The Serapion Brethren Volume Ii Part 28

"By all the saints!" cried Antonio, jumping up from his chair, and laughing loud and clear in spite of his despair, "that is the very man--that is Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, of whom I am speaking, to the very life."

"There, you see," said Salvator quietly, "I know the gentleman who is probably your bitter rival. But go on with your story."

"Signor Pasquale Capuzzi," continued Antonio, "is as rich as Cr[oe]sus, but, as I think I was telling you, a terrible miser, as well as a perfect a.s.s. His best quality is that he is devoted to the arts, particularly to music and painting. But there is so much idiotic absurdity mixed up with this, that, even in those directions, it is impossible to put up with him. He believes himself to be the greatest composer in the world, and a singer the like of whom is not to be found in the Papal Chapel. Therefore he looks askance at our old Frescobaldi, and when the Romans talk of the marvellous charm and spell which Ceccarelli's voice possesses, he thinks Ceccarelli knows as much about singing as an old slipper, and that he--Capuzzi--is the person to enchant the world. But as the Pope's princ.i.p.al singer bears the proud name of Edoardo Ceccarelli di Merania, our Capuzzi likes to be styled 'Signor Pasquale Capuzzi di Senegaglia,' for his mother bore him in that place, and, in fact, people say, in a fishing-boat, from sudden terror at the rising of a sea-calf, and there is, consequently, a great deal of the sea-calf in his nature. In early life he put an opera on the stage, and it was hissed off it in the completest manner possible; but that did not cure him of his craze for writing diabolical music. On the other hand, when he heard Francesco Cavalli's opera, 'Le Nozze di Teti e di Peleo,' he said the Capellmeister had borrowed the most sublime ideas from his own immortal works; for saying which he had a narrow escape of cudgellings, or even of knife-thrusts. He is still possessed with the idea of singing arias, accompanying himself by torturing a wretched guitar, which has to groan and sigh in support of his mewing and caterwauling. His faithful Pylades is a broken-down, dwarfish Castrato, whom the Romans call Pitichinaccio; and guess who completes the trio. Well, none other than the Pyramid Doctor, who emits sounds like a melancholy jacka.s.s, and is under the impression that he sings a magnificent ba.s.s, as good as Martinelli's, of the Papal Chapel.

Those three worthies meet together of evenings, and sit on the balcony, singing motetts of Carissimi's till all the dogs and cats in the neighbourhood yell and howl, and the human beings within earshot devote the h.e.l.lish trio to all the thousand devils.

"My father," Antonio continued, "was in the habit of going in and out of the house of this incomparable idiot, Signor Pasquale Capuzzi (whom you know sufficiently well from my description), because he used to dress his wig and his beard. When he died, I undertook those offices, and Capuzzi was greatly pleased with me, firstly, because he considered that I was able to give his moustaches a bold upward twist in a manner which n.o.body else could, and further, doubtless, because I was satisfied with the two or three quattrinos which he gave me for my trouble. But he thought he was over-paying me, inasmuch as, every time I dressed his beard he would croak out to me, with closed eyes, an aria of his own composing, which flayed the skin off my ears, although the remarkable antics of this creature afforded me much entertainment--which was the reason I continued to go back to him. I on one occasion walked gently up the stairs, knocked at the door, and opened it, when there met me a girl--an angel of light! You know my Magdalene!--it was she. I stood rooted to the spot. No, no, Salvator, I won't treat you to any 'Ohs' or 'Ahs.' I need but say that on the instant, when I saw the loveliest of all ladies, I fell into the deepest, fondest affection for her. The old fellow said, with simpers, that she was the daughter of his brother Pietro, who had died in Senegaglia, that her name was Marianna, and that, as she had no mother, and neither brothers nor sisters, he had taken her into his house. You may imagine that from that time forth Capuzzi's dwelling was my paradise. But, scheme as I might, I could never be alone with Marianna for a single instant; yet her eyes, as well as many a stolen sigh, and even many a pressure of the hand, left me in no doubt of my happiness.

The old man found this out, and it was not a very difficult matter. He told me that he was by no means pleased with my behaviour to his niece, and asked me what I meant by it. I candidly confessed that I loved her with all my soul, and could imagine no more perfect bliss on earth than to make her my wife. On this, Capuzzi eyed me up and down, broke into sneering laughter, and said that he could not have imagined that ideas of the kind could have haunted the brain of a wretched hairdresser. My blood got up: I said he knew very well that I was by no means a mere wretched hairdresser, but a skilled surgeon, and, more than that, as concerned the glorious art of painting, a faithful scholar and pupil of the grand Annibale Caracci, and the unsurpa.s.sed Guido Reni. On this the despicable Capuzzi broke out into louder laughter, and squeaked out, in his abominable falsetto: 'Very good, my sweet Signor Beard-curler, my talented Signor Surgeon, my charming Annibale Caracci, my most beloved Guido Reni, _go to all the devils_, and don't show that nose of yours inside my door again, unless you want every bone in your body broken.'

