The Serapion Brethren Volume Ii Part 30

When evening came, Salvator and Antonio each took a guitar, went to Strada Ripetta, and (by way of annoying old Capuzzi) treated the lovely Marianna to the most exquisite _serenata_ imaginable. For Salvator played and sang like a master, and Antonio had a lovely tenor voice, and was almost an Odoardo Ceccarelli. Signor Pasquale of course came out on to the balcony, and scolded down at the singers, ordering them to hold their peace; but the neighbours, whom the beautiful music had brought to their windows, cried out to him, asking him whether, as he and his friends were in the habit of howling and screaming like all the demons in h.e.l.l, he wouldn't suffer such a thing as a little _good_ music in the street? Let him be off into the house, they said, and stop his ears, if he didn't want to hear the beautiful singing. Thus Signor Pasquale was obliged, to his torture, to endure Salvator and Antonio's singing, all night long--songs which at times consisted of the sweetest words of love, and at others ridiculed the folly of amorous old men.

They distinctly saw Marianna at the window, and heard Pasquale adjuring her, in the most honeyed terms, not to expose herself to the night air.

The next evening there pa.s.sed along the street towards the Porto del Popolo the strangest group of persons ever seen. They attracted all eyes, and people asked each other if some strange survival of the Carnival had preserved two or three mad maskers. Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, in his many-coloured, well-brushed Spanish suit, a new yellow feather in his steeple-crowned hat, tightly belted and buckled, all tenderness and grace, tripping along on shoes too tight for him, as if treading on eggs, conducted on his arm the lovely Marianna, whose pretty figure, and still more beautiful face, could not be seen, in consequence of the extraordinary manner in which she was wimpled and wrapped up in a cloak and hood. On her other side tripped along Signor Splendiano Accoramboni in his enormous wig, which covered the whole of his back, so that, when seen from behind, he looked like some enormous head moving along on two diminutive legs. Close behind Marianna, almost clinging on to her, came, in crab-like fashion, the little hideosity of a Pitichinaccio, in flame-coloured female dress, with his hair bedecked, in the most repulsive style, with flowers of all the colours of the rainbow.

On this particular evening Signor Formica even surpa.s.sed himself; and--what he had never done before--he introduced little s.n.a.t.c.hes of songs, imitating various well-known singers. In old Capuzzi this awoke all the old delight in theatrical matters which in former days had been a regular mania with him. He kissed Marianna's hands over and over again, and vowed that he certainly would bring her to Nicolo Musso's theatre every night without fail. He extolled Signor Formica to the very skies, and joined most heartily in the uproarious applause of the rest of the audience. Signor Splendiano was less content, and repeatedly begged Signor Capuzzi and Marianna not to laugh so very immoderately. He named, in one breadth, some twenty maladies which were liable to be brought on by over-agitation of the diaphragm; but neither the one nor the other gave themselves any trouble on the subject.

Pitichinaccio was thoroughly unhappy. He had been obliged to sit just behind the Pyramid Doctor, who so overshadowed him with his enormous wig that he could not see the smallest peep of the stage, nor of the characters upon it; moreover, he was tortured by two facetious women who were sitting beside him, and who kept on calling him "Charming, pretty signora," and asking him whether he was married, for all he was so young, and had nice little children, who must be the dearest little things imaginable, &c., &c. Drops of cold perspiration stood on the poor little creature's brow; he whimpered and whined, and cursed the hour when he was born.

When the acting was over, Signor Pasquale waited till every one had left the house; and as the last of the lamps was being put out, Signor Splendiano lighted at it the stump of a wax candle, and they set forth on their homeward way. Pitichinaccio whined and cried; Capuzzi, to his torment, had to take him on his left arm, having Marianna on his right; before them went Doctor Splendiano with his candle-stump, whose feeble rays made the darkness of the night seem deeper.

While they were still some distance from the Porto del Popolo, they found themselves suddenly surrounded by several tall figures, thickly wrapped in cloaks. The Doctor's candle was instantly s.n.a.t.c.hed from his hand, and went out on the ground. Capuzzi and the Doctor stood speechless and amazed. Then there fell (it was not clear from whence) a faint reddish glimmer upon the cloaked figures, and four pale death's-heads were seen staring at the Pyramid Doctor, with hollow, fearful eyes. "Woe! woe! woe unto thee, Splendiano Accoramboni!" howled the terrible spectres, in deep, hollow tones. Then one of them wailed out, "Knowest thou me? knowest thou me, Splendiano? I am Cordier, the French painter, buried last week; sent under-ground by thee, with thy drugs!" Then the second: "Knowest thou _me_, Splendiano? I am Kueffner, the German painter, whom thou didst poison with thy h.e.l.lish electuaries!" Then the third: "Knowest thou _me_, Splendiano? I am Liers, the Fleming, whom thou didst murder with thy pills, cheating his brother out of his pictures!" Then the fourth: "Knowest thou _me_, Splendiano? I am Ghigi, the Neapolitan painter, whom thou didst slay with thy powders!" Finally, all the four cried out in quartet, "Woe!

woe to thee, Splendiano Accoramboni, accursed Pyramid Doctor! Thou must away!--away with us!--down, down under the earth! On!--on with thee!

Halloh!--halloh!" Therewith they seized the luckless Doctor, heaved him up, and disappeared with him like the storm-wind.

Sorely as terror was like to overcome Pasquale, he collected himself, and took heart of grace with wonderful courage, when he saw that this affair only concerned his friend Accoramboni. Pitichinaccio had put his head, flowers and all, under Pasquale's cloak, and was clinging so tightly about his neck that it was impossible to shake him off.

"Recover yourself," said Capuzzi to Marianna, when nothing more was to be seen of the spectres or of the Pyramid Doctor. "Recover yourself!

Come to me, my sweet, darling little dove! My good friend Splendiano is gone. May Saint Bernard, who was a doctor himself, stand by him and defend him, if those revengeful painters, whom he sent to that Pyramid of his rather before their time, are going to twist his windpipe. Ah!

who will take the ba.s.s parts in my canzonet now, I should like to know?

And this creature here, Pitichinaccio, is squeezing my throat to that extent that, what with that, and what with the fright at seeing Splendiano spirited away, I dare say it'll be three months good before I can get out a single note in tune! Don't you be frightened, my own sweetest Marianna!--it is all over."

Marianna declared that she had quite recovered from the fright, and only begged him to let her walk by herself to enable him to get quit of his troublesome lap-child; but he only held her the tighter, and vowed that no consideration in the world would induce him to allow her to venture a single step by herself in the terrible darkness.

Just then, as Capuzzi was going to step courageously forward, there suddenly rose before him, as if from the depths of the earth, four terrible-looking figures of devils, in short cloaks of glittering red, who glared at him with fearful eyes, and began making a horrible croaking and squeaking. "Hup! hup!" they cried. "Pasquale Capuzzi!--idiotic fool!--amorous old donkey! We are comrades of yours; we are love-devils; and we have come to carry you down to the hottest h.e.l.l, you and your bosom-friend there, Pitichinaccio!" Thus screaming, the devils fell upon Capuzzi, and he, with Pitichinaccio, went down, both of them raising piercing yells of distress like those of a whole herd of beaten donkeys.

Marianna had forcibly torn herself away from the old fellow, and sprung to one side, where one of the devils folded her softly in his arms, and said, in a sweet voice of affection: "Oh, Marianna! my own Marianna! it has all come right at last. My friends are taking the old man a long distance off, while we find some place of safety to fly to."

"My own Antonio!" Marianna whispered softly.

Suddenly a bright glare of torches lightened up the place, and Antonio felt himself stabbed on the shoulder-blade. Quick as lightning he turned round, drew his sword, and attacked the fellow, who was aiming a second stab with his stiletto. He saw that his three friends were defending themselves against a much stronger force of Sbirri. He managed to beat off the man who was attacking him, and to join his friends; but, bravely as they fought, the struggle was too unequal, and the Sbirri must unfailingly have had the best of it, had not two men suddenly burst, with loud shouts, into the ranks of the young fellows, one of whom immediately floored the Sbirro who was taxing Antonio the hardest.

