Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the seventh 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.

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

Chapter Seven faust and what followed on the Saturday morning, on reaching their office, the joint managers found a letter from OG worded in these terms my dear managers, so it is to be war between us.

If you still care for peace, here is my ultimatum.

It consists of the four following conditions one you must give me back my private box and I wish it to be at my free disposal from henceforward.

Two the part of Margarita shall be sung this evening by Christine Dale.

Never mind about Carlota, she will be ill.

Three I absolutely insist upon the good and loyal services of Madame Jiree, my boxkeeper, whom you will reinstate and her functions forthwith.

Four let me know by a letter handed to Madame Jiree, who will see that it reaches me that you accept, as your predecessors did, the conditions in my memorandum book relating to my monthly allowance.

I will inform you later how you are to pay it to me.

If you refuse, then you will give Faust tonight in a house with a curse upon it.

Take my advice and be warned in time.

OG, look here.

I'm getting sick of him.

Sick of him.

Shouted Richard, bringing his fists down on his office table.

Just then, Mercier, the acting manager, entered.

La Chanel would like to see one of you gentlemen, he said.

He says that his business is urgent and he seems quite upset.

Who's Lationale?

Asked Richard.

He's your stud groom.

What do you mean, my stud groom?

Yes, sir.

Explained Marciier.

There are several grooms at the opera, and Monsieur La Chanel is at the head of them.

And what does this groom do?

He has the chief management of the stable.

What stable?

Why, yours, sir.

The stable of the Opera.

Is there a stable of the Opera?

Upon my word, I didn't know.

Where is it?

In the cellars, on the rotunda side.

It's a very important department.

We have twelve horses.

Twelve horses?

And what four?

In heaven's name, why?

We want trained horses for the processions in the Juve, the prophetta and so on.

Horses used to the boards.

It is the groom's business to teach them.

Monsieur Lachenelle is very clever at it.

He used to manage Franconi staples very well.

But what does he want?

I don't know.

I never saw him in such a state.

He can come in.

Monsieur La Chanel came in carrying a riding whip with which he struck his right boot in an irritable manner.

Good morning, Monsieur La chanel, said Richard, somewhat impressed.

To what do we owe the honor of your visit, Mr.

Manager?

I've come to ask you to get rid of the whole stable.

What?

You want to get rid of our horses?

I'm not talking of the horses, but of the stablemen.

How many stable men do you have, Monsieur La Chanel?

Six stablemen.

That's at least two too many.

These are places Mercier interposed created, enforced upon us by the Undersecretary for Fine Arts.

They are filled by proteges of the government, and if I may venture to I don't care a hang for the government.

Roared Richard.

We don't need more than four stablemen for twelve horses.

Eleven.

Said the head riding master, correcting him.

Twelve.

Repeated Richard.

Eleven?

Repeated.

La chanel.

Oh, the acting manager told me that you had twelve horses.

I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since Caesar was stolen.

And Monsieur La Chanel gave himself a great smack on the boot with his whip.

Has Caesar been stolen?

Cried the acting manager.

Caesar, the white horse and the prophetta.

They're not two Caesars, said the stud groom dryly.

I was ten years at Francois, and I've seen plenty of horses in my time.

Well, there are not two Caesars, and he's been stolen.

How?

I don't know.

Nobody knows.

That's why I've come to ask you to sack the whole stable.

What do your stable men say?

All sorts of nonsense.

Some of them accuse the supers, others pretend that it's the acting manager's doorkeper.

My door keeper.

I'll answer for him as I would for myself, protested Mercier.

But after all, monsieur la Chanel.

Cried Richard.

You must have some idea.

Yes, I have, Monsieur La Chanel declared.

I have an idea, and I'll tell you what it is.

There's no doubt about it in my mind.

He walked up to the two managers and whispered, it's the ghost who did the trick.

Richard gave a jump.

What?

You two?

You two?

How do you mean, I, too?

Isn't it natural after what I saw?

What did you see?

I saw as clearly as I now see you, a black shadow riding a white horse that was as like Caesar as two peas.

And did you run after them?

I did and I shouted, but they were too fast for me and disappeared.

In the darkness of the underground gallery, monsieur Richard rose.

Thou will do, Monsieur Lachnell, you can go.

We will logic complaint against the ghost and sack my sable.

Oh, of course.

Good morning, monsieur.

La Chanel bowed and withdrew.

Richard foamed at the mouth.

Settle that idiots account at once, please.

He's a friend of the government representatives.

Mercier ventured to say and he takes his vermith at Tortones with la green skull and produce it.

The lion hunter added Montcharmin, we shall have the whole press against us.

He'll tell the story of the ghost and everybody will be laughing at our expense.

We may as well be dead.

Is ridiculous.

Alright, say no more about it.

At that moment the door opened.

