 Part 4 of Signore Formica in Weird Tales, Volume 1 by E. T. A. Hoffman, translated by J. T. Bilby. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Thomas Copeland. 4. Of the new attack made by Salvatore Rosa and Antonio Scacciati upon Signor Pasquale Capuzzi and upon his company, and of what further happens in consequence. This morning Antonio came to Salvatore melancholy and dejected. Well, what's the matter, cried Salvatore when he saw him coming? What are you hanging your head about? What's happened to you now, you happy dog? Can you not see your mistress every day and kiss her and press her to your heart? Oh, Salvatore, it's all over with my happiness, it's gone forever, cried Antonio. The devil is making sport of me. Our stratagem has failed. And we now stand on a footing of open enmity with that cursed Capuzzi. So much the better, said Salvatore. So much the better. But come, Antonio, tell me what's happened. Just imagine, Salvatore began, Antonio, yesterday when I went back to the dioripata after an absence of at most two hours with all sorts of medicines, whom should I see but the old gentleman standing in his own doorway fully dressed. And him was the pyramid doctor and the deucidex jondon, whilst a confused something was bobbing about round their legs. It was, I believe, that little monster pitiginaccio. No sooner did the old man get sight of me than he shook his fist at me and began to heap the most fearful curses and implications upon me, swearing that if I did but approach his door he would have all my bones broken. Be off to the devil, you infamous barba-fellow he shrieked. You think to outwit me with your lying and navery. At the very devil himself you lie and wait for my poor, innocent Marianna, and fancy you were going to get her into your toils, but stop the moment I will spend my last ducat to have the vital spark stamped out of you, ere you are aware of it. And your fine patron, Senor Salvatore, the murderer, bandit, whose escaped the halter, he shall be sent to join his captain Masaniello in hell. I'll have him out of Rome, that won't cost me much trouble. Thus the old fellow raged, and as the damned ex-jondon, incited by the pyramid doctor, was making preparations to bear down upon me, and a crowd of curious onlookers began to assemble, what could I do but quick the field with all speed. I didn't like to come to you in my great trouble, for I know you would only have laughed at me and my inconsolable complaints, nor you could hardly keep back your laughter now. As Antonio ceased speaking, Salvatore did indeed burst out laughing heartily. Now, he cried, now the thing is beginning to be rather interesting. And now, my worthy Antonio, I will tell you in detail all that took place at Capuzzi's after you had gone. You had hardly left the house when Senor Splendiano Accordamboni, who had learned, God knows in what way, that his bosom friend Capuzzi had broken his right leg in the night, drew near in all solemnity with a surgeon. Your bandage and the entire method of treatment you have adopted with Senor Pasquale could not fail to excite suspicion. The surgeon removed the splints and bandages, and they discovered, what we both very well know, that there was not even so much as an ossicle of the worthy Capuzzi's right foot dislocated, still less broken. It didn't require any common sagacity to understand all the rest. But, said Antonio, utterly astonished, what my dear good sir, do tell me how you have learned all that. Tell me how you get into Capuzzi's house and know everything that takes place there. I have already told you, replied Salvatore, that an acquaintance of Dame Caterina lives in the same house, and, moreover, on the same floor as Capuzzi. This acquaintance, the widow of a wine dealer, has a daughter whom my little Margaret often goes to see. Now girls have a special instinct for finding out their fellows, and so it came about that Rose, thus the name of the wine dealer's daughter, and Margaret, soon discovered in the living room a small vent hole, leading into a dark closet that adjoins Mariana's apartment. Mariana had been by no means inattentive to the whispering and murmuring of the two girls, nor had she failed to notice the vent hole, and so the way to a mutual exchange of communications was soon opened and made use of. Whenever old Capuzzi takes his afternoon nap, the girls gossip away to their hearts content. You will have observed that little Margaret, Dame Caterina's and my favorite, is not so serious and reserved as her elder sister Anna, but is an arch-froxen-droll little thing. Without expressly making mention of your love affair, I have instructed her to get Mariana to tell her everything that takes place in Capuzzi's house. She has proved a very apt pupil in the matter, and if I laughed at your pain and despondency just now, it was because I knew what would comfort you. I could prove to you that the affair has now taken a most favorable turn. I have quite a big budget full of excellent news for you. Salvatore! cried Antonio, his eyes sparkling with joy. How you cost my hopes to rise! Heaven be praised for the vent hole! I will write to Mariana. Margaret shall take the letter with her. Nay, nay! We can have none of that, Antonio, replied Salvatore. Margaret can be useful to us without being your love messenger, exactly. Besides, accident which often plays many fine tricks might carry your amorous confessions into old Capuzzi's hands, and so bring an endless amount of fresh trouble upon Mariana, just at the very moment when she is on the point of getting the lovesick old fool under her thumb, for listen to what then happened. The way in which Mariana received the old fellow when we took him home has quite reformed him. He is fully convinced that she no longer loves you, but that she has given him at least one half of her heart, and that all he has to do is win the other half. And Mariana, since she imbibed the poison of your kisses, has advanced three years in shrewdness, artfulness, and experience. She has convinced the old man not only that she had no share in our trick, but that she hates our goings-on, and will meet with scorn every device on your part to approach her. In his excessive delight, the old man was too hasty, and swore that if he could do anything to please his adored Mariana, he would do it immediately. She had only to give utterance to her wish. Whereupon Mariana modestly asked for nothing except that her zio carissimo, dearest uncle, would take her to see Signor Formica in the theatre outside the Porto del Potolo. This rather posed capuzzi. There were consultations with the Pyramid Doctor and with Peticinaccio. At last, Signor Pasquale and Signor Splendiano came to the resolution that they really would take Mariana to this theatre tomorrow. Peticinaccio, it was resolved, should accompany them in the disguise of a handmaiden, to which he only gave his consent on condition that Signor Pasquale would make him a present, not only of the plush waistcoat, but also of a wig, and at night would alternately with the Pyramid Doctor carry him home. That bargain they finally made, and so the curious leash will certainly go along with Peticinaccio to see Signor Formica tomorrow in the theatre outside the Porto del Potolo. It is now necessary to say who Signor Formica was, and what he had to do with the theatre outside the Porto del Potolo. At the time of the carnival in Rome, nothing is more sad than when the theatre managers have been unlucky in their choice of a musical composer, or when the first tenor at the Argentina Theatre has lost his voice on the way, or when the male prima donna – note – female parts continue to be played by boys in England down to the restoration – 1660. The practice of women playing in female parts was introduced somewhat earlier in Italy, but only in certain kinds of performances. Return to text. Or when the male prima donna of the Valley Theatre is laid up with a cold. In brief, when the chief source of recreation, which the Romans were coping to find, proves abortive, and then comes only Thursday, and all at once cuts off all the hopes which might perhaps have been realized. It was just after one of these unlucky carnivals, almost before the strict fast days were passed, when a certain Niccolò Mousseau opened a theatre outside the Porto del Potolo, where he stated his intention of putting nothing but light impromptu comic sketches on the boards. The advertisement was drawn up in an ingenious and witty style, and consequently the Romans formed a favourable preconception of Mousseau's enterprise. But independently of this, they would in their longing to steal their dramatic hunger have greedily snatched at any of the poorest papulom of this description. The interior arrangements of the theatre, or rather of the small booth, did not say much for the pecuniary resources of the enterprising manager. There was no orchestra, nor were there boxes. Instead, a gallery was put up at the back, where the arms of the House of Colonna were conspicuous, a sign that Count Colonna had taken Mousseau and his theatre under his special protection. A platform of slight elevation, covered with carpets, and hung round with curtains, which according to the requirements of the piece, had to represent a wood or room or a street, this was the stage. Add to this that the spectators had to content themselves with hard, uncomfortable wooden benches, and it was no wonder that seeing Mousseau's patrons on first entering were pretty loud in their grumblings at him, recalling a paltry wooden booth of theatre. But no sooner had the first two actors who appeared exchanged a few words together than the attention of the audience was arrested. As the piece proceeded, their interest took the form of applause. Their applause grew to admiration. Their admiration to the wildest pitch of enthusiastic excitement, which found vent in loud and continuous laughter, clapping of hands, and screams of bravo, bravo! And indeed it would not have been very easy to find anything more perfect than these extemporized representations of Nicola Mousseau. They overflowed with wit, humor, and genius, and lashed the follies of the day with an unsparing scourge. The audience were quite carried away by the incomparable characterization which distinguished all the actors, but particularly by the inimitable mimicry of Bascarella. Note, this word is undoubtedly connected with Pasquillo, a satire, or with Pasquino, a Roman cobbler of the 15th century, who shopped stood near the Braschi Palace near the Piazza Navona. He lashed the follies of his day, particularly the vices of the clergy, with caustic satire, scathing wit, and bitter-stinging irony. After his death, his name was transferred to a mutilated statue, upon which such satiric effusions continued to be fastened. Pasquarello would thus combine the characteristics of the English clown with those of the Roman Pasquino. Return to text. Particularly by the inimitable mimicry of Pasquarello, by his marvelously natural imitations of the voice, gait, and postures of well-known personages. By his inexhaustible humor and the point and appositeness of his impromptus, he quite carried his audience away. The man who played the role of Pasquarello, and who called himself Signor Formica, seemed to be animated by a spirit of singular originality. Often there was something so strange in either tone or gesture that the audience, even in the midst of the most unrestrained burst of laughter, felt a cold shiver run through them. He was excellently supported by Dr. Gratiano. Note. Dr. Gratiano, a character in the popular Italian theater called Comedia da Larte, was represented as a bouldinese doctor, and wore a mask with black nose and forehead and red cheeks. His role was that of a pedantic and tedious poser. Return to