Dusquesnel placed forty musicians at my disposal, which, under the circumstances, was a considerable expense and a great favor. Instead of writing a score for the regular orchestra--which would have produced only a paltry effect--I had the idea of having a quartet of thirty-six stringed instruments corresponding to a large orchestra. Then I added three trombones to represent the three Erinnyes: Tisiphone, Alecto and Megere, and a pair of kettle-drums. So I had my forty. I again thank that dear director for this unusual luxury of instruments. I owed the sympathy of many musicians to it and to him. As I was already occupied with an opéra-comique in three acts which a young collaborator of Ennery's had obtained for me from the manager of the theater--how my memory flies to Chantepie, vanished from the stage too early--I received a letter from du Locle, then director of the Opéra-Comique, telling me that this work, _Don César de Bazan_, must be ready in November. The cast was: Mlle. Priola, Mme. Galli Marie, already famous as _Mignon_, later the never to be forgotten _Carmen_, and a young beginner with a well trained voice and charming presence, M. Bouchy. The work was put on hastily with old scenery, which so displeased Ennery that he never appeared in the theater again. Madame Galli took the honors of the evening with several encores. The _Entr'acte Sevillana_ was also applauded. The work, however, did not succeed for it was taken off the bill after the thirteenth performance. Joncières, the author of _Dimitri_, pled my cause in vain before the Société des Auteurs, of which Auguste Maquet was president, arguing that they had no right to withdraw a work which still averaged so good receipts. They were kind words lost! _Don César_ was played no more. I recall that later on I had to re-write the whole work at the request of several provincial houses so that it might be played as they wished. The manuscript of the score (only the entr'acte was engraved) was burned in the fire of May, 1887, as was my first work. An invincible secret power directed my life. I was invited to dine at the house of Mme. Pauline Viardot, the sublime lyric tragedienne. In the course of the evening I was asked to play a little music. I was taken unawares and I began to sing a bit from my sacred drama _Marie Magdeleine_. Although I had no voice, at that age I had a good deal of go in the manner of singing my music. Now, I speak it, and in spite of the insufficiency of my vocal powers, my artists get what I mean. I was singing, if I may say so, when Mme. Pauline Viardot leaned over the keyboard and said with an accent of emotion never to be forgotten, "What is that?" "_Marie Magdeleine_," I told her, "a work of my youth which I never even hope to put on." "What? Well, it shall be and I will be your Mary Magdalene." I at once sang again the scene of Magdalene at the Cross: _O bien-aimé! Sous ta sombre couronne_....