XV. SINGULIÈRE ATTITUDE D'UNE ÉPINGLE DE NOURRICE

XV

A SINGULAR ATTITUDE OF A SAFETY PIN

On the stage, there is an indescribable throng. Artists, stagehands, dancers, walk-ons, extras, choristers, subscribers—everyone is asking questions, shouting, jostling one another.—“What has become of her?”—“She has been carried off!”—“It was the Vicomte de Chagny who took her away!”—“No, it was the Count!”—“Ah! There is Carlotta! It was Carlotta who did the deed!”—“No! It was the phantom!”

And some laugh, especially since the careful examination of the traps and floorboards has dispelled the notion of an accident.

In this noisy crowd, a group of three figures may be observed conversing in low voices with desperate gestures. They are Gabriel, the singing master; Mercier, the manager; and Rémy, the secretary. They have withdrawn into the corner of a passageway connecting the stage with the broad corridor of the dancers’ foyer. There, behind enormous scenery, they hold counsel:

—I knocked! They did not answer! They are perhaps no longer in the office. In any case, it is impossible to know, for they have taken the keys with them.

Thus speaks Secretary Rémy, and there is no doubt that by these words he means the Messieurs Directors. These gentlemen gave orders at the last intermission that they were to be disturbed under no pretext whatsoever, “They are not to be seen by anyone.”

—Still, exclaims Gabriel… one does not carry off a singer, in the middle of the stage, every day!…

—Did you shout that to them? asks Mercier.

—I am going back, says Rémy, and, running, he disappears.

Thereupon, the stage manager arrives.

—Well? Monsieur Mercier, are you coming? What are you two doing here? They need you, Monsieur Manager.

—I will do nothing and know nothing before the commissary arrives, declares Mercier! I have sent for Mifroid. We shall see when he is here!

—And I tell you we must go down to the organ loft at once.

—Not before the commissary arrives…

—I, for my part, have already been down to the organ loft.

—Ah! And what did you see?

—Well! I saw no one! Do you understand, no one!

—What is it you want me to do about that?

—Evidently, replies the stage manager, who frantically runs his hands through an unruly mop of hair. Evidently! But perhaps, if there had been someone at the organ loft, that someone could explain to us how the darkness was suddenly made upon the stage. Now, Mauclair is nowhere to be found, do you understand?

Mauclair was the chief of lighting, who dispensed at will upon the stage of the Opera, day and night.

—Mauclair is nowhere to be found, repeats Mercier, shaken. Well! And his assistants?

—Neither Mauclair nor his assistants! No one at the lighting, I tell you! You can well imagine, roars the stage manager, that that little girl did not carry herself off alone! There was a “set-up job” there that must be understood… And the directors not being here?… I forbade anyone to go down to the lighting, I put a fireman in front of the organ loft niche! Wasn’t I right?

—Yes, yes, you were right… And now let us wait for the commissary.

The stage manager moves away, shrugging his shoulders, furious, chewing out insults against those “wet hens” who remain quietly huddled in a corner when the whole theater is “topsy-turvy.”

Calm, Gabriel and Mercier scarcely were. Only, they had received an order that paralyzed them. The directors were not to be disturbed for any reason in the world. Rémy had breached this order and it had not served him well.

Just then, here he is returning from his new expedition. His expression is curiously dismayed.

—Well! Did you speak to them? asks Mercier.

Rémy answers:

—Moncharmin finally opened the door to me. His eyes were popping out of his head. I thought he was going to strike me. I could not get a word in, and do you know what he shouted at me? “Have you a safety pin?”—No!—“Well! Leave me in peace!…” I try to reply that an unheard-of event is taking place in the theater… He bellows: “A safety pin? Give me a safety pin at once!” A clerk who had heard him—he was shouting like a deaf man—comes running with a safety pin, gives it to him, and immediately Moncharmin shuts the door in my face! And there you are!

—And you could not tell him: Christine Daaé…

—Why! I should like to have seen you there!… He was foaming… He thought of nothing but his safety pin… I believe that, if it had not been brought to him on the spot, he would have dropped dead of an apoplexy! Certainly, all this is not natural and our directors are going mad!

M. Secretary Rémy is not pleased. He shows it.

—This cannot go on like this! I am not accustomed to being treated in such a fashion!

Suddenly Gabriel whispers:

—It is another trick of the O. P.

Rémy sneers. Mercier sighs, seems ready to let slip a confidence… but having looked at Gabriel, who signals him to be silent, he remains mute.

Meanwhile, Mercier, who feels his responsibility growing minute by minute as the minutes pass and the directors do not appear, can bear it no longer:

—Ha! I shall go myself to flush them out, he decides.

Gabriel, suddenly very somber and very grave, stops him.

—Think of what you are doing, Mercier!—If they remain in their office, it is because, perhaps, it is necessary! The O. P. has more than one trick in his bag!

But Mercier shakes his head.

—Too bad! I am going! If I had been listened to, the police would have been told everything long ago!

And he leaves.

—Everything what? asks Rémy at once. What would have been told to the police? Ah! You are silent, Gabriel!… You too are in the know! Well! You would do well to put me in it if you want me not to cry out that you are all going mad!… Yes, mad, in truth!

Gabriel rolls his stupid eyes and affects to understand nothing of this “outburst” improper in M. the private secretary.

—What confidence? he murmurs. I know not what you mean.

Rémy grows exasperated.

—This evening Richard and Moncharmin, here, in the intermissions, had the gestures of lunatics.

—I did not notice, grumbles Gabriel, very annoyed.

—You are the only one!… Do you think I did not see them?… And that M. Parabise, director of the Central Credit, noticed nothing?… And that M. the ambassador of La Borderie has eyes in his pocket?… But, Monsieur singing master, all the subscribers were pointing them out with their fingers, our directors!

—What then did they do, our directors? asks Gabriel with his most foolish air.

—What did they do? But you know better than anyone what they did!… You were there!… And you observed them, you and Mercier!… And you were the only ones not to laugh…

—I do not understand!

Very cold, very “closed,” Gabriel extends his arms and lets them fall, a gesture which evidently signifies that he disinterests himself in the question… Rémy continues.

—What is this new mania?… They no longer wish to be approached now?

—How? They no longer wish to be approached?

—They no longer wish to be touched?

—Truly, you noticed that they do not wish to be touched? That is certainly bizarre!

—You grant it! It is about time! And they walk backwards!

—Backwards! You noticed that our directors walk backwards! I thought only crayfish walked backwards.

—Do not laugh, Gabriel! Do not laugh!

—I am not laughing, protests Gabriel, who shows himself as serious “as a pope.”

—Could you explain to me, I pray you, Gabriel, you who are the intimate friend of the management, why at the intermission of the “garden,” before the foyer, when I advanced with hand outstretched toward M. Richard, I heard M. Moncharmin say precipitously to me in a low voice: “Move away! Move away! Above all do not touch M. the director?…” Am I a leper?

—Incredible!

—And a few instants later, when M. the ambassador of La Borderie in his turn directed himself toward M. Richard, did you not see M. Moncharmin throw himself between them and did you not hear him cry out: “Monsieur Ambassador, I beseech you, do not touch M. the director!”

—Astounding!… And what was Richard doing all that time?

—What was he doing? You saw well enough! He turned about, saluted before him, though there was no one before him! and withdrew “backwards.”

—Backwards?

—And Moncharmin, behind Richard, had also turned about, that is to say that he had accomplished behind Richard a rapid half-circle, and he too withdrew “backwards”!… And they went off like that as far as the administration staircase, backwards!… backwards!… In short! If they are not mad, will you explain to me what that means?

—They were perhaps rehearsing, indicates Gabriel, without conviction, a figure of ballet!

M. Secretary Rémy feels outraged by so vulgar a jest in so dramatic a moment. His eyes narrow, his lips pinch. He leans to Gabriel’s ear.

—Do not play the clever one, Gabriel. Things are passing here of which Mercier and you might bear your share of responsibility.

—What then? asks Gabriel.

—Christine Daaé is not the only one who has disappeared all at once this evening.

—Ah! indeed!

—There is no “Ah! indeed!” Could you tell me why, when Mother Giry went down just now to the foyer, Mercier took her by the hand and led her off hastily with him?

—Well! says Gabriel, I did not notice.

—You noticed it so well, Gabriel, that you followed Mercier and Mother Giry, as far as Mercier’s office. Since that moment, you and Mercier have been seen, but Mother Giry has not been seen again…

—Do you think then that we ate her?

—No! But you locked her up double-tight in the office, and, when one passes near the office door, do you know what one hears? One hears these words: “Ah! The bandits! Ah! The bandits!”

At this moment of this singular conversation arrives Mercier, quite out of breath.

—There! he says in a dull voice… It is stronger than anything!… I shouted to them: “It is very grave! Open! It is I, Mercier.” I heard steps. The door opened and Moncharmin appeared. He was very pale. He asked me: “What do you want?” I replied: “Christine Daaé has been carried off.” Do you know what he answered me? “So much the better for her!” And he closed the door again, depositing this in my hand.

Mercier opens his hand; Rémy and Gabriel look. The safety pin! cries Rémy.

—Strange! Strange! pronounces very low Gabriel, who cannot restrain a shudder.

Suddenly a voice makes all three turn round.

—Pardon, gentlemen, could you tell me where Christine Daaé is?

Despite the gravity of the circumstances, such a question would no doubt have made them burst out laughing had they not perceived a face so sorrowful that they at once pitied it. It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”