Призрак Оперы
XII Apollo's Lyre
Raoul,IwaslyinghalfbackonasaddleandIhadrecognizedthewhitehorseoutofthePROFETA,whichIhadsooftenfedwithsugarandsweets.Irememberedthat,oneevening,therewasarumorinthetheaterthatthehorsehaddisappearedandthatithadbeenstolenbytheOperaghost.Ibelievedinthevoice,buthadneverbelievedintheghost.Now,however,Ibegantowonder,withashiver,whetherIwastheghost’sprisoner.Icalleduponthevoicetohelpme,forIshouldneverhaveimaginedthatthevoiceandtheghostwereone.YouhaveheardabouttheOperaghost,haveyounot,Raoul?"
"Yes,buttellmewhathappenedwhenyouwereonthewhitehorseoftheProfeta?"
"Imadenomovementandletmyselfgo.Theblackshapeheldmeup,andImadenoefforttoescape.AcuriousfeelingofpeacefulnesscameovermeandIthoughtthatImustbeundertheinfluenceofsomecordial.Ihadthefullcommandofmysenses;andmyeyesbecameusedtothedarkness,whichwaslit,hereandthere,byfitfulgleams.Icalculatedthatwewereinanarrowcirculargallery,probablyrunningallroundtheOpera,whichisimmense,underground.Ihadoncebeendownintothosecellars,buthadstoppedatthethirdfloor,thoughthereweretwolowerstill,largeenoughtoholdatown.ButthefiguresofwhichIcaughtsighthadmademerunaway.Therearedemonsdownthere,quiteblack,standinginfrontofboilers,andtheywieldshovelsandpitchforksandpokeupfiresandstirupflamesand,ifyoucometoonearthem,theyfrightenyoubysuddenlyopeningtheredmouthsoftheirfurnaces...
