rt." In the third act, a
chandelier fell, and the _prima donna_ Dorus had a narrow escape from
being hit by the falling glass; after the chorus of demons, a cloud,
rising from the cave to hide the stage, reached a certain elevation, and
then, giving way, tumbled on the boards, nearly striking Taglioni the
dancer, who, as _Elena_, was extended on her tomb, ready for the next
scene; and in the last act, Nourrit, the _Robert_ of the evening, in the
excitement of the moment, leaped down the trap-door by which Levasseur
(the _Bertram_) had just disappeared. This last event received different
interpretations. On the stage there was alarm and weeping, because it
was then thought Nourrit in his leap had been killed or maimed; by the
audience it was supposed that the author intended _Robert_ should share
with _Bertram_ the infernal regions; while _under_ the stage Levasseur
greeted the tenor with mingled surprise and disgust:--"_Que diable
faites vous ici? Est ce qu'on a change le denouement?_" Luckily, Nourrit
was unhurt, the curtain was raised again, the singers made their
conventional acknowledgments, and the names of the authors were
announced amid the wildest enthusiasm.

After that night Meyerbeer had to pay no more money to get his operas on
the stage. The tables were so completely turned that he thenceforth
could command almost any price he chose to ask. To follow his career
more minutely, after this period of his emergence into the bright light
of fame, would be but to recount a story with which almost every one is
familiar.

The "Huguenots" was the next opera, and it was produced only after
infinite delays; indeed, just before the rehearsal, Madame Meyerbeer
fell ill, and her husband decided to convey her to Italy. He took the
music from the orchestra desks, forfeited a fine of thirty thousand
francs, and a few hours later he and his "Huguenots" were on the way to
Nice. When finally produced at Paris, this opera was as well received as
the "Robert." It appears, that, after the first general rehearsal,
Nourrit, the tenor, found fault with the sublime music of the fourth
act. Meyerbeer returned home in a very unpleasant frame of mind, and
told his troubles to the friend with whom he lodged. "If I only had,"
said he, "a few stanzas to arrange as an _andante_ and _duo_, all would
be right. But I cannot ask Scribe to add more verses." The friend
immediately called a literary acquaintance, Emile Deschamps, who was
playing