Impromptu

Aurora! Aurora!

Hear me,

O Corambe.

Corambe,

thou who art man, woman and god in one,

hear me.

I free this bird in thy name.

Come to me, sublime being.

I want to know the meaning of life.

And I want to find perfect, perfect love.

I free this lizard in thy name.

Don't be dead.

Oh, balls.

My little ritual in the woods

didn't always go smoothly,

but I was never discouraged

and I never gave up hoping for an answer.

- That won't work.

- Fish are attracted to a bright colour.

Your fish will die of fear first.

- Are you coming?

- Mallefille will come looking for us.

- We're supposed to have our lessons.

- No, he won't.

He's sleeping with Mummy.

She doesn't get up till noon.

He's not sleeping with Mummy.

She doesn't like him any more.

My love?

My soul?

My sweet?

My heart?

George?

George, please let me in.

Are you from the printers?

We've been waiting...

Madame Sand. Pardon. Please excuse...

Madame Sand is on her way up.

Don't do that!

It is rather far.

- I'll have to face her, that's all.

- Alfred!

I'll be perfectly behaved.

Even a little scornful.

No, you won't. You'll be impossible.

I don't want a scene. Now get in there.

And hurry up!

Hello, George!

I wasn't expecting you till next month.

- How are the children, the country?

- Fine.

Listen. I need another 3,000 francs.

What happened to the advance you got?

You know my expenses.

The children, the estate,

my mother's nursing home...

The divorce took half of everything.

All right. But let me have

one more instalment first.

How? I've got no place to work.

What's wrong with the country?

Mallefille is there.

The children do need a tutor, but...

I just can't

stand the sight of him any more.

I tell him outright I want him to leave

and he plainly refuses.

I'm a coward, of course. I can never

simply boot my lovers down the stairs.

- Ha!

- What?

Why don't you stay here

in Paris and write?

Because Alfred's here.

I've got to go somewhere.

Anywhere, I don't know.

Maybe I should just

curl up and die, yes?

Listen, Buloz. I need 3,000 francs now.

Let me read this... and we'll talk tonight

at the Baroness Laginsky's party.

I hadn't planned to attend.

Alfred might be there.

I know for a fact that he won't.

All right.

- What's that?

- Marvellous.

- Her memoirs? Am I in it?

- No!

This bit's about her childhood.

You'll come in later, after she chews up

her husband and a hundred others.

It's true. She's a cannibal.

She'd drink her children's blood from her

lover's skull and not feel a stomachache.

Alfred, go home.

Put it into verse, I'll publish it.

Then and only then you'll get paid.

Thanks to you

I can't go to the baroness's party.

- In fact, I'll have to leave Paris.

- No more advances.

I don't need your money, old sow.

I've had an invitation to the country.

From a duchess, no less.

Good day.

This summer dust is ruinous to my lungs.

I hope the air will be better in Angers.

The Duchess d'Antan has invited you too?

- Well, yes.

- How delightful.

Please continue, dear fellow.

- Good day, Countess.

- George!

I'm sorry I frightened you.

I had the most fearful dream.

Blandine was a terrible creature

with fly's wings

that was draining my life from me.

They are deadly little charmers.

Chromatic glissando.

The wings of a butterfly.

Or the wrath of God.

He wakes the baby,

then complains about the crying.

- How is Franz?

- He's a saint. Sublime.

He'll even stay that way

if you don't marry him.

Yes, well, there's no danger of that.

The count won't divorce me.

Since I left him, he won't even allow me

to see the children.

Well, now you've begun a new family.

Still, I prefer to be married.

I know you thumb your nose at all that.

It's funny.

I thought I'd die of suffocation

when I was married.

Now it's my freedom that's killing me.

Sophie!

Tell me, have you been invited

to Angers next week?

The Duke and Duchess d'Antan

have asked us to their estate.

Sophie! Where is that wretch? Excuse me.

Franz?

I will see you.

You're not going to Angers too? Eugene!

A whole fortnight

among some tiresome old aristocrats.

A fortnight of free food,

exquisite scenery and no bills.

And all you have to be

is brilliant at dinner.

She doesn't seem bothered

she's being eaten alive.

No.

She'd probably say

"Better to feel something than nothing."

Even if it's teeth.

Madame Sand!

Oh, what a great honour

you do my humble salon!

Delighted to meet you, Baroness. I'm

looking for my publisher, Monsieur Buloz.

He's in the salon with the others,

but you'll have to wait to go in.

I've so longed to meet you!

I knew your father when he was young.

- Really?

- Yes.

We girls were enraged

when we heard he'd married that dancer.

- You mean my mother?

- Oh... of course.

- Is she still living?

- Yes.

- But she's ill now.

- How sad.

And what a tragedy

your father died so young.

The Count de Saxe. So dashing.

Those idiots!

Excuse me.

Not yet!

Madame Sand! Is it true

that you're writing a memoir?

- Do you pray, Baroness?

- If you must know, I'm secretly devout.

- Do you ever hear an answer?

- To my prayers? Well, no.

There... is the answer.

Ah, you mean Monsieur Chopin.

How clever.

It's very rare

to hear him play, you know.

The Duchess d'Antan is having him for

a whole fortnight at her house in Angers.

I could only wish I were

a fly on the wall.

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.

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