“Oh, you can master the airs in a day, and the cackle in half an hour.”
“I am not so expeditious. If you are serious, get me the book—oh! he calls the poet's words the cackle—and the music of the part directly, and borrow me the score.”
“Borrow you the score! Ah! that shows the school you were bred in. I gaze at you with admiration.”
“Then please don't, for we have not a moment to waste. You have terrified me out of my senses. Fly!”
“Yes; but before I fly, there is something to be settled—salary!”
“As much as they will give.”
“Of course; but give me a hint.”
“No, no; you will get me some money, for I am poor. I gave all my savings to my dear mother, and settled her on a farm in dear old Denmark. But I really sing for you more than for Homburg, so make no difficulties. Above all, do not discuss salary with me. Settle it and draw it for me, and let me hear no more about that. I am on thorns.”
He soon found the director, and told him, excitedly, there was a way out of his present difficulty. Ina Klosking was in the town. He had implored her to return to the opera. She had refused at first; but he had used all his influence with her, and at last had obtained a half promise on conditions—a two months' engagement; certain parts, which he specified out of his own head; salary, a hundred thalers per night, and a half clear benefit on her last appearance.
The director demurred to the salary.