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Updated: May 15, 2025
'That is what it is, said the doctor with a little emphasis of offence, as if his science had been doubted. 'You knew her, I suppose? 'No. I never saw her before. I will call Schreiermeyer. She stood still a moment longer, looking down at the dead face, and she wondered what it all meant, and why the poor girl had sent for her, and what it was that Mr. Van Torp had done.
Monsieur Schreiermeyer has announced to a select circle of friends that it will be visible in the theatrical heaven on the night of June 21, in the character of Marguerite and in the person of a surprisingly beautiful young Spanish soprano, the Señorita Margarita da Cordova, whose romantic story as daughter to a contrabandista of Andalusia and granddaughter to the celebrated bullfighter Ramon and
For heaven's sake bring Schreiermeyer and anybody else you can find, to identify me, as soon as possible. I am locked up in a cell in the police station of the Third Arrondissement. Yours ever, Madame Bonanni looked at the woman again. 'Did you see the gentleman? she asked. 'What gentleman? 'The gentleman who is in prison! 'What prison? asked the woman with dogged stupidity.
'You will think of me when you use them at table, she said, charmingly unconscious of English prejudices. Schreiermeyer presented her with a bronze statuette of Shylock whetting his knife upon his thigh. 'It will encourage you to sign our next agreement, he observed with stony calm. 'It is the symbol of business. We are all symbolic nowadays.
Yet the man of letters, who was a born English gentleman on his father's side, and who was one altogether by his bringing up, was constantly surprised at himself for being willing to shake hands with a Greek financier who had tried to run away with an English girl; and possibly, in the complicated workings of his mind and conflicting sensibilities, half Anglo-Saxon and half Southern French, his present conduct was due to the fact that Margaret Donne had somehow ceased to be a 'nice English girl' when she joined the cosmopolitan legion that manoeuvres on the international stage of 'Grand Opera. How could a 'nice English girl' remain herself if she associated daily with such people as Pompeo Stromboli, Schreiermeyer, Herr Tiefenbach and Signorina Baci-Roventi, the Italian contralto who could pass for a man so well that she was said to have fought a real duel with sabres and wounded her adversary before he discovered that she was the very lady he had lately left for another a regular Mademoiselle de Maupin!
Van Torp; still less could she expect to get it from persons like Schreiermeyer, who looked upon the gifted men and women he engaged to sing as so many head of cattle, to be driven more or less hard according to their value, and to be turned out to starve the moment they were broken-winded. That fate is sure to overtake the best of them sooner or later.
'How the devil do you know what the house was? he asked sharply. 'I always know, answered the Italian in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone. 'My dresser finds out from the box-office. I never take the C sharp if there are less than three thousand. 'I'll stop that! growled Schreiermeyer. 'As you please! Stromboli shrugged his massive shoulders. 'C sharp is not in the engagement!
'The part of Gilda is much better suited to her voice, take my word for it. 'What do you know about it? asked Schreiermeyer, smiling faintly, just enough to save the rude question from being almost insulting. 'When Gounod began Faust he was in love with a lady with a deep voice, answered Logotheti, 'but when he was near the end he was in love with one who had a high voice.
'Keep your seats! yelled Schreiermeyer desperately. He had been in many accidents, and understood the meaning of the noises he heard. There was death in them, death for the weak by squeezing, and smothering, and trampling underfoot. It was a grim moment, and no one who was there has forgotten it, the manager least of all. 'It's only a fuse gone! he shouted. 'Only a plug burnt out!
Margaret started in surprise and protest. 'But the things are all ready objected the cadaverous maid. 'Damn the things! yelled Schreiermeyer. 'Clear two chairs at once! He seemed, on the verge of a white apoplexy, though he did not move from his seat.
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