"They are all gone! I might have known it by the whispering, shuffling1, coughing, buzzing through all the notes of the gamut2. It was a true swarm3 of bees, leaving the old hive. Gottlieb has lighted fresh candles for me, and placed a bottle of Burgundy on the piano-forte. I can play no more, I am perfectly4 exhausted5. My glorious old friend here on the music-stand is to blame for that. Again he has borne me away through the air, as Mephistopheles did Faust, and so high, that I took not the slightest notice of the little men under me, though I dare say they made noise enough. A rascally6, worthless, wasted evening! But now I am well and merry! However, while I was playing, I took out my pencil, and on pagesixty-three, under the last system, noted7 down a couple of good flourishes in cipher8 with my right hand, while the left was struggling away in the torrent9 of sweet sounds. Upon the blank page at the end I go on writing. I leave all ciphers10 and sweet tones, and with true delight, like a sick man restored to health, who can never stop relating what he has suffered, I note down here circumstantially the dire11 agonies of this evening's tea-party. And not for myself alone, but likewise for all those who from time to time may amuse and edify12 themselves with my copy of John Sebastian Bach's Variations for the Piano-forte, published by Nägeli in Zürich, and who find my marks at the end of the thirtieth variation, and, led on by the great Latin Verte, (I will write it down the moment I get through this doleful statement of grievances,) turn over the leaf and read.
"They will at once see the connexion. They know, that the Geheimerath Rödelein's house is a charming house to visit in, and that he has two daughters, of whom the whole fashionable world proclaims with enthusiasm, that they dance like goddesses, speak French like angels, and play and sing and draw like the Muses14. The Geheimerath Rödelein is a rich man. At his quarterly dinners he brings on the most delicious wines and richest dishes. All is established on a footing of the greatest elegance15; and whoever at his tea-parties does not amuse himself heavenly, has no ton, no esprit, and particularly no taste for the fine arts. It is with an eye to these, that, with the tea, punch, wine, ice-creams, etc., a little music is always served up, which, like the other refreshments16, is very quietly swallowed by the fashionable world.
"The arrangements are as follows.--After every guest has had time enough to drink as many cups of tea as he may wish, and punch and ices have been handed round twice, the servants wheel out the card-tables for the elder and more solid part of the company, who had rather play cards than any musical instrument; and, to tell the truth, this kind of playing does not make such a useless noise as others, and you hear only the clink of money.
"This is a hint for the younger part of the company to pounce17 upon the Misses Rödelein. A great tumult18 ensues; in the midst of which you can distinguish these words,--
"'Schönes Fräulein! do not refuse us the gratification of your heavenly talent! O, sing something! that's a good dear!--impossible,--bad cold,--the last ball! have not practised anything,--oh, do, do, we beg of you,' etc.
"Meanwhile Gottlieb has opened the piano-forte, and placed the well-known music-book on the stand; and from the card-table cries the respectable mamma,--
" 'Chantez donc, mes enfans!'
"That is the cue of my part. I place myself at the piano-forte, and the Rödeleins are led up to the instrument in triumph.
"And now another difficulty arises. Neither wishes to sing first.
"'You know, dear Nanette, how dreadful hoarse19 I am.'
"'Why, my dear Marie, I am as hoarse as you are.'
"'I sing so badly!--'
"'O, my dear child; do begin!'
"My suggestion, (I always make the same!) that they should both begin together with a duet, is loudly applauded;--the music-book is thumbed over, and the leaf, carefully folded down, is at length found, and away we go with Dolce dell' anima, etc.
"To tell the truth, the talent of the Misses Rödelein is not the smallest. I have been an instructer here only five years, and little short of two years in the Rödelein family. In this short time, Fräulein Nanette has made such progress, that a tune20, which she has heard at the theatre only ten times, and has played on the piano-forte, at farthest, ten times more, she will sing right off, so that you know in a moment what it is. Fräulein Marie catches it at the eighth time; and if she is sometimes a quarter of a note lower than the piano-forte, after all it is very tolerable, considering her pretty little doll-face, and very passable rosy-lips.
"After the duet, a universal chorus of applause! And now arriettas and duettinos succeed each other, and right merrily I hammer away at the thousand-times-repeated accompaniment. During the singing, the Finanzräthin Eberstein, by coughing and humming, has given to understand that she also sings. Fräulein Nanette says;
"'But, my dear Finanzräthin, now you must let us hear your exquisite21 voice.'
"A new tumult arises. She has a bad cold in her head,--she does not know anything by heart! Gottlieb brings straightway two armfuls of music-books; and the leaves are turned over again and again. First she thinks she will sing Der Hölle Rache, etc., then Hebe sich, etc., then Ach, Ich liebte, etc. In this embarrassment22, I propose, Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese, etc. But she is for the heroic style; she wants to make a display, and finally selects the aria13 in Constantia.
"O scream, squeak23, mew, gurgle, groan24, agonize25, quiver, quaver, just as much as you please, Madam,--I have my foot on the fortissimo pedal, and thunder myself deaf! O Satan, Satan! which of thy goblins damned has got into this throat, pinching, and kicking, and cuffing26 the tones about so! Four strings27 have snapped already, and one hammer is lamed28 for life. My ears ring again,--my head hums,--my nerves tremble! Have all the harsh notes from the cracked trumpet29 of a strolling-player been imprisoned30 in this little throat! (But this excites me,--I must drink a glass of Burgundy.)
"The applause was unbounded; and some one observed, that the Finanzräthin and Mozart had put me quite in a blaze. I smiled with downcast eyes, very stupidly. I could but acknowledge it. And now all talents, which hitherto had bloomed unseen, were in motion, wildly flitting to and fro. They were bent31 upon a surfeit32 of music; tuttis, finales, choruses must be performed. The Canonicus Kratzer sings, you know, a heavenly bass33, as was observed by the............