And the demented old totterer actually took hold of me with no less an idea in his head than that of chucking me out of the door and downstairs. But this was rather more than could be endured. I was furious, and I seized hold of the fellow, turned him topsy-turvy, with his toes pointing to the ceiling (screaming at the top of his lungs), and ran downstairs and out of the door, which was from thenceforth closed against me.

"Matters were in this position when you came to Rome, and Heaven inspired the good Father Bonifazio to conduct me to you; and then, when that had happened, through your cleverness, which I had striven after in vain, when the Academy of San Luca had admitted me, and all Rome was praising and honouring me above my desert, I went straight away to the old man, and appeared suddenly before him in his room like a threatening spectre. That is what I must have seemed like to him, for he turned as pale as death, and drew back behind a table, trembling in every limb. In a grave, firm voice, I told him that I was not now the Beard-curler and Surgeon, but the celebrated Painter, and Member of the Academy of San Luca, Antonio Scacciati, to whom he could not refuse his niece's hand. You should have seen the fury into which the old man fell. He yelled, he beat about him with his arms, he cried out that I was a remorseless murderer, seeking to take his life, that I had stolen his Marianna away from him, as I had counterfeited her in the picture which drove him to madness and despair. That now all the world--all the world--was looking at his Marianna, his life, his hope, his everything, with longing, coveting eyes; but that I had better be careful, for he would burn the house down about my ears, and make an end of me and my picture together. And on this he began to vociferate, and scream out so loudly, 'Fire!--murder!--thieves!--help!' that I thought of nothing but getting out of the house as speedily as possible.

"You see that this old lunatic Capuzzi is over head and ears in love with his niece. He keeps her shut up, and, if he can get a dispensation, he will force her to the most horrible marriage conceivable. All hope is at an end."

"Why not, indeed?" said Salvator, laughing. "For my part, I think, rather, that your affairs could not possibly be in a better position.

Marianna loves you--you know that well enough--and all that has to be done is to get her out of the clutches of this old lunatic. Now I really do not see what should prevent two adventurous, st.u.r.dy fellows, like you and me, from accomplishing this. Keep up your heart, Antonio!

Instead of lamenting, and getting to be love-sick and powerless, the thing to do is to keep thinking on Marianna's rescue. Just watch, Antonio, how we will lead the old donkey by the nose. The very wildest undertakings are not wild enough for me, in circ.u.mstances like those.

This very moment I shall set to work to see what more I can find out about the old fellow and all his ways of life. You must not let yourself be seen in this, Antonio. Go you quietly home, and come to me to-morrow as early as you can, that we may consider the plan for our first attack."

With that Salvator washed his brushes, threw on his cloak, and hastened to the Corso; whilst Antonio, comforted, and with fresh hope in his heart, went home, as Salvator had enjoined him.

Signor Pasquale Capuzzi makes his appearance in Salvator Rosa's abode.--What happened there.--Rosa and Scacciati's artful stratagem, and its consequences.

Antonio was not a little surprised, the next morning, when Salvator gave him the most minute account of Capuzzi's whole manner of life, which, in the interval, he had found out all about. Salvator said the miserable Marianna was tortured by the crack-brained old scoundrel in the most fiendish manner. That he sighed, and made love to her all day long; and, what was worse, by way of touching her heart, sang to her all sorts of amorous ditties and arias which he had composed, or attempted to compose. Moreover, he was so madly jealous that he would not allow this much-to-be-compa.s.sionated girl even the usual female attendance, for fear of love-intrigues to which the Abigail might possibly be corrupted. "Instead of that," Salvator went on, "there comes, every morning and evening, a little horrible, ghastly spectre of a creature, with hollow eyes, and pale, flabby, hanging cheeks, to do what a maid-servant ought to do for the beautiful Marianna. And this spectre is none other than that tiny hop-o-my-thumb Pitichinaccio, dressed in woman's clothes. When Capuzzi is away, he carefully locks and bars all the doors; and besides that, watch and ward is kept by that infernal fellow who was once a Bravo, afterwards a Sbirro, who lives downstairs in Capuzzi's house. Therefore it seems impossible to get inside the door. But I promise you, Antonio, that to-morrow night you shall be in the room with Capuzzi, and see your Marianna, though, this time, only in Capuzzi's presence."

