Large, rich cakes were now served, and the guests began to drink sweet wines and to make speeches. Herr Hildebrandt, the court actor, did honour to the spring beer in a speech which consisted entirely of classical quotations, yes, even from the Greek, and Herr Witznagel, the barrister, using his most agreeable gestures and his most exquisite language, toasted the ladies present. He seized a handful of flowers from the nearest vase and from the tablecloth, and compared each with a lady. Amra Jacoby, who sat opposite him in an evening dress of thin, yellow silk, was called “the lovelier sister of the tea-rose.”
Immediately after this she passed her hand over the parting of her soft hair and earnestly nodded towards her husband—whereupon the ponderous man stood up and almost spoiled the spirits of everybody by the painful manner and hideous smile with which he stammered a few paltry words. Only a few artificial bravos were heard, and an oppressive silence reigned for a moment. At once, however, merriment again held sway, and the guests, smoking and rather enlivened by drink, began to rise and, with considerable noise, to move the tables from the hall themselves, for they wanted to dance.
It was past eleven o’clock, and the last trace of formality had vanished. A part of the company had poured forth into the gaily lighted garden to enjoy the fresh air, while the others remained in the hall, standing about in groups, smoking, chatting, filling their beer-glasses, and drinking as they stood. Then a loud trumpet-blast sounded from the stage, calling everybody into the hall. Musicians—a string and brass band—had arrived and had disposed themselves in front of the curtain. Rows of chairs, each with a red program lying on it, had been placed, and the ladies seated themselves, while the gentlemen stood behind them or along both sides of the hall. An expectant silence reigned.
The small orchestra played a rushing overture, the curtain parted—and, behold, there stood a number of hideous Negroes, in screaming costumes and with bloodred lips, who gnashed their teeth and raised a barbaric howl.—These performances were, in fact, the climax of Amra’s party. Enthusiastic applause burst forth, and the cleverly arranged program proceeded, number by number. Frau Hildebrandt appeared in a powdered wig, prodded the floor with a long cane, and sang in an overloud voice: “That’s Maria!” A magician appeared in a dress-suit covered with orders and did most astonishing things. Herr Hildebrandt represented Goethe, Bismarck, and Napoleon in a startlingly realistic maner, and Doctor Wiesensprung, editor of a paper, undertook at the last moment to deliver a humorous lecture on the theme: “Spring beer and its social significance.” Towards the close, however, the tension attained its maximum, for now the final number was due, that mysterious number which was surrounded by a laurel wreath on the program and described as “Little Louise. Song and Dance. Music by Alfred Läutner.”
A stir went through the hall, and eyes met eyes as the musicians put aside their instruments, and Herr Läutner, who up to this moment had been silently leaning against a door with a cigarette between his carelessly pursed-up lips, took his place with Amra Jacoby at the piano, which stood in the centre of the stage before the curtain. His face was flushed, and he turned the pages of written notes nervously, while Amra, who, on the contrary, was a little pale, looked at the audience with a lowering look, one arm supported on the back of the chair. Then, as all necks were being craned, the shrill tinkle of the bell was heard. Herr Läutner and Amra played a few bars of an indifferent introduction, the curtain rolled upward, Little Louise appeared—
As this sorry and horribly dressed-up mass came on with laborious steps, like those of a dancing bear, a shock of astonishment and cold horror went through the crowd of onlookers. It was the counsellor-at-law. A wide dress of bloodred silk, without folds, which reached to his feet, invested his shapeless body, and this dress was décolleté, so that his throat, touched with powder, was exposed unpleasantly. The sleeves were very short and puffed at the shoulders, and long, light yellow gloves covered the thick and muscular arms. A high, flaxen wig with ringlets, in which a green feather nodded to and fro, was perched on his head. From beneath this wig a
