However, I thought I could compose, and began by trying arrangements of trios and quartettes that were simply chaos, without form, cohesion, or common sense. Then, quite undaunted, I listened carefully to the quartettes by Pleyel, that our music-lovers performed on Sundays, and studied Catel’s _Harmony_, which I managed to buy. Suddenly I rent asunder the veil of the inmost temple, and the mystery of form and of the sequence of chords stood revealed. I hurriedly wrote a pot-pourri in six parts on Italian airs, and, as the harmony seemed tolerable, I was emboldened to compose a quintette for flute, two violins, viola, and ’cello, which was played by three amateurs, my master, and myself. This was indeed a triumph though, unfortunately, my father did not seem as pleased as my other friends. Two months later another quintette was ready, of which he wished to hear the flute part before we performed it in public. Like most provincial amateurs, he thought he could judge the whole by a first-violin part, and at one passage he cried: “Come now! That is something like music.” But alas! this elaborate effusion was too much for our performers--particularly the viola and ’cello--they meandered off at their own sweet will. Result--confusion. As this happened when I was twelve and a half, the writers who say I did not know my notes at twenty are just a little out. Later on I burnt[1] the two quintettes, but it is strange that, long afterwards in Paris, I used the very _motif_ that my father liked for my first orchestral piece. It is the air in A flat for the first violin in the allegro of my overture to the _Francs-Juges_. III MUSIC AND ANATOMY After the death of his son, poor Imbert went back to Lyons; his place was taken by Dorant, a man of far higher standing. He was an Alsacian, and played almost every instrument, but he excelled in clarinet, ’cello, violin, and guitar. My elder sister--who had not a scrap of musical instinct, and could never read the simplest song, although she had a charming voice and was fond of music--learnt the guitar with Dorant and, of course, I must needs share her lessons. But ere long our master, who was both honest and original, said bluntly to my father: “Monsieur, I must stop your son’s guitar lessons.” “But why? Is he rude to you or so lazy that you can do nothing with him?” “Certainly not. Only it is simply absurd for me to pretend to teach anyone who knows as much as I do myself.” So behold me! Past master of those three noble instruments--flageolet, flute, and guitar! Can anyone doubt my heaven-sent genius or that I should be capable of writing the most majestic orchestral works, worthy of a musical Michael Angelo! Flute, guitar, flageolet!!! I never was any good at other instruments. Oh yes! I am wrong, I am not at all bad at the side-drums.