"What!" cried Antonio, "is that which appears to me an impossibility going to come to pa.s.s to-morrow night?"

"Hush, Antonio!" said Salvator; "let us calmly reflect how the plan which I have hit upon is to be carried out. To begin with, I must tell you that I have a certain connection with Signor Capuzzi which I was not aware of. That wretched spinett standing in the corner there is his property, and I am supposed to be going to pay him the exorbitant price of ten ducats for it. When I had got somewhat better after my illness, I had a longing for music, which is consolation and recreation to me. I asked my landlady to get hold of an instrument of that sort for me.

Dame Caterina soon found out that a certain old fellow in Strada Ripetta had an old spinett for sale. It was brought here, and I troubled myself neither about the price nor about the owner. It was only last night that I discovered that it was our honourable Signor Capuzzi who was going to swindle me with his old, broken-down instrument. Dame Caterina had applied to an acquaintance who lives in the house with Capuzzi, and, in fact, on the same storey; so that now you see where I got all my information from."

"Ha!" cried Antonio; "thus is the means of admission discovered. Your landlady----"

"I know what you are going to say," said Salvator. "You think the way to your Marianna is through Dame Caterina. That would never do at all.

Dame Caterina is much too talkative; she can't keep the most trifling secret, and is therefore by no means to be made use of in our undertaking. Listen to me, quietly. Every evening, when the little Castrato has done the maid-servant work, Signor Pasquale Capuzzi carries him home in his arms, difficult as that job is, considering the shakiness of his own old knees. Not for all the world would the timorous Pitichinaccio set foot on the pavement at that time of the night. Very good; when----"

At this moment a knock came to Salvator's door, and, to the no small astonishment of both, in came Signor Pasquale Capuzzi in all his glory.

As soon as he saw Scacciati he stood still, as if paralysed in every limb, opened his eyes wide, and panted for air as if his breath would fail him. But Salvator hurried up to him, took him by both hands, and cried out: "My dear Signor Pasquale! how highly honoured I am that you should visit me in my humble lodging. Doubtless it is the love of art that brings you. You wish to look at what I have been doing lately; perhaps you are even going to honour me with a commission. Tell me, dear Signor Pasquale, wherein I can do you a pleasure."

"I have to speak with you," stammered Capuzzi, with difficulty, "dear Signor Salvator; but, alone; when you are by yourself. Allow me to take my departure for the present, and come back at a more convenient time."

"By no means, my dear Signor," said Salvator, holding the old man fast.

"You must not go. You could not possibly have come at a more convenient time, for, as you are a great honourer of the n.o.ble art of painting, it will give you no small joy when I present to you here Antonio Scacciati, the greatest painter of our time, whose glorious picture, the marvellous 'Magdalene at the Saviour's feet,' all Rome regards with the utmost enthusiasm. No doubt you are full of the picture, like the rest, and have been anxious to make the painter's acquaintance."

The old man was seized by a violent trembling. He shook like one in the cold stage of a fever, sending, the while, burning looks of rage at Antonio; who, however, went up to him with easy courtesy, declaring that he thought himself fortunate to meet Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, whose profound knowledge of music, as well as of painting, not only Rome, but all Italy admired, and he recommended himself to his protection.

It restored the old fellow to his self-control that Antonio treated him as if he met him for the first time, and addressed him in such flattering terms. He forced himself to a sort of simpering smile, and (Salvator having let go his hands) softly stroked the points of his moustaches heavenwards, stammered a few unintelligible words, and then turned to Salvator, whom he attacked on the subject of the payment of the ten ducats. "We will settle that every-day little affair afterwards," said Salvator. "First let it please you to look at the sketches which I have made for a picture, and, as you do so, to drink a gla.s.s of good Syracuse." Salvator placed his sketches on the easel, drew up a chair for the old gentleman, and, when he had seated himself, handed him a large, beautiful goblet, in which the n.o.ble Syracuse was sparkling.

The old man was only too fond of a gla.s.s of good wine, when he had not to pay for it; and, moreover, as he was expecting to receive ten ducats for a worn-out, rickety spinett, and was seated before a boldly sketched-in picture, whose wonderful beauty he was quite capable of appreciating, he could not but feel exceedingly happy in his mind. This satisfaction he gave expression to, smirking quite pleasantly, stroking his chin and moustaches a.s.siduously, half closing his eyes, and whispering, time after time, "Glorious! Precious!" without its clearly appearing whether he referred to the picture or to the wine.

