Throughout The Phantom of the Opera, characters use music to gain power and control. For example, Christine's music is so powerfully enchanting that Erik falls in love with her for it. Erik also uses music to enslave Christine; in Chapter 2, they have an emotional exchange about music and love:
"Christine, you must love me!"
Christine, as if in tears, replied in a pained, trembling voice: "How can you say that? I sing only for you!"
Here, music signifies an expression of love; Christine tries to prove her devotion to the Phantom by saying that she sings for him. The Phantom asserts his power over Christine by insisting that she loves only him, and sings only for him. In Chapter 13, Christine divests herself of responsibility by claiming that the Phantom had unstoppable power over her when he sang Desdemona's Willow Song:
Music, Raoul, has the power to make one forget everything save those sounds that touch your heart. I forgot my extraordinary situation. The Voice was back. Enthralled, I followed his harmonious lead; I became one of Orpheus’ flock! He took me through sorrow and delight, through martyrdom, despair and bliss, from death to triumphant love. I listened. He sang. He sang pieces unknown to me, new music that induced in me strange feelings of tenderness, languor and peace … music which, having stirred my soul, soothed it little by little, bringing it to the threshold of dreams. I fell asleep.
The capitalization of "Voice" makes it seem like a name; this description reminds the reader that music is Erik's main identity and principal power.
Throughout The Phantom of the Opera, strange events make characters question whether they are dreaming. For example, Christine describes her imprisonment in Chapter 13 as follows:
When I woke up, I was alone, lying on a chaise longue in a simple bedroom hung with calico and furnished with a plain mahogany bed; a lamp was burning on the marble top of an old Louis-Philippe chest of drawers. Where was I? I passed my hand over my eyes as if to dispel a bad dream. Alas, I soon realized that this was no dream. I was a prisoner and the only outlet from my room led to a well-appointed bathroom with hot and cold water a-plenty.
After being captured by the Phantom, Christine tries to cover her eyes and "dispel a bad dream" that she soon realizes is her reality. But she also admits that being under the Phantom's spell is sometimes pleasurable; in the same chapter she likens it to living in an ecstatic dream:
I did what the Voice asked. He said: “Wait and see: we shall astonish Paris!” And I waited. I lived in a kind of ecstatic dream where he ruled.
In this moment and many others, Christine's love for music sometimes eclipses her terror. The otherworldly qualities of the Phantom make his presence seem dreamlike; Christine's descriptions of falling under the Phantom's spell mirror her father's experience as a homesick man whose only escape was music. In Chapter 6, the narrator describes the way in which Daaé tries to alleviate the misfortune of poor health:
Daaé, however, was so homesick that his health began to decline. When in Paris, he always remained indoors. He lived in a kind of dream, which he sustained with the help of his violin. For hours at a time, he shut himself away in his room with his daughter, playing and singing softly, all too softly.
Again, music provides an escape. It allows Daaé to escape his homesickness; it also allows Christine to escape the horrifying reality of her imprisonment by the Phantom. Beautiful music, much like dreams, seems unreal, especially when played by the Phantom. Many characters in this story believe themselves to exist on the fringes of reality, and dreams or dreamlike descriptions recur to emphasize this fact.
The Phantom of the Opera brims with displays of passion. Most of them are directed at Christine Daaé, the beautiful and talented Swedish soprano. In Chapter 13, Christine expresses her fascination with the passion of the Phantom:
On the contrary, I moved closer to him, attracted, fascinated: in the midst of such passion, death itself became appealing … But before I died I wanted to gaze upon the hidden face that must have been transfigured by eternal art, so as to take this sublime image with me to my grave. I wanted to see the face of the Voice and instinctively, for I was no longer mistress of myself, my fingers tore away his mask. Oh! Horror! Horror! Horror!
She is at once attracted and repelled, unable to look away yet utterly horrified. The juxtaposition of movement towards and movement away from the Phantom evokes the unpredictable and disruptive waves of emotional passion that the Phantom feels for Christine.