The fight was now speedily decided to the disadvantage of the Sbirri, and those of them who were not on the ground wounded, fled with loud cries towards the Porto del Popolo.

Salvator Rosa--for it was no other who had hastened to Antonio's help, and struck down the Sbirro--was for starting off without more ado, with Antonio and the young painters who were in the devils' dresses, after the Sbirri to town.

Maria Agli, who had come with him, and, notwithstanding his years, had set to with the Sbirri like the others, thought this was not advisable, as the guard at the Porto del Popolo, informed of the affair, would of course arrest them all. So they betook themselves to Nicolo Musso, who received them gladly in his small abode not far from the theatre. The painters took off their devils' masks and their cloaks rubbed with phosphorus; and Antonio--who, save for the unimportant p.r.i.c.k in his shoulder, was not at all hurt--brought his surgical skill into play, all the others having wounds, though none of any importance.

The plot, so daringly and skilfully contrived, would have succeeded had not Salvator and Antonio left one person out of account; and that person ruined it all. Michele, the ex-Bravo and Sbirro, who lived downstairs in Capuzzi's house, and was a kind of servant to him, had, by his wish, gone behind him to the theatre, but at some distance, as the old man was ashamed of his tattered and scoundrelly appearance. In the same way, Michele had followed on the homeward way; so that, when the spectres appeared, Michele--who really did not fear death or devil--smelt a rat, ran, in the darkness, straight away to the Porto del Popolo, gave the alarm, and came back with the Sbirri, who, as we know, arrived just at the moment when the devils fell upon Signor Pasquale, and were going to take him away, as the dead men had taken the Pyramid Doctor.

Bat in the thick of the fight, one of the young painters had distinctly seen a fellow hurrying away towards the gate with Marianna, in a fainting state, in his arms, followed by Pasquale, who was rushing along at an incredible rate, as if his veins were running quicksilver.

There was, moreover, some glimmering object visible by the torch-light hanging on to his cloak, and whining, probably Pitichinaccio.

Next morning Doctor Splendiano was discovered at the Pyramid of Cestius, rolled up in a ball and immersed in his periwig, fast asleep, as though in a warm, soft nest. When they woke him, he talked incoherently, and it was hard to convince him that he was still in this visible life and, moreover, in Rome. When, at length, he was taken to his house, he thanked the Virgin and all the Saints for his rescue, threw all his tinctures, essences, electuaries, and powders out of window, made a bonfire of his recipes, and for the future healed his patients in no other manner than by laying his hands upon them and stroking them, as a celebrated physician used to do before him (who was a Saint into the bargain, but whose name I cannot think of at the moment), with much success, for his patients died as well as the other's, and before their deaths saw heaven open, and anything that the Saint pleased.

"I do not know," said Antonio, next day, to Salvator, "what fury has blazed up within me since some of my blood was spilt. Death and destruction to the miserable, ign.o.ble Capuzzi! Do you know, Salvator, that I have made up my mind to get into his house by force; and if he makes any resistance, I will run him through, and carry Marianna off."

"Glorious idea!" exclaimed Salvator. "A truly happy inspiration. I have no doubt you have also devised the means of carrying Marianna through the air to the Piazza di Spagna, so that you may reach that place of sanctuary before they have arrested you and hanged you! No, no, dear Antonio, there is nothing to be done in this affair by violence, and you may be quite certain that Signor Capuzzi will be too well prepared for anything in the shape of an open attack. Besides this, our escapade has attracted a great deal of attention; and more than that, the laughable style in which we set about our little piece of entertainment with Splendiano and Capuzzi has had the effect of waking the police up from their gentle slumbers, so that they will now be on the watch for us, as far as their feeble powers enable them. No, Antonio, we must resort to stratagem: '_Con arte e con inganno si vive mezzo l'anno; con inganno e con arte si vive l'altro parte._' That is what Dame Caterina says, and she is quite right. I can't help laughing at our having set to work just as if we were innocent boys; but it is my fault, chiefly, seeing that I have the advantage of you in years. Tell me, Antonio, if our plot had succeeded, and you had really carried Marianna off, where should you have gone with her?--where could you have kept her hidden?--how could you have got married by the priest so speedily that the old man should not have managed to interfere? As it is, in a very few days you shall actually carry her off. I have enlisted the aid of Nicolo Musso and Formica, and in conjunction with them thought out a plan which scarcely can break down. Comfort yourself, therefore, Signor Formica is going to help you."

