Chapter XX

Notwithstanding the horrors of a situation, M. de Chagny and his companion were saved by the sublime devotion of Christine Daae. And I had the rest of the story from the lips of the daroga himself.

When I went to see him, he was still living in his little flat in the Rue de Rivoli. He was very ill, and it required all my ardor to persuade him to live the incredible tragedy over again.

When he opened his eyes, the daroga found himself lying on a bed. M. de Chagny was on a sofa, beside the wardrobe. An angel and a devil were watching over them.

The figure of the masked man bent down over the Persian and said, in his ear:

“Are you better, daroga? You are looking at my furniture? It is all that I have left of my poor unhappy mother.”

Christine Daae did not say a word: she moved about noiselessly, like a sister of charity, who had taken a vow of silence. She brought a cup of hot tea. The man in the mask took it from her hands and gave it to the Persian. M. de Chagny was still sleeping.

Pointing to the viscount, Erik said:

“He is quite well. He is asleep. We must not wake him.”

Erik left the room for a moment, and the Persian raised himself on his elbow, looked around him and saw Christine Daae sitting by the fireside. He spoke to her, called her, but he was still very weak and fell back on his pillow. Christine came to him, laid her hand on his forehead and went away again.

Erik returned with some little bottles which he placed on the mantelpiece. And he said to the Persian, after sitting down and feeling his pulse:

“You are now saved, both of you. And soon I shall take you up to the surface of the earth, to please my wife.”

Thereupon he rose, without any further explanation, and disappeared once more. The Persian now looked at Christine’s quiet profile under the lamp. She was reading a book. Very gently, he called her again; but Christine did not hear him.

Erik returned and advised him not to speak to “his wife” again nor to any one, because it might be very dangerous to everybody’s health.

Eventually, the Persian fell asleep, like M. de Chagny, and did not wake until he was in his own room, nursed by his faithful Darius, who told him that, on the night before, he was found propped against the door of his flat, where he had been brought by a stranger, who rang the bell before going away.

As soon as the daroga recovered his strength and his wits, he sent to Count Philippe’s house to inquire after the viscount’s health. The answer was that the young man had not been seen and that Count Philippe was dead. His body was found on the bank of the Opera lake, on the Rue-Scribe side. Knowing Erik as he did, he easily reconstructed the tragedy.

The Persian did not hesitate. He determined to inform the police. Now the case was in the hands of an examining-magistrate called Faure. M. Faure treated the Persian as a madman.

So the Persian sat down to write. He had just written the last line of the narrative I have quoted in the preceding chapters, when Darius announced the visit of a stranger who would not show his face and declared simply that he did not intend to leave the place until he had spoken to the daroga.

It was the ghost, it was Erik!

He looked extremely weak and leaned against the wall. Taking off his hat, he revealed a forehead white as wax. The rest of the horrible face was hidden by the mask.

The Persian rose to his feet as Erik entered.

“Murderer of Count Philippe, what have you done with his brother and Christine Daae?”

“Daroga, I have not come here to talk about Count Philippe but to tell you that I am going to die.”

“Where are Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae?”

“I am going to die.”

“Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae?”

“Of love, daroga, I am dying of love. I love her and I am dying of love for her! If you knew how beautiful she was, when she let me kiss her!”

“Will you tell me if she is alive or dead.”

“No, no, she is not dead! She is a good, honest girl, and she saved your life, daroga, at a moment when I would not have given twopence for your Persian skin. As a matter of fact, nobody bothered about you. Daroga, when you were yelling like the devil, because of the water, Christine came to me with her beautiful blue eyes wide open, and swore to me that she consented to be my wife! Half a minute later, all the water was back in the lake”.

“What have you done with the Vicomte de Chagny?” asked the Persian.

“He was a hostage. But I could not keep him in the house on the lake, either, because of Christine; so I locked him up comfortably in the most deserted and remote part of the Opera, below the fifth cellar, where no one ever comes. Then I came back to Christine, she was waiting for me. Yes, she was waiting for me. And, when I came, she did not run away, no, no, she stayed. She waited for me. And I kissed her! Oh, how good it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead! My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never let me kiss her. She used to run away and throw me my mask! Nor any other woman… ever, ever!… Ah, you can understand, my happiness was so great, I cried. And I fell at her feet, crying… and I kissed her little feet, crying. You’re crying, too, daroga, and she cried also, the angel cried! Listen, daroga, listen to what I did. I tore off my mask, and she did not run away! And she did not die! She remained alive, weeping over me, with me. We cried together! I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer!”

