The Encyclopaedia is a didactic work devoted to all fields of knowledge. It has the particularity of containing only fictional articles. Far from being a paradox, the non-verifiability of information in sciences is a common practice in the Middle Ages, think only of bestiaries. Moreover, things in there almost do not exist, but rightly so.
In the printed presentation of the Encyclopaedia, (drafted by Prof. Glaçon) one could question the classification of the articles. It may leave academics somewhat flummoxed: no index, several contradictory paginations, and the chapter headings have little (if any) link to the contents. Therefore the ensemble mosaik has taken the resolution to support the release of this website, which presents in a concise way the most useful and undisputable discoveries made the prof. Glaçon since his birth, in 2007. One might notice the presence of the ensemble mosaik itself, under cover, in some videos and articles.
Beauty.
The articles hereby are loosely connected with reality, which is a mere stock option daily report on which we agree for all practical purposes, but with imagination, namely that injunction to live which mixes memory and improvisation, reflection and gesture, photography and movement, love and the idea of love. It is this faculty alone that distinguishes us from the animal, since contrary to legend, we are not aware of our death (only of dying), but we have that of our imagination.
Here, in this encyclopaedia of imaginary music, we declare that true knowledge, especially musical knowledge, exists only in the imagination of each individual, that it is up to each individual to build it - this is a map of that field of ruins. This encyclopaedia aims to put together the debris of an omniscient childhood, scattered pieces of a puzzle whose complete image is certainly inaccessible, but from which nothing prevents us, on the strength of these fragments snatched from dreams and automatic writing, (that is to say, by stirring up our obsessions, the relics of our childhood), nothing prevents us from speculating on what music could be.
a project by ENSEMBLE MOSAIK and FRANÇOIS SARHAN
dedicated to the encyclopaedia by François Sarhan
Films with François Sarhan, Ernst Surberg, Enno Poppe, Karen Lorenz, Christian Vogel, Mathis Mayr, Niklas Seidl, Chatschatur Kanajan, Bettina Junge a.o.
François Sarhan - director, texts, music, images
Jan-Holger Hennies - camera
Arne Vierck - sound director
Bettina Junge - flute
Christian Vogel - clarinet
Chatschatur Kanajan - violin
Karen Lorenz - viola
Mathis Mayr - cello
Niklas Seidl - cello, percussion
Ernst Surberg - keyboard, piano
Design: Peter Junge / JPJunge Design
Programming: Rama Gottfried
An ensemble mosaik production, funded by the Ernst von Siemens Music Foundation.
ensemble mosaic GBR
Lehrter Str. 57 Haus 2
10557 Berlin
Phone +49 30 3903 0830
Fax +49 30 3940 8830
buero [at] ensemble-mosaik.de
Partners authorized to represent the entity:
Ernst Surberg and Bettina Junge
Tax number: 34/553/53330
Responsible for content according to
§ 55 Abs.2 RStV:
Bettina Junge (address see above)
Notice of liability: Despite careful control of the contents we do not assume any liability for the contents of external links. The operators of linked pages are solely responsible for their content.
Antoinette was a beauty: a long but fleshy girl, blonde and a bit dishevelled, rather silly but charming, and still at the age where giggling is a sign of freshness. She was, all the same, it must be said, quite a duffer. Her major problem, undeniably annoying, was this gigantic hair, black and rigid, which grew on the top of her head towards the right temple. It was useless to cut it, because it would grow back immediately, it was impossible to pull it out without hearing heart-rending screams. The reason for this was that it was largely implanted in the spine, it then ran up the skull and only emerged late on the side of the head. Medical studies have shown that Antoinette was in fact full of such huge hairs that were just looking for a way out. When she died prematurely, an autopsy, which had barely begun, had to be interrupted: the opening of the body released these hairy octopuses, a gigantic and slimy tuft, which continued to grow until the viscera and bones of the victim were completely absorbed. That would have been the end of this bizarre case if the son of the Farfuit had not (quite rightly) become infatuated with this duffer, had not had the idea of cutting off one of these hairs, and in a sort of tragic love ritual, had not had the idea of EATING it. Yes, it's disgusting, and so what? So here's the result: the kid woke up one morning with a black hair as thick as a broom sticking out of his left eye socket. Soon swollen all over, the kid threw himself under a train to escape the shame and pain. What an idiot. He would have been better off going to see his homeopath: the effectiveness is well known. Anyway. He's dead too and we don't talk about it anymore.
