The shadow had followed behind them clinging to their steps; and the two children little suspected its presence when they at last sat down, trustingly, under the mighty6 protection of Apollo, who, with a great bronze gesture, lifted his huge lyre to the heart of a crimson7 sky.
It was a gorgeous spring evening. Clouds, which had just received their gossamer8 robe of gold and purple from the setting sun, drifted slowly by; and Christine said to Raoul:
“Soon we shall go farther and faster than the clouds, to the end of the world, and then you will leave me, Raoul. But, if, when the moment comes for you to take me away, I refuse to go with you — well you must carry me off by force!”
“Are you afraid that you will change your mind, Christine?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head in an odd fashion. “He is a demon9!” And she shivered and nestled in his arms with a moan. “I am afraid now of going back to live with him . . . in the ground!”
“What compels you to go back, Christine?”
“If I do not go back to him, terrible misfortunes may happen! . . . But I can’t do it, I can’t do it! . . . I know one ought to be sorry for people who live underground . . . But he is too horrible! And yet the time is at hand; I have only a day left; and, if I do not go, he will come and fetch me with his voice. And he will drag me with him, underground, and go on his knees before me, with his death’s head. And he will tell me that he loves me! And he will cry! Oh, those tears, Raoul, those tears in the two black eye-sockets10 of the death’s head! I can not see those tears flow again!”
She wrung11 her hands in anguish12, while Raoul pressed her to his heart.
“No, no, you shall never again hear him tell you that he loves you! You shall not see his tears! Let us fly, Christine, let us fly at once!”
And he tried to drag her away, then and there. But she stopped him.
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “Not now! . . . It would be too cruel . . . let him hear me sing to-morrow evening . . . and then we will go away. You must come and fetch me in my dressing14-room at midnight exactly. He will then be waiting for me in the dining-room by the lake . . . we shall be free and you shall take me away . . . You must promise me that, Raoul, even if I refuse; for I feel that, if I go back this time, I shall perhaps never return.”
And she gave a sigh to which it seemed to her that another sigh, behind her, replied.
“Didn’t you hear?”
Her teeth chattered15.
“No,” said Raoul, “I heard nothing.”
“It is too terrible,” she confessed, “to be always trembling like this! . . . And yet we run no danger here; we are at home, in the sky, in the open air, in the light. The sun is flaming; and night-birds can not bear to look at the sun. I have never seen him by daylight . . . it must be awful! . . . Oh, the first time I saw him! . . . I thought that he was going to die.”
“Why?” asked Raoul, really frightened at the aspect which this strange confidence was taking.
“BECAUSE I HAD SEEN HIM!”
This time, Raoul and Christine turned round at the same time:
“There is some one in pain,” said Raoul. “Perhaps some one has been hurt. Did you hear?”
“I can’t say,” Christine confessed. “Even when he is not there, my ears are full of his sighs. Still, if you heard . . . ”
They stood up and looked around them. They were quite alone on the immense lead roof. They sat down again and Raoul said:
“Tell me how you saw him first.”
“I had heard him for three months without seeing him. The first time I heard it, I thought, as you did, that that adorable voice was singing in another room. I went out and looked everywhere; but, as you know, Raoul, my dressing-room is very much by itself; and I could not find the voice outside my room, whereas it went on steadily16 inside. And it not only sang, but it spoke17 to me and answered my questions, like a real man’s voice, with this difference, that it was as beautiful as the voice of an angel. I had never got the Angel of Music whom my poor father had promised to send me as soon as he was dead. I really think that Mamma Valerius was a little bit to blame. I told her about it; and she at once said, ‘It must be the Angel; at any rate, you can do no harm by asking him.’ I did so; and the man’s voice replied that, yes, it was the Angel’s voice, the voice which I was expecting and which my father had promised me. From that time onward19, the voice and I became great friends. It asked leave to give me lessons every day. I agreed and never failed to keep the appointment which it gave me in my dressing-room. You have no idea, though you have heard the voice, of what those lessons were like.”
