Moderato cantabile

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Moderato Cantabile

And now, the Diabelli.

Read what the score says.

Moderato cantabile.

- What does that mean?

- I've forgotten.

Is that so?

- He's so stubborn, Mrs Desbardes.

- Indeed.

I told you last time

and the time before.

You just don't want to tell us.

For the 100th time...

Moderato cantabile means

moderate and melodic.

Moderate and melodic.

Right. Now play.

What are you waiting for?

Do you want to say something?

Say it, then.

- The sonatina.

- So?

I don't like it.

- What's wrong? It's so pretty.

- It's too difficult.

- Did you just figure that out?

- Yes.

- Yes, who?

- Yes, Miss Giraud.

Play it.

See this, Mrs Desbardes?

Terrible. As stubborn as a goat.

- Alas, in this part of town...

- What is it?

- I'm waiting.

- Who screamed?

Your sonatina...

Go on. Play.

And yet... see?

If only he wanted.

What's happening?

Start again.

Remember, moderato cantabile.

- Think of a lullaby.

- I never sing to him.

Tonight he'll ask me to,

and he'll ask so nicely

I won't be able to resist him.

In B flat. You always forget.

Why did you stop?

- To watch.

- Keep playing.

Something serious must have happened.

Come and see!

We may as well stop for today.

But next time he'll have to know

the first movement perfectly.

More cars are coming.

Move back!

Let us in!

Step back!

Stay right here.

I'll be back. Stay here.

A beautiful woman...

He killed her.

What will happen now?

What is it?

- It wasn't him who screamed.

- No. Don't look.

You should try to remember.

Moderato means moderate.

It's nearly the same.

And cantabile means melodic. It's easy.

- And you, didn't you hear anything?

- No.

But I understand you were nearby.

You know,

Miss Giraud's house is located

very close to that caf.

I must tell you that

the piano lesson was cut short today.

With all that commotion.

By the way...

I have to say Pierre plays

his sonatina almost perfectly.

Miss Giraud told me again today,

it's not that he lacks musical talent

but he lacks good will.

Please...

I'm sorry.

What would you like?

A glass of wine.

And for the child?

Nothing. He's already had a snack.

Nice day.

I was thirsty.

And in fact, I'll have another one.

- I was just walking past.

- Nice day for a walk.

Yesterday I was at Miss Giraud's.

I recognise you.

Yes. Miss Giraud

teaches my son the piano.

May I?

Thank you but I'm not used to this.

She screamed so loudly

that it's natural to be curious, isn't it?

Naturally.

- Therefore I had to come.

- You were around when it happened.

I couldn't see

from Miss Giraud's window.

All the more reason to come here.

Don't you think?

I think so.

But we don't know much about it.

- Do you mean we don't know why?

- Right. We don't know why.

Not yet anyway.

Do you know why she screamed yesterday?

Go and play.

What's certain is that

they were having a relationship.

Yes, a love story. We assume so.

Maybe he had heartache.

That's what they call it

in magazines... "heartache".

Just this once.

Right.

You were saying?

Oh...

You were walking past.

Yes.

I take my child for a walk every day.

- Around here?

- I usually go to the Arcy forest.

Or to a park.

Or to the river bank.

Something new must happen

around here every day.

- I doubt it.

- Don't you think so?

In reality I don't have an opinion.

Maybe.

But one day something

catches your attention more than usual.

I shouldn't have drunk so much wine.

Hey, how are you?

How are things?

Since last night,

I haven't stopped thinking about it.

Since the piano lesson.

I couldn't stop myself

coming here today.

It doesn't matter.

You are Mrs Desbardes,

wife of the factory's owner.

You live on Boulevard de la Mer.

Yes, sir.

We want so much for them,

we don't know how to do it

or where to start.

- Do you have children, sir?

- No.

You can't imagine

how happy we want them to be.

As if it were possible.

I've seen you so often

walking on the quay...

It's difficult to believe

you're here now.

Look, it's still daylight.

The days are getting longer.

Do you work in this town, sir?

At the Desbardes factory

like everyone else.

I must go home.

If you come back,

I'll try to get some information

about that story. I'll tell you.

Funny how sometimes

you just don't want to go home.

Raise your head.

Sometimes I think I invented you,

that none of this is real.

Let's go for a walk.

- Where to?

- All around here. Come.

- Did you get any more news?

- Nothing.

Aren't you working today, Mr Chauvin?

Why aren't you talking?

No reason.

Sometimes one doesn't feel like talking.

When did we first take the ferry?

Was I little?

Yes, you were very, very tiny.

You can't remember.

I remember things.

- What, sweetheart?

- Things.

Once there were daffodils and Dad.

We were all together.

How old was I?

Daffodils bloom every year.

I don't know.

Remember, you had a blue dress

with things on it.

What else?

I fell and hurt my knee.

- You were upset.

- Yes, hold on...

Oh, you were very little.

- And you remember all that?

- Yes, everything.

Wait, you were...

You were four.

Tell me stories of when I was little.

Well, when you were little...

- Aren't you cross with me?

- No.

The trouble is it's hard for a woman

to find an excuse to go into a caf.

Today I wasn't able to find one.

No even the cold outside,

not even thirst.

Forgive me, sir...

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