Beyond romantic passion, the Phantom also displays a great passion for music. In Chapter 10, the narrator reveals the charm of the Phantom's voice: that it makes normal songs seem sublime. This quality of sublimity heightens the Phantom's passion for Christine:
[T]here was nothing unusual about the melody being sung, rather it was that the commonplace was made sublime. The commonplace words, the facile and almost vulgar melody appeared all the more transfigured by the breath that made them soar and fly up into the heavens on the wings of passion, as this angelic voice glorified earthly love.
Here, passion transforms a "commonplace" song into a transfigured melody that seems to "fly up into the heavens." The Phantom communicates his passion primarily through music, so the two elements of the story are inextricably linked. However, it is important to remember that the Phantom is just as capable of passionate anger as he is passionate love.
Jealousy is an important motif in The Phantom of the Opera. Erik is jealous of Raoul's perfect manners and appearance; he sees Raoul as a symbol of unattainable social status and an imminent threat to his pursuit of Christine. Later in the story, Erik kidnaps Christine and forces her to stay loyal to him.
Jealousy brings out the worst in every character. Raoul gets insecure and self-conscious and begins to doubt Christine's chastity, Erik gets violent and possessive, and Christine usually finds herself unable to remain strictly loyal to either lover. In Chapter 10, the narrator describes the beating of Raoul's "jealous heart" as he considers Christine's lessons with the Angel of Music:
The Angel of Music had given lessons to Christine for three months. What a diligent teacher he had been! And now at night he took her to the Bois in his carriage! Slipping his clenched fingers across his chest to the spot where he could feel his jealous heart beating, Raoul tore at his flesh. Inexperienced as he was, he wondered with dread what role Christine intended for him in the forthcoming masquerade.
Here, violent phrases like "jealous heart" and "tore at his flesh" clash with the formerly unblemished descriptions of Raoul. Jealousy changes him from a pure, innocent, handsome man to one whose face and heart clearly are affected by the agony of Christine's imprisonment. The love triangle between Christine, Raoul, and Erik suggests that love can morph into jealousy, and this motif recurs throughout the novel as Raoul and Erik become progressively more jealous of each other.
Throughout The Phantom of the Opera, characters use music to gain power and control. For example, Christine's music is so powerfully enchanting that Erik falls in love with her for it. Erik also uses music to enslave Christine; in Chapter 2, they have an emotional exchange about music and love:
"Christine, you must love me!"
Christine, as if in tears, replied in a pained, trembling voice: "How can you say that? I sing only for you!"
Here, music signifies an expression of love; Christine tries to prove her devotion to the Phantom by saying that she sings for him. The Phantom asserts his power over Christine by insisting that she loves only him, and sings only for him. In Chapter 13, Christine divests herself of responsibility by claiming that the Phantom had unstoppable power over her when he sang Desdemona's Willow Song:
Music, Raoul, has the power to make one forget everything save those sounds that touch your heart. I forgot my extraordinary situation. The Voice was back. Enthralled, I followed his harmonious lead; I became one of Orpheus’ flock! He took me through sorrow and delight, through martyrdom, despair and bliss, from death to triumphant love. I listened. He sang. He sang pieces unknown to me, new music that induced in me strange feelings of tenderness, languor and peace … music which, having stirred my soul, soothed it little by little, bringing it to the threshold of dreams. I fell asleep.
The capitalization of "Voice" makes it seem like a name; this description reminds the reader that music is Erik's main identity and principal power.
The Phantom of the Opera brims with displays of passion. Most of them are directed at Christine Daaé, the beautiful and talented Swedish soprano. In Chapter 13, Christine expresses her fascination with the passion of the Phantom:
On the contrary, I moved closer to him, attracted, fascinated: in the midst of such passion, death itself became appealing … But before I died I wanted to gaze upon the hidden face that must have been transfigured by eternal art, so as to take this sublime image with me to my grave. I wanted to see the face of the Voice and instinctively, for I was no longer mistress of myself, my fingers tore away his mask. Oh! Horror! Horror! Horror!
