The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📕
Description
“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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“What tortures? … Who is being tortured? … Erik, Erik, say you are only trying to frighten me! … Say it, if you love me, Erik! … There are no tortures, are there?”
“Go and look at the little window, dear!”
I do not know if the viscount heard the girl’s swooning voice, for he was too much occupied by the astounding spectacle that now appeared before his distracted gaze. As for me, I had seen that sight too often, through the little window, at the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan; and I cared only for what was being said next door, seeking for a hint how to act, what resolution to take.
“Go and peep through the little window! Tell me what he looks like!”
We heard the steps being dragged against the wall.
“Up with you! … No! … No, I will go up myself, dear!”
“Oh, very well, I will go up. Let me go!”
“Oh, my darling, my darling! … How sweet of you! … How nice of you to save me the exertion at my age! … Tell me what he looks like!”
At that moment, we distinctly heard these words above our heads:
“There is no one there, dear!”
“No one? … Are you sure there is no one?”
“Why, of course not … no one!”
“Well, that’s all right! … What’s the matter, Christine? You’re not going to faint, are you … as there is no one there? … Here … come down … there! … Pull yourself together … as there is no one there! … But how do you like the landscape?”
“Oh, very much!”
“There, that’s better! … You’re better now, are you not? … That’s all right, you’re better! … No excitement! … And what a funny house, isn’t it, with landscapes like that in it?”
“Yes, it’s like the Musée Grévin. … But, I say, Erik … there are no tortures in there! … What a fright you gave me!”
“Why … as there is no one there?”
“Did you design that room? It’s very handsome. You’re a great artist, Erik.”
“Yes, a great artist, in my own line.”
“But tell me, Erik, why did you call that room the torture-chamber?”
“Oh, it’s very simple. First of all, what did you see?”
“I saw a forest.”
“And what is in a forest?”
“Trees.”
“And what is in a tree?”
“Birds.”
“Did you see any birds?”
“No, I did not see any birds.”
“Well, what did you see? Think! You saw branches! And what are the branches?” asked the terrible voice. “There’s a gibbet! That is why I call my wood the torture-chamber! … You see, it’s all a joke. I never express myself like other people. But I am very tired of it! … I’m sick and tired of having a forest and a torture-chamber in my house and of living like a mountebank, in a house with a false bottom! … I’m tired of it! I want to have a nice, quiet flat, with ordinary doors and windows and a wife inside it, like anybody else! A wife whom I could love and take out on Sundays and keep amused on weekdays. … Here, shall I show you some card-tricks? That will help us to pass a few minutes, while waiting for eleven o’clock tomorrow evening. … My dear little Christine! … Are you listening to me? … Tell me you love me! … No, you don’t love me … but no matter, you will! … Once, you could not look at my mask because you knew what was behind. … And now you don’t mind looking at it and you forget what is behind! … One can get used to everything … if one wishes. … Plenty of young people who did not care for each other before marriage have adored each other since! Oh, I don’t know what I am talking about! But you would have lots of fun with me. For instance, I am the greatest ventriloquist that ever lived, I am the first ventriloquist in the world! … You’re laughing. … Perhaps you don’t believe me? Listen.”
The wretch, who really was the first ventriloquist in the world, was only trying to divert the child’s attention from the torture-chamber; but it was a stupid scheme, for Christine thought of nothing but us! She repeatedly besought him, in the gentlest tones which she could assume:
“Put out the light in the little window! … Erik, do put out the light in the little window!”
For she saw that this light, which appeared so suddenly and of which the monster had spoken in so threatening a voice, must mean something terrible. One thing must have pacified her for a moment; and that was seeing the two of us, behind the wall, in the midst of that resplendent light, alive and well. But she would certainly have felt much easier if the light had been put out.
Meantime, the other had already begun to play the ventriloquist. He said:
“Here, I raise my mask a little. … Oh, only a little! … You see my lips, such lips as I have? They’re not moving! … My mouth is closed—such mouth as I have—and yet you hear my voice. … Where will you have it? In your left ear? In your right ear? In the table? In those little ebony boxes on the mantelpiece? … Listen, dear, it’s in the little box on the right of the mantelpiece: what does it say? ‘Shall I turn the scorpion?’ … And now, crack! What does it say in the little box on the left? ‘Shall I turn the grasshopper?’ … And now, crack! Here it is in the little leather bag. … What does it say? ‘I am the little bag of life and death!’ … And now, crack! It is in Carlotta’s throat, in Carlotta’s golden throat, in Carlotta’s crystal throat, as I live! What does it say? It says, ‘It’s I, Mr. Toad, it’s I singing! I feel without alarm—co-ack—with its melody enwind me—co-ack!’ … And now, crack! It is on a chair in the ghost’s box and it says, ‘Madame Carlotta is singing tonight to bring the chandelier down!’ … And now, crack! Aha! Where is Erik’s voice now? Listen, Christine, darling! Listen! It is behind the door of the torture-chamber! Listen! It’s myself in the torture-chamber! And what do I say? I say, ‘Woe to them that have a nose, a real
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