WEBVTT

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Loma wines present suspense.

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Loma wines made in California for enjoyment throughout the world.

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Salute for your health, Signor.

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Loma wines toast the world.

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The wine for your table is Loma wine, made in California for enjoyment throughout the

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world.

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This is the man in black here for the Loma wine company of Fresno, California to introduce

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this weekly half hour of suspense.

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Tonight from Hollywood, Loma wines bring you a star, Mr. Paul Muny.

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And so through Seale Fletcher's play for broadcasting called The Search for Henri Lafave, and with

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the performance of Paul Muny, we again hope to keep you in suspense.

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I had just set down the last note on paper.

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You know what it is to write a piece.

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The agony, the drudgery, the exaltation.

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A fever consumes one.

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Hours melt away at the piano.

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Time, people mean nothing.

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The world revolves around this rocking song, this tender magic.

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A heavenly feeling comes into your heart and nestles there.

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So it was with this music.

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I had just set down the last note on paper.

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I was happy and weary and full of peace.

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I lay down on the sofa to relax before Suzette brought my supper.

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There's a radio near the couch.

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That night I turned it on.

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You know what it is to feel horror, true horror, the animal thing.

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I've seen horror many times grimacing at me out of the corner of my room.

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But this time it was upon me.

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It was in my brain.

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For that music on the radio playing now was the music I had just set down on paper.

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Suzette!

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Suzette!

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Yes, Monsieur?

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Suzette, come here.

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Listen to this thing.

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You hear it, don't you?

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This is real music playing?

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Yes, Monsieur Flynn.

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The radio's playing real music.

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It is not an illusion, a hallucination of some kind of my own.

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I'm not a hallucinator.

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I'm a hallucinator.

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I'm a hallucinator.

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I'm a hallucinator.

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I'm a hallucinator.

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I'm a hallucinator.

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I'm a hallucinator.

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I'm a hallucinator.

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I'm a hallucinator.

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It's at the end of my own brain.

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No, Monsieur Flynn.

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It is real music and very pretty.

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Pretty?

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What is the matter, Monsieur?

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Is anything wrong?

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Don't you like it?

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No, no.

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Leave it on.

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Leave it alone.

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Listen to it.

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Sit there beside the radio and I shall get it for you.

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What, Monsieur?

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My score!

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Look at it.

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Note to note.

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I play my tonality, the oboe solo.

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And I thought, it's a joke.

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A joke, an incredible joke!

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Oh, monsieur, I cannot read music.

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I do not understand.

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Perhaps someone in this building has heard me play.

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But no, no, this orchestration is the same,

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and the orchestration is a secret, quiet thing that one does alone.

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Perhaps they have stolen the score.

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Someone has copied it.

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But I only finished it this afternoon.

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It has been here in a drawer and on the piano.

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Unless, unless someone else.

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There is someone else, someone like me,

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with my brain, my soul, a kind of double.

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Eh!

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It is over now, monsieur.

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Do you want me to turn it off?

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Oh, no, no.

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See what they announce.

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See what they dare to say.

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You've been listening to the Elegy for Orchestra, Opus 42, by Henri Lefebvre.

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Henri Lefebvre!

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Henri Lefebvre!

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Calm yourself, monsieur.

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Henri Lefebvre!

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Why, I've never heard of the man.

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He is an imposter, and they are liars.

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Give me the broadcasting station at once.

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She slipped out of the room,

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and I sat there staring at the freshly written pages.

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My brain was reeling.

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It was, it was my music, every little note, every turn of phrase.

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Before me, the silent radio faced me like a mocking sardonic spanks.

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Adolphus, my good fellow, what's happened?

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Monsieur Picard.

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I thought it best to bring him, monsieur.

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Your good friend.

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Did you call the broadcasting station?

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Yes, monsieur.

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And what did they say?

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They said, monsieur, oh, monsieur Picard, I'm afraid...

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They said, Adolphus, that it was a piece by Henri Lefebvre.

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An old piece, written nearly 15 years ago.

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What?

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Adolphus, dear boy, now try to be calm.

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Tell me, you composers are so temperamental.

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Sit down and try to analyze this thing from a mental viewpoint.

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15 years ago?

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But I finished it today.

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The brain is such a queer thing, Adolphus.

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And a musician's brain, that is still a puzzle to us scientists.

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Ten years ago, perhaps even 15 years ago, you heard this piece somewhere.

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Perhaps your conscious brain scarcely noted it.

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You were thinking your own thoughts,

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but your subconscious reached out and grasped it for yourself.