"Signor Formica!" repeated Antonio, in an indifferent, almost contemptuous tone; "and pray how can that 'funny-man' help me?"

"Ho, ho!" cried Salvator, "I must beg you to treat Signor Formica with a proper amount of respect. Don't you know that he is a kind of wizard, and has all sorts of wondrous secret arts at his command? I tell you, Signor Formica is going to help you. And old Maria Agli, our great and grand 'Doctor Graziano,' of Bologna, has joined in our plot, and is going to play a most important part in it. You shall carry your Marianna off from Musso's theatre."

"Salvator," said Antonio, "you are buoying me up with vain hopes. You have said, yourself, that Capuzzi will be thoroughly on his guard against any more open attacks; so, after what has happened to him already, how can he possibly be induced to go to Musso's theatre another time?"

"It is not such a difficult matter as you suppose," answered Salvator, "to get him to go back there again; the difficulty will be to induce him to go without his companions, and to get him on to the stage. But however that may be, you must now arrange matters with Marianna so as to be ready to fly from Rome whenever the favourable moment arrives.

You will have to go to Florence. Your art will be an introduction to you there to begin with, and I will take care that you shall not want for friends, or for valuable support and a.s.sistance. We shall have to rest on our oars for a few days, and then we shall see what more is to be done. Keep up your courage. Formica will help."

A Fresh Misfortune Comes Upon Signor Pasquale Capuzzi. Antonio Scacciati Carries Out A Plot At Musso's Theatre, And Flies To Florence.

Signor Pasquale knew but too well who were the authors of the trick played upon him and the poor Pyramid Doctor near the Porto del Popolo; and we can imagine his rage with Antonio and with Salvator Rosa, whom he rightly considered to be the prime mover in the matter. He did his utmost to console Marianna, who was quite ill, from the fright--as she put it--but really from disappointment and vexation at the accursed Michele's having carried her off, with his Sbirri, from Antonio.

Meanwhile, Margarita industriously brought her tidings of her lover, and she based all her hopes and expectations upon the enterprising Salvator. She waited most impatiently from day to day for anything in the shape of fresh events, and vented her vexation upon the old gentleman by a thousand teasings and naggings, which rendered him humble and submissive in his foolish amourishness, but had not the effect of in any degree casting out the love-devil by which he was possessed. When Marianna had poured out upon his devoted head a full measure of all the evil caprices of a selfish girl, she had only to suffer him to press his withered lips a single time upon her little hand, and he would vow, in the excess of his delight, that he would never leave off kissing the Pope's slipper till he had obtained his dispensation to marry his niece, quintessence as she was of all beauty and loveliness. Marianna was careful to do nothing to disturb this condition of delight, for those rays of hope of her uncle's made her own to shine brighter--her hopes of being all the nearer escaping him, the more firmly he believed himself to be united to her by bonds which were indissoluble.

Some time had elapsed when, one day, Michele came stumping upstairs and announced to his master (who opened the door after a good deal of knocking), with much prolixity, that there was a gentleman below who insisted, most urgently, on speaking with Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, who, he was aware, lived in that house.

"Oh, all ye heavenly hosts!" cried the old gentleman, in a rage, "doesn't this lubber know as well as possible that I never speak with strangers in the house!"

But Michele said the gentleman was very well-looking, rather elderly, and spoke exceedingly nicely, saying his name was Nicolo Musso.

"Nicolo Musso!" said Capuzzi, thoughtfully to himself; "Nicolo Musso, who has the theatre outside the Porta del Popolo! What can he want with me?" He carefully closed and bolted the door, and went down with Michele to talk with Nicolo in the street.