text. Supported by Dr. Gratiano, who in pamimistic action and voice, and in his talent for saying the most delightful things mixed up with apparently the most extravagant nonsense, had perhaps no equal in the world. This role was played by an old bouldinese named Maria Arlie. Thus, in a short time, all educated Rome was seen hastening in a continuous stream to Niccolò Mousso's little theater outside the Porta del Popolo. Whilst Formica's name was on everybody's lips, and people shouted with wild enthusiasm, Oh, Formica, Formica, Benedetto, Oh, Formicissimo. Not only in the theater, but also in the streets. They regarded him as a supernatural visitant, and many an old lady who had split her sides with laughing in the theater would suddenly look brave and say solemnly, scherzo coi fanti, e lascia starzanti, jest with children but at the saints alone. If anybody ventured to say the least thing in disparagement of Formica's acting. This arose from the fact that outside the theater, Signor Formica was an inscrutable mystery. Never was he seen anywhere, and all efforts to discover traces of him were in vain. Whilst Niccolò Mousso and his part maintained an inexorable silence respecting his retreat. And this was the theater that Marianne was anxious to go to. Let us make a decisive onslaught upon our foes, said Salvatore. We couldn't have a finer opportunity than when they're returning home from the theater. Then he imparted to Antonio the details of a plan, which, though appearing adventurous and daring, Antonio nevertheless embraced with joy, since it held out to him a prospect that he should be able to carry off his Marianne from the hated old Capuzzi. He also heard with appropiation that Salvatore was especially concerned to chastise the pyramid doctor. When night came, Salvatore and Antonio each took a guitar and went to the via ripetta, where with the express view of causing old Capuzzi annoyance, they complimented lovely Marianne with the finest serenade that was ever heard. Was Salvatore played and sang in mastery style, whilst Antonio, as far as the capabilities of his fine tenor would allow him, almost rivaled Oduardo Cicarelli. Although Sino Pasquale appeared on the balcony and tried to silence the singers with abuse, his neighbors, attracted to their windows by the good singing, shouted to him that he and his companions howled and screamed like so many cats and dogs, and yet he wouldn't listen to good music when it did come into the street. He might just go inside and stop up his ears if he didn't want to listen to good singing. And so Sino Pasquale had to bear nearly all night long the torture of hearing Salvatore and Antonio sing songs which at one time were the sweetest of love songs, and at another mocked at the folly of amorous old fools. They plainly saw Marianne standing at the window, not withstanding that Sino Pasquale resaw her in the sweetest phrases and protestations, not to expose herself to the noxious night air. Next evening, the most remarkable company that ever was seen proceeded down the Via Repeta towards the Porta de la Popola. All eyes were turned upon them and people asked each other if these were maskers left from the carnival. Sino Pasquale capuzzi, spruce and smug, all elegance and politeness, wearing his gay Spanish suit well brushed parading a new yellow feather in his chronicle hat and stepping along in shoes too little for him, as if he were walking amongst eggs, was leading pretty Marianne on his arm. Her slender figure could not be seen, still lesser face, since she was smothered up to an unusual extent in her veil and raps. On the other side marched Dr. Spendiano Accordomboni in his great wig which covered the whole of his back so that to look at him from behind, there appeared to be a huge head walking along on two little legs. Roast behind Marianne and almost clinging to her waddled the little monster, the Gichinacho, dressed in fiery red petticoats and having his head covered all over in hideous fashion with bright colored flowers. This evening, Signor Formica outdid himself even and what he had never done before introduced short songs into his performance for lesking the style of certain well-known singers. Old Capuzzi's passion for the stage, which in his youth had almost amounted to infatuation, was now stirred up in him anew. In a rapture of delight, he kissed Marianne's hand time after time and protested that he would not miss an evening visiting Nicolò Musso's theater with her. Signor Formica, he extolled to the very skies and joined hand and foot in the boisterous applause of the rest of the spectators. Signor Splendiano was less satisfied and kept continually admonishing Signor Capuzzi and lovely Marianne not to laugh so immoderately. In a single breath, he ran over the names of 20 or more diseases which might arise from spitting the sides with laughing. But neither Marianne nor Capuzzi heated him in the least. As for Pettichinacho, he felt very uncomfortable. He had been obliged to sit behind the pyramid doctor whose great wig completely overshadowed him. Not a single thing could he see on the stage nor any of the actors and was, moreover, repeatedly bothered and annoyed by two forward women who had placed themselves near him. They called him a deer, come, little lady, and asked him if he was married, though to be sure he was very young and whether he had any children, who they dare be bound with sweet little creatures and so forth. The cold sweat stood in beads on poor Pettichinacho's brow. He whined and whimpered and cursed the day he was born. After the conclusion of the performance, Signor Pasquale waited until the spectators had withdrawn from the theater. The last light was extinguished, just as Signor Splendiano had lit a small piece of a wax torch at it. And then Capuzzi, with his worthy friends and Marianne, slowly and circumspectly set out on their return journey. Pettichinacho wept and screamed. Capuzzi, greatly to his vexation, had to take him on his left arm, whilst with the right, he led Marianne. Dr. Splendiano showed the way with his miserable little bit of torch, which only burned with difficulty, and even then, in a feeble sort of way, so that the wretched light cast merely served to reveal to them the thick darkness of the night. For us, there was still a good distance from the Porta della Popolo. They all at once saw themselves surrounded by several tall figures closely enveloped in mantles. At this moment, the torch was knocked out of the doctor's hand and went out on the ground. Capuzzi, as well as the doctor, stood still without uttering a sound. Then, without their knowing where it came from, a pale reddish light fell upon the muffled figures and four brisly spells riveted their hollow, ghastly eyes upon the pyramid doctor. Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! We tied thee, Slendiano, a potomony. Thus the terrible specters shrieked in deep, suppulper tones. Then one of them wailed, Do you know me? Do you know me, Slendiano? I am Caldier, the French painter, who was buried last week, in whom your medicaments brought to his grave. Then the second, Do you know me, Slendiano? I am Kufner, the German painter, whom you poisoned with your infernal electuary. Then the third, Do you know me, Slendiano? I am Liers, the Fleming, whom you killed with your pills and whose brother you defrauded of a picture. Then the fourth, Do you know me, Slendiano? I am Gigi, the Neapolitan painter, whom you dispatched with your powders. And lastly, all four together, Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Welcome on thee, Slendiano, a potomony, cursed pyramid doctor. We bid you come. Come down to us beneath the earth. Away, away, away with you. Hello! Hello! And so saying, they threw themselves upon the unfortunate doctor and raising him in their arms, whisked him away like a whirlwind. Now, although Signor Pasquale was a good deal overcome by terror, yet it is surprising with what remarkable prompitude he recovered courage, so soon as he saw that it was only his friend, Accordemboni, with whom the spectres were concerned. Iti Canaccio had stuck his head with a flower bed that was on it under Capuzzi's mantle and clung so fast round his neck that all efforts to shake him off proved futile. Block up your spirits, Capuzzi exhorted Narayana, where nothing more was to be seen of the spectres or of the pyramid doctor. Block up your spirits and come to me, my sweet little ducky bird. As for my worthy friend, Spendiano, it's all over with him. They sent Bernard, who also was an able physician and gave many a man a lift on the road to happiness. May he help him. If the revengeful painters whom he hastened to get to his pyramid break his neck, but who'll sing the bass of my canzonas now? And this booby, Pitti Canaccio, is squeezing my throat so that adding in the fright caused by Spendiano's abduction, I fear I shall not be able to produce a pure note for perhaps six weeks to come. Don't be alarmed, my Mariana, my darling. It's all over now. She assured him that she had quite recovered from her alarm and begged him to let her walk alone without support so that he could free himself from his troublesome pet. The Signo Pasquale only took faster hold of her, saying that he wouldn't suffer her to leave aside a yard in that pitch darkness for anything in the world. In the very same moment as Signo Pasquale, now at his ease again, was about to proceed on his road, four frightful, fiend-like figures rose up just in front of him as if out of the earth. They wore short, flaring red mantles and fixed their keen, glittering eyes upon him at the same time making horrible noises, yelling and whistling. Urgh, urgh, Pasquale Cahbusi, you cursed fool, you amorous old devil. We belong to your fraternity. We are the evil spirits of love and have come to carry you off to hell, to hell fire, you and your crony, Pity cannot show. Thus screaming the satanic figures fell upon the old man. Cahbusi fell heavily to the ground and Pity cannot show along with him, both raising a shrill, piercing cry of distress and fear like that of a whole troop of cuddled asses. Marianna had meanwhile torn herself away from the old man and leapt aside. Then one of the devils clasped her softly in his arms, whispering the sweet, glad words, oh, Marianna, my Marianna, at last we'd managed it. My friends will carry the old man along the long way from here whilst we seek a better place of safety. Oh, my Antonia, whispered Marianna softly. But suddenly the scene was illuminated by the light of several torches and Antonia fell a stab in his shoulder. Quick as lightning he turned round, drew his sword and attacked the fellow who with his stiletto upraised was just preparing to aim a second blow. He perceived that his three companions were defending themselves against a superior number of gendarmes. He managed to beat off the fellow who had attacked him and joined his friends. Although they were maintaining their ground bravely, the contest was yet too unequal. The gendarmes would infallibly approve Victorious had not two others suddenly ranged themselves with a shout on the side of the young man. One of them immediately cutting down the fellow who was pressing Antonia the hardest. In a few minutes more the contest was decided against the police. Several lay stretched on the ground, seriously wounded. The rest fled with loud shouts towards the Porta del Popolo. Salvatore Rosa, for he it was, who had hastened to Antonia's assistance and cut down his opponent, wanted to take Antonia and the young painters who were disguised in the devil's masks and there and then pursue the gendarmes into the city. Maria Allier however, who had come along with him and notwithstanding his advanced age had tackled the police as stoutly as any of the rest, urged that this would be imprudent