Phantom Thoughts pt. 44

 Merry Christmas (or whatever else you celebrate!)- here's some Phantom Thoughts as my gift to you, whether you like it or not!

I'm skipping over some parts a bit, as there's not really much I can think of to say about them. 

{The woman laughed, screamed with laughter! Raoul darted away, roaring with anger, ran up-stairs, four stairs at a time, down-stairs, rushed through the whole of the business side of the opera-house, found himself once more in the light of the stage.}

I'd start a tally for 'how many times Raoul has been openly laughed at in this novel', but I think it would just be depressing... (Plot twist- he's actually gone this whole book wearing a red clown nose or an equally humorous accessory and everyone has noticed it except for him, so no one can take him seriously.)

{At the same moment the stage buzzed with a new sound and, amid a crowd of men in evening-dress, all talking and gesticulating together, appeared a man who seemed very calm and displayed a pleasant face, all pink and chubby-cheeked, crowned with curly hair and lit up by a pair of wonderfully serene blue eyes. Mercier, the acting-manager, called the Vicomte de Chagny's attention to him and said:}

I know this is supposed to be a man, but the way he's described just sounds like someone talking about a baby. 'Oh, he's so calm and pleasant- and just look at those chubby pink cheeks!'

{Raoul was the last to enter. As he was about to follow the rest into the room, a hand was laid on his shoulder and he heard these words spoken in his ear:

"ERIK'S SECRETS CONCERN NO ONE BUT HIMSELF!"

He turned around, with a stifled exclamation. The hand that was laid on his shoulder was now placed on the lips of a person with an ebony skin, with eyes of jade and with an astrakhan cap on his head: the Persian! The stranger kept up the gesture that recommended discretion and then, at the moment when the astonished viscount was about to ask the reason of his mysterious intervention, bowed and disappeared.}

The Persian!  Oh, it's so great to see him again (and we'll be seeing a lot more of him soon enough)! But if he was trying to communicate with Raoul subtly and quietly, HE MIGHT'VE CONSIDERED NOT SPEAKING LOUD ENOUGH TO BE RENDERED IN ALL CAPS.

{One morning, the managers found on their table an envelope addressed to "Monsieur O. G. (private)" and accompanied by a note from O. G. himself:

The time has come to carry out the clause in the memorandum-book. Please put twenty notes of a thousand francs each into this envelope, seal it with your own seal and hand it to Mme. Giry, who will do what is necessary.}

Would that amount of bills even fit into a single envelope? (Maybe I'm just not used to handling large amounts of money...)

Also, I don't really get why usually the managers (or sometimes the narrative itself) keep interchangeably calling Madame Giry either Madame Giry or Mother Giry. Madame I get, but isn't Mother a bit strange and superfluous, as everyone presumably knows her as Little Meg Giry's mom? Nobody goes around calling my mom Mother Phantom (and not just because it's not my actual last name)!

{At first sight, Richard and Moncharmin thought that the notes were still there; but soon they perceived that they were not the same. The twenty real notes were gone and had been replaced by twenty notes, of the "Bank of St. Farce"!}

Is this implying that Erik took the time to draw up some fake bank notes just for a prank? I guess he can't spend all his time working on Don Juan Triumphant or pining for Christine...

{"Don't let us make ourselves ridiculous! All Paris would laugh at us. O. G. has won the first game: we will win the second."

He was thinking of the next month's allowance.}

Let's see, Timmy gets a quarter in allowance for making his bed every day, Wendy gets a dollar for washing the dog, aaaand O.G. gets twenty thousand francs for being the best opera ghost and making a general nuisance of himself!

