As I was strolling one day in the gardens of the dismal palace of the dukes d'Este at Ferrare, I picked a branch of oleander which was just in blossom and sent it to my friend. My gift recalled the incomparable duet in the first act of _Le Tasse_. During the summer of 1893 my wife and I went to Avignon. This city of the popes, the _terre papale_, as Rabelais called it, attracted me almost as much as that other city of the popes, ancient Rome. We lived at the excellent Hotel de l'Europe, Place Grillon. Our hosts, M. and Mme. Ville, were worthy and obliging persons and were full of attention for us. That was imperative for I needed quiet to write _La Navarraise_, the act which Jules Claretie had entrusted to me and my new librettist Henri Cain. Every evening at five o'clock our hosts, who had forbidden our door all day with jealous care, served us a delicious lunch. My friends, the Provençal poets, used to gather around, and among them was Felix Gras, one of my dearest friends. One day we decided to pay a visit to Frédéric Mistral, the immortal poet of Provence who played a large part in the renaissance of the poetic language of the South. He received us with Mme. Mistral at his home--which his presence made ideal--at Millane. He showed when he talked that he knew not only the science of Form but also that general knowledge which makes great writers and makes a poet of an artist. As we saw him we recalled that _Belle d'aout_, the poetical story full of tears and terrors, then the great epic of _Mirelle_, and so many other famous works besides. By his walk and vigor one recognized him as the child of the country, but he was a gentleman farmer, as the English say; although he is not any more a peasant on that account, as he wrote to Lamartine, than Paul-Louis Courier, the brilliant and witty pamphleteer, was a cultivator of vineyards. We returned to Avignon full of the inexpressible enveloping charm of the hours we had passed in the house of this great, illustrious poet. The following winter was entirely devoted to the rehearsals of _Thaïs_ at the Opéra. I say at the Opéra in spite of the fact that I wrote the work for the Opéra-Comique where Sanderson was engaged. She triumphed there in _Manon_ three times a week. What made me change the theater? Sanderson was dazzled by the idea of entering the Opéra, and she signed a contract with Gailhard without even taking the mere trouble of informing Carvalho first. Heugel and I were greatly surprised when Gailhard told us that he was going to give _Thaïs_ at the Opéra with Sibyl Sanderson. "You've got the artist; the work will follow her!" There was nothing else for me to say. I remember, however, how bitterly Carvalho reproached me. He almost accused me of ingratitude, and God knows that I did not deserve that.