for the guard at the Porta del Popolo would be certain to have intelligence of the affair and would arrest them. So they all took themselves to Nicola Vosso, who gladly received them into his narrow little house not far from the theater. The artists took off their devil's masks and laid aside their mantles which had been rubbed over with phosphorus whilst Antonia, who beyond the insignificant scratch on his shoulder was not wounded at all, exercised his surgical skill in binding up the wounds of the rest, Salvatore, Allier, and his young comrades, for they had none of them got off without being wounded, though none of them in the least degree dangerously. The adventure, notwithstanding its wildness and audacity, would undoubtedly have been successful had not Salvatore and Antonia overlooked one person who upset everything. The cedivants Bravo and gendarmes Michel, who dwelt below in Capuzzi's house and was in a certain sort his general servant, had in accordance with Capuzzi's directions followed them to the theater, but at some distance off, for the old gentleman was ashamed of the tattered reprobate. In the same way, Michel was following them homeworks. And when the specters appeared, Michel, who be of remarked feared neither death nor devil, suspecting that something was wrong, hurried back as fast as he could run in the darkness to the Porta del Popolo, raised an alarm, and returned with all the gendarmes he could find, just at the moment when, as we know, the devils fell upon Signore Pasquale and were about to carry him off as the dead men had the pyramid docked. In the very hottest moment of the fight, one of the young painters observed distinctly how one of the fellows, taking Mariana in his arms, for she had fainted, made off to the gate, whilst Signore Pasquale ran after him with incredible swiftness as if he had got quicksilver in his legs. At the same time, by the light of the torches, he caught a glimpse of something gleaming, clinging to his mantle and whimpering. No doubt it was particularly notch. Next morning, Dr. Splendiano was found near the pyramid of Cestus fast asleep, doubled up like a ball and squeezed into his wig as if into a warm, soft nest. When he was awakened, he rambled in his talk and there was some difficulty in convincing him that he was still on the surface of the earth and in Rome to boot. And when at length he reached his own house, he returned thanks to the virgin and all the saints for his rescue. Through all his tinctures, essences, electuaries and powders out of the window, burned his prescriptions and vowed to heal his patients in the future by no other means than by anointing and laying on of hands. As some celebrated physician of former ages who was at the same time the saint as name I cannot recall just at this moment had with great success done before him for his patients died as well as the patients of other people and then they already saw the gates of heaven open before them ere they died and in fact, everything else that the saint wanted them to see. I can't tell you said, Antonio, the next day to Salvatore, how my heart boils with rage since my blood has been spilled. Death and destruction overtake that pill in Capuzzi. I tell you, Salvatore, that I am determined to force my way into his house. I will cut him down if he opposes me and carry off Mariana. An excellent plan, replied Salvatore, laughing, an excellent plan. Splendidly contrived. Of course, I presume you have also found some means for transporting Mariana through the air to the Spanish square so that they shall not seize you and hang you before you can reach that place of refuge. No, my dear Antonio, violence can do nothing for you this time. You may lay your life on it too that Señor Pasquale will now take steps to guard against any open attack. Moreover, our adventure has made a good deal of noise and the irrepressible laughter of the people at the absurd way in which we have read a lesson to Splendiano and Capuzzi has roused the police out of their light slumber and they, you may be sure, will now exert all their feeble efforts to entrap us. No, Antonio, let us have recourse to craft. Con arte e con inganno si vive il mezzo l'anno, con inganno e con arte si vive l'altra parte. If cunning and scheming will help us six months through, scheming and cunning will help us the other six too, says Dame Catarina, nor is she far wrong. Besides, I can't help laughing to see how we've gone and acted for all the world like thoughtless boys and I shall have to bear most of the blame for I am a good bit older than you. Tell me now, Antonio, supposing our scheme had been successful and you had actually carried off Mariana from the Old Man, where would you have fled to? Where would you have hidden her and how would you have managed to get united to her by the priest before the Old Man could interfere to prevent it? You shall, however, in a few days really and truly run away with your Mariana. I have let Nicola Musso, as well as Signor Formica, into all the secret and, in common with them, devised a plan which can scarcely fail. So cheer up, Antonio. Signor Formica will help you. Signor Formica, replied Antonio, in a tone of indifference which almost amounted to contempt. Signor Formica, in what way can that buffoon help me? Ho-ho! laughed Salvatore. Pleased to bear in mind, I beg you, that Signor Formica is worthy of your respect. Don't you know that he is a sort of magician who, in secret, is master of the most mysterious arts? I tell you, Signor Formica will help you. Old Maria Allee, the clever Bollini's Dr. Gratiano, is also a sharer in the plot and will, moreover, have an important part to play in it. You shall abduct your Mariana, Antonio, from Musso's Theatre. You are flattering me with false hopes, Salvatore, said Antonio. You have just now said yourself that Signor Pasquale will take care to avoid all open attacks. How can you suppose, then, after his recent unpleasant experience, that he can possibly make up his mind to visit Musso's Theatre again? It will not be such a difficult thing as you imagine to entice the old man there, replied Salvatore. What will be more difficult to affect will be to get him in the theatre without his satellites. But be that as it may. What you have now got to do, Antonio, is to have everything prepared and arranged with Mariana so as to flee from Rome the moment the favourable opportunity comes. You must go to Florence. Your skill as a painter will, after your arrival, in itself recommend you there and you shall have no lack of acquaintances nor of honourable patronage and assistance. That you may leave to me to provide for. After we have had a few days' rest, we will then see what is to be done further. Once more, Antonio, live in hope. Formica will help you. End of Part Four of Signor Formica. Recording by Thomas Copeland. Part Five of Signor Formica in Weird Tales, Volume One by E. T. A. Huffman, translated by J. T. Billby. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Thomas Copeland. Five of the new mishap, which befalls Signor Pasquale Capuzzi. Antonio Scacciotti successfully carries out his plan in Nicola Musso's theatre and flees to Florence. Signor Pasquale was only too well aware who had been at the bottom of the mischief that had happened to him in the poor pyramid doctor near the port of Del Popolo. And so it may be imagined how enraged he was against Antonio and against Salvatore Rosa, whom he rightly judged to be the ringleader in it all. He was untiring in his efforts to comfort poor Marianna, who was quite ill from fear, so she said. But in reality, she was mortified that the scoundrel Michel, with his gendarmes, had come up and torn her from her Antonio's arms. Meanwhile, Margaret was very active in bringing her tidings of her love. And she based all her hopes upon the enterprising mind of Salvatore. With impatience, she waited from day to day for something fresh to happen. And by a thousand petty tormenting ways let the old gentleman feel the effects of this impatience. But though she thus tamed his amorous folly and made him humble enough, she failed to reach the evil spirit of love that haunted his heart. After she had made him experience, to the full, all the tricksy humors of the most wayward girl, and then suffered him just once to press his withered lips upon her tiny hand, he would swear in his excessive delight that he would never cease, permanently kissing the pope's toe until he had obtained dispensation to wed his niece, the paragon of beauty and amiability. Marianna was particularly careful not to interrupt him in these outbreaks of passion, for by encouraging these gleams of hope in the old man's breast, she fanned the flame of hope in her own. For the more he could be lulled into the belief that he held her fast in the indissoluble chains of love, the more easier it would be for her to escape him. Sometime past, when one day at noon Michelle came stamping upstairs, and after he had had to knock a good many times to induce Signor Pasquale to open the door, announced with considerable prolixity that there was a gentleman below who urgently requested to see Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, who he knew lived there. By all the blessed saints of heaven, cried the old gentleman, exasperated, doesn't the nave know that on no account do I receive strangers in my own house? But the gentleman was a very respectful appearance, reported Michelle, rather oldish, talked well and called himself Nicolomusso. Nicolomusso, murmured Capuzzi, refractively, Nicolomusso, who owns the theater beyond the Port of Del Poparo. What can he want with me? Whereupon, carefully locking and bolting the door, he went downstairs with Michelle in order to converse with Nicolò in the street before the house. My dear, Signor Pasquale began Nicolò approaching to meet him and bowing with polished ease. That you deign to honor me with your acquaintance affords me great pleasure. You lay me under a very great obligation. Since the Romans saw you in my theater, you, a man of the most approved taste, of the soundest knowledge and a mastering art, not only has my fame increased, but my receipts have doubled. I am therefore all the more deeply pained to learn that certain wicked, wanton boys made a murderous attack upon you and your friends as you were returning from my theater at night. But I pray you, Signor Pasquale, by all the saints, don't cherish any grudge against me or my theater on account of this outrage, which shall be severely punished. Don't deprive me of the honor of your company at my performances. My dear, Signor Nicolò, implied the old man, simpering, he assured that I never enjoyed myself more than I did when I visited your theater. You're for amica and you're highly, why there are actors who cannot be matched anywhere. But the fright almost killed my friends in your spendiano accordomboni. Nay, it almost proved the death of me. No, it was too great. And though it has not made me averse from your theater, it certainly has from the road there. If you will put up your theater in the Piazzadel Popolo or in the Via Babuina or in the Via Ripetta, I certainly will not fail to visit you a single evening. But there's no power on earth shall ever get me outside the Porta del Popolo at night time again. Nicolò sighed deeply as if greatly troubled. That is very hard upon me, said he then. Harder, perhaps, than you will believe, Signor Pasquale. For unfortunately, I had based all my hopes upon you. I came to solicit your assistance. My assistance, asked the old gentleman in astonishment, my assistance, Signor Nicolò, in what way could he'd profit you? My dear Signor Pasquale, replied Nicolò, drawing his handkerchief across his eyes as if brushing away the trickling tears. My most excellent, Signor Pasquale, you will remember