sign Maleden's appointment, when, in his scrupulous honesty, he thought
he ought to write and warn him that his method differed entirely from
that taught in the institution. Auber was frightened and Maleden was not
admitted.

Our lessons were often very stormy. From time to time certain questions
came up on which I could not agree with him. He would then take me
quietly by the ear, bend my head and hold my ear to the table for a
minute or two. Then, he would ask whether I had changed my mind. As I
had not, he would think it over and very often he would confess that I
was right.

"Your childhood," Gounod once told me, "wasn't musical." He was wrong,
for he did not know the many tokens of my childhood. Many of my attempts
are unfinished--to say nothing of those I destroyed--but among them are
songs, choruses, cantatas, and overtures, none of which will ever see
the light. Oblivion will enshroud these gropings after effect, for they
are of no interest to the public. Among these scribblings I have found
some notes written in pencil when I was four. The date on them leaves no
doubt about the time of their production.




CHAPTER II

THE OLD CONSERVATOIRE


I cannot let the old Conservatoire in the Rue Bergère go without paying