Still, my delight was too great for words and I felt that I was to be envied as I sat in the fine orchestra which Deloffre conducted. Ah! those rehearsals of Faust! My happiness could not be expressed when, from my own little corner, I could leisurely devour with my eyes our great Gounod who managed our work from the stage.
Many times later on when we came out, side by side, from the sessions of the Institute—Gounod lived in the Place Malesherbes—we talked over the time when Faust—now past its thousandth performance—was such a subject for discussion and criticism in the press, while the dear public—which is rarely deceived—applauded it.
Vox Populi, vox Dei!
I also remember that while I was in the orchestra I assisted at the performances of Reyer's La Statue, a superb score and a tremendous success.
I can still see Reyer in the wings during the performances eluding the firemen and smoking interminable cigars. It was a habit he could not give up. One day I heard him tell about being in Abbé Liszt's room in Rome. The walls were covered with religious pictures—Christ, the Virgin, and the Saints—and he blew out a cloud of smoke which filled the room. In reply to his witty excuses about incommoding the "august persons," he drew the following reply from the great abbé. "No," said Liszt, "it is always incense."
For six months, under the same conditions of work, I substituted for one of my fellows in the orchestra at the Théâtre-Italien.
As I had heard the admirable Mme. Miolan-Carvalho in Faust—excellent singing—I now heard the tragediennes like Penco and Frezzolini and such men as Mario, Graziani, Delle Sedie, and the buffo Zucchini.
The last is no longer alive and our great Lucien Fugère of the Opéra-Comique of to-day reminds me of him almost exactly. There is the same powerful voice and the same perfect artistic comedy.
But the time for the competition of the Institute approached. During our residence en loge at the Institute we had to pay for our meals for twenty-five days and also the rent of a piano. I got out of that difficulty as best I could; at any rate I forestalled it. All the same the money I had been able to put aside was insufficient and acting on the advice of a friend (giving and acting on advice are two entirely different things) I went to a pawnshop and pawned my watch ... a gold one. It had adorned my fob since the morning of my first communion. Alas! it must have been light weight, for they offered me only ... sixteen francs!!! This odd sum, however, enabled me to pay for my meals.
But the charge for the piano was so exorbitant—twenty francs!—that I couldn't afford it. I did without it much more easily, for I have never needed its help in composing.