that my actors are in the habit of interspersing songs through their performances. This practice I was thinking of extending imperceptibly more and more, then to get together an orchestra and in a word, last eluding all prohibitions to the contrary, to establish an opera house. You, Signor Capuzzi, are the first composer in all Italy and we can attribute it to nothing but the inconceivable frivolity of the Romans and the malicious envy of your rivals that we hear anything else but your pieces exclusively at all the theaters. Signor Pasquale, I came to request you on my bended knees to allow me to put your immortal works as far as circumstances would admit on my humble stage. My dear Signor Nicolò, said the old gentleman, his face all sunshine, what are we about to be talking here in the public street? Pray, Dane, to have the goodness to climb up one or two rather steep flights of stairs. Come along with me up to my poor dwelling. Almost before Nicolò got into the room, the old gentleman brought forward a great pile of dusty music manuscript, opened it, and taking his guitar and his hands began to deliver himself of a series of frightful high-pitched screams which he denominated singing. Nicolò behaved like one in raptures. He sighed. He uttered extravagant expressions of approval. He exclaimed at intervals bravo, bravissimo, benedictissimo, capuzzi, until at last he threw himself at the old man's feet as if utterly beside himself with ecstatic delight and grasped his knees. But he nipped him so hard that the old gentleman jumped off his seat, calling out in pain and saying to Nicolò, the saints, let me go, Signor Nicolò. You'll kill me. Nay, replied Nicolò, nay, Signor Pascuali, I will not ride until you have promised that Formica may sing in my theater the day after tomorrow the divine arias which you have just executed. You are a man of taste, grown Pascuali, a man of deep insight. To whom could I better entrust my compositions than to you? You shall take all my arias with you. Only let me go, but good God, I shall not hear them. My divine masterpieces, oh, let me go, Signor Nicolò. No, cried Nicolò, still on his knees and tightly pressing the old gentleman's thin spindle shanks together. No, Signor Pascuali, I will not let you go until you give me your word, that you will be present in my theater the night after tomorrow. You need not fear any new attack. Why don't you think that the Romans, once they have heard your work, will bring you home in triumph for the light of hundreds of torches? But in case that does not happen, I myself and my faithful comrades will take our arms and accompany you home ourselves. You yourself will accompany me home with your comrades, asked Pascuali, and how many may that be? Eight or ten persons will be at your commands in your Pascuali, do yield to my intercession and resolve to come. Ormica has a fine voice, list Pascuali, how finally he will execute my arias. Do come, oh, do come, exhorted Nicolò again, giving the old gentleman's knees an extra grip. You will pledge yourself that I shall reach my own house without being molested, asked the old gentleman. I pledge my honor and my life, was Nicolò's reply, as he gave the knees a still sharper grip. Agreed, cried the old gentleman, I will be in your theater the day after tomorrow. Then Nicolò leapt to his feet and pressed Pascuali in so close an embrace that he gasped and panted quite out of breath. At this moment, Marianna entered the room. Signor Pascuali tried to frighten her away again by the look of resentment which he hurled at her. She, however, took not the slightest notice of it, but going straight up to Musso, addressed him, as if in anger. It is in vain for you, senior Nicolò, to attempt to entice my dear uncle to go to your theater. You are forgetting that the infamous trick lately played by some reprobate seducers who were lying and wait for me almost cost the life of my dearly beloved uncle and of his worthy friend, Spendiano. Nay, that it almost cost my life, too. Never will I give my consent to my uncles again, exposing himself to such danger. Desist from your entreaties, Nicolò. And you, my dearest uncle, you will stay quietly at home, will you not, and not venture out beyond the Porto del Popolo again at night time, which is a friend to nobody. Signor Pascuali was thunderstruck. He opened his eyes wide and stared at his niece. Then he rewarded her with the sweetest endearments and set forth at considerable length now that Signor Nicolò had pledged himself so to arrange matters as to avoid every danger on the return home. Nonetheless, said Maria, I stick to my word and beg you most earnestly, my dearest uncle, not to go to the theater outside the Porto del Popolo. I ask your pardon, Signor Nicolò, for speaking out frankly in your presence, the dark suspicion that lurks in my mind. You are, I know, acquainted with Salvatore Rosa and also with Antonio Scacciatti. What if you are acting in concert with our enemies? What if you are only trying with evil intent to entice my dear uncle into your theater in order that they may the more safely carry out some fresh villainous scheme? For I know that my uncle will not go without me. What a suspicion, cried Nicolò, quite alarmed. What a terrible suspicion, Signor. Have you such a bad opinion of me? Why am I such an ill reputation that you conceive I could be guilty of this, the basis of treachery? But if you think so unfavorably of me, if you mistrust the assistance I have promised you, why then, let Michel, who I know rescued you out of the hands of the robbers, let Michel accompany you and let him take a large body of gendarmes with him who can wait for you outside the theater, you cannot, of course, expect me to fill my auditorium with police. My honor fixed her eyes steadily upon Nicolò's and then said earnestly and gravely, what do you say that Michel and gendarmes shall accompany us? Now I see plainly, Signor Nicolò, that you mean honestly by us and that my nasty suspicion is unfounded. Pray forgive me my thoughtless words and yet I cannot banish my nervousness and anxiety about my dear uncle. I must still beg him not to take this dangerous step. Signor Pasquale had listened to all this conversation with such curious looks as plainly served to indicate the nature of the struggle that was going on within him. But now he could no longer contain himself. He threw himself on his knees before his beautiful knees, seized her hands, kissed them, bathed them with the tears which ran down his cheeks, exclaiming as if beside himself, my adored, my angelic Marianna, fierce and devouring are the flames of the passion which burns my heart. Oh, this nervousness, this anxiety, it is indeed the sweetest confession that you love me. And then he besought her not to give way to fear but to go and listen in the theater to the finest arias which the most divine of composers had ever written. Nicola too abated not in his entreaties, plainly showing his disappointment until Marianna permitted her scruples to be overcome. And she promised to lay all fear aside and accompany the best and dearest of uncles to the theater outside the Porta del Popolo. Signor Pasquale was in ecstasies, was in the seventh heaven of delight. He was convinced that Marianna loved him and he now might hope to hear his music on the stage and win the laurel wreath which had so long been the vain object of his desires. He was on the point of seeing his dearest dreams fulfilled. Now he would let his light shine in perfect glory before his true and faithful friends, for he never thought for a moment but that Signor Splendiano and little Pity Knautschow would go with him as on the first occasion. The night that Signor Splendiano had slept in his wig near the Pyramid of Sesges, he had had, besides the specters who ran away with him, all sorts of sinister apparitions to visit him. The whole cemetery was alive and hundreds of corpses had stretched out their skeleton arms towards him, moaning and wailing that even in their graves they could not get over the torture caused by his essences and lecturers. Accordingly, the Pyramid doctor, although he could not contradict Signor Pasquale that it was only a wild freakish trick played upon him by Apostle of Godless Boys, grew melancholy, and albeit not ordinarily superstitiously inclined, he yet now saw specters everywhere and was tormented by forebodings and bad dreams. As for Pity Knautschow, he could not be convinced that they were not real devils come straight from the flames of hell who had fallen upon Signor Pasquale and upon himself. And the bare mention of that dreadful night was enough to make him scream. All the asseparations of Signor Pasquale that there had been nobody behind the masks but Antonios, Pachati, and Salvatore Rosa were of none effect. For Pity Knautschow wept and swore that in spite of his terror and apprehension, he had clearly recognized both the voice and the behavior of the devil Van Farelli in the one who had pinched his belly black and blue. It may therefore be imagined what an almost endless amount of trouble it cost Signor Pasquale to persuade the two to go with him once more to Nicolò Lusso's theater. Splendiano was the first to make the resolve to go. After he had procured from a monk of St. Bernard's order, a small and consecrated bag of musk, the perfume of which neither dead man nor devil could endure. With this, he intended to arm himself against all assaults. Pity Knautschow could not resist the temptation of a promised box of candy grapes. But Signor Pasquale had, besides expressly to give his consent that he might wear his new abbots coat instead of his petty coats, which he affirmed had proved an immediate source of attraction to the devil. What Salvatore feared seemed therefore as if it would really take place. And yet his plan depended entirely, he continued to repeat upon Signor Pasquale's being in Nicolò's theater alone with Mariana without his faithful satellites. Both Antonio and Salvatore greatly racked their brains how they should prevent Splendiano and Pity Knautschow from going along with Signor Pasquale. Every scheme that occurred to them for the accomplishment of this decideratum had to be given up owing to want of time for the principal plan in Nicolò's theater had to be carried out on the evening of the following day. But Providence, which often employs the most unlikely instruments for the chastisement of fools, interposed on behalf of the distressed lovers and put it into Michel's head to practice some of his blundering, thus accomplishing what Salvatore and Antonio's craft was unable to accomplish. That same night, there was heard in the Via Rapetta before Signor Pasquale's house such a chorus of fearful screams and of cursing and raving and abuse that all the neighbors were startled up out of their sleep and the body of gendarmes who had been pursuing a murderer as far as the Spanish square hastened up with torches supposing that some fresh deed of violence was being committed. But when they in a crowd of other people and the noises attracted came upon the anticipated scene of murder, they found poor little Pity Knautschow lying as if dead on the ground whilst Michel was thrashing the pyramid doctor with a formidable bludgeon. And they saw the doctor, real to the floor, just at the moment when Signor Pasquale painfully scrambled to his feet, drew his rapier and furiously attacked Michel. Round about were lying pieces of broken guitars. Had not several people grasped the old man's arm, he would assuredly have run Michel right through the heart. The ex-Bravo, on now becoming aware by the light of the torches whom he had been molesting, stood as if petrified. His eyes almost starting out of his head, a painted desperado on the balance between will and power as it is said somewhere. Then, uttering