Chapter XXVI The End of the Ghost's Love Story
The previous chapter marks the conclusion of the written narrativewhich the Persian left behind him.
Notwithstanding the horrors of a situation which seemed definitely toabandon them to their deaths, M. de Chagny and his companion were savedby the sublime devotion of Christine Daae. And I had the rest of thestory from the lips of the daroga himself.
When I went to see him, he was still living in his little flat in theRue de Rivoli, opposite the Tuileries. He was very ill, and itrequired all my ardor as an historian pledged to the truth to persuadehim to live the incredible tragedy over again for my benefit. Hisfaithful old servant Darius showed me in to him. The daroga receivedme at a window overlooking the garden of the Tuileries. He still hadhis magnificent eyes, but his poor face looked very worn. He hadshaved the whole of his head, which was usually covered with anastrakhan cap; he was dressed in a long, plain coat and amused himselfby unconsciously twisting his thumbs inside the sleeves; but his mindwas quite clear, and he told me his story with perfect lucidity.
It seems that, when he opened his eyes, the daroga found himself lyingon a bed. M. de Chagny was on a sofa, beside the wardrobe. An angeland a devil were watching over them.
After the deceptions and illusions of the torture-chamber, theprecision of the details of that quiet little middle-class room seemedto have been invented for the express purpose of puzzling the mind ofthe mortal rash enough to stray into that abode of living nightmare.The wooden bedstead, the waxed mahogany chairs, the chest of drawers,those brasses, the little square antimacassars carefully placed on thebacks of the chairs, the clock on the mantelpiece and theharmless-looking ebony caskets at either end, lastly, the whatnotfilled with shells, with red pin-cushions, with mother-of-pearl boatsand an enormous ostrich-egg, the whole discreetly lighted by a shadedlamp standing on a small round table: this collection of ugly,peaceable, reasonable furniture, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE OPERA CELLARS,bewildered the imagination more than all the late fantastic happenings.
And the figure of the masked man seemed all the more formidable in thisold-fashioned, neat and trim little frame. It bent down over thePersian and said, in his ear:
"Are you better, daroga? ... You are looking at my furniture? ... Itis all that I have left of my poor unhappy mother."
Christine Daae did not say a word: she moved about noiselessly, like asister of charity, who had taken a vow of silence. She brought a cupof cordial, or of hot tea, he did not remember which. The man in themask took it from her hands and gave it to the Persian. M. de Chagnywas still sleeping.
Erik poured a drop of rum into the daroga's cup and, pointing to theviscount, said:
"He came to himself long before we knew if you were still alive,daroga. 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 hiselbow, looked around him and saw Christine Daae sitting by thefireside. He spoke to her, called her, but he was still very weak andfell back on his pillow. Christine came to him, laid her hand on hisforehead and went away again. And the Persian remembered that, as shewent, she did not give a glance at M. de Chagny, who, it is true, wassleeping peacefully; and she sat down again in her chair by thechimney-corner, silent as a sister of charity who had taken a vow ofsilence.
Erik returned with some little bottles which he placed on themantelpiece. And, again in a whisper, so as not to wake M. de Chagny,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 thesurface of the earth, TO PLEASE MY WIFE."
Thereupon he rose, without any further explanation, and disappearedonce more.
The Persian now looked at Christine's quiet profile under the lamp.She was reading a tiny book, with gilt edges, like a religious book.There are editions of THE IMITATION that look like that. The Persianstill had in his ears the natural tone in which the other had said, "toplease my wife." Very gently, he called her again; but Christine waswrapped up in her book and did not hear him.
Erik returned, mixed the daroga a draft and advised him not to speak to"his wife" again nor to any one, BECAUSE IT MIGHT BE VERY DANGEROUS TOEVERYBODY'S HEALTH.
Eventually, the Persian fell asleep, like M. de Chagny, and did notwake until he was in his own room, nursed by his faithful Darius, whotold him that, on the night before, he was found propped against thedoor of his flat, where he had been brought by a stranger, who rang thebell before going away.
