"Well," said Lothair at last, "it seems that somehow our meeting of to-night has fallen into a strange groove of ill-fortune, and it appears to be hopeless to expect any comfort or enjoyment out of it. Suppose we have a little music, and sing some absurd stuff or other as vilely as we can."
"Yes," said Theodore, "that is the thing." And he opened the piano. "If we don't manage a canon--which, according to Junker Tobias is a thing which can reel three souls out of a weaver's body--we will make it awful enough to be worthy of Signor Capuzzi and his friends. Suppose we sing an Italian Terzetto buffo out of our own heads. I'll be the prima donna, and begin. Ottmar will be the lover, and Lothair had better be the comic old man, and come in, raging and swearing in rapid notes."
"But the words, the words," said Ottmar.
"Sing whatever you please," said Theodore; "Oh Dio! Addio! Lasciami mia Vita."
"No, no," cried Vincenz. "If you won't let me take part in your singing--although I feel that I possess a wonderful talent for it, which only wants the voice of a Catalani to produce itself in the work-a-day world with drastic effect, allow me at least to be your librettist--your poet-laureate. And here I hand you your libretto at once."
He had found on Theodore's writing-table the 'Indice de Teatrali Spettacoli' for 1791, and this he handed to Theodore. This indice, like all which appear yearly in Italy, merely contained a list of the titles of the operas performed, with the names of their composers, and of the singers, scene-painters, &c., concerned in their production. They opened the page which related to the opera in Milan, and it was decided that the prima donna should sing the names of the lover-tenors (with a due interspersing of Ah Dio's and Oh Cielo's), that the lover-tenor should sing the names of the prima donnas in like manner, and that the comic old man should come in, in his furious wrath, with the titles of the operas which had been given and an occasional burst of invective, appropriate to his character.
Theodore played a ritornello of the cut and pattern which occurs by the hundred in the opera buffas of the Italians, and then began to sing in sweet, tender strains "Lorenzo Coleoni! Gaspare Rossari! Oh Dio! Giuseppo Marelli! Francesco Sedini!" &c. Ottmar followed with "Giuditta Paracca! Teresa Ravini! Giovanna Velata--Oh Dio!" &c. And Lothair burst duly in with rapid, angry quavers: "Le Gare Generose, del Maestro Paesiello--Che vedo? La Donna di Spirito, del Maestro Mariella. Briconaccio! Piro, Re di Epiro! Maledetti!--del Maestro Zingarelli," &c.
This singing, which Lothair and Ottmar accompanied with appropriate gesticulations (Vincenz illustrating Theodore's impersonations with the most preposterous grimaces imaginable), warmed up the friends more and more. In a comic description of enthusiastic inspiration each seized the drift of the other's ideas. All the passages, imitations, &c. (to use musical expressions), usually employed in compositions of this description, were reproduced with the utmost accuracy--so that any one who had come in by accident would never have dreamt that this performance was improvised on the spur of the moment, even if the strange hotch-potch of names had struck him as curious.
Louder and more unrestrainedly raged this outbreak of Italian rabbia, until (as may be supposed), it culminated in a wild, universal burst of laughter, in which even Cyprian joined.
At their parting, on this evening, the friends were in a condition of wild enjoyment, rather than (as was the case on other occasions), lull of rational delight.