of life before me; till suddenly, as if
on a balcony, I beheld him I sought, the centre of a knot of beautiful
women, who, leaning over the balustrade, seemed to criticise the world
below. Addressing myself at once to where Riquetti sat, I made him part
of the scene. I knew nothing of him, nor of his history; but in blind
chance I actually invented some of the chief incidents of his life. I
made him a profligate, a duellist, and a seducer. I represented how he
had won the affections of his friend's wife, eloped with, and deserted
her; and yet, covered with crime, debased by every iniquity, and
degraded by every vice, there he sat, successful, triumphant, and
esteemed.

'What was my amazement, as the curtain fell, to see him at my side. "I
have come," said he, in that rich, deep voice of his--"I have come
to make you my compliments; you have your country's gift, and can
'improvise' well!" I blushed deeply, and could not answer him; but he
went on: "These, however, are not wise themes to dwell upon. Popular
passions are dangerous seas, and will often shipwreck even those whose
breath has stirred them; besides, this is not art"; and with these
words he launched forth into a grand description of what really should
constitute the artist's realm, to what his teachings might extend, where
should be their limits. He showed how the strict imitation of nature was
an essential, yet, that the true criterion of success in art lay in
the combination of such ingredients as best suited the impression to be
conveyed; no mean or petty detail, however truthful or accurate, being
suffered to detract from the whole conception. He then warned me against
exaggeration, the prime fault of all inexperienced minds. "Even this
very moment," said he, "you marred a fine effect when you spoke of me
as one capable of parricide." "Of you," said I, blushing, and trying to
disown the personality. "Yes," said he, "of me. Your biography was often
very accurate--to any but myself it might seem painfully accurate: I
have done all that you ascribe to me, and more!"--"But I never knew it,"
cried I; "I never heard it; my improvisation was pure chance. I owed
you a vendetta for some cruel words you had spoken to me."--"I remember
them," said he, smiling; "you may live to believe that such phrases are
a flattery! But to yourself, come to me to-morrow; bring your books
with you, that you may read me something I will select. I can and may
befriend you!" And he did