As he had now become quite friendly, Salvator said, suddenly: "Tell me, my dear sir, is it not the case that-you have a most beautiful niece, of the name of Marianna? All our young fellows are continually rushing to the Strada Ripetta, impelled by love-craziness. They give themselves cricks in the neck with gazing up at your balcony in the hope of seeing her, and catching a glance from her heavenly eyes."

The complacent smirk disappeared instantly from the old man's face, and all the good humour with which the wine had inspired him vanished.

Gazing before him gloomily, he said, in a harsh voice: "See there the profound corruption of our sinful youth, who fasten their diabolical looks on children, detestable seducers that they are!--for I a.s.sure you, my dear sir, my niece Marianna is a mere child--a mere child scarce out of the nursery!"

Salvator changed the subject. The old man recovered his composure; but when, with new sunshine in his face, he placed the full goblet to his lips, Salvator set on him again, with: "Tell me, my dear Signor, has your niece (that young lady of sixteen), the lovely Marianna, really that wonderful chestnut-brown hair, and those eyes, full of the rapture and bliss of Heaven, which we see in Antonio's Magdalene? That is what is everywhere said."

"I can't say," cried the old man, in an angrier tone than before.

"Don't let us refer to my niece; we can exchange words of more importance on the subject of the n.o.ble art to which your beautiful picture itself leads us."

But as, whenever the old man took up the goblet and placed it to his lips to take a good draught, Salvator again began to speak of the beautiful Marianna, Pasquale at last sprung from his chair in fury, banged the goblet down on the table with such violence that it was nearly being broken, and cried in a screaming voice: "By the black, h.e.l.lish Pluto, by all the Furies, you make the wine poison--poison to me. But I see how it is. You, and your fine Signor Antonio along with you, think you will make a fool of me; but you won't find it quite so easy. Pay me this instant the ten ducats you owe me, and I will leave you and your comrade, the beard-curler Antonio, to all the devils."

Salvator cried out as if overcome by the most furious anger, "What! You dare to treat me in this manner in my own lodging? Pay you ten ducats for that rotten old box, out of which the worms have long since gnawed all the marrow, all the sound! Not ten, not five, not three, not a single ducat will I pay you for that spinett, which is scarcely worth a quattrino. Away with the crippled old thing," and therewith Salvator sent the little spinett spinning round and round with his foot, its strings giving out a loud wail of sorrow.

"Ha!" screamed Capuzzi, "there is still law in Rome. I will have you put in prison, into the deepest dungeon;" and, growling like a thunder-cloud, he was making for the door. But Salvator put both his arms about him, set him down in the chair again, and whispered in his ear in dulcet tones, "My dear Signor Pasquale, do you not see that I am only joking? Not ten, thirteen ducats you shall have for your spinett,"

and went on repeating into his ear, "thirteen bright ducats," so long and so often that Capuzzi said, in a faint, feeble voice, "What say you, dear sir? Thirteen ducats for the spinett, and nothing for the repairs?" Then Salvator let him go, and a.s.sured him, on his honour, that in an hour's time the spinett should be worth thirty--forty ducats, and that he, Capuzzi, should get that sum for it.

The old man, drawing breath, murmured: with a deep sigh, "Thirty--forty ducats!" Then he added, "But you have greatly enraged me, Signor Salvator." "Thirty ducats," reiterated Salvator. The old man blinked his eyes. But then again, "You have wounded me to the heart, Signor Salvator." "Thirty ducats," said Salvator again and again, till at length the old man said, quite appeased, "If I can get thirty or forty ducats for my spinett, all will be forgotten and forgiven, dear Signor."

"But before I fulfil my promise," said Salvator, "I have one little stipulation to make which you, my worthy Signor Pasquale Capuzzi di Senegaglia, can easily comply with. You are the first composer in all Italy, and, into the bargain, the very finest singer that can possibly be found. I have listened with rapture to the grand scena in the opera 'Le Nozze di Teti e di Peleo,' which the villain Francesco Cavalli has cribbed from you and given out as his own. If you would be good enough to sing me that aria during the time that I am setting the spinett to rights, I cannot imagine anything more delightful that could happen to me."

The old fellow screwed his face up into the most sugary smile imaginable, twitched his eyebrows, and said, "It is easy to see that you are a fine musician yourself, Signor, for you have taste, and you can value people better than the unthankful Romans. Listen, listen to the aria of all arias."

He rose up, stood on the extreme points of his tiptoes, stretched out his arms, and closed both his eyes (so that he was exactly like a c.o.c.k making ready for a crow), and immediately began to utter such a terrible screeching that the walls resounded again, and Dame Caterina came rushing in with her two daughters, having no other idea than that the terrible howling indicated the happening of some signal disaster.

