“There isn’t much more. When I passed the hurn to the architect I saw that he gave his vote to No. 4 instead of to you. Suddenly one of the musicians said, ‘Gentlemen, I think you ought to know that, in the second part of the score we have just heard, there is an exceedingly clever and effective piece of orchestration to which the piano cannot do justice. This ought to be taken into consideration.’ ‘Don’t tell us a cock-and-bull story like that,’ cried another musician. ‘Your pupil has broken the rules and written two quick arias instead of one, and he has put in an extra prayer. We cannot allow rules to be set at nought like this; it would be establishing a precedent.’ ‘Oh, this is too ridiculous! What says the secretary?’ ‘I think that we might pardon a _certain_ amount of licence, and that the jury should distinctly understand that passage that you say cannot be properly given by the piano.’ ‘No, no!’ cried Cherubini, ‘it’s all nonsense. There is no such clever piece of work. It is a regular jumble, and would be abominable for the orchestra.’ “Then on all sides rose the architects, painters, sculptors, etc., saying, ‘Gentlemen, for pity’s sake agree somehow! We can only judge by what we hear, and if you will not agree--’ And all began to talk at once, and it became distinctly a bore, so M. Régnault and two others marched out without voting. They counted the votes. You only got second prize.” “Thanks, Pingard, but, I say--they manage things better at the Cape Academy, don’t they?” “The Cape? Why, you know they have not got one. Fancy a Hottentot Academy!” “Well then, Coromandel?” “None there.” “Java?” “None either.” “What, no Academy at all in the East? Poor Orientals!” “They manage to get along pretty well without.” “What outer barbarians!” I bade the old usher good-bye, thinking what a blessing it would be if I could send the Academy to civilise Borneo. Two years later the Prix de Rome was mine, but poor old Pingard was dead. It was a pity. If he had heard my “Burning of the Palace of Sardanapalus” he might have stood me ... two drinks! XIV FAUST--CLEOPATRA Again I relapsed into my habitual gloom and indolence. Like a dead invisible planet I circled round that radiant sun that alas! was doomed so soon to fade into mournful oblivion. Estelle, star of my dawn, was eclipsed and lost in the noontide brilliance of her mighty rival--my overwhelming and glorious love. Although I took care never to pass the theatre, never willingly to look at Othelia’s portraits in the shop windows, yet still I wrote--receiving never a sign in reply. My first letters frightened her, and she bade her maid take her no more. The company was going to Holland, and its last nights were advertised. Still I kept away; to see her again was more than I could bear.