The bedroom was also very primitive: his wooden bed, with its traditional covering of bourre; a chiffonier containing his curios, royal presents, and costly souvenirs; his writing-table; and his old piano, born in 1792, on which he composed all his operas.
The piano certainly looked very old; its keys were yellow as amber, and Auber touched them with tenderness, his thin, nervous fingers, with their well-kept nails, rattling on them like dice in a box.
He said: "Le piano est presqu'aussi vieux que moi. Que de tracas nous avons eu ensemble!"
Breakfast was announced, and we three took our places at the beautifully arranged table. I wondered where the butler had found flowers and fruit and écrevisses. Mademoiselle and I ate with an astounding appetite; but Auber, who had not eaten a déjeuner for thirty years, contented himself with talking.
And talk he did, like a person hungry and thirsty to talk. He told us about Scribe, for whom he had an unlimited admiration. "I wish you had known him," he said; "he was the greatest librettist who ever existed. I only had to put the words on the piano, put on my hat, and go out. When I came back the music was all written—the words had done it alone." ("Je n'avais qu'à mettre les paroles sur le pupitre, prendre mon chapeau et sortir. Quand je revenais la musique était toute écrite, les paroles l'avaient faite toutes seules.")
He related incidents connected with his youth. His father was a banker very well off, rich even, and had destined Auber to be a banker, like himself; but when Auber went to London to commence his clerkship he found he had no vocation for finance, and began to devote himself to music and composition. He was thirty-six years old when he wrote his first opera. He told us that his first ones were so bad that he had given them to the Conservatoire pour encourager les commençants.
Breakfast had long since finished; but dear old Auber rambled on, and
Mademoiselle and I sat listening.
He said he was going to leave all his music to me in his will. I thanked him, and replied nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have something which had belonged to him.
"Je ne regarde jamais mes partitions sans être gagné par la tristesse et sans penser que de morceaux à retoucher! En composant, je n'ai jamais connu d'autre muse que l'ennui."
"On ne le dirait pas," said Mademoiselle, wanting to join the conversation. "Votre musique est si gaie, si pleine d'entrain."