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Updated: May 1, 2025
Then came Schumann's Traumerei on the strings, Handel's Largo, Grieg's Papillon, and a ballade by Chaminade. Then again sang the prima-donna; old folksy songs, sketches from the operas grand and light, Faust, The Barber of Seville, La Fille de Madame Angot. In all his days Warburton had never heard such music. Doubtless he had even better; only at this period he was in love.
Racing-liners with twin-screws sing "The Turkish Patrol" and the overture to the "Bronze Horse," and "Madame Angot," till something goes wrong, and then they render Gounod's "Funeral March of a Marionette," with variations. "You'll learn a song of your own some fine day," said the Steam, as he flew up the fog-horn for one last bellow.
Ha!" and the rat laughed so loud that if the bailiff had been sharp he must have heard this unusual chuckling in the drain. But he heard nothing, but went off down the road very contented with himself, whistling a bar from "Madame Angôt" which he had learnt from Bevis.
Racing-liners with twin-screws sing "The Turkish Patrol" and the overture to the "Bronze Horse," and "Madame Angot," till something goes wrong, and then they render Gounod's "Funeral March of a Marionette," with variations. "You'll learn a song of your own some fine day," said the Steam, as he flew up the fog-horn for one last bellow.
But in Madame Favart she had nothing to do, and wearied waiting in the chorus for another chance which never came, for after her success with the fish-wife's song in Madame Angot, Beaumont took good care not to give her another chance. What was to be done? Dick said he couldn't sack the principals.
Kate listened, only half understanding what was said. 'And what part does he play in Madame Angot? she asked as she bent her head to examine the bead trimmings she was stitching on to the sleeves. 'The low comedy part, said Miss Hender; but seeing that Kate did not understand, she hastened to explain that the low comedy parts meant the funny parts.
And then the Shadow, with that wonderful power of accurate mimicry which is so strong in all natural human beings, began to trill out at once, with a very good Parisian accent, a few lines from a well-known song in "La Fille de Madame Angot:"
Was there not some miscount, and was it not fifteen instead? As old and as wise as the Cumæan Sybil at one moment, as light and careless as a Hebe the next. Would not this war of wisdom and folly be decided ere long? She opened the paper and smoothed out the folds. "Madame Angot. There is a letter for you in the mail-department of this office." It was so droll.
"Brethren! Let us have some speeches!" "Musicians, bush!" "Come up to the bank and I'll explain to you why I didn't discount it." "A speech! Silence!" "Musicians, cease playing!" "Strike up 'In the Meadows." "Madame Angot!" "No! Yakov Tarasovich, we beg of you!" "That's called Strassburg pastry." "We beg of you! We beg of you!" "Pastry? It doesn't look like it, but I'll taste it all the same."
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