It must have been deserted by its usual cerebrus, for Madame Jiree entered without ceremony, holding a letter in her hand, and said hurriedly I beg your pardon, excuse me, gentlemen, but I had a letter this morning from the opera ghost.

He told me to come to you, that you had something too.

She did not complete the sentence.

She saw furman Richard's face and it was a terrible sight.

He seemed ready to burst.

He said nothing, he could not speak.

But suddenly he acted.

First his left arm seized upon the quaint person of Madame Jiree and made her describe so unexpected a semicircle that she uttered a despairing cry.

Next his right foot imprinted its soul on the black tacita of a skirt which certainly had never before undergone a similar outrage in a similar place.

The thing happened so quickly that Madame Jairi, when in the passage, was still quite bewildered and seemed not to understand.

But suddenly she understood, and the opera rang with her indignant yells, her violent protests and threats.

About the same time Carlota, who had a small house of her own in the Rudoo Faberg street on earth, rang for her maid, who brought her letters to her bed.

Among them was an anonymous missive written in red ink and a hesitating clumsy hand which ran if you appear tonight, you must be prepared for a great misfortune at the moment when you open your mouth to sing.

A misfortune worse than death.

The letter took away Carlota's appetite for breakfast.

She pushed back her chocolate, sat up in bed and thought hard.

It was not the first letter of the kind which she had received, but she had never had one couched in such threatening terms.

She thought herself at the time the victim of a thousand jealous attempts, and went about saying that she had a secret enemy who had sworn to ruin her.

She pretended that a wicked plot was being hatched against her, a cabal which would come to a head one of these days.

But she added that she was not the woman to be intimidated.

The truth is that if there was a cabal, it was led by Carlota herself against poor Christine, who had no suspicion of it.

Carlota had never forgiven Christine for the triumph which she had achieved when taking her place at a moment's notice.

When Carlota heard of the astounding reception bestowed upon her understudy, she was at once cured of an incipient attack of bronchitis and a bad fit of sulking against the management and lost the slightest inclination to shirk her duties.

From that time she worked with all her might to smother her rival, enlisting the services of influential friends to persuade the managers not to give Christine an opportunity for a fresh triumph.

Certain newspapers which had begun to extol the talent of Christine, now interested themselves only in the fame of Carlota.

Lastly, in the theater itself, the celebrated but heartless and soulless diva made the most scandalous remarks about Christine and tried to cause her endless minor unpleasantness.

When Carlota had finished thinking over the threat contained in the strange letter, she got up.

We shall see, she said, adding a few oaths in her native Spanish with a very determined air.

The first thing she saw when looking out of her window was a hearse.

She was very superstitious, and the hearse and the letter convinced her that she was running the most serious dangers.

That evening she collected all her supporters, told them that she was threatened at that evening's performance with a plot organized by Christine Daie, and declared that they must play a trick upon that chit by filling the house with her.

Carlota's admirers.

She had no lack of them, had she?

She relied upon them to hold themselves prepared for any eventuality and to silence the adversaries if, as she feared, they created a disturbance.

Monsieur Richard's private secretary called to ask after the diva's health and returned with the assurance that she was perfectly well and that were she dying, she would sing the part of Margarita that evening.

The secretary urged her in his chief's name to commit no imprudence to stay at home all day and be careful of drafts.

And Carlota could not help after he had gone, comparing this unusual and unexpected advice with the threats contained in the letter.

It was 05:00 when the post brought a second anonymous letter in the same hand as the first.

It was short and said simply you have a bad cold.

If you are wise, you will see that it is madness to try to sing tonight.

Carlotta sneered, shrugged her handsome shoulders and sang two or three notes to reassure herself.

Her friends were faithful to their promise.

They were all at the opera that night, but looked round in vain for the fierce conspirators whom they were instructed to suppress.

The only unusual thing was the presence of Monsieur Richard and Monsieur Moncharmin in box five.

Carlotta's friends thought that perhaps the managers had wind on their side of the proposed disturbance, and that they had determined to be in the house so as to stop it then and there.

But this was unjustifiable supposition, as the reader knows, monsieur Richard and Monsieur Montremin were thinking of nothing but their ghost.

Vain, in vain do I call through my vigil weary on creation in its Lord never reply will break the silence dreary.

No sign, no single word.

The famous baritone Corolla's Faunta had hardly finished Dr.

Faust's first appeal to the powers of darkness when Monsieur Furman Richard, who was sitting in the ghost's own chair, the front chair on the right, leaned over to his partner and asked him chafingly well, as the ghost whispered a word in your ear yet wait.

Don't be in such a hurry, replied Monsieur Armand Marshmallen in the same gay tone.

Their performance has only begun, and you know that the ghost does not usually come until the middle of the first act.

The first act passed without incident, which did not surprise Carlota's friends, because Margarita does not sing in this act.

