In the autumn of 1882 Gounod came to England to conduct the first performance of his fine sacred work, “The Redemption”. He was no stranger to London. One of the refugees of 1870, he had made a stay there of considerable duration, and among other pieces brought out his cantata “Gallia”, which he conducted at the opening of the Royal Albert Hall in 1871. Even previous to this, however, he had sketched his design for the work which he labeled “Opus vitae meae," and there is ample evidence that he spent, from first to last, upward of a dozen years upon the score of “The Redemption." Having arranged with Messrs. Novello & Co. for its publication (at the highest price ever paid at that time for an oratorio), Gounod arrived late in September to superintend the final rehearsals for its production at the Birmingham Festival. This was the last of the Midland gatherings over which Sir Michael Costa presided, and I owed to him the honor of a personal introduction to the composer of “Faust” who was then sixty-four years of age.    

Gounod was one of the most fascinating men I have ever spoken with. His manner had a charm that was irresistible, and his kindly eyes, soft and melting as a woman's, would light up with a smile, now tender, now humorous, that fixed itself ineffaceably upon the memory. He could speak English fairly well, but preferred his own language, in which he was a brilliant conversationalist; and he could use to advantage a fund of keen, ready wit. He was influenced at that time by a recrudescence of that religious mysticism which had so strongly characterized his youthful career; but his tone, though earnest and thoughtful when he was dwelling upon his art, could brighten up with the lightness and gaiety of a true Parisian. He was rather upset, on the morning of the London band rehearsal at St. George's Hall, by the numerous mistakes in the parts, which led to frequent stoppages. The trouble reached a climax in the “March to Calvary," where, after about the ninth or tenth stop, Gounod turned to Costa and remarked: “Seulement ici puis-je pardonner tous ces arrets, quoiqu'ils gatent ma musique.”

“Pourquoi cela?" inquired Sir Michael.

“Parceque," replied Gounod, ”a ce point il y a douze stations, et a chaque station il faut naturellement un arret”.

After all the typographical and other errors had been rectified, the march was tried through again and went so magnificently as to arouse the master's undisguised admiration, which deepened with astonishment when Costa informed him that the instrumentalists had never seen a note of the music until that morning. Gounod said to me later, “They are wonderful readers, these English players. There is scarcely a mistake that is due to inaccurate deciphering of the notes. And what makes it even more remarkable is that my work is so full of awkward chromatic progressions.”