“I never concluded a better, though it has its difficulties; for, as the Professor is almost an idiot when perfectly sober, and totally insensible when downright drunk, there is just a short twilight interval between the two, when his faculties are in good order.”
“What can he do at this favorable juncture?”
“What can he not? is the question. Why, it was he arranged all the scores for the orchestra after the fire, when we had not a scrap left of the music of the 'Maid of Cashmere.' It was he invented that sunrise, in the last scene of all, with the clouds rolling down the mountains, and all the rivulets glittering as the first rays touch them. It was he wrote the third act of Linton's new comedy; the catastrophe and all were his. It was he dashed off that splendid critique on Ristori, that set the town in a blaze; and then he went home and wrote the parody on 'Myrra' for the Strand, all the same night, for I had watered the brandy, and kept him in the second stage of delirium till morning.”
“What a chance! By Jove! Stocmar, you are the only fellow ever picks up a gem of this water!”
“It's not every man can tell the stone that will pay for the cutting, Paten, remember that. I 've had to buy this experience of mine dearly enough.”
“Are you not afraid that the others will hear of him, and seduce him by some tempting offer?”
“I have, in a measure, provided against that contingency. He lives here, in a small crib, where we once kept a brown bear; and he never ventures abroad, so that the chances are he will not be discovered.”
“How I should like to have a look at him!”
“Nothing easier. Let us see, what o'clock is it? Near five. Well, this is not an unfavorable moment; he has just finished his dinner, and not yet begun the evening.” Ringing the bell, as he spoke, he gave orders to a supernumerary to send the Professor to him.
While they waited for his coming, Stocmar continued to give some further account of his life and habits, the total estrangement from all companionship in which he lived, his dislike to be addressed, and the seeming misanthropy that animated him. At last the manager, getting impatient, rang once more, to ask if he were about to appear.