They stood completely bewildered in the doorway when they became aware of the old gentleman crooning in this manner, thus const.i.tuting themselves the audience of this unheard-of virtuoso, Capuzzi.

But as this was going on, Salvator had set the spinett to rights, shut down the top of it, taken his palette and set to work to paint, in bold touches, upon the very cover of the spinett, the most wonderful subject imaginable. The princ.i.p.al theme of it was a scene from Cavalli's opera, 'Le Nozze di Teti;' but there was mingled with this, in utterly fantastic fashion, a whole crowd of other characters, amongst whom were Capuzzi, Antonio, Marianna (exactly as she appeared in Antonio's picture), Salvator himself, Dame Caterina and her daughters, and even the Pyramid Doctor, and all so genially and comprehendingly pourtrayed, that Antonio could not conceal his delight at the Maestro's talent and technique.

The old fellow by no means restricted himself to the scena which Salvator had asked him for, but went on singing, or rather crowing, without cessation, working his way through the most terrible recitatives from one diabolical aria to another. This may have gone on for some two hours or so, till he sank down into an arm-chair, cherry-brown of countenance. By that time, however, Salvator had got so far with his sketch that everything in it appeared to be alive, and the effect of it, when seen a little way off, was that of a finished picture.

"I have kept my promise as regards the spinett, dear Signor Capuzzi,"

Salvator whispered into the old man's ear, and Capuzzi sprang up like one awaking from sleep. His eyes fell on the painted spinett; he opened them wide, as if looking upon a miracle, crammed his peaked hat down on to his periwig, took his crook-headed stick under his arm, made one jump to the spinett, wrenched the cover of it out of the hinges, and ran, like one possessed, out of the door, down the steps, and off and away out of the house, whilst Dame Caterina and her daughters accompanied his exit with bursts of laughter.

"The old skinflint knows very well," said Salvator, "that he has only to take the painted top of the spinett to Count Colonna, or to my friend Rossi, to get forty ducats, or more, for it in a moment."

Salvator and Antonio now set about considering the plan of attack which they were about to carry out on the following night. We shall presently see what it was, and what was the success of their attempt.

When night came, Pasquale, after carefully bolting and barring up his house, carried the little monster of a Castrato home. The little creature mewed and complained all the way, that not only was he compelled to sing his lungs into a consumption over Capuzzi's arias, and burn his hands with cooking of macaroons, but, into the bargain, was employed in a service which brought him in nothing but cuffs on the ears and sound kicks, which Marianna dealt out to him in ample measure whenever he came into her vicinity. The old gentleman comforted him as well as he could, promising to supply him more plentifully with sugar-stuff than he had hitherto done, and even going so far as to enter into a solemn undertaking (inasmuch as the little wretch would not cease whining and lamenting) to have a little Abbate's coat made for him out of an old black plush doublet, which he had often looked upon with envious glances. He demanded, besides, a periwig and a sword.

Discussing those matters, they reached the Strada Vergognona, for that was where Pitichinaccio lived, and, indeed, only four doors from Salvator.

The old man set the little creature carefully down, and opened the door. Then they went up the narrow steps, more like a hen's ladder than anything else; but scarcely had they got half-way up when they became aware of a tremendous raging on the storey above, and a wild drunken fellow made his voice heard, calling upon all the devils in h.e.l.l to show him the way out of this accursed, haunted house. Pitichinaccio, who was in front, pressed himself close to the wall and implored Capuzzi to go on first, for the love of all the saints. Scarcely, however, had Capuzzi gone a step or two up when the fellow from above came stumbling down the stairs, came upon Capuzzi like a whirlwind, seized hold of him, and went floundering down with him through the open door right into the middle of the street. There they remained lying prostrate, Capuzzi nethermost, and the drunken fellow on the top of him, like a heavy sack. Capuzzi screamed pitifully for help, and immediately there appeared two men, who, with much pains, eased Capuzzi of his burden, the drunken fellow, who went staggering away as they did so.

The two men were Salvator and Antonio, and they cried, "Jesus! what has happened to you, Signor Capuzzi? What are you doing here at this time of the night? You seem to have had some bad business going on in the house."

"It's all over with me," groaned Capuzzi; "the h.e.l.lhound has broken every bone in my body. I can't move a muscle."

"Let us see--let us see!" said Antonio; and he felt him all over, giving him, in the course of his examination, a pinch in the right leg of such shrewdness that Capuzzi uttered a yell.