a fearful scream, he tore his hair and begged for pardon and mercy. Neither the pyramid doctor nor Pity Knautschow was seriously injured, but they had been so soundly cudgel that they could neither move nor stir and had to be carried home. Signor Pasquale had himself brought this mishap upon his own shoulders. We know that Salvatore and Antonio complimented Mariana with the finest serenade that could be heard, but I have forgotten to say that to the old gentleman's very exceeding indignation, they repeated it during several successive nights. At length, Signor Pasquale, whose rage was kept in check by his neighbors, was foolish enough to have recourse to the authorities of the city, urging them to forbid the two painters to sing in the via Rapetta. The authorities, however, replied that it would be a thing unheard of and wrong to prevent anybody from singing and playing the guitar where he pleased, and it was irrational to ask such a thing. So, Signor Pasquale determined to put an end to the nuisance himself and promised Michel a large reward if he seized the first opportunity to fall upon the singers and give them a good sound drumming. Michel at once procured a stout bludgeon and lay in wait every night behind the door. But it happened that Salvatore and Antonio judged it prudent to omit their serenading in the via Rapetta for some nights preceding the carrying into execution of their plan, so as not to remind the old gentleman of his adversaries. Mariano remarked quite innocently that though she hated Antonio and Salvatore, yet she liked their singing, for nothing was so nice as to hear music floating upwards in the night air. This, Signor Pasquale made a mental note of. And as the essence of gallantry, purposed to surprise his love with a serenade on his part, which he had himself composed and carefully practiced up with his faithful friends. On the very night preceding that in which he was hoping to celebrate his greatest triumph in Nicola Musso's theater, he stealthily slipped out of the house and went and fetched his associates, with whom he had previously arranged matters. But no sooner had they sounded the first few notes on their guitars than Michele, whom Signor Pasquale had thoughtlessly forgotten to a prize of his design, burst forth from behind the door, highly delighted at finding that the opportunity, which was to bring him in the promised reward, had at last come and began to cudgel the musicians most unmercifully with the results of which we are already acquainted. Of course, there was no further mention made of either Spendiano or Pettichonaccio's accompanying Signor Pasquale to Nicola's theater, for they were both confined to their bed, be plastered all over. Signor Pasquale, however, was unable to stay away, although his back and shoulders were smarting not a little from the drubbing he had himself received. Every note in his arias was a chord which drew him thither with the irresistible power. Well now, said Salvatore to Antonio, since the obstacle which we took to be insurmountable has been removed out of our wave itself, it all depends now entirely upon your address, not to let the favorable moment slip for carrying off your Mariana from Nicola's theater. But I needn't talk, you'll not fail. I will greet you now as the betrothed of Cahoutsi's lovely niece who in a few days will be your wife. I wish you happiness, Antonio, and yet I feel a shiver run through me when I think upon your marriage. What do you mean, Salvatore? Asked Antonio, utterly astounded. Call it a crotchet, call it a foolish fancy or what you will, Antonio, rejoin, Salvatore. At any rate, I love the fair sex, but there is not one, not even she on whom I foolishly don't, for whom I would gladly die. But what excites in my heart so soon as I think of a union with her, such as marriages, a suspicion that makes me tremble with the most unpleasant feeling of awe. That which is inscrutable in the nature of woman mocks all the weapons of man. She whom we believe to have surrendered herself to us entirely, heart and soul, whom we believe to have unfolded all her character to us, is the first to deceive us. And along with the sweetest of her kisses, we imbibe the most pernicious of poisons. And my Mariana, asked Antonio, amazed, pardon me, Antonio, continue, Salvatore, even your Mariana, who is loveliness and grace personified, has given me a fresh proof of how dangerous the mysterious nature of woman is to us. Just call to mind what was the behavior of that innocent, inexperienced child when we carried her uncle home, how at a single glance from me she divined everything, everything, I tell you. And as you yourself admitted, proceeded to play her part with the utmost sagacity. But that is not to be at all compared with what took place on the occasion of Musso's visit to the old gentleman. The most practiced address, the most impenetrable cunning. In short, all the inventive arts of the most experienced woman of the world could not have done more than little Mariana did in order to deceive the old gentleman with perfect success. She could not have acted in any better way to prepare the road for us for any kind of enterprise. Our feud with the cranky old fool, any sort of cunning scheme seems justified, but come, my dear Antonio, never mind my fanciful crutches, but be happy with your Mariana, as happy as you can. If a monk had taken his place besides Signor Pasquale when he set out along with his niece to go to Nicolo Musso's theater, everybody would have thought that the strange pair were being led to execution. First went valiant Michel, repulsive in appearance, and armed to the teeth. Then came Signor Pasquale and Mariana, followed by fully 20 gendarmes. Nicolo received the old gentleman and his lady with every mark of respect at the entrance to the theater and conducted them to the seats which had been reserved for them, immediately in front of the stage. Signor Pasquale felt highly flattered by this mark of honor and gazed about him with proud and sparkling eyes, whilst his pleasure, his joy, was greatly enhanced to find that all the seats near and behind Mariana were occupied by women alone. A couple of violins and a bass fiddle were being tuned behind the curtains of the stage. The old gentleman's heart beat with expectation and when all at once the orchestra struck up the return and love of his work, he felt an electric thrill tingling in every nerve. Marica came forward in the character of Pasquale and sang in Capuzzi's own voice and with all his characteristic gestures, the most hopeless aria that ever was heard. The theater shook with the loud and boisterous laughter of the audience. They shouted, they screamed wildly, oh Pasquale, Capuzzi, our most illustrious composer and artist, bravo, bravissimo. The old gentleman, not perceiving the ridicule and irony of the laughter, was in raptures of delight. The aria came to an end and the people cried, shh, shh. Poor Dr. Gratiano, laid on this occasion by Nicola Musso himself, appeared on the stage holding his hands over his ears and shouting to Pasqualello for goodness sake to stop his ridiculous screeching. Then the doctor asked Pasqualello how long he had taken to the confounded habit of singing and where he had got that excruple piece from. Whereupon Pasqualello replied that he didn't know what the doctor would have. He was like the Romans and had no taste for real music since he failed to recognize the most talented musicians. The aria had been written by the greatest of living composers in whose service he had the good fortune to be, receiving instruction in both music and singing from the master himself. Gratiano then began guessing and mentioned the names of a great number of well-known composers and musicians, but at every distinguished name Pasqualello only shook his head contentuously. At length Pasqualello said that the doctor was only exposing gross ignorance since he did not know the name of the greatest composer of the time. It was no other than Signor Pasqualeco Puzzi who had done him the honor of taking him into his service. Would he not see that he was the friend and servant of Signor Pasqualello? Then the doctor broke out into a loud long roar of laughter and cried, what had he, Pasqualello, after running away from him, the doctor, with whom besides getting his wages and food, he had had his palm tickled with many a copper. Had he gone and taken service with the biggest and most inveterate old cocktail that ever stuffed himself with macaroni to the patched carnival fool who strutted about like a satisfied old hen after a shower of rain to the snarling skin-flint, the love-sick old paltrune who infected the air of the Via Rapetta with the disgusting bleaching which he called singing, et cetera, et cetera. To which Pasqualello, quite incensed, made reply that it was nothing but envy which spoke in the doctor's words. He, Pasqualello, was, of course, speaking with his heart in his mouth, Parla Conquore in Manu. The doctor was not at all a man to pass an opinion upon Sino Pasquale, Capuzzi to Seniglia. He was speaking with his heart in his mouth. The doctor himself had a strong tang of all that he blamed in the excellent Sino Pasquale, but he was speaking with his heart in his mouth. He, Pasqualello, had himself often heard fully 600 people at once laugh most heartily at Dr. Gratiano, and so forth. Then Pasqualello spoke along panagiric upon his new master, Sino Pasquale, attributing to him all the virtues under the sun, and he concluded with the description of his character which he portrayed as being the very essence of amiability and grace. Heaven bless you, Formica, lists Sino Capuzzi to himself. Heaven bless you, Formica. I perceive that you have dained to make my triumph perfect since you are upgrading the Romans for all their envious and ungrateful persecution of me and are letting them know who I really am. Ah, here comes my master himself, cried Pasqualello at this moment, and there entered on the stage Sino Pasquale, Capuzzi himself, just as he breathed and walked his very clothes, face, gestures, game, postures. In fact, so perfectly like Sino Capuzzi in the auditorium that the latter quite aghast. Let go Marianna's hand, which he the two he had held fast in his own and tapped himself, his nose, his wig, in order to discover whether he was not dreaming or seeing double, whether he was really sitting in Nicola Musso's theater and dare credit the miracle. Capuzzi on the stage embraced Dr. Cartiano with great kindness and asked how he was. The doctor replied that he had a good appetite and slept soundly at his service, Percibillo. And as for his purse, well it was suffering from a galloping consumption. Only yesterday he had spent his last docket for a pair of rosemary colored stockings for his sweetheart and was just going to walk around to one or two bankers to see if he could borrow 30 dockets. But how can you pass over your best friends? Said Capuzzi. Here my dear sir, here are 50 dockets. Come, take them. Pascuale, what are you about? Said the real Capuzzi in an undertone. Dr. Cartiano began to talk about a bond and about interests but Sr. Capuzzi declared that he could not think of asking for either from such a friend as the doctor was. Pascuale, have you gone out with your senses? exclaimed the real Capuzzi a little louder. After many grateful embraces, Dr. Cartiano took his leave. Now Pascualele drew near with a good many bows and extolled Sr. Capuzzi to the skies, adding, however, that his purse was suffering from the same complaint as Cartiano's and he begged for some of the same excellent medicine that it cured his. Capuzzi on the stage laughed and said he was pleased to find that Pascualele knew how to turn his good humor to advantage and threw him several glittering dockets. Pascuale, you must be mad