The signatures were preceded by the following lines:

_Dear Master:_

Happy at your nomination as Grand Officer of the Legion of Honor, your pupils unite in offering you this evidence of their deep and affectionate grat.i.tude.

The names of the Grand Prix of the Inst.i.tute who showed me their grat.i.tude in this way were: Hillemacher, Henri Rabaud, Max D'Ollone, Alfred Bruneau, Gaston Carraud, G. Marty, Andre Floch, A.

Savard, Croce-Spinelli, Lucien Lambert, Ernest Moret, Gustave Charpentier, Reynaldo Hahn, Paul Vidal, Florent Schmitt, Enesco, Bemberg, Laparra, d'Harcourt, Malherbe, Guy Ropartz, Tiersot, Xavier Leroux, Dallier, Falkenberg, Ch. Silver, and so many other dear friends of the cla.s.s!

Ambroise Thomas saw that I had no thought of standing for the Inst.i.tute as he had done me the honor of advising me and was good enough to warn me that I still had two days left in which to send out the letter of candidature for the Academie des Beaux Arts. He advised me to make it short, adding that the mention of t.i.tles was necessary only when one was able to ignore them. This sensible remark rather wounded my modesty....

Election day was fixed for Sat.u.r.day, November 30. I knew that there were many candidates and that first and foremost among them was Saint-Saens, whose friend and great admirer I was and always have been.

I yielded to Ambroise Thomas without the slightest expectation of being elected.

I had spent the day as usual giving lessons in the various parts of Paris. That morning, however, I had said to Hartmann, my publisher, that I should be at the house of a pupil, No. 11, Rue Blanche, that evening between five and six. And I said, laughing, that he would know where to find me to announce the result whatever it was. Whereupon Hartmann said grandiloquently, "If you are a member of the Inst.i.tute this evening, I will ring twice and you will understand me."

I was about to begin work at the piano, my mind all on my work, on the _Promenades d'un Solitaire_, by Stephen h.e.l.ler (What a dear musician, that Alfred de Musset of the piano, as they called him!) when two sharp rings of the bell sounded. My heart stopped. My pupil could not make out what was the matter.

A servant dashed in and said, "There are two gentlemen who want to embrace your professor." Everything was explained. I went with those "Messieurs," even more startled than happy, and leaving my pupil probably better pleased than I was.

When I reached home I found that I had been preceded by my new and famous colleagues. They had left their congratulations with my concierge signed Meissonier, Lefeul, Ballu, Cabanel. Meissonier had brought the report of the sitting signed by him, which showed the two votes, for I was elected on the second ballot. That was certainly an autograph the like of which I would not receive twice in my life!

A fortnight later, according to the custom, I was introduced in the Salle des Seances of the Academie des Beaux-Arts by Comte Delaborde, the permanent secretary.

A new member had to wear a black coat and a white tie, and going to the reception in dress clothes at three o'clock in the afternoon, one would have thought I was on my way to a wedding.

I took my place in the chair which I still occupy. That takes me back more than thirty-three years!

A few days later I wanted to take advantage of my privileges by attending the reception of Renan. The ushers did not know me yet, and I was the Benjamin of the Academie. They would not believe me and refused to let me in. One of my colleagues, and not the least of them, Prince Napoleon, who was going in at the same time, told them who I was.

While I was making the usual round of visits of thanks, I called on Ernest Reyer at his picturesque apartment in the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne. He opened the door himself and was much surprised to see me for he knew I must know that he had not been altogether favorable to me.

"I know," I said, "that you did not vote for me. What touched me was that you did not vote against me!" This put Reyer in good humor, for he said, "I am at lunch. Share my fried eggs with me!" I accepted and we talked a long time about art and its manifestations.

For over thirty years Ernest Reyer was my best and firmest friend.

As one might imagine, the Inst.i.tute did not sensibly modify my position. Indeed it made it somewhat more difficult, as I wanted to get on with the score of _Herodiade_, and so stopped several lessons which were my most certain sources of revenue.

Three weeks after my election a monster festival took place at the Hippodrome. More than twenty thousand people took part. Gounod and Saint-Saens conducted their own works. I had the honor of directing the finale of the third act of _Le Roi de Lah.o.r.e_. Everyone remembers the prodigious effect of that festival which was organized by Albert Vizentini, one of the best companions of my childhood.

While I was waiting in the green-room for my turn to go on, Gounod came in haloed with triumph. I asked him what he thought of the audience.

"I fancied that I saw the Valley of Jehosophat," he said.

An amusing detail was told me afterwards.

There was a considerable crowd outside and the people kept on trying to get in notwithstanding the loud protests of those already seated. Gounod shouted so as to be heard distinctly, "I will begin when everyone has _gone out!_" This amazing exclamation worked wonders. The groups which had blocked the entrance and approaches to the Hippodrome recoiled. They vanished as if by magic.

The second of the Concerts Historiques, founded by Vaucorbeil, the Director of the National Academy of Music at the time, took place at the Opera on May 20, 1880. He gave my sacred legend _La Vierge_. Mme.

