Trauer-Symphonie fur die Opfer der Juli-Revolution (Grande
Symphonie Funebre et Triomphale), most skilfully composed for
massed military bands during the summer of 1840 for the
anniversary of the obsequies of the July heroes, and conducted by
him under the column of the Place de la Bastille, which had at
last thoroughly convinced me of the greatness and enterprise of
this incomparable artist. But while admiring this genius,
absolutely unique in his methods, I could never quite shake off a
certain peculiar feeling of anxiety. His works left me with a
sensation as of something strange, something with which I felt I
should never be able to be familiar, and I was often puzzled at
the strange fact that, though ravished by his compositions, I was
at the same time repelled and even wearied by them. It was only
much later that I succeeded in clearly grasping and solving this
problem, which for years exercised such a painful spell over me.

It is a fact that at that time I felt almost like a little
school-boy by the side of Berlioz. Consequently I was really
embarrassed when Schlesinger, determined to make good use of the
success of my short story, told me he was anxious to produce some
of my orchestral compositions at a concert arranged by the editor
of the Gazette Musicale. I realised that none of my available
works would in any way be suitable for such an occasion. I was
not quite confident as to my Faust Overture because of its
zephyr-like ending, which I presumed could only be appreciated by
an audience already familiar with my methods. When, moreover, I
learned that I should have only a second-rate orchestra--the
Valentino from the Casino, Rue St. Honore--and, moreover, that
there could be only one rehearsal, my only alternative lay
between declining altogether, or making another trial with my