Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 168, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 July 1912 — Page 2

The PHANTOM or THE OPERA

by Gaston Leroux

o/® - TrtE • MYSTERY •Or • THE • YELLOW -ROOMand ME • PERFUME -OP ; TME •LADY- IN • BLACKIllustrations'£>y JW'G'/T&otzner" Copyright >9// by The 30665-fiferr/// Company '

CHAPTER i. la It the Ghost? It was the evening on which MM. Deblenne and Poilgny, the managers of the opera, were giving a last gaia .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 They rushed In amid great confusion, some giving vent to forced 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 who gave the explanation in a trembling voice: *Tfs the ghost!" And 6be locked the door. "Have you seen him?” “As plainly as I see you now!" said little Jammes. V:;) —-- Thereupon little Giry added: "If that’s the ghost, he’s very OKlyl” ~ ---;7 j "Oh,*yes!” cried the chorus of bal-let-girls. And they all began to talk together. The ghost had appeared to them in the shape of a gentleman in dressolothes, who had suddenly stood before them in the passage. He seemed to have come straight through the wall. For several months there had been nothing discussed at the opera bu| this ghost in dress-clothes who stalked about the building, from top to bottom, like a shadow, who spoke to nobody, and who vanished as soon as he was seen. The dress-suit had a peculiarity of its own. It covered a ■ skeleton. At least, so the ballet-girls said. The idea oi the skeleton came from the description of the ghost given by Joseph Buquet, the chief scene-shifter. He bad run np against the ghost on the little staircase, by the footlights, which leads to "the cellars." '] "He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton frame. ;Hls eyes are so deep that you can ; hardly see the fixed pupils. His nose

Tho Ghost Had Appeared to Them in the Shape of a Gentieman in DressClothes.

|%T bo little worth talking about that r TOO can't «ee It side-face; and the absence of that nose is a horrible thing to look at.” pi'hiß chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man. very slow at s Imagining.things. And then, one after the other, there came a series or incidentslso curious that the shrewdest For instance, a fireman Is a brave fellow! Well, the fireman, who had gone to make a round of Inspection in Tsh& cellars and who had ventured a I Httle firther than usual, suddenly re-

appeared on the stage, pale, trenjbling and practically fainted In the arms of the mother of Jammes. 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! The fireman’s name was Pampln. To return to the evening In question. 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.” “Gabriel saV blm, too!” said Jammes. “Only yesterday!” “Gabriel, the chorus-master?” "Why, yes, didn’t you know? Gabriel was In the stage manager’s office. Suddenly the door opened and the Persian entered. Tou know the Persian has the evil eye—” “Oh, yes!” answered the little bal-let-girls In chorus.

“And you know how superstitious Gabriel Is," continued Jammes. "However, he is always polite. 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! 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. Then he told us he had seen the ghost behind the Persian, the ghost with the death’s head, Just like Joseph Buquet’s description!” A silence followed. It was broken by little Giry. “Joseph Buquet would do better to hold his tongue. 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 ber to explain herself. “I swore not to tell!” gasped Meg.

But they left her no peace until. Meg began: “Well. It’s because of the private box. Ife Box Five, you kpow, the box on the grand tier, next to the stage-box, on the left Mother has charge of it No one hae bad It for over a month, except the ghost, and orders have been given at. the boxoffice that it must never be sold.” "'And does the ghost really come there?” “Yes. And be has no dress-coa* and ho head. You only hear him when be is, In the box. Mother has

never s«en him, bat she has beard him. Mother know*, because she gives him bis program.” There was a sound of hurried footsteps In the passage and a voice cried: :.r “Cecils! Are you there?” “It’s mother’s voice," said Jammes. Sbe opened the door. A respectable lady, built \onjthe lines of a Pomeranian grenadier, burst into the dressing-room and dropped groaning Into a vacant arm-chair. “How awful!" she said. “What?" “Joseph Buquet is dead! Yes, he was found hanging In the third-floor cellar!" “It’s the ghost!” little Giry blurted. Soreßl was very pale. “I shall never be able to recite my speech,” she said. : v ‘ Ma Jammes gave her oplniod, while she emptied a glass of liqueur that happened to be standing on a table; the ghost must have something to do with It • The news soon spread all over the opera. The dressing-rooms emptied and the baHet-girte; crowding around Sorellt like sheep around their shepherdess, made for the foyer through the ill-lit passages and staircases, trotting as fast as their little pink legs could carry them.

