“I can’t tell you,” said Antonio next day to Salvator, “how my heart boils with rage since my blood has been spilled. Death and destruction overtake that villain Capuzzi! I tell you, Salvator, that I am determined to force my way into his house. I will cut him down if he opposes me, and carry off Marianna.”
“An excellent plan!” replied Salvator, laughing. “An excellent plan! Splendidly contrived! Of course I am sure you have also found the same means for transporting Marianna through the air to the Piazza di Spagna, so that they don’t seize you and hang you before you can reach sanctuary. No, my dear Antonio, violence can do nothing for you this time. You may lay your life on it too that Signor Pasquale will now take steps to guard against any open attack. Moreover, our adventure has made a good deal of noise, and the public laughter 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 trap us. No, Antonio, let us have recourse to craft. Con arte e con inganno si vive mezzo l’anna, 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 Signora Caterina, and she isn’t far wrong. Besides, I can’t help laughing to see how we’ve behaved and acted for all the world like brainless boys, and I shall have to bear most of the blame, for I am a good bit older than you. Tell me, Antonio, supposing our scheme had been successful, and you had actually carried off Marianna 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 Marianna. I have let Nicolo 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 a buffoon help me?”
“Ho! ho!” laughed Salvator. “Please bear in mind, that Signor Formica is worthy of your respect. Don’t you know 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 Agli, the clever Bolognese Dr. Gratiano, is also a sharer in the plot, and will have an important part to play in it. You shall abduct your Marianna from Musso’s theatre.”
“You are deluding me with false hopes, Salvator,” said Antonio. “You have just said that Signor Pasquale will take care to avoid all open attacks. How can you suppose after his recent unpleasant experience that he can possibly be willing to visit Musso’s theatre again?”
“It will not be as difficult as you imagine to entice him there,” replied Salvator. “What will be more difficult will be to get him to the theatre without his followers. But, be that as it may, what you have now got to do, Antonio, is to have everything prepared and arranged with Marianna, to flee from Rome the moment a favourable opportunity comes. You must go to Florence; your skill as a painter will 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.”
V
Signor Pasquale was only too well aware who had been at the bottom of the mischief that had happened to him and the poor Pyramid Doctor near the Porta del Popolo, and so it may be imagined how enraged he was against Antonio, and against Salvator Rosa, whom he rightly judged to be the ringleader. He was untiring in his efforts to comfort poor Marianna, who was quite ill from fear—so she said; but in reality she was furious that the scoundrel Michele 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 lover; and Marianna based all her hopes upon the enterprising mind of Salvator. 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 made him experience to the full all the tricksy humours of the most wayward girl, she then suffered him to press his withered lips upon her tiny hand just once. He then swore in his excessive delight that he would never cease 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 easy it would be for her to escape him.
Some time passed, when one day at noon Michele came stamping upstairs. After he had knocked a good many times to induce Signor Pasquale to open the door, he 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 rascal know that on no account do I receive strangers in my own house?”
But the gentleman was of very respectable appearance, reported Michele, rather oldish, talked well, and called himself Nicolo Musso.
“Nicolo Musso,” murmured Capuzzi reflectively; “Nicolo Musso, who owns the theatre beyond the Porta del Popolo; what can he want with me?” Whereupon, carefully locking and bolting the door, he went downstairs with Michele, in order to converse with Nicolo in the street before the house.
“My dear Signor Pasquale,” began Nicolo, approaching to meet him, and bowing with polished ease, “that you deign to honour me with your acquaintance affords me great pleasure. You lay me under a very great obligation. Since the Romans saw you in my theatre—you, a man of the most approved taste, of the soundest knowledge, and a master in art—not only has my fame increased, but my receipts have doubled. I am therefore all the more deeply pained to learn that certain young criminals made a murderous attack on you and your friends as you were returning from my theatre at night. But I pray you, Signor Pasquale, by all the saints, don’t cherish any grudge against me or my theatre on account of this outrage, which shall be severely punished. Don’t deprive me of the honour of your presence at my performances!”
