After all, who had seen him? You meet so many men in dress-clothes at

the Opera who are not ghosts. But this dress-suit had a peculiarity of

its own. It covered a skeleton. At least, so the ballet-girls said.

And, of course, it had a death's head.

Was all this serious? The truth is that the idea of the skeleton came

from the description of the ghost given by Joseph Buquet, the chief

scene-shifter, who had really seen the ghost. He had run up against

the ghost on the little staircase, by the footlights, which leads to

"the cellars." He had seen him for a second--for the ghost had

fled--and to any one who cared to listen to him he said: "He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton

frame. His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils.

You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull. His skin,

which is stretched across his bones like a drumhead, is not white, but

a nasty yellow. His nose is so little worth talking about that you

can't see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE of that nose is a horrible

thing TO LOOK AT. All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks

on his forehead and behind his ears."

This chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at

imagining things. His words were received with interest and amazement;

and soon there were other people to say that they too had met a man in

dress-clothes with a death's head on his shoulders. Sensible men who

had wind of the story began by saying that Joseph Buquet had been the

victim of a joke played by one of his assistants. And then, one after

the other, there came a series of incidents so curious and so

inexplicable that the very shrewdest people began to feel uneasy.

For instance, a fireman is a brave fellow! He fears nothing, least of

all fire! Well, the fireman in question, who had gone to make a round

of inspection in the cellars and who, it seems, had ventured a little

farther than usual, suddenly reappeared on the stage, pale, scared,

trembling, with his eyes starting out of his head, and practically

fainted in the arms of the proud mother of little Jammes.[1] And why?

Because he had seen coming toward him, AT THE LEVEL OF HIS HEAD, BUT

WITHOUT A BODY ATTACHED TO IT, A HEAD OF FIRE! And, as I said, a

fireman is not afraid of fire.

The fireman's name was Pampin.

The corps de ballet was flung into consternation. At first sight, this

fiery head in no way corresponded with Joseph Buquet's description of

the ghost. But the young ladies soon persuaded themselves that the

ghost had several heads, which he changed about as he pleased. And, of

course, they at once imagined that they were in the greatest danger.

Once a fireman did not hesitate to faint, leaders and front-row and

back-row girls alike had plenty of excuses for the fright that made

them quicken their pace when passing some dark corner or ill-lighted

corridor. Sorelli herself, on the day after the adventure of the

fireman, placed a horseshoe on the table in front of the

stage-door-keeper's box, which every one who entered the Opera

otherwise than as a spectator must touch before setting foot on the

first tread of the staircase. This horse-shoe was not invented by

me--any more than any other part of this story, alas!--and may still be

seen on the table in the passage outside the stage-door-keeper's box,

when you enter the Opera through the court known as the Cour de

l'Administration.




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