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And now, 15 years later...

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What are you trying to say, monsieur Picard?

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That this piece is not mine?

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That I stole it from this imposter?

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No, no, no, I assure you, my dear Adolphus,

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you've always been utterly original.

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I wrote that piece myself, do you hear?

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I tore it out bit by bit from my own creative imagination.

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If I had remembered it, even my own subconscious,

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would it have come so hard?

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It would have flowed out like a dream.

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But I had to struggle.

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I had to be gracious and disgust this coder.

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And you say it was exactly this way on the radio?

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Exactly as though they had copied out the parts in the twinkling of an eye.

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And an orchestra was reading my score.

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It's very strange, isn't it?

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The man either stole my piece somehow, or else...

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there was some terrible coincidence,

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some simultaneous crooked streak of identical inspiration

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that leaped across the world.

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Who is this Henri Lefebvre?

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I should like to know him, to confront him face to face.

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Henri Lefebvre? You've never heard of him, Adolphus?

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No.

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He was a rather famous composer in my youth,

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a writer of symphonies and operas.

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And what has happened to him? Is he still alive?

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It is an interesting question, Adolphus.

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I must confront him. Do you hear, Mr. Pigard?

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I'm convinced that there's something unreal about all this.

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Fate has played me some trick.

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There is some horrible linkage between this man and myself.

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Some string vibrating in his brain which has caused the like vibration in my own.

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I must find him.

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I must somehow break the spell.

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And supposing this Henri Lefebvre is dead or alive,

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I must discover where this music came from

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and what it meant to him

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and what it may mean to me.

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Tonight, Roma wines are bringing you a star, Mr. Paul Muny,

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whom you've heard in the prologue to The Search for Henri Lefebvre.

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Tonight's study in Suspense.

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Down in Bermuda, there's a famous club renowned for its fine food and gracious living.

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Suppose we go there now to the exclusive Carl Beach and Tennis Club

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and observe a dinner party on the terrace.

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One of the party, a North American, has just raised a toast to his host.

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As he lowers his glass, another is raised by his Bermudian friend who says,

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It has been a pleasure, my friend.

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And in a way, payment on a pleasant obligation to your United States.

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For your California has given us this superb wine in which we drink these toasts.

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So delicate, so excellent in flavor and bouquet that we imported your famous Roma wine.

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Yes, that is true, for in Roma wines, you will find the uniform qualities

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which make a wine truly magnificent.

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A delicacy so delightful, many foreign lands know Roma wines as an expensive, special occasion treat.

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But for millions of Americans, Roma wines have long been a daily pleasure

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for greater enjoyment of meals, for delighting their guests,

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a pleasure which costs you only pennies a glass.

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For you do not pay high import duties nor expensive shipping charges to enjoy this delicacy

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which brings you a combination of old world winemaking skill

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plus Roma's modern testing and quality controls.

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No wonder then that Roma wines are America's largest selling wines.

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Ask for R-O-M-A, Roma wines made in California for enjoyment throughout the world.

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And now it is with pleasure that we bring back to our sound stage our star, Paul Muny,

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and the search for Henri Lafebvre, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.

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Henri Lafebvre, born 1885 through an fran, educated at the Ecole Normale,

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fellowship student in composition, the Paris Conservatoire,

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won Prix de Rome in 1908 with a piece entitled Étude Contre Puntale,

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studied under Saint-Saens for two years,

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made first great success with performance of opera Ecdate,

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which was presented at the Paris Opera in the...

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Do you want me to go on, monsieur?

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No, no, no, these dictionaries tell you nothing.

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They make everything smell of dust and corruption.

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Has the meal come in yet?

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No, monsieur, only the package of music from the library.

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This music?

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Yes, monsieur.

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Then what are we waiting for? Give it to me.

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Henri Lafebvre, elegy, opus 42.

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Incredible to think of all those years.

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Look, Susette, the paper is already turning yellow.

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And draving is old-fashioned, and yet it's exactly...

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Adolfus.

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Yes?

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I have a letter from his publishers.

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He is still alive.

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Thank God!

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But there is some mystery about him.

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They would not give me his present address.

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What do you mean?

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They say they've not heard from him in ten years.

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His musical output has ceased.

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He submits nothing, does not answer their letters.

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Well, then how do you know he's still alive?

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They occasionally hear from Madame Lafebvre.

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Madame Lafebvre?

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He has a wife who's been living in Wynne.

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Good! We will write to her at once.

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That will not be necessary, Adolfus.

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Now calm yourself. This is the best news of all.

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Madame Lafebvre has arrived now in this very city.

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In fact, I brought her here to see you.

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Bring her up at once.

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Adolfus, I beg of you, now calm yourself.

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You'll frighten her. You must not be too hasty.

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I will not frighten her.

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I will only find out where he is.

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Or perhaps even seeing her.

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Sometimes reality shrivels everything.

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The truth becomes drab, commonplace.

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This way, Madame Lafebvre. Over here.

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Yes, Madame, this door.

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I stood quite motionless in the center of the room.

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A woman dressed in black confronted me across the waist of the polished floor.

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She was thin, middle-aged, a little stooped.

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Her pale eyes looked washed out with crying.

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Yet there was another look in them.

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A look of some drowned in monstrous terror.

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Monsieur Adolfus Wynne?

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Yes.

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I am Cécile Lafebvre.

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I have heard that you are searching for my husband, Henri?

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Yes, Madame.

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Why do you wish to see him, Monsieur?

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Why do I wish to see him?

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You have not heard of my strange predicament, Madame?

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No, I have heard nothing.

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I arrived in this country only today.

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You arrived alone?

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Yes.

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And your husband?

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My husband remained in Switzerland, Monsieur.

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Switzerland?

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Yes, Monsieur.

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He has lived there for many years.

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But why?

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I thought they said your home was the one.

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No, I was my home, Monsieur.

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My husband and I have been estranged for the last ten years.

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Oh.

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But there is much I know about my husband's work.

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If it is about that, you wish to know.

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Ten years.

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You have not seen him for ten years?

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No, Monsieur.

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You know his Opus 42, his Elegy for Orchestra?

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Yes, Monsieur.

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When did he write it?

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About fifteen years ago.

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Yes, I remember the piece well.

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I copied out the parts for him myself.

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Then you would know the music when you see it.

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Is this the piece, Madame?

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Yes, Monsieur.

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I wrote this music, Madame, a month ago.

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Out of my own head.

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Impossible, Monsieur.

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Impossible? But I tell you it is so.

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How could it be?

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This is my husband's piece.

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I remember the night he wrote it.

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Hot midsummer night.

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The windows were open.

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We could hear the bells of Rouen ringing in the hours.

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He could not sleep.

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Our little daughter had been crying.

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Your little daughter?

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Does this distress you, Monsieur?

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No, no, no. Please go on.

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He wanted to call the piece Parvin for Louise.

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After our little daughter.

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But I wouldn't let him.

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It was too sad, I said.

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And I made him call it just... just Elegy.

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But he said it was her piece.

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That he had been thinking of her crying all the time he set it down.

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It was as though all the sadness that was in his love for her had gone into the melody.

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But... but I still don't understand.

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I wrote this music out of beauty, out of spring sunshine and happiness.

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He could never understand why it was so popular.

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He didn't want to publish it.

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He hid it away saying it was like... like a premonition.

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He'd come to him like some hideous omen from another world.

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And he was right, Monsieur.

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How do you mean?

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Our little daughter Louise.

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She died a little while later.

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Madame Lefebvre?

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Yes, Monsieur. I beg your pardon for crying.

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I do not want to see your husband or hear this music ever again.

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My search has ended.

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Do you believe in ghosts, Madame?

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No, Monsieur.

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I've been through too much to believe in poor, sad ghosts.

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But I do.

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I believe that neither your husband nor myself really wrote that piece.

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There is some further horror, some demon force at work in this music.

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It captured him and it has captured me.

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Tell me, Madame Lefebvre, did your husband write any music after he wrote this piece?

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Not much more, Monsieur.

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You mean it racked his brain as it has racked mine?

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Leaving him without inspiration?

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No, no, it was not that.

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I'm not sure if you're right. He still writes.

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But nothing he has written for ten years has had any meaning.

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What do you mean?

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Monsieur, have you not already guessed the truth?

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My husband has gone mad.

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He has been mad for the last ten years, shut up in an asylum in Switzerland.

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Oh.

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I have told very few people.

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It is a form of horrible neurosis, work neurosis the doctors call it.

18:37.080 --> 18:40.080
He seems to have lost his heart.

18:40.080 --> 18:44.080
The events of his past life are meaningless to him.

18:44.080 --> 18:48.080
He has even forgotten our little dead Louise.

18:48.080 --> 18:50.080
How terrible.

18:50.080 --> 18:54.080
And now he sits in a bare room and writes music all day long.

18:54.080 --> 18:56.080
He has become a slave, a machine.

