leads into the Rue Platiere, where M.
Dupin lived. There, in consequence of a cold neglected, I contracted an
inflammation of the lungs that had liked to have carried me off. In my
younger days I frequently suffered from inflammatory disorders,
pleurisies, and especially quinsies, to which I was very subject, and
which frequently brought me near enough to death to familiarize me to its
image.

During my convalescence I had leisure to reflect upon my situation, and
to lament my timidity, weakness and indolence; these, notwithstanding the
fire with which I found myself inflamed, left me to languish in an
inactivity of mind, continually on the verge of misery. The evening
preceding the day on which I was taken ill, I went to an opera by Royer;
the name I have forgotten. Notwithstanding my prejudice in favor of the
talents of others, which has ever made me distrustful of my own, I still
thought the music feeble, and devoid of animation and invention. I
sometimes had the vanity to flatter myself: I think I could do better
than that. But the terrible idea I had formed of the composition of an
opera, and the importance I heard men of the profession affix to such an
undertaking, instantly discouraged me, and made me blush at having so
much as thought of it. Besides, where was I to find a person to write
the words, and one who would give himself the trouble of turning the
poetry to my liking? These ideas of music and the opera had possession
of my mind during my illness, and in the delirium of my fever I composed
songs, duets, and choruses. I am certain I composed two or three little
pieces, 'di prima infenzione', perhaps worthy of the admiration of
masters, could they have heard them executed. Oh, could an account be
taken of the dreams of a man in a fever, what great and sublime things
would sometimes proceed from his delirium!

These subjects of music and opera still engaged my attention during my
convalescence, but my ideas were less energetic. Long and frequent
meditations, and which were often involuntary, and made such an
impression upon my mind that I resolved to attempt both words and music.
This was not the first time I had undertaken so difficult a task. Whilst
I was at Chambery I had composed an opera entitled 'Iphis and Anaxarete',
which I had the good sense to throw into the fire. At Lyons I had
composed another, entitled 'La Decouverte du Nouveau Monde', which, after
having read it to M. Bordes, the