possessed of the devil, cried the real Capuzzi aloud. He was meant to be still. Pascualele went still further in his eulogy of Capuzzi and came at last to speak of the aria which he, Capuzzi, had composed and with which he, Pascualele, hoped to enchant everybody. The fictitious Capuzzi clapped Pascualele heartily on the back and went on to say that he might venture to tell him, Pascualele, his faithful servant and confidence that in reality he knew nothing but whatever of the science of music and in respect to the aria of which he had just spoken as well as all pieces that he had ever composed by he had stolen the matter for Escobaldi's canzonas and Carissime's motets. I tell you, you're lying in your throat, you knave, shouted the Capuzzi off the stage, rising from his seat. Again, he was bitten, keep still and the woman who sat next to him drew him down on the bench. It's now time to think about other and more important matters, continued Capuzzi on the stage. He was going to give a grand banquet the next day and Pascualele must look alive and have everything that was necessary prepared. Then he produced and read over a list of all the rarest and most expensive dishes, making Pascualelele tell him how much each would cost and at the same time giving him the money for them. Pascuale, you're insane, you've gone mad, you're good for nothing, scamp, you spin thrift, shouted the real Capuzzi at intervals, growing more and more enraged to the higher the cost of this the most nonsensical of dinners rose. At length, when the list was finished, Pascualele asked what it induced him to give such a splendid banquet. Tomorrow will be the happiest and most joyous day of my life, replied the fictitious Capuzzi, for know my good Pascualelelele that I am going to celebrate tomorrow the auspicious marriage of my dear niece Marianna. I am going to give her hand to that brave young fellow, the best of all artists, Scacciati. Hardly had the words fallen from his lips when the real Capuzzi leapt to his feet, utterly beside himself, quite out of his mind, his face all aflame with the most fiendish rage, and doubling his fists and shaking them at his counterpart on the stage, he yelled at the top of his voice, no, you won't, no, you won't, you rascal, you scoundrel, you Pascuale. Do you mean to cheat yourself out of your Marianna, you hound? Are you going to throw her in the arms of that scoundrel? Sweet Marianna, thy life, thy hope, thy awe. Ah, look to it, look to it, you infatuated fool. Just remember what sort of reception you will meet with from yourself. You shall beat yourself black and blue with your own hands, so that you will have no relish to think about banquets and weddings. But the Capuzzi on the stage doubled his fists like the Capuzzi below, and shouted in exactly the same furious way and in the same high-pitched voice. May all the spirits of hell sit at your heart, your abominable nonsensical Pascuale, your atrocious skinflint, your lovesick old fool, your gaudy, tricked-out ass with the cap and bells dangling about your ears. Take care lest I snuff out the candle of your life, and so at length put an end to the infamous tricks which you try to foist upon the good, honest, modest Pascuale Capuzzi. Amidst the most fearful cursing and swearing of the real Capuzzi, the one on the stage dished up one fine anecdote after the other about him. You'd better attempt, shouted at last, the fictitious Capuzzi. You only dare, Pascuale, you hammer-solde, to interfere with the happiness of these two young people, whom heaven has destined for each other. At this moment there appeared at the back of the stage Antonio Scacciati and Mariana, locked in each other's arms. Although the old gentleman was, at other times, somewhat feeble on his legs, yet now fury gave him strength and agility. With a single bound he was on the stage, had drawn his sword and was charging upon the pretended Antonio. He found, however, that he was held fast behind. An officer of the papal guard had stopped him and said in a serious voice, Recollect where you are, Signor Pascuale. You are in Niccolò Musso's theater. Without intending it, you have today played a most ridiculous role. You will not find either Antonio or Mariana here. The two persons whom Capuzzi had taken for his niece and her lover, now junior, along with the rest of the actors. The faces were all completely strange to him. His rapier escaped from his trembling hand. He took a deep breath as if awakening out of a bad dream. He grasped his brow with both hands. He opened his eyes wide. The presentiment of what had happened suddenly struck him and he shouted, Mariana. In such a stentorian voice that the walls rang again. But she was beyond reach of his shelves. Antonio had taken advantage of the opportunity, Pascuale, oblivious of all about him and even of himself was quarreling with his double to make his way to Mariana and back with her through the audience and out at a side door, where a carriage stood ready waiting and away they went as fast as their horses could gallop towards Florence. Mariana screamed the old man again. Mariana, she has gone, she has fled. That day Antonio has stolen her from me. Away, after them, have pity on me good people and take tortures and help me to look for my little darling. Oh, you serpent. And he tried to make for the door. But the officer held him fast, saying, do you mean that pretty young lady who sat beside you? I believe I saw her slip out with a young man. I think Antonio Scacciotti a long time ago when you began your idle quarrel with one of the actors who wore a mask like your face. You needn't make a trouble of it. Every inquiry shall at once be set on foot and Mariana shall be brought back to you as soon as she is found. But as for yourself, Signor Pascuale, your behavior here and your murderous attempt upon the life of that actor compelled me to arrest you. Signor Pascuale, his face as pale as death, incapable of uttering a single word or even a sound, was led away by the very same John Domes who were to have protected him against masked devils and specters. Thus it came to pass that on the self-same night on which he had hoped to celebrate his triumph, he was plunged into the midst of trouble and of all the frantic despondency which Amherst's old fools feel when they are deceived. End of part five of Signor Formica, recording by Thomas Copeland. Part six of Signor Formica in Weird Tales, volume one by E. T. A. Hoffman, translated by J. T. Billby. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Thomas Copeland. Six, Salvatore Rosa leaves Rome and goes to Florence, conclusion of the history. Everything beneath the sun is subject to continual change and perhaps there is nothing which can be called more inconstant than human opinion, which turns round in an everlasting circle like the Wheel of Fortune. He who reaps great praise today is overwhelmed with biting censure tomorrow. Today we trample underfoot the man who tomorrow will be raised far above us. Of all those who in Rome had ridiculed and mocked at old Pasquale Capuzzi with his sordid avarice, his foolish amorousness, his insane jealousy, who did not wish poor tormented Mariana her liberty? But now that Antonio had successfully carried off his mistress, all their ridicule and mockery was suddenly changed into pity for the old fool whom they saw wandering about the streets of Rome with his head hanging on his breast, utterly disconsolate. Misfortune seldom comes sinkly and so it happened that Signor Pasquale, soon after Mariana had been taken from him, lost his best bosom friends also. Little Petticinocio choked himself in foolishly trying to swallow an almond kernel in the middle of a cadenza. But a sudden stop was put to the life of the illustrious pyramid doctor, Signor Splendiano Accordaboni, by a slip of the pen for which he had only himself to blame. Michel's drubbing made such work with him that he fell into a fever. He determined to make use of a remedy which he claimed to have discovered. So calling for a pen and ink, he wrote down a prescription in which, by employing the wrong sign, he increased the quantity of a powerful substance to a dangerous extent. But scarcely had he swallowed the medicine and he sank back on the pillows and died. Establishing, however, by his own death in the most splendid and satisfactory manner the efficacy of the last tincture which he ever prescribed. As already remarked, all those whose laughter had been the loudest and who had repeatedly wished Antonio's success in his schemes had now nothing but pity for the old gentleman. And the bitterest blame was heaped not so much upon Antonio as upon Savator Rosa, whom, to be sure, they regarded as the instigator of the whole plan. Savator's enemies, of whom he had a goodly number, exerted all their efforts to fan the flame. See you, he said, he was one of Masaniello's doubty partisans and is ready to turn his hand to any deed of mischief, to any disreputable enterprise. We shall be the next to suffer from his presence in the city. He is a dangerous man. And the jealous faction who had leaked together against Savator did actually succeed in stemming the tide of his prosperous career. He sent forth from his studio one picture after another all bold in conception and splendidly executed for the so-called critics shrugged their shoulders, now pointing out that the hills were too blue, the trees too green, the figures now too long, now too broad, finding fault everywhere where there was no fault to be found and seeking to detract from his hard-earned reputation in all the ways they could think of, especially bitter in their persecution of him were the academicians of St. Luke who could not forget how he took them in about the surgeon. They even went beyond the limits of their own profession and decried the clever stanzas which Savator at that time wrote, hinting very plainly that he did not cultivate his fruit on his own garden soil, but plundered that of his neighbors. For these reasons, therefore, Savator could not manage to surround himself with a splendor which he had lived amidst formerly in Rome. Instead of being visited by the most eminent of the Romans in a large studio, he had to remain with Dame Caterina and his green fig tree. But amid these poor surroundings, he frequently found both consolation and tranquility of mind. Savator took the malicious machinations of his enemies to heart more than he ought to have done. He even began to feel that an insidious disease resulting from chagrin interjection was gnawing at his vitals. In this unhappy frame of mind, he designed and executed two large pictures which excited quite an uproar in Rome. Of these, one represented the transitoriness of all earthly things. And in the principal figure, that of a wanton female bearing all the indications of a degrading calling about her, was recognized as the mistress of one of the cardinals. The other portrayed the goddess of fortune dispensing her rich gifts. But cardinals hats, bishop's miters, gold medals, decorations of orders were falling upon bleeding sheep, braiding asses, and other such like contemptible animals whilst the well-made men in ragged clothes were vainly straining their eyes upwards to get even the smallest gift. Savator had given free reign to his embittered mood and the animals' heads bore the closest resemblance to the features of various eminent persons. It is easy to imagine therefore how the tide of hatred against him rose and that he was morbidly persecuted than ever. Dame Catarina warned him with tears in her eyes that as soon as it began to be dark, she had observed suspicious characters lurking about the house and apparently dogging his every footstep. Savator saw that it was time to leave Rome. And Dame Catarina and her beloved daughters were the only people who had