Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 218, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 September 1912 — THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

by Gaston Leroux

THE ■ MYSTERY • OF • THE ■ YELLOW ROOMtnd TME-PERFUME-OF-THE-LADY- IN bLACKIlli23tr<2tuon&by MG'Kettner"Copyright /g// by 77>e bobbs-bferr/7/ Company

synopsis. Consternation is caused on the last night that the Opera is managed by Debienne and Pollgny because of the appearance of a ghost, said to have been in evidence on severed previous occasions. Christine Daae. a member of the opera company, is called upon to fill a very important part and scores a great success. Count de Chagny and his brother Raoul are among those who applaud the singer. Raoul tries to see Christine in the dressing room, but is unable to do so and later discovers that some one is making love to her. She emerges alone, and upon entering the room he finds it empty, while the farewell ceremony for the retiring managers is going on, the Opera Ghost appears and informs the new managers that Box No. 5 is reserved for him. Box No. 5 is-aold with disastrous results. The managers receive a letter from the Opera Ghost calling attention to the error. Christine Daae writes Raoul that she has gone to visit the grave of her father. He goes also, and in the night follows her to the church. Wonderful violin music Is heard. Raoul visits a graveyard. Raoul is found next morning almost frozen. Moncharmln and Richard investigate Box No. 5 and decide to see the performance of ‘‘Faust’ from front seats of that box. Carlotta, who sings .the leading part in “Faust,” is warned to give the part to Christine. Carlotta, refusing, loses her voice in' the middle of a song and the main chandelier crashes down, killing a woman and wounding many. Raoul searches for' Christine, who has disappeared. He sees her at last, but does not speak, and later a note is received from her making an appointment for a masked ball. Raoul , meets Christine at the ball. He sees a person in the disguise of Red Death. He hears her conversing with some one whom she calls Erik. Raoul visits Christine and tells her he knows the name of the unseen man whom she calls the Angel of Music. Christine and Raoul become secretly Engaged prior to a polar expedition that Raoul is to make. Christine relates a strange adventure with the unseen Erik and promises to run away with Raoul. Raoul announces his intention of niarrying Christine, which displeases Philippe. In the midst of a performance the stage is enveloped in darkness and Christine disappears. No trace of her is found. Moncharmin and Richard behave strangely. Raoul searches madly for thp missing singer. The Opera Ghost demands the first installment of his allowance, and when it is left at an appointed place the sum mysteriously disappears. Raoul goes in search of Christine. He meets a mysterious person known as the Persian. The Persian plans to aid Raoul in locating Christine and they gain access to a secret chamber. The two find themselves in a passageway Which they expect will lead to where , Christine has undoubtedly been carried by Erik. The Persian knows Erik to have been one of the contractors who built the Opera. Also that while the work was in progress there was built a secret torture chamber beneath the structure. From this chamber Raoul and the Persian hear Erik and Christine conversing. Erik misses a bag containing valuable kays. Christine looks into the chamber and assures Erik that there is no one there. She discovers that he is a ventriloquist. . CHAPTER XXlV.—(Continued.) Then he lay flat on the floor, as ene does in a wood, and declared that he would wait until 1 found the door of the forest, as there was nothing better to do! And he added that, from where he was, “the view was splendid!” The torture was working, in spite of all that I had said. Myself, forgetting the forest, 1 tackled a glass panel and began to finger it in every direction, hunting for the weak point on which to press in order to turn the door in accordance with Erik's system of pivots. This weak point might be a mere speck on the glass, no larger than a pea, under which the spring lay hidden. I hunted and hunted. I felt as high as my hands could reach. Erik was about the same height as myself and I thought that he would not have placed the spring higher than suited his stature. While groping over the successive panels with the greatest care, 1 endeavored not to lose a minute, for 1 was feeling more and more overcome with the heat* and we were literally I roasting in that blazing forest I had been working like this for <half an hour and had finished three panels, when, as ill-luck would have it, I turned round on hearing a muttered exclamation from the viscount “I am stifling,” he said. “All those mirrors are sending out an infernal :heat! Do you think you will find that spring soon? If you are much longer about it, we shall be roasted alive!" I was not sorry to hear him talk like this. He had not said a word of the forest and I hoped that my companion's reason would hold out some time longer against the torture. Hut he added: “What consoles me is that the monster has given Christine until eleven 'tomorrow evening. If we can’t get out of here and go to her assistance, at least we shall be dead before her! Then Erik's mass can serve for all of us!” And he’ gulped down a breath of hot air that nearly made him faint As I had not the same desperate reasons as M. le Vicomte for accepting death, I returned, after glving'hlm a word of encouragement, to my panel, but I had made the mistake •of taking a few steps while speaking -and, in the tangle of the illusive for,est, I was no longer able to find my panel for certain! I had to begin all .over again, at random, feeling, fumbling. groping. Now the fever laid hold of me in my turn ... for I found nothing, absolutely'nothing. In the next room •11 was silence. We were quite lost in the forest, without an outlet, a