nothing to do with each other
The brain is the main organ in Mosaic Ensemble that serves as the center of the nervous system in all vertebrate and most invertebrate animals. It is located in the head, usually close to the sensory organs for senses such as vision, but in the case of Mosaic, no one has located it yet and this difficult task is in the hands of Atari (which by the way explains its name) . It is the most complex organ in a vertebrate's body. In a human, the cerebral cortex contains approximately 14–16 billion neurons, and the estimated number of neurons in the cerebellum is 55–70 billion. Each neuron is connected by synapses to several thousand other neurons. These neurons typically communicate with one another by means of long fibers called axons, which carry trains of signal pulses called action potentials to distant parts of the brain or body targeting specific recipient cells. Physiologically, brains exert centralized control over a body's other organs. They act on the rest of the body both by generating patterns of muscle activity and by driving the secretion of chemicals called hormones. This centralized control allows rapid and coordinated responses to changes in the environment. Some basic types of responsiveness such as reflexes can be mediated by the spinal cord or peripheral ganglia, but sophisticated purposeful control of behavior based on complex sensory input requires the information integrating capabilities of a centralized brain. The operations of individual brain cells are now understood in considerable detail but the way they cooperate in ensembles of millions is yet to be solved. Recent models in modern neuroscience treat the brain as a biological computer, very different in mechanism from an electronic computer, but similar in the sense that it acquires information from the surrounding world, stores it, and processes it in a variety of ways.
why not having a good cup of coffee RIGHT NOW?
Mr Farbou, despite the recommendations of his neighbours, bought himself a Lison-Airjet shoe. But it didn't take long for the fatal prediction to come true. First unable to open doors, then unable to sit down, Mr Farbou began to shrink until he became a small flap of flesh that rose pitifully from his Lison-Airjet. Overzealousness? Prudence? Problems with the tax office? Only time will tell.
The feet of Mr Farbou
A new archaeological site has just been discovered in the left hand of Mr Lampalle, the famous and lucky three-time Pulitzer Prize winner. It is already a big surprise to have succeeded in finding pencil marks there, which leads one to believe (it is a first hypothesis) that Mr Lampalle would not be totally deprived of literacy, that he would even have, who knows, letters. Speculators even go so far as to say that he would have written his books himself, which the person concerned has categorically denied. The most likely hypothesis, which is in any case the preferred one, is that Mr Lampalle mistook a pencil with his snout for a juicy branch, and tore it out of his mouth with his hand, pencil against palm. He would have thrown the pencil away immediately, if he d had only noticed early enough, but the irreparable act had already been committed.
Mr Lampalle as he appears to his fans all over Manhattan
Mr Rivière: "Love your bank, it wants you well!" With these cries he rushed out of the window from his credit-bought flat, unfortunately located on the first floor. He suffered a broken arm and two cracked ribs, and was given half a day off work by his employer, just enough to send for the glazier. But too much trust kills, dear public! He should never have gone out for a cigarette and left the craftsman alone. A few days later he realised that his stamp collection (a substantial part of it: the years 1922-1938) had disappeared. He shouted "Vote for me!", phoned the police, but got his feet caught in the wires, couldn't catch himself (his arm was in plaster), and drove the corner of the table into his brain quite deeply. He got up a few days later, obsessed with the desire to eat a large rib of beef. He exclaimed, "Too much tax kills tax!" Etc.
Aristide Riviere
Equipped with his half-skull, his arm in a sling, Mr Rivière swam up the Nile, convinced that he was going to sail along the Channel coast. Some hilarious natives followed him in a boat for a few kilometres, offered him help, then, weary, abandoned him to certain drowning. He lost consciousness towards Munihah, and slowly slid towards the icy and inhospitable bottom. But to his surprise, he came across his office colleagues, who had also sunk a few weeks earlier, chased by camels drawn in the dunes. They were amused by this coincidence, and alternately slapped each other on the back and thighs. What a small world, Aristide, what brings you here? Finally they decided to play a game of belote which kept them going until nightfall, which never fails to happen in these remote regions. They went to bed and late in the night one could still hear puffs of laughter and "Sacré Aristide" from both sides.
nothing to do with each other
The three fingers of Madame Fine were rather misnamed, because there were two of them, and they served her for vision, thus resembling (at least in function) eyes. It is true, however, that she had three fingers planted between her nose and forehead, but they were more commonly called "Mother Fine's quinquets".
