DOI Artikel:
Makower, Stanley V.: Chopin Op. 47
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.38746#0256
252 Chopin Op. 47
mysteriously on the shoulder, shook his head at him, and laughed,
saying :
“Take some more hock and forget your age,” as from the
long-necked bottle he poured the amber-coloured wine into his
neighbour’s glass.
But the man only smiled faintly as he pushed an imaginary lock
of hair from his forehead, and murmured :
“ I feel old ; sometimes it comes over me.”
There was a silence for a few moments, the querulous tone of the
speaker having checked the merriment of the company.
One of the red silk shades caught fire and fell burning upon the
table. Everybody rose to extinguish it, and sat down again dis-
consolately. Outside the lights were beginning to spring up
along the street.
The next few minutes passed again in silence.
“ Let us go,” said some one at last.
The host rose toying with the pin in his tie, which he pulled up
slightly and then pushed back into its place.
“ Come to my rooms,” he said, indicating a general invitation
by a vague look in his eyes. “ Suzanne Delisle is coming to play
the piano.”
No one dissented ; so they called for their hats and coats and
went one behind the other out of the hot room, while a voice
quavered out:
“ The scorn of men I’d suffer,
So long as Oceana don’t look down . . . .”
It stopped suddenly as they stepped into the cold, foggy street.
They all shivered a little and then set out briskly. A walk of
five minutes brought them to a house.
The
mysteriously on the shoulder, shook his head at him, and laughed,
saying :
“Take some more hock and forget your age,” as from the
long-necked bottle he poured the amber-coloured wine into his
neighbour’s glass.
But the man only smiled faintly as he pushed an imaginary lock
of hair from his forehead, and murmured :
“ I feel old ; sometimes it comes over me.”
There was a silence for a few moments, the querulous tone of the
speaker having checked the merriment of the company.
One of the red silk shades caught fire and fell burning upon the
table. Everybody rose to extinguish it, and sat down again dis-
consolately. Outside the lights were beginning to spring up
along the street.
The next few minutes passed again in silence.
“ Let us go,” said some one at last.
The host rose toying with the pin in his tie, which he pulled up
slightly and then pushed back into its place.
“ Come to my rooms,” he said, indicating a general invitation
by a vague look in his eyes. “ Suzanne Delisle is coming to play
the piano.”
No one dissented ; so they called for their hats and coats and
went one behind the other out of the hot room, while a voice
quavered out:
“ The scorn of men I’d suffer,
So long as Oceana don’t look down . . . .”
It stopped suddenly as they stepped into the cold, foggy street.
They all shivered a little and then set out briskly. A walk of
five minutes brought them to a house.
The