And Chopin's days of playing the wind spectrum month

【Amour·Milosc】

In view of his private proposal, Liszt did not set foot in his apartment for three days, even though he had passed by several times.

Three days is the best time for him to "experiment" in the process of getting along with Chopin.Not too long, not too short, just enough to make all the big and small anger of a certain Polish person be diluted by time to seem to disappear.At this time, if you just give in and make a joke, nothing is wrong.

Although the Hungarian refused to admit that his act of secretly exchanging gifts was wrong, it was the best choice he could make under certain conditions. He couldn’t just watch someone fall into the pit in horror, right?

Think about the fragile heart of your friend who can't stand surprises, and for the sake of his own safety-he doesn't want to be hit in the face by the brown-haired pianist this time, and there is no harm in asking a certain gentleman to calm down and come back.

As soon as he tiptoed into the living room, Liszt found Chopin on the sofa.

The Poles just sat there quietly, like stone statues.His soft brown hair half concealed his face.Due to the angle of view, the Hungarians cannot see the expression on his face clearly, and cannot accurately know his emotions.

Eerie silence.

Although tranquility has long been engraved in his friend's bones, he will never be like this—like, sealing himself up.

"Hey, Fred—"

Before Liszt opened his mouth, he coughed a few times, obeyed the terms of the "being a person" contract offered by his friend, and slowly moved behind him, not hesitate to throw himself into a trap to stimulate his memory.

"The gift I prepared for you... isn't it a surprise?"

Chopin only raised his head and glanced at him slightly, before returning to his own world.

Liszt, who was leaning on the back of the sofa, looked surprised. Without thinking, he made a half-circle and sat next to his friend.

"Oh, what is this, a gift? Look, Fried, Franz never makes mistakes, what a wise choice to change the score—"

The blond-haired young man became more energetic when he saw the exquisite packet on the tea table.He tugged at the sleeves of the person next to him, and opened the silk bag.

"Wait, I seem to smell a scent? Is this... gingerbread? She also gave you biscuits—never, no lady has ever given me biscuits!"

"If you like it, take it and eat it."

"Fried?"

"Including this gift, you can also take it—"

"..."

Liszt closed the opened biscuit bag, put it back on the table, and put away the exaggerated smile on his face.

The blond Hungarian who had calmed down had soft eyes. He sat there, as if he was stained with the holy light of the rose window of the church, and divinity soaked out from his blue-green eyes.If you were to put on a priestly robe at this moment, he would be the most open-minded priest in the confessional.

"If you will, my dear Fer, what happened to you and the lady . . . ?"

"What's the matter? Oh, it's nothing—"

Pole's wry smile is reflected in the lake-like eyes of Geneva.

"Frantz, she can't see anything but Chopin..."

The pupils of the blond Hungarian dilated slightly, and it was the first time he heard such a low voice from his friend.

"She'd pay for a piano fit for 'Chopin'... She'd pay a stranger for an IOU, and she wouldn't use that louis d'or that would go to 'Chopin' piano lessons...Even the biscuit, damn it 'Chopin' loves to-"

"You're angry."

"Zal, I've been sitting here all day and all night for this!"

"You, are, angry, angry."

"Ha, Franz, I'm not offended by that—I'm just tired of playing this pretend game."

"Okay, don't be angry... It seems that you are not satisfied with the gift she gave you back? I just happened to be hungry, so I will really eat this bag of biscuits if I give it to me?"

Liszt opened the soft silk pouch carelessly, and the scent of ginger came to his nostrils instantly.

He deliberately moved closer to sniff the cute snacks, and watched his friend clenched his fists with satisfaction.

As far as the Polish people's awkward little thinking, how can others not know if they don't understand?No matter how decisively you say it, you may feel so distressed in your heart.

He just can't figure it out from time to time, it's enough to stimulate him, let him vent, and coax him well.

"...I'll give you this too!"

Chopin gritted his teeth, pointed to another small gift box, stood up abruptly, and walked towards the door.

"It's so late, where are you going, Fried?"

"Go to Madame Mariani's salon, don't play the piano, just drink."

