Absence of inspiration, a silence deeply marked. Trying to seize the notes that slip beyond the staff, After days without respite, without reprieve, Lying there, weary, lost within a dream…
A strange dwelling rose before my eyes. I was invited to tread the forecourt, with humble courtesy. The master of the house, perceiving all my audacity, At once gave birth to the depth of my surprise.
Into the finest room I came without a sound. There, enthroned with elegance, Stood instruments of noble craft, Arranged with finesse and harmony.
With a glance, the host invited me to follow the cadence Of his violin with its graceful tessitura. But suddenly, as if struck by a lightning brilliance, Sublimed by the notes he distilled,
I could no longer follow — I stood frozen. I had scarcely any choice but abstinence. To his frenzied virtuosity was added A frantic rhythm, forever rumbling,
Giving the illusion that space and time Might bend beneath the worn attack of the bow.
He stopped abruptly, calling his performance mediocre. I, not fully grasping what had reached my ears — Never, I believe, had I heard such a marvel!
Before suddenly bending one knee in praise, He read within me my most secret desire: To become the scribe of such beauty.
He extended his hand, with a mischievous smile, Inviting me, from that moment on, to take his place. On the single condition That I resign myself to a pact, as proof of good faith.
And with a gesture, he placed in my hand The bow with its tightened horsehair.
I awoke from the depths of my heavy lethargy Just after he had snapped his fingers. I had but one haste: to transcribe as swiftly as possible That melody, interrupted — to my deep despair.
Yet when I set myself again to writing, Though my works were crowned with success, I had lost the flavour of ordinary days.
After having, upon my lips’ edge, Tasted the magnificence of a sacred nectar, My desire now resembles a flame already consumed,
While from the kingdom of Morpheus I never cease to pursue him…
Even today that mystic moment lingers in my mind. What happened surpasses the very essence of music.
— Who was that strange incarnation? I wondered, mouth agape… If it were the devil, I would scarcely have believed it.