"It was the truth, Signor Piccini, and I repeat my opinion of the opera of the Chevalier Gluck."
"So much the worse for your judgment! I have heard five rehearsals, and I must—ay, and will declare before all the world, that Gluck's Iphigenia is the greatest opera I know, and that in its author I acknowledge my master."
Elias stared in amazement.
"I believed I had accomplished something worthy in my own work," continued Piccini; "and, indeed, my design was pure; nor is my work altogether without merit; but oh! how void and cold, how weak and insignificant does it seem to me, compared with Gluck's gigantic creation! Yes, creation! mine is only a work! a work that will vanish without a trace; while Gluck's Iphigenia will endure as long as feeling for the grand and the beautiful is not dead in the hearts of men!"
"But, Signor Piccini," stammered Elias.
"Silence!" interrupted Piccini. "Why have you slandered the noble chevalier, and striven to bring down his works and his character to your own level? Are you not ashamed of such pitiful behavior? In spite of Noverre's recommendation, I have never fully trusted you; for I know that Noverre hated Gluck for having wounded his ridiculous vanity. But I never thought you capable of such meanness as I find you guilty of. Gluck stir up his friends to make a party against me! Look at these letters in Gluck's own hand, written to Arnaud, Rollet, Maurepas, wherein he judges my work thoroughly, dwelling upon the best parts, and entreats them to listen impartially to my opera as to his own, and to give an impartial judgment, as he is anxious only for the truth! My patron, the Comte de Provence, persuaded those gentlemen to send me these letters, to remove my groundless suspicions. I am deeply mortified that I ever condescended to make common cause with you! You have deceived me! Now, tell me, what induced you to act in this dishonorable manner toward your benefactor?"
Elias, shrunk into himself, replied in a lachrymose tone, "Ah! I am an unhappy man, and deserve your sympathy! From boyhood I heard it said at home that I had extraordinary talent for music, and would become a great composer, and win both wealth and fame. I studied zealously; my first work was praised in the town where I lived; but when I went to Vienna, I could do nothing."
"Gluck took you by the hand in Vienna, supported you, gave you instruction, and corrected your works."
"He did so; but he likewise told me I had no genius, and that I never could be a great composer."