In the days when the Odéon was an opera house, pieces from the old Opéra-Comique repertory at the Feydeau theatre were often performed there. I happened to attend a rehearsal for the revival of Grétry’s La Rosière de Salency. I shall never forget the sight of the orchestra on that occasion: some of the players collapsing with hilarity during the overture, others in stitches, the violins applauding ironically, the first oboe swallowing his reed, the double basses flouncing from behind their music stands and in strangled voices demanding permission to leave “while there’s still time”. And the conductor, Monsieur Bloc, managing with an effort of self-control to keep a straight face; and me, in a high old state of indignation at this irreverent outburst, finding the suggestion of the double-bass players thoroughly improper. But it wasn’t long before these poor fellows had their revenge in full for my stupid prudishness. Half an hour after the performance of this extraordinary overture, calm had been re-established, everyone was paying earnest attention again, the orchestra was quietly accompanying a singer in the third scene, when without any warning I burst out laughing right there in the pit, letting out a scream of retrospective mirth. Nature was reasserting its laws—I had just been hanging fire.

Two or three years later, reflecting on pieces of this kind which can be found, let’s face it, in the works of several great masters, the idea occurred to me of presenting a selection of them in a special concert, without warning the public about the nature of the musical fare to which it was invited, but confining myself to announcing a programme made up entirely of illustrious composers.

The overture to La Rosière de Salency figured right at the beginning, as you may imagine, followed by the celebrated English air “Arm ye brave!”, a “devilish” violin sonata and the quartet from a French opera, in which this passage occurs: