I will not take up my recollections again until after that utterly terrible year. I do not want to make such cruel hours live again; I want to spare my readers their mournful tale.

CHAPTER IX

THE DAYS AFTER THE WAR

The Commune had just gasped its last breath when we found ourselves again at the family abode in Fontainebleau.

Paris breathed once more after a long period of trouble and agony; gradually calm returned. As if the lesson of that b.l.o.o.d.y time would never fade away and as if its memory would be perpetual, bits of burnt paper were brought into our garden from time to time on the wings of the wind. I kept one piece. It bore traces of figures and probably came from the burning of the Ministry of Finance.

As soon as I saw again my dear little room in the country, I found courage to work and in the peace of the great trees which spread over us with their sweetly peaceful branches I wrote the _Scenes Pittoresques_.

I dedicated them to my good friend Paladilhe, author of _Patrie_, later my confrere at the Inst.i.tute.

As I had undergone all kinds of privation for so many months, the life I was now living seemed to me most exquisite; it brought back my good humor and gave me a calm and serene mind.

On this account I was able to write my second orchestral suite which was played some years later at the Chatelet concerts.

But I went back to Paris before long, for I wanted to see, as soon as possible, the great city which had been so sorely tried. I had hardly got back when I met Emile Bergerat, the bright and delightful poet, who later became Theophile Gautier's son-in-law.

How dear a name in French letters is that of Theophile Gautier! What glory he heaped on them--that ill.u.s.trious Benvenuto of style as they called him!

Bergerat took me with him one day to visit his future father-in-law.

My sensations in approaching that great poet were indescribable! He was no longer in the dawn of life, but he was still youthful and vivacious in thought, and rich in images with which he adorned his slightest conversation. And his learning was extremely wide and varied. I found him sitting in a large armchair with three cats about him. I have always been fond of the pretty creatures, so I at once made friends with them which put me in the good graces of their master.

Bergerat, who has continued to be a charming friend to me, told him that I was a musician and that a ballet over his name would open the doors of the Opera to me. He developed on the spot two subjects for me: _Le Preneur de Rats_ (The Rat Catcher) and _La Fille du Roi des Aulnes_. The recollection of Schubert frightened me off the latter, and it was arranged that the _Rat Catcher_ should be offered to the director of the Opera.

Nothing came of it as far as I was concerned. The name of the great poet was so dazzling that the poor musician was completely lost in its brilliance. It was said, however, that I would not remain a nonent.i.ty, but that I would finally emerge from obscurity.

Duquesnel, an admirable friend, then the director of the Odeon, at the instance of Hartmann, my publisher, sent for me to come to his office at the theater and asked me to write the stage music for the old tragedy _Les Erinnyes_ by Leconte de Lisle. He read several scenes to me and I became enthusiastic at once.

How splendid the rehearsals were! They were under the direction of the celebrated artist Brindeau, the stage manager at the Odeon, but Leconte de Lisle managed them in person.

What an Olympian att.i.tude was that of the famous translator of Homer, Sophocles, and Theocritus, those geniuses of the past whom he almost seemed to equal! How admirable the expression of his face with his double eye-gla.s.s which seemed a part of him and through which his eyes gleamed with lightning glances!

How could they pretend that he did not like music when they inflicted so much of it on him, in that work at any rate? It was ridiculous. That is the sort of legend with which they overwhelm so many poets.

Theophile Gautier, who, they said, considered music the most costly of all noises, knew and liked other marvellous artists too well to disparage our art. Besides, who can forget his critical articles on music which his daughter Judith Gautier, of the Goncourt Academy, has just collected in one volume with pious care, and which are uncommonly and astonishingly just appreciations.

Leconte de Lisle was a fervent admirer of Wagner and of Alphonse Daudet, of whom I shall speak later, and had a soul most sensitive to music.

In spite of the snow I went to the country in December to shut myself up for a few days with my wife's good parents and I wrote the music of _Les Erinnyes_.

Dusquesnel placed forty musicians at my disposal, which, under the circ.u.mstances, was a considerable expense and a great favor. Instead of writing a score for the regular orchestra--which would have produced only a paltry effect--I had the idea of having a quartet of thirty-six stringed instruments corresponding to a large orchestra. Then I added three trombones to represent the three Erinnyes: Tisiphone, Alecto and Megere, and a pair of kettle-drums. So I had my forty.

I again thank that dear director for this unusual luxury of instruments.

I owed the sympathy of many musicians to it and to him.

As I was already occupied with an opera-comique in three acts which a young collaborator of Ennery's had obtained for me from the manager of the theater--how my memory flies to Chantepie, vanished from the stage too early--I received a letter from du Locle, then director of the Opera-Comique, telling me that this work, _Don Cesar de Bazan_, must be ready in November.

The cast was: Mlle. Priola, Mme. Galli Marie, already famous as _Mignon_, later the never to be forgotten _Carmen_, and a young beginner with a well trained voice and charming presence, M. Bouchy.

The work was put on hastily with old scenery, which so displeased Ennery that he never appeared in the theater again.

Madame Galli took the honors of the evening with several encores. The _Entr'acte Sevillana_ was also applauded. The work, however, did not succeed for it was taken off the bill after the thirteenth performance.

Joncieres, the author of _Dimitri_, pled my cause in vain before the Societe des Auteurs, of which Auguste Maquet was president, arguing that they had no right to withdraw a work which still averaged so good receipts. They were kind words lost! _Don Cesar_ was played no more.

I recall that later on I had to re-write the whole work at the request of several provincial houses so that it might be played as they wished.

The ma.n.u.script of the score (only the entr'acte was engraved) was burned in the fire of May, 1887, as was my first work.

An invincible secret power directed my life.

I was invited to dine at the house of Mme. Pauline Viardot, the sublime lyric tragedienne. In the course of the evening I was asked to play a little music.

I was taken unawares and I began to sing a bit from my sacred drama _Marie Magdeleine_.

Although I had no voice, at that age I had a good deal of go in the manner of singing my music. Now, I speak it, and in spite of the insufficiency of my vocal powers, my artists get what I mean.

I was singing, if I may say so, when Mme. Pauline Viardot leaned over the keyboard and said with an accent of emotion never to be forgotten,

"What is that?"

"_Marie Magdeleine_," I told her, "a work of my youth which I never even hope to put on."

"What? Well, it shall be and I will be your Mary Magdalene."

I at once sang again the scene of Magdalene at the Cross:

_O bien-aime! Sous ta sombre couronne_....

When Hartmann heard of this, he wanted to play a trick on Pasdeloup, who had heard the score not long before and who had refused it almost brutally, so he created, in collaboration with Duquesnel at the Odeon, the Concert National. The leader of the orchestra at this new popular concert was Edouard Colonne, my old friend at the Conservatoire, whom I had already chosen to conduct _Les Erinnyes_.

Hartmann's publishing house was the rendezvous for all the youngsters, including Cesar Franck whose lofty works had not yet come into their own.

The small shop at 17 Boulevard de la Madeleine became the center of the musical movement. Bizet, Saint-Saens, Lalo, Franck, and Holmes were a part of the inner circle. Here they chatted gaily and with every enthusiasm and ardor in their faith in the great art which was to enn.o.ble their lives.

The first five concerts at the Concert National were devoted to Cesar Franck and to other composers. The sixth and last was given to the full performance of _Marie Magdeleine_.

CHAPTER X