“My dear Signor Nicolo,” replied the old man, simpering, “be assured that I never enjoyed myself more than I did when I visited your theatre. Your Formica and your Algi—why, they are actors who cannot be matched anywhere. But the fright almost killed my friend Dr. Splendiano Accoramboni, indeed it almost proved the death of me—no, it was too great; and though it has not turned me against your theatre, it certainly has from the road there. If you will put up your theatre in the Piazza del Popolo, or in the Via Babuina, or in the Via Ripetta, I certainly will not fail to visit you every evening; but there’s no power on earth shall ever get me outside the Porta del Popolo at nighttime again.”
Nicolo 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 Nicolo? In what way could it profit you?”
“My dear Signor Pasquale,” replied Nicolo, 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 including songs in their performances. This practice I was thinking of extending imperceptibly more and more, then to get together an orchestra, and, frankly, get around the prohibitions against it, and establish what would amount to 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 theatres. Signor Pasquale, I came to request you on my bended knees to allow me to put your immortal works, as far as circumstances will admit, on my humble stage.”
“My dear Signor Nicolo,” said the old gentleman, his face all sunshine, “why are we talking here in the public street? Pray 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 Nicolo got into the room, the old gentleman brought forward a great pile of dusty music manuscript, opened it, and, taking his guitar in his hands, began to deliver himself of a series of the frightful high-pitched screams which he considered singing.
Nicolo behaved like. one in raptures. He sighed; he uttered extravagant expressions of approval; he exclaimed at intervals, “Bravo! Bravissimo! Benedettissimo 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 them so hard that the old gentleman jumped off his seat, calling out with pain, and saying to Nicolo, “By the saints! Let me go, Signor Nicolo; you’ll kill me.”
“No,” replied Nicolo, “no, Signor Pasquale, I will not rise until you have promised that Formica may sing in my theatre the day after tomorrow the divine arias which you have just executed.”
“You are a man of taste,” groaned Pasquale—“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 go of me. But, good God! I shall not hear them—my divine masterpieces! Oh! let go of me, Signor Nicolo.”
“No,” replied Nicolo, still on his knees, and tightly pressing the old gentleman’s thin spindle-shanks together, “no, Signor Pasquale, I will not let go until you give me your word that you will be present in my theatre the night after tomorrow. You need not fear any new attack! Why, don’t you see that the Romans, once they have heard your work, will bring you home in triumph by 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 Pasquale. “And how many may that be?”
“Eight or ten persons will be at your command, Signor Pasquale. Yield to my intercession and resolve to come, I beg of you.”
“Formica has a fine voice,” lisped Pasquale. “How finely he will execute my arias.”
“ Come, oh! come!” exhorted Nicolo again, giving the old gentleman’s knees an extra squeeze.
“You will pledge yourself that I shall reach my own house without being molested?” asked the old gentleman.
“I pledge my honour and my life,” was Nicolo’s reply, as he gave the knees a still sharper squeeze.
“Agreed!” cried the old gentleman; “I will be in your theatre the day after tomorrow.”
Then Nicolo leapt to his feet and pressed Pasquale in so close an embrace that he gasped and panted for lack of breath.
At this moment Marianna entered the room. Signor Pasquale tried to frighten her away again by the look of resentment which he hurled at her; she 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, Signor Nicolo, to attempt to entice my dear uncle to go to your theatre. You are forgetting that the infamous trick lately played by some dissolute seducers, who were lying in wait for me, almost cost the life of my dearly beloved uncle, and of his worthy friend Splendiano; yes, that it almost cost my life too. I will never give my consent to my uncle’s again exposing himself to such danger. Desist from your entreaties, Nicolo. And you, my dearest uncle, you will stay quietly at home, will you not, and not venture out beyond the Porta del Popolo again at nighttime, which is a friend to nobody?”
Signor Pasquale 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 how Signor Nicolo had pledged himself to arrange matters so that there would be no danger on the return home.
“Nonetheless,” said Marianna, “I stick to my word, and beg you most earnestly, my dearest uncle, not to go to the theatre outside the Porta del Popolo. I ask your pardon, Signor Nicolo