But whether for some lack in him of original talent, or of patience,
whether for some grossness in the public taste, on which the nervous
delicacy and refinement of his execution was lost, he had not continued. He
had been driven by poverty to London, had given lessons, and then for many
years had played a second violin in the orchestra of the Opera.
'It is not much, Monsieur!' he observed, deprecatingly, smoothing his
hat with the cuff of his frayed coat-sleeve. 'But it is sufficient; and
I prefer it to teaching. In effect, they are very charming, the seraphic
young girls of your country! But they seem to care little for music; and I
am a difficult master, and have not enough patience. Once, you see, a long
time ago, I had a perfect pupil, and perhaps that spoilt me. Yes! I prefer
the theatre, though it is less profitable. It is not as it once was,' he
added, with a half sigh; 'I am no longer ambitious. Yes, Monsieur, when I
was young, I was ambitious. I wrote a symphony and several concertos. I
even brought out at Vienna an opera, which I thought would make me famous;
but the good folk of Vienna did not appreciate me, and they would have none
of my music. They said it was antiquated, my opera, and absurd; and yet, it
seemed to me good.
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