18:56.080 --> 18:59.080
They tell me that his shelf is packed with scores.

18:59.080 --> 19:02.080
But all of them are only an endless jumble of notes.

19:02.080 --> 19:06.080
Notes such as a child might scrawl across the page.

19:06.080 --> 19:12.080
And it was the music, the ghost music that did this?

19:12.080 --> 19:13.080
Who knows, Monsieur.

19:13.080 --> 19:15.080
Yes.

19:15.080 --> 19:19.080
There were seeds of madness in this thing.

19:19.080 --> 19:21.080
Even from the beginning.

19:21.080 --> 19:23.080
There was something uncanny.

19:23.080 --> 19:29.080
Why should that radio play that music just after I had finished the piece?

19:29.080 --> 19:36.080
Why should you, you a perfect stranger have come here and found me?

19:36.080 --> 19:45.080
Perhaps, perhaps I too am destined to go mad.

19:45.080 --> 19:48.080
Monsieur, believe me, people do not go mad so easily.

19:48.080 --> 19:51.080
To be destroyed as my husband was destroyed.

19:51.080 --> 19:55.080
One must have deep sadness and love.

19:55.080 --> 20:00.080
One must have human ties, a wife, a beautiful little child.

20:00.080 --> 20:03.080
You have no such ties, Monsieur.

20:03.080 --> 20:06.080
No.

20:06.080 --> 20:09.080
I have no ties.

20:09.080 --> 20:12.080
My husband went mad because he loved too much.

20:12.080 --> 20:16.080
When I looked at Louise to hide, he thought that he had killed her.

20:16.080 --> 20:19.080
She died of simple pneumonia, but he could never understand.

20:19.080 --> 20:21.080
He became insane with grief.

20:21.080 --> 20:25.080
He thought he was her murderer.

20:25.080 --> 20:34.080
Don't you see, Monsieur, you who live here alone, whose life is so quiet?

20:34.080 --> 20:37.080
Madame Lefebvre.

20:37.080 --> 20:39.080
I beg your pardon, Monsieur.

20:39.080 --> 20:44.080
I have seen you before, Madame Lefebvre.

20:44.080 --> 20:49.080
I have met you somewhere.

20:49.080 --> 20:52.080
I have heard your story.

20:52.080 --> 20:56.080
You have come here before?

20:56.080 --> 20:59.080
No, no, Monsieur. I have never come here before.

20:59.080 --> 21:02.080
Then why should your face seem so suddenly familiar?

21:02.080 --> 21:04.080
And your words?

21:04.080 --> 21:07.080
There is something uncanny about this thing, Madame.

21:07.080 --> 21:11.080
For a moment there, for a moment, I thought I knew.

21:11.080 --> 21:13.080
Knew what, Monsieur?

21:13.080 --> 21:22.080
I thought I knew you and your husband and Louise, and that I had lived.

21:22.080 --> 21:24.080
Monsieur.

21:24.080 --> 21:32.080
Perhaps, perhaps it was only in one of my nightmares, but somehow.

21:32.080 --> 21:34.080
Try to remember, please.

21:34.080 --> 21:35.080
Remember.

21:35.080 --> 21:37.080
The little house in Rouen.

21:37.080 --> 21:38.080
The stone house.

21:38.080 --> 21:39.080
Remember.

21:39.080 --> 21:40.080
The tree in the garden.

21:40.080 --> 21:42.080
The coffee on Sunday afternoons.

21:42.080 --> 21:44.080
The Bechstein piano by the window.

21:44.080 --> 21:46.080
The bedroom with the calico curtain.

21:46.080 --> 21:50.080
The little doll carriage underneath the stairs.

21:50.080 --> 21:52.080
Louise's doll carriage.

21:52.080 --> 21:55.080
Louise.

21:55.080 --> 21:58.080
Louise.

21:58.080 --> 22:02.080
What have they done to her?

22:02.080 --> 22:04.080
They have taken her away.

22:04.080 --> 22:08.080
And I, I have killed her.

22:08.080 --> 22:16.080
The little doll carriage waits at the bottom of the stairs, but she will never come back.

22:16.080 --> 22:19.080
Never come back.

22:19.080 --> 22:21.080
No, no, no.

22:21.080 --> 22:23.080
She's been dead for ten years.

22:23.080 --> 22:25.080
You must not think of her anymore.

22:25.080 --> 22:27.080
You're getting better.

22:27.080 --> 22:30.080
Dr. Picker says you are getting well.

22:30.080 --> 22:32.080
Dr. Picker?

