These papers come from the private collection of The Persian, also known as, the Daroga of Mazanderan, which were given to M. Leroux during the time of his investigation of the strange happenings at the Paris Opera. They are in no particular order. The dates, assumedly, take place during the late winter and early springtime of the year 1880, during the term of Monsieur le Presidente Grévy.
The other writings, are those of Christine (nee Daae) de Chagny, her son Charles de Chagny, her husband, Raoul, former Vicomte, de Chagny, the late Philippe, former Comte, de Chagny, Signorina (La) Anna-Sophia Sorelli and of Marguerite "Meg"(nee Giry), the Baroness de Castelot-Barbezac and her mother, The Widow (Antoinette) Jules Giry. These documents were found and presented to M. Leroux by the gracious Baroness herself, who prefers to keep the source of her findings private. The dates are not specifically known for these documents.
Any other documentation within these papers is a public record, newspaper article, court report, or part of the memorandum book of M. Armand Moncharmin, co-manager of the Opera during the incidents. None of these papers were documented in M. Leroux's 1910 serialization, and later novel, Le Fantome de l'Opera, due to confidentiality agreements made with the Chagny family.
Upon the death of M. Leroux they were discovered, and placed into the Opera's archives, which you are now reading.
The first series of papers, which you are about to read, are those of the 'femme fatale' herself, Christine (nee Daae) de Chagny. Mme. de Chagny died in 1917 and we believe it was afterwards that the Baroness, who was a great friend of Christine's, uncovered the papers.
For what seemed like hours, we stumbled around in pure darkness. Though he had told us the way, we still felt quite lost. We had the special lantern, the one with the small red disk inside, but it scarcely illuminated the inky blackness. Raoul said nothing to me throughout the underground journey. After being locked up for a night in that old Communard cell, his words were scarce. I was glad, for I did not feel at all like speaking. We were tired and cold and longed for fresh air in our lungs. But those hours beneath the Opera felt like an eternity, a horrible, black fate threatening to stretch on forever.
I knew sometime very soon I would return. I had made a promise to Erik, that poor, miserable soul. The sometimes Angel, sometimes Devil. I had promised to see him before he left this earth, and when he had left, I had promised to give him a funeral service. To sing him a requiem…the one last song I would give him. Raoul did not yet know of this insane request, but I was certain he would not approve. But I would go still, despite of his wishes. For I knew in my heart I had already betrayed him…in a way so terrible I cannot speak of it. What would one more betrayal do?
The entire journey we clutched hands. Every now and then I looked over my shoulder, sensing someone was there. There was no one, only my wild and deranged mind playing tricks. We tripped over rocks and slipped on places where water had leaked through. Rats scurried around us, running to their dark holes for safety. Those tunnels were a prison, one wrong step and you would be stuck there forever, a prisoner of Erik's kingdom.
Then at long last we saw a faint light ahead. "Please be the gate…please be the gate." I prayed silently. As we got closer, I was thrilled to see that it was in fact the gate. At last we had some luck. Raoul helped me up the treacherous stone stairs, avoiding the underground lake just at the end of them. I took the large, brass key from my pocket and pushed it into the old lock on the gate. After several trial turns, the lock finally gave way, and swung open with a loud creak.
There we were, out at last. Paris was in the middle of a glorious April rainstorm. Sun shone through the clouds, illuminating the falling raindrops. We ran out into the boulevard, holding our arms out under the rain in ecstasy. The passers-by stared at us curiously, wondering why we did not shelter ourselves from the rain as they did. I felt the dirt and darkness of the tunnels wash from my skin. It was like being spiritually cleansed. I looked at Raoul and saw him grinning; grinning and laughing. And I could not help but laugh too. He picked me up and spun me around and around, in the middle of the Rue Scribe.
"We're free from the darkness! Oh glorious, glorious light!" he shouted into the skies unguardedly, his voice rejuvenated by the light and rain. Then we kissed in a wonderful, feverish, soaking wet passion. "How I do love you!" he said fervently into my ear. We stood there, embracing tightly, not afraid to show our deepest affections. As we shared that exchange, an all-consuming feeling of adoration for him, the man who had risked his existence to save me, came over me. It was dizzying and impossible to ignore.
"I love you." I replied, at a loud, clear volume. I was no longer afraid of those words.