Its an old story and there’s no need for false modesty, and so I will tell you that my bridge was a magnificent work! It was not a bridge but a picture, a perfect delight! And who would not have been excited when the whole town came to the opening? ‘Oh,’ I thought, ‘now the eyes of all the public will be on me! Where shall I hide myself?’ Well, I need not have worried myself, sir⁠—alas! Except the official personages, no one took the slightest notice of me. They stood in a crowd on the riverbank, gazed like sheep at the bridge, and did not concern themselves to know who had built it. And it was from that time, by the way, that I began to hate our estimable public⁠—damnation take them! Well, to continue. All at once the public became agitated; a whisper ran through the crowd,⁠ ⁠… a smile came on their faces, their shoulders began to move. ‘They must have seen me,’ I thought. A likely idea! I looked, and my singer, with a train of young scamps, was making her way through the crowd. The eyes of the crowd were hurriedly following this procession. A whisper began in a thousand voices: ‘That’s so-and-so.⁠ ⁠… Charming!

Bewitching!’ Then it was they noticed me.⁠ ⁠… A couple of young milksops, local amateurs of the scenic art, I presume, looked at me, exchanged glances, and whispered: ‘That’s her lover!’ How do you like that? And an unprepossessing individual in a top-hat, with a chin that badly needed shaving, hung round me, shifting from one foot to the other, then turned to me with the words:

“ ‘Do you know who that lady is, walking on the other bank? That’s so-and-so.⁠ ⁠… Her voice is beneath all criticism, but she has a most perfect mastery of it!⁠ ⁠…’

“ ‘Can you tell me,’ I asked the unprepossessing individual, ‘who built this bridge?’

“ ‘I really don’t know,’ answered the individual; some engineer, I expect.’

“ ‘And who built the cathedral in your town?’ I asked again.

“ ‘I really can’t tell you.’