"Oh, you are thinking about that yet, are you?" he said, indifferently; and at this moment, as his neighbor called his attention to some further sketches, he again turned away.
But now the souls of the sons of the Fatherland, warmed with wine, began to think of home and love and patriotism, and longed for some more melodious utterances than this continuous guttural clatter. Silence was commanded. A handsome young fellow, slim and dark, clearly a Jew, ascended the platform, and sat down at the piano; the bashful Hempel, still blushing and laughing, was induced to follow; together they sung, amidst comparative silence, a duet of Mendels
sohn's, set for tenor and barytone, and sung it very well indeed. There was great applause, but Hempel insisted on retiring. Left to himself, the young man with the handsome profile and the finely-set head played a few bars of prelude, and then, in a remarkably clear and resonant voice, sung Braga's mystical and tender serenade, the "Legende Valaque," amidst a silence now quite secured. But what was this one voice or that to all the passion of music demanding utterance? Soon there was a call to the young gentleman to play an accompaniment; and a huge black-a-vised Hessian, still sitting at the table, held up his brimming glass, and began, in a voice like a hundred kettle-drums,
"Ich nehm' mein Glaschen in die Hand:"
then came the universal shout of the chorus, ringing to the roof,
"Vive la Compagneia!"
Again the raucous voice bawled aloud,
"Und fahr' damit in's Unterland:"
and again the thunder of the chorus, this time prolonged, with much beating of time on the table, and jangling of wine-glasses,
"Vive la Compagneia! Vive la, vive la, vive la, va! vive la, vive la, hopsasa! Vive la Compagneia!"