22:32.080 --> 22:34.080
You're a doctor, Henri.

22:34.080 --> 22:36.080
What are you talking about?

22:36.080 --> 22:38.080
I?

22:38.080 --> 22:40.080
I have no doctor.

22:40.080 --> 22:42.080
Don't you see, my darling?

22:42.080 --> 22:45.080
Your long search is over.

22:45.080 --> 22:49.080
I?

22:49.080 --> 22:53.080
I am Henri Lefebvre?

22:53.080 --> 22:54.080
Yes, darling.

22:54.080 --> 22:56.080
I?

22:56.080 --> 22:58.080
Ha.

22:58.080 --> 22:59.080
Ah.

22:59.080 --> 23:03.080
Ha ha ha ha.

23:03.080 --> 23:07.080
I am shriveled old man.

23:07.080 --> 23:14.080
I locked up in the walls of a lunatic asylum for ten years writing a jumble of notes like a little child.

23:14.080 --> 23:18.080
Then who is Adolfus Flann?

23:18.080 --> 23:20.080
A name you made up, darling.

23:20.080 --> 23:22.080
A poor mad name.

23:22.080 --> 23:26.080
My symphonies are rubbish, you say?

23:26.080 --> 23:31.080
My adoring public are only shadows running across the walls.

23:31.080 --> 23:35.080
And these mountains beyond my window.

23:35.080 --> 23:37.080
These mountains.

23:37.080 --> 23:38.080
Ha ha ha ha.

23:38.080 --> 23:39.080
You are lying to me.

23:39.080 --> 23:40.080
Henri.

23:40.080 --> 23:43.080
I tell you my name is Adolfus Flann.

23:43.080 --> 23:44.080
Look, Henri.

23:44.080 --> 23:45.080
This room.

23:45.080 --> 23:47.080
These bare white walls.

23:47.080 --> 23:48.080
These bars across the window.

23:48.080 --> 23:51.080
This door one cannot open from the inside.

23:51.080 --> 23:53.080
For ten years, Henri.

23:53.080 --> 23:57.080
For ten years I have waited for a glimmer to come.

23:57.080 --> 24:00.080
For some little memory like that music.

24:00.080 --> 24:03.080
For ten years I have prayed for you every day.

24:03.080 --> 24:06.080
For ten years.

24:06.080 --> 24:09.080
While I sat here.

24:09.080 --> 24:11.080
I do not believe it.

24:11.080 --> 24:13.080
Dr. Picker.

24:13.080 --> 24:15.080
Henri, my dear fellow.

24:15.080 --> 24:16.080
You.

24:16.080 --> 24:18.080
Call me Henri too?

24:18.080 --> 24:21.080
I cannot tell you how happy I am, Madame Lefebvre.

24:21.080 --> 24:24.080
The experiment has worked beyond our fondest hopes.

24:24.080 --> 24:27.080
I've been listening to every word and you've handled it exactly right.

24:27.080 --> 24:29.080
Monsieur Picker.

24:29.080 --> 24:31.080
Am I Henri Lefebvre?

24:31.080 --> 24:32.080
Yes.

24:32.080 --> 24:36.080
I have been mad for ten years.

24:36.080 --> 24:40.080
You have deceived me for ten years.

24:40.080 --> 24:42.080
I am not Adolfus Flann.

24:42.080 --> 24:46.080
Oh, Henri, if you could have known how my heart beat.

24:46.080 --> 24:48.080
When Dr. Picker first telephoned.

24:48.080 --> 24:50.080
And now.

24:50.080 --> 24:51.080
Naturally.

24:51.080 --> 24:52.080
My poor fellow.

24:52.080 --> 24:54.080
It must be a terrible shock.

24:54.080 --> 24:57.080
After ten years one cannot be cured overnight.

24:57.080 --> 25:00.080
Rest. Much rest will be necessary.

25:00.080 --> 25:03.080
And many little talks.

25:03.080 --> 25:04.080
But you will see.

25:04.080 --> 25:06.080
In a few months.

25:06.080 --> 25:09.080
We may hope for something quite remarkable.

25:09.080 --> 25:28.080
Monsieur and Madame Lefebvre.

25:28.080 --> 25:31.080
In a few months, he said.

25:31.080 --> 25:36.080
In a few months I would be able to go back.

25:36.080 --> 25:39.080
I would take up the threads of my own life.

25:39.080 --> 25:43.080
As Henri Lefebvre.

25:43.080 --> 25:45.080
I'm still here.

