had also worked at little plays for the vaudeville and theatres of a lower order, and even for the Bouffes Parisiens; but he was ashamed of these productions and always knew how to evade talking about this sphere of activity. I was greatly obliged to him for the final arrangement of a text to my Tannhauser which could be sung and which was regarded on all sides as 'acceptable.' But I cannot remember ever having been attracted by anything poetic or even aesthetic in his nature. His value, however, as an experienced, warm-hearted, staunchly devoted friend at all times, especially in periods of the greatest distress, made itself more and more clearly felt. I can hardly remember ever meeting a man of such sound judgment on the most difficult points, or one so actively ready when occasion arose to uphold the view I advocated.
We had first of all to join forces in promoting an entirely new piece of work. In obedience to a need I had always felt, I had seized the occasion of this carefully prepared production of Tannhauser to expand and considerably fill out the first Venus scene. For this purpose I wrote the text in loosely constructed German verses, so as to leave the translator quite free to work them out in a suitable French form: people told me that Truinet's verses were not at all bad; and with these as a basis I composed the extra music for the scene, and only fitted a German text to it afterwards. My annoying discussions with the management on the subject of a big ballet had determined me to make extensive additions to the scene of the 'Venusberg.' I thought that this would give the staff of the ballet a choreographic task of so magnificent a character that there would no longer be any occasion to grumble at me for my obstinacy in this matter. The musical composition of the two scenes occupied most of my time during the month of September, and at the same time I began the pianoforte rehearsals of Tannhauser in the foyer of the Grand Opera.
The company, part of which had been freshly engaged for this purpose, were now assembled, and I was interested in learning the way in which a new work is studied at the French Opera.
The characteristic features of the system in Paris may be described simply as extreme frigidity and extraordinary accuracy. M. Vauthrot, the chorus-master, excelled in both these qualities. He was a man whom I could not help regarding as hostile to me, because I had never been able to win from him a single expression of enthusiasm. On the other hand, he proved to me by the most punctilious solicitude how conscientious he really was about his work. He insisted on considerable alterations in the text, so as to obtain a favourable medium for singing. My knowledge of the scores of Auber and Boieldieu had misled me into assuming that the French people were entirely indifferent as to whether the mute syllables in poetry and singing were to be sounded or not. Vauthrot maintained that this was only the case with composers, but not with good singers. He was always feeling misgivings about the length of my work, which I met with the observation that I could not understand how he could be afraid of boring the public with any opera after they had been accustomed to find pleasure in Rossini's Semiramis, which was often produced. Upon this he paused to reflect, and agreed with me so far as the monotony of action and of music in that work was concerned. He told me not to forget, however, that the public neither cared for action nor music, but that their whole attention was directed to the brilliancy of the singers. Tannhauser gave little scope for brilliancy, and, as a matter of fact, I had none of that quality at my disposal. The only singer in my company who had any claim to such a distinction was Mme. Tedesco, a rather grotesque but voluptuous type of Jewess who had returned from Portugal and Spain after having had great triumphs in Italian operas. She did not conceal her satisfaction at having secured an engagement at the Paris Opera through my unwilling choice of her for the part of Venus. She gave herself no end of trouble to solve the problem to the best of her ability-a problem which was entirely beyond her and which was suited only to a genuine tragedy actress. For a certain time her efforts appeared to be crowned with success, and several special rehearsals with Niemann led to a lively affinity between Tannhauser and Venus. As Niemann mastered the French pronunciation with considerable skill, these rehearsals, in which Fraulein Sax also proved delightful, made genuine and encouraging progress. 