The murmuring around may be imagined. The public, not being particularly critical, could not conceive why that young idiot in the pit should get so excited over so little. But it was worse when the absence of the trombones made itself evident in the recitative.
Again that fatal voice was heard:
“Where are those trombones? This is simply outrageous!”
The astonishment of audience and orchestra were fairly matched by Valentino’s very natural anger. I heard afterwards that the unlucky trombones were only obeying orders; their parts were quite correctly written.
After that night the proper readings were restored, the cymbals were silent, the trombones spoke; I was serene.
De Pons, who was just as crazy as I on this point, helped me to put several other points straight but once we went too far and dragged in the public at our heels.
A violin solo advertised for Baillot was left out. We clamoured for it furiously, the pit fired up, then the whole house rose and howled for Baillot. The curtain fell on the confusion, the musicians fled precipitately, the audience dashed into the orchestra smashing everything they could lay hands on and only stopping when there was nothing left to smash.
In vain did I cry:
“Messieurs, messieurs! what are you doing? To break the instruments is too barbarous. That’s Father Chénié’s glorious double-bass with its diabolic tone.”
But they were too far gone to listen, and the havoc was complete.