Neither of my masters could help me in the least in orchestration--it was not in their line. Reicha did certainly know the capacity of most wind instruments, but I do not think he knew anything of the effect of grouping them in different ways; besides it had nothing to do with his department, which was counterpoint and fugue. Even now it is not taught at the Conservatoire. However, before being engaged at the Nouveautés I had made the acquaintance of a friend of Gardel, the well-known ballet-master, and he often gave me pit tickets for the opera, so that I could go regularly. I always took the score and read it carefully during the performance, so that, in time, I got to know the sound--the voice, as it were--of each instrument and the part it filled; although, of course, I learnt nothing of either its mechanism or compass. Listening so closely, I also found out for myself the intangible bond between each instrument and true musical expression. The study of Beethoven, Weber and Spontini and their systems; searching enquiry into the gifts of each instrument; careful investigation of rare or unused combinations; the society of _virtuosi_ who kindly explained to me the powers of their several instruments, and a certain amount of instinct have done the rest for me. Reicha’s lectures were wonderfully helpful, his demonstrations being absolutely clear because he invariably gave the reason for each rule. A thoroughly open-minded man, he believed in progress, thereby coming into frequent collision with Cherubini, whose respect for the masters of harmony was simply slavish. Still, in composition Reicha kept strictly to rule. Once I asked his candid opinion on those figures, written entirely on _Amen_ or _Kyrie eleison_, with which the Requiems of the old masters bristle. “They are utterly barbarous!” he cried hotly. “Then, Monsieur, why do you write them?” “Oh, confound it all! because everyone else does.” Miseria! Now Lesueur was more consistent. He considered these monstrosities more like the vociferations of a horde of drunkards than a sacred chorus, and he took good care to avoid them. The few found in his works have not the slightest resemblance to them, and indeed his “Quis enarrabit cœlorum gloriam” is a masterpiece of form, style and dignity. Those composers who, by writing such abominations, have truckled to custom, have prostituted their intelligence and unpardonably insulted their divine muse. Before coming to France Reicha had been in Bonn with Beethoven, but I do not think they had much in common. He set great value on his mathematical studies. “Thanks to them,” he used to say, “I am master of my mind. To them I owe it that my vivid imagination has been tamed and brought within bounds, thereby doubling its power.”