caused him pain to part from. In response to the repeated invitations of the Duke of Tuscany, note, this was Ferdinand II, a member of the illustrious Florentine family of the Medici. He upheld the family tradition by his liberal patronage of science and letters. Return to text. He went to Florence and here at length he was richly indemnified for all the mortification and worry which he had had to struggle against in Rome. And here all the honor and all the fame which he so truly deserved were freely conferred upon him. The Duke's presence and the high prices which he received for his pictures soon enabled him to remove into a large house and to furnish it in the most magnificent style. There he was one to gather around him the most illustrious authors and scholars of the day. Amongst whom it will be sufficient to mention Evangelista Torricelli, note. Evangelista Torricelli, the successor of the great Galileo in the Chair of Philosophy and Mathematics of Florence is inseparably associated with the discovery that water in a suction pump will only rise to the height of about 32 feet. This paved the way to his invention of the barometer in 1643. Return to text. It will be sufficient to mention Evangelista Torricelli, Valerio Gimantelli, Battista Ricciardi, Andrea Cavalcanti, Pietro Salvati, Filippo Apolloni, Columneo Bandelli, Francesco Peruvai. They formed an association for the prosecution of artistic and scientific pursuits whilst Talbotol was able to contribute an element of whimsicality to the meetings which had a singular effect in animating and enlivening the mind. The vanquitting hall was like a beautiful grove with fragrant bushes and flowers and splashing frountains and the dishes even which were served up by pages and eccentric costumes were very wonderful to look at as if they came from some distant land of magic. These meetings of writers and savants in Salvatore Grosso's house were called at that time the Academia di Percussi. Though Salvatore's mind was in this way devoted to science and art, yet his real true nature came to life again when he was with his friend Antonio Scacciatti who along with his lovely Mariano led the pleasant sans-souci life of an artist. They often recalled poor old Signor Pasquale whom they had deceived and all that had taken place in Nicola Musso's theater. Antonio asked Salvatore how he had contrived to enlist in his cause the active interest not only of Musso but of the excellent Formica and of Ali too. Salvatore replied that it had been very easy for Formica was his most intimate friend in Rome so that it had been a work of both pleasure and love to it to arrange everything on the stage in accordance with the instructions Salvatore gave him. Antonio protested that though still he could not help laughing over the scene which had paved the way to his happiness, he yet wished with all his heart to be reconciled to the old gentleman even if he should never touch up any of Mariano's fortune which the old gentleman had confiscated. The practice of his art brought him in as a efficient income. Mariano too was often unable to restrain her tears when she thought that her father's brother might go down to his grave without having forgiven her the trick which he had played upon him. And so Bascuale's hatred overshadowed like a dark cloud the brightness of their happiness. Salvatore comforted them both, Antonio and Mariano by saying that time had adjusted still worse difficulties and that chance would perhaps bring the old gentleman near them in some less dangerous way than if they had remained in Rome or were to return there now. We shall see that a prophetic spirit spoke in Salvatore. A considerable time elapsed when one day Antonio burst into Salvatore's studio breathless and painless death. Salvatore, he cried. Salvatore, my friend, my protector. I am lost if you do not help me. Bascuale Cabuzzi is here. He has procured a warrant for my arrest for the seduction of his niece. But what can Signor Bascuale do against you now? asked Salvatore. Have you not been united to Mariano by the church? Oh, replied Antonio, giving way completely to despair. The blessing of the church herself cannot save me from ruin. Heaven knows by what means the old man has been able to approach the Pope's nephew note, an allusion to the well-known nepotism of the Pope's. The man here mentioned is one of the Babrini nephew of Pope Urban VIII returned to text. At any rate, the Pope's nephew has taken the old man under his protection and has infused into him the hope that the Holy Father will declare my marriage with Mariano to be null and void. Nay, yet further, that he will grant him the old man dispensation to marry his niece. Stop, cried Salvatore. Now I see it all. Now I see it all. What threatens to be your ruin, Antonio, is this man's hatred against me. For I must tell you that this nephew of the Pope's, a proud, coarse, boorish clown, was amongst the animals in my picture to whom the goddess of fortune is dispensing the gifts. That it was I who helped you to win your Mariano, though indirectly as well known, not only to this man, but to all Rome, which is quite reason enough to persecute you since they cannot do anything to me. And so, Antonio, having brought this misfortune upon you, I must make every effort to assist you and all the more that you are my dearest and most intimate friend. But by the saints, I don't see in what way I can frustrate your enemy's little game. Therewith, Salvatore, who had continued to paint at a picture all the time, they decide brush, palette, and mall stick. And rising up from his easel, began to pace the room backwards and forwards. His arms crossed over his breast. Antonio, meanwhile, being quite wrapped up in his own thoughts and with his eyes fixed unchangeably upon the floor. At length, Salvatore paused before him and said with a smile, See here, Antonio, I cannot do anything myself against your powerful enemies, but I know one who can help you and who will help you, and that is, Seymour Formica. Oh, said Antonio, don't jest with an unhappy man who nothing can save. What are you despairing again? exclaimed Salvatore, who was now all at once in the merriest humor, and he laughed aloud. I tell you, Antonio, my friend Formica, shall help you in Florence as he helped you in Rome. Go away quietly home and comfort your mariana and calmly wait and see how things will turn out. I trust you will be ready at the shortest notice to do what Seymour Formica, who is really here in Florence at the present time, shall require of you. This, Antonio, promised most faithfully and hope revived in him again and confidence. Seymour Pascuale Capuzzi was not a little astonished at receiving a formal invitation from the Accademia de Pacosi. Ah, he exclaimed Florence is the place then where a man's merits are recognized, where Pascuale Capuzzi de Senegalia, a man gifted with the most excellent talents is known and valued. Thus the thought of his knowledge and his art and the honor that was shown him on their account overcame the repugnance which he would otherwise have felt against a society at the head of which was Salvatore Rosa. His Spanish gala dress was more carefully brushed than ever. His conical hat was equipped with a new feather. His shoes were provided with new ribbons and so Pascuale appeared at Salvatores as brilliant as a rose chaffer. Note, Titonia Arrata Latin, also called the gold chaffer. It is called green and gold. Return to text. And his face all sunshine. The magnificence which he saw on all sides of him, even Salvatore himself who had received him dressed in the richest apparel, inspired him with deep respect. And after the manner of little souls who though at first proud and puffed up at once grovel in the dust whenever they come into contact with what they feel to be superior to themselves, Pascuale's behavior towards Salvatore whom he would gladly have done a mischief to in Rome was nothing but humility and submissive deference. So much attention was paid to Sr. Pascuale from all sides. His judgment was appealed to so unconditionally and so much was said about his services to art that he felt new life infused into his veins and an unusual spirit was awakened within him so that his utterances on many points were more sensible than might have been expected. It would be added that never in his life before he had been so splendidly entertained and never had he drunk such conspiracy wine, it will readily be conceived that his pleasure was intensified from moment to moment and that he forgot all the wrong which had been done him at Rome, as well as the unpleasant business which had brought him to Florence. Often after their banquets, the academicians were want to amuse themselves with short impromptu dramatic representations. And so this evening, the distinguished playwright and poet, Philippe Apolloni, called upon those who generally took part in them to bring the festivities to a fitting inclusion with one of their usual performances. Salvatore at once withdrew to make all the necessary preparations. Not long afterwards, the bushes at the far end of the banqueting hall began to move. The branches with their foliage were parted and a little theater provided with seats for the spectators became visible. I, the saints, exclaimed Pasquale Capuzzi, terrified. Where am I? Surely that's Nicolomusso's theater. Without heeding his exclamation, Evangelista Torricelli and Andrea Cavacante, both of the brave, respectable, venerable men, took him by the arm and led him to a seat immediately in front of the stage, taking their places on each side of it. This was no sooner done than there appeared on the boards Comica in the character of Pasqualello. You reprobate, Formica! shouted Pasquale, leaping to his feet and shaking his doubled fist at the stage. Torricelli and Cavacante's stern, recruiting glances at him, sit still and keep quiet. Pasqualello wept and sobbed and cursed his destiny, which brought him nothing but grief and heartbreaking, declared he didn't know how he should ever set about it if he wanted to laugh again and concluded by saying that if he could look upon blood without fainting, he should certainly cut his throat or should throw himself in the tie-burr if he could only let that cursed swimming alone when he got into the walker. Dr. Gratiana now joined him and inquired what was the cause of his trouble, whereupon Pasqualello asked him whether he did not know anything about what had taken place in the house of his master, Signor Pasqualello Cavuzzi di Senegalia, whether he did not know what an infamous scoundrel had carried off pretty Mariana, his master's niece. Ah, Mermit Cavuzzi, I see you want to make your excuses to me for Mica. You wish for my part. Well, we shall see. Dr. Gratiano expressed his sympathy and observed that the scoundrel must have gone to work very cunningly to have eluded all the inquiries which had been instituted by Cavuzzi. Ho-ho, rejoined Pasqualello. The doctor need not imagine that the scoundrel Antonio Scacciati had succeeded in escaping the sharpness of Signor Pasqualello Cavuzzi, supported as he was moreover by powerful friends. Antonio had been arrested. His marriage with Mariana annulled and Mariana herself had again come into Cavuzzi's power. Has he got her again? shouted Cavuzzi beside himself. Has he got her again, good Pasqualello? Has he got his little darling, his Mariana? Is the nave Antonio arrested? Heaven bless you for Mica. You take a too keen interest in the play, Signor Pasqualello, said Cavalcanti, quite seriously. May I permit the actors to proceed with their parts without interrupting them in this disturbing fashion. Ashamed of himself, Signor Pasqualello resumed his seat, for he had again risen to his feet. Dr. Gratiano asked what had taken place then. A wedding continued Pasqualello. A