turned over the pages curiously.
“Is it nice?” she asked.
“It is the most beautiful opera ever made,” Wunsch declared solemnly.
“You know the story, eh? How, when she die, Orpheus went down below for
his wife?”
“Oh, yes, I know. I didn’t know there was an opera about it, though. Do
people sing this now?”
“ABER JA! What else? You like to try? See.” He drew her from the stool
and sat down at the piano. Turning over the leaves to the third act, he
handed the score to Thea. “Listen, I play it through and you get the
RHYTHMUS. EINS, ZWEI, DREI, VIER.” He played through Orpheus’ lament,
then pushed back his cuffs with awakening interest and nodded at Thea.
“Now, VOM BLATT, MIT MIR.”
“ACH, ICH HABE SIE VERLOREN, ALL’ MEIN GLUCK IST NUN DAHIN.”
Wunsch sang the aria with much feeling. It was evidently one that was
very dear to him.
“NOCH EINMAL, alone, yourself.” He played the introductory measures,
then nodded at her vehemently, and she began:—
“ACH, ICH HABE SIE VERLOREN.”
When she finished, Wunsch nodded again. ”SCHON,” he muttered as he
finished the accompaniment softly. He dropped his hands on his knees and
looked up at Thea. “That is very fine, eh? There is no such beautiful
melody in the world. You can take the book for one week and learn
something, to pass the time. It is good to know—always. EURIDICE,
EU—RI—DI—CE, WEH DASS ICH AUF ERDEN BIN!” he sang softly, playing the
melody with his right hand.
Thea, who was turning over the pages of the third act, stopped and
scowled at a passage. The old German’s blurred eyes watched her
curiously.
“For what do you look so, IMMER?” puckering up his own face. “You see
something a little difficult, may-be, and you make such a face like it
was an enemy.”
Thea laughed, disconcerted. “Well, difficult things are enemies, aren’t
they? When you have to get them?”
Wunsch lowered his head and threw it up as if he were butting something.
“Not at all! By no means.” He took the book from her and looked at it.
“Yes, that is not so easy, there. This is an old book. They do not print
it so now any more, I think. They leave it out, may-be. Only one woman
could sing that good.”
Thea looked at him in perplexity.
Wunsch went on. “It is written for alto, you see. A woman sings the
part, and there was only one to sing that good in there. You understand?
Only one!” He glanced at her quickly and lifted his red forefinger
upright before her eyes.
Thea looked at the finger as if she were hypnotized. “Only one?” she
asked breathlessly; her hands, hanging at her sides, were opening and
shutting rapidly.
Wunsch nodded and still held up that compelling finger. When he dropped
his hands, there was a look of satisfaction in his face.
“Was she very great?”
