He was a dark, lean man, of a very
distinguished air; he must have lived very hard, he had death in his
face. He was not an artist, like the rest of us: I suspect he was a great
profligate, and a gambler; but he had the manners of a gentleman. And when
I came to talk to him, he displayed the greatest knowledge of music that
I have ever known. And it was the same with all; he talked divinely, of
everything in the world, but very wildly and bitterly. He seemed to have
been everywhere, and done everything; and at last to be tired of it all;
and of himself the most. From the people of the house I heard that he was a
Pole; noble, and very poor; and, what surprised me, that he had a daughter
with him, a little girl. I used to pity this child, who must have lived
quite alone. For the Count was always out, and the child never appeared
with him; and, for the rest, with his black spleen and tempers, he must
have been but sorry company for a little girl. I wished much to see her,
for you see, Monsieur! I am fond of children, almost as much as of music;
and one day it came about. I was at home with my violin; I had been playing
all the evening some songs I had made; and once or twice I had seemed to be
interrupted by little, tedious sounds.
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