{Nevertheless, they had been so absolutely tricked that they were bound to suffer a certain dejection. And, upon my word, it was not difficult to understand. We must not forget that the managers had an idea at the back of their minds, all the time, that this strange incident might be an unpleasant practical joke on the part of their predecessors and that it would not do to divulge it prematurely. On the other hand, Moncharmin was sometimes troubled with a suspicion of Richard himself, who occasionally took fanciful whims into his head.}

Flashback to that terrible attempt at a comedy song from the David Staller Phantom musical where the managers are growing increasingly suspicious of each other as the Phantom uses tricks to pit them against each other. (My vague recollection was that it was called something like 'Now Who's Running the Show'??)

{The next time fell on the same day that beheld the disappearance of Christine Daae. In the morning, a note from the ghost reminded them that the money was due. It read:

Do just as you did last time. It went very well. Put the twenty thousand in the envelope and hand it to our excellent Mme. Giry.}

Erik has learned the power of positive reinforcement in getting people to do what you want XD

{"And now," he said, "let's have Mother Giry in."

The old woman was sent for. She entered with a sweeping courtesy. She still wore her black taffeta dress, the color of which was rapidly turning to rust and lilac, to say nothing of the dingy bonnet. She seemed in a good temper. She at once said:}

Okay, how would a black dress fade to a *lilac* purple with age? I could see it fading to a darker purple like mulberry or plum, but the almost-lavender of lilac?

{"First of all, Mme. Giry, I have a little question to put to you."

"By all means, M. Richard: Mme. Giry is here to answer you."}

Did- did she just refer to herself in the third person? Are Erik's habits catching on?

{"Are you still on good terms with the ghost?"

"Couldn't be better, sir; couldn't be better."}

"After all, you tried to fire me, but *he* appreciates me enough to murder my replacement to get me reinstated!"

{"Oh, you, understand quite well. In any case, you've got to understand... And, first of all, tell us his name."

"Whose name?"

"The name of the man whose accomplice you are, Mme. Giry!"

"I am the ghost's accomplice? I? ... His accomplice in what, pray?"

"You do all he wants."

"Oh! He's not very troublesome, you know."}

Doing all he wants could generally be seen as being an accomplice to some degree, Madame Giry. And the sheer audacity to say Erik's not very troublesome- I think Carlotta would have a thing or two to say about that, not to mention Joseph Buquet, if he were still around to say anything!

{"How much does he give you for bringing him that envelope?"

"Ten francs."

"You poor thing! That's not much, is it?}

Yeah, he could at least give you enough to buy a nice new dress so you wouldn't have to keep wearing that one. Or, for that matter, the managers who are HER ACTUAL EMPLOYERS could pay her more, if they actually are as sympathetic as they say they are for her shabby state...

{"I'll tell you that presently, Mme. Giry. Just now we should like to know for what extraordinary reason you have given yourself body and soul, to this ghost ... Mme. Giry's friendship and devotion are not to be bought for five francs or ten francs."}

No, she needs at least twenty francs before she'll acknowledge you publicly as a friend! (At least she's not poor Meg in Love Never Dies, who actually gives herself over body and soul in a fruitless attempt at gaining Mr. Y's attention and love...)

{"But this is a matter that concerns myself alone ... Well, it was in Box Five one evening, I found a letter addressed to myself, a sort of note written in red ink. I needn't read the letter to you sir; I know it by heart, and I shall never forget it if I live to be a hundred!"}

And I very much hope you do, dear lady, or at least live long enough to see your daughter become a baroness!

{And Mme. Giry, drawing herself up, recited the letter with touching eloquence:

MADAM:

1825. Mlle. Menetrier, leader of the ballet, became Marquise de Cussy.

1832. Mlle. Marie Taglioni, a dancer, became Comtesse Gilbert des Voisins.

1846. La Sota, a dancer, married a brother of the King of Spain.

1847. Lola Montes, a dancer, became the morganatic wife of King Louis of Bavaria and was created Countess of Landsfeld.

1848. Mlle. Maria, a dancer, became Baronne d'Herneville.

1870. Theresa Hessier, a dancer, married Dom Fernando, brother to the King of Portugal.

Richard and Moncharmin listened to the old woman, who, as she proceeded with the enumeration of these glorious nuptials, swelled out, took courage and, at last, in a voice bursting with pride, flung out the last sentence of the prophetic letter:

1885. Meg Giry, Empress!}

I feel like context is important for understanding how the aforementioned women attained their high positions. Also, you think Erik would just go for 'Queen' or something- it's a little bit more attainable, I think, as Empress implies possessing an empire and I think there's probably more kingdoms than empires in the world.

