That’s a bit of overkill.
I tell you, we’ll discuss it...
May I take your arm?
My husband’s in a temper tonight
because I’m wearing his britches.

Chopin does not deserve to be collected.

He’s so fragile, you know he might...
What’s this? A secret?
Is he the one you came here to meet?

Mallefille, if you can’t behave,
go to your room.

I am quite marooned.
Will you... partner me?
Of course.
- "Bon appétit."
- "(all) Bon appétit."

I understand
many of you artists are atheists.

Atheists? Oh, no.
No, we feel that God exists.
He’s just not considered
worth all the trouble of denying him.

Oh, really!
The baron is baiting you.
He maintains
there is no scientific evidence of God.

And I reply “Because civilisation
has poured dust on his traces.”

God has been buried by science.
But alive!
God exists.
But he is no longer loved,
so he hides away
to conceal his broken heart.

(sympathetic murmurs)
Certainly it is difficult
to find God in our age.

And artists are the only hope.
But we shall locate him again.
We are a search party,
if you like, of orphans,

with our emotions as a lantern in the dark.
(amused murmuring)
Our greatest hope
may be Monsieur Chopin,

in whose music
we find both emotion and science