To allow the inspiration of his poetic muse, which was always so ardent and finely colored, wander at will in such a region was bound to delight the well informed mind of Catulle Mendes. Palmiki's Sanscrit poem, the Ramayana, is at once religious and epic. For those who have read that sublime poem it is more curious and greater than even the Nibelungen, Germany's epic of the Middle Ages, which traces the struggle between the family of the Nibelungen with Etzel or Attila and their consequent destruction. There is nothing exaggerated in calling the Ramayana the Iliad or Odyssey of India. It is as divinely beautiful as the immortal work of old Homer which has come down through the centuries. I knew the legend through reading and rereading it, but what I had to do in my work was to add to my thought what the words, the verses, and the situations even could not explain clearly enough to the often inattentive public. My work this time was intense, obstinate, implacable. I literally fought; I cut out, and I replaced. At last I finished _Bacchus_--after devoting many days and months to it. [Illustration: Queen Amahelly (_Bacchus_)] The cast selected by the new management at the Opera, Mm. Messager and Broussan, was as follows: Lucienne Bréval reappeared as Ariane; Lucy Arbell, in memory of her success as Perséphone was Queen Amahelly in love with Bacchus; Muratore, our Thesus, doubled in the part of Bacchus, and Gresse accepted the rôle of the fanatical priest. The new management was not yet firmly in the saddle and wanted to give our work a magnificent setting. Even as they had been previously cruel to _Le Mage_ and to our excellent director, Gailhard (which did not prevent his going back there soon afterwards, better liked than ever) now they were hard on _Bacchus_. When _Bacchus_ went on both the press and the public were undecided about the real worth of the new management. Giving a work under such conditions was running a danger a second time. I saw it, but too late; for the work, in spite of its faults, did not seem to warrant such an amount of abuse. The public, however, which lets itself go in the sincerity of its feelings, showed a very comforting enthusiasm in certain parts of the work. It received the first scene of the third act, especially, with applause and numerous recalls. The ballet in the forests of India was highly appreciated. The entrance of Bacchus in his car (admirably staged) was a great success. With a little patience the good public would have triumphed over the ill will of which I had been forewarned. One day in February, 1909, I had finished an act of _Don Quichotte_ (I will speak of that later on)--it was four o'clock in the afternoon--and I rushed to my publishers to keep an appointment with Catulle Mendes. I thought I was late, and as I went in I expressed my regret at keeping my collaborator waiting. An employee answered me in these words: "He will not come. He is dead."