Monsieur Jullien having made his
appearance in the orchestra, seats himself in a conspicuous situation, to
indulge the ladies with the most favourable view of his elegant person,
and the splendid gold-chainery which is spread all over his magnificent
waistcoat. A servant in livery then appears, and presents him with a pair
of white kid gloves. The illustrious conductor, having taken some time to
thrust them upon a very large and red hand, leisurely takes up his baton,
rises, grins upon the expectant musicians, lifts his arm, and--the first
chord is struck!
Quadrilles are the staple of the evening--those composed by Monsieur
Jullien always, of course, claiming precedence and preference. These are
usually interspersed with solos on the flageolet, to contrast with
_obligati_ for the ophecleido; the drummers--side, long, and double--are
seldom inactive; the trombones and trumpets have no sinecure, and there is
always a great mortality amongst the fiddle-strings. Eight bars of
impossible variation is sure to be succeeded by sixteen of the deafening
fanfare of trumpets, combined with smashing cymbalism, and dreadful
drumming.
The public have a taste for headaches, and Jullien has imported a capital
recipe for creating them; they applaud--he bows; and musical taste
goes--in compliment to the ex-waiter's genuine profession of man-cook--to
_pot_.
But the _ci-devant cuisinier_ is not content with comparatively harmless,
plain-sailing humbug; he must add some _sauce piquante_ to his musical
hashes.
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