Mrs Fine's glasses
Agnieska Ripolwska, whose real name is Simone Nicolette Urbo-Sinigre, was born in Cremona in 1293. She grew up in constant contact with the musical world, and in this economically troubled and politically unstable period, the career of a singer imposed itself, as a promise of a juicy income for the whole family. She therefore began to study singing under Suzanna Filippini-Cruci (who was none other than Filippo Anatoli-Luppi's half-sister) without showing any particular talent. Poorly endowed, she had a mediocre marriage, and her career almost remained municipal if she had not discovered exceptional talent. During a graduation recital, the audience was forced to interrupt her several times because of noises disrupting the performance: voices, laughter, and sometimes even a vague chant imitating the poor candidate. But it was impossible to detect the source of the disturbance, as the hall was well insulated and the backstage area was deserted. Some time later, the same voices were heard at the same time as Ripolwska began to sing the aria "Ah ché Grande mio Bugno", by Ulribe Fabroyuit. The audience began to protest at these untimely disturbances, which were totally inexplicable in a concert hall setting. The voices, in this case, were singing the same tune, slightly out of tune, a little before, a little after, and not very well, it must be said. When she was 25, Ripolwska performed in Milan, and there it was a small invisible choir that accompanied her, very badly, but totally absent physically. Here the critic Von Spashouchlp made his entrance: he wrote an enthusiastic article on what he considered to be a divine phenomenon. He invited the young woman to perform in a large American hall whose name we will not mention. The entire musical world was gathered that evening; rigorous acoustic tests were carried out on the isolation of the hall. Bailiffs checked the sound studies. Finally the big night arrived, and before the ripolwska had even begun to sing, a long, painful trickle of voices came from behind the stage. When she sang her favourite aria "Ah ma ché fai , tu stronso di cane", by Fyodor Putichikin, there was an incessant rumour, from which sometimes came a burst of laughter, a muffled moan, a long-suppressed complaint that seemed to find its release at last. A few years later, the phenomenon was transformed; when she sang her great number "Ah ché Grande mio Bugno", by Ulribe Fabroyuit, there were a dozen parallel voices that doubled her, accompanied her, and stopped as soon as she had finished. It should be pointed out at this point that Ripolwska, at the time she was singing, could not hear any of these voices. It seems to have been rather difficult for her to admit the strangeness of the phenomenon, but under the wise advice of Von Spashouchlp she was careful to destroy her myth. On the other hand, whether she sang well, badly, loudly, with piano or orchestra, nothing had any influence on her invisible voices. At the height of her career the voices had changed again, and there were many interpretations that tried to define the phenomenon. We will give only one, which seems to us to best circumscribe the phenomenon. When Ripolwska was 40 years old, 5 to 6 voices could be heard behind her more or less distinctly. These voices were clearly the voices of women of different ages, from the little girl to the old woman who was groaning. Finally, when she was 60, there was only one voice left, and it is said that for her last recital she was almost alone, if not for a sporadic murmur. She died in indifference in Berlin in 1499. The interpretation of the English musicologist Malcolm Mortimer Watson-Smith was that Ripolwska was accompanied by her own voice at various ages. She was gifted with a strange natural configuration to stay in touch with her own vocal stages, and singing awakened the deep layers of her brain, which immediately activated the different stages of development of her vocal organ. The fact that she gradually lost her exceptional abilities can be explained by the natural degeneration of the brain due to age. As for the chatter in her early performances, this was, according to Watson-Smith, due to the fact that she had not yet reached maturity and was still surrounded by the voices of her childhood.
