We rushed along the streets too rapidly to have time or breath to speak, and it was five minutes after the time when we scrambled into the orchestra, and found that the overture was already begun.
Though there is certainly not much time for observing one’s fellows when one is helping in the overture to “Tannhauser,” yet I saw the many curious and astonished glances which were cast toward our new member, glances of which he took no notice, simply because he apparently did not see them. He had the finest absence of self-consciousness that I ever saw.
The first act of the opera was over, and it fell to my share to make Courvoisier known to his fellow-musicians. I introduced him to the director, who was not von Francius, nor any friend of his. Then we retired to one of the small rooms on one side of the orchestra.
“Hundewetter!” said one of the men, shivering. “Have you traveled far to-day?” he inquired of Courvoisier, by way of opening the conversation.
“From Köln only.”
“Live there?”
“No.”
The man continued his catechism, but in another direction.
“Are you a friend of Helfen’s?”
“I rather think Helfen has been a friend to me,” said Courvoisier, smiling.