She is at once attracted and repelled, unable to look away yet utterly horrified. The juxtaposition of movement towards and movement away from the Phantom evokes the unpredictable and disruptive waves of emotional passion that the Phantom feels for Christine.
Beyond romantic passion, the Phantom also displays a great passion for music. In Chapter 10, the narrator reveals the charm of the Phantom's voice: that it makes normal songs seem sublime. This quality of sublimity heightens the Phantom's passion for Christine:
[T]here was nothing unusual about the melody being sung, rather it was that the commonplace was made sublime. The commonplace words, the facile and almost vulgar melody appeared all the more transfigured by the breath that made them soar and fly up into the heavens on the wings of passion, as this angelic voice glorified earthly love.
Here, passion transforms a "commonplace" song into a transfigured melody that seems to "fly up into the heavens." The Phantom communicates his passion primarily through music, so the two elements of the story are inextricably linked. However, it is important to remember that the Phantom is just as capable of passionate anger as he is passionate love.
Many characters in Phantom of the Opera either lose or question their sanity. For example, when Christine first hears Erik's voice, she believes she is hearing her father's "Angel of Music" or even her father himself. In Chapter 13, she tries to describe the effects of Erik's music:
I cannot tell you the effect that this music had upon me: it sang of eternal life at the very moment when nearby poor wretches, crushed by the chandelier, breathed their last. I felt as if the Voice commanded me, personally, to come, to rise up and go forth. As he moved away from me, I followed. “Come! And believe in me!” I believed in him and followed … and as I moved forward – this was the extraordinary thing – my dressing-room seemed to grow longer, longer … It must have been some odd trick of the light, for the mirror was before me … And then, suddenly, I found myself somewhere else without knowing how!
Throughout the novel, Christine finds herself unable to fully describe the beauty of Erik's voice. It drives her nearly to madness; her mind begins playing tricks on her as her "dressing-room seemed to grow longer, longer" and she feels commanded, even compelled, to follow the Voice.
Other examples of perceptual madness appear when Erik plays tricks on people. He often uses trap doors to move mysteriously through the opera house to play pranks on the singers that cause them to question their memory. Erik formerly worked for a Shah and Sultan as an illusionist and assassin; these experiences taught him the skills necessary to haunt the opera house.
The most prominent example of madness is when Erik becomes unhinged and threatens to kill everyone (including himself) if Christine does not agree to marry him. He captures her, ties her up, and gives her until 11 o'clock the next morning to make her decision. Whereas the other characters merely question their sanity due to Erik's tricks, Erik himself is undoubtedly driven to madness by his passion. The motif of madness underscores the power of the Phantom and the effects of passionate yet unrequited love.
Throughout The Phantom of the Opera, strange events make characters question whether they are dreaming. For example, Christine describes her imprisonment in Chapter 13 as follows:
When I woke up, I was alone, lying on a chaise longue in a simple bedroom hung with calico and furnished with a plain mahogany bed; a lamp was burning on the marble top of an old Louis-Philippe chest of drawers. Where was I? I passed my hand over my eyes as if to dispel a bad dream. Alas, I soon realized that this was no dream. I was a prisoner and the only outlet from my room led to a well-appointed bathroom with hot and cold water a-plenty.
After being captured by the Phantom, Christine tries to cover her eyes and "dispel a bad dream" that she soon realizes is her reality. But she also admits that being under the Phantom's spell is sometimes pleasurable; in the same chapter she likens it to living in an ecstatic dream:
I did what the Voice asked. He said: “Wait and see: we shall astonish Paris!” And I waited. I lived in a kind of ecstatic dream where he ruled.
In this moment and many others, Christine's love for music sometimes eclipses her terror. The otherworldly qualities of the Phantom make his presence seem dreamlike; Christine's descriptions of falling under the Phantom's spell mirror her father's experience as a homesick man whose only escape was music. In Chapter 6, the narrator describes the way in which Daaé tries to alleviate the misfortune of poor health:
Daaé, however, was so homesick that his health began to decline. When in Paris, he always remained indoors. He lived in a kind of dream, which he sustained with the help of his violin. For hours at a time, he shut himself away in his room with his daughter, playing and singing softly, all too softly.
Again, music provides an escape. It allows Daaé to escape his homesickness; it also allows Christine to escape the horrifying reality of her imprisonment by the Phantom. Beautiful music, much like dreams, seems unreal, especially when played by the Phantom. Many characters in this story believe themselves to exist on the fringes of reality, and dreams or dreamlike descriptions recur to emphasize this fact.
The labyrinth appears as a recurring motif throughout The Phantom of the Opera. The many passageways in the opera house serve as conduits for the Phantom's sinister activity. In Chapter 20, Raoul says passionately to the Persian:
"This wall, this floor, this ceiling might conceal him! There’s no knowing where he might be. Just now, he may have an eye to this keyhole, an ear to this beam." And the Persian, asking Raoul to tread quietly, led him down passageways that he had never seen before, even when Christine had taken him on rambles through this labyrinth.
Here, Raoul expresses that the labyrinth is a source of terror and mystery. There is "no knowing where he [Erik] might be." Consequently, the Phantom derives much of his power from his ability to conceal and reveal himself at key moments.
The labyrinth also appears to signify the process of self-discovery. Many characters try to deceive others (or themselves), but, in fact, they end up forced to reveal themselves or to acknowledge who they really are. For example, in Chapter 27, Erik describes unmasking himself in front of Christine:
And do you know what I did then, Daroga? I tore off my mask so as not to lose one of those falling tears … and she did not turn away! She did not die! She stood there, weeping over me, weeping with me. We cried together! Almighty God, you have granted me all the happiness a man could ever wish for!
After many pages of prowling around the labyrinthine opera house, Erik decides to reveal himself in the most vulnerable way. He removes his mask and lets Christine see his disfigured face. Much to his surprise, she does not turn away from him; she rather shows empathy to him and they weep together. This moment stands in stark contrast to the many scenes of Erik's creeping through the trap doors and secret tunnels in the opera house. The recurring motif of labyrinthine passageways reminds readers not only of deception and darkness, but also of Erik's difficult journey of self-discovery; it likewise gives meaning and depth to the unmasking passage.
The labyrinth appears as a recurring motif throughout The Phantom of the Opera. The many passageways in the opera house serve as conduits for the Phantom's sinister activity. In Chapter 20, Raoul says passionately to the Persian:
"This wall, this floor, this ceiling might conceal him! There’s no knowing where he might be. Just now, he may have an eye to this keyhole, an ear to this beam." And the Persian, asking Raoul to tread quietly, led him down passageways that he had never seen before, even when Christine had taken him on rambles through this labyrinth.
Here, Raoul expresses that the labyrinth is a source of terror and mystery. There is "no knowing where he [Erik] might be." Consequently, the Phantom derives much of his power from his ability to conceal and reveal himself at key moments.
The labyrinth also appears to signify the process of self-discovery. Many characters try to deceive others (or themselves), but, in fact, they end up forced to reveal themselves or to acknowledge who they really are. For example, in Chapter 27, Erik describes unmasking himself in front of Christine:
And do you know what I did then, Daroga? I tore off my mask so as not to lose one of those falling tears … and she did not turn away! She did not die! She stood there, weeping over me, weeping with me. We cried together! Almighty God, you have granted me all the happiness a man could ever wish for!
After many pages of prowling around the labyrinthine opera house, Erik decides to reveal himself in the most vulnerable way. He removes his mask and lets Christine see his disfigured face. Much to his surprise, she does not turn away from him; she rather shows empathy to him and they weep together. This moment stands in stark contrast to the many scenes of Erik's creeping through the trap doors and secret tunnels in the opera house. The recurring motif of labyrinthine passageways reminds readers not only of deception and darkness, but also of Erik's difficult journey of self-discovery; it likewise gives meaning and depth to the unmasking passage.
