Armand Moncharmin wrote such voluminous Memoirs during the fairly long
period of his co-management that we may well ask if he ever found time
to attend to the affairs of the Opera otherwise than by telling what
went on there. M. Moncharmin did not know a note of music, but he
called the minister of education and fine arts by his Christian name,
had dabbled a little in society journalism and enjoyed a considerable
private income. Lastly, he was a charming fellow and showed that he
was not lacking in intelligence, for, as soon as he made up his mind to
be a sleeping partner in the Opera, he selected the best possible
active manager and went straight to Firmin Richard.
Firmin Richard was a very distinguished composer, who had published a
number of successful pieces of all kinds and who liked nearly every
form of music and every sort of musician. Clearly, therefore, it was
the duty of every sort of musician to like M. Firmin Richard. The only
things to be said against him were that he was rather masterful in his
ways and endowed with a very hasty temper.
The first few days which the partners spent at the Opera were given
over to the delight of finding themselves the head of so magnificent an
enterprise; and they had forgotten all about that curious, fantastic
story of the ghost, when an incident occurred that proved to them that
the joke--if joke it were--was not over. M. Firmin Richard reached his
office that morning at eleven o'clock. His secretary, M. Remy, showed
him half a dozen letters which he had not opened because they were
marked "private." One of the letters had at once attracted Richard's
attention not only because the envelope was addressed in red ink, but
because he seemed to have seen the writing before. He soon remembered
that it was the red handwriting in which the memorandum-book had been
so curiously completed. He recognized the clumsy childish hand. He
opened the letter and read:
DEAR MR. MANAGER:
I am sorry to have to trouble you at a time when you must be so very
busy, renewing important engagements, signing fresh ones and generally
displaying your excellent taste. I know what you have done for
Carlotta, Sorelli and little Jammes and for a few others whose
admirable qualities of talent or genius you have suspected.
Of course, when I use these words, I do not mean to apply them to La
Carlotta, who sings like a squirt and who ought never to have been
allowed to leave the Ambassadeurs and the Cafe Jacquin; nor to La
Sorelli, who owes her success mainly to the coach-builders; nor to
little Jammes, who dances like a calf in a field. And I am not
speaking of Christine Daae either, though her genius is certain,
whereas your jealousy prevents her from creating any important part.
When all is said, you are free to conduct your little business as you
think best, are you not?
All the same, I should like to take advantage of the fact that you have
not yet turned Christine Daae out of doors by hearing her this evening
in the part of Siebel, as that of Margarita has been forbidden her
since her triumph of the other evening; and I will ask you not to
dispose of my box to-day nor on the FOLLOWING DAYS, for I can not end
this letter without telling you how disagreeably surprised I have been
once or twice, to hear, on arriving at the Opera, that my box had been
sold, at the box-office, by your orders.
I did not protest, first, because I dislike scandal, and, second,
because I thought that your predecessors, MM. Debienne and Poligny, who
were always charming to me, had neglected, before leaving, to mention
my little fads to you. I have now received a reply from those
gentlemen to my letter asking for an explanation, and this reply proves
that you know all about my Memorandum-Book and, consequently, that you
are treating me with outrageous contempt. IF YOU WISH TO LIVE IN
PEACE, YOU MUST NOT BEGIN BY TAKING AWAY MY PRIVATE BOX.
Believe me to be, dear Mr. Manager, without prejudice to these little
observations,
Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,
OPERA GHOST.
The letter was accompanied by a cutting from the agony-column of the
Revue Theatrale, which ran:
O. G.--There is no excuse for R. and M. We told them and left your
memorandum-book in their hands. Kind regards.
M. Firmin Richard had hardly finished reading this letter when M.
Armand Moncharmin entered, carrying one exactly similar. They looked
at each other and burst out laughing.
"They are keeping up the joke," said M. Richard, "but I don't call it
funny."
"What does it all mean?" asked M. Moncharmin. "Do they imagine that,
because they have been managers of the Opera, we are going to let them
have a box for an indefinite period?"
"I am not in the mood to let myself be laughed at long," said Firmin
Richard.
"It's harmless enough," observed Armand Moncharmin. "What is it they
really want? A box for to-night?"
M. Firmin Richard told his secretary to send Box Five on the grand tier
to Mm. Debienne and Poligny, if it was not sold. It was not. It was
sent off to them. Debienne lived at the corner of the Rue Scribe and
the Boulevard des Capucines; Poligny, in the Rue Auber. O. Ghost's two
letters had been posted at the Boulevard des Capucines post-office, as
Moncharmin remarked after examining the envelopes.
"You see!" said Richard.
They shrugged their shoulders and regretted that two men of that age
should amuse themselves with such childish tricks.
"They might have been civil, for all that!" said Moncharmin. "Did you
notice how they treat us with regard to Carlotta, Sorelli and Little
Jammes?"
"Why, my dear fellow, these two are mad with jealousy! To think that
they went to the expense of, an advertisement in the Revue Theatrale!
Have they nothing better to do?"
"By the way," said Moncharmin, "they seem to be greatly interested in
that little Christine Daae!"
"You know as well as I do that she has the reputation of being quite
good," said Richard.
"Reputations are easily obtained," replied Moncharmin. "Haven't I a
reputation for knowing all about music? And I don't know one key from
another."
"Don't be afraid: you never had that reputation," Richard declared.
Thereupon he ordered the artists to be shown in, who, for the last two
hours, had been walking up and down outside the door behind which fame
and fortune--or dismissal--awaited them.
The whole day was spent in discussing, negotiating, signing or
cancelling contracts; and the two overworked managers went to bed
early, without so much as casting a glance at Box Five to see whether
M. Debienne and M. Poligny were enjoying the performance.
Next morning, the managers received a card of thanks from the ghost:
DEAR, MR. MANAGER:
Thanks. Charming evening. Daae exquisite. Choruses want waking up.
Carlotta a splendid commonplace instrument. Will write you soon for
the 240,000 francs, or 233,424 fr. 70 c., to be correct. Mm. Debienne
and Poligny have sent me the 6,575 fr. 30 c. representing the first ten
days of my allowance for the current year; their privileges finished on
the evening of the tenth inst.
Kind regards. O. G.
On the other hand, there was a letter from Mm. Debienne and Poligny:
GENTLEMEN:
We are much obliged for your kind thought of us, but you will easily
understand that the prospect of again hearing Faust, pleasant though it
is to ex-managers of the Opera, can not make us forget that we have no
right to occupy Box Five on the grand tier, which is the exclusive
property of HIM of whom we spoke to you when we went through the
memorandum-book with you for the last time. See Clause 98, final
paragraph.
Accept, gentlemen, etc.
"Oh, those fellows are beginning to annoy me!" shouted Firmin Richard,
snatching up the letter.
And that evening Box Five was sold.
The next morning, Mm. Richard and Moncharmin, on reaching their office,
found an inspector's report relating to an incident that had happened,
the night before, in Box Five. I give the essential part of the report:
I was obliged to call in a municipal guard twice, this evening, to
clear Box Five on the grand tier, once at the beginning and once in the
middle of the second act. The occupants, who arrived as the curtain
rose on the second act, created a regular scandal by their laughter and
their ridiculous observations. There were cries of "Hush!" all around
them and the whole house was beginning to protest, when the box-keeper
came to fetch me. I entered the box and said what I thought necessary.
The people did not seem to me to be in their right mind; and they made
stupid remarks. I said that, if the noise was repeated, I should be
compelled to clear the box. The moment I left, I heard the laughing
again, with fresh protests from the house. I returned with a municipal
guard, who turned them out. They protested, still laughing, saying
they would not go unless they had their money back. At last, they
became quiet and I allowed them to enter the box again. The laughter
at once recommenced; and, this time, I had them turned out definitely.
"Send for the inspector," said Richard to his secretary, who had
already read the report and marked it with blue pencil.
M. Remy, the secretary, had foreseen the order and called the inspector
at once.
"Tell us what happened," said Richard bluntly.
The inspector began to splutter and referred to the report.
"Well, but what were those people laughing at?" asked Moncharmin.
"They must have been dining, sir, and seemed more inclined to lark
about than to listen to good music. The moment they entered the box,
they came out again and called the box-keeper, who asked them what they
wanted. They said, 'Look in the box: there's no one there, is there?'
'No,' said the woman. 'Well,' said they, 'when we went in, we heard a
voice saying THAT THE BOX WAS TAKEN!'"
M. Moncharmin could not help smiling as he looked at M. Richard; but M.
Richard did not smile. He himself had done too much in that way in his
time not to recognize, in the inspector's story, all the marks of one
of those practical jokes which begin by amusing and end by enraging the
victims. The inspector, to curry favor with M. Moncharmin, who was
smiling, thought it best to give a smile too. A most unfortunate
smile! M. Richard glared at his subordinate, who thenceforth made it
his business to display a face of utter consternation.
"However, when the people arrived," roared Richard, "there was no one
in the box, was there?"
"Not a soul, sir, not a soul! Nor in the box on the right, nor in the
box on the left: not a soul, sir, I swear! The box-keeper told it me
often enough, which proves that it was all a joke."
"Oh, you agree, do you?" said Richard. "You agree! It's a joke! And
you think it funny, no doubt?"
"I think it in very bad taste, sir."
"And what did the box-keeper say?"
"Oh, she just said that it was the Opera ghost. That's all she said!"
And the inspector grinned. But he soon found that he had made a
mistake in grinning, for the words had no sooner left his mouth than M.
Richard, from gloomy, became furious.
"Send for the box-keeper!" he shouted. "Send for her! This minute!
This minute! And bring her in to me here! And turn all those people
out!"
The inspector tried to protest, but Richard closed his mouth with an
angry order to hold his tongue. Then, when the wretched man's lips
seemed shut for ever, the manager commanded him to open them once more.
"Who is this 'Opera ghost?'" he snarled.
But the inspector was by this time incapable of speaking a word. He
managed to convey, by a despairing gesture, that he knew nothing about
it, or rather that he did not wish to know.
"Have you ever seen him, have you seen the Opera ghost?"
The inspector, by means of a vigorous shake of the head, denied ever
having seen the ghost in question.
"Very well!" said M. Richard coldly.
The inspector's eyes started out of his head, as though to ask why the
manager had uttered that ominous "Very well!"
"Because I'm going to settle the account of any one who has not seen
him!" explained the manager. "As he seems to be everywhere, I can't
have people telling me that they see him nowhere. I like people to
work for me when I employ them!"
Having said this, M. Richard paid no attention to the inspector and
discussed various matters of business with his acting-manager, who had
entered the room meanwhile. The inspector thought he could go and was
gently--oh, so gently!--sidling toward the door, when M. Richard nailed
the man to the floor with a thundering:
"Stay where you are!"
M. Remy had sent for the box-keeper to the Rue de Provence, close to
the Opera, where she was engaged as a porteress. She soon made her
appearance.
"What's your name?"
"Mme. Giry. You know me well enough, sir; I'm the mother of little
Giry, little Meg, what!"
This was said in so rough and solemn a tone that, for a moment, M.
Richard was impressed. He looked at Mme. Giry, in her faded shawl, her
worn shoes, her old taffeta dress and dingy bonnet. It was quite
evident from the manager's attitude, that he either did not know or
could not remember having met Mme. Giry, nor even little Giry, nor even
"little Meg!" But Mme. Giry's pride was so great that the celebrated
box-keeper imagined that everybody knew her.
"Never heard of her!" the manager declared. "But that's no reason,
Mme. Giry, why I shouldn't ask you what happened last night to make you
and the inspector call in a municipal guard."
"I was just wanting to see you, sir, and talk to you about it, so that
you mightn't have the same unpleasantness as M. Debienne and M.
Poligny. They wouldn't listen to me either, at first."
"I'm not asking you about all that. I'm asking what happened last
night."
Mme. Giry turned purple with indignation. Never had she been spoken to
like that. She rose as though to go, gathering up the folds of her
skirt and waving the feathers of her dingy bonnet with dignity, but,
changing her mind, she sat down again and said, in a haughty voice:
"I'll tell you what happened. The ghost was annoyed again!"