{"You have never seen him; he speaks to you and you believe all he says?" asked Moncharmin.

"Yes. To begin with, I owe it to him that my little Meg was promoted to be the leader of a row. I said to the ghost, 'If she is to be empress in 1885, there is no time to lose; she must become a leader at once.' He said, 'Look upon it as done.' And he had only a word to say to M. Poligny and the thing was done."}

Because the leader would therefore stick out more and be more likely to attract the attention of a royal personage in the future?

(With both their levels of blind devotion to who, unbeknownst to them, is the same person, I'd almost think Madame Giry and Madame Valerius would get along well.)

{"I, sir? I? ... I swear ..."

"Don't swear, Mme. Giry! ... And now I will tell you the second reason why I sent for you. Mme. Giry, I am going to have you arrested."}

We like to keep things PG here, Madame Giry.

{"HAVE ME ARRESTED!"

The mouth that spoke those words seemed to spit the three teeth that were left to it into Richard's face.

M. Richard behaved like a hero. He retreated no farther. His threatening forefinger seemed already to be pointing out the keeper of Box Five to the absent magistrates.

"I am going to have you arrested, Mme. Giry, as a thief!"

"Say that again!"

And Mme. Giry caught Mr. Manager Richard a mighty box on the ear, before Mr. Manager Moncharmin had time to intervene. But it was not the withered hand of the angry old beldame that fell on the managerial ear, but the envelope itself, the cause of all the trouble, the magic envelope that opened with the blow, scattering the bank-notes, which escaped in a fantastic whirl of giant butterflies.}

I don't think Richard is the hero here- which one of them is the one who's interrogating and pretending to be friendly with a gullible but harmless older lady for the sake of pinning a crime on her, and which one is the (not so!) harmless old lady who just wants what's best for her daughter?

You go, Madame Giry- box some sense into those managers who think you're a dastardly mastermind capable of pulling off elaborate tricks and crimes!

{"I never said that," declared Mme. Giry, "seeing that it was myself who put the twenty-thousand francs into M. Richard's pocket." And she added, under her voice, "There! It's out! ... And may the ghost forgive me!"

Richard began bellowing anew, but Moncharmin authoritatively ordered him to be silent.

"Allow me! Allow me! Let the woman explain herself. Let me question her." And he added: "It is really astonishing that you should take up such a tone! ... We are on the verge of clearing up the whole mystery. And you're in a rage! ... You're wrong to behave like that... I'm enjoying myself immensely."}

Can I just say that asking forgiveness from an angel makes much more sense than asking a ghost's forgiveness? 

Richard: "But I thought we agreed to do a 'good cop, bad cop' routine!"

{"Aha!" said Richard, suddenly assuming a swaggering air which Moncharmin did not like. "I knew nothing either! You put twenty-thousand francs in my pocket and I knew nothing either! I am very glad to hear it, Mme. Giry!"

"Yes," the terrible dame agreed, "yes, it's true. We neither of us knew anything. But you, you must have ended by finding out!"

Richard would certainly have swallowed Mme. Giry alive, if Moncharmin had not been there! But Moncharmin protected her.}

I'd hardly say that Madame Giry is terrible, even if she did just box someone in the ears for calling her a thief.

Do I need to start a count for 'cannibalism references related to eating Madame Giry'? (Is she everyone in management's go-to for 'if we were stranded on a deserted island and running out of food, this is who we'd eat first' ? She really doesn't deserve that.) Because if so, in the immortal words of Doctor Doofenshmirtz, "I'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice."