He received my letter during a rehearsal, read it several times, looked very black, then went down to the office and said that the plan suited him exactly, as he wished to go into the country the day of the concert. Still his disgust was quite evident, and it was shared by a part of his orchestra, who thought to pay court to him by shewing it.
The concert was for the benefit of the Opera, but I was to have five hundred francs for my share and the Opera staff were to get no extra remuneration whatever. Mindful of my experience with the Théâtre Italien, I determined to devote my five hundred francs to the payment of these men, all the more readily that I felt thunder in the air in the form of Habeneck’s savage looks, the numbers of the Charivari (which cut me up tremendously) on the desks, and the constant little confabulations that went on in odd corners.
I engaged six hundred performers from different theatres and from the Conservatoire, and in a week managed to drill them into something like order, how I cannot imagine.
I was on foot, baton in hand, the whole day, going from the Opera to the Théâtre Italien, whence I engaged the chorus; thence to the Opera Comique and to the Conservatoire to superintend different parts, for I dared not relegate a single department to anyone else.
Then, in the foyer of the Opera, I took the stringed instruments from eight till twelve, and the wind from twelve to four. My throat was on fire, my voice gone, my right arm almost paralysed. One day I should have been ill with thirst and fatigue had not a kind chorus-singer had the humanity to bring me a large glass of hot wine.
The players of the Opera made me as much trouble as possible; they learnt that the outside performers were to have twenty francs a piece, so they demanded a like sum.
“Not for the money,” said they, “but for the honour of the Opera.”
“You shall have your twenty francs,” I cried; “but for heaven’s sake go on and let me have a little peace.”
On the day of the grand rehearsal all went fairly well, except the Queen Mab scherzo, which is too dainty to be treated by so large a body of players. Unfortunately I did not think, at the time, of entrusting it to a small band of picked musicians, so was reluctantly obliged to cut it altogether out of the programme.
On the day of the performance I had hoped to keep quiet until the evening, but my friend, Leon Gatayes, came in to tell me that a plot was being hatched by Habeneck’s partizans (who were indignant at his being passed over) to ruin the whole affair. The drum parchments were to be slit, the bows of the double-basses greased, and in the middle of the concert a section of the audience was to shout for the Marseillaise.