CHAPTER 11. a The New Margarita. On the first landing, Sorelji ran against the Comte de Chagny, who was <ffimlng upstairs. “I was just going to you,” he said, taking off his hat. “Oly Sorelli, what an evening! And Christine Daae: what a triumph!” “Impossible!” said Meg Giry. "Six months ago she used to sing like a crock! But do let us get by, my dear count," continues tbe brat, with a curtsey. "We are going to inquire after a poor man who was found hanglng by the n§ck.” Just then the acting manager came fussing past and stopped. “What!" he exclaimed. “Have you girls heard already? Well, please forget about It for tonight—and above all don’t let M. Deblenne and M. Poilgny hear; It would upset them too much on their last day.” They all went on to the foyer of tbe ballet, which was already full of people. The Comte de Chagny was right; no gala performance ever equaled this one. Faure and Krause had sung ; and, on that evening, Christine Daae had revealed her true Self, for the first time, to the astonished audience. ..... • The whole house went mad, rlftfiff to Its feet, shouting, cheering, clapping, while Christine Bobbed and fainted in the arms of her fellow-sing-ers and had to be carried to ber dress-ing-room. A few subscribers, how*, ever, protested. Why had so great a« treasure been kept from them all that time? Till then, Christine Daae had pjayed a good Slebel to Carlotta’s rather too splendidly material Margarita. And It had needed Carlotta’s incomprehensible absence from this gala night for the little Daae, at a moment’s warning, to show all that she could do In a part of the program reserved for the Spanish diva! _ The Comte de Chagny, standing up in his box, listened to all this frenzy and took part in it by loudly applauding. Philippe Georges Marie Comte de Chagny was just forty-oile years of age. He was a great aristocrat and a

good-looking man, above middle height and with attractive features, In spite of his hard forehead and hls rather cold eyes. On the death of old Count Philibert, he became the head of one of the oldest and moßt distinguished families in France, whose arms dated back to the fourteenth century. His two Bisters and his brother, Raoul, would not hear of a division and waived their claim to their shares. The Comtesse de Chagny, nee de Moerogis de La M&rtynlere, had died in giving birth to Raoul, who was born twenty years after his elder brother. Philippe busied himself actively with the youngster's education. The lad entered the Borda training-ship, - finished hls course with honors and quietly made hls trip round the world. Thanks to powerful influence, he had Just been appointed a member of the official expedition on board the Requin, which was to be sent to the Arctic Circle in search of the survivors of the D’Artoi’s expedition, of whom nothing had been heard for three years. He was a little over twenty-one years of age and looked eighteen. He had a small, fair mustache, beautiful blue eyes and a complexion like a girl’s. On that evening, Philippe, after applauding the DShe, turned to Raoul and saw that he was quite pale. “Don’t you see,** said Raoul, “that the woman’s fainting?” ,yY “You look like fainting yourself." said the count “What's the matter?” But Raoul had recovered himself and was standing up. “Let’s go and see,” he said, “she never sang like that before-" They were soon at the door leading from the houke to the stage. Kaoul tore his gloves without knowing what he was doing and Philippe had much too kind a heart to laugh at hlm for his impatience. But he now understood why Raoul was absent-minded when spoken to and why he always tried to turn every conversation to the subject of the opera. They reached the stage tod pushed through the crowd of gentlemen, scene-shifters, supers and chorusgirls, Raoul leading the way, feeling that his heart no longer belonged to him, his face set with passion, while Count Philippe followed him with dis-j Acuity and continued to smile. The count was surprised to find that ( Raoul knew the way. He had never taken to Christine's himself and

j*“,';f '■ :-7s. f? '> ■- ; .. 1 e&me to the conclusion that Kaoul must bare gone there alone while the count stayed talking in the foyer with Sorelll. Postponing bis usual visit to Sorelli, the count followed bis brother down the passage that led to Daae’s dress-ing-room and saw that it bad never been so crammed. The girl bad -not yet come to; and the doctor of the theater bad just arrived at tpy moment when Raoul entered. Cbristibe, therefore, received the first aid of the ope, while opening her eyes in the. arms of the other. The count and many more remained crowding in the doorway. ’t?" E “Don't you think, doctor, that those gentlemen had better -. dear the room?" asked Raoul coolly. “There's no breathing here." ' V “You’re quite right,” said the doctor. And be sent every one away, except Raoul and the maid. Christine Daae uttered a deep sigh,