As for the managers, they looked at each other when the curtain fell.

That's one, said Montcharmin.

Yes, the ghost is late, said Ferman Richard.

It's not a bad house, said Montcharmin, for a house with a curse on it.

Monsieur Richard smiled and pointed to a fat, rather vulgar woman dressed in black, sitting in a stall in the middle of the auditorium with a man in a broadcloth frockcoat on either side of her.

Who on earth are those?

Asked Montcharmin.

Those, my dear fellow, are my concierge, her husband and her brother.

Did you give them their tickets?

I did.

My concierge had never been to the opera.

This is the first time, and as she is now going to come every night, I wanted her to have a good seat before spending her time showing other people to theirs.

Montreman asked what he meant, and Richard answered that he had persuaded his concierge, in whom he had the greatest confidence, to come and take Madame Gyrie's place.

Yes, he would like to see if, with that woman, instead of the old lunatic, box five would continue to astonish the natives.

By the way, said Montcharmin, you know that Mother Jirey is going to lodge a complaint against you.

With whom?

The ghost.

The ghost?

Montreman had almost forgotten him.

However, that mysterious person did nothing to bring himself to the memory of the managers, and they were just saying so to each other for the second time, when the door of the box suddenly opened to admit the startled stage manager.

What's the matter?

They both asked, amazed at seeing him there at such a time.

It seems there's a plot got up by Christine Dye's friends against Carlota.

Carlota's furious.

What on earth?

Said Richard, knitting his brows.

But the curtain rose on the kermiss scene, and Richard made a sign to the stage manager to go away.

When the two were alone again, Montcharmin leaned over to Richard.

Then Daie has friends?

He asked.

Yes, she has.

Whom?

Richard glanced across at a box on the grand tier containing no one but two men.

The Count de Shengni?

Yes, he spoke to me.

In her favor was such warmth that if I had not known him to be sorrelli's friend really?

Really said Moncharmin.

And who is that pale young man beside him?

That's his brother, the VI count.

He ought to be in his bed.

He looks ill.

The stage rang with gay song red or white liquor, coarse or fine, what can it matter?

So we have wine, students, citizens, soldiers, girls and matrons rolled lightheartedly before the inn with the figure of Bacchus for a sign.

Sybil made her entrance.

Christine Dale looked charming in her boy's clothes and Carlottus partisans expected to hear her greeted with an ovation which would have enlightened them as to the intentions of her friends.

But nothing happened.

On the other hand, when Margarita crossed the stage and saying the only two lines allotted her in the second act no, my lord, not a lady am I, nor yet a beauty, and do not need an arm to help me on my way, carlota was received with enthusiastic applause.

It was so unexpected and so uncalled for that those who knew nothing about the rumors looked at one another and asked what was happening.

And this act also was finished without incident.

Then everybody said of course it will be during the next act.

Some, who seemed to be better informed than the rest, declared that the row would begin with the ballot of the King of Thule and rushed to the subscribers entrance to warn Carlota.

The managers left the box during the intract to find out more about the cabal of which the stage manager had spoken.

But they soon returned to their seats, shrugging their shoulders and treating the whole affair as silly.

The first thing they saw on entering the box was a box of English suites on the little shelf of the ledge.

Who had put it there?

They asked the boxkeepers, but none of them knew.

Then they went back to the shelf and next to the box of sweets found an opera glass.

They looked at each other.

They had no inclination to laugh.

All that Madame Jirey had told them returned to their memory.

And then?

And then they seemed to feel a curious sort of draught around them.

They sat down in silence.

The scene represented Margarita's garden gentle flowers in the dew be messaged from me as she sang these first two lines with her bunch of roses and lilacs in her hand, christine, raising her head, saw the vai Count Deshagni in his box and from that moment her voice seemed less sure, less crystal clear than usual.

Something seemed to deaden and dull her singing.

What a queer girl.

She is, said one of Carlota's friends in the stalls, almost aloud.

The other day she was divine, and tonight she's simply bleeding.

She has no experience, no training.

Gentle flowers, lie ye there and tell her from me.

The vague count put his head under his hands and wept.

The count behind him viciously nod his mustache, shrugged his shoulders and frowned for him, usually so cold and correct to betray his inner feelings like that.

My outward signs.

The count must be very angry.

He was.

He had seen his brother return from a rapid and mysterious journey in an alarming state of health.

The explanation that followed was unsatisfactory, and the count asked Christine Dale for an appointment.

She had the audacity to reply that she could not see either him or his brother.

Would she but ding to hear me, and with one smile to cheer me.

The little baggage, growled the count, and he wondered what she wanted, what she was hoping for.

She was a virtuous girl.

She was said to have no friend, no protector of any sort.

That angel from the north must be very artful.

