"I do not like the idea," said Doblana, "of Mitzi being alone in Brünn.
I cannot accompany her on that particular evening, but I think that
you, her fiancée, ought not to neglect her."
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Mitzi, "Am I not old enough to remain alone for
one evening? If I am such a child, then surely you will not consider
Patrick grown up either. He is but one year older than I."
"How will you manage?" asked her father.
"I think I will stay the night at the hotel."
"I do not think that it befits a young lady to stay a night alone at an
hotel."
"All right, then I will go and stay with Augusta."
Doblana acquiesced. But this time I made an objection.
"Augusta," I said, "will be in Vienna on that particular evening; she
will want to see _Aladdin_."
Mitzi glanced at me with an angry look.
"Anyhow," she protested, "Franz will have no leave. He will be in
Brünn."
"That is just what I object to," I declared. "The best thing would be
for you to return to Vienna. I will be at the Northern Station to bring
you home."
This was finally decided upon, and Mitzi left us in the afternoon for
Brünn. At six o'clock there came a wire from her addressed to Doblana,
just as he and I were about to leave for the theatre.
It ran:
"_Safely arrived. House full. Best luck to Papa. Mitzi._"
An hour and a half later _Aladdin_ began.
When you write your reminiscences, as I am doing now, you will be
supposed to talk of other people. You will see how difficult it is.
I always want to talk about myself. I remember things only inasmuch
they concern me. Other people's feelings are not half as important
to me as my own. Thus, that evening, at the beginning they were so
intensely bitter, that I think I must record them, although Doblana
was the hero of the day. I was, naturally enough, reminded of my own
first night ten days before. But while _Lady Macbeth_ had been played
before an unsatisfactorily filled house, the one to-day was packed. All
the imaginable beautiful and jewelled ladies were present, while at
Brünn the provincial simplicity of the feminine public (the male part
is about everywhere the same) was so exaggerated, that my poor mater's
diamonds were, as you have seen, thought worthy of a newspaper notice.
Whoever was of importance in Vienna, political and military people,
financiers, diplomatists, and artists, was to be found on that first
night. One hardly noticed that the great Court Box was empty, and that
no Royalty was present; for all the other noted members of Society had
come. I will confess that I felt jealous. And this jealousy increased
as the orchestra started playing Doblana's music.
Oh, what an orchestra! We have a few fine orchestras in London, but
how much superior are the Vienna Philharmonics. Neither Munich, nor
Dresden, can boast of such artists. To hear one's music performed by
them must be heaven.
Such then were my feelings as _Aladdin_ began. Who would have thought
that a couple of hours later my sentiments would be reversed and that
instead of envying Doblana, I would pity the poor fellow?
I had seen the ballet at different rehearsals. _Joseph Dorff's_ book
was clever, Doblana's music pretty, tuneful and well scored, although
in no way remarkable, and the staging simply marvellous. There is no
Parisian nor Russian ballet which can compete with those of the Vienna
Opera. Not only are the dancers and mimics incomparable, but fortunes
are spent on the scenery and the costumes, which are proofs of the most
perfect theatrical taste.
The first act was placed before and inside the famous cavern
where Aladdin finds the lamp. In the original tale this cavern is
uninhabited, but in the ballet there were populations of pretty
spirits and servants of the lamp. These gave a pretext for all sorts
of charming dances. And there was one dance which had a real success,
namely, that of the precious stones. It was performed by small girls
dressed as rubies, emeralds, sapphires and so on, who formed lovely
groups representing the different jewels. The whole had a kaleïdoscopic
effect, changing from one second to the next, and was uncommonly
pleasant.
Yet this was nothing in comparison to what was to come in the second
and third act. In the former there was the magnificent arrival of
Aladdin at the Sultan's court. He came on a splendid white charger and
was accompanied by forty white and forty black slaves, who afterwards
showed all the skill taught by the Viennese dancing masters. In the
last act there came the _pièce de résistance_, namely, the building
before the eyes of the public, not in one night, but in ten minutes, of
Aladdin's unique palace. Things of such kind are very easy to be done
in fairy tales and not much more difficult on a stage when the manager
disposes of unlimited wealth. All the wonders of the Arabian Nights
were to be presented to the audience on that evening.
The first act had gone well, better even than anybody had expected.
There are usually but short entre-acts in the Vienna Opera. But first
nights, especially of Grand Ballets, are such social events that
they do not admit this rule in all its rigour. Therefore nobody was
surprised when the entre-acte instead of the usual ten minutes had
lasted twenty. Groups had been chatting and laughing and showing their
toilettes and jewels. But in the end everybody had left the _foyer_
and returned to the seats. Yet nothing happened. The musicians were at
their places, but no conductor was present. Ten more minutes passed.
The public gave signs of impatience, a thing unheard of in this
_sanctissimum_. But these signs of impatience lasted one instant only.
Then the house became painfully silent.
I should have liked to go and see behind the curtain what had happened.
But this was not a provincial theatre where such visits from the
public to the stage could be permitted. In this Imperial and Royal
Court theatre there were strict rules; and I could only wait with the
other people.
The wildest rumours began to spread. The amount of improbabilities
human brains can invent in a few minutes is incredible. And here two
and a half thousand were busy finding the extraordinary reason of this
long pause.
Yet as inventive as their brains were, they proved no match for
the reality. For after three-quarters of an hour, which seemed an
interminably long time, a bell was heard, and a gentleman in evening
dress appeared before the curtain. He was sickly pale.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I have much regret in announcing that
the further performance of the ballet _Aladdin_ has been forbidden
by all-highest order. The money for purchased seats will be refunded
to-morrow in exchange of the coupons of the tickets."
The announcement had the effect of a thunderstorm, putting an end to
the suspense of the last minutes. I could not say what was greater,
consternation, regret for the composer, disorder among the discontented
spectators, or curiosity to know the secret reason of this catastrophe.
For my part I left the theatre as quickly as possible and went to the
little side door in the Opera Street, at the rear of the premises,
where Doblana was wont to leave. There was already a terrific crowd.
But although I had (I have no more) the soft fingers and delicate hands
of a pianist, I possess also the strong elbows of an English sportsman,
and I succeeded in reaching the door. Just at that moment a man came
out of the house. He looked pale, haggard, with the expression of a
drunkard. It was Doblana.
He scarcely recognised me, but I pushed my arm under his and led him
away.
It was cold and foggy.