that I should do no good in Paris unless I showed the world that I had confidence in myself.  My trial audience was impending; I felt sure of the Theatre de la Renaissance, and Dumersan was keenly anxious to make a complete translation of my Liebesverbot into French.  So we decided to run the risk.  On 15th April, to the astonishment of the concierge of the house in the Rue du Helder, we moved with an exceedingly small amount of luggage into our comfortable new apartments.

The very first visit I received in the rooms I had taken with such high hopes was from Anders, who came with the tidings that the Theatre de la Renaissance had just gone bankrupt, and was closed.  This news, which came on me like a thunder-clap, seemed to portend more than an ordinary stroke of bad luck; it revealed to me like a flash of lightning the absolute emptiness of my prospects.  My friends openly expressed the opinion that Meyerbeer, in sending me from the Grand Opera to this theatre, probably knew the whole of the circumstances.  I did not pursue the line of thought to which this supposition might lead, as I felt cause enough for bitterness when I wondered what I should do with the rooms in which I was so nicely installed.

As my singers had now practised the portions of Liebesverbot intended for the trial audience, I was anxious at least to have them performed before some persons of influence.  M. Edouard Monnaie, who had been appointed temporary director of the Grand Opera after Duponchel’s retirement, was the less disposed to refuse as the singers who were to take part belonged to the institution over which he presided; moreover, there was no obligation attached to his presence at the audience.  I also took the trouble to call on Scribe to invite him to attend, and he accepted with the kindest alacrity.  At last my three pieces were performed before these two gentlemen in the green room of the Grand Opera, and I played the piano accompaniment.  They pronounced the music charming, and Scribe expressed his willingness to arrange the libretto for me as soon as the managers of the opera had decided on accepting the piece; all that M. Monnaie had to reply to this offer was that it was impossible for them to do so at present.  I did not fail to realise that these were only polite expressions; but at all events I thought it very nice of them, and particularly condescending of Scribe to have got so far as to think me deserving of a little politeness.

But in my heart of hearts I felt really ashamed of having gone back again seriously to that superficial early work from which I had taken these three pieces.  Of course I had only done this because I thought I should win success more rapidly in Paris by adapting myself to its frivolous taste.  My aversion from this kind of taste, which had been long growing, coincided with my abandonment of all hopes of success in Paris.  I was placed in an exceedingly melancholy situation by the fact that my circumstances had so shaped themselves