How can I thank thee, Germany, noble foster-mother to the sons of music? How express my gratitude, admiration, and regret? I know not. I can but bow before thee humbly and murmur brokenly-- “Vale Germania, alma parens!” XXVIII A COLOSSAL CONCERT When I got back to Paris, I found M. Pillet planning a revival of _Der Freyschütz_. Now, by the rules of the Opera every word must be sung and as there are spoken dialogues in Weber’s opera he engaged me to set them in the form of recitations. “It is all wrong,” I said, “but as that is the only condition on which it will be played and as, if I don’t do it, you will give it to someone who does not know Weber as I do, I accept but with one stipulation--that you change neither music nor libretto.” “Certainly,” he replied, “do you suppose I would revive _Robin des Bois_?” “Very well, then I will get to work at once. How are you arranging the parts?” “Madame Stolz, Agatha; Mdlle. Dobré, Annette; Duprez, Max.” “I bet he won’t take it,” I said. “Why not?” “You will see soon enough.” “Bouché will do well for Gaspard.” “And the Hermit?” “Oh--well--” said he, awkwardly, “you know the Hermit isn’t much use, I was going--to cut him out.” “H’m! Really? Yet you are going to act _Freyschütz_ and not _Robin des Bois_. Evidently, since we sha’n’t agree, it is better for me to retire at once for I can’t stand that sort of correction.” “Dear me! how wholesale you are in your notions. Very well, we will keep the Hermit, we will keep everything, lock, stock, and barrel.” Then my troubles began. The actors would make their recitations as slow and stately as a tragedy; Duprez,--as I foretold--although ten years before he had been a light tenor and had managed Max perfectly--found it impossible to adapt his fine tenor voice to the music and demanded all sorts of unheard-of transpositions and alterations. I cut them short by refusing to disintegrate the rôle and it was handed over to Marié. Then nothing would do but they must have a ballet, and as I could not stop it I tried to arrange a sort of scene from Weber’s _Invitation to the Waltz_; but that was not enough, so the dancers themselves took it into their heads that some bits out of my symphonies would come in nicely. Pillet agreed. I did not; and, to stop discussion, I said: “Now look here! I entirely object to introducing into _Der Freyschütz_ music that is not Weber’s. To prove that I am not unreasonable, go and ask Dessauer, who is over there; I will abide by his decision.” At Pillet’s first words Dessauer turned sharply to me: “Oh, Berlioz! don’t do that!” That ended the matter for the time and the opera was a success. But when I went to Russia they cut and chopped and gnawed it until it was simply a deformity. And _how_ they play what is left now! What a conductor! What a chorus! What utterly sleepy, disgraceful ineptitude and misinterpretation of everything by everybody!