A musician well known throughout Paris came to see me one morning, fifteen or twenty years ago, carrying under his arm an object carefully wrapped in paper.

“Eureka! Eureka!” he cried, like Archimedes, as he entered. “I’ve been on the trail of this discovery for ages—it’s bound to produce a complete revolution in music. Look at this instrument, just a plain metal box with holes in it and a piece of string attached; I’ll whirl it around like a sling and you’ll hear something marvellous. Listen to this now: hoo-woo-hoo! How’s that for an imitation of the wind? It puts the famous chromatic scales in Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony completely in the shade, doesn’t it? It’s nature taken from the life! It’s beautiful, it’s new! It would be in poor taste to be too modest about it. Beethoven got it wrong, you must admit, and I’ve got it right. My dear fellow, what a discovery! And what an article you’ll write for me in the Journal des Débats! It’ll bring you exceptional honour: you’ll be translated into every language. How delighted I am, really, old chap! And believe me, I’m as pleased for you as for myself. However, I must insist on being the first to use my instrument; I’m saving it for an overture I’ve already started, entitled The Isle of Aeolus; you can review it for me. After that you may use my invention as you like in your own symphonies. I’m not the kind of person who’d sacrifice the whole present and future of music to their own personal interests, no sir: ‘all for art’, that’s my motto.”