The characteristic features of the system in Paris may be described simply as extreme frigidity and extraordinary accuracy.  M. Vauthrot, the chorus-master, excelled in both these qualities.  He was a man whom I could not help regarding as hostile to me, because I had never been able to win from him a single expression of enthusiasm.  On the other hand, he proved to me by the most punctilious solicitude how conscientious he really was about his work.  He insisted on considerable alterations in the text, so as to obtain a favourable medium for singing.  My knowledge of the scores of Auber and Boieldieu had misled me into assuming that the French people were entirely indifferent as to whether the mute syllables in poetry and singing were to be sounded or not.  Vauthrot maintained that this was only the case with composers, but not with good singers.  He was always feeling misgivings about the length of my work, which I met with the observation that I could not understand how he could be afraid of boring the public with any opera after they had been accustomed to find pleasure in Rossini’s Semiramis, which was often produced.  Upon this he paused to reflect, and agreed with me so far as the monotony of action and of music in that work was concerned.  He told me not to forget, however, that the public neither cared for action nor music, but that their whole attention was directed to the brilliancy of the singers.  Tannhauser gave little scope for brilliancy, and, as a matter of fact, I had none of that quality at my disposal.  The only singer in my company who had any claim to such a distinction was Mme. Tedesco, a rather grotesque but voluptuous type of Jewess who had returned from Portugal and Spain after having had great triumphs in Italian operas.  She did not conceal her satisfaction at having secured an engagement at the Paris Opera through my unwilling choice of her for the part of Venus.  She gave herself no end of trouble to solve the problem to the best of her ability—­a problem which was entirely beyond her and which was suited only to a genuine tragedy actress.  For a certain time her efforts appeared to be crowned with success, and several special rehearsals with Niemann led to a lively affinity between Tannhauser and Venus.  As Niemann mastered the French pronunciation with considerable skill, these rehearsals, in which Fraulein Sax also proved delightful, made genuine and encouraging progress.  Up to this point these rehearsals were undisturbed, as my acquaintance with M. Dietzsch was as yet very slight.  According to the rules of the Opera House, Dietzsch had hitherto only been present at the pianoforte rehearsals as chef d’orchestre and future conductor of the opera, so as to make himself accurately acquainted with the intentions of the singers.  Still less was I disturbed by M. Cormon, the stage manager, who was also present at the rehearsals, and with a lively skill, characteristic of the French people, conducted the numerous so-called