compass, a guide or anything. Oh, 1 knew what awaited us if nobody came to our aid . . . or if I did not find the spring! But, look as I might, 1 found nothing but branches, beautiful branches that stood straight up before me, or spread gracefully over my head. But they gave no shade. And this was natural enough, as we were in an equatorial forest, with the sun right above our heads, an African torest. = —... M. de Chagny and 1 had repeatedly taken off our coats and put them on again, finding at one time that they made us feel still hotter and at another that they protected us against the heat. I was still making a moral resistance, but M. de Chagny seemed to me quite “gone.” He pretended that he had been walking in that forest for three days and nights, without stopping, looking for Christine Daae! From time to time, he thought he saw her behind the trunk of a tree, or gliding between the branches; and he called to her with words of supplication that brought the tears to my eyes. And then, at last: “Oh, how thirsty I am!” he cried, in delirious accents. I too Svas thirsty. My throat was on fire. And, yet, squatting on the floor, I went on hunting, hunting, hunting for the spring of the Invisible door . . . especially as It was dangerous to remain in the forest as evening drew nigh. Already the shades of night were beginning to surround u%. It had happened very quickly; night falls quickly in tropical countries . . . suddenly, with hardly any twilight. Now night, in the forests of the equator, is always dangerous, particularly when, like ourselves, one has not the materials for a fire to keep off the beasts of prey. I did indeed try for a moment to break off the branches, which I would have lit with my dark lantern, but I knocked myself also against the mirrors and remembered, in time, that we had only images of branches to do with. The heat did not go with (he daylight; on the contrary, it was now

still hotter under the blue rays of the moon. I urged the viscount to hold our weapons ready to fire and not to stray from camp, while I went on looking for my spring. Suddenly, We heard a lion roaring a few yards away. “Oh,” whispered the viscount, “he is quite close! . . . Itofi’t you see him? . . . There . ... through the trees . . .in that thicket! . . If he roars again, I will fire!" And the roaring began again, loud-' er than before. And the viscount fired, but I do not think that he hit the lion; only, he smashed ® mirror, as I perceived the next morning, at daybreak We must have covered a