“No, I have no idea,” said Raoul. “What was your accompaniment?”
“We were accompanied by a music which I do not know: it was behind the wall and wonderfully accurate. The voice seemed to understand mine exactly, to know precisely20 where my father had left off teaching me. In a few weeks’ time, I hardly knew myself when I sang. I was even frightened. I seemed to dread21 a sort of witchcraft22 behind it; but Mamma Valerius reassured23 me. She said that she knew I was much too simple a girl to give the devil a hold on me . . . My progress, by the voice’s own order, was kept a secret between the voice, Mamma Valerius and myself. It was a curious thing, but, outside the dressing-room, I sang with my ordinary, every-day voice and nobody noticed anything. I did all that the voice asked. It said, ‘Wait and see: we shall astonish Paris!’ And I waited and lived on in a sort of ecstatic dream. It was then that I saw you for the first time one evening, in the house. I was so glad that I never thought of concealing24 my delight when I reached my dressing-room. Unfortunately, the voice was there before me and soon noticed, by my air, that something had happened. It asked what was the matter and I saw no reason for keeping our story secret or concealing the place which you filled in my heart. Then the voice was silent. I called to it, but it did not reply; I begged and entreated25, but in vain. I was terrified lest it had gone for good. I wish to Heaven it had, dear! . . . That night, I went home in a desperate condition. I told Mamma Valerius, who said, ‘Why, of course, the voice is jealous!’ And that, dear, first revealed to me that I loved you.”
Christine stopped and laid her head on Raoul’s shoulder. They sat like that for a moment, in silence, and they did not see, did not perceive the movement, at a few steps from them, of the creeping shadow of two great black wings, a shadow that came along the roof so near, so near them that it could have stifled26 them by closing over them.
“The next day,” Christine continued, with a sigh, “I went back to my dressing-room in a very pensive27 frame of mind. The voice was there, spoke to me with great sadness and told me plainly that, if I must bestow28 my heart on earth, there was nothing for the voice to do but to go back to Heaven. And it said this with such an accent of HUMAN sorrow that I ought then and there to have suspected and begun to believe that I was the victim of my deluded29 senses. But my faith in the voice, with which the memory of my father was so closely intermingled, remained undisturbed. I feared nothing so much as that I might never hear it again; I had thought about my love for you and realized all the useless danger of it; and I did not even know if you remembered me. Whatever happened, your position in society forbade me to contemplate30 the possibility of ever marrying you; and I swore to the voice that you were no more than a brother to me nor ever would be and that my heart was incapable31 of any earthly love. And that, dear, was why I refused to recognize or see you when I met you on the stage or in the passages. Meanwhile, the hours during which the voice taught me were spent in a divine frenzy32, until, at last, the voice said to me, ‘You can now, Christine Daae, give to men a little of the music of Heaven.’ I don’t know how it was that Carlotta did not come to the theater that night nor why I was called upon to sing in her stead; but I sang with a rapture33 I had never known before and I felt for a moment as if my soul were leaving my body!”
“Oh, Christine,” said Raoul, “my heart quivered that night at every accent of your voice. I saw the tears stream down your cheeks and I wept with you. How could you sing, sing like that while crying?”
“I felt myself fainting,” said Christine, “I closed my eyes. When I opened them, you were by my side. But the voice was there also, Raoul! I was afraid for your sake and again I would not recognize you and began to laugh when you reminded me that you had picked up my scarf in the sea! . . . Alas34, there is no deceiving the voice! . . . The voice recognized you and the voice was jealous! . . . It said that, if I did not love you, I would not avoid you, but treat you like any other old friend. It made me scene upon scene. At last, I said to the voice, ‘That will do! I am going to Perros to-morrow, to pray on my father’s grave, and I shall ask M. Raoul de Chagny to go with me.’ ‘Do as you please,’ replied the voice, ‘but I shall be at Perros too, for I am wherever you are, Christine; and, if you are still worthy35 of me, if you have not lied to me, I will play you The Resurrection of Lazarus, on the stroke of midnight, on your father’s tomb and on your father’s violin.’ That, dear, was how I came to write you the letter that brought you to Perros. How could I have been so beguiled36? How was it, when I saw the personal, the selfish point of view of the voice, that I did not suspect some impostor? Alas, I was no longer mistress of myself: I had become his thing!”
