With Erik's death, the strange story of the opera ghost ended. Yet for quite some time, people kept talking about events such as Christine's kidnapping, Philippe's death, and Raoul's disappearance. Christine never sang again in public. Many in Paris assumed that she was the victim of a rivalry between Raoul and Philippe. None knew the truth—she and Raoul had escaped to a life of quiet happiness. And few wondered about Mama Valerius, who had vanished at the same time as the young couple. A newspaper blamed the opera ghost for everything that had happened.
Of course, other mysterious events occurred at the opera house that were never mentioned in the press. One day Richard and Moncharmin, the managers, found a large envelope in their office. It contained the forty thousand francs the opera ghost had taken from Richard's pocket, plus a note written in red ink: "With many thanks, the OG." Although relieved to receive the money, each manager privately blamed the other for its disappearance.
There was only one person in Paris who knew the truth about everything that had happened. And years later the Persian revealed some of those secrets to an opera house historian. They sat together in the Persian's drawing room.
"Erik was easily able to torment the managers," the Persian began. "Because box five contained an enormous column that appeared to be made of solid marble. However, it was actually made of wood painted to look like stone. Erik could hide inside it. And as a master ventriloquist, he could make his voice sound like it was coming from anywhere in the box."
The Persian said that box five also contained a small, movable panel. Erik used it to leave notes and tips for Madame Giry. He had reached through a similar panel in the floor of the managers' office to pick Richard's pocket.
The historian looked up from taking notes. "So Erik was simply amusing himself by demanding payments from the managers?"
"No, Erik felt the world owed him something as compensation for his appearance," the Persian said. "But when he was dying from a broken heart, after he had freed Christine from their engagement, he was no longer interested in anything, including money."
The historian asked how Erik came to be living underneath the opera house.
"Erik was born in northern France to a master mason and his wife," the Persian said. "At an early age, he ran away from home because his appearance horrified his parents. He was even exhibited at fairs as 'the living corpse' before his other talents were known."
"What a terrible life! Can you tell me something about Erik's other talents?"
"Erik sang divinely and was good at ventriloquism and magic tricks. Word of his talents spread across Europe and as far as Persia. That's where I first met him."
The Persian took a sip of tea. "The shah ordered me to find Erik and bring him to Persia. As the chief of police, I was horrified by this unusual man, and I am not speaking of his appearance. Erik seemed to have no sense of right and wrong. He also took part in a number of political assassinations for the shah. But he was more than a murderer."
"What do you mean?"
"Erik had unusual ideas about architecture that incorporated his love of magic. He built a palace full of trapdoors and hidden passages. This enabled the shah to move about unseen and to mysteriously appear and disappear."
The historian smiled. "That must have delighted the shah."
The Persian nodded. "But the shah feared that Erik might build a similar palace for another ruler. He decided that Erik must die, so that no one would discover the secrets of his palace. I was ordered to carry out this terrible assignment, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead I helped Erik escape. When we met again in Paris, Erik seemed to forget that I had saved his life."
The Persian went on. "Meanwhile the shah was furious at me. He took all my property and banished me from Persia. Fortunately, I continued to receive a small pension, so I could live in Paris. As for Erik, he fled to another country. There he built a second palace full of trapdoors and secret chambers."
"How did he get to Paris?" the historian asked.
"Once again he had to disappear because he knew too much. Tired of his adventurous life, he wanted to settle down in Paris. He became a builder here."
The historian put down his pen. "I'm guessing that he must have had a hand in building the opera house."
"That's correct," the Persian said. "In Paris he first worked as an ordinary contractor constructing ordinary buildings. When he saw the plans for the opera house, he bid on the construction of the foundation, and his bid was accepted. Suddenly he began to dream of creating a dwelling for his own use, hidden deep in the cellar walls. He imagined he could live peacefully here, far away from curiosity seekers."
"I've searched for his house on the lake, but I've never been able to find it," the historian said.
"One of Erik's final acts before he died was to block up all the secret entrances." The Persian covered a yawn.
"Just one more question, and then I'll leave you in peace," the historian said. "What did you think of Erik?"
The Persian put his fingertips together. "First, I'd like to emphasize that Erik was a real person and not a ghost. I can't forget that he did many horrifying things in his life. He was a murderer, who terrorized many people including Raoul, Christine, and me."
"And yet you and Christine felt some pity for him. Why?"
The Persian stayed silent for a long time. "All Erik wanted was to be loved like anyone else. Alas, his appearance frightened people and made that impossible. So he turned his genius and creativity toward evil—playing tricks and hurting people." The Persian lowered his voice. "I've often wondered what he could have accomplished if he hadn't been disfigured and unloved since birth. Because beneath Erik's hideous exterior was . . ."
"Yes?" the historian prodded him.
"An artist," the Persian concluded. "A brilliant artist who loved beauty and music as much as he loved Christine."