good distance during the night, tor we suddenly found ourselves on the edge of the desert, an immense desert of sand, stones and rocks. It was really not worth while leaving the forest to come upon the desert. Tired out, I flung myself down beside .the viscount, for I had had enough of looking lor springs which 1 could not find. I was quite surprised—and I said so to the viscount—that we had encountered no other dangerous animals during the night. Usually, after the lion came the leopard and sometimes the buzz of the tsetse fly. These were easily obtained effects; and I explained to M. de Chagny that Erik Imitated the roar of-» lion on a long tabour or timbrel, with an ass’s skin at ohe end. Over thia skfnFhe tied~B~ string of catgut, which was fastened at the middle to another similar string passing through the whole length of the tabour. Erik had only to rub this string with a glove smeared with resin and, according to the manner in which he rubbed it, he imitated to perfection the voice of the lion or the leopard, or even the buzzing of the tsetse fly. The idea that Erik was probably in the room beside us, working his trick, made me suddenly resolve to enter into a parley with him, for we must obviously give up all thought of taking him by surprise. And by this time he must be quite aware who were the occupants of his torturechamber. I called him: “Erik! Erik!” I shouted as loudly as I could across the desert, but there was nd answer to my voice. All around us lay the silence and the bare immensity of that stony desert. What was to become of us in the midst of that awful solitude? We were beginning literally to die of heat, hunger and thirst ... of thirst especially. At last, I saw M. de Chagny raise himself on his elbow and point to a spot on the' horizon. He had discovered an oasis! Yes, far in the distance was an oasis ... an oasis with limpid water, which reflected the iron trees! . . . Tush, it was the scene of the mirage. ..fl recognized it at once . . . the worst of the thrde! . . . No one had been able to fight against it ... no one. ... 1 did my utmost to keep my head and not to hope fpr water, because I knew that, if a min hoped for water, the water that reflected the iron tree, and if, after hoping for water, he struck against the mirror, then there was only one thing for him to do: to hang himself on the iron tree! So I cried to M. de Chagny: “It’s the mirage! . . . It’s the mirage! . . . Don’t believe in the water! . . . It’s another trick of the mirrors! . . .” Then he flatly told me to shut up, with my tricks of the mirrors' my springs, my revolving doors and my palaces of illusions! He angrily declared that I must be either blind or mad to Imagine that all that water flovVfog over there, among those splendid, numberless trees, was not

real water! . a . And the desert was real! . . And so was the forest! . . . And it 'was no use trying to take him in . . . he was an old, experienced traveler . . . he had been all over the placet And he dragged himself along, saying: “Water! Water!’’ And his mouth was open, aa though -A e' were drinking. ' And my mouth was open, too, as though I were drinking. t For we not, only saw the water, but we heard it! ... We heard it flow, we heard it ripple! ... Do .you understand that word “ripple T’ . . It Is a sound which you bear with your tongue! . . . You put

your tongue out of your mouth to listen to it better! Lastly—and this was the most pitiless torture of all—we heard the rain and it was not raining! This was an Infernal Invention. . . . Oh, 1 knew well enough how Erik obtained it! He filled with little stones a very long and narrow box, broken up in- J side with wooden and metal projections. The stones, in falling, struck against these projections and rebounded from one to another; and the result was a series of pattering sounds that exactly imitated a rainstorm. Ah, you should have seen us putting' out our tongues and dragging ourselves toward the rippling river-bank! Our eyes and ears were full of water, but our tongues were hard and dry as horn! -- ? When we reached the mirror, M- de Chagny licked it . . . and I also licked the glass. It was burning hot! Then we rolled on the floor with a hoarse cry of despair. M. de Chagny put the one pistol that was still loaded to his temple; and 1 stared at the Punjab lasso at the foot of the iron tree. I knew why the iron tree had returned, in this third change of scene! . . . The iron tree was waiting for me! . . But, as I stared at the Punjab lasso, I saw a thing that made me start so violently that M. de Chagny delayed his attempt at suicide. I took his arrt. And then I caught the pistol from him . . . and then I dragged