“But, after all,” cried Raoul, “you soon came to know the truth! Why did you not at once rid yourself of that abominable37 nightmare?”
“Know the truth, Raoul? Rid myself of that nightmare? But, my poor boy, I was not caught in the nightmare until the day when I learned the truth! . . . Pity me, Raoul, pity me! . . . You remember the terrible evening when Carlotta thought that she had been turned into a toad38 on the stage and when the house was suddenly plunged39 in darkness through the chandelier crashing to the floor? There were killed and wounded that night and the whole theater rang with terrified screams. My first thought was for you and the voice. I was at once easy, where you were concerned, for I had seen you in your brother’s box and I knew that you were not in danger. But the voice had told me that it would be at the performance and I was really afraid for it, just as if it had been an ordinary person who was capable of dying. I thought to myself, ‘The chandelier may have come down upon the voice.’ I was then on the stage and was nearly running into the house, to look for the voice among the killed and wounded, when I thought that, if the voice was safe, it would be sure to be in my dressing-room and I rushed to my room. The voice was not there. I locked my door and, with tears in my eyes, besought40 it, if it were still alive, to manifest itself to me. The voice did not reply, but suddenly I heard a long, beautiful wail41 which I knew well. It is the plaint of Lazarus when, at the sound of the Redeemer’s voice, he begins to open his eyes and see the light of day. It was the music which you and I, Raoul, heard at Perros. And then the voice began to sing the leading phrase, ‘Come! And believe in me! Whoso believes in me shall live! Walk! Whoso hath believed in me shall never die! . . . ’ I can not tell you the effect which that music had upon me. It seemed to command me, personally, to come, to stand up and come to it. It retreated and I followed. ‘Come! And believe in me!’ I believed in it, I came . . . I came and — this was the extraordinary thing — my dressing-room, as I moved, seemed to lengthen42 out . . . to lengthen out . . . Evidently, it must have been an effect of mirrors . . . for I had the mirror in front of me . . . And, suddenly, I was outside the room without knowing how!”
“What! Without knowing how? Christine, Christine, you must really stop dreaming!”
“I was not dreaming, dear, I was outside my room without knowing how. You, who saw me disappear from my room one evening, may be able to explain it; but I can not. I can only tell you that, suddenly, there was no mirror before me and no dressing-room. I was in a dark passage, I was frightened and I cried out. It was quite dark, but for a faint red glimmer43 at a distant corner of the wall. I tried out. My voice was the only sound, for the singing and the violin had stopped. 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 stiffened44, my mouth opened to scream, but a hand closed it, a hand which I felt on my lips, on my skin . . . a hand that smelt45 of death. Then I fainted away.
“When I opened my eyes, we were still surrounded by darkness. A lantern, standing46 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 astounded47 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 rumor48 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 demons49 down there, quite black, standing in front of boilers50, and they wield51 shovels52 and pitchforks and poke18 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 winding53 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 nostrils54, sniffed55 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 wharf56!”
“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 hoofs57 trampling58 up a staircase while the man jumped into the boat, untied59 the rope that held it and seized the oars60. 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, adorned61 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 civilized62 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 amazement63. 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 humility64 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, tangible65 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 abode66 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 narrative67 was again interrupted. An echo behind them seemed to repeat the word after her.
“Erik!”
What echo? . . . They both turned round and saw that night had fallen. Raoul made a movement as though to rise, but Christine kept him beside her.
“Don’t go,” she said. “I want you to know everything HERE!”
“But why here, Christine? I am afraid of your catching68 cold.”
