The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📕
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“When I die and am in Heaven,” Christine Daaé’s father said, “I will send the Angel of Music to you.” It is with these words still in her ears years later that Christine accepts the disembodied voice that speaks to her to claim that divine title, and to give her singing lessons within her dressing room at the Paris Opera, as the fulfillment of her beloved father’s promise. And when those lessons lead her to a performance that astonishes the whole city, who could doubt but that the Angel had indeed come?
Yet there is another, more sinister presence stalking about the Opéra Garnier: the Opera Ghost. A creature who not only makes inconvenient demands—such as the exclusive use of Box Five at every performance, as well as a sizable retainer paid monthly—but who also hangs a man for wandering into the wrong part of the Opera’s cavernous cellars, and sends a chandelier plunging down onto the heads of a packed house when his demands are not met.
But is the Opéra truly host to so many supernatural phenomena, or could it be that the Angel and the Opera Ghost are in fact one and the same? And could it be also that he is far less angel than demon? And if so, will Christine realize her peril before it is too late?
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- Author: Gaston Leroux
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“M. de Chagny,” the girl declared coldly, “you shall never know!”
Thereupon, seeing the hostility with which her ward had addressed the viscount, Mamma Valérius suddenly took Christine’s part.
“And, if she does love that man, monsieur le vicomte, even then it is no business of yours!”
“Alas, madame,” Raoul humbly replied, unable to restrain his tears, “alas, I believe that Christine really does love him! … But it is not only that which drives me to despair; for what I am not certain of, madame, is that the man whom Christine loves is worthy of her love!”
“It is for me to be the judge of that, monsieur!” said Christine, looking Raoul angrily in the face.
“When a man,” continued Raoul, “adopts such romantic methods to entice a young girl’s affections …”
“The man must be either a villain, or the girl a fool: is that it?”
“Christine!”
“Raoul, why do you condemn a man whom you have never seen, whom no one knows and about whom you yourself know nothing?”
“Yes, Christine. … Yes. … I at least know the name that you thought to keep from me forever. … The name of your Angel of Music, mademoiselle, is Erik!”
Christine at once betrayed herself. She turned as white as a sheet and stammered:
“Who told you?”
“You yourself!”
“How do you mean?”
“By pitying him the other night, the night of the masked ball. When you went to your dressing-room, did you not say, ‘Poor Erik?’ Well, Christine, there was a poor Raoul who overheard you.”
“This is the second time that you have listened behind the door, M. de Chagny!”
“I was not behind the door … I was in the dressing-room, in the inner room, mademoiselle.”
“Oh, unhappy man!” moaned the girl, showing every sign of unspeakable terror. “Unhappy man! Do you want to be killed?”
“Perhaps.”
Raoul uttered this “perhaps” with so much love and despair in his voice that Christine could not keep back a sob. She took his hands and looked at him with all the pure affection of which she was capable:
“Raoul,” she said, “forget the man’s voice and do not even remember its name. … You must never try to fathom the mystery of the man’s voice.”
“Is the mystery so very terrible?”
“There is no more awful mystery on this earth. Swear to me that you will make no attempt to find out,” she insisted. “Swear to me that you will never come to my dressing-room, unless I send for you.”
“Then you promise to send for me sometimes, Christine?”
“I promise.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Then I swear to do as you ask.”
He kissed her hands and went away, cursing Erik and resolving to be patient.
XI Above the Trap-DoorsThe next day, he saw her at the Opera. She was still wearing the plain gold ring. She was gentle and kind to him. She talked to him of the plans which he was forming, of his future, of his career.
He told her that the date of the Polar expedition had been put forward and that he would leave France in three weeks, or a month at latest. She suggested, almost gaily, that he must look upon the voyage with delight, as a stage toward his coming fame. And when he replied that fame without love was no attraction in his eyes, she treated him as a child whose sorrows were only short-lived.
“How can you speak so lightly of such serious things?” he asked. “Perhaps we shall never see each other again! I may die during that expedition.”
“Or I,” she said simply.
She no longer smiled or jested. She seemed to be thinking of some new thing that had entered her mind for the first time. Her eyes were all aglow with it.
“What are you thinking of, Christine?”
“I am thinking that we shall not see each other again …”
“And does that make you so radiant?”
“And that, in a month, we shall have to say goodbye forever!”
“Unless, Christine, we pledge our faith and wait for each other forever.”
She put her hand on his mouth.
“Hush, Raoul! … You know there is no question of that … And we shall never be married: that is understood!”
She seemed suddenly almost unable to contain an overpowering gaiety. She clapped her hands with childish glee. Raoul stared at her in amazement.
“But … but,” she continued, holding out her two hands to Raoul, or rather giving them to him, as though she had suddenly resolved to make him a present of them, “but if we can not be married, we can … we can be engaged! Nobody will know but ourselves, Raoul. There have been plenty of secret marriages: why not a secret engagement? … We are engaged, dear, for a month! In a month, you will go away, and I can be happy at the thought of that month all my life long!”
She was enchanted with her inspiration. Then she became serious again.
“This,” she said, “is a happiness that will harm no one.”
Raoul jumped at the idea. He bowed to Christine and said:
“Mademoiselle, I have the honor to ask for your hand.”
“Why, you
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