I have
mentioned it only to explain why, on arriving with the Vicomte de
Chagny in the cellars of the Opera, I was bound to protect my companion
against the ever-threatening danger of death by strangling. My pistols
could serve no purpose, for Erik was not likely to show himself; but
Erik could always strangle us. I had no time to explain all this to
the viscount; besides, there was nothing to be gained by complicating
the position. I simply told M. de Chagny to keep his hand at the level
of his eyes, with the arm bent, as though waiting for the command to
fire. With his victim in this attitude, it is impossible even for the
most expert strangler to throw the lasso with advantage. It catches
you not only round the neck, but also round the arm or hand. This
enables you easily to unloose the lasso, which then becomes harmless. After avoiding the commissary of police, a number of door-shutters and
the firemen, after meeting the rat-catcher and passing the man in the
felt hat unperceived, the viscount and I arrived without obstacle in
the third cellar, between the set piece and the scene from the Roi de
Lahore. I worked the stone, and we jumped into the house which Erik
had built himself in the double case of the foundation-walls of the
Opera. And this was the easiest thing in the world for him to do,
because Erik was one of the chief contractors under Philippe Garnier,
the architect of the Opera, and continued to work by himself when the
works were officially suspended, during the war, the siege of Paris and
the Commune. I knew my Erik too well to feel at all comfortable on jumping into his
house. I knew what he had made of a certain palace at Mazenderan. From being the most honest building conceivable, he soon turned it into
a house of the very devil, where you could not utter a word but it was
overheard or repeated by an echo. With his trap-doors the monster was
responsible for endless tragedies of all kinds. He hit upon
astonishing inventions. Of these, the most curious, horrible and
dangerous was the so-called torture-chamber. Except in special cases,
when the little sultana amused herself by inflicting suffering upon
some unoffending citizen, no one was let into it but wretches condemned
to death. And, even then, when these had "had enough," they were
always at liberty to put an end to themselves with a Punjab lasso or
bowstring, left for their use at the foot of an iron tree. My alarm, therefore, was great when I saw that the room into which M.
le Vicomte de Chagny and I had dropped was an exact copy of the
torture-chamber of the rosy hours of Mazenderan. At our feet, I found
the Punjab lasso which I had been dreading all the evening. I was
convinced that this rope had already done duty for Joseph Buquet, who,
like myself, must have caught Erik one evening working the stone in the
third cellar. He probably tried it in his turn, fell into the
torture-chamber and only left it hanged. I can well imagine Erik
dragging the body, in order to get rid of it, to the scene from the Roi
de Lahore, and hanging it there as an example, or to increase the
superstitious terror that was to help him in guarding the approaches to
his lair! Then, upon reflection, Erik went back to fetch the Punjab
lasso, which is very curiously made out of catgut, and which might have
set an examining magistrate thinking. This explains the disappearance
of the rope. And now I discovered the lasso, at our feet, in the torture-chamber! ... I am no coward, but a cold sweat covered my forehead as I moved
the little red disk of my lantern over the walls. M. de Chagny noticed it and asked:

"What is the matter, sir?" I made him a violent sign to be silent. [1] An official report from Tonkin, received in Paris at the end of
July, 1909, relates how the famous pirate chief De Tham was tracked,
together with his men, by our soldiers; and how all of them succeeded
in escaping, thanks to this trick of the reeds. [2] DAROGA is Persian for chief of police. [3] The Persian might easily have admitted that Erik's fate also
interested himself, for he was well aware that, if the government of
Teheran had learned that Erik was still alive, it would have been all
up with the modest pension of the erstwhile daroga. It is only fair,
however, to add that the Persian had a noble and generous heart; and I
do not doubt for a moment that the catastrophes which he feared for
others greatly occupied his mind. His conduct, throughout this
business, proves it and is above all praise. Chapter XXII  In the Torture Chamber


THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED

We were in the middle of a little six-cornered room, the sides of which
were covered with mirrors from top to bottom. In the corners, we could
clearly see the "joins" in the glasses, the segments intended to turn
on their gear; yes, I recognized them and I recognized the iron tree in
the corner, at the bottom of one of those segments ... the iron tree,
with its iron branch, for the hanged men. I seized my companion's arm:  the Vicomte de Chagny was all a-quiver,
eager to shout to his betrothed that he was bringing her help. I
feared that he would not be able to contain himself. Suddenly, we heard a noise on our left. It sounded at first like a
door opening and shutting in the next room; and then there was a dull
moan. I clutched M. de Chagny's arm more firmly still; and then we
distinctly heard these words:

"You must make your choice! The wedding mass or the requiem mass!" I
recognized the voice of the monster. There was another moan, followed by a long silence. I was persuaded by now that the monster was unaware of our presence in
his house, for otherwise he would certainly have managed not to let us
hear him. He would only have had to close the little invisible window
through which the torture-lovers look down into the torture-chamber. Besides, I was certain that, if he had known of our presence, the
tortures would have begun at once. The important thing was not to let him know; and I dreaded nothing so
much as the impulsiveness of the Vicomte de Chagny, who wanted to rush
through the walls to Christine Daae, whose moans we continued to hear
at intervals. "The requiem mass is not at all gay," Erik's voice resumed, "whereas
the wedding mass--you can take my word for it--is magnificent! You
must take a resolution and know your own mind! I can't go on living
like this, like a mole in a burrow! Don Juan Triumphant is finished;
and now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a wife like
everybody else and to take her out on Sundays. I have invented a mask
that makes me look like anybody. People will not even turn round in
the streets. You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all
by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. You are crying! You
are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you
shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I
should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that
you pleased."