“We have nothing to fear except the trap-doors, dear, and here we are miles away from the trap-doors . . . and I am not allowed to see you outside the theater. This is not the time to annoy him. We must not arouse his suspicion.”
“Christine! Christine! Something tells me that we are wrong to wait till to-morrow evening and that we ought to fly at once.”
“I tell you that, if he does not hear me sing tomorrow, it will cause him infinite pain.”
“It is difficult not to cause him pain and yet to escape from him for good.”
“You are right in that, Raoul, for certainly he will die of my flight.” And she added in a dull voice, “But then it counts both ways . . . for we risk his killing69 us.”
“Does he love you so much?”
“He would commit murder for me.”
“But one can find out where he lives. One can go in search of him. Now that we know that Erik is not a ghost, one can speak to him and force him to answer!”
Christine shook her head.
“No, no! There is nothing to be done with Erik except to run away!”
“Then why, when you were able to run away, did you go back to him?”
“Because I had to. And you will understand that when I tell you how I left him.”
“Oh, I hate him!” cried Raoul. “And you, Christine, tell me, do you hate him too?”
“No,” said Christine simply.
“No, of course not . . . Why, you love him! Your fear, your terror, all of that is just love and love of the most exquisite70 kind, the kind which people do not admit even to themselves,” said Raoul bitterly. “The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it . . . Picture it: a man who lives in a palace underground!” And he gave a leer.
“Then you want me to go back there?” said the young girl cruelly. “Take care, Raoul; I have told you: I should never return!”
There was an appalling71 silence between the three of them: the two who spoke and the shadow that listened, behind them.
“Before answering that,” said Raoul, at last, speaking very slowly, “I should like to know with what feeling he inspires you, since you do not hate him.”
“With horror!” she said. “That is the terrible thing about it. He fills me with horror and I do not hate him. How can I hate him, Raoul? Think of Erik at my feet, in the house on the lake, underground. He accuses himself, he curses himself, he implores72 my forgiveness! . . . He confesses his cheat. He loves me! He lays at my feet an immense and tragic73 love . . . He has carried me off for love! . . . He has imprisoned74 me with him, underground, for love! . . . But he respects me: he crawls, he moans, he weeps! . . . And, when I stood up, Raoul, and told him that I could only despise him if he did not, then and there, give me my liberty . . . he offered it . . . he offered to show me the mysterious road . . . Only . . . only he rose too . . . and I was made to remember that, though he was not an angel, nor a ghost, nor a genius, he remained the voice . . . for he sang. And I listened . . . and stayed! . . . That night, we did not exchange another word. He sang me to sleep.
“When I woke up, I was alone, lying on a sofa in a simply furnished little bedroom, with an ordinary mahogany bedstead, lit by a lamp standing on the marble top of an old Louis-Philippe chest of drawers. I soon discovered that I was a prisoner and that the only outlet75 from my room led to a very comfortable bath-room. On returning to the bedroom, I saw on the chest of drawers a note, in red ink, which said, ‘My dear Christine, you need have no concern as to your fate. You have no better nor more respectful friend in the world than myself. You are alone, at present, in this home which is yours. I am going out shopping to fetch you all the things that you can need.’ I felt sure that I had fallen into the hands of a madman. I ran round my little apartment, looking for a way of escape which I could not find. I upbraided76 myself for my absurd superstition77, which had caused me to fall into the trap. I felt inclined to laugh and to cry at the same time.
“This was the state of mind in which Erik found me. After giving three taps on the wall, he walked in quietly through a door which I had not noticed and which he left open. He had his arms full of boxes and parcels and arranged them on the bed, in a leisurely78 fashion, while I overwhelmed him with abuse and called upon him to take off his mask, if it covered the face of an honest man. He replied serenely79, ‘You shall never see Erik’s face.’ And he reproached me with not having finished dressing at that time of day: he was good enough to tell me that it was two o’clock in the afternoon. He said he would give me half an hour and, while he spoke, wound up my watch and set it for me. After which, he asked me to come to the dining-room, where a nice lunch was waiting for us.
