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Up to this point these rehearsals were undisturbed, as my acquaintance with M. Dietzsch was as yet very slight. According to the rules of the Opera House, Dietzsch had hitherto only been present at the pianoforte rehearsals as chef d'orchestre and future conductor of the opera, so as to make himself accurately acquainted with the intentions of the singers.
We invariably took fauteuils d'orchestre, so that he only saw the musicians, actors, and scenery hardly any of the occupants of the theatre, except those in the stage-boxes. It is a curious fact that in the space of a fortnight he heard more operas than in all the rest of his life.
At five o'clock dinner was announced, and I question if so sumptuous a banquet has ever been served up before in that outlandish part of the world, embellished as it was by selections from the best operas played by the corps d'orchestre which had accompanied the Prince from Paris.
The German hall porter hastened forward, with a pink smile upon his countenance; the chef d'orchestre, a real Hungarian, began to play at him with fervour; and a black gentleman in gold and scarlet, who looked like a Prince of the East, but who was really earning his living in connection with the lift to the first floor, bounded to show them to a table.
The maitre d'hotel glided from table to table, busying himself in explanations. "The boy's name is Edouard; he comes from Budapest," he said. "The season is too late to make it worth the while of the management to engage a new chef d'orchestre. So this boy will play. He plays very good, but he is not like Bardini." He was not in the least like Bardini.
"Can I be of any use to Monsieur?" demanded the chef d'orchestre in evening grand tenue, his baton still in his hand. There was a glance of wondering astonishment as the Englishman faced the speaker. "Wieniawski Casimir, you here?" The other dropped his voice as the physician ripped up the sleeve of the patient's gown. "Major Hawke, I thought you were still in Delhi?
His professional experience saved a calamitous situation. With an acrobat's stride he reached the stage, telescoped fiddle and bow to normal proportions, and after a lightning nod to the chef d'orchestre, played the Marseillaise. At the end there was half-hearted perfunctory applause. A light hearted section of every audience applauds anything.
One passes through life too often with one's eyes closed, one finds the great things in strange places, the rarest flowers even by the roadside. Drink your wine, press my fingers like that. See, it is the chef d'orchestre who approaches. You shall sing sing to me, little one." He motioned to the musician, who with a smile of delight held up his hand to the orchestra.
Tamburini, in particular, was so oppressed by the death of his young friend that his vocalization, generally so perfect, was often at fault, while the faces of Grisi, Rubini, and Lablache too plainly showed their aching hearts. Rossini, Cherubini, Paer, and Carafa had charge of the funeral, and M. Habeneck, chef d'orchestre of the Académie Royale, of the music.
The "fauteuils d'orchestre," or orchestra-chairs, are the front row of benches, nearest the stage. The "parterre" is the back rows. There is a little bird's nest of a gallery at the rear of the room, where the spectators cannot stand up without striking the ceiling with their heads.
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