"This," he said to me "is Mr. Ferdinand David, the great violinist and leader of our orchestra; and this," indicating the younger visitor, "is a countryman of yours, Mr. Sterndale Bennett. We think a great deal of Mr. Bennett in Leipzig."
"Ah, ha!" said David to me; "you've come to the right house in Leipzig if you're an Englishman. Mendelssohn dotes on you all, doesn't he, Bennett?"
"Yes," said Bennett, "and we dote on him. I left all the young ladies in England singing 'Ist es wahr.'"
"Ist es wahr? ist es wahr?" carolled David, in lady-like falsetto, with comic exaggeration of anguish sentiment.
Bennett put his hands to his ears with an expression of anguish, saying, "Spare us, David; you play like an angel, but you sing like—well, I leave it to you?"
"And I forgot to mention," said Mendelssohn with a gay laugh, "that our young English visitor is a singer bringing ecstatic recommendations from Klingemann."
"Ah! a rival!" said David, with a dramatic gesture; "but since we're all of a trade, perhaps our friend will show he doesn't mind my nonsense by singing this song to us."
"Yes," said Mendelssohn, with a graceful gesture, "I shall be greatly pleased if you will."
I could not refuse. Mendelssohn sat down at the piano and I began the simple song that has helped so many English people to appreciate the beauties of the German lied.
| "Can it be? Can it be? |
| Dost thou wander through the bower, |
| Wishing I was there with thee? |
| Lonely, midst the moonlight's splendour, |
| Dost thou seek for me? |
| Can it be? Say! |
| But the secret rapturous feeling |
| Ne'er in words must be betrayed; |
| True eyes will tell what love conceals!" |