“I was very angry, slammed the door in his face and went to the bath-room . . . When I came out again, feeling greatly refreshed, Erik said that he loved me, but that he would never tell me so except when I allowed him and that the rest of the time would be devoted80 to music. ‘What do you mean by the rest of the time?’ I asked. ‘Five days,’ he said, with decision. I asked him if I should then be free and he said, ‘You will be free, Christine, for, when those five days are past, you will have learned not to see me; and then, from time to time, you will come to see your poor Erik!’ He pointed81 to a chair opposite him, at a small table, and I sat down, feeling greatly perturbed82. However, I ate a few prawns83 and the wing of a chicken and drank half a glass of tokay, which he had himself, he told me, brought from the Konigsberg cellars. Erik did not eat or drink. I asked him what his nationality was and if that name of Erik did not point to his Scandinavian origin. He said that he had no name and no country and that he had taken the name of Erik by accident.
“After lunch, he rose and gave me the tips of his fingers, saying he would like to show me over his flat; but I snatched away my hand and gave a cry. What I had touched was cold and, at the same time, bony; and I remembered that his hands smelt of death. ‘Oh, forgive me!’ he moaned. And he opened a door before me. ‘This is my bedroom, if you care to see it. It is rather curious.’ His manners, his words, his attitude gave me confidence and I went in without hesitation84. I felt as if I were entering the room of a dead person. The walls were all hung with black, but, instead of the white trimmings that usually set off that funereal85 upholstery, there was an enormous stave of music with the notes of the DIES IRAE, many times repeated. In the middle of the room was a canopy86, from which hung curtains of red brocaded stuff, and, under the canopy, an open coffin87. ‘That is where I sleep,’ said Erik. ‘One has to get used to everything in life, even to eternity88.’ The sight upset me so much that I turned away my head.
“Then I saw the keyboard of an organ which filled one whole side of the walls. On the desk was a music-book covered with red notes. I asked leave to look at it and read, ‘Don Juan Triumphant89.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I compose sometimes.’ I began that work twenty years ago. When I have finished, I shall take it away with me in that coffin and never wake up again.’ ‘You must work at it as seldom as you can,’ I said. He replied, ‘I sometimes work at it for fourteen days and nights together, during which I live on music only, and then I rest for years at a time.’ ‘Will you play me something out of your Don Juan Triumphant?’ I asked, thinking to please him. ‘You must never ask me that,’ he said, in a gloomy voice. ‘I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will only make you weep; but my Don Juan, Christine, burns; and yet he is not struck by fire from Heaven.’ Thereupon we returned to the drawing-room. I noticed that there was no mirror in the whole apartment. I was going to remark upon this, but Erik had already sat down to the piano. He said, ‘You see, Christine, there is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it. Fortunately, you have not come to that music yet, for you would lose all your pretty coloring and nobody would know you when you returned to Paris. Let us sing something from the Opera, Christine Daae.’ He spoke these last words as though he were flinging an insult at me.”
“What did you do?”
“I had no time to think about the meaning he put into his words. We at once began the duet in Othello and already the catastrophe90 was upon us. I sang Desdemona with a despair, a terror which I had never displayed before. As for him, his voice thundered forth91 his revengeful soul at every note. Love, jealousy92, hatred93, burst out around us in harrowing cries. Erik’s black mask made me think of the natural mask of the Moor94 of Venice. He was Othello himself. Suddenly, I felt a need to see beneath the mask. I wanted to know the FACE of the voice, and, with a movement which I was utterly95 unable to control, swiftly my fingers tore away the mask. Oh, horror, horror, horror!”
Christine stopped, at the thought of the vision that had scared her, while the echoes of the night, which had repeated the name of Erik, now thrice moaned the cry:
“Horror! . . . Horror! . . . Horror!”
Raoul and Christine, clasping each other closely, raised their eyes to the stars that shone in a clear and peaceful sky. Raoul said:
“Strange, Christine, that this calm, soft night should be so full of plaintive96 sounds. One would think that it was sorrowing with us.”