"My dear Signor Pasquale," said Nicolo, greeting him with an easy courtesy, "how very much delighted I am that you honour me with your acquaintance! How many thanks I owe you! Since the Romans saw _you_--the man of the most acknowledged taste, of the most universal knowledge, the virtuoso in art--in my theatre, my reputation, and my receipts, have been doubled. All the more does it pain me that some wicked, malicious fellows should have made a murderous attack upon you and your party as you were going home from my theatre at night. For the love of all the Saints, Signor Pasquale, do not form a prejudice against me and my theatre on account of an affair of this sort, which could scarcely have been antic.i.p.ated. Do not deprive me of your patronage."

"My good Signor Nicolo," said Capuzzi, flattered, "let me a.s.sure you that I never, anywhere, found more pleasure than in your theatre.

Your Formica, your Agli, are actors, whose equals have still to be discovered; but the alarm which brought my friend Splendiano Accoramboni--and indeed myself as well--nearly to death's door, was too severe. It has closed to me for ever, not your theatre, but the road to it. Open your theatre in the Piazza del Popolo, or in Strada Babuina, or Strada Ripetta, and I shall never miss a single evening; but no power on earth would induce me to set foot outside the Porto del Popolo at night."

Nicolo sighed as if possessed by profound sorrow. "That hits me hard,"

he said; "harder than you perhaps may suppose, Signor Pasquale. I had based all my hopes upon you. In fact, I came to implore your a.s.sistance."

"My a.s.sistance!" echoed the old gentleman; "my a.s.sistance! In what way could that be of any use to you, Signor Nicolo?"

"My dear Signor Pasquale," answered Nicolo, pa.s.sing his handkerchief over his eyes as if wiping away a tear or two, "you will have observed that my actors occasionally introduce a little aria or so here and there; and my idea was to carry that further gradually; bring a small orchestra together, and finally evade prohibitions so far as to start an opera. You, Signor Capuzzi, are the first composer in all Italy, and it is only the incredible frivolity of the Romans, and the envy of the _Maestri_, that are to blame for the circ.u.mstance that anything except your compositions is to be heard on the stage. Signor Pasquale, I came to beg you, on my knees, to allow me to represent your immortal works in my theatre."

"My good Signor Nicolo!" cried the old fellow, with bright sunshine in his face, "why are we talking here in the public street? Will you be kind enough to climb up a steep flight of stairs, and come with me into my humble dwelling?"

As soon as he got into the room with Nicolo, he hauled out a great packet of dusty music-ma.n.u.script, opened it up, turned pages over, and began that frightful yelling and screeching which he called "singing."

Nicolo demeaned himself like one enraptured. He sighed, he groaned; he cried "bravo!" from time to time, and "Bravissimo! Benedetto Capuzzi!"

At length, as if in an excess of blissful enthusiasm, he fell at the old man's feet, and clasped his knees, hugging them so very tightly, however, that Capuzzi gave a great bound to try and shake him off, screamed with the pain, and cried out: "All the Saints! let me go, Signor Nicolo! you'll be the death of me!"

"No!" cried Nicolo. "No, Signor Pasquale! I will not rise from this spot till you promise to let me have that heavenly aria which you have just rendered so magnificently, so that Formica may sing it two nights hence on my stage."

"You are a person of some taste," sighed Pasquale; "a man of insight; to whom, rather than to you, should I intrust my compositions? You shall take all my arias with you (Oh! oh! do let me go!) but, oh heavens! I shall not hear them--my heavenly masterpieces! (Oh, oh! let go my legs, Signor Nicolo!)"

"No!" cried Nicolo, still on his knees, and firmly grasping the old man's spindle-shanks like a vice. "No, Signor Pasquale! I will not let you go till you give me your word that you will come to my theatre the evening after to-morrow. Have no fear of being attacked again. You may be certain that, when the Romans have heard those arias of yours, they will carry you home triumphantly in a torchlight procession. But even if they do not, I and my trusty comrades will arm, and escort you safely home."

"You and your comrades will escort me home, will you?" Pasquale inquired; "how many of them might there be?"

"Eight or ten people will be at your disposal, Signor Pasquale. Make up your mind; decide upon coming, and yield to my earnest prayers."