But with what difficulty he now finished his task! He had
only taken seven months to write _Romeo_, and "on account of not being
able to write the _Requiem_ fast enough, he had adopted a kind of
musical shorthand";[63] but he took seven or eight years to write _Les
Troyens_, alternating between moods of enthusiasm and disgust, and
feeling indifference and doubt about his work. He groped his way
hesitatingly and unsteadily; he hardly understood what he was doing. He
admired the more mediocre pages of his work: the scene of the Laocoon,
the finale of the last act of the _Les Troyens a Troie_, the last scene
with Aeneas in _Les Troyens a Carthage_.[64] The empty pomposities of
Spontini mingle with the loftiest conceptions. One might say that his
genius became a stranger to him: it was the mechanical work of an
unconscious force, like "stalactites in a dripping grotto." He had no
impetus. It was only a matter of time before the roof of the grotto
would give way. One is struck with the mournful despair with which he
works; it is his last will and testament that he is making. And when he
has finished it, he will have finished everything.
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