Thereupon, as M. Richard was on the point of bursting out, M.
Moncharmin interfered and conducted the interrogatory, whence it
appeared that Mme. Giry thought it quite natural that a voice should be
heard to say that a box was taken, when there was nobody in the box.
She was unable to explain this phenomenon, which was not new to her,
except by the intervention of the ghost. Nobody could see the ghost in
his box, but everybody could hear him. She had often heard him; and
they could believe her, for she always spoke the truth. They could ask
M. Debienne and M. Poligny, and anybody who knew her; and also M.
Isidore Saack, who had had a leg broken by the ghost!
"Indeed!" said Moncharmin, interrupting her. "Did the ghost break poor
Isidore Saack's leg?"
Mme. Giry opened her eyes with astonishment at such ignorance.
However, she consented to enlighten those two poor innocents. The
thing had happened in M. Debienne and M. Poligny's time, also in Box
Five and also during a performance of FAUST. Mme. Giry coughed,
cleared her throat--it sounded as though she were preparing to sing the
whole of Gounod's score--and began:
"It was like this, sir. That night, M. Maniera and his lady, the
jewelers in the Rue Mogador, were sitting in the front of the box, with
their great friend, M. Isidore Saack, sitting behind Mme. Maniera.
Mephistopheles was singing"--Mme. Giry here burst into song
herself--"'Catarina, while you play at sleeping,' and then M. Maniera
heard a voice in his right ear (his wife was on his left) saying, 'Ha,
ha! Julie's not playing at sleeping!' His wife happened to be called
Julie. So. M. Maniera turns to the right to see who was talking to
him like that. Nobody there! He rubs his ear and asks himself, if
he's dreaming. Then Mephistopheles went on with his serenade... But,
perhaps I'm boring you gentlemen?"
"No, no, go on."
"You are too good, gentlemen," with a smirk. "Well, then,
Mephistopheles went on with his serenade"--Mme. Giry, burst into song
again--"'Saint, unclose thy portals holy and accord the bliss, to a
mortal bending lowly, of a pardon-kiss.' And then M. Maniera again
hears the voice in his right ear, saying, this time, 'Ha, ha! Julie
wouldn't mind according a kiss to Isidore!' Then he turns round again,
but, this time, to the left; and what do you think he sees? Isidore,
who had taken his lady's hand and was covering it with kisses through
the little round place in the glove--like this, gentlemen"--rapturously
kissing the bit of palm left bare in the middle of her thread gloves.
"Then they had a lively time between them! Bang! Bang! M. Maniera,
who was big and strong, like you, M. Richard, gave two blows to M.
Isidore Saack, who was small and weak like M. Moncharmin, saving his
presence. There was a great uproar. People in the house shouted,
'That will do! Stop them! He'll kill him!' Then, at last, M. Isidore
Saack managed to run away."
"Then the ghost had not broken his leg?" asked M. Moncharmin, a little
vexed that his figure had made so little impression on Mme. Giry.
"He did break it for him, sir," replied Mme. Giry haughtily. "He broke
it for him on the grand staircase, which he ran down too fast, sir, and
it will be long before the poor gentleman will be able to go up it
again!"
"Did the ghost tell you what he said in M. Maniera's right ear?" asked
M. Moncharmin, with a gravity which he thought exceedingly humorous.
"No, sir, it was M. Maniera himself. So----"
"But you have spoken to the ghost, my good lady?"
"As I'm speaking to you now, my good sir!" Mme. Giry replied.
"And, when the ghost speaks to you, what does he say?"
"Well, he tells me to bring him a footstool!"
This time, Richard burst out laughing, as did Moncharmin and Remy, the
secretary. Only the inspector, warned by experience, was careful not
to laugh, while Mme. Giry ventured to adopt an attitude that was
positively threatening.
"Instead of laughing," she cried indignantly, "you'd do better to do as
M. Poligny did, who found out for himself."
"Found out about what?" asked Moncharmin, who had never been so much
amused in his life.
"About the ghost, of course! ... Look here ..."
