Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the fourth chapter of The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux.

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Take a look in a book and let's see what we can find take a chapter by chapter, one by one at a time so many adventures and mountains we can climb take it word for word, line by line we fight at a time.

Video welcome to Bite at a Time Books, where we read you your favorite classics one byte at a time.

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Wherever you listen to podcasts today, we'll be continuing the Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Larro.

Chapter four, box Five armand Moncharmin wrote such voluminous memoirs during a fairly long period of his comanagement 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.

Monsieur 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 Furman Richard.

Furman 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 Monsieur Ferment 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.

Monsieur Furman Richard reached his office that morning at 11:00.

His secretary, Monsieur 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'm 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've done for Car Lota, Cerelli and little Jamis 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 Carlada who sings like a squirt and who ought never to have been allowed to leave the Ambassadors in the Cafe Jackie nor to La Sorelli who owes her success mainly to the coach builders nor to little Jamis who dances like a calf in a field.

And I'm not speaking of Christine Daie 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've not yet turned Christine Daie out of doors by hearing her this evening in the part of civil and that of Marguerite has been forbidden her since her triumph of the other evening.

And I will ask you not to dispose of my box today nor on the following days for I cannot end this letter without telling you how disagreeably surprised I've 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 disliked scandal and second, because I thought that your predecessors Monsieurs Debian and Poligni who were always charming to me had neglected, before leaving to mention my little SADS to you.

I've 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 Theatral which ran oh, gee, there's no excuse for R and M, we told them and left your memorandum book in their hands.

Kind regards, Monsieur Furman.

Richard had hardly finished reading this letter when Monsieur Armand Montremin entered carrying one exactly similar.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

They're keeping up the joke, said Monsieur Richard, but I don't call it funny.

What does it all mean?

Asked Monsieur Montcharmin.

Do they imagine that because they've been managers of the opera, we're going to let them have a box for an indefinite period?

I'm not in the mood to let myself be laughed that long, said Furman Richard.

It's harmless enough observed.

Armand Moncharmin.

What is it they really want a box for tonight?

Monsieur Furman.

Richard told his secretary to send box five on the grand tier to Monsieur's debyen in pulling.

Me.

If it was not sold, it was not.

It was sent off to them.

Debian lived at the corner of the Rue Scribe in the Boulevard descapiones Pulling knee in the Rue Aber.

O ghosts.

Two letters had been posted at the Boulevard des Capuccini's 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 Carlota Cerelli and little Jamis?

Why, my dear fellow, these two are mad with jealousy to think that they went to the expense of an advertisement in the revutia trial.

Have they nothing better to do?

By the way, said Moncharmin, they seem to be greatly interested in that little Christine Daie.

You know as well as I do that she has a 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 shone in who for the last 2 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 canceling contracts, and the two overworked managers went to bed early without so much as casting a glance at Box Five to see whether Monsieur Debine or Monsieur Poligny were enjoying the performance.

Next morning the managers received a card of thanks from the ghost.

Dear Mr.

Manager, thanks.

Charming evening, Daie.

Exquisite choruses.

Won't waking up Carlota.

A splendid commonplace instrument.

Will write you soon for the 2400 francs or 233 424 francs 70 C.

To be correct, Monsieurs Debinin and Polygni have sent me the 6575 francs 30 C representing the first ten days of my allowance for the current year.

Their privileges finished on the evening of the 10th.

Instards OG.

On the other hand, there was a letter from Monsieur's Deputy and Pauling Knee.

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.

Cannot 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.

C, clause 98, final paragraph.

Except gentlemen, etc.

Oh, those fellows are beginning to annoy me.

Shouted Furman Richard, snatching up the letter.

And that evening Box Five was sold.

The next morning, Monsieurs Richard and Monsarmin, 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 boxkeeper 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.

Monsieur 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 refer to the report.

Well, but what were those people laughing at?

Asked Montcharmin.

They must have been dining, sir, and seemed more inclined to lark about than listen to good music.

The moment they entered the box, they came out again, called the boxkeeper, 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 box was taken.

Monsieur Montcherman could not help smiling as he looked at Monsieur Richard.

But Monsieur 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 Monsieur Montsiremin, who was smiling, thought it best to give a smile too, a most unfortunate smile.

Monsieur 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 boxkeeper 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.

Then Monsieur Richard from Gloomy became furious.

Send for the box keeper.

He shouted.

Send for her this minute, this minute, and bring her into 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 forever, 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, monsieur.

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 anyone 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, Monsieur 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 saddling toward the door when Monsieur Richard nailed the man to the floor with a thundering.

Stay where you are.

Monsieur Remy had sent for the boxkeeper to the Rueday Province, close to the opera, where she was engaged at the porter's.

She soon made her appearance.

What's your name?

Madame Jirey.

You know me well enough, sir.

I'm the mother of little Jirey.

Little Meg.

What?

This was said in so rough and solemn a tone that for a moment Monsieur Richard was impressed.

