“Reeves is a priceless discovery for Jullien; his voice is exquisite in quality, he is a good musician, has an expressive face, and plays with judgment.” * * * * * “_14th January._--Jullien has landed us all in a dreadful bog, but don’t mention it in Paris, as we must not spoil his credit. It is not the Drury Lane venture that has ruined him; that was done before; now he has gone off to the provinces and is making a lot of money with his promenade concerts, while we take a fair amount each night at the theatre, none of which goes into our pockets, for _we are not paid at all_. Only the orchestra, chorus, and work-people are paid every week in order to keep the thing going somehow. “If Jullien does not pay me on his return, I shall arrange with Lumley to give some concerts in Her Majesty’s Theatre, for there is a good opening here since poor Mendelssohn’s death.” * * * * * “_12th February 1848._--My music has taken with the English as fire to gunpowder. The _Rakoczy_ and _Danse des Sylphes_ were encored. Everyone of importance, musically, was at Drury Lane for my concert, and most of the artists came to congratulate me. They had expected something diabolic, involved, incomprehensible. Now we shall see how they agree with our Paris critics. Davison himself wrote the _Times_ critique; they cut half of it out from want of space; still the remainder has had its effect. Old Hogarth of the _Daily News_ was truly comical: ‘My blood is on fire,’ said he; ‘never have I been excited like this by music.’<span class="lftspc">”</span> Jullien, coming finally to the end of his resources, was obliged to call a council of war. It consisted of Sir Henry Bishop, Sir George Smart, Planché, Gye, Marezeck, and myself. He talked wildly of the different operas he proposed to mount, and finally came to _Iphigenia in Tauris_, which, like many others, is promised yearly by the London managers. Impatient at my silence he turned upon me: “Confound it all! surely you know that?” “Certainly I know it. What do you want me to tell you?” “How many acts there are, how many characters, what voices and, above all, the style of setting and costume.” “Take a pen and paper and I will tell you. Four acts, three men: Orestes, baritone; Pylades, tenor; Thoas, high bass; a grand woman’s part, Iphigenia, soprano; a small one, Diana, mezzo-soprano. The costumes you will not like, unfortunately; the Scythians are ragged savages on the shores of the Black Sea; Orestes and Pylades are shipwrecked Greeks. Pylades alone has two dresses--in the fourth act he comes in in a helmet----” “A helmet!” cried Jullien, excitedly; “we are saved! I’ll write to Paris for a golden helmet with a pearl coronet, and an ostrich plume as long as my arm. We’ll have forty performances.” “Prodigious!” as good Dominie Sampson says.