She suddenly calmed herself, feeling that this was a solemn moment in
her life:
"LOOK HERE," she repeated. "They were playing La Juive. M. Poligny
thought he would watch the performance from the ghost's box... Well,
when Leopold cries, 'Let us fly!'--you know--and Eleazer stops them and
says, 'Whither go ye?' ... well, M. Poligny--I was watching him from
the back of the next box, which was empty--M. Poligny got up and walked
out quite stiffly, like a statue, and before I had time to ask him,
'Whither go ye?' like Eleazer, he was down the staircase, but without
breaking his leg.
"Still, that doesn't let us know how the Opera ghost came to ask you
for a footstool," insisted M. Moncharmin.
"Well, from that evening, no one tried to take the ghost's private box
from him. The manager gave orders that he was to have it at each
performance. And, whenever he came, he asked me for a footstool."
"Tut, tut! A ghost asking for a footstool! Then this ghost of yours
is a woman?"
"No, the ghost is a man."
"How do you know?"
"He has a man's voice, oh, such a lovely man's voice! This is what
happens: When he comes to the opera, it's usually in the middle of the
first act. He gives three little taps on the door of Box Five. The
first time I heard those three taps, when I knew there was no one in
the box, you can think how puzzled I was! I opened the door, listened,
looked; nobody! And then I heard a voice say, 'Mme. Jules' my poor
husband's name was Jules--'a footstool, please.' Saving your presence,
gentlemen, it made me feel all-overish like. But the voice went on,
'Don't be frightened, Mme. Jules, I'm the Opera ghost!' And the voice
was so soft and kind that I hardly felt frightened. THE VOICE WAS
SITTING IN THE CORNER CHAIR, ON THE RIGHT, IN THE FRONT ROW."
"Was there any one in the box on the right of Box Five?" asked
Moncharmin.
"No; Box Seven, and Box Three, the one on the left, were both empty.
The curtain had only just gone up."
"And what did you do?"
"Well, I brought the footstool. Of course, it wasn't for himself he
wanted it, but for his lady! But I never heard her nor saw her."
"Eh? What? So now the ghost is married!" The eyes of the two
managers traveled from Mme. Giry to the inspector, who, standing behind
the box-keeper, was waving his arms to attract their attention. He
tapped his forehead with a distressful forefinger, to convey his
opinion that the widow Jules Giry was most certainly mad, a piece of
pantomime which confirmed M. Richard in his determination to get rid of
an inspector who kept a lunatic in his service. Meanwhile, the worthy
lady went on about her ghost, now painting his generosity:
"At the end of the performance, he always gives me two francs,
sometimes five, sometimes even ten, when he has been many days without
coming. Only, since people have begun to annoy him again, he gives me
nothing at all.
"Excuse me, my good woman," said Moncharmin, while Mme. Giry tossed the
feathers in her dingy hat at this persistent familiarity, "excuse me,
how does the ghost manage to give you your two francs?"
"Why, he leaves them on the little shelf in the box, of course. I find
them with the program, which I always give him. Some evenings, I find
flowers in the box, a rose that must have dropped from his lady's
bodice ... for he brings a lady with him sometimes; one day, they left
a fan behind them."
"Oh, the ghost left a fan, did he? And what did you do with it?"
"Well, I brought it back to the box next night."
Here the inspector's voice was raised.
"You've broken the rules; I shall have to fine you, Mme. Giry."
"Hold your tongue, you fool!" muttered M. Firmin Richard.
"You brought back the fan. And then?"
"Well, then, they took it away with them, sir; it was not there at the
end of the performance; and in its place they left me a box of English
sweets, which I'm very fond of. That's one of the ghost's pretty
thoughts."
"That will do, Mme. Giry. You can go."
When Mme. Giry had bowed herself out, with the dignity that never
deserted her, the manager told the inspector that they had decided to
dispense with that old madwoman's services; and, when he had gone in
his turn, they instructed the acting-manager to make up the inspector's
accounts. Left alone, the managers told each other of the idea which
they both had in mind, which was that they should look into that little
matter of Box Five themselves.