At the first rehearsal, however, at which Bulow was present, he did not fail to grasp how matters stood.  I no longer concealed anything from him; and we continued to indulge in sorrowful intercourse till the night of the performance, which was again and again postponed, and it was only his untiring efforts to be of use to me that gave some life to our companionship.  From whatever side we regarded our grotesque undertaking, we encountered unsuitability and incompetence.  For instance, it was impossible in the whole of Paris to find the twelve French horns which in Dresden had so bravely sounded the hunting call in the first act.  In connection with this matter I had to deal with the terrible man Sax, the celebrated instrument-maker.  He had to help me out with all kinds of substitutes in the shape of saxophones and saxhorns; moreover, he was officially appointed to conduct the music behind the scenes.  It was an impossibility ever to get this music properly played.

The main grievance, however, lay in the incompetence of M. Dietzsch, the conductor, which had now reached a pitch hitherto unsuspected.  In the numerous orchestral rehearsals which had been held hitherto, I had accustomed myself to use this man like a machine.  From my habitual position on the stage near his desk I had conducted both conductor and orchestra.  In this way I had maintained my tempi in such a way that I felt no doubt that on my removal all my points would remain firmly established.  I found, on the contrary, that no sooner was Dietzsch left to his own resources than everything began to waver; not one tempo, not one nuance was conscientiously and strictly preserved.  I then realised the extreme danger in which we were placed.  Granted that no one singer was suited to his task, or qualified to achieve it so as to produce a genuine effect; granted that the ballet, and even the sumptuous mounting and vitality of the Parisian performances of the day, could contribute nothing on this occasion, or at most but little; granted that the whole spirit of the libretto, and that indefinable something which even in the worst performances of Tannhauser in Germany roused a feeling of home, was likely here to strike an alien or at best an unfamiliar note; yet in spite of all this the character of the orchestral music, which if rendered with emphasis was full of suggestive expression, led one to hope that it would make an impression even upon a Parisian audience.  But it was precisely in this particular that I saw everything submerged in a colourless chaos, with every line of the drawing obliterated; moreover, the singers became more and more uncertain in their work; even the poor ballet-girls were no longer able to keep time in their trivial steps; so that at last I thought myself obliged to interpose with the declaration that the opera required a different conductor, and that in case of necessity I myself was ready to take his place.  This declaration brought to a climax the confusion that had grown up