“When you know the secret, Raoul, your ears, like mine, will be full of lamentations.”
She took Raoul’s protecting hands in hers and, with a long shiver, continued:
“Yes, if I lived to be a hundred, I should always hear the superhuman cry of grief and rage which he uttered when the terrible sight appeared before my eyes . . . Raoul, you have seen death’s heads, when they have been dried and withered97 by the centuries, and, perhaps, if you were not the victim of a nightmare, you saw HIS death’s head at Perros. And then you saw Red Death stalking about at the last masked ball. But all those death’s heads were motionless and their dumb horror was not alive. But imagine, if you can, Red Death’s mask suddenly coming to life in order to express, with the four black holes of its eyes, its nose, and its mouth, the extreme anger, the mighty fury of a demon; AND NOT A RAY OF LIGHT FROM THE SOCKETS, for, as I learned later, you can not see his blazing eyes except in the dark.
“I fell back against the wall and he came up to me, grinding his teeth, and, as I fell upon my knees, he hissed98 mad, incoherent words and curses at me. Leaning over me, he cried, ‘Look! You want to see! See! Feast your eyes, glut99 your soul on my cursed ugliness! Look at Erik’s face! Now you know the face of the voice! You were not content to hear me, eh? You wanted to know what I looked like! Oh, you women are so inquisitive100! Well, are you satisfied? I’m a very good-looking fellow, eh? . . . When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me. She loves me for ever. I am a kind of Don Juan, you know!’ And, drawing himself up to his full height, with his hand on his hip101, wagging the hideous102 thing that was his head on his shoulders, he roared, ‘Look at me! I AM DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT!’ And, when I turned away my head and begged for mercy, he drew it to him, brutally103, twisting his dead fingers into my hair.”
“Enough! Enough!” cried Raoul. “I will kill him. In Heaven’s name, Christine, tell me where the dining-room on the lake is! I must kill him!”
“Oh, be quiet, Raoul, if you want to know!”
“Yes, I want to know how and why you went back; I must know! . . . But, in any case, I will kill him!”
“Oh, Raoul, listen, listen! . . . He dragged me by my hair and then . . . and then . . . Oh, it is too horrible!”
“Well, what? Out with it!” exclaimed Raoul fiercely. “Out with it, quick!”
“Then he hissed at me. ‘Ah, I frighten you, do I? . . . I dare say! . . . Perhaps you think that I have another mask, eh, and that this . . . this . . . my head is a mask? Well,’ he roared, ‘tear it off as you did the other! Come! Come along! I insist! Your hands! Your hands! Give me your hands!’ And he seized my hands and dug them into his awful face. He tore his flesh with my nails, tore his terrible dead flesh with my nails! . . . ‘Know,’ he shouted, while his throat throbbed104 and panted like a furnace, ‘know that I am built up of death from head to foot and that it is a corpse105 that loves you and adores you and will never, never leave you! . . . Look, I am not laughing now, I am crying, crying for you, Christine, who have torn off my mask and who therefore can never leave me again! . . . As long as you thought me handsome, you could have come back, I know you would have come back . . . but, now that you know my hideousness106, you would run away for good . . . So I shall keep you here! . . . Why did you want to see me? Oh, mad Christine, who wanted to see me! . . . When my own father never saw me and when my mother, so as not to see me, made me a present of my first mask!’
“He had let go of me at last and was dragging himself about on the floor, uttering terrible sobs107. And then he crawled away like a snake, went into his room, closed the door and left me alone to my reflections. Presently I heard the sound of the organ; and then I began to understand Erik’s contemptuous phrase when he spoke about Opera music. What I now heard was utterly different from what I had heard up to then. His Don Juan Triumphant (for I had not a doubt but that he had rushed to his masterpiece to forget the horror of the moment) seemed to me at first one long, awful, magnificent sob108. But, little by little, it expressed every emotion, every suffering of which mankind is capable. It intoxicated109 me; and I opened the door that separated us. Erik rose, as I entered, BUT DARED NOT TURN IN MY DIRECTION. ‘Erik,’ I cried, ‘show me your face without fear! I swear that you are the most unhappy and sublime110 of men; and, if ever again I shiver when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking of the splendor111 of your genius!’ Then Erik turned round, for he believed me, and I also had faith in myself. He fell at my feet, with words of love . . . with words of love in his dead mouth . . . and the music had ceased . . . He kissed the hem5 of my dress and did not see that I closed my eyes.
