RAOUL:
Madame Giry. Wait!
GIRY:
Please, Monsieur, I don’t know more than anyone else.
RAOUL:
That’s not true.
GIRY:
Monsieur, don’t ask. There have been too many accidents.
RAOUL:
Accidents?! Please, Madame Giry, for all our sakes.
GIRY:
Very well. It was years ago. There was a travelling fair in the city, Gypsies.
I was very young, studying to be a ballerina,
One of many living in the dormitory of the opera house.
I hid him from the world and its cruelties.
He has known nothing else of life since then.
As if this opera house, it was his playground and, now, his artistic domain.
He’s a genius. He’s an architect and designer.
He’s a composer and a magician. A genius, monsieur.
RAOUL:
Clearly, Madame Giry, genius has turned to madness.