which was answered by a groan. She turned her head, saw Raoul and started. She looked at tjie doctor, on whom she bestowed a smile, then at her maid, then at Raoul again. “Monsieur,” she said, In a voice not much above a whisper, “who are you?” > “Mademoiselle,” replied the young man, kneeling-on one knee and pressing a fervent kiss on the diva’s hand, “I am the little boy who went into the sea to rescue your scarf.” Christine again looked at the doctor and the maid; and all three began to laugh. Raoul turned very red and stood up. “Ma<femoiseUe,” he said, “since you are pleased not to recognize me, 1 should like to say something to you in private." “When I am better, do you? mind?” “Yes, you must go,” said the doctor, with his pleasantest smile. *1 am not ill now," said Christine suddenly, with strange and unexpected energy. She rose and passed her hand over her eyelids. - “Thank you, doctor. Please go away, all of you. Leave me.” The doctor tried to make a short protest, but, perceiving the girl's evident agitation, he thought the best remedy was not to thwart her. ,And he went away, saying to Raoul, outside: “She is not herself tonight She is usually so gentle.” Then he Bald good night and Raoul waa left alone.

Suddenly the dressing-room door opened and the maid came out by herself, carrying bundles. He stopped her and asked how her mistress was. The woman said that she was quite wen. And she passed on. ~ One Idea alone filled Raoul’s burning brain: of course, Daae wished to be left alone for him! Had he not told her that he >aiU®<l to apeak to her privately? Hardly breathing, be went up to the dressing-room and, with his ear to the door to catch her reply, prepared to .knock. But his ~ hand dropped.. He a tone: "Christine, you must love me!" And Christine's voice, infinitely sad ftm i tr#mblln£ as though accompanied y -‘H?”’can you talk like that? W|*t 1 sing only for you!" Raoul leaned against the panel to ease his pain. His heart, which had “ "Oh! tonight 7gave you my soul and

9 ■ I received so fair a gift. The angel* | wept tonight/*' , . P H Raoul heard nothing after that. Nevertheless, he did not go away, but, as though he feared lest he should be caught, he returned to his dark corner, determined to wait for the . man to leave the room. To his great astonishment, the door opened and Christine Daae appeared, wrapped In furs, with her face hidden in a lace veil, alone. She passed him. He did not even follow her with his eyes, for his eyes were fixed on the door, which did not open again. When the passage was once more deserted, he crossed it, opened the door of the dressing-room, went to -and shut the door. He found himself in absolute darkness. The gas had bedn turned out. •There is some one here!” said fiaoul. with his back against the closed door, In a quivering voice. “What are you hiding for?” All was darkness and silence.

There Was No One in the Room.

He struck a match. The blaze lit up the room. There was no one in the room! , CHAPTER 111, The Mysterious Reason. During this time, the farewell ceremony was taking place. Everybody remarked that , the retiring managers looked cheerful, as is the Paris way. The foyer of the ballet is the last place in which two men so “knowing” as M. Debienne and M. Pollgny would have made the mistake of betraying their grief, however genuine it might be. And they were already smiling rather too broadly upon Sorelll, who had begun to recite her speech, when an exclamation from Jammes broke the smile brutally. “The opera ghost!” Jammes yelled these words in a tone of unspeakable terror; and her finger pointed, among the crowd of dandies, to a face so pallid that the death’s head in question immediately scored a huge success. “The opera ghost!” Everybody laughed and pushed his neighbor and wanted to offer tfisC opera ghost a drink, but he was gone. He had slipped through the crowd; and the others vainly hunted for him. while two old gentlemen tried to calm little Jammes and while little Gtry stood screaming like a peacock. Sorelli was_ furious; she had not been able to finish her speech; the managers bad kissed her, thanked her and run away as fast as the ghost himseit They were to receive their personal friends, for the last time, la the great lobby outside the managers'

office, where supper would be served. Here they found the new managers, M. Armand Moncharmln and M. Firmin Richard, whom they hardly knew; nevertheless, they were lavish in protestations of friendship and received flattering compliments in reply, managers had already tbs when the attention of some of the guests was diverted by their dlscovsir, .MU ... .t U. Ml*. cl il.l