nothing to do with each other
Agnieska Ripolwska, whose real name is Simone Nicolette Urbo-Sinigre, was born in Cremona in 1293. She grew up in constant contact with the musical world, and in this economically troubled and politically unstable period, the career of a singer imposed itself, as a promise of a juicy income for the whole family. She therefore began to study singing under Suzanna Filippini-Cruci (who was none other than Filippo Anatoli-Luppi's half-sister) without showing any particular talent. Poorly endowed, she had a mediocre marriage, and her career almost remained municipal if she had not discovered exceptional talent. During a graduation recital, the audience was forced to interrupt her several times because of noises disrupting the performance: voices, laughter, and sometimes even a vague chant imitating the poor candidate. But it was impossible to detect the source of the disturbance, as the hall was well insulated and the backstage area was deserted. Some time later, the same voices were heard at the same time as Ripolwska began to sing the aria "Ah ché Grande mio Bugno", by Ulribe Fabroyuit. The audience began to protest at these untimely disturbances, which were totally inexplicable in a concert hall setting. The voices, in this case, were singing the same tune, slightly out of tune, a little before, a little after, and not very well, it must be said. When she was 25, Ripolwska performed in Milan, and there it was a small invisible choir that accompanied her, very badly, but totally absent physically. Here the critic Von Spashouchlp made his entrance: he wrote an enthusiastic article on what he considered to be a divine phenomenon. He invited the young woman to perform in a large American hall whose name we will not mention. The entire musical world was gathered that evening; rigorous acoustic tests were carried out on the isolation of the hall. Bailiffs checked the sound studies. Finally the big night arrived, and before the ripolwska had even begun to sing, a long, painful trickle of voices came from behind the stage. When she sang her favourite aria "Ah ma ché fai , tu stronso di cane", by Fyodor Putichikin, there was an incessant rumour, from which sometimes came a burst of laughter, a muffled moan, a long-suppressed complaint that seemed to find its release at last. A few years later, the phenomenon was transformed; when she sang her great number "Ah ché Grande mio Bugno", by Ulribe Fabroyuit, there were a dozen parallel voices that doubled her, accompanied her, and stopped as soon as she had finished. It should be pointed out at this point that Ripolwska, at the time she was singing, could not hear any of these voices. It seems to have been rather difficult for her to admit the strangeness of the phenomenon, but under the wise advice of Von Spashouchlp she was careful to destroy her myth. On the other hand, whether she sang well, badly, loudly, with piano or orchestra, nothing had any influence on her invisible voices. At the height of her career the voices had changed again, and there were many interpretations that tried to define the phenomenon. We will give only one, which seems to us to best circumscribe the phenomenon. When Ripolwska was 40 years old, 5 to 6 voices could be heard behind her more or less distinctly. These voices were clearly the voices of women of different ages, from the little girl to the old woman who was groaning. Finally, when she was 60, there was only one voice left, and it is said that for her last recital she was almost alone, if not for a sporadic murmur. She died in indifference in Berlin in 1499. The interpretation of the English musicologist Malcolm Mortimer Watson-Smith was that Ripolwska was accompanied by her own voice at various ages. She was gifted with a strange natural configuration to stay in touch with her own vocal stages, and singing awakened the deep layers of her brain, which immediately activated the different stages of development of her vocal organ. The fact that she gradually lost her exceptional abilities can be explained by the natural degeneration of the brain due to age. As for the chatter in her early performances, this was, according to Watson-Smith, due to the fact that she had not yet reached maturity and was still surrounded by the voices of her childhood.
nothing to do with each other
Every 7 hours and 15 minutes, the male goodfish enters the courtship stage, lasting 5 to 10 seconds. During this time he must find a female, engage in the nuptial dance (1 to 2 seconds) and carry out the actual mating, in four phases: the song (1/4 of a second), the oath, the deposit of the ballot in the ballot box provided for this purpose, and counting of the results. (In poor families, the male himself does the counting). Finally, after deliberation by the female with her ascendants, the male is authorised (or not) to impregnate the female (1/2 second), and can thus disappear forever into the depths, joining the trumpets and pipes of his favourite orchestra.
the Goodeye fish on courtship, taken from the side
Nothing more.
it's a trill.
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some text about the figure
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some text about the figure
Mr. and Mrs. Müller, from Scheveningen (East Lower Saxony) are a beautiful model for the future generations of insects. They represent the efforts and success of the FAMILIA inc., the matrimonial company headed by Anatole de Parembouse: Mr Müller, this little piece of nothing fly has chosen his wife FROM THE FAMILIA CATALOGUE, and the lucky one is a piece of Mme Philippe's inner ear. With which sacrifice did they say yes to each other, without even seeing each other! Moreover, they still do not know each other, Mrs Philippe having, for mysterious reasons, refused to unveil her acoustic cornet, which nevertheless is very beautiful. We still wish them happiness and many children.
An old pic of Mr Müller, but no one is 100% sure it's not his brother, named also Mr Müller, but that some used to call Persephone.
Decided last year, when the problems with numbering were obsessing the greatest minds (let's recall the embarrassing silence of Mr de Basure in the middle of a ministerial session when, taken to task by a socialist hooligan, he didn't know which one, between 9 and 10, came first), the abolition of the 9th latitude should strongly accelerate the circulation of goods and ships, as much as it should allow us to get rid of thugs and other dangerous leftists, by sending them to this non-existent zone from which we hope they won't return.