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. Still less was I disturbed by M. Cormon, the stage manager, who was also present at the rehearsals, and with a lively skill, characteristic of the French people, conducted the numerous so- called 'property' rehearsals, at which the way each scene was to be played was determined. Even when M. Cormon or others did not understand me, they were always ready to subordinate themselves to my decisions; for I continued to be regarded as all-powerful, and everybody thought that I could enforce what I wanted through Princess Metternich, a belief which, indeed, was not without foundation. For instance, I had learned that Prince Poniatowsky was threatening to place a serious obstacle in the way of continuing our rehearsals by reviving one of his own operas, the production of which had fallen through. The undaunted Princess met my complaints on this subject by obtaining an immediate order that the Prince's opera should be laid aside. Naturally this did not tend to ingratiate me with the Prince, and he did not fail to make me feel his displeasure when I called upon him. In the midst of all this work I was afforded some recreation by a visit from my sister Louise with part of her family. To entertain her in my own home presented the greatest difficulties owing to the strange fact that it was now becoming absolutely dangerous to approach my house. When I first took it, the proprietor gave me a fairly long lease, but would not undertake any repairs. I now discovered the reason of this was that it had just been decided by the Paris Committee of Reconstruction to clear the Rue Newton with all its side streets to facilitate the opening up of a broad boulevard from one of the bridges to the Barriere de l'Etoile. But up to the last moment this plan was officially denied, so as to avoid for as long as possible the liability of paying compensation for the land that was to be expropriated. To my astonishment I noticed that excavations were being made close to my front door; these increased in width, so that at first no carriages could pass my door, and finally my house was unapproachable even on foot. Under these circumstances the proprietor had no objection to make to my leaving the house. His sole stipulation was that I should sue him for damages, as that was the only way by which he in his turn could sue the government. About this time my friend Ollivier was debarred for three months on account of a parliamentary misdemeanour; he therefore recommended me for the conduct of my case to his friend Picard, who, as I saw later on from the legal proceedings, acquitted himself of his task with much humour. Nevertheless, there was no chance of damages for me (whether the proprietor obtained any, I cannot say); but, at all events, I had to content myself with being released from my agreement. I also obtained leave to look about for another house, and instituted my search in a neighbourhood less remote from the Opera. I found a poor cheerless spot in the Rue d'Aumale. Late in the autumn in stormy weather we completed the arduous task of moving, in which Louisa's daughter, my niece Ottilie, proved a capable and willing child. Unfortunately I caught a violent cold in the course of moving and took few precautions to check it. I again exposed myself to the growing excitement of the rehearsals, and eventually I was struck down by typhoid fever.
We had reached the month of November. My relations had to go home, leaving me behind in a state of unconsciousness, in which I was consigned to the care of my friend Gasperini. In my fits of fever I insisted on their calling in all imaginable medical aid, and, as a matter of fact, Count Hatzfeld did bring in the doctor attached to the Prussian embassy. The injustice thus done to my friend, who took the greatest care of me, was due to no mistrust of him, but to feverish hallucinations which filled my brain with the most outrageous and luxuriant fancies. In this condition, not only did I imagine that Princess Metternich and Mme. Kalergis were arranging a complete court for me, to which I invited the Emperor Napoleon, but I actually requested that Emil Erlanger should place a villa near Paris at my disposal, and that I should be removed to it, as it was impossible for me to recover in the dark hole where I was. At last I insisted on being taken to Naples, where I promised myself a speedy recovery in free intercourse with Garibaldi. Gasperini held bravely out against all this madness, and he and Minna had to use force in order to apply the necessary mustard-plasters to the soles of my feet. During bad nights later on in life similar vain and extravagant fancies used to return to me, and on waking I have realised with horror that they were the offspring of that period of fever. After five days we mastered the fever; but I seemed to be threatened with blindness, and my weakness was extreme. At last the injury to my sight passed away, and after a few weeks I again trusted myself to steal along the few streets between my house and the Opera, to satisfy my anxiety for the continuation of the rehearsals.
People here had indulged in the oddest ideas, and seemed to have assumed that I was as good as dead. I learned that the rehearsals had been needlessly suspended, and moreover gathered from one indication after another that the affair had practically collapsed, although in my intense desire for recovery I tried my utmost to conceal this from myself. But I was much elated and pleased to see that the translation of the four operatic librettos which had so far appeared had been published. I had written a very exhaustive preface to them addressed to M. Frederic Villot. The translation of all this had been arranged for me by M. Challemel Lacour, a man with whom I had become acquainted at Herwegh's house in days gone by when he was a political refugee. He was a highly
