The Phantom of the Opera

by Gaston Leroux

His horrible, unparalleled and repulsive ugliness put him without the pale of humanity; and it often seemed to me that, for this reason, he no longer believed that he had any duty toward the human race.

He filled Christine’s mind, through the terror with which he inspired her, but the dear child’s heart belonged wholly to the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. While they played about, like an innocent engaged couple, on the upper floors of the Opera, to avoid the monster, they little suspected that some one was watching over them.

Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased.”

she told us in a few hurried words that Erik had gone quite mad with love and that he had decided to kill everybody and himself with everybody if she did not consent to become his wife.

FUUUUCK

Go back by the way you came. There must be a reason why the room is called by that name!” “Christine,” said the young man, “we will go from here together or die together!”

Ykw… hell yeah

My dear little Christine! . . . Are you listening to me? . . . Tell me you love me! . . . No, you don’t love me . . . but no matter, you will! . . . Once, you could not look at my mask because you knew what was behind. . . . And now you don’t mind looking at it and you forget what is behind! . . . One can get used to everything . . . if one wishes. . . . Plenty of young people who did not care for each other before marriage have adored each other since!

She did not know that on her acceptance or refusal depended the awful fate of many members of the human race!

I thought he said everyone would die though?

“Of love . . . daroga . . . I am dying . . . of love. . . . That is how it is . . . I loved her so! . . . And I love her still . . . daroga . . . and I am dying of love for her, I . . . I tell you! . . . If you knew how beautiful she was . . . when she let me kiss her . . . alive. . . . It was the first . . . time, daroga, the first . . . time I ever kissed a woman. . . . Yes, alive. . . . I kissed her alive . . . and she looked as beautiful as if she had been dead! . . .”

and . . . I . . . kissed her! . . . I! . . . I! . . . I! . . . And she did not die! . . . Oh, how good it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead! . . . You can’t tell! . . . But I! I! . . . My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never . . . let me kiss her. . . . She used to run away . . . and throw me my mask! . . . Nor any other woman . . . ever, ever!

. I heard her say, ‘Poor, unhappy Erik!’. . . And she took my hand! . . . I had become no more, you know, than a poor dog ready to die for her. . . . I mean it, daroga! . . . I held in my hand a ring, a plain gold ring which I had given her . . . which she had lost . . . and which I had found again . . . a wedding-ring, you know. . . . I slipped it into her little hand and said, ‘There! . . . Take it! . . . Take it for you . . . and him! . . . It shall be my wedding-present . . . a present from your poor, unhappy Erik.

Jesus..

In the Communists’ dungeon, I noticed numbers of initials traced on the walls by the unfortunate people confined in it; and among these were an “R” and a “C.” R. C.: Raoul de Chagny. The letters are there to this day.

Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be “some one,” like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hide his genius or use it to play tricks with, when, with an ordinary face, he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had a heart that could have held the empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar. Ah, yes, we must needs pity the Opera ghost.