Chapter IX At the Masked Ball
The envelope was covered with mud and unstamped. It bore the words "Tobe handed to M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny," with the address inpencil. It must have been flung out in the hope that a passer-by wouldpick up the note and deliver it, which was what happened. The note hadbeen picked up on the pavement of the Place de l'Opera.
Raoul read it over again with fevered eyes. No more was needed torevive his hope. The somber picture which he had for a moment imaginedof a Christine forgetting her duty to herself made way for his originalconception of an unfortunate, innocent child, the victim of imprudenceand exaggerated sensibility. To what extent, at this time, was shereally a victim? Whose prisoner was she? Into what whirlpool had shebeen dragged? He asked himself these questions with a cruel anguish;but even this pain seemed endurable beside the frenzy into which he wasthrown at the thought of a lying and deceitful Christine. What hadhappened? What influence had she undergone? What monster had carriedher off and by what means? ...
By what means indeed but that of music? He knew Christine's story.After her father's death, she acquired a distaste of everything inlife, including her art. She went through the CONSERVATOIRE like apoor soulless singing-machine. And, suddenly, she awoke as thoughthrough the intervention of a god. The Angel of Music appeared uponthe scene! She sang Margarita in FAUST and triumphed! ...
The Angel of Music! ... For three months the Angel of Music had beengiving Christine lessons ... Ah, he was a punctual singing-master! ...And now he was taking her for drives in the Bois! ...
Raoul's fingers clutched at his flesh, above his jealous heart. In hisinexperience, he now asked himself with terror what game the girl wasplaying? Up to what point could an opera-singer make a fool of agood-natured young man, quite new to love? O misery! ...
Thus did Raoul's thoughts fly from one extreme to the other. He nolonger knew whether to pity Christine or to curse her; and he pitiedand cursed her turn and turn about. At all events, he bought a whitedomino.
The hour of the appointment came at last. With his face in a masktrimmed with long, thick lace, looking like a pierrot in his whitewrap, the viscount thought himself very ridiculous. Men of the worlddo not go to the Opera ball in fancy-dress! It was absurd. Onethought, however, consoled the viscount: he would certainly never berecognized!
This ball was an exceptional affair, given some time before Shrovetide,in honor of the anniversary of the birth of a famous draftsman; and itwas expected to be much gayer, noisier, more Bohemian than the ordinarymasked ball. Numbers of artists had arranged to go, accompanied by awhole cohort of models and pupils, who, by midnight, began to create atremendous din. Raoul climbed the grand staircase at five minutes totwelve, did not linger to look at the motley dresses displayed all theway up the marble steps, one of the richest settings in the world,allowed no facetious mask to draw him into a war of wits, replied to nojests and shook off the bold familiarity of a number of couples who hadalready become a trifle too gay. Crossing the big crush-room andescaping from a mad whirl of dancers in which he was caught for amoment, he at last entered the room mentioned in Christine's letter.He found it crammed; for this small space was the point where all thosewho were going to supper in the Rotunda crossed those who werereturning from taking a glass of champagne. The fun, here, waxed fastand furious.
Raoul leaned against a door-post and waited. He did not wait long. Ablack domino passed and gave a quick squeeze to the tips of hisfingers. He understood that it was she and followed her:
"Is that you, Christine?" he asked, between his teeth.
The black domino turned round promptly and raised her finger to herlips, no doubt to warn him not to mention her name again. Raoulcontinued to follow her in silence.
He was afraid of losing her, after meeting her again in such strangecircumstances. His grudge against her was gone. He no longer doubtedthat she had "nothing to reproach herself with," however peculiar andinexplicable her conduct might seem. He was ready to make any displayof clemency, forgiveness or cowardice. He was in love. And, no doubt,he would soon receive a very natural explanation of her curious absence.
The black domino turned back from time to time to see if the whitedomino was still following.
As Raoul once more passed through the great crush-room, this time inthe wake of his guide, he could not help noticing a group crowdinground a person whose disguise, eccentric air and gruesome appearancewere causing a sensation. It was a man dressed all in scarlet, with ahuge hat and feathers on the top of a wonderful death's head. From hisshoulders hung an immense red-velvet cloak, which trailed along thefloor like a king's train; and on this cloak was embroidered, in goldletters, which every one read and repeated aloud, "Don't touch me! Iam Red Death stalking abroad!"
Then one, greatly daring, did try to touch him ... but a skeleton handshot out of a crimson sleeve and violently seized the rash one's wrist;and he, feeling the clutch of the knucklebones, the furious grasp ofDeath, uttered a cry of pain and terror. When Red Death released himat last, he ran away like a very madman, pursued by the jeers of thebystanders.
It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funerealmasquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction. And henearly exclaimed:
"The death's head of Perros-Guirec!"
He had recognized him! ... He wanted to dart forward, forgettingChristine; but the black domino, who also seemed a prey to some strangeexcitement, caught him by the arm and dragged him from the crush-room,far from the mad crowd through which Red Death was stalking...