Mr de Basure in talk with Ernest Prolitero. In these Covid times, they both had to learn french Boxing. Each of the actions were associated to a letter of the alphabet, so that they could communicate sophisticated concepts without opening the mouth. At the same time they kept fit, which in the case of Mr de Basure, was… Well you got my point. Then one must also add the beautiful expression of the gestures, their choreographical qualities which was replacing without effort the intonations of the voice. It would be interesting to text this communication technic in various fields: tax declarations, love wishes, Torah readings, etc.
The fish shop was not doing well, the competition with the butcher's shop opposite and the small supermarket next door was too tough. In the end, people preferred to go and buy a book on philosophy than to buy hake. This was evident from the heavy traffic at the bookshop in the street, while his stinking and dirty shop was always full.
nothing to do with each other
The letter LATHE was invented in England in 23 AG, to replace the letter T, which did not please the Prince Consort of the time, who was called Jeannot. After the death of the aforementioned crowned fool, the letter LATHE became a flower-insect-doubt, shamelessly imitating the long-haired penguin. But since the latter doesn't exist anyway, it was difficult for him to protest against the obvious plagiarism. Let's skip this loser and get back to the magnificent winner, the one who has now been called the LATHE HEAD, out of pride, and to show that she was no longer just a letter to be picked up and thrown away like an old handkerchief in the dustbin of history. This hybrid and duplicitous being has joined the nepenthe by sticking to its advertising bird tail, introducing the doubt necessary for any consumerist meditation. LATHES HEADS live in groups, imitating each other, but keeping a clear distance between each, in order to increase the DOUBT. They are poisonous and attract customers with their shimmering colors that recall the best moments of childhood, and it begins: the brain starts to melt, and the only cure left for the patient is to read this encyclopaedia several times.
The letter lathe
The nepenthe is a small crustacean that grows between the fingers of anyone who reads too much printed advertising. It grows in advertisements, and is visible to the naked eye, but despite its ever-changing and seductive appearance, its ingestion is toxic, as it causes listed cognitive degradations: consumerist compulsion, inability to compare, obsession with an alternative reality, mixing of implausible references, chaotic pseudo-documentation, brutal passion for all the money professions and their representatives (bankers, insurers). Note that the nepenthe spends his life in reverse. It starts out as dust, decomposition and sneezing, and gradually agglomerates into a carbonised shell, a shell that over several years fills with liquid and in which the advertisement marinates. This is where it is most dangerous! Because once it is a crustacean, it is too late, moreover this phase is very brief, one can even say that it does not exist, let us say it: it does not exist, no the nepenthe has never been and will never be a crustacean! It goes directly, yes, without transition, from the state of half shell advertisement to that of a beautiful bird with a long tail, significantly composed of small advertising placards. The nepenthe is then seen flying around the offices of advertising agencies, because they are well fed there. They don't know that they are being exploited, and that they will end up in print as crustaceans, which is their last state, the one we all know.
A rare photograph of a Nepenthe, taken by Ambreste Lampalle.
The pegantha is an informer. He talks constantly, giving a detailed description of what he saw two days before. This verbal compulsion is out of control, and annoys everyone except his colleagues, who don't listen to him, and the cops, who take advantage of it. The difficulty is that the pegantha can only say once what he has seen, in chronological order, and forgets it completely after he has said it. This fidelity and delay, known to all, was widely used before the appearance of the video which put the pegantha out of work. It was not a pleasure for him, because it was a permanent suffering for him to live with this delay, which can be explained in the simplest way possible by the excessively long path followed by the information between the eyes and the brain of the pegantha. We will give all the details in two days.
Some claim that the 3rd A of the text is a cover for a pegantha.
