I was hoping to see you during one of my visits to Paris but I am stuck here with my nose to the grindstone. In a letter there is always the risk of being misunderstood and I would not want you to think for one moment, because of what I am about to say, that I do not admire you, since in fact I have always given you abundant proof to the contrary. Having made that clear, may I say that your recording is not worthy of you and that I do not advise you to allow it to be released. We are all victims of the treachery of the wax - this is the reason why six sides of Bernac- Poulenc in Fauré have just been put in the waste bin. No, quite frankly, the recording is not 'you'. What struck me most while listening very carefully to the test pressing is your lack of joy. If you had seen yourself in a mirror while you were making the recording you would have understood immediately that this was not the vivacious, lively Madeleine of the recital hall. / I think the microphone terrorizes you - only in this kind of music, naturally - and I am wondering whether we would not do better with some serious Poulenc, of the Poèmes de Max Jacob type. / Think about all this, while repeating to yourself that I remain forever your devoted and admiring (but of course!)