“Chopin is still away; they said he was very ill, but there is no truth in it. Dumas has just written an exquisite thing--_Mademoiselle de Belle Isle_--but that is out of my province. There! no more news. “My indifferentism does not extend to you and your long absence. Come back soon. It is high time you did, both for us and, I hope, for yourself too. Adieu.” In 1840 the Government proposed celebrating the tenth anniversary of the Revolution by exceptional ceremonies, and the Minister of the Interior, M. de Remusat, who, like M. de Gasparin, had a soul for music, commissioned me to write a symphony, leaving form and all details entirely to me. I planned a great symphony, on broad, simple lines, and as it was to be played in the open air where delicate orchestral effects would be lost, I engaged a military band of two hundred men. Habeneck was anxious to conduct but, remembering the snuff trick, I preferred to do my own conducting. Most fortunately, I invited a large audience to the final rehearsal, feeling sure that my work could not be properly judged on the day of performance. And so it proved. On the great Place de la Bastille, ten yards away, you could make out nothing, and to make things worse, the legions of the National Guard marched off right in the middle, to the rattle of fifty kettledrums. That is the way music is always honoured in France at public _fêtes_, apparently they think it is meant to please--the eye. Towards the end of this year I made my first musical venture out of France, as M. Snel, of Brussels, asked me to direct some of my works for the _Société de la Grande Harmonie_ in the Belgian capital. Nothing but a regular _coup d’état_ at home made the execution of this plan possible. On one pretext or another, my wife had always set her face against my leaving Paris, her real reason being a most foolish and unfounded jealousy, for which there was absolutely no cause. But constant accusations forced me, in time, to justify them and to take advantage of the position with which she credited me. Smuggling my music out of the house by degrees, I finally departed secretly, leaving a letter of explanation and, accompanied by the lady who has since been my constant travelling companion,[17] I went off to Brussels. To cut short these sad and sordid details--after many painful scenes, an amicable separation was arranged. I often saw my wife, my affection for her remained unchanged--indeed, the miserable state of her health but made her dearer to me. This is sufficient to explain my conduct to those who have only known me since that time; I shall not recur to the subject as I am distinctly not writing confessions.