"Go and take the rubbish down!" Aristide Rivière dragged his feet all the way down. Reaching the top of the mountain that overlooked the beautiful industrial area of Jose-en-joli le Fourbier, Aristide contemplated himself. "O World! O River! How can you compare us! Do you measure all that you owe me, O azure with fine particles? I, richer, more complex and profound in my apparent unity than you, Universe with versatile clothes? Yet I welcome you into my bosom and accept the offering you make me by appearing before my eyes. I will remember your tumultuous torrents, your turbulent landscapes and your many temptations, one day disguised as a soft-skinned woman with eyes of flame, the next as a screaming crowd demanding to hear me!" With his eyes in the air, he did not see at his feet the snake forming in furtive letters: "Ah River how great you are! Shall I ever reach your munificence? "Where is your nest, humble devotee?" At this point in the story, dear reader, it is appropriate to give a somewhat detailed description of Aristide Riviere. He consisted of 73% old newsprint from the 1950s, an assortment of old editions of a Greek daily. These newspapers contained a wealth of valuable information, such as universal horoscopes, objectless advertisements, equivocal photographs, statements of plant battles spread over centuries. This material formed the furnishings on which Aristide's thoughts rested. It was 12% bone, 95% water, and the remaining 39% was a vague mixture of superiority complex, narcissism, greed, jealousy, disguised as dogs of various breeds that animated Aristide's bodily envelope, which outwardly resembled a balding, paunchy fifty-year-old. The mountain on which Aristide and the snake stood looked from a distance like an unkempt backyard, but a closer look would distinguish that it was in fact a moment: a fraction of time during which Aristide looked back on his printed content.
Aristide Rivière as a young man
The shell pheasant is not rare species, one finds it in abundance in the forests located at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea. Moreover, its shell is made of crepe paper, because the shell pheasant is specialized in little shows for children and paper costumes of all colours. For this reason, he is the best friend of Peef, Poof and Paf, who jump of joy when they are told of the arrival of this big slime in the middle of the playground.
A typical double of aa shell_pheasant. Pleasing the eyes, amusing children, he is the friend of the smalls ones, from 6 to 86.
Amino acids are assimilated by the body via the AACO, a federal organisation located in Washington State, which carries out a costly but necessary control of all products that pass between the mouth and the blood. Depending on the amount of animal protein, the New York exchange fluctuates, and the first value to feel the variations in the amount of amino acids is PEAUXINE HIX, but never mind. For reasons that are not yet fully understood, linked to tense international politics, amino acids can take a more complex course, one might say "blocked at the border", in political vocabulary. This is the case of Aristide Rivière, well known to these services, who sends his acids in transit via the Moskvič, in Prague, where they are subjected to a battery of tests in the descatiophone. Once they have passed this second test, the lemons and other citrus fruits compete for the Lemon Prize, which they are in a hurry to lose, as a victory means the end of the tests for them. Let's take a look at how the Lemon Prize competition works. The jury meets every second, and makes its decisions every four seconds. However, the results are announced according to a schedule that is kept secret, and considered by some to be random. No matter, the winners are chosen in the most specious way: the jury is made up of bats gathered under the roof of the St Honoré church in Paris. It covers the stone floor of the sacristy with excrement, drawing constellations that are interpreted by experts called Members of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Revolution. This complex operation explains the numerous digestive congestion of Mr Rivière. Finally, the elected amino acids change their trajectory and instead of being assimilated by the blood, they go directly to the brain, where their action is known as HALLUCINATORY-INITIATIC. But first, they will have to pass before a final commission that will give them full powers. This commission is located in the Natural History Museum in Berlin (Naturkundum Museum) and is headed by Anakoh the fish.
how amino acids look like in real life
The history of painting would be nothing without the courage of Captain Level, who took a dozen painters from the Villa Medici on his trawler, so that "they could see the sea and stop painting bullshit for five minutes". That his ship sank, that none of the painters survived, that the captain Level alone made it to shore in his boat is certainly tragic. Or not.
reader, o brother, have a serious look at this picture, and you won't feel well anymore.
Madame Frugnière's roving windows posed many problems to her lover, Le Gruff. Indeed, he couldn't push his serenade in the same place every night as his beloved's window always showed up in some unpredictable spot, where seconds earlier there had only been a dirty brick wall. As a result, his eyes peeled, he would rush to position wherever the opening, the lit balcony and his beloved's radiant smile deigned appear. His problem was to avoid trampling la Frugnière's peonies, which she loved more than Le Gruff himself, and that she planted en masse along the foot of the wall. Indeed, one stamp of the aptly-named Le Gruff's shoes could crush dozens of these unfortunate flowers. Swift punishment would follow: The balcony crackled, blinked, the furious head disappeared into its hole and Le Gruff went home to bed, his tail between his legs. When instead he managed to both sing and dance under the balcony and carefully avoid those little bloody flowers, the reward was suitably enticing: A delicate (but strong!) silken ladder unfolded gently towards his hand, wrapped around his arm and pulled him to the warm, white arms of his mistress who entranced him with the caresses so longed-for by his many hair.