The black domino kept on turning back and, apparently, on two occasionssaw something that startled her, for she hurried her pace and Raoul'sas though they were being pursued.
They went up two floors. Here, the stairs and corridors were almostdeserted. The black domino opened the door of a private box andbeckoned to the white domino to follow her. Then Christine, whom herecognized by the sound of her voice, closed the door behind them andwarned him, in a whisper, to remain at the back of the box and on noaccount to show himself. Raoul took off his mask. Christine kept herson. And, when Raoul was about to ask her to remove it, he wassurprised to see her put her ear to the partition and listen eagerlyfor a sound outside. Then she opened the door ajar, looked out intothe corridor and, in a low voice, said:
"He must have gone up higher." Suddenly she exclaimed: "He is comingdown again!"
She tried to close the door, but Raoul prevented her; for he had seen,on the top step of the staircase that led to the floor above, A REDFOOT, followed by another ... and slowly, majestically, the wholescarlet dress of Red Death met his eyes. And he once more saw thedeath's head of Perros-Guirec.
"It's he!" he exclaimed. "This time, he shall not escape me! ..."
But Christian{sic} had slammed the door at the moment when Raoul was onthe point of rushing out. He tried to push her aside.
"Whom do you mean by 'he'?" she asked, in a changed voice. "Who shallnot escape you?"
Raoul tried to overcome the girl's resistance by force, but sherepelled him with a strength which he would not have suspected in her.He understood, or thought he understood, and at once lost his temper.
"Who?" he repeated angrily. "Why, he, the man who hides behind thathideous mask of death! ... The evil genius of the churchyard at Perros!... Red Death! ... In a word, madam, your friend ... your Angel ofMusic! ... But I shall snatch off his mask, as I shall snatch off myown; and, this time, we shall look each other in the face, he and I,with no veil and no lies between us; and I shall know whom you love andwho loves you!"
He burst into a mad laugh, while Christine gave a disconsolate moanbehind her velvet mask. With a tragic gesture, she flung out her twoarms, which fixed a barrier of white flesh against the door.
"In the name of our love, Raoul, you shall not pass! ..."
He stopped. What had she said? ... In the name of their love? ...Never before had she confessed that she loved him
. And yet she had hadopportunities enough ... Pooh, her only object was to gain a fewseconds! ... She wished to give the Red Death time to escape ... And,in accents of childish hatred, he said:
"You lie, madam, for you do not love me and you have never loved me!What a poor fellow I must be to let you mock and flout me as you havedone! Why did you give me every reason for hope, at Perros ... forhonest hope, madam, for I am an honest man and I believed you to be anhonest woman, when your only intention was to deceive me! Alas, youhave deceived us all! You have taken a shameful advantage of thecandid affection of your benefactress herself, who continues to believein your sincerity while you go about the Opera ball with Red Death! ...I despise you! ..."
And he burst into tears. She allowed him to insult her. She thoughtof but one thing, to keep him from leaving the box.
"You will beg my pardon, one day, for all those ugly words, Raoul, andwhen you do I shall forgive you!"
He shook his head. "No, no, you have driven me mad! When I think thatI had only one object in life: to give my name to an opera wench!"
"Raoul! ... How can you?"
"I shall die of shame!"
"No, dear, live!" said Christine's grave and changed voice. "And ...good-by. Good-by, Raoul ..."
The boy stepped forward, staggering as he went. He risked one moresarcasm:
"Oh, you must let me come and applaud you from time to time!"
"I shall never sing again, Raoul! ..."
"Really?" he replied, still more satirically. "So he is taking you offthe stage: I congratulate you! ... But we shall meet in the Bois, oneof these evenings!"
"Not in the Bois nor anywhere, Raoul: you shall not see me again ..."
"May one ask at least to what darkness you are returning? ... For whathell are you leaving, mysterious lady ... or for what paradise?"
"I came to tell you, dear, but I can't tell you now ... you would notbelieve me! You have lost faith in me, Raoul; it is finished!"
She spoke in such a despairing voice that the lad began to feel remorsefor his cruelty.
"But look here!" he cried. "Can't you tell me what all this means!... You are free, there is no one to interfere with you... You goabout Paris ... You put on a domino to come to the ball... Why do younot go home? ... What have you been doing this past fortnight? ... Whatis this tale about the Angel of Music, which you have been tellingMamma Valerius? Some one may have taken you in, played upon yourinnocence. I was a witness of it myself, at Perros ... but you knowwhat to believe now! You seem to me quite sensible, Christine. Youknow what you are doing ... And meanwhile Mamma Valerius lies waitingfor you at home and appealing to your 'good genius!' ... Explainyourself, Christine, I beg of you! Any one might have been deceived asI was. What is this farce?"
Christine simply took off her mask and said: "Dear, it is a tragedy!"
Raoul now saw her face and could not restrain an exclamation ofsurprise and terror. The fresh complexion of former days was gone. Amortal pallor covered those features, which he had known so charmingand so gentle, and sorrow had furrowed them with pitiless lines andtraced dark and unspeakably sad shadows under her eyes.
