But I must go back to Beatrice.
To my mind it is one of the liveliest and most original things I have ever done, although it is difficult—especially in the men’s parts. Unlike The Trojans it is inexpensive to mount; but they will take precious care not to have it in Paris; they are right, it is not Parisian music at all. With his usual generosity, M. Benazet paid me four thousand francs for the music and the same for the words—eight thousand in all, and gave me another thousand to conduct it the following year.
The Maidens’ duet became very popular in Germany and I remember making the Grand Duke laugh heartily about it one night at supper. He had been catechising me on my life in Paris and my revelations anent our musical world sadly disillusioned him.
“How, when and where did you write that lovely duet?” he asked, “surely by moonlight in some romantic spot——”
“Sir,” I replied, “it was one of those scenes that artists mark and store up for future use and which come forth when needed, no matter amid what surroundings. I sketched it in at the Institute during an oration of one of my colleagues.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed he, “that speaks well for the orator. His eloquence must have been great.”
Later on it was performed at one of our Conservatoire concerts and made an unheard-of sensation. Even my faithful hissers dared not uplift their voices. Mesdames Viardot and Vanderheufel-Duprez sang it deliciously, and the marvellous orchestra was dainty and graceful. It was one of those performances one sometimes hears—in dreams. The Conservatoire Society, directed by my friend, Georges Hainl, was no longer inimical to me and proposed to give excerpts from my scores occasionally. I have now presented it with my whole musical library, with the exception of the operas; it ought some day to be fairly valuable and it could not be in better hands.
I must not forget to mention the Strasburg festival, where I conducted my Childhood of Christ in a vast building seating six thousand people. I had five hundred performers, and to my surprise, this work—written almost throughout in a quiet, tender vein—made a tremendous impression, the mystic, unaccompanied chorus, “O my soul!” even causing tears.
Ah! how happy am I when my audience weeps!
I have heard since that many of my works have been given in America, Russia and Germany.