After spending the summer in Dauphiny, copying my monodrama, I went on to Paris, hoping to give two concerts before starting on my German wanderings. Apropos of the _Chorus of Shades_ in this same composition, a rather comical thing happened in Rome. In order to have it printed it was necessary for it to pass the Papal censor. Now for this language of the dead, incomprehensible to the living, I had written pure gibberish (I have since substituted French, saving my unknown tongue for the _Damnation de Faust_) of which the censor demanded a translation. They tried a German, who could make nothing of it; an Englishman, the same; Danes, Swedes, Russians, Spaniards--equally useless. Deadlock at the censorial office! At last, after much cogitation one of the officials evolved an argument that appealed forcibly and convincingly to his colleagues: “Since none of these people understand the language, perhaps the Romans will not understand it either. In that case I think we might authorise the printing, without danger to religion or morals.” So the _Shades_ got printed. Oh reckless censors! Suppose it had been Sanscrit! * * * * * One of my first visits in Paris was to Cherubini, whom I found much aged and enfeebled. He received me with such affection that I was quite disarmed and said: “I fear me the poor man is nigh unto death!” It was not long before I found my forebodings quite uncalled for; as far as I was concerned he was as lively as ever. As my old rooms in the Rue Richelieu were let, some influence compelled me to cross the road to the house in which Miss Smithson had lived, Rue Neuve St Marc, where I found a lodging. Next day, meeting the old servant, I said: “Do you know what has become of Miss Smithson?” “Why, monsieur, she is in Paris; she only left the rooms you are in a few days ago to go to the Rue de Rivoli. She is manageress of an English theatre that is to open in a few days.” Dumfoundered, I felt that this was indeed the hand of fate. For more than two years I had heard no word of “fair Ophelia” and here I arrive in Paris at the very moment she returns from her tour in Northern Europe. A mystic might well find arguments in defence of his cult in this strange coincidence. What I said was this: “I have come to Paris to perform my monodrama. If I go to the theatre before the concert, I shall certainly have another attack of that _delirium tremens_; all volition will be taken from me; I shall be incapable of the thought and care essential to the success of my work. So first my concert, then I will see her if I die for it and will fight no more against this strange destiny.” And, despite the Shakespearian names staring at me daily from all the walls in Paris, I kept sternly to my purpose. The programme was to consist of the _Symphonie Fantastique_ followed by _Lelio_, the monodrama which is the complement of the former and is the second part of my _Episode in an Artist’s Life_.