I ran round my little apartment, looking for a way of escape which Icould not find.I upbraided myself for my absurd superstition, which had caused me to fall into the trap.I felt inclined to laugh and to cry at the game 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 Ihad not noticed and which he left open.He had his arms full of boxes and parcels and arranged them on the bed, in a leisurely 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 serenely, `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 devoted to music.`What do you mean by the rest of the time?'
I asked.`Five days,' he said, with decision.I asked him if Ishould 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 pointed to a chair opposite him, at a small table, and I sat down, feeling greatly perturbed.However, I ate a few prawns 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 hesitation.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 funereal 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 canopy, from which hung curtains of red brocaded stuff, and, under the canopy, an open coffin.`That is where I sleep,' said Erik.`One has to get used to everything in life, even to eternity.' 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 Triumphant.'
`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 catastrophe was upon us.I sang Desdemona with a despair, a terror which Ihad never displayed before.As for him, his voice thundered forth his revengeful soul at every note.Love, jealousy, hatred, burst out around us in harrowing cries.Erik's black mask made me think of the natural mask of the Moor 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 utterly 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 plaintive sounds.One would think that it was sorrowing with us.""When you know the secret, Raoul, your cars, like mine, will be full of lamentations."She took Raoul's protecting hands in hers and, with a long shiver, continued:
