Mr. Monday and other tales of Jewish Amsterdam

132 Air. Monday and Other Tales of Jewish Amsterdam

One connoisseur says to another "That young man over there has a beautiful voice. What a feo/!"

"Oy. no wonder, don't you know who his grandfather was?

"How should I know? I do not know that young fellow at all."

"Kerpel.. .Kerpel! His grandfather was Kerpel, the greatest singer the world has ever known. What are you telling me now, you've never heard of Kerpel? You should be ashamed. You talk of opera and you've never heard of Kerpel?"

Says the other "If you ask me, his voice reminds me a little of Isalberti."

"Isalberti? Isalberti? That's the last straw! Honest to G-d, I am surprised that you're not telling me his voice sounds like that of Else Grassau.That voice... There is only one voice that boy reminds me of... You don't know whom I'm referring to? Well, all right, I'll tell you.The voice of Jacques Urlus.Yes sir, no other than Jacques Urlus."

"Now that you mention that name... Yes, you're right, Jacques Urlus. No other. Like two drops of water Urlus. But it has a touch of Orelio in it too."

The voluntary arias that arise from the gallery are unannounced, they bubble up from a feeling of overflowing musicality. The spontaneous singer represents the voice of the audience. When they give voice to the popular arias, the gallery turns into a secularised synagogue with the voluntary soloist as the cantor.

The congregation sings the opening theme of Leoncavallo's opera Ipaggliacci.