And Chopin's days of playing the wind spectrum month

【lapluie[1]】

ball.

Aurora stared at the previous second and thought the address was obvious, but now she acted like her fiancé who hadn't heard anything and didn't say a word.

Originally, the girl didn't pay attention to this "hands-on" nickname—it was born from the gentleman's surname "pi". At first, it was just a homophonic coincidence that she discovered when she accidentally pronounced Francois' surname one day.In view of their long-standing relationship, she almost forgot the existence of this little nickname.

But now, being addressed by someone without knowing the purpose instantly activated this memory for her.In addition to being stimulated by the other two wandering personnel, there is no need to look forward and backward for revenge.

Ball, what a nickname for people around me.

Small, round, not aggressive at all, but it can be distant and intimate—it can be intimacy in the palm of your hand, or it can slide down in an instant to escape the hard pursuit.

The above are all beautifications in the past, but now Aurora calls him by this, and there is only a sense of pleasure when watching it jump high and high when throwing the ball on the ground to vent its anger.

"Litz, piano, piano."

Little Louis grabbed a strand of blond hair from Liszt's ear, happily pointed to the upright piano against the wall, and sat in his arms to give orders.

"Okay, okay, the piano, Liz will play for you—after all, poor Louis, the only time he wants to listen to the piano is when I'm around."

Liszt obediently carried the little guy to the piano, put the child down, and sat with him in front of the piano bench.

"Dad, guitar, too."

"Okay, Louie Max, I'm going to get the violin - it's 'Paganini', right?"

"Dad is so smart."

Berlioz ruffled the hair on the top of his son's head, motioned to the guest, and turned to go to his study.

"Sit closer, Aurora and...Francois," Liszt turned around and winked at them, "there will be an ensemble in a while, why don't you come and listen?"

"My friend, I thought that you need to use your ears, not your eyes, to listen to music?" Chopin only raised his head slightly and retorted with a smirk, "Sitting here, I'm still worried that the distance is not far enough."

"You don't want to move, so let Aurora come over. The excitement of our pianists has nothing to do with writers."

"Frantz, please allow me to remind you: the gentleman who disappeared is also a pen master?"

Aurora couldn't help sighing, just like it is common for later generations to tease Britain and France against each other, when the fiancé and the pianist meet, they will always show their sharpness.

Thanks to Liszt's well-known good temper in history, he can tolerate other people's petty temper - maybe this is the way they express their friendship, and the people around them have always been polite to them.

Seeing that the playfulness was about to escalate, Aurora suddenly asked: "Maybe, Franz, Francois, can you explain 'Paganini' to me?"

Liszt replied casually: "Oh, Aurora, that's just a guitar—a guitar given by Paganini."

Chopin snorted coldly: "Paganini's guitar is probably Mr. Berlioz's most precious possession."

"How is it possible, François, how can you forget that baton?"

"Frantz, thank you for reminding me that while Felix Mendelssohn wasn't paying attention, I traded my copper baton for a gold one... This is probably the smartest thing Hector has ever done... ..."

Once the focus of the fire was no longer on him, the Hungarian joined the Poles' team and joined him in speaking out, teasing another Frenchman without mercy.

Aurora has already begun to doubt the purpose of her coming here. The promised visit to friends is getting more and more deviated in the direction of revealing the little secrets of the musicians.

The girl reluctantly turned her eyes to the piano.

In addition to the radiant blonde pianist who was talking, she found another Liszt on the wall at a glance.

"That portrait... is Franz?" Surprised Aurora even stood up.

"That's right, that's me. Aurora, you have really nice eyes." Liszt leaned enthusiastically by the piano, pointed at the portrait, and posed with the same angle and expression as it.

The girl felt a burst of golden light hit her, almost dazzled her eyes.

"Why...why is there a portrait of Franz in Mr. Berlioz's home? It's still placed in such a conspicuous position?"

"Aurora, of course it's—"

"This is a popular '□□ offering ceremony'[2] popular in Paris!"

Chopin, who stared at the portrait coldly, became the center in an instant, and Liszt, who was full of question marks, and Aurora, who looked shocked, all focused their eyes on him.

"You know, Aurora, Hector doesn't even know how to play the piano, but he bought the piano for this portrait without hesitation, believing that it will bring him good luck..."

"Hey, François, is it a ritual to have my portrait in Chopin's house?"

"..."

"Hmph, don't deny it, dear friend, you all want to shine like me."

Seeing the fiancé who took the initiative to provoke the trouble was deflated, Aurora couldn't help hiding her face and snickering.When Berlioz came out with the guitar in his arms, the three of them started to have a heated debate on whether it was sex or auspiciousness.

The piano and guitar are not played, only the human voice is left in the room one after another.Louis jumped off the piano bench angrily, ran to the kitchen to find the hostess, and finally all the debates ended in the sound of Harriet's dinner.

……

Chopin noticed that, before taking a seat at the table, Aurora's eyes stopped on the guitar next to the piano.Although she hid it very well, that glance was like a white mist in the mountains, which would disperse when the wind blows.

But now, looking at the girl toasting, it seemed that the nostalgia and vague expectations revealed at that moment were all hallucinations.

What is the connection between guitar and Aurora?

This question lingers in the minds of young people.But he immediately chose to hide this discovery, if she didn't say it, he just remembered it.

Chopin turned his head and glanced at the two friends who were already eager to lie on the table, and his forehead began to throb again.To get the job he wanted, it is understandable for Berlioz to get drunk on the wine he presented, but what about Liszt getting dizzy from drinking?

Every time, as long as you're with the French, don't expect such a thing as an IQ from the Hungarians.

"Ah, did I see Heavenly Father? I...have a secret that I keep buried in my heart..."

Following the direction of Berlioz's toast, Chopin only saw the flame of the candelabra, the blurred circle of light drawn.

The dining table fell silent for a moment, listening to the drunken Berlioz's confession.

"That was a few years ago? I was writing a manuscript that was extremely tormenting, and suddenly someone from the publishing house came...

“They asked me to add an impromptu draft—I wanted to slam the door on them in the face until they said it would extend my deadline.

"This is simply the most beautiful voice in the world, so I wrote a pen, ignored how absurd the news was, and wrote an obituary for an innocent person with affection and grief...

"'As a writer, you must have the courage to write to death and make friends.'

"Oh, if I could go back to that moment, I'd rather rush to death than write that damn thing."

Berlioz's drunken talk made people confused, Chopin shook his head, but heard a clear sound of slapping the table.

It's Liszt.

"October 1828rd, 10, Le Corsaire [23], is that right, Hector?

"So now, you write those praises about me as compensation for confession? It turns out that the person who wrote me to death was you, my friend?"

Liszt showed his fork, and the smile on his mouth was as sharp as the reflection of the tableware.

Chopin clearly saw that someone sobered up instantly as the Hungarians approached.

The youth picked up his napkin, cleaned himself up, and it was time to end the visit.

He wanted to take Aurora out of here, he was afraid that if he stayed any longer, he and she would be infected by those two lunatics.

It would take some time until the private carriage arrived, so Chopin followed Aurora's suggestion, and the two of them took a walk along the road where the carriage came.

Perhaps it was because of the glass of wine that was left on the table, the liquid that the girl wiped out in one gulp showed its power now.The young man watched his tits swaying and frivolously, turning around him—fortunately, it was late at night, and he didn't have to worry about a car hitting her, he just needed to give her a little support when she staggered.

The slightly drunk Aurora is much more lively, and Chopin feels that she is about to become a cute little annoyance.

He was rude, and put Miss Titmouse in his arms, the owner of those dazed ambers, then calmed down a little.

"F, Francois, you too, writer, if... you will let me die in your pen?"

"..."

The more unconscious she made her question like a joke, the more he dared not answer easily while still sane.

Assuming that the identity is unknown and the identity is wrong, maybe a simple no is needed, but he feels that this answer is not enough.

pat-

Raindrops hit the ground, and the silhouette was invaded by dust.

The sparse falling drops touched the girl's hot face due to the smell of alcohol, and the coolness made her regain some clarity.

She stretched out her palm, and several drops of rain shattered on her palm in an instant.

"It's raining, François, let's go."

She took off the shawl and handed it to him as a simple rain gear to cover his head. She wrapped his arms around his waist, and started running on the silent street with him who was ignorant.

The footsteps on the street, the flapping shawls, the faint sound of the rain changed to a crescendo as they began to run.

The raindrops seem to be modified by accents, falling at the speed of 32 cent notes, just like the score of a virtuoso composer, the dense note group instantly casts a layer of warm white under the street lamp.

He was dragged by Aurora and turned into an open-air cafe. Outside the closed shop, there was only a wooden bench of unknown age.

Fortunately, the confused store forgot to close the awning, so that they finally have a place to shelter from the rain.

Chopin's body wasn't too wet, and Aurora's shawl took good care of him, and he hardly felt any moisture.

He glanced at his fiancée who was wiping his fiancée with the rain-shielding shawl. There were still water marks on her bare arms, her skirt was half wet and half muddy. To cover up her smile.

"It's good that you didn't get too wet, I—"

Her words were broken in the wiping of his handkerchief, from the eyebrows to her fingertips, without offense or shyness, until he cleared all the visible water droplets on her skin.

"Sit down, beside me."

The rain outside formed a fierce symphony, but it roared his heart into a blank.

He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to think, he didn't even know what to do next.

The coolness revealed by her skin made him at a loss, and he began to complain about why he made those boring decisions, took her away from a safe place, and accompanied her through an unnecessary storm.

He took off his coat and put it on her who was separated by a Bach distance from him.

He began to get lost in the darkness of his heart again, his smile and warmth turned into guilt and wrapped him tightly.

"It will be warmer this way."

The temperature that did not belong to him suddenly returned to his coat, his own world was broken into again, and a ray of dawn shone into his barren heart again.

The tit crawled into his arms, using his coat to hold the warmth of the two of them tightly. He had never been so close to her for a long time, as if if the rain didn't stop, she would stay here forever.

The discomfort and panting caused by running gradually returned to normal, and Chopin's hearing gradually began to drift in the rain.

The water mist in the distance renders the background dense and continuous. The rain falling on the street is an uninterrupted decomposition chord on the left hand. The water gathered in the center of the awning falls into the small puddle in front of it, and the keyboard is touched by the right hand. Make a crisp sound... The ones at a constant speed, free speed, connected, and intermittent, all fell to the ground in this rain and became his inner voice.

"I like……"

His bird whispered in his arms, without reference, but only aroused infinite reverie.

Is it Chopin, or François, or something else?

Maybe it was because of her drunkenness again, the young man looked at the sleeping girl, and his inner emotions were like the rain.

I, like... I like you.

He sighed and placed a pious kiss on her forehead.

"Aurora, you live in my five lines, and you will never...will die."

"You're in the car. It's raining a little outside, so don't come down to see me off.

"I won't take the umbrella either, in case you don't have an umbrella when you get off the car—don't worry, it's only two steps away, I'll run over, very quickly.

"Remember to change into dry clothes as soon as you get home, preferably before taking a hot shower.

"Good night, François. It was a pleasure to spend with you today."

Chopin, who was about to get up to take his fiancée home, was pushed down on the seat of the carriage by Aurora.She was very stubborn, seeing that there was only one umbrella in the car, she immediately rejected his kindness.

Perhaps there was still some residual effect of alcohol. After the girl left a lot of caring nagging, she took advantage of the moment when the young man was not paying attention, opened the car and slipped into the heavy rain.

The candlelight in the room cast a shattered orange reflection on the ground, and after lifting his skirt and jumping a few times, his tit stopped firmly in front of the door.Chopin watched her wipe the rain off her face, and waved to him to signal that she had arrived home safely, and told him to go back quickly.

But the carriage did not move, and the young man gave the order for the carriage to set off until Aurora's figure disappeared from the house.

Just as the coachman was about to raise his whip, he heard the owner in the carriage ring a bell.

He put down his whip, and leaned out towards the door while grabbing the edge of the driver's seat.

"Sir, any instructions?"

"Changing the road, don't go back...over there, go to 'No. 5 Anting Street'..."

"At your command, sir."

After the driver took off his rain hat and cleared away the rainwater accumulated at the brim of the hat, he raised his hat and said that he would turn around immediately.

Before he could put on his rain hat again, the master gave him another order.

"After sending me there, go to Liszt's residence immediately, and then bring old Henry over."

"I'll take care of it, sir, don't worry."

Chopin, who was sitting in the car, wrapped his arms around himself, and without Aurora's company, he felt that he was about to lose his body temperature.

He closed his eyes, his tightly pursed lips gradually lost their color, and the chill that rose up from his tailbone along his back made him tremble slightly.

Tonight, there will be wind and rain.

And he probably has no peace to speak of.

The author has something to say: 【Note·op.39】

[1] lapluie: French vocabulary, which means "rain".

[2] □□ Consecration ceremony: Liszt’s portraits (should mostly refer to engraved portraits) were very popular in the [-]th century, and many musicians had his portraits hanging in their homes—either on the fireplace or on the wall, Or placed next to the instrument, as if it were a kind of "****(everyone loves Liszt?)" ritual.

According to tiny details revealed in the biographies of the composers, Berlioz placed Liszt's portrait next to the piano, and Chopin's house had a portrait of Liszt on the table next to the piano (or possibly on the wall near the piano) ...This is all true, except that Berlioz bought a piano for the portrait, which is my nonsense.

In addition, Broccoli started to learn to love the bookstore at the age of 7 and worked as a guitar teacher (Mock was a piano teacher there at the time, that’s how they met), and she never learned piano and languages ​​​​other than French in her life. A letter to a certain countess mentioned that he even forgot how to play the flute and guitar after more than ten years.

[3] "lecorsaire": Berlioz began to contribute to this magazine very early.

The time and content of Liszt's obituary appearing in this magazine are all things that can be followed in history, but the author of the obituary is Berlioz's creation.

Thanks to the little angels who threw the mines: Leng Yuli, Yuyu Yuyu, Maoan Yelinglan, Yuzhen, Hyacinth 1;

感谢灌溉营养液的小天使：烈妄欢35瓶；允诺为你化作星辰,化26瓶；君小颜20瓶；dice15瓶；颜晞、闲庭花榭、比目鱼的麒麟臂、samantha、史上最强混沌恶10瓶；shadow5瓶。