As soon as the daroga recovered his strength and his wits, he sent toCount Philippe's house to inquire after the viscount's health. Theanswer was that the young man had not been seen and that Count Philippewas dead. His body was found on the bank of the Opera lake, on theRue-Scribe side. The Persian remembered the requiem mass which he hadheard from behind the wall of the torture-chamber, and had no doubtconcerning the crime and the criminal. Knowing Erik as he did, heeasily reconstructed the tragedy. Thinking that his brother had runaway with Christine Daae, Philippe had dashed in pursuit of him alongthe Brussels Road, where he knew that everything was prepared for theelopement. Failing to find the pair, he hurried back to the Opera,remembered Raoul's strange confidence about his fantastic rival andlearned that the viscount had made every effort to enter the cellars ofthe theater and that he had disappeared, leaving his hat in the primadonna's dressing-room beside an empty pistol-case. And the count, whono longer entertained any doubt of his brother's madness, in his turndarted into that infernal underground maze. This was enough, in thePersian's eyes, to explain the discovery of the Comte de Chagny'scorpse on the shore of the lake, where the siren, Erik's siren, keptwatch.
The Persian did not hesitate. He determined to inform the police. Nowthe case was in the hands of an examining-magistrate called Faure, anincredulous, commonplace, superficial sort of person, (I write as Ithink), with a mind utterly unprepared to receive a confidence of thiskind. M. Faure took down the daroga's depositions and proceeded totreat him as a madman.
Despairing of ever obtaining a hearing, the Persian sat down to write.As the police did not want his evidence, perhaps the press would beglad of it; and he had just written the last line of the narrative Ihave quoted in the preceding chapters, when Darius announced the visitof a stranger who refused his name, who would not show his face anddeclared simply that he did not intend to leave the place until he hadspoken to the daroga.
The Persian at once felt who his singular visitor was and ordered himto be shown in. The daroga was right. It was the ghost, it was Erik!
He looked extremely weak and leaned against the wall, as though he wereafraid of falling. Taking off his hat, he revealed a forehead white aswax. 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 andChristine Daae?"
Erik staggered under this direct attack, kept silent for a moment,dragged himself to a chair and heaved a deep sigh. Then, speaking inshort phrases and gasping for breath between the words:
"Daroga, don't talk to me ... about Count Philippe ... He was dead ...by the time ... I left my house ... he was dead ... when ... the sirensang ... It was an ... accident ... a sad ... a very sad ... accident.He fell very awkwardly ... but simply and naturally ... into the lake!..."
"You lie!" shouted the Persian.
Erik bowed his head and said:
"I have not come here ... to talk about Count Philippe ... but to tellyou 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 ... That is how it is... loved her so! ... And I love her still ... daroga ... and I amdying of love for her, I ... I tell you! ... If you knew how beautifulshe was ... when she let me kiss her ... a
live ... It was the first... time, daroga, the first ... time I ever kissed a woman ... Yes,alive ... I kissed her alive ... and she looked as beautiful as if shehad been dead!"
The Persian shook Erik by the arm:
"Will you tell me if she is alive or dead."
"Why do you shake me like that?" asked Erik, making an effort to speakmore connectedly. "I tell you that I am going to die... Yes, I kissedher alive ..."
"And now she is dead?"
"I tell you I kissed her just like that, on her forehead ... and shedid not draw back her forehead from my lips! ... Oh, she is a goodgirl! ... As to her being dead, I don't think so; but it has nothing todo with me ... No, no, she is not dead! And no one shall touch a hairof her head! She is a good, honest girl, and she saved your life,daroga, at a moment when I would not have given twopence for yourPersian skin. As a matter of fact, nobody bothered about you. Whywere you there with that little chap? You would have died as well ashe! My word, how she entreated me for her little chap! But I told herthat, as she had turned the scorpion, she had, through that very fact,and of her own free will, become engaged to me and that she did notneed to have two men engaged to her, which was true enough.
"As for you, you did not exist, you had ceased to exist, I tell you,and you were going to die with the other! ... Only, mark me, daroga,when you were yelling like the devil, because of the water, Christinecame to me with her beautiful blue eyes wide open, and swore to me, asshe hoped to be saved, that she consented to be MY LIVING WIFE! ...Until then, in the depths of her eyes, daroga, I had always seen mydead wife; it was the first time I saw MY LIVING WIFE there. She wassincere, as she hoped to be saved. She would not kill herself. It wasa bargain ... Half a minute later, all the water was back in the lake;and I had a hard job with you, daroga, for, upon my honor, I thoughtyou were done for! ... However! ... There you were! ... It wasunderstood that I was to take you both up to the surface of the earth.When, at last, I cleared the Louis-Philippe room of you, I came backalone ..."
"What have you done with the Vicomte de Chagny?" asked the Persian,interrupting him.
"Ah, you see, daroga, I couldn't carry HIM up like that, at once. ...He was a hostage ... But I could not keep him in the house on thelake, either, because of Christine; so I locked him up comfortably, Ichained him up nicely--a whiff of the Mazenderan scent had left him aslimp as a rag--in the Communists' dungeon, which is in the mostdeserted and remote part of the Opera, below the fifth cellar, where noone ever comes, and where no one ever hears you. Then I came back toChristine, she was waiting for me."
