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from Contes Cruels (1883, 1927 ed.)
Translated by Hamish Miles
[To M. RICHARD WAGNER]
It was the audition day at the National Academy of Music. The heads of the institution had just decided on putting into rehearsal a work which they owed to a certain German composer (whose name, since forgotten, happily escapes us!); and this foreign master, if credence must be given to certain notes in the Revue des Deux Mondes, was nothing less than the promoter of a "new" music! That day, accordingly, the executants from the Opera were assembled only with the object of getting some ideas about it, as they say, by deciphering the score of the presumptuous innovator. The moment was a grave one. The director appeared on the stage and handed the leader of the orchestra the voluminous score under dispute. The latter opened it, cast an eye over it, shuddered, and declared that the work appeared to him to be impossible to perform at the Academy of Music of Paris. "Explain yourself," said the director. "Gentlemen," said the leader, "France could never take it on herself to mutilate by a faulty execution the conception of a composer to whatever nation he may belong. Well, among the orchestral parts specified by the writer, there figures a military instrument which has to-day fallen into total disuse, and no longer has any executant among us. This instrument, which delighted our fathers, enjoyed in its day the name of the Chinese Bells, [Chapeau-chinois in the original French] I conclude, therefore, that the complete disappearance of the Chinese Bells in France forces us to decline, though with the utmost regret, the honour of this interpretation." This speech had plunged the body of listeners into that state which physiologists describe as "comatose." The Chinese Bells!! The most venerable could barely remember having heard them in their childhood. But they would have found it hard, at the present day, to describe exactly so much as their shape. Suddenly a voice uttered these unhoped-for words: "Excuse me, I think I know one." Every head was turned. The leader of the orchestra rose with a jump: "Who spoke?" "I the cymbals!" answered the voice. A moment later, the cymbals was on the stage, surrounded, flattered, and pressed with lively interrogations. "Yes," he continued, "I know an old professor of the Chinese Bells, a past-master in his art, and I know that he is still alive!" One cry went up. The cymbals was looked on as a saviour! The leader of the orchestra embraced his devoted young zealot (for the cymbals was still young). The trombones, in the kindness of their hearts, encouraged him with smiles; a double-bass cast him an envious glance; the drum rubbed his hands, and grumbled: "He'll go far!" In short, the cymbals enjoyed in that fleeting moment a taste of fame. Forthwith a deputation, headed by the cymbals, set out towards Batignolles, into the recesses of which, far from the hubbub, the austere virtuoso was believed to have retired. It arrived. To inquire for the old gentleman, to climb his nine storeys, to ring with insinuating respect at his bell, and to wait on the landing, all out of breath, was for our ambassadors the work of an instant. Suddenly, all heads were bared. A man of venerable aspect, his face framed in silver hair falling in long locks on to his shoulders, a head like Beranger's, a figure out of a romance, stood on the threshold, and seemed to invite the visitants to enter into his sanctuary. It was he! They entered. The casement window, with its frame of climbing plants, opened on to the sky, flushed at this moment with the splendours of the setting sun. Seats were few. For the delegates from the Opera, the professor's couch was the only substitute for these ottomans and hassocks which, alas, abound only too often in the homes of our modern musicians. In the corners could be seen the outlines of some sets of ancient Chinese Bells; here and there lay several albums, the titles of which attracted attention. First of all, _A First Love_, a melody for the Chinese Bells solo, followed by Brilliant Variations on the Chorale of Luther, a concerto for three sets of Chinese Bells. Then, a septet for Chinese Bells, entitled |
(End.)
(Prepared by Laurence Roberts)