“What more can I tell you, dear? You now know the tragedy. It went on for a fortnight — a fortnight during which I lied to him. My lies were as hideous as the monster who inspired them; but they were the price of my liberty. I burned his mask; and I managed so well that, even when he was not singing, he tried to catch my eye, like a dog sitting by its master. He was my faithful slave and paid me endless little attentions. Gradually, I gave him such confidence that he ventured to take me walking on the banks of the lake and to row me in the boat on its leaden waters; toward the end of my captivity112 he let me out through the gates that closed the underground passages in the Rue13 Scribe. Here a carriage awaited us and took us to the Bois. The night when we met you was nearly fatal to me, for he is terribly jealous of you and I had to tell him that you were soon going away . . . Then, at last, after a fortnight of that horrible captivity, during which I was filled with pity, enthusiasm, despair and horror by turns, he believed me when I said, ‘I WILL COME BACK!’”
“And you went back, Christine,” groaned113 Raoul.
“Yes, dear, and I must tell you that it was not his frightful114 threats when setting me free that helped me to keep my word, but the harrowing sob which he gave on the threshold of the tomb. . . . That sob attached me to the unfortunate man more than I myself suspected when saying good-by to him. Poor Erik! Poor Erik!”
“Christine,” said Raoul, rising, “you tell me that you love me; but you had recovered your liberty hardly a few hours before you returned to Erik! Remember the masked ball!”
“Yes; and do you remember those hours which I passed with you, Raoul . . . to the great danger of both of us?”
“I doubted your love for me, during those hours.”
“Do you doubt it still, Raoul? . . . Then know that each of my visits to Erik increased my horror of him; for each of those visits, instead of calming him, as I hoped, made him mad with love! And I am so frightened, so frightened! . . . ”
“You are frightened . . . but do you love me? If Erik were good-looking, would you love me, Christine?”
She rose in her turn, put her two trembling arms round the young man’s neck and said:
“Oh, my betrothed115 of a day, if I did not love you, I would not give you my lips! Take them, for the first time and the last.”
He kissed her lips; but the night that surrounded them was rent asunder116, they fled as at the approach of a storm and their eyes, filled with dread of Erik, showed them, before they disappeared, high up above them, an immense night-bird that stared at them with its blazing eyes and seemed to cling to the string of Apollo’s lyre.
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1
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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12
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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14
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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15
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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16
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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18
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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19
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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20
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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21
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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22
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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23
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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24
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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25
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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27
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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28
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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29
deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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31
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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32
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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33
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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34
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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35
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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36
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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37
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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38
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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39
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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40
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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41
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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42
lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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43
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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44
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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45
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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46
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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47
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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48
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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49
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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50
boilers
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| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
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51
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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52
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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53
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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54
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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55
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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56
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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57
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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58
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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59
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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60
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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62
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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63
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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64
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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65
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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66
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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67
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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68
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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69
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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70
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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71
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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72
implores
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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74
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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76
upbraided
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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78
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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79
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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80
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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81
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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82
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
prawns
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| n.对虾，明虾( prawn的名词复数 ) | |
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84
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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85
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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86
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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87
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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88
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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89
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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90
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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91
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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92
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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93
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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94
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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95
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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97
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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98
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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99
glut
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| n.存货过多，供过于求；v.狼吞虎咽 | |
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100
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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101
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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102
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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103
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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104
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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105
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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106
hideousness
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107
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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108
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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109
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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110
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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111
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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112
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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113
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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114
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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115
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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116
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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