Impromptu Page #2

Except that they already have

crowds of flies down there.

I do find the provinces beastly.

Now, Monsieur Liszt will play next.

- Ah, George. I read your...

- In a minute.

George!

You'll want to sit over here, my dear.

The respectable people are over there.

- Could you point out Monsieur Chopin?

- Chopin? But he left.

Don't you know him?

He's frail as a holy wafer.

Look at those hypocrites.

They've shunned me all evening.

I'm thrilled not to be one of them

any more. Their lives are so boring.

You see?

Every single one is throbbing for him.

They know perfectly well

why I ran off with him.

For his teeth.

Charles?

Charles!

Charles!

Grab it! Grab it!

Darling!

Charles! Charles!

I've had the most extraordinary letter!

Madame George Sand is quite brazenly

inviting herself to the fortnight!

You know the one. She wears men's

clothes and leads a most depraved life!

I'm dying to meet her.

Charles?

She writes that marriage is barbaric,

darling.

They say no marriage is safe around her.

Just think, she might take a fancy

to your turkey wattles.

Didier! Don't touch that! Come here!

I'm in a quandary

because I've invited Alfred de Musset.

Everybody knows he and Madame Sand

practically tore each other to pieces.

I'm petrified that if they

so much as clap eyes on each other...

Has anyone ever met this duchess?

No.

Must be one of those titled tarts stuck in

the provinces with an uncouth husband.

She's probably famished for culture

and determined to import it at any cost.

Charles!

- Where are you going?

- Hunting.

- Goodbye. I'll be back in a few days.

- But you can't!

- Our guests arrive today.

- Precisely.

You blockhead!

These are the great geniuses of our time,

gathered together in our home!

They are a gang of parasites.

After a few days in their company,

I expect you'll come to your senses.

You'll humiliate me

if you don't receive them.

Charles!

You don't want me to be a success!

Gustav?

Gustav!

Attach little bags of seed

to the branches.

I want thousands of birds singing

when they come up the avenue.

Darling?

You're not dressed properly.

Go and put on your pink waistcoat.

That murderer!

There won't be a bird left in the sky!

Welcome!

Yes. Come on, Helene.

Welcome!

In my house, you are the nobility.

The nobility of genius.

Madame Sand!

- Hello. How was your trip?

- Madame Sand!

I'm melting with delight!

Oh, and you've brought your two boys!

- I'm a girl.

- Ah.

Here, Master Delacroix.

I have given you my own studio.

The light, you can see, is perfection.

When is Monsieur Chopin arriving?

Tomorrow.

Or so he wrote to me in his letter.

Here is the theatre!

Sometimes we indulge ourselves

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