“I am going to see Ferrand; we have not met for five years. You see extremes meet. He is more religious than ever and has married a woman who adores him and whom he adores.
XXI
MARRIAGE
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: