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Tous les mantis du monde ¡§All the mornings in the world¡¨
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(viol da gamba)
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les mantis du monde¡¨¡@¶}ÀYªº¬q¸¨¡G
Monsieur
de Sainte Colombe wrote down his new compositions in a leather-bound notebook.
He did not want to publish them to the judgement of the public. He said that
they were improvisations noted at the moment and for which the moment alone
provided an excuse, and not completed works. On days when the spirit took him
and when he could make time for leisure, he would go off to his brook and
dream. In summer, when it was very hot, he took off his shoes and his shirt
and gently went into the cool water, wading up to his neck, stopping up his
fingers and burying his face in the water.
One day when he was gazing at the ripples on the water, sighing, he dreamt
that he was going into dark water and staying there. He had given up
everything that he loved on earth, instruments, flowers, pastries, rolled
scores, kites, faces, pewter plates, wines. Emerging from his dream, he
remembered the Tombeau de Regrets that he had composed when his wife had left
him one night to join the death, and he suddenly felt very thirsty. He got up,
climbed up the bank grabbing hold of some branches and went off to his garden
shed where he practiced his viol, hoping that he was out of earshot, so that
he could try all possible hand positions and bowing movements without
attracting anyone's judgment for this was just what he wanted to do. He put
his bottle of wine wrapped in raffia on the light blue cloth covering the
table where he unfolded his music stand, with the glass of wine that he had
filled at his feet and a pewter plate containing some rolled honeycomb cakes,
and he played the Tombeau des Regrets.
He did not need to refer to his book. His hand found its own way over his
instrument's fingerboard and he began to cry. As the melody rose, near the
door a very pale woman appeared, smiling at him and indicating by her finger
that she would not speak, so that he would not be disturbed in what he was
doing. She walked silently around the music stand of Monsieur de Sainte
Colombe. She sat down on the trunk of music which was in the corner near the
table and the bottle of wine and she listened.
It was his wife and his tears flowed (...)
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