"My dearest! My dearest!" he moaned, holding out his arms. "Youpromised to forgive me ..."
"Perhaps! ... Some day, perhaps!" she said, resuming her mask; and shewent away, forbidding him, with a gesture, to follow her.
He tried to disobey her; but she turned round and repeated her gestureof farewell with such authority that he dared not move a step.
He watched her till she was out of sight. Then he also went down amongthe crowd, hardly knowing what he was doing, with throbbing temples andan aching heart; and, as he crossed the dancing-floor, he asked ifanybody had seen Red Death. Yes, every one had seen Red Death; butRaoul could not find him; and, at two o'clock in the morning, he turneddown the passage, behind the scenes, that led to Christine Daae'sdressing-room.
His footsteps took him to that room where he had first known suffering.He tapped at the door. There was no answer. He entered, as he hadentered when he looked everywhere for "the man's voice." The room wasempty. A gas-jet was burning, turned down low. He saw somewriting-paper on a little desk. He thought of writing to Christine,but he heard steps in the passage. He had only time to hide in theinner room, which was separated from the dressing-room by a curtain.
Christine entered, took off her mask with a weary movement and flung iton the table. She sighed and let her pretty head fall into her twohands. What was she thinking of? Of Raoul? No, for Raoul heard hermurmur: "Poor Erik!"
At first, he thought he must be mistaken. To begin with, he waspersuaded that, if any one was to be pitied, it was he, Raoul. Itwould have been quite natural if she had said, "Poor Raoul," after whathad happened between them. But, shaking her head, she repeated: "PoorErik!"
What had this Erik to do with Christine's sighs and why was she pityingErik when Raoul was so unhappy?
Christine began to write, deliberately, calmly and so placidly thatRaoul, who was still trembling from the effects of the tragedy thatseparated them, was painfully impressed.
"What coolness!" he said to himself.
She wrote on, filling two, three, four sheets. Suddenly, she raisedher head and hid the sheets in her bodice ... She seemed to belistening ... Raoul also listened ... Whence came that strange sound,that distant rhythm? ... A faint singing seemed to issue from the walls... yes, it was as though the walls themselves were singing! ... Thesong became plainer ... the words were now distinguishable ... he hearda voice, a very beautiful, very soft, very captivating voice ... but,for all its softness, it remained a male voice ... The voice camenearer and nearer ... it came through the wall ... it approached ...and now the voice was IN THE ROOM, in front of Christine. Christinerose and addressed the voice, as though speaking to some one:
"Here I am, Erik," she said. "I am ready. But you are late."
Raoul, peeping from behind the curtain, could not believe his eyes,which showed him nothing. Christine's face lit up. A smile ofhappiness appeared upon her bloodless lips, a smile like that of sickpeople when they receive the first hope of recovery.
The voice without a body went on singing; and certainly Raoul had neverin his life heard anything more absolutely and heroically sweet, moregloriously insidious, more delicate, more powerful, in short, moreirresistibly triumphant. He listened to it in a fever and he now beganto understand how Christine Daae was able to appear one evening, beforethe stupefied audience, with accents of a beauty hitherto unknown, of asuperhuman exaltation, while doubtless still under the influence of themysterious and invisible master.
The voice was singing the Wedding-night Song from Romeo and Juliet.Raoul saw Christine stretch out her arms to the voice as she had done,in Perros churchyard, to the invisible violin playing The Resurrectionof Lazarus. And nothing could describe the passion with which thevoice sang:
"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!"
The strains went through Raoul's heart. Struggling against the charmthat seemed to deprive him of all his will and all his energy and ofalmost all his lucidity at the moment when he needed them most, hesucceeded in drawing back the curtain that hid him and he walked towhere Christine stood. She herself was moving to the back of the room,the whole wall of which was occupied by a great mirror that reflectedher image, but not his, for he was just behind her and entirely coveredby her.
"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!"
Christine walked toward her image in the glass and the image cametoward her. The two Christines--the real one and the reflection--endedby touching; and Raoul put out his arms to clasp the two in oneembrace. But, by a sort of dazzling miracle that sent him staggering,Raoul was suddenly flung back, while an icy blast swept over his face;he saw, not two, but four, eight, twenty Christines spinning round him,laughing at him and fleeing so swiftly that he could not touch one ofthem. At last, everything stood still again; and he saw himself in theglass. But Ch
ristine had disappeared.
He rushed up to the glass. He struck at the walls. Nobody! Andmeanwhile the room still echoed with a distant passionate singing:
"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!"
Which way, which way had Christine gone? ... Which way would shereturn? ...
Would she return? Alas, had she not declared to him that everythingwas finished? And was the voice not repeating:
"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!"
To me? To whom?
Then, worn out, beaten, empty-brained, he sat down on the chair whichChristine had just left. Like her, he let his head fall into hishands. When he raised it, the tears were streaming down his youngcheeks, real, heavy tears like those which jealous children shed, tearsthat wept for a sorrow which was in no way fanciful, but which iscommon to all the lovers on earth and which he expressed aloud:
"Who is this Erik?" he said.