Gabrielle Krauss and Mlle. Daram were the princ.i.p.als and splendid interpreters they were.

That work is a rather painful memory in my life. Its reception was cold and only one fragment seemed to satisfy the large audience which filled the hall. They encored three times the pa.s.sage which is now in the repertoire of many concerts, the prelude to Part IV, _Le Dernier Sommeil de la Vierge_.

Some years later the Societe des Concerts du Conservatoire twice gave the fourth part of_ La Vierge_ in its entirety. Mme. Ano Ackte was really sublime in her interpretation of the role of the Virgin. This success was completely satisfying to me; I had nearly said, the most precious of revenges.

CHAPTER XIV

A FIRST PERFORMANCE AT BRUSSELS

My trips to Italy, journeys devoted to following, if not to the preparation of, the successive performances of _Le Roi de Lah.o.r.e_ at Milan, Piacenza, Venice, Pisa and Trieste on the other side of the Adriatic, did not prevent my working on the score of _Herodiade_ and it was soon finished.

Perhaps such wanderings are surprising since they are so little to my taste. Many of my pupils, however, have followed my example in this regard and the reason is obvious. At the beginning of our careers we have to give hints to the orchestras, the stage manager, the artists and costumers; the why and wherefore of each scene must, oftentimes, be explained, and the tempo, as given by the metronome, is little like the true one.

I have let such things go for a long time for they take care of themselves. It is true that, since I have been known for so many years, it would be difficult to make a choice and decide where I ought to go.

And where should I begin--'twere among my keenest desires--personally to express my grat.i.tude to all the directors and artists who now know my work. As to the hints I might have given them, they have gone ahead and departures from the true rendering have become rare, much more so than in the beginning when both directors and artists ignored my wishes and could not foresee them; in short, when my works were, to them, those of an unknown.

I must recall, and I do so with sincere emotion, all I owe in the great provincial houses to those kind directors, so affectionately devoted to me: Graviere, Saugey, Villefranck, Rachet, and many others who can claim my thanks and my most grateful congratulations.

During the summer of 1879 I lived at the seash.o.r.e at Pourville near Dieppe. Hartmann, my publisher, and Paul Milliet, my collaborator, spent the Sundays with me. When I say with me, I abuse the words for I kept company but little with these excellent friends. I was accustomed to work fifteen or sixteen hours a day, sleep six hours, and my meals and dressing took the rest of the time. It is only through such tireless labor continued without ceasing for years that works of great power and scope can be produced.

Alexander Dumas, the Younger, whose modest contemporary I had been at the Inst.i.tute for a year, lived in a superb property at Puys near Dieppe. His being near often furnished me with delightful pleasures. I was never so happy as when he came for me at seven o'clock in the evening to take me to dinner. He brought me back at nine o'clock so as not to take up my time. He wanted me to have a friendly rest, and indeed it was a rest which was both exquisite and altogether delightful. It is easy to imagine what a treat the vivacious, sparkling, alluring conversation of the celebrated Academician was to me.

How I envied him then for those artistic joys which he had tasted and which I was to know later! He received and kept his interpreters at his home and made them work on their parts. At this time Mme. Pasca, the superb comedienne, was his guest.

The score of _Herodiade_ was finished at the beginning of 1881. Hartmann and Paul Milliet advised me to inform the directorate of the Opera. The three years I had given to _Herodiade_ had been one uninterrupted joy to me. They were marked by a never to be forgotten and unexpected concentration.

In spite of the dislike I have always had for knocking at the doors of a theater, I had, nevertheless, to decide to speak of this work and I went to the Opera and had an interview with M. Vaucorbeil, the Director of the National Academy of Music. Here is the conversation I was honored with:

"My dear Director, as the Opera has been in a small way my house with _Le Roi de Lah.o.r.e_, permit me to speak of a new work, _Herodiade_."

"Who is your librettist?"

"Paul Milliet, a man of considerable talent whom I like immensely."

"I like him immensely too; but with him one needs ... (thinking of a word) ... a _carca.s.sier_."

"_A carca.s.sier!_" I replied in utter astonishment; "_a carca.s.sier!_ What kind of an animal is that?"

"A _carca.s.sier_," added the eminent director, sententiously, "a _carca.s.sier_ is one who knows how to fix up in solid fashion the carca.s.s of a piece, and I may add that you are not enough of a _carca.s.sier_ in the strictest sense of the word. Bring me another work and the National Theater of the Opera will be open to you."

I understood. The Opera was closed to me, and some days after this painful interview I learned that the scenery of _Le Roi de Lah.o.r.e_ had been relegated irrevocably to the storehouse in the Rue Richer--which meant the final abandonment.

One day that same summer I was walking on the Boulevard des Capuchines, not far from the Rue Daunou; my publisher, George Hartmann, lived in a ground-floor apartment at the end of the court at No. 20 of this street.

My thoughts were terribly dark. I went along with careworn face and fainting heart deploring the deceitful promises the directors had sprinkled on me like holy water, when I was suddenly saluted and stopped by one whom I recognized as M. Calabresi, director of the Theatre Royal de la Monnaie at Brussels.