"''Tis the Princesse de Navarre whom I annou--ou--ounce!'

Gad! how pretty it is!"

"Yes, when Martin sings it, it's delightful. Shall we have much singing to-night?"

"Oh! we shall have some sport. Raymond is to sing the aria from _Joconde_; that tall girl yonder is to sing the inevitable song from _Montano et Stephanie_; the pupil from the Conservatoire has brought a song, too; and Monsieur Crachini will obligingly deafen us with a romanza or two. Then Chamonin and his friend are to make an attempt at a duo from the Bouffes. That's enough, I hope! G.o.d grant that Gripaille doesn't take his guitar to accompany us! if he does, we are lost."

As the chubby-faced little man finished speaking, Gripaille accosted him, and was greeted with:

"Well, my dear Gripaille, aren't we to have the pleasure of hearing you?

Come, bring out your guitar; these ladies are dying for some of your chords."

Gripaille, who considered himself the first guitarist in Paris, replied, casting a seductive leer upon the ladies who surrounded us:

"What the devil do you expect me to sing you? I don't know anything!

I've got a cold, too; and then, Vauvert's guitar is such a wretched instrument! a regular chestnut stove! it's impossible to play on it."

"With such talent as yours, one can play on anything," observed a little old woman, throwing herself back in her chair and clasping her hands ecstatically, while tears of pleasure started from her eyes. "Mon Dieu!

what blissful moments I owe to you! Music produces such an effect on me--such an effect! you can't form any idea of it; my nerves are so sensitive, I abandon myself so utterly to the melody! Take your guitar, enchanter! take it and make me dream! You remind me of a handsome traveller who played the guitar under my windows when I was young!"

The chubby-faced gentleman and I turned away, to avoid laughing in the face of the old woman, from whom Gripaille had great difficulty in extricating himself. Old age is certainly most worthy of respect; but it is hard to keep a serious face before such old idiots, who fall into a trance during a ballad or an _adagio_.

I saw the old man who usually played the 'cello part look at his watch, and heard him mutter between his teeth:

"This is very disagreeable! I must be at home at eleven o'clock, and we are wasting all this time doing nothing; and I've been here since seven!

They were laughing at me when they told me that they were going to begin early, and that there would be a full quartette here; but they won't catch me again."

At last Monsieur Vauvert appeared, panting, almost breathless, drenched with perspiration, and bending beneath the burden of a tenor violin and several portfolios of music.

"Here I am! here I am!" he exclaimed, bustling into the room with an air of great bewilderment; "I've had hard work collecting all the parts, but I've succeeded at last."

"You must have been diverting yourself between whiles," said Madame Vauvert, pursing her lips.

"Oh, yes! parbleu! that's very likely; diverting myself, indeed! I'm bathed in perspiration!--You can begin the quartette, messieurs."

"Let's begin, let's begin!" said Monsieur Pattier, the 'cello player; "we have very little time.--But have you brought my score?"

"Yes, yes! there it is on the stand."

"Come, messieurs, let's tune up."

The amateurs who formed the quartette tried to bring their instruments in tune with one another. Meanwhile, the guests took their places to listen; sat down when they could find chairs. The ladies were already yawning; the bare announcement of a quartette gave them the vapors; to distract their thoughts, they chatted with the men who stood behind their chairs. They whispered and laughed and made fun of everybody, especially of the performers; the moment when music is being performed is always selected by the listeners to make the most noise.

At last the intrepid amateurs were in tune and took their places at their desks. The old 'cello player had put his little shade of green paper round his candle, so that the light should not hurt his eyes; the tenor violinist had put on his spectacles; the second violin put an ounce of rosin on his bow; and the first violin adjusted his cravat so that his instrument should not rumple his collar.

All these preliminaries being completed,--during which Vauvert tried to bring the a.s.semblage to order by many a prolonged _hush_!--the first violin raised his bow and stamped on the floor, glancing from one to another of his colleagues.

"Are we ready?" he said at last, with a determined air.

"Oh! I've been ready two hours!" retorted Monsieur Pattier, with an angry shrug.

"One moment, messieurs," said the second violin; "my first string is loose; it's a new string; I must tighten it."

The tenor seized the opportunity to play over a pa.s.sage that seemed rather difficult, and the 'cellist consoled himself with a pinch of snuff.

"Now I'm ready," said the second violin.

"That's very fortunate.--Attention, messieurs, if you please; we will play the _allegro_ rather slowly, and the _adagio_ somewhat quickly; that produces a better effect."

"As you please; it's your place to beat time."

The signal was given; the first violin started, and the others straggled after, as usual. Although I paid little attention to the quartette, it seemed to me to be even worse than ordinarily.

"The villains have sworn to flay us alive!" said one of my neighbors.

"That isn't right! that isn't right!" cried the first violin, stopping short.

"I don't see why it didn't go well enough," observed the tenor.

"No, no! there was something that was all wrong."

"Where was it?"

"Where? I can't say exactly."

"Well, _I_ didn't miss a note," said the second violin.

"Nor I."

"Nor I."

"Come, messieurs, let us begin again."

"All right, but see that you beat time properly."

"I should say that I beat time loud enough."

"To be sure you do," said Madame Vauvert; "and the person who lives underneath said she would complain to the landlord."

They began to play again; but it went no better, although the first violin writhed and gesticulated like one possessed; the company began to laugh, and the performers stopped.

"It certainly doesn't go right," said Monsieur Longuet, the first violin and conductor. "There must be mistakes somewhere; let me see the 'cello score. What does this mean? you're playing in _B_ flat and we in _D_!

Parbleu! I'm not surprised."

"I'm playing just what you told me to," rejoined old Pattier, scarlet with anger; "the first quartette in the first portfolio."

"True; how the devil does it happen? Let's look at the t.i.tle. What do I see? Mozart's quartette! and we are playing one of Pleyel's! Ha! ha!

that's a good one!"