myself on my knees toward what 1 had seen. I had discovered, near the Punjab lasso, in a groove in the floor, a blackheaded nail of which I knew the use. At last I had discovered the spring! I felt the nail. ... I lifted a radiant face to M. de Chagny. . . . The black-headed nail yielded to my pressure. ... And then. . . . And then we saw not a door opened in the wall, but a cellar-flap released In the floor. Cool air came up to us from the black hole below. We stooped over that square of darkness as though over a limpid well. With our chins in the cool shade, we drank it in. And we bent lower and lower over the trap-door. What could there be in that cellar which opened before us? Water? Water to drink? I thrust my arm into the darkness and came upon a stone and another stone . . . a staircase ... a dark staircase leading into the cellar. The viscount wanted to fling himself down the hole; but I, fearing a new trick of the monster’s, stopped him, turned on my dark lantern and vjent down first. The staircase was a winding one and led down into pitchy darkness. But oh, how deliciously cool were the darkness and the stairs? The lake could not be far away. We soon reached the bottom. Our eyes were beginning to' accustom themselves to the dark, to distinguish shapes around us . . . circular shapes . . . on which I turned the light, of my lantern. Barrels! We were in Erik’s, cellar; it was here that be must keep his wine and perhaps his drinking-water. I knew that Erik Was a great lover of good wine. Ah, there was plenty to .drink here! M. de Chagny patted the round shapes and kept on saying: “Barrels! Barrels! . . What a lot of barrels! . . ' Indeed, there was quite a number of thepi, symmetrically arranged ‘ln two rows, one on either side of us. They were small barrels and 1

thought that Erik must have selected them of that size to facilitate their carriage to the house on the lake. We examined them successively, to see if one of them had not a funnel, showing that it had been tapped at some time or another. But all the barrels were hermetically closed. Then, after half lifting one to make sure it was full, we went on our knees and, with the blade of a small knife which I carried, I prepared to stave in the bung-hole. At that moment, I seemed to hear, coming from very far, a sort of monotonous chant which I knew well, from often hearing it in the streets of Paris: “Barrels! . . . Barrels! . . . Any barrels to sell? . My hand desisted from its work. M. de Chagny had also heard. He said: “That’s funny! It sounds as if the barrels were singing!” The song was renewed, farther away: “Barrels! . . . Barrels! . . . Any barrels to sell? . . .” “Oh, I swear,” said the viscount, “that the tune dies away in the barrel! . . .” We stood up and went to look behind the barrel. "It’s inside,” said M. de Chagny, “It’s inside!” But we heard nothing there and were driven to accuse the bad condition of our senses. And we jetumed to the bung-hole. M. de Chagny put his two hands together underneath it

and, with a last effort, I burst the bung “What’s this?’ - cried the viscount “This isn’t water!” The viscount put his two full hands close to my lantern. ... I stooped to look . . -. and at once threw away the lantern with such violence that it broke and went out, leaving us in utter darkness. What I had seen in M. de Chagny’s hands . . . was gun-powder! CHAPTER XXV. » _____ The Scorpion or the Grasshopper: Which i The discovery flung us into a state of alarm that made us forget all our past and present sufferings. We now knew all that the monster meant to convey when -he said to Christine Daae: “Yes or no! If your answer is no, everybody will be dead and burled!” Yes, buried under the ruins of the Paris Grand Opera! The monster had given her until eleven o’clock In the evening. He had chosen his time • welt There would be many people, many “members of the human race,” up there, in the resplendent theater. What finer retinue could be expected for his funeral? He would go down to the tomb escorted by the whitest shoulders in the world, decked with the richest jewels. Eleven o’clock tomorrow evening! We were alTto be blown up in the middle of the performance ... If Christine Daae said no! Eleven o’clock tomorrow evening! And what else could Christine say but no? Would she not prefer to espouse death jtself rather than that living corpse? She did not know that on her acceptance or refusal depended the awful fate of many members of the human race! Eleven o’clock tomorrow evening! And we dragged ourselves through the darkness, feeling our way to the stone steps, for the light in the trapdoor overhead that led to the room of mirrors was now extinguished; and we repeated to ourselves: “Eleven o’clock tomorrow evenlag!** (TO BE CONTINUED.)

I Hunted and Hunted.

“Barrels. Barrels! . . . .What a Lot of Barrels!”