The Phantom of the Opera Gaston Leroux (top 10 ebook reader TXT) đ
- Author: Gaston Leroux
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For instance, a fireman is a brave fellow! He fears nothing, least of all fire! Well, the fireman in question, who had gone to make a round of inspection in the cellars and who, it seems, had ventured a little farther than usual, suddenly reappeared on the stage, pale, scared, trembling, with his eyes starting out of his head, and practically fainted in the arms of the proud mother of little Jammes.1 And why? Because he had seen coming toward him, at the level of his head, but without a body attached to it, a head of fire! And, as I said, a fireman is not afraid of fire.
The firemanâs name was Pampin.
The corps de ballet was flung into consternation. At first sight, this fiery head in no way corresponded with Joseph Buquetâs description of the ghost. But the young ladies soon persuaded themselves that the ghost had several heads, which he changed about as he pleased. And, of course, they at once imagined that they were in the greatest danger. Once a fireman did not hesitate to faint, leaders and front-row and back-row girls alike had plenty of excuses for the fright that made them quicken their pace when passing some dark corner or ill-lighted corridor. Sorelli herself, on the day after the adventure of the fireman, placed a horseshoe on the table in front of the stage-door-keeperâs box, which everyone who entered the Opera otherwise than as a spectator must touch before setting foot on the first tread of the staircase. This horseshoe was not invented by meâ âany more than any other part of this story, alas!â âand may still be seen on the table in the passage outside the stage-door-keeperâs box, when you enter the Opera through the court known as the Cour de lâAdministration.
To return to the evening in question.
âItâs the ghost!â little Jammes had cried.
An agonizing silence now reigned in the dressing-room. Nothing was heard but the hard breathing of the girls. At last, Jammes, flinging herself upon the farthest corner of the wall, with every mark of real terror on her face, whispered:
âListen!â
Everybody seemed to hear a rustling outside the door. There was no sound of footsteps. It was like light silk sliding over the panel. Then it stopped.
Sorelli tried to show more pluck than the others. She went up to the door and, in a quavering voice, asked:
âWhoâs there?â
But nobody answered. Then feeling all eyes upon her, watching her last movement, she made an effort to show courage, and said very loudly:
âIs there anyone behind the door?â
âOh, yes, yes! Of course there is!â cried that little dried plum of a Meg Giry, heroically holding Sorelli back by her gauze skirt. âWhatever you do, donât open the door! Oh, Lord, donât open the door!â
But Sorelli, armed with a dagger that never left her, turned the key and drew back the door, while the ballet-girls retreated to the inner dressing-room and Meg Giry sighed:
âMother! Mother!â
Sorelli looked into the passage bravely. It was empty; a gas-flame, in its glass prison, cast a red and suspicious light into the surrounding darkness, without succeeding in dispelling it. And the dancer slammed the door again, with a deep sigh.
âNo,â she said, âthere is no one there.â
âStill, we saw him!â Jammes declared, returning with timid little steps to her place beside Sorelli. âHe must be somewhere prowling about. I shanât go back to dress. We had better all go down to the foyer together, at once, for the âspeech,â and we will come up again together.â
And the child reverently touched the little coral finger-ring which she wore as a charm against bad luck, while Sorelli, stealthily, with the tip of her pink right thumbnail, made a St. Andrewâs cross on the wooden ring which adorned the fourth finger of her left hand. She said to the little ballet-girls:
âCome, children, pull yourselves together! I dare say no one has ever seen the ghost.â
âYes, yes, we saw himâ âwe saw him just now!â cried the girls. âHe had his deathâs head and his dress-coat, just as when he appeared to Joseph Buquet!â
âAnd Gabriel saw him too!â said Jammes. âOnly yesterday! Yesterday afternoonâ âin broad daylightâ ââ
âGabriel, the chorus-master?â
âWhy, yes, didnât you know?â
âAnd he was wearing his dress-clothes, in broad daylight?â
âWho? Gabriel?â
âWhy, no, the ghost!â
âCertainly! Gabriel told me so himself. Thatâs what he knew him by. Gabriel was in the stage-managerâs office. Suddenly the door opened and the Persian entered. You know the Persian has the evil eyeâ ââ
âOh, yes!â answered the little ballet-girls in chorus, warding off ill-luck by pointing their forefinger and little finger at the absent Persian, while their second and third fingers were bent on the palm and held down by the thumb.
âAnd you know how superstitious Gabriel is,â continued Jammes. âHowever, he is always polite. When he meets the Persian, he just puts his hand in his pocket and touches his keys. Well, the moment the Persian appeared in the doorway, Gabriel gave one jump from his chair to the lock of the cupboard, so as to touch iron! In doing so, he tore a whole skirt of his overcoat on a nail. Hurrying to get out of the room, he banged his forehead against a hat-peg and gave himself a huge bump; then, suddenly stepping back, he skinned his arm on the screen, near the piano; he tried to lean on the piano, but the lid fell on his hands and crushed his fingers; he rushed out of the office like a madman, slipped on the staircase and came down the whole of the first flight on his back. I was just passing with mother. We picked him up. He was covered with bruises and his face was all over blood. We were frightened out of our lives, but, all at once, he began to thank Providence that he had got off so cheaply. Then he told us what had frightened him.
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