NEVER FELT LONESOME

AUNT CYNTHXaHAD MANY WAY® OF PASSING THE TIME. t 5 - • ' zy .. s'- HSaSBpBBmf V ; y-.-f.y :■* ~ rafTCTa Her Five “Chlllen” AH Where ShV Could Watch Them, and Yellow Ike Bhowlng Up for Hl* Meals With Regularity. A young woman who never had visited the south recently spent some weeks there. She was driving along a country road when she passed a ramshackle cabin, afid was hailed by an ancient colored woman, with garments hanging in rags upon her with, ered frame. “Mornln’, missy!” the old mammy called- out. “Es you got any ole_ clo’es or hats or shoes or medicine you don’t keer much about, will you please, ma’am, give ’em to Aunt Cynthy?” The N#v York girl looked about with growing pity. “How do you get along?” she asked. “Oh, I gits along all right I plcka a few berries an’ I dries a tew apples ans I raises a few chickens. Ain’t any nigger in dls county got as maajr, friends ’mongst de white people as Aunt Cynthy. Dey sholy is good to me.” "Do you live here all alone?” “Wal, no, not what you kin call alone by myself eggzackly. You see, I got five chlllen.” The girl cast * glance around the desolate place, and the old woman followed and read the Searching look. “Dey'a in de graveyard," she explained. “Dey’s all dead, but de graveyard’s bein’ my do’, right wfaar l kin keep watchin’.” : “Where’s your husband?" Aunt Cypthy gave her head a coquettish toss. “He done run off to do war fifty years ago,” she answered. "And never came back?” .v “Sholy he dene come back. Yas’m, he done been back mos’ as long as he been gone. Bat he brung another wife wld him an’ I tole him fiat dey can’t live in Cynthy’s house. Ho run up a kind o’ shack, an’ mighty soon ho druv dat other ’oman away, an’ now he got his number fo\” “And you’ve been alone all this time?” - “Wal’m, not precisely what you kin; call alone. You see, while my ole man was run off to de war I done gpt married to Yellow Ike, an’ he’s mos* all de time settln’ ’round somewhere so’s I kin call him. Dar he come now, wld. a mouth open reafiy for dinner. When you gives out ole duds, you won’t forgit Aunt Cynthy, will you, honey?”

The Folly of Betting.

William B. Trembley, the swimming hero of' Funston’s regiment in the Philippines, Visited New Orleans with a friend while city clerk of Kansas City, Kan. Walking down Dauphine street morning' the friend was boasting how he would bankrupt the bookmakers. Looking up from the paper he was reading Trembley saw; a boulevard ahead marked Way." “You bet the races," be exclaimed. “Why, I’ll bet you flO you can’t guess the name of that street yonder." Tlie friend looked ahead and saw the sign. "I’ll take you, even money," be said. "It’s Oleander way, you rummy, there’s the sign.” “So It is,” said Trembley, “but you oughtn’t to believe In signs. Look, here.” . ' Y. ~ Trembley, being a city clerk, naturally was attracted by a column story of the proceedings'of the New Orleans council on the night before. Right in the lead paragraph he showed his friend the tragic evidence —the passage of an ordinance changing the name of Oleander f way to Jackson boulevard.—Kansas' City Star.

Pertinent Question.

Speaking of - common sense, Dr. Faulkner head of the Vineland (N. J.) hospital, told the following story: A mysterious building had been erected Oh the outskirts of a small town. It was shrouded in mystery. All that Was known about it was that It was a chemical laboratory. An old farmer driving past the place after work had been started, and, seeing a man in the doorway, called to him: “What be ye doin’ In this place?* “We are searching for a universal solvent, something that will dissolve all things,” said the chemist “What good will that be?” - “Imagine, sir! It will dissolve aB things. If we want a solution of iron, glass, gold, anything, an that we have to do Is to drop it in this solution." "Fine," said the farmer, “fine! What be ye goto' to keep it in?”—ErAbod* Magazine. “lg

Negro Music.

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