h to all German scholars and artists.

"Now then, strike up a tune, my boy!" Willy suddenly ordered the cook,
"Signor Simone Brambilla, you will please perform for us now! And
_cantare_. Understand? _Ma forte_ not too _mezza voce_!" He took a
mandolin from the sideboard and pressed it into the chef's arms.

"_Signor Guglielmo e sempre buffo_," said the cook.

"That's it--_buffo, buffo_," cried Franck, striking the table with his
fist. His smile had already turned somewhat idiotic, and he seemed to
think "_buffo_" meant "to sing."

"_Cosa vuole sentire?_" asked Brambilla.

"'_Addio mia bella Napoli_,'" suggested Willy, "or anything you like, Mr.
Brambilla."

"What does 'like' mean?" asked Franck. "I have heard the word so often."

"Would you believe," Willy said to Frederick, "that that ox has been here
over a year and doesn't know a word of English?"

"'_Deutschland, Deutschland ueber alles!_'" Franck began to sing.

"Goodness gracious!" said Willy. "His toothache has begun to bother him
again."

"'_Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten_,'" sang Franck.

"But I do!" cried Willy. "_Silentium!_ When Franck begins to sing and
Lobkowitz to yawn and Ritter empties his first glass on the table-cloth,
we'll soon be lying stretched out under the table."

The cook had seated himself decorously and was holding the mandolin in
position. With his cap of white linen and his white linen jacket and
apron, he cut a droll figure among those correctly dressed young men.
Willy Snyders poured some _vino nero_ for him into a tumbler, and he
struck a few notes by way of prelude, though hesitating to interrupt
Franck and begin. He kept his face, glowing from the kitchen fire, turned
toward Franck with an expression of courteous waiting and politely
besought him in Italian to keep on singing. Finally, since Franck,
instead of answering, arose, gave him a comically commanding look, and
waved his fork like a baton, he began, striking up an accompaniment
with a catching rhythm, which titillated his auditors' nerves. He was an
excellent singer and a master-hand at playing the mandolin. He gave those
well-known street-ballads which one hears everywhere in Italy, especially
in Naples: "_Addio mia bella Napoli_," "_Funiculi Funicula_," "_L'altro
ieri a Piedigrotta_," "_Margherita di Parete era sarta delle signore_,"
and also more serious songs, such as the languishing "_Ogni sera di
sotto all' mio balcone sento cantar una canzon d' amore