CLAIR DE LUNE'S
The Part 24

When Clair-de-Lune was forced to stop observing Bonaventure classes, he was disappointed. But he often heard about famous artists who managed to overcome personal difficulties—the death of a friend or family, for example, on the night of the show—and they not only remained

continue the show but also put on the best game. So, he gathered strength from within himself (and sane thought that there would be other classes that Clair-de-Lune could watch) and continued his studies.

He led his class doing exercises at the barre, counting his time and listening to music in his head. (He has not yet obtained a pianist, but he is in the process of negotiating with the rats living in St. Church. Mary—pusik

even the talented ones are somewhat deaf).

He demonstrated every movement, move

back and forth, watching each disciple and fixing the position of his disciple's feet, or the way his disciple raised his hands. He had developed, for his students, his brilliant idea of the tail (an element which had not yet been

once taken into account in teaching classical ballet classes)—which he thinks should be neatly placed over the fold of the right arm when not in use, but worn as a fifth limb in such dramatic moments

the pas deux scene.

He took them to the middle of the room, and

teach the ports de bras movement,

pirouette, and pas de chat. He even experimented a bit with lifting movements. He saw the expression of his students—full of great respect and interest. And when he finally taught them to do the gesture of reverence (for the female disciple) and salute (for the male disciple); and when finally, having previously noticed

rat holes with teliri, they go one by one while saying, “Thank you, Monsieur Bonaventure!” and “See you!”, Bonaventure understands something—something very revolutionary—that has never been before

understand it.

What did Brother Inchmahome say?

Rats are the best dancers. Just need to see

a little to know it. The mouse danced with his mustache. Dancing with her tail. All their lives they dance. It is the rats that teach the people…

Is correct. People have to learn to dance. But, the rats are already good at it by themselves.

“I have to stare at the stars!” bonaventure

glee. And he took out his cloak torn from the coat hanger, looked vigilantly out of the hole, and into the empty class of Monsieur Dupoint.

The window is over there. Bonaventure

skipping along the periphery of space, skipping up from the side of the stove and jumping onto the window sills. Fortunately the window opened slightly; and the stars were already flickering in the sky. Bonaventure rest

on the window sills, looked up at the sky and sighed deeply.

He was so excited, so happy that he could barely control himself. I think he could explode so happy.

And if so, he thought, maybe I'll turn into a star. Indeed Bonaventure had read the story, where such an event occurred.

At first, she wanted to establish a dance school. Then

another dream arose, establishing a dance company. These ideals have been held for a long time.

Now he knows, not only his first goal can be achieved, the second can be achieved.

Company! Dance company for rats!

Bonaventure stared at the stars. The sky grew darker as he sat there, and more and more stars sprung up in that dark and boundless background. The sky is the stage, the sky is the stage! And, while Bonaventure sat dreaming, the stars

it swam together and became a mouse.

The rat! Wearing a beautiful costume! Their tails are elegantly draped in the right arm folds while they—yang

women on one side and the men on the other side—attract in formation, the palace dances are gleaming. Because—ya! (think Bonaventure)—now this graceful age, the age of knights and their spouses, the age enacted all etiquette

and majesty. But then (while Bonaventure stared and dreamed) the palace scene disappeared and the Rat Prince stood in the palace grounds. He ran out of the ballroom, hearing the cry of a creature

strange, and when he looked up into the sky he saw a magical bird—bird with a burning heart—fly flashed and disappeared in the darkness of night. He must follow her!

Ah, but (of course, Bonaventure thought) to

doing so he had to leave his lover, and he could not even promise to return, because this trip might kill him! Bonaventure sees a scene of pas deux: two rats dancing to each other expressing love, and parting ways with feelings of sadness. Seen the might of the Prince, and the true sacrifice of his lover—etor they also linked. Then he saw the Rat Prince set out to chase the bird with a burning heart…

Bonaventure shudder. Suddenly, in the night air, he was cold. But his head was full of stars. He jumped out of the window, went down through the stove, and rushed along the outskirts of the room and returned to his rat hole. He went to his writing table and lit a candle in front of the cross. Then he opened the top drawer. The drawer was full of candy wrapping marks, which Bonaventure had ironed slickly with small irons (made with the difficulty of a bottle cap). In this way he had collected many sheets of writing paper for the rats. He took a strand, and sat restlessly at the table to write.

...The hunt...

...Princes...

He wrote it on the top of the paper with a letter

little and dyed an empty orange seed and filled it with ink, and added it under the words:

...The dance...

...Rat Special Ballet...

And under the light of that little candle, it's too small

for humans and too small to be found in a dumpster, Bonaventure—his heart is full of love—sitting awake all night, describes

ballet dance.

# # #

Monsieur Dupoint had no idea that

the rat hole on the edge of the wall in his ballet school, there's a rat who's creating a dance. But—oday—as Bonaventure was excited to create a new ballet dance, Monsieur Dupoint was sitting in his room in the opposite building, reading a script about the dance the first time.

The script was a large, yellowed, thin-covered book and contained music and musical signs that the dancers called

notation. Under the candlelight, it looked like a scripture. Monsieur Dupoint looked at him with admiration and caution. He doubted whether the sanctity of the manuscript would give him confidence or fear.

Carefully, he flipped a page that spoke of something, then closed it again.

Seriate...