Also said you are not angry?

I never knew you were interested in wine.

Duplicity is definitely you - the best portrayal of Frederic Chopin.

However, there was such a big commotion this time?

Sure enough, after not accepting the nourishment of love for a long time, a certain person is so unfamiliar that he doesn't know how to maintain a gentleman's demeanor.

Liszt pursed his lips.He put the biscuit aside and opened another present.

His circle of friends covers most of the circle of writers in Paris, and he immediately recognized the source of the ink, Jane Hepburn's lawyer and emeralds.Just now he felt that the gift was incomprehensible, the moment he put down the ink bottle, he remembered the meeting with a certain writer in the salon yesterday——

Lawyer·True.

The blond-haired pianist reconfirmed the label of the ink. He recalled his friend's sour jealous remarks and unreasonable anger. He put down the bottle suddenly and chased it out.

Frederick, you are a fool.

All Paris, no, the stupidest one in the whole world!

……

The carriage was driving on the boulevard in Paris, even if it was paved with flat paving stones, the carriage would vibrate from time to time. After sitting for a long time, no matter how soft the cushion was, the whole body would still be sore.

Through the car window, the sky is gradually fading dark.Liszt looked at the Polish man who was so drunk and unconscious that he was out of breath.

A small bottle of Polish vodka.

Bach, Mozart, Salieri, Beethoven, Czerny, when did Fried become so drinkable?

The guy has never shown a liking for wine.

Maybe it was due to physical reasons, or maybe it was self-control as a pianist. Chopin, who only tasted light fruit wine at friends’ gatherings on weekdays, actually poured his own vodka—although he fell down after drinking it, but this situation really made Liszt rely on his strength. On the spot, the vivid "Staying Like a Chicken" was performed.

Never underestimate the power of love.

Just the beginning, Chopin is no longer Chopin.

The desolate and aloof Poles are finally willing to bow their heads and walk in the world. This perfect creation of God has begun to be stained with the smell of fireworks in the world.

Liszt was sincerely happy for his friend.

This person has always surrounded himself with a protective attitude. The sense of distance is his forte. In his elegant and courteous communication, there are very few people who are really put into the circle by him.

Perhaps, since the beginning of wandering, Chopin never thought of finding a harbor for his heart.He is always rational, and his only sorrow, anger, and joy are almost all given to Poland...

Finally, there will be someone who can detonate the emotions he has suppressed and restrained for a long time, making him want to drink and drink hard—although, in the end, in Liszt's opinion, he is completely stupid to the point of no end.

The blond pianist couldn't help laughing.He began to look forward to someone waking up, and he wanted to use his wisdom to crush that person's mouth!

O God of all love, make Chopin irrefutable - what a genius, what a sense of accomplishment.

When Liszt was proud, a hand that took off the glove suddenly flashed in front of Liszt's eyes. Through the curtain, he quickly retracted when he called the Polish name.

The turquoise lake became deeper and deeper.He stopped laughing, looked at his friend who was deeply drunk, and couldn't help sighing.

"Hmph, stupid Fried, it's a good thing I followed you."

"fool."

"Fool."

"..."

Liszt will never let go of the only opportunity to scold Chopin arrogantly, and the other party will only listen quietly and not fight back——

Just treat it as a reward for the hard work of tossing back and forth.

……

Liszt had a clear understanding of Chopin's drinking capacity.

A small bottle of vodka worked on him for almost a day, until the next evening, the blue-eyed sleeping angel woke up slowly.By the time he washed and dressed, the blond pianist was already at the dining table with red eyes and ready to go.

"Fried, you have misunderstood your 'fiancée', in front of you, she only sees you."

Chopin just sat down at the dining table, and the water glass he just picked up stopped at his mouth when these words sounded.

"It seems to me that you're the only one who's digging into a dead end—"

"You said that lady spent a lot of money for Chopin and put herself in trouble... Think about what attracted you to her in the first place, pianist, you know best how much a suitable piano is to us."

The movement of the brown-haired young man to drink water lagged for a moment.

