ed a contract as
principal bass with the Brunswick management. Getting a far more
lucrative offer from Vienna, the prudent Behrens had paid a fine, and
thrown over the Brunswick theatre. For eighteen months the unfortunate
man was pilloried every night on the theatre programmes. Every
play-bill had printed on it in large letters, "Kontrakt-bruchig Herr
Behrens," never allowing the audience to forget that poor Behrens was a
convicted "contract-breaker."

Half Brunswick went to the theatre every night of its life. The ladies
made no pretence of elaborate toilets, but contented themselves with
putting two tacks into the necks of their day gowns so as to make a
V-shaped opening. (With present fashions this would not be necessary.)
Over this they placed one of those appalling little arrangements of
imitation lace and blue or pink bows, to be seen in the shop windows of
every German town, and known, I think, as Theater-Garnitures. They then
drew on a pair of dark plum-coloured gloves, and their toilet was
complete. The contrast between the handsome white-and-gold theatre and
the rows of portly, dowdy matrons, each one with her ample bosom
swathed in a piece of antimacassar, was very comical. Every abonne had
his own peg for hanging his coat and hat on, and this, and the fact
that one's neighbours in the stalls were invariably the same, gave
quite a family atmosphere to the Brunswick theatre.

The conductor was Franz Abt the composer, and the musical standard of
the operatic performances was very high indeed. The mounting was always
excellent, but going to the theatre night after night, some of the
scenery became very familiar. There was a certain Gothic hall which
seemed to share the mobile facilities of Aladdin's palace. This hall
was ubiquitous, whether the action of the piece lay in Germany, Italy,
France, or England, Mary Queen of Scots sobbed in this hall;
Wallenstein in Schiller's tragedy ranted in it; Rigoletto reproved his
flighty daughter in it. It seemed curious that personages so widely
different should all have selected the same firm of upholsterers to fit
up their sanctums.

The Spiegelbergs had many friends in the theatrical world, and I was
immensely thrilled one evening at learning that after the performance
of Lohengrin, Elsa and the Knight of the Swan were coming home to
supper with us. When Elsa appeared on the balcony in the second act,
and the moon most obligingly immediately appeared to light up her