WHEN M. MARAIS ordered a new viol, he requested that the instrument's head be fashioned after the face of his neighbor's youngest daughter, Charlotte. She sat diligently before the master craftsman as he whittled away her likeness, until M. Marais was pleased with the result and announced the portrait complete.
With the beautiful viol nestled between his thighs, he drew the bow across the strings.
It is as if you were singing, he told the girl. This is how I imagine your voice.
That is not me, Charlotte declared. That is only my face. I think I will name her Griselda.
From then on, whenever she heard the moan of the viol, Charlotte would trot next door and say hello to her face. Allo, Griselda! she would exclaim, putting M. Marais terribly out of sorts.