If I was surprised and stupefied, what would be the feelings of those who were used to seeing me put on the stage Manon, Sapho, Thaïs and other lovable ladies. That was true, but in that they would forget that the most sublime of women, the Virgin, was bound to sustain me in my work, even as she showed herself charitable to the repentant Juggler.
I had scarcely run through the first scenes, when I felt that I was face to face with the work of a true poet who was familiar with the archaism of the literature of the Middle Ages. The manuscript bore no author's name.
I wrote to my concierge to find out the origin of this mysterious package, and he told me that the author had left his name and address with explicit instructions not to divulge them to me unless and until I had agreed to write the music for the work.
The title Le Jongleur de Notre Dame followed by the sub-title "Miracle in Three Acts" enchanted me.
The character of my home, a relic of the same Middle Ages, the surroundings in which I found myself at Égreville, were exactly suited to give me the desired atmosphere for my work.
The score was finished and the time came to communicate with my unknown.
At last I learned his name and address and wrote to him.
There is no doubt about the joy with which I did so, for the author was none other than Maurice Léna, the devoted friend I had known at Lyons where he held the chair of Philosophy.
My dear Léna then came to Égreville on August 14, 1900. We hurried to my place from the little station. We found in my room spread out on the large table (I flatter myself it was a famous table for it had belonged to the illustrious Diderot) the engraved piano and vocal score for Le Jongleur de Notre Dame.
Léna was dumbfounded at sight of it. He was choked by the most delightful of emotions.