"More—much more—to you!" cried Mehul in deep emotion.
"Perhaps it is true; for when I burst the fetters of the unworthy and the base, there came to me a radiant vision from the pure, bright Grecian age. The work of holding it fast, and shaping it in the external world, is my last. And melancholy it is that a whole vigorous lifetime could not be consecrated alone to such a theme—or to yet higher ones. But I must submit in repentance and humility, for my shortcomings! I will bear it, whether these Parisians adjudge me fame and wealth, or hiss down my work."
The hour struck for the rehearsal, and Gluck, accompanied by his young friend, went to the Royal Academy of Music.
Nicolo Piccini, morose and out of humor, was walking up and down his room, glancing now and then at the manuscript of his opera that lay upon his writing-desk. At times he would go to the desk as if a happy thought had struck him, to add something to the notes; but the next instant he would let fall the pen, shake his head with a dissatisfied and melancholy air, and resume his walk through the room.
A knocking was heard; and after it was repeated twice, Piccini opened the door. Elias Hegrin came in. The composer seemed disturbed at his presence, and gloomily asked what he wanted. Hegrin answered that the Chevalier Noverre had informed him Signor Piccini wished to see him.
After a pause, Piccini admitted that he had sent for him.
"And in what can I serve my honored patron?" asked Elias.
"By speaking the truth!" sternly answered Piccini. "Confess that you spoke falsely, when you told me Gluck stirred up all his friends to make a party against me!"
Elias Hegrin changed color, but he collected himself, and answered, "I spoke the truth."
"It is false, Elias! It was the same when you told me you had read the manuscript of my adversary, and that the work hardly deserved the honors of mediocrity."