“Never heard of her!” the manager declared. “Mme. Giry, I want to ask you what happened last night to make you and the inspector call in a municipal guard.”
“I was just wanting to see you, sir, and talk to you about it, so that you mightn’t have the same unpleasantness as M. Debienne and M. Poligny. They wouldn’t listen to me either, at first.”
“I’m not asking you about all that. I’m asking what happened last night.”
Mme. Giry turned purple with indignation. Never had she been spoken to like that. She sat down and said, in a haughty voice:
“I’ll tell you what happened. The ghost was annoyed again!”
M. Moncharmin interfered and conducted the interrogatory, whence it appeared that Mme. Giry thought it quite natural that a voice should be heard to say that a box was taken, when there was nobody in the box. She was unable to explain this phenomenon, which was not new to her. Nobody could see the ghost in his box, but everybody could hear him. She had often heard him; and they could believe her, for she always spoke the truth. They could ask M. Debienne and M. Poligny, and anybody who knew her; and also M. Isidore Saack[32], who had had a leg broken by the ghost!
“Indeed!” said Moncharmin, interrupting her. “Did the ghost break poor Isidore Saack’s leg?”
Mme. Giry opened her eyes with astonishment at such ignorance. The thing had happened in M. Debienne and M. Poligny’s time, also in Box Five and also during a performance of Faust. Mme. Giry coughed, cleared her throat and began:
“It was like this, sir. That night, M. Maniera and his lady were sitting in the front of the box, with their great friend, M. Isidore Saack, sitting behind Mme. Maniera. Mephistopheles was singing… But, perhaps I’m boring you gentlemen?”
“No, no, go on.”
“You are too good, gentlemen. Well, then, Mephistopheles went on with his serenade, and then M. Maniera hears the voice in his right ear, saying, ‘Ha, ha! Julie—M Maniera’s lady—wouldn’t mind according a kiss to Isidore!’ Then he turns round, and what do you think he sees? Isidore, who had taken his lady’s hand and was covering it with kisses through the little round place in the glove! Bang! Bang! M. Maniera, who was big and strong, like you, M. Richard, gave two blows to M. Isidore Saack, who was small and weak like M. Moncharmin. There was a great uproar. People in the house shouted, ‘That will do! Stop them! He’ll kill him!’ Then, at last, M. Isidore Saack managed to run away.”
“Then the ghost had not broken his leg?” asked M. Moncharmin, a little vexed that his figure had made so little impression on Mme. Giry.
“He did break it, sir,” replied Mme. Giry haughtily. “He broke it on the grand staircase, which he ran down too fast, sir!”
“Did the ghost tell you what he said in M. Maniera’s right ear?” asked M. Moncharmin.
“No, sir, it was M. Maniera himself”.
“But you have spoken to the ghost, my good lady?”
“As I’m speaking to you now, my good sir!” Mme. Giry replied.
“And, when the ghost speaks to you, what does he say?”
“Well, he tells me to bring him a footstool!”
This time, Richard burst out laughing, as did Moncharmin and Remy, the secretary. Only the inspector was careful not to laugh.
“Instead of laughing,” Mme. Giry cried indignantly, “you’d do better to do as M. Poligny did, who found out for himself.”
“Found out about what?” asked Moncharmin, who had never been so much amused in his life.
“About the ghost, of course!… Look here…”
She suddenly calmed herself, feeling that this was a solemn moment in her life:
“Look here,” she repeated. “They were playing La Juive[33]. M. Poligny thought he would watch the performance from the ghost’s box… Well, suddenly M. Poligny—I was watching him from the back of the next box, which was empty—M. Poligny got up and walked out quite stiffly, like a statue, and before I had time to ask him, ‘Where do you go?’, he was down the staircase, but without breaking his leg. Well, from that evening, no one tried to take the ghost’s private box from him. The manager gave orders that he was to have it at each performance. And, whenever he came, he asked me for a footstool.”
“A ghost asking for a footstool! Then this ghost of yours is a woman?”
“No, the ghost is a man.”
“How do you know?”
“He has a man’s voice, oh, such a lovely man’s voice! This is what happens: When he comes to the opera, it’s usually in the middle of the first act. He gives three little taps on the door of Box Five. The first time I heard those three taps, when I knew there was no one in the box, you can think how puzzled I was! I opened the door, listened, looked; nobody! And then I heard a voice say, ‘A footstool, please.’ Then the voice went on, ‘Don’t be frightened, Mme., I’m the Opera ghost!’ And the voice was very soft and kind. The voice was sitting in the corner chair, on the right, in the front row.”
“Was there any one in the box on the right of Box Five?” asked Moncharmin.
“No; Box Seven, and Box Three, the one on the left, were both empty. The curtain had only just gone up.”
“And what did you do?”
“Well, I brought the footstool. Of course, it wasn’t for himself he wanted it, but for his lady! But I never heard her nor saw her.”
“Eh? What? So now the ghost is married!” The eyes of the two managers traveled from Mme. Giry to the inspector, who, standing behind the box-keeper, was waving his arms to attract their attention. He tapped his forehead with a distressful forefinger, to show that the poor widow was certainly mad. Meanwhile, the lady went on about her ghost:
“At the end of the performance, he always gives me two francs, sometimes five, sometimes even ten. Only, since people have begun to annoy him again, he gives me nothing at all.
“Excuse me, my good woman,” said Moncharmin, “excuse me, how does the ghost manage to give you your two francs?”
“Why, he leaves them on the little shelf in the box, of course. I find them with the program, which I always give him. Some evenings, I find flowers in the box.”
“That will do, Mme. Giry. You can go.”
When Mme. Giry had left, with the dignity that never deserted her, the manager told the inspector that they had decided to dispense with that old madwoman’s services. Then the managers decided to visit that Box Five themselves.
Chapter V
Christine Daae, owing to intrigues to which I will return later, did not immediately continue her triumph at the Opera. After the famous gala night, she sang once at the Duchess de Zurich’s. She knew that the Comte de Chagny, to please his brother, had done his best on her behalf [34]with M. Richard; and she wrote to thank him and also to ask him to cease speaking in her favor. Her reason for this curious attitude was never known. Some pretended that it was due to her pride; others spoke of her heavenly modesty. But people on the stage are not so modest as all that; and I think that I shall not be far from the truth if I ascribe her action simply to fear. Yes, I believe that Christine Daae was frightened by what had happened to her.
I have a letter of Christine’s, relating to this period, which suggests a feeling of absolute dismay:
“I don’t know myself when I sing,” wrote the poor child.
She showed herself nowhere; and the Vicomte de Chagny tried in vain to meet her. He wrote to her, asking to call upon her, and one morning, she sent him the following note:
Monsieur:
I have not forgotten the little boy who went into the sea to rescue my scarf. I feel that I must write to you today. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of my poor father, whom you knew and who was very fond of you. He is buried, with his violin, in the graveyard of the little church, at the bottom of the slope where we used to play as children, beside the road where, when we were a little bigger, we said good-by for the last time.