nd the Archbishop of Granada, and I thought
I could hear Gil Blas predicting the failure of my works. We can not
dismiss the public as we can our secretary; meanwhile, I surrendered to
a too severe justice in order to decline others' opinions. A horrible
thought suddenly came into my mind; my artistic life was ended, I was
a worn-out man; in one word, to picture my situation in a trivial but
correct manner, I had reached the end of my rope.

"I could not express to you the discouragement that I felt at this
conviction. Melanie's infidelity was the crowning touch. It was not my
heart, but my vanity which had been rendered more irritable by recent
disappointments. This, then, was the end of all my ambitious dreams! I
had not enough mind left, at thirty years of age, to write a vaudeville
or to be loved by a grisette!

"One day Doctor Labanchie came to see me.

"'What are you doing there' said he, as he saw me seated at my desk.

"'Doctor,' said I, reaching out my hand to him, 'I believe that I am a
little feverish.'

"'Your pulse is a little rapid,' said he, after making careful
examination, 'but your fever is more of imagination than of blood.'

"I explained to him my condition, which was now becoming almost
unendurable. Without believing in medicine very much, I had confidence
in him and knew him to be a man who would give good advice.

"'You work too much,' said he, shaking his head. 'Your brain is put to
too strong a tension. This is a warning nature gives you, and you will
make a mistake if you do not follow it. When you are sleepy, go to bed;
when you are tired, you must have rest. It is rest for your brain that
you now need. Go into the country, confine yourself to a regular and
healthy diet: vegetables, white meat, milk in the morning, a very
little wine, but, above all things, no coffee. Take moderate exercise,
hunt--and avoid all irritating thoughts; read the 'Musee des familles'
or the 'Magasin Pittoresque'. This regime will have the effect of a
soothing poultice upon your brain, and before the end of six months you
will be in your normal condition again.'

"'Six months!' I exclaimed. 'You wretch of a doctor, tell me, then, to
let my beard and nails grow like Nebuchadnezzar. Six months! You do not
know how I detest the country, partridges, rabbits and all. For heaven's
sake, find some other remedy for me.'

"'There is homoeopathy,' said he, smiling. 'Hahnemann is quite the
fashion now.'

"'Let us ha