He looked at Madame Jirey in her faded shawl, her worn shoes, her old taffitted 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 Madame Jiree, nor even little Jirey, nor even little Meg.

But Madame Jiree's pride was so great that the celebrated boxkeeper imagined that everybody knew her.

Never heard of her, the manager declared.

But that's no reason, Madame Jirey, 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 might not have the same unpleasantness as Monsieur's Debine And pulling me.

They wouldn't listen to me either at first.

I'm not asking you about all that.

I'm asking what happened last night.

Madame Jiree 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 dengue 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 Monsieur Richard was on the point of bursting out, monsieur Montcharmin interfered and conducted the interrogatory.

Whence it appeared that Madame Jairi 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 Monsieur Debinin and Monsieur Polygni and anybody who knew her and also Monsieur Izador Sack, who had had a leg broken by the ghost.

Indeed, said Monsarmin, interrupting her, did the ghost break poor Isidor Sack's leg?

Madame Jirey opened her eyes with astonishment at such ignorance.

However, she consented to enlighten those two poor innocence.

The thing had happened in Monsieur Debinin and Monsieur Polyneeus time, also in box five and also during a performance of Faust.

Madame Jairi coughed, clearing her throat.

It sounded as though she were preparing to sing the whole of Gonad score and began it was like this, sir.

That night, Monsieur Menera and his lady, the jewelers in the room Ogador were sitting in the front of the box with their great friend Monsieur Isidor Sack.

Sitting behind, madamera Methastopheles was singing.

Adam Jirey here burst into song herself katerina, while you play it sleeping.

And then Monsieur Menera heard a voice in his right ear.

His wife was on the left, saying, ha ha, julie's not playing it sleeping.

His wife happened to be called Julie.

The Monsieur Menera 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 Methastopheles 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 Methastopheles went on with his serenade.

Madame Gyre burst into song again saint, unclosed thy portal'd holy, and accord the bliss to a mortal bending lowly of a pardoned kiss.

And then Monsieur Menera again hears the voice in his right ear, saying this time, ha ha.

Julie wouldn't mind, according a kiss to Isador.

Then he turns round again, but this time to the left.

And what do you think?

He sees Isidor, who had taken his lady's hand and was covering it with kisses through the little round place in the glove, like this gentleman 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.

Monsieur Menera, who was big and strong like you, Monsieur Richard, gave two blows to Monsieur Isidor Sac, who was small and weak like Monsieur Moncharmin, saving his presence.

There was a great uproar.

People in the house shouted thou will do, stop them.

He'll kill him.

Then at last Monsieur Isidora sack managed to run away.

Then the ghost had not broken his leg?

Asked Monsieur Montchirement, a little vex that his figure had made so little impression on Madame Jiree.

He did break it for him, sir, replied Madame Jiree.

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 Monsieur Manurea's right ear?

Asked Monsieur Moncharmin, with a gravity which he thought exceedingly humorous.

No, sir.

It was Monsieur Manera himself.

So.

But have you spoken to the ghost, my good lady?

As I'm speaking to you now, my good sir, Madame Jiree 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 Monsharmin and Remy, the secretary.

Only the inspector, warned by experience, was careful not to laugh, while Madame Jiree ventured to adopt an attitude that was positively threatening.

Instead of laughing, she cried indignantly, you'd do better to do as Monsieur Pauling 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 Guiev.

Monsieur Polling thought he would watch the performance from the ghost box.

Well, when Leopold cries Let us fly, you know.

And Eliazar stops him and says whither go ye?

Well, Monsieur Pollingney, I was watching him from the back of the next box, which was empty.

Monsieur Pollingni got up and walked out quite stiffly, like a salute.

And before I had time to ask him, whither go ye?

Like Eliezer?

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 Monsieur Monscharmin.

Well, from that evening no one tried to take the ghosts 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.

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 madame Jewels.

My poor husband's name was Jewels.

A footstool, please.

Saving your presence, gentlemen, it made me feel all overishlike.

But the voice went on don't be frightened, Madame Jewels.

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 anyone in the box on the right of box five?

Asked Montcharmin.

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 nor saw her.

Eh what?

So now the ghost is married.

The eyes of the two managers travelled from Madame Jirey to the inspector who, standing behind the boxkeeper, was waving his arms to attract their attention.

He tapped his forehead with a distrustful forefinger to convey his opinion that the widow Jules Jirey was most certainly mad.

A piece of pantomime which confirmed Monsieur Richard and 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's 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 Madame Jirey tossed the feathers in her dingy hat at this persistent familiarity.

Excuse me, how does a 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 the next night.

Here.

The inspector's voice was raised.

You have broken the rules.

I shall have to find you, Madame Jiree.

Hold your tongue, you fool, muttered Monsieur Furman.

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, Madame Jiree.

You can go.

When Madame Jirey 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 mad woman 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.

Thank you for joining Byte at a Time Books today while we read a byte of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of The Phantom of the Opera.

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