“MONSIEUR,--Your letter interests me greatly. You cannot but succeed in the glorious art you have chosen, and it would afford me the greatest pleasure to be your collaborateur. But, alas! I am too old, my studies and thoughts are turned in quite other directions. You would call me an outer barbarian if I told you how long it is since I set foot in the Opera. At sixty-four I can hardly be expected to write love songs, a requiem would be more appropriate. If only you had come into the world thirty years earlier, or I thirty years later, we might have worked together. With heartiest good wishes, “ANDRIEUX.” “_17th June 1823._” M. Andrieux kindly brought his own letter, and stayed a long time chatting. As he was leaving he said: “Ah! I, too, was an ardent lover of Gluck ... and of Piccini,[2] too!!” This failure discouraged me, so I turned to Gerono, who was something of a poetaster, and asked him (innocent that I was) to dramatise _Estelle_ for me. Luckily no one ever heard this lucubration, for my ditties were a fair match for his words. This pink-and-white namby-pamby effusion was followed by a dark and dismal thing called _The Gamester_. I was really quite enamoured of this sepulchral dirge, which was for a bass voice with orchestral accompaniment, and I set my heart on getting Dérivis to sing it. Just then the Theatre-Français advertised a benefit for Talma--_Athalie_, with Gossec’s choruses. “With a chorus,” said I, “they must have an orchestra. My scena is not difficult, and if only I can persuade Talma to put it on the programme Dérivis will certainly not refuse to sing it.” Off I posted to Talma, my heart beating to suffocation--unlucky omen! At the door I began to tremble, and desperate misgivings seized me. Dared I beard Nero in his own palace? Twice my hand went up to the bell, twice it dropped, then I turned and fled up the street as hard as I could pelt. I was but a half-tamed young savage even then! V CHERUBINI A short time after this M. Masson, choirmaster of St Roch, suggested that I should write a mass for Innocents’ Day. He promised me a month’s practice, a hundred picked musicians, and a still larger chorus. The choir boys of St Roch should copy the parts carefully, so that that would cost me nothing. I started gaily. Of course the whole thing was nothing but a milk-and-water copy of Lesueur, and--equally of course--when I showed it to him he gave most praise to those parts wherein my imitation was the closest. Masson swore by all his gods that the execution should be unrivalled, the one thing needful being a good conductor, since neither he nor I was used to handling such _vast masses of sound_. However, Lesueur most kindly induced Valentino, conductor of the opera, to take the post, dubious though he was of our vocal and instrumental legions.