25:45.080 --> 25:47.080
Here in this room.

25:47.080 --> 25:49.080
With its bare white walls.

25:49.080 --> 25:53.080
And its door that locks from the outside.

25:53.080 --> 25:56.080
I'm still here.

25:56.080 --> 25:59.080
Although I know now for sure that.

25:59.080 --> 26:03.080
My name is Henri Lefebvre.

26:03.080 --> 26:07.080
As sadness is in my heart.

26:07.080 --> 26:12.080
And a natural pain that I can never conquer.

26:12.080 --> 26:14.080
War has come back.

26:14.080 --> 26:16.080
The stone house.

26:16.080 --> 26:20.080
The little doll carriage underneath the stairs.

26:20.080 --> 26:25.080
And my arms ache with longing for a little dead child.

26:25.080 --> 26:29.080
With long honey colored hair.

26:29.080 --> 26:32.080
There's no music in me now.

26:32.080 --> 26:35.080
No music save that one tune.

26:35.080 --> 26:39.080
Which sings in my head all day long.

26:39.080 --> 26:43.080
My parven for Louise.

26:43.080 --> 26:46.080
If I could only get it out of my mind.

26:46.080 --> 26:50.080
I might be able to work again.

26:50.080 --> 26:53.080
I might be happy as I once was happy.

26:53.080 --> 26:55.080
I might look out of my window.

26:55.080 --> 27:00.080
And find a symphony in the sunset on the mountains.

27:00.080 --> 27:04.080
That is why I will not go back.

27:04.080 --> 27:07.080
I will not leave this room.

27:07.080 --> 27:10.080
Until I find him again.

27:10.080 --> 27:13.080
Until I find.

27:13.080 --> 27:36.080
Adolphus Fleck.

27:36.080 --> 27:41.080
And so closes the search for Henri Lefebvre by Lucille Fletcher starring Paul Muny.

27:41.080 --> 27:44.080
Tonight's tale of suspense.

27:44.080 --> 27:48.080
Suspense is produced and directed by William Spear.

27:48.080 --> 27:50.080
Roma wine makes every meal taste better.

27:50.080 --> 27:58.080
That's the proven experience of those who have discovered the flavor complementing magic of these superbly delightful yet inexpensive wines.

27:58.080 --> 28:02.080
For a new mealtime thrill, try serving food with Roma wines.

28:02.080 --> 28:05.080
Whether it be fish, meat or poultry.

28:05.080 --> 28:09.080
Then simply place the bottle well chilled on the table with the meal.

28:09.080 --> 28:11.080
Serve it in any kind of glass.

28:11.080 --> 28:18.080
Once you taste the addition these delightful wines bring to the zest and savoriness of even the simplest dishes.

28:18.080 --> 28:21.080
You'll wonder why you've ever done without Roma wines.

28:21.080 --> 28:30.080
Remember it costs you only pennies a glass to add the marvelous flavor complementing magic of Roma wines to your daily meals.

28:30.080 --> 28:34.080
Ask for R.O.M.A. Roma wines.

28:34.080 --> 28:37.080
America's largest selling wines.

28:37.080 --> 28:39.080
Made in California.

28:39.080 --> 28:43.080
For enjoyment throughout the world.

28:43.080 --> 28:44.080
This is Paul Muny.

28:44.080 --> 28:51.080
It's been a great pleasure to appear in this distinguished radio play theater which is devoted to the art of suspense.

28:51.080 --> 28:56.080
I should like to pass along to you the information that I just gleaned from Mr. Spear.

28:56.080 --> 29:01.080
The next week at the same time my friend Mr. Herbert Marshall will be your star.

29:01.080 --> 29:07.080
In that very extraordinary novel of vengeance and retribution called The Beast Must Die.

29:07.080 --> 29:09.080
And one more word.

29:09.080 --> 29:12.080
You've been hearing a great deal about the fifth war loan drive.

29:12.080 --> 29:17.080
It may sound to you as though we on the radio are being a little overly insistent about it.

29:17.080 --> 29:19.080
Well we are being insistent.

29:19.080 --> 29:21.080
You must listen.

29:21.080 --> 29:23.080
You must respond.

29:23.080 --> 29:26.080
Buy an extra war bond tomorrow.

29:26.080 --> 29:32.080
And on Thursday same time you will hear Herbert Marshall as star of suspense.

29:32.080 --> 29:35.080
Presented by Roma wines R.O.M.A.

29:35.080 --> 29:40.080
Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world.

29:40.080 --> 29:56.080
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.

