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!"
And so on to the end, the chorus becoming stormier and more thunderous
than ever; then, when peace had been restored, there was a general
rising, though here and there a final glass was drunk with "stosst an!
setzt an! fertig! los!" and its attendant ceremonies.
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