A rich landowner was kind enough to introduce me to his son, aged twenty-two, who he said could not even read music.

“Monsieur,” he said to me, “I’ve come to ask if you’d be good enough to give this young man lessons in serious composition. He’ll be a credit to you in due course, I hope. His first thought was to be a colonel, but despite the appeal of military life, the arts seemed decidedly more attractive, and he’d prefer to be a great composer.”

“Oh, Monsieur, what a mistake! If you only knew the drawbacks of such a career! Great composers eat each other up; there are so many of them! Besides, I couldn’t undertake to see him through to the attainment of his noble ambition. In my view he’d do better to stick to his original idea and join the regiment you mentioned.”

“What regiment?”

“Well, this regiment of colonels.”

“Monsieur, your facetiousness is quite uncalled for; I shall not take any more of your time. Happily you’re not the only teacher, and my son can become a great composer without your help. We bid you good day.”