In the afternoon I went to the rehearsal of Zéphyr, alerted by Dukelsky, but as matters turned out Zéphyr had been rehearsed in the morning, and I had happened along to bits and pieces and tidying up of problems in Auric's Matelots. Diaghilev appeared, embraced me, and after wandering up and down for a while came to sit beside me. 'Revolting music,' he smiled at one of Auric's melodies, 'supremely tasteless vulgarity', but said with a certain indulgence towards the music. After a while, he said, 'Well now, Serge, you and I have to come up with a ballet, do we not?' 'Indeed we do,' I replied, 'but first we have to settle what sort of music it has to have. This sort of thing (meaning the Auric we had just heard) I cannot write.' Diaghilev: 'Every composer composes in his own way. You cannot dictate to a composer who has formed his own style.' And that, for the present, was how matters were left.