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  • Format: ePub

I WAS passing through the waiting-room of the Morning Journal on a certain evening last year when my attention was drawn to a man seated in a corner. He was dressed in black and his appearance was that of the deepest dejection. In fact upon his face I read the most melancholy despair. He was not weeping, his eyes were dry and almost expressionless and received the impression of exterior objects like motionless ice. He had placed upon his knees a small oaken chest, ornamented with ironwork. His hands were crossed over this object and hung down, accentuating his dejected appearance. An attendant…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
I WAS passing through the waiting-room of the Morning Journal on a certain evening last year when my attention was drawn to a man seated in a corner. He was dressed in black and his appearance was that of the deepest dejection. In fact upon his face I read the most melancholy despair. He was not weeping, his eyes were dry and almost expressionless and received the impression of exterior objects like motionless ice. He had placed upon his knees a small oaken chest, ornamented with ironwork. His hands were crossed over this object and hung down, accentuating his dejected appearance. An attendant told me that he had been awaiting my arrival there three long hours without a movement, without so much as a sigh. I went towards him, and announcing myself, I invited him to enter my office. I showed him a seat, but instead of taking it he came straight to my writing-desk and placed the little oaken chest on it. "Sir, this chest belongs to you," said he, and his voice seemed far away and indistinct. "My friend, M. Théophraste Longuet, commissioned me to bring it to you. Take it, sir, and believe me, your servant." As he spoke the man bowed and made a motion toward the door. I stopped him, however, and said: "Why, do not go, I cannot receive this box without a knowledge of its contents." He replied: "Sir, I do not know what it contains, it is locked and its key is lost. You might have to break it open to find out the contents." I replied: "Then at least I would like to know to whom I am indebted for bringing it to me." "My friend, M. Théophraste Longuet, called me Adolphe," replied the man, in a voice so melancholy that it seemed to grow more faint and indistinct with each syllable. "Well, if M. Longuet had brought me the chest himself, he would most certainly have told me what it contains; I expect that M. Longuet, himself." "I also, sir," said the man, "but M. Théophraste Longuet is dead, and I am his sole executor.

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Autorenporträt
Gaston Leroux, born on May 6, 1868, in Paris, France, was a prominent French novelist, journalist, and playwright, best known for his classic novel The Phantom of the Opera. Raised in a wealthy family, Leroux initially studied law and became a lawyer in 1889. However, a passion for storytelling and a penchant for gambling, which quickly depleted his inheritance, led him to abandon his legal career in favor of journalism. He joined the newspaper L'Écho de Paris as a courtroom reporter and theater critic, where he honed his skills in narrative construction and developed an interest in mysteries and thrillers.Leroux's experiences as a journalist significantly influenced his later writing. He traveled extensively, covering events like the Russian Revolution of 1905 and reporting on trials and dramatic incidents, which deepened his understanding of human nature and the complexities of crime. Inspired by writers such as Edgar Allan Poe and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Leroux ventured into detective fiction, creating one of his most acclaimed works, The Mystery of the Yellow Room (1907). This novel introduced his famous detective character, Joseph Rouletabille, and established Leroux as a talented mystery writer. In 1910, Leroux published Le Fantôme de l'Opéra (The Phantom of the Opera), a novel set in the Paris Opera House, blending gothic elements, romance, and suspense to tell the haunting story of a mysterious masked man.Despite initially modest success, The Phantom of the Opera gained popularity over time, becoming a literary classic and inspiring countless adaptations in film, theater, and music. Leroux continued to write novels, plays, and short stories throughout his life, creating a substantial body of work that spanned genres, including horror, mystery, and adventure. He passed away on April 15, 1927, in Nice, France, leaving behind a legacy as one of France's most imaginative and influential writers, particularly in the realms of gothic and detective fiction.