As I think this over to-day, I understand his impression perfectly, especially when I reflect on the years I had to live before the work came to be admired. Carvalho was kind and offered me some exquisite wine, claret, I believe, like what I had tasted one joyous evening I read _Manon_.... My throat was as dry as my speech; I went out without saying a word. The next day, _horresco referens_, yes, the next day I was again struck down, the Opéra-Comique was no more. It had been totally destroyed by fire during the night. I hurried to Carvalho's. We fell into each other's arms, embraced each other in tears and wept. My poor director was ruined. Inexorable fate! The work had to wait six years in silence and oblivion. Two years before the Opéra at Vienna had put on _Manon_; the hundredth performance was reached and passed in a short time. The Austrian capital had given me a friendly and enviable reception; so much so that it suggested to Van Dyck the idea of asking me for a work. Now I proposed _Werther_. The lack of good will on the part of the French directors left me free to dispose of that score. The Vienna Opéra was an imperial theater. The management asked the Emperor to place an apartment at my disposal and he graciously offered me one at the famous Hotel Sacher beside the Opéra. My first call after my arrival was on Jahn, the director. That kindly, eminent master took me to the foyer where the rehearsals were to be held. It was a vast room, lighted by immense windows and provided with great chairs. A full length portrait of Emperor Francis Joseph ornamented one of the panels; there was a grand piano in the center of the room. All the artists for _Werther_ were gathered around the piano when Jahn and I entered the foyer. As they saw us they rose in a body and bowed in salutation. At this touching manifestation of respectful sympathy--to which our great Van Dyck added a most affectionate embrace--I responded by bowing in my turn; and then a little nervous and trembling all over I sat down at the piano. The work was absolutely in shape. All the artists could sing their parts from memory. The hearty demonstrations they showered on me at intervals moved me so that I felt tears in my eyes. At the orchestra rehearsal this emotion was renewed. The execution was perfection; the orchestra, now soft, now loud, followed the shading of the voice so that I could not shake off the enchantment. The general rehearsal took place on February fifteenth from nine o'clock in the morning until midday and I saw (an ineffable, sweet surprise) in the orchestra stalls my dear publisher, Henri Heugel, Paul Milliet, my precious co-worker, and intimate friends from Paris. They had come so far to see me in the Austrian capital amid great and lively joys, for I had really been received there in the most exquisite and flattering manner.