And,
suddenly, a hand was laid on mine ... or rather a stone-cold, bony
thing that seized my wrist and did not let go. I cried out again. An
arm took me round the waist and supported me. I struggled for a little
while and then gave up the attempt. I was dragged toward the little
red light and then I saw that I was in the hands of a man wrapped in a
large cloak and wearing a mask that hid his whole face. I made one
last effort; my limbs stiffened, my mouth opened to scream, but a hand
closed it, a hand which I felt on my lips, on my skin ... a hand that
smelt of death. Then I fainted away. "When I opened my eyes, we were still surrounded by darkness. A
lantern, standing on the ground, showed a bubbling well. The water
splashing from the well disappeared, almost at once, under the floor on
which I was lying, with my head on the knee of the man in the black
cloak and the black mask. He was bathing my temples and his hands
smelt of death. I tried to push them away and asked, 'Who are you? Where is the voice?' His only answer was a sigh. Suddenly, a hot
breath passed over my face and I perceived a white shape, beside the
man's black shape, in the darkness. The black shape lifted me on to
the white shape, a glad neighing greeted my astounded ears and I
murmured, 'Cesar!' The animal quivered. Raoul, I was lying half back
on a saddle and I had recognized the white horse out of the PROFETA,
which I had so often fed with sugar and sweets. I remembered that, one
evening, there was a rumor in the theater that the horse had
disappeared and that it had been stolen by the Opera ghost. I believed
in the voice, but had never believed in the ghost. Now, however, I
began to wonder, with a shiver, whether I was the ghost's prisoner. I
called upon the voice to help me, for I should never have imagined that
the voice and the ghost were one. You have heard about the Opera
ghost, have you not, Raoul?" "Yes, but tell me what happened when you were on the white horse of the
Profeta?" "I made no movement and let myself go. The black shape held me up, and
I made no effort to escape. A curious feeling of peacefulness came
over me and I thought that I must be under the influence of some
cordial. I had the full command of my senses; and my eyes became used
to the darkness, which was lit, here and there, by fitful gleams. I
calculated that we were in a narrow circular gallery, probably running
all round the Opera, which is immense, underground. I had once been
down into those cellars, but had stopped at the third floor, though
there were two lower still, large enough to hold a town. But the
figures of which I caught sight had made me run away. There are demons
down there, quite black, standing in front of boilers, and they wield
shovels and pitchforks and poke up fires and stir up flames and, if you
come too near them, they frighten you by suddenly opening the red
mouths of their furnaces ...  Well, while Cesar was quietly carrying me
on his back, I saw those black demons in the distance, looking quite
small, in front of the red fires of their furnaces: they came into
sight, disappeared and came into sight again, as we went on our winding
way. At last, they disappeared altogether. The shape was still
holding me up and Cesar walked on, unled and sure-footed. I could not
tell you, even approximately, how long this ride lasted; I only know
that we seemed to turn and turn and often went down a spiral stair into
the very heart of the earth. Even then, it may be that my head was
turning, but I don't think so: no, my mind was quite clear. At last,
Cesar raised his nostrils, sniffed the air and quickened his pace a
little. I felt a moistness in the air and Cesar stopped. The darkness
had lifted. A sort of bluey light surrounded us. We were on the edge
of a lake, whose leaden waters stretched into the distance, into the
darkness; but the blue light lit up the bank and I saw a little boat
fastened to an iron ring on the wharf!" "A boat!" "Yes, but I knew that all that existed and that there was nothing
supernatural about that underground lake and boat. But think of the
exceptional conditions in which I arrived upon that shore! I don't
know whether the effects of the cordial had worn off when the man's
shape lifted me into the boat, but my terror began all over again. My
gruesome escort must have noticed it, for he sent Cesar back and I
heard his hoofs trampling up a staircase while the man jumped into the
boat, untied the rope that held it and seized the oars. He rowed with
a quick, powerful stroke; and his eyes, under the mask, never left me. We slipped across the noiseless water in the bluey light which I told
you of; then we were in the dark again and we touched shore. And I was
once more taken up in the man's arms. I cried aloud. And then,
suddenly, I was silent, dazed by the light... Yes, a dazzling light in
the midst of which I had been put down. I sprang to my feet. I was in
the middle of a drawing-room that seemed to me to be decorated, adorned
and furnished with nothing but flowers, flowers both magnificent and
stupid, because of the silk ribbons that tied them to baskets, like
those which they sell in the shops on the boulevards. They were much
too civilized flowers, like those which I used to find in my
dressing-room after a first night. And, in the midst of all these
flowers, stood the black shape of the man in the mask, with arms
crossed, and he said, 'Don't be afraid, Christine; you are in no
danger.' IT WAS THE VOICE! "My anger equaled my amazement. I rushed at the mask and tried to
snatch it away, so as to see the face of the voice. The man said, 'You
are in no danger, so long as you do not touch the mask.' And, taking me
gently by the wrists, he forced me into a chair and then went down on
his knees before me and said nothing more! His humility gave me back
some of my courage; and the light restored me to the realties of life. However extraordinary the adventure might be, I was now surrounded by
mortal, visible, tangible things. The furniture, the hangings, the
candles, the vases and the very flowers in their baskets, of which I
could almost have told whence they came and what they cost, were bound
to confine my imagination to the limits of a drawing-room quite as
commonplace as any that, at least, had the excuse of not being in the
cellars of the Opera. I had, no doubt, to do with a terrible,
eccentric person, who, in some mysterious fashion, had succeeded in
taking up his abode there, under the Opera house, five stories below
the level of the ground. And the voice, the voice which I had
recognized under the mask, was on its knees before me, WAS A MAN! And
I began to cry... The man, still kneeling, must have understood the
cause of my tears, for he said, 'It is true, Christine! ... I am not an
Angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost ... I am Erik!'" Christine's narrative was again interrupted. An echo behind them
seemed to repeat the word after her. "Erik!" What echo? ...