wedding had taken place. Mariana had repented of what she had done. Signor Pasqualello had obtained the desired dispensation from the Holy Father and had married his niece. Yes, yes, remember Pasqualello Cavuzzi to himself, whilst his eyes sparkle would be like, yes, yes, my dear, good for Mica. He will marry his sweet Mariana, the happy Pasqualello. He knew that the dear little darling had always loved him and that it was only Satan who had led her astray. Well, then everything is all right, said Dr. Gratiano, and there's no cause for lamentation. Pasqualello began, however, to weep and sob more violently than before, till at length, as if overcome by the terrible nature of his pain, he fainted away. Dr. Gratiano ran backwards and forwards in great distress, was so sorry he had no smelling bottle with him, felled in all his pockets and at last produced a roasted chestnut and put it under the insensible Pasqualello's nose. He had once recovered, sneezing violently and begging him to attribute his faintness to his weak nerves, he related how that immediately after the marriage, Mariana had been afflicted with the saddest melancholy, continually calling upon Antonio and treating the old gentleman with contempt to diversion. But the old fellow, quite evacuated by his passion and jealousy, had not ceased to torment the poor girl with his folly in the most plumbable way. And here Pasqualello mentioned a host of mad tricks which Pasqualello had done and which were really current in Rome about him. Signor Capuzzi sat on thorns, he murmured at intervals, Curse you for Mecca, you are lying, what evil spirit is in you? He was only prevented from bursting out into a violent passion by Torricelli and Capucanti, who sat watching him with an earnest gaze. Pasqualello concluded his narration by telling that Mariana had at length succumbed to her unsatisfied longing for her lover, her great distress of mind, and the innumerable tortures which were inflicted upon her by the exegregal old fellow and had died in the flower of her youth. At this moment was heard mournful de profundis sung by hollow husky voices and men clad in long black robes appeared on the stage bearing an open coffin within which was seen the corpse of lovely Mariana wrapped in what shrouds. Behind it came Signor Pasqualello Capuzzi in the deepest morning, feebly staggering along and wailing aloud, beating his breast and crying in a voice of despair. Oh Mariana, Mariana. So soon as the real Capuzzi got sight of his niece's corpse, he broke out into loud lamentations and both Capuzzi's, the one on the stage and the one off, gave vent to their grief in the most heart-rending wails and groans. Oh Mariana, oh Mariana. Oh unhappy me, alas, alas for me. Let the reader picture into himself the open coffin with the corpse of the lovely child surrounded by the hired mourners singing their dismal de profundis in hoarse voices and then the comical masks of Pasqualello and Dr. Gratiano, who were expressing their grief in the most ridiculous gestures and lastly the two Capuzzi's, wailing and screeching in despair. Indeed, all who were witnesses of the extraordinary spectacle could not help feeling even in the midst of the unrestrained laughter they had burst out into at sight of the wonderful old gentleman that their hearts were chilled by a most uncomfortable feeling of awe. Now the stage grew dark and it thundered and lightened and there rose up from below a pale ghostly figure which bore most unmistakably the features of Capuzzi's dead brother, Pietro of Cinegalia, Mariana's father. Oh, you infamous brother Pasqualello. What have you done with my daughter? What have you done with my daughter? Wailed the figure in a dreadful and hollow voice. Despair! You atrocious murderer of my child. You shall find your reward in hell. Capuzzi on the stage dropped on the floor as if struck by lightning and at the same moment the real Capuzzi reeled from his seat unconscious. The bushes rustled together again and the stage was gone and also Mariana and Capuzzi and the ghastly specter Pietro. Signor Pasqualello Capuzzi lay in such a dead faint that it crossed a good deal of trouble to revive him. At length he came to himself with a deep sigh and, stretching out both hands before him, as if to ward off the horror that had seized him, he cried in a husky voice, Leave me alone, Pietro! Then a torrent of tears ran down his cheeks and he sobbed and cried, Oh, Mariana, my darling child, my, my Mariana! But recollect yourself, said now, Cavalcanti. Recollect yourself, Signor Pasqualello. It was only on the stage that you saw your niece dead. She is alive. She is here to crave pardon for the thoughtless step which love and also your own inconsiderate conduct drove her to take. And Mariana and behind her Antonio Scacciati now ran forward from the back part of the hall and threw themselves at the old gentleman's feet. For he had meanwhile been placed in an easy chair. Mariana, looking most charming and beautiful, kissed his hands and bathed them with scalding tears, beseeching him to pardon both her and Antonio, to whom she had been united by the blessing of the church. Suddenly the hot blood surged into the old man's pallid face. Fury flashed from his eyes and he cried in a half-choked voice, Oh, you abominable scoundrel! You poisonous serpent whom I nourished in my bosom! Then old Torricelli, with grave and thoughtful dignity, put himself in front of Capuzzi and told him that he, Capuzzi, had seen a representation of the fate that would inevitably and irremediably overtake him if he had the hardy-hood to carry out his wicked purpose against Antonio and Mariana's peace and happiness. He depicted in startling colors the folly and madness of amorous old men who call down upon their own heads the most ruinous mischief which heaven can inflict upon a man, since all the love which might have fallen to their share is lost, and instead hatred and contempt shoot their fatal darts at them from every side. At intervals, lovely Mariana cried in a tone that went to everybody's heart. Oh, my uncle, I will love and honor you as my own father. You will kill me by a cruel death if you rob me of my Antonio. And all the eminent men by whom the old gentleman was surrounded, cried with one accord that it would not be possible for a man like Senor Pasquale Capuzzi to Senegalia, a patron of art and himself, an artist, not to forgive the young people and assume the part of father to the most lovely of ladies, not possible that he could refuse to accept with joy as his son-in-law, such an artist as Antonio Scacciati, who was highly esteemed throughout all Italy and richly crowned with fame and honor. Then it was patent to see that a violent struggle went on within the old gentleman. He sighed, moaned, clasped his hands before his face, and whilst Torricelli was continuing to speak in a most impressive manner, and Mariano was appealing to him in the most touching accents, and the rest were extolling Antonio all the new-how, he kept looking down. Now upon his niece, now upon Antonio, who splendid clothes and rich chains of honor bore testimony to the truth of what was said about the artistic fame he adorned, gone was all rage out of Capuzzi's countenance. He sprang up with radiant eyes and pressed Mariano to his heart, saying, yes, I forgive you, my dear child, I forgive you, Antonio, far be it from me to disturb your happiness. You are right, my worthy Signor Torricelli. Formica has shown me in the tableau and the stage all the mischief and ruin that would have befalled me, and I carried out my insane design. I am cured, quite cured of my folly, but where is Signor Formica? Where is my good physician? Let me thank him a thousand times for my cure. It is he alone who has accomplished it, the terror that he has caused me to feel has brought about a complete revolution within me. Pasquarello stepped forward. Antonio threw himself upon his neck, crying, oh, Signor Formica, you to whom I owe my life, my all. Oh, take off this disfiguring mask that I may see your face, that Formica may not any longer be a mystery to me. Pasquarello took off his cap and his artificial mask, which looked like a natural face, since it offered not the slight attendance to the play of countenance, and this Formica, this Pasquarello, was transformed into Salvatore Rosa. Note, the painter Salvatore Rosa did really play at Rome, the role of Pasquarello here attributed to him, but it was on the occasion of his second visit to the Eternal City about 1639. On the other hand, it was after 1647, the year of Masseniello's revolt at Naples, that Salvatore again came to Rome, the third visit, where he stayed until he was obliged to flee farther, namely to Florence, in consequence of the two pictures already mentioned. It seems evident, therefore, that Hoffman has not troubled himself about his dates or strict historical fidelity, but seems rather to have combined the incidents of the painter's two visits to Rome, i.e. his second and his third visit, return to text. Salvatore exclaimed Marianna, Antonio, and Capuzzi utterly astounded. Yes, said that wonderful man, it is Salvatore Rosa, whom the Romans would not recognize as painter and poet, but who, in the character of Formica, drew from them, without their being aware of it, almost every evening for more than a year in Nicolo Mussol's wretched little theater, the most noisy and most demonstrative storms of applause, from whose mouth they willingly took all the scorn and all the satiric mockery of what is bad, which they would on no account listen to and see in Salvatore's poems and pictures. It is Salvatore Formica who has helped you, dear Antonio. Salvatore, began old Capuzzi, Salvatore Rosa, albeit I have always regarded you as my worst enemy, yet I have always prized your artistic skill very highly, and now I love you as the worthiest friend I have and beg you to accept my friendship in return. Tell me, replied Salvatore, tell me my worthy Signor Pasquale, what service I can render you and accept my assurances beforehand that I will leave no stone unturned to accomplish whatever you may ask of me. And now the genial smile which had not been seen upon Capuzzi's face since Mariana had been carried off began to steal back again. Taking Salvatore's hand, he list in a low voice, my dear Signor Salvatore, you possess an unlimited influence of a good Antonio. Deceit him in my name to permit me to spend the short rest of my days within and my dear daughter Mariana, and to accept at my hands the inheritance left her by her mother, as well as the good dowry which I was thinking of adding to it, and he must not look jealous if I occasionally kiss the dear sweet child's little white hand and ask him every Sunday at least when I go to Mass to trim up my rough mustache where there's nobody in all the wide world understands it so well as he does. It costs Salvatore an effort to repress his laughter at the strange old man, but before he could make any reply, Antonio and Mariana embracing the old gentleman assured him that they should not believe he was fully reconciled to them and should not be really happy until he came to live with them as their dear father, never to leave them again. Antonio added that not only on Sunday but every other day he would trim Capuzzi's mustache as elegantly as he knew how and accordingly the old gentleman was perfectly radiant with delight. Meanwhile, a splendid supper had been prepared to which the entire company now turned in the best of spirits. In taking my leave of you, beloved reader, I wish with all my heart that whilst you had been reading the story of the wonderful Sinoformica, you have derived as much pure pleasure from it as Salvatore and all his friends felt on sitting down to their supper. End of Sinoformica, recording by Thomas Colbert.