He nodded his head sadly,
while the others spoke, and his features assumed the air of a man who
bitterly regretted having taken over the Opera, now that he knew that
there was a ghost mixed up in the business. I could think of nothing
better than to give him a servile imitation of this attitude of
despair. However, in spite of all our efforts, we could not, at the
finish, help bursting out laughing in the faces of MM. Debienne and
Poligny, who, seeing us pass straight from the gloomiest state of mind
to one of the most insolent merriment, acted as though they thought
that we had gone mad. "The joke became a little tedious; and Richard asked half-seriously and
half in jest:

"'But, after all, what does this ghost of yours want?' "M. Poligny went to his desk and returned with a copy of the
memorandum-book. The memorandum-book begins with the well-known words
saying that 'the management of the Opera shall give to the performance
of the National Academy of Music the splendor that becomes the first
lyric stage in France' and ends with Clause 98, which says that the
privilege can be withdrawn if the manager infringes the conditions
stipulated in the memorandum-book. This is followed by the conditions,
which are four in number. "The copy produced by M. Poligny was written in black ink and exactly
similar to that in our possession, except that, at the end, it
contained a paragraph in red ink and in a queer, labored handwriting,
as though it had been produced by dipping the heads of matches into the
ink, the writing of a child that has never got beyond the down-strokes
and has not learned to join its letters. This paragraph ran, word for
word, as follows:

"'5. Or if the manager, in any month, delay for more than a fortnight
the payment of the allowance which he shall make to the Opera ghost, an
allowance of twenty thousand francs a month, say two hundred and forty
thousand francs a year.' "M. Poligny pointed with a hesitating finger to this last clause, which
we certainly did not expect. "'Is this all? Does he not want anything else?' asked Richard, with
the greatest coolness. "'Yes, he does,' replied Poligny. "And he turned over the pages of the memorandum-book until he came to
the clause specifying the days on which certain private boxes were to
be reserved for the free use of the president of the republic, the
ministers and so on. At the end of this clause, a line had been added,
also in red ink:

"'Box Five on the grand tier shall be placed at the disposal of the
Opera ghost for every performance.' "When we saw this, there was nothing else for us to do but to rise from
our chairs, shake our two predecessors warmly by the hand and
congratulate them on thinking of this charming little joke, which
proved that the old French sense of humor was never likely to become
extinct. Richard added that he now understood why MM. Debienne and
Poligny were retiring from the management of the National Academy of
Music. Business was impossible with so unreasonable a ghost. "'Certainly, two hundred and forty thousand francs are not be picked up
for the asking,' said M. Poligny, without moving a muscle of his face. 'And have you considered what the loss over Box Five meant to us? We
did not sell it once; and not only that, but we had to return the
subscription:  why, it's awful! We really can't work to keep ghosts! We prefer to go away!' "'Yes,' echoed M. Debienne, 'we prefer to go away. Let us go.'" "And he stood up. Richard said:  'But, after all all, it seems to me
that you were much too kind to the ghost. If I had such a troublesome
ghost as that, I should not hesitate to have him arrested.' "'But how? Where?' they cried, in chorus. 'We have never seen him!' "'But when he comes to his box?' "'WE HAVE NEVER SEEN HIM IN HIS BOX.' "'Then sell it.' "'Sell the Opera ghost's box! Well, gentlemen, try it.' "Thereupon we all four left the office. Richard and I had 'never
laughed so much in our lives.'" Chapter IV  Box Five


Armand Moncharmin wrote such voluminous Memoirs during the fairly long
period of his co-management that we may well ask if he ever found time
to attend to the affairs of the Opera otherwise than by telling what
went on there. M. Moncharmin did not know a note of music, but he
called the minister of education and fine arts by his Christian name,
had dabbled a little in society journalism and enjoyed a considerable
private income. Lastly, he was a charming fellow and showed that he
was not lacking in intelligence, for, as soon as he made up his mind to
be a sleeping partner in the Opera, he selected the best possible
active manager and went straight to Firmin Richard. Firmin Richard was a very distinguished composer, who had published a
number of successful pieces of all kinds and who liked nearly every
form of music and every sort of musician. Clearly, therefore, it was
the duty of every sort of musician to like M. Firmin Richard. The only
things to be said against him were that he was rather masterful in his
ways and endowed with a very hasty temper. The first few days which the partners spent at the Opera were given
over to the delight of finding themselves the head of so magnificent an
enterprise; and they had forgotten all about that curious, fantastic
story of the ghost, when an incident occurred that proved to them that
the joke--if joke it were--was not over. M. Firmin Richard reached his
office that morning at eleven o'clock. His secretary, M. Remy, showed
him half a dozen letters which he had not opened because they were
marked "private." One of the letters had at once attracted Richard's
attention not only because the envelope was addressed in red ink, but
because he seemed to have seen the writing before. He soon remembered
that it was the red handwriting in which the memorandum-book had been
so curiously completed. He recognized the clumsy childish hand. He
opened the letter and read:

DEAR MR. MANAGER:

I am sorry to have to trouble you at a time when you must be so very
busy, renewing important engagements, signing fresh ones and generally
displaying your excellent taste. I know what you have done for
Carlotta, Sorelli and little Jammes and for a few others whose
admirable qualities of talent or genius you have suspected. Of course, when I use these words, I do not mean to apply them to La
Carlotta, who sings like a squirt and who ought never to have been
allowed to leave the Ambassadeurs and the Cafe Jacquin; nor to La
Sorelli, who owes her success mainly to the coach-builders; nor to
little Jammes, who dances like a calf in a field. And I am not
speaking of Christine Daae either, though her genius is certain,
whereas your jealousy prevents her from creating any important part. When all is said, you are free to conduct your little business as you
think best, are you not?