Raoul, behind the curtain of his hands that veiled his boyish tears, thought only of the letter which he received on his return to Paris, where Christine, fleeing from Paris like a thief in the night, had arrived before him.

My dear little play fellow, you must have the courage not to see me again, not to speak of me again.

If you love me just a little, do this for me, for me, who will never forget you.

My dear Raoul.

My life depends upon it.

Your life depends upon it.

Your little Christine.

Thunders of applause, Carlota made her entrance.

I wish I could but know who was he that addressed me, if he was noble, or at least what his name is?

When Margarita had finished singing the Ballad of the King of Thoul, she was loudly cheered, and again, when she came to the end of the jewel song, awe the joy of past compared these jewels bright to wear.

Thenceforth, certain of herself, certain of her friends in the house, certain of her voice and her success.

Fearing nothing, Carlota flung herself into her part without restraint of modesty.

She was no longer Marguerita, she was Carmen.

She was applauded all the more, and her debut with Faust seemed about to bring her a new success, when suddenly a terrible thing happened.

Thust had knelt on one knee lemme gaze on the form below me ball from yonder ether blue.

Look how the star of Eve bright and tender lingers, or me to love thy beauty too.

And Margarita replied, oh, how strange.

Like a spell does the evening bind me, and a deep language charm I feel without alarm, with its melody in wind me and all my heart subdue.

At that moment, at that identical moment, the terrible thing happened.

Carlota croaked like a toad.

There was consternation on Carlota's face and consternation on the faces of all the audience.

The two managers in their box could not suppress an exclamation of horror.

Everyone felt that the thing was not natural, that there was witchcraft behind it.

That toad smelt of brimstone, poor, wretched despairing crushed Carlota.

The uproar in the house was indescribable.

If the thing had happened to anyone but Carlota, she would have been hooted.

But everyone knew how perfect an instrument her voice was, and there was no display of anger, but only horror and dismay, the sort of dismay which men would have felt if they had witnessed the catastrophe that broke the arms of the Venus de myelo.

And even then they would have seen and understood.

But here that toad was incomprehensible.

So much so that after some seconds spent in asking herself if she had really heard that note, that sound, that infernal noise issued from her throat, she tried to persuade herself that it was not so, that she was a victim of an illusion, an illusion of the ear and not of an act of treachery on the part of her voice.

Meanwhile, in box five, Moncharmin and Richard had turned very pale.

The extraordinary and inexplicable incident filled them with a dread which was the more mysterious inasmuch as for some little while they had fallen within the direct influence of the ghost.

They had felt his breath.

Moncharmin's hair stood on end.

Richard wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

Yes, the ghost was there around them, behind them, beside them.

They felt his presence.

Without seeing him, they heard his breath close, close, close to them.

They were sure that there were three people in the box.

They trembled.

They thought of running away.

They dared not they dared not make a movement or exchange a word that would have told the ghost that they knew that he was there.

What was going to happen?

This happened, rook.

Their joint exclamation of horror was heard all over the house.

They felt that they were smarting under the ghosts attacks.

Leaning over the edge of their box, they stared at Carlota as though they did not recognize her.

That infernal girl must have given the signal for some catastrophe.

Ah.

They were waiting for the catastrophe.

The ghost had told them it would come.

The house had a curse upon it.

The two managers gasped and panted under the weight of the catastrophe.

Richard stifled voice was heard, calling to Carlota.

Well, go on.

No, Carlota did not go on.

Bravely, heroically, she started afresh on the fatal line at the end of which the toad had appeared.

An awful silence succeeded the uproar.

Carlota's voice alone once more filled the resounding house.

I feel without alarm.

The audience also felt, but not without alarm.

I feel without alarm.

I feel without alarm.

Grook with its melody entwind me, grook, and all my hearts of grook.

The toad also had started afresh.

The house broke into a wild tumult.

The two managers collapsed in their chairs and dared not even turn round.

They had not the strength.

The ghost was chuckling behind their backs and at last they distinctly heard his voice and their right ears.

The impossible voice, the mouthless voice sang she is singing tonight to bring the chandelier down.

With one accord, they raised their eyes to the ceiling and uttered a terrible cry.

The chandelier.

The immense mass of the chandelier was slipping down, coming toward them at the call of that fiendish voice.

Released from its hook, it plunged from the ceiling and came smashing into the middle of the stalls amid a thousand shouts of terror.

A wild rush for the doors followed.

The papers of the day state that there were numbers wounded and when killed.

The chandelier had crashed down upon the head of the wretched woman who had come to the opera for the first time in her life.

The one whom Monsieur Richard had appointed to succeed Madame Jiree, the ghost box keeper in her functions.

She died on the spot, and the next morning a newspaper appeared with this heading 200 kilos on the head of a concierge.

That was her sole epitaph.

Thank you for joining Bite atotime Books today while we read a bite 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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