"You said she was reluctant to part with that Chopin gold coin... I really want to ask you, who gave her this louis-go to class, what louis can't? Because you gave it to her, this foolish lady seems to be holding it Like an oracle, she wouldn't even use it for anything other than teaching."

"And there's this thing, I bet you didn't take it apart to see—"

His gray-blue eyes turned to the gift box pushed by the Hungarian. The packaging was unpacked, and two bottles of ink lay quietly inside.

His hand holding the water glass trembled.

"You don't like literature very much, but you want to wear a writer's vest—see? This lady looks at you so tenderly: Emerald, brings you good luck and health and peace; this bottle of lawyer... I only recently learned that it has an awesome meaning—may your words be as immortal as ink."

"The gingerbread you like to eat, you have to argue that it has something to do with Chopin-did she make cookies for Chopin to show you her knowledge or ability? God, where is my wise friend? Gingerbread was originally Made it for you, my François Pison—she even burned the pianist's arm that was never to be hurt for baking biscuits!"

When the cup is put back on the table, there is no way that there will be a shaking in the pianist's right hand, which almost knocks it over.

"I--"

"You're like a naive kid, you only know how to be jealous of the person you like, but you don't know that she's been watching you."

"..."

"Mr. Pisson in the vest, you are playing it off-have you forgotten that you are 'Chopin' himself! She is talking about Chopin, but her eyes and heart are looking at you... You are coldly fighting for this, and you are born Sulked, drunk—do you want to run away now?"

Chopin raised his head and looked at his friend almost blankly.

His right hand was slowly placed on his left chest, and a powerful heartbeat came from his palm.

"Admit it, Fried, you're in love—"

Liszt lifted his brilliant blond hair and smiled like a dagger in the sun.

"If you didn't see her with love, how could you be so abnormal? Even if you know, your only rival in love is yourself!"

"I don't, I'm deeply in love..."

"Tough mouth."

"Henry, Henry, call for a carriage, I'm going out soon—"

Chopin didn't want to continue the debate, and now he had more important things to do.He called out to the loyal doorman loudly towards the corridor, wishing that the carriage would stop downstairs in the next second.

"Ah, my dear Fried, come back to life at last - hello!"

Liszt amusedly watched the Pole walking up and down the room impatiently, he just paced to the sofa and lay down, and picked out a gingerbread from the small and attractive biscuit bag—he had long been This tempting ginger scent is captured, after all, a lady made it herself, the most delicious Torun gingerbread in the world.

however--

"Mr. Franz Liszt, may I remind you: this is my gingerbread."

Chopin bit off the gingerbread in Liszt's hand, and hooked the biscuit bag in his other hand with his index finger.While swallowing the still crisp gingerbread, he weighed the biscuit bag, and after finding that its weight had not changed, he pointed to the opened ink gift box on the dining table with satisfaction.

"Including my ink - restore the packaging for me, dear friend, I believe your magical fingers are not limited to the piano keyboard."

The left-behind blond pianist petrified on the sofa. He suddenly remembered an oriental vocabulary that he heard incidentally when a friend of the writer talked about the new connotation of lawyer's ink in the salon yesterday-crossing the river and tearing down the bridge.

That Pole is indeed a stubborn, awkward, ruthless guy!

The sad Liszt conjured a heart-shaped gingerbread cookie from his cuff, sprinkled with snowflake-like icing.He stared at the small biscuit, and after a while, he threw it into his mouth with a satisfied face.

Who said Chopin took everything?

Hungarians are indeed well-intentioned, but when they don't want to suffer, no one can force him.

Heh, I have established diplomatic relations with Fried for many years, what actions did I not expect from him?

Chewing snacks comfortably, Liszt closed his eyes and even clasped his fingers in front of his chest. If you don't care about his thoughts at the moment, he is almost as pious as a luminous statue.

It is indeed Chopin's favorite gingerbread.

Next time I have a chance, I must ask Miss Aurora to order a large portion, and I will eat it all in front of Fried.

Chopin held the bag of gingerbread in the carriage and prayed that he could go faster.

"Aurora, I'll see you right away."