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Updated: June 24, 2025
The eternal tragedy of a musical director's life is comparable only to that of the waiter who, himself fasting, has to assist others to eat, Mr Saltzburg had lofty ideas on music, and his soul revolted at being compelled perpetually to rehearse and direct the inferior compositions of other men.
Should that disaster occur, he felt, there was always a future for him in the movies. Scarcely had Mr Miller disappeared on his peace-making errand, when there was a noise like a fowl going through a quickset hedge, and Mr Saltzburg, brandishing his baton as if he were conducting an unseen orchestra, plunged through the scenery at the left upper entrance and charged excitedly down the stage.
But hist! whom have we here? Tell me, do you see the same thing I see?" Like the vanguard of a defeated army, Mr Saltzburg was coming dejectedly across the stage. "Well?" said the stage-director. "They would not listen to me," said Mr Saltzburg brokenly. "The more I talked, the more they did not listen!" He winced at a painful memory.
Mr Miller could be perceived dimly with all his fingers entwined in his hair. "Clear the stage!" yelled Mr Miller. "Not you!" he shouted, as the latest addition to the company began to drift off with the others. "You stay!" "Me?" "Yes, you. I shall have to teach you the steps by yourself, or we shall get nowhere. Go on-stage. Start the music again, Mr Saltzburg.
It was a superb bouquet, nearly as big as Mr Saltzburg himself. It had cost the prima donna close on a hundred dollars that morning at Thorley's, but it was worth every cent of the money. The house-lights went up. The audience began to move up the aisles to stretch its legs and discuss the piece during the intermission. There was a general babble of conversation.
"I mean to say, you know . . ." "What? Speak up, can't you?" Mr Saltzburg, who had been seated at the piano, absently playing a melody from his unproduced musical comedy, awoke to the fact that the services of an interpreter were needed. He obligingly left the music-stool and crept, crablike, along the ledge of the stage-box.
He says this is his first day here, so he does not yet know the steps. When he has been here some more time he will know the steps. But now he does not know the steps." "What he means," explained the young man in tweeds helpfully, "is that I don't know the steps." "He does not know the steps!" roared Mr Saltzburg. "I know he doesn't know the steps," said Mr Miller. "Why doesn't he know the steps?
A voice from the neighborhood of the door had cut into the babble like a knife into butter; a rough, rasping voice, loud and compelling, which caused the conversation of the members of the ensemble to cease on the instant. Only Mr Saltzburg, now in a perfect frenzy of musicianly fervor, continued to assault the decrepit piano, unwitting of an unsympathetic addition to his audience.
"Tell him I only signed on this morning, laddie," urged the tweed-clad young man. "He only joined the company this morning!" This puzzled Mr Miller. "How do you mean, warning?" he asked. Mr Saltzburg, purple in the face, made a last effort. "This young man is new," he bellowed carefully, keeping to words of one syllable. "He does not yet know the steps.
At the beginning of November the corps commanded by Marshal Bernadotte arrived at Saltzburg at the moment when the Emperor had advanced his headquarters to Braunau, where there were numerous magazines of artillery and a vast quantity of provisions of every kind.
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