    • 3/5
      Love triangle with a ghost. Kept me occupied
    • 3/5
      Ok classic book
    • 3/5
      This 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?
    • 5/5
      Delightful. 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.
    • 3/5
      I 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.
    • 4/5
      I 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.
    • 3/5
      I 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.
    • 4/5
      perhaps the reader. i couldn't focus well. maybe the writing style. tom liked this but he read it. so different from the musical!
    • 4/5
      I 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.
    • 5/5
      This 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!
    • 4/5
      My 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.
    • 3/5
      I 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?
    • 5/5
      Ohhh 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
    • 4/5
      I 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.
    • 5/5
      A movie. Based on an opera. Based on a novel. Based on what may or may not be slightly true events. Always interesting. And it involves music, another passion of mine. Just a painfully beautiful book about the masks we all wear.
    • 5/5
      I 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.
    • 5/5
      I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I had no idea what to expect as I wasn\'t familiar with any of Leroux\'s other novels and I hadn\'t heard anything about it from anybody else who\'d read it. I fell in love with it from the start. It\'s the perfect Gothic novel. It\'s ingenious, beautiful, and dark. I love it.
    • 3/5
      2.5 stars

      The Phantom of the Opera is almost universally acclaimed as a classic Gothic horror story, and I’ve often heard that it rivals Dracula or Frankenstein. There is no denying the influence of this book, and Leroux deserves a great deal of credit for creating an incredible plot. Conceptually, it is a perfect storm of Gothic nightmares: the ancient, labyrinthine opera house; the many colorful characters that make the beautiful Paris Opera House the center of their lives; a love triangle in which one of the lovers is an actual monster; echoes of Persephone and Hades... What more could a gothic aficionado want?

      Well, unfortunately, good writing is at the top of the list. Leroux's ambition far surpasses his ability. The book is poorly written in nearly every detail. The dialogue is ridiculous; even when the characters are engaged in the most serious discussions, their cartoonish dialogue ruins these scenes. The narrative itself is repetitious, tedious, and contrived, so that the overall effect is rarely horrific or suspenseful; ultimately it was quite mind-numbing and dull. The tone of the book careens widely from slapstick to the thrilling, with the result that any attempted atmospheric consistency is never fully established. The characters are not particularly interesting or sympathetic. Christine Daae is self-centered and manipulative, never demonstrating any admirable qualities. Okay, she is beautiful and talented, but her personality isn't worth all the trouble her suitors go through for her. Raoul, the young man who is madly in love with her, is never develops into a believable character. He is simply too plain to be accept as “real”. The Persian and the Phantom are naturally more interesting, given the air of mystery that surrounds both, but little is done to develop them to something more than minor set characters.

      Frankly, I struggled to finish, and skimmed the audiobook for the last hour or so. Ultimately, I just didn’t care what happened because of the lack of development mentioned above. The potential of the plot is great, but the story wasn’t brought to life for me.

      I also struggled with the narrator and the recording itself. It seemed to change sound levels and tone at random throughout the book, perhaps where the narrator stopped recording for the day, and picked up another time. Whatever the case, the sound guys didn’t save the settings, which didn’t help with the possibilities of this book.
    • 4/5
      I've seen the musical more than once and loved both the music and the story, and I remember feeling a little bit sorry for the phantom throughout it all. The unrequited love part of it all made me feel quite sad for this poor character, but now I've read the book my feelings have changed. Erik is a monster. He kills, blackmails and kidnaps. Thank you, Leroux, for such a dark character. The book is beautifully written and a wonderful Gothic tale.
    • 1/5
      OMG WORST BOOK EVER.
    • 4/5
      [ Phantom of the Opera] by [Gaston Leroux] was a Gothic tale centering around the ghost of the Paris Opera House, Eric (as they call him). I have seen the musical twice and much prefer it over the book not because of the scenery, the costumes, or the music, but because of the tale, or the lack of it The book is very very detailed and we have a nice little wrapped up package in the end, where everybody ends up "happy", even Eric; who finds another opera house. I much prefer the "unknown" of the musical. The book also seemed to drag for about 4-5 chapters when telling about the dungeon. I read this and listened to it on audio while driving. The audio was very well done. A good read; not a great read.

    Book preview

    The Phantom of the Opera - Gastón 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

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