"_Manon!_" I cried, pointing to one of Meilhac's books.

"_Manon Lescaut_, do you mean _Manon Lescaut_?"

"No, _Manon_, _Manon_ short, _Manon_, it is _Manon!_"

Meilhac had separated from Dudovic Halevy a little while before and had a.s.sociated himself with Philippe Gille, that fine, delightful mind, a tender-hearted and charming man.

"Come to lunch with me to-morrow at Vachette's," said Meilhac, "and I will tell you what I have done...."

It is easy to imagine whether in keeping this engagement I had more curiosity in my heart or appet.i.te in my stomach. I went to Vachette's and there to my inexpressible and delightful surprise I found beneath my napkin--the first two acts of _Manon_. The other three acts followed within a few days.

The idea of writing this work had haunted me for a long time. Now the dream was realized.

Although I was much excited by the rehearsals of _Herodiade_ and greatly upset by my frequent trips to Brussels, I was already at work on _Manon_ in the summer of 1881.

Meilhac went to live that summer in the Pavillion Henri IV at Saint-Germain. I used to surprise him there about five o'clock in the afternoon, when I knew the day's work would be done. Then, as we walked, we worked out new arrangements in the words of the opera. Here we decided on the Seminaire act, and, to bring off a greater contrast at the end of it, I demanded the act of Transylvania.

How pleased I was in this collaboration, in that work in which we exchanged ideas with never a clash, in the mutual desire of reaching perfection if possible.

Philippe Gille shared in this useful collaboration from time to time, and his presence was dear to me.

What tender, pleasing memories I have of this time at Saint-Germain, with its magnificent terrace, and the luxuriant foliage of its beautiful forest. My work was well along when I had to return to Brussels at the beginning of the summer of 1882. During my different sojourns at Brussels I made a delightful friend in Frederix, who showed rare mastery of the pen in his dramatic and lyric criticism in the columns of the _Independance belge_. He occupied a prominent position in journalism in his own country and was highly appreciated as well by the French press.

He was a man of great worth, endowed with a charming character. His expressive, spirituel, open countenance rather reminded me of the oldest of the Coquelins. He was among the first of those dear good friends I have known whose eyes have closed in the long sleep, alas! and who are no more either for me or for those who loved them.

Our Salome, Martha Duvivier, had continued to sing the role in _Herodiade_ throughout the new season, and had installed herself for the summer in a country house near Brussels. My friend Frederix carried me off there one day and, as I had the ma.n.u.script of the first acts of _Manon_ with me, I risked an intimate reading before him and our beautiful interpreter. The impression I took away with me was an encouragement to keep on with the work.

The reason I returned to Belgium at this time was that I had been invited to go to Holland under conditions which were certainly amusing.

A Dutch gentleman, a great lover of music, with phlegm more apparent than real, as is often the case with those Rembrandt's country sends us, made me the most singular visit, as unexpected as it well could be. He had learned that I was working on the romance of the Abbe Prevost, and he offered to install my penates at the Hague, in the very room in which the Abbe had lived. I accepted the offer, and I went and shut myself up--this was during the summer of 1882--in the room which the author of _Les Memories d'un homme de qualite_ had occupied. His bed, a great cradle, shaped like a gondola, was still there.

The days slipped by at the Hague in dreaming and strolling over the dunes of Schleveningin or in the woods around the royal residence. There I made delightfully exquisite little friends of the deer who brought me the fresh breath of their damp muzzles.

It was now the spring of 1883. I had returned to Paris and, as the work was finished, an appointment was made at M. Carvalho's. I found there our director, Mme. Miolan Carvalho, Meilhac, and Philippe Gille. _Manon_ was read from nine in the evening until midnight. My friends appeared to be delighted.

Mme. Carvalho embraced me joyfully, and kept repeating,

"Would that I were twenty years younger!"

I consoled the great artiste as best I could. I wanted her name on the score and I dedicated it to her.

We had to find a heroine and many names were suggested. The male roles were taken by Talazac, Taskin and Cobalet--a superb cast. But no choice could be made for Manon. Many had talent, it was true, and even great fame, but I did not feel that a single artist answered for the part as I wanted it and could play the perfidious darling Manon with all the heart I had put into her.

However, I found a young artist, Mme. Vaillant Couturier, who had such attractive vocal qualities that I trusted her with a copy of several pa.s.sages of the score. I made her work at them at my publisher's. She was indeed my first Manon.

They were playing at this time at Les Nouveautes one of Charles Lecocq's great successes. My great friend, Marquis de la Valette, a Parisian of the Parisians, dragged me there one evening. Mlle. Vaillant--later Mme.

Couturier--the charming artiste of whom I have spoken, played the leading part adorably. She interested me greatly; to my eyes she greatly resembled a young flower girl on the Boulevard Capucines. I had never spoken to this delightful young girl (_proh pudor_) but her looks obsessed me and her memory accompanied me constantly; she was exactly the Manon I had had in my mind's eye during my work.

I was carried away by the captivating artiste of Les Nouveautes, and I asked to speak to the friendly director of the theater, a free and open man, and an incomparable artist.

"_Ill.u.s.trious master_" he began, "what good wind brings you? You are at home here, as you know!"

"I came to ask you to let me have Mlle. Vaillant for a new opera."

"Dear man, what you want is impossible; I need Mlle. Vaillant. I can't let you have her."

"Do you mean it?"

"Absolutely, but I think that if you would write a work for my theater, I would let you have this artiste. Is it a bargain, _bibi_?"

Matters stayed there with only vague promises on both sides.

While this dialogue was going on, I noticed that the excellent Marquis de La Valette was much occupied with a pretty gray hat covered with roses pa.s.sing back and forth in the foyer.

All at once I saw the pretty hat coming towards me.

"So a debutant no longer recognizes a debutante?"

"Heilbronn!" I exclaimed.

"Herself!"

Heilbronn recalled the dedication written on the first work I had done and in which she had made her first appearance on the stage.

"Do you still sing?"

"No, I am rich, but nevertheless---- Shall I tell you?--I miss the stage. It haunts me. Oh, if I could only find a good part!"

"I have one in _Manon_."

"_Manon Lescaut_?"

"No, _Manon_. That is all."

"May I hear the music?"

"When you like."

"This evening?"

"Impossible, it is nearly midnight."

"What? I can't wait till morning. I feel that there is something in it.

Go and get the score. You will find me in my apartment (the artiste lived in the Champs elysees) with the piano open and the lights lit."

I did as she said.

I went home and got the score. Half-past four had struck when I sang the final bars of Manon's death.