Erik here rose solemnly. Then he continued, but, as he spoke, he wasovercome by all his former emotion and began to tremble like a leaf:
"Yes, she was waiting for me ... waiting for me erect and alive, areal, living bride ... as she hoped to be saved ... And, when I ...came forward, more timid than ... a little child, she did not run away... no, no ... she stayed ... she waited for me ... I even believe ...daroga ... that she put out her forehead ... a little ... oh, not much... just a little ... like a living bride ... And ... and ... I ...kissed her! ... I! ... I! ... I! ... And she did not die! ... Oh, howgood it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead! ... You can'ttell! ... But I! I! ... My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy motherwould never ... let me kiss her ... She used to run away ... and throwme my mask! ... Nor any other woman ... ever, ever! ... Ah, you canunderstand, my happiness was so great, I cried. And I fell at herfeet, crying ... and I kissed her feet ... her little feet ... crying.You're crying, too, daroga ... and she cried also ... the angel cried!..." Erik sobbed aloud and the Persian himself could not retain histears in the presence of that masked man, who, with his shouldersshaking and his hands clutched at his chest, was moaning with pain andlove by turns.
"Yes, daroga ... I felt her tears flow on my forehead ... on mine,mine! ... They were soft ... they were sweet! ... They trickled undermy mask ... they mingled with my tears in my eyes ... yes ... theyflowed between my lips ... Listen, daroga, listen to what I did ... Itore off my mask so as not to lose one of her tears ... and she did notrun away! ... And she did not die! ... She remained alive, weepingover me, with me. We cried together! I have tasted all the happinessthe world can offer!"
And Erik fell into a chair, choking for breath:
"Ah, I am not going to die yet ... presently I shall ... but let mecry! ... Listen, daroga ... listen to this ... While I was at her feet... I heard her say, 'Poor, unhappy Erik!' ... AND SHE TOOK MY HAND!... I had become no more, you know, than a poor dog ready to die forher ... I mean it, daroga! ... I held in my hand a ring, a plain goldring which I had given her ... which she had lost ... and which I hadfound again ... a wedding-ring, you know ... I slipped it into herlittle hand and said, 'There! ... Take it! ... Take it for you ... andhim! ... It shall be my wedding-present a present from your poor,unhappy Erik ... I know you love the boy ... don't cry any more! ...She asked me, in a very soft voice, what I meant ... Then I made herunderstand that, where she was concerned, I was only a poor dog, readyto die for her ... but that she could marry the young man when shepleased, because she had cried with me and mingled her tears with mine!..."
Erik's emotion was so great that he had to tell the Persian not to lookat him, for he was choking and must take off his mask. The daroga wentto the window and opened it. His heart was full of pity, but he tookcare to keep his eyes fixed on the trees in the Tuileries gardens, lesthe should see the monster's face.
"I went and released the young man," Erik continued, "and told him tocome with me to Christine ... They kissed before me in theLouis-Philippe room ... Christine had my ring ... I made Christineswear to come back, one night, when I was dead, crossing the lake fromthe Rue-Scribe side, and bury me in the greatest secrecy with the goldring, which she was to wear until that moment. ... I told her whereshe would find my body and what to do with it... Then Christine kissedme, for the first time, herself, here, on the forehead--don't look,daroga!--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. He was quite reassured as to thefate of Raoul Chagny and Christine Daae; no one could have doubted theword of the weeping Erik that night.
The monster resumed his mask and collected his strength to leave thedaroga. He told him that, when he felt his end to be very near athand, he would send him, in gratitude for the kindness which thePersian had once shown him, that which he held dearest in the world:all Christine Daae's papers, which she had written for Raoul's benefitand left with Erik, together with a few objects belonging to her, suchas a pair of gloves, a shoe-buckle and two pocket-handkerchiefs. Inreply to the Persian's questions, Erik told him that the two youngpeople, at soon as they found themselves free, had resolved to go andlook for a priest in some lonely spot where they could hide theirhappiness and that, with this object in view, they had started from"the northern railway station of the world." Lastly, Erik relied onthe Persian, as soon as he received the promised relics and papers, toinform the young couple of his death and to advertise it in the EPOQUE.
That was all. The Persian saw Erik to the door of his flat, and Dariushelped him down to the street. A cab was waiting for him. Erikstepped in; and the Persian, who had gone back to the window, heard himsay 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."