And Erik fell into a chair:

“Listen, daroga, listen to this. While I was at her feet I heard her say, ‘Poor, unhappy Erik!’ And she took my hand! I held in my hand a ring, a plain gold ring which I had given her… which she had lost… and which I had found again… a wedding-ring, you know… I slipped it into her little hand and said, ‘There! Take it for you and him! It will be my wedding-present, a present from your poor, unhappy Erik. I know you love him, don’t cry any more! Then I went and released the young man, and told him to come with me to Christine. I made Christine swear to come back, one night, when I was dead, crossing the lake from the Rue-Scribe side, and bury me in the greatest secrecy with the gold ring. I told her where she would find my body and what to do with it. Then Christine kissed me, for the first time, herself, here, on the forehead, on my forehead, mine—don’t look, daroga!—and they went off together. Christine had stopped crying. I alone cried. Daroga, daroga, if Christine keeps her promise, she will come back soon!”

The Persian asked him no questions. The monster resumed his mask and collected his strength to leave the daroga. That was all. A cab was waiting for Erik. He stepped in; and the Persian, who had gone back to the window, heard him say to the driver:

“Go to the Opera.”

And the cab drove off into the night.

The Persian had seen the poor, unfortunate Erik for the last time.

Three weeks later, the Epoque published this advertisement:

“Erik is dead.”

Epilogue

The Persian alone knew the whole truth. According to the Persian’s account, Erik was born in a small town not far from Rouen. He was the son of a master-mason. He ran away at an early age from his father’s house, where his ugliness was a subject of horror and terror to his parents. For a time, he frequented the fairs, where a showman exhibited him as the “living corpse.” He seems to have crossed the whole of Europe, from fair to fair, and to have completed his strange education as an artist and magician among the Gipsies. A period of Erik’s life remained quite obscure. He was seen at the fair of Nijni-Novgorod, where he displayed himself in all his hideous glory. Then Erik was brought to Persia. He seemed not to know the difference between good and evil. He took part in a number of political assassinations; and he turned his diabolical inventive powers against the Emir of Afghanistan, who was at war with the Persian empire.

Erik’s death was decided upon, but the daroga saved him by providing him with the means of escape. Eric left Persia: he knew too much. Then, tired of his adventurous, formidable and monstrous life, he became a contractor, like any ordinary contractor, building ordinary houses. And he dreamed of creating for his own use a dwelling unknown to the rest of the earth, where he could hide from men’s eyes for all time.

The reader knows the rest. Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He had to hide his genius or use it to play tricks with. I have prayed over his mortal remains, that God might show him mercy notwithstanding his crimes.

Vocabulary

A

abduction – n похищение

abductor – n похититель

abode – n жилище

abominable – adj отвратительный

abuse – n оскорбление; v злоупотреблять; ругать; оскорблять; мучить

accept – v принимать

accident – n несчастный случай; ошибка

accompaniment – n сопровождение

accord – n согласие, соглашение

accursed – adj проклятый

accuse – v обвинять

accustomed – adj обычный, привычный

actress – n актриса

admirable – adj замечательный, прекрасный, достойный восхищения

admit – v допускать; признавать(ся)

admittance – n вход

adorable – adj обожаемый; прелестный, восхитительный

adorn – v украшать

adventurous – adj смелый; предприимчивый; рискованный, авантюрный

advertisement – n объявление

affection – n привязанность; любовь

afresh – adv снова

afterward – adv потом; впоследствии; позже

aglow – adj раскалённый докрасна

agonizing – adj мучительный

ajar – adj приоткрытый

alarmed – adj встревоженный

allowance – n содержание

amid – prep среди

amphitheater – n амфитеатр

amuse – v развлекать; забавлять

ancestor – n предок, прародитель

anxious – adj озабоченный; беспокоящийся; волнующийся; взволнованный

appal – v пугать

apparently – adv видимо; очевидно; явно

approximately – adv приближенно; ориентировочно

archive – n архив

ardor – n жар, пылкость, пыл, рвение

ascribe – v приписывать

ashamed – adj пристыжённый; испытывающий стыд

aside – adv в стороне; в сторону

assassination – n (предательское) убийство

astonishment – n удивление

astounded – adj изумлённый

asunder – adv порознь, врозь

asylum – n сумасшедший дом

audacity – n дерзость

auditorium – n зрительный зал

authority – n власть; полномочие

awful – adj ужасный, страшный

awkwardly – adv неуклюже, неловко