Then Carvalho came to me without a word, but he finally said:
"I had hoped you would bring me another Manon! This dismal subject lacks interest. It is damned from the start."
As I think this over to-day, I understand his impression perfectly, especially when I reflect on the years I had to live before the work came to be admired.
Carvalho was kind and offered me some exquisite wine, claret, I believe, like what I had tasted one joyous evening I read Manon.... My throat was as dry as my speech; I went out without saying a word.
The next day, horresco referens, yes, the next day I was again struck down, the Opéra-Comique was no more. It had been totally destroyed by fire during the night. I hurried to Carvalho's. We fell into each other's arms, embraced each other in tears and wept. My poor director was ruined. Inexorable fate! The work had to wait six years in silence and oblivion.
Two years before the Opéra at Vienna had put on Manon; the hundredth performance was reached and passed in a short time. The Austrian capital had given me a friendly and enviable reception; so much so that it suggested to Van Dyck the idea of asking me for a work.
Now I proposed Werther. The lack of good will on the part of the French directors left me free to dispose of that score.
The Vienna Opéra was an imperial theater. The management asked the Emperor to place an apartment at my disposal and he graciously offered me one at the famous Hotel Sacher beside the Opéra.
My first call after my arrival was on Jahn, the director. That kindly, eminent master took me to the foyer where the rehearsals were to be held. It was a vast room, lighted by immense windows and provided with great chairs. A full length portrait of Emperor Francis Joseph ornamented one of the panels; there was a grand piano in the center of the room.
All the artists for Werther were gathered around the piano when Jahn and I entered the foyer. As they saw us they rose in a body and bowed in salutation.