had no great opinion of the works of those more fortunate
composers who were writing for the French stage at that time. In
him I thus, for the first time, met with the frankly expressed
admission of disbelief in the value of all our modern creations
in this dubious field of art. I have since come to the conclusion
that this incredulity, often expressed with much less modesty,
justifies the participation of all Jews in our artistic concerns.
Only once did Halevy speak to me with real candour, when, on my
tardy departure for Germany, he wished me the success he thought
my works deserved.

In the year 1860 I saw him again. I had learned that, while the
Parisian critics were giving vent to the bitterest condemnation
of the concerts I was giving at that time, he had expressed his
approval, and this determined me to visit him at the Palais de
l'Institut, of which he had for some time been permanent
secretary. He seemed particularly eager to learn from my own lips
what my new theory about music really was, of which he had heard
such wild rumours. For his own part, he said, he had never found
anything but music in my music, but with this difference, that
mine had generally seemed very good. This gave rise to a lively
discussion on my part, to which he good-humouredly agreed, once
more wishing me success in Paris. This time, however, he did so
with less conviction than when he bade me good-bye for Germany,
which I thought was because be doubted whether I could succeed in
Paris. From this final visit I carried away a depressing sense of
the enervation, both moral and aesthetic, which had overcome one
of the last great French musicians, while, on the other hand, I
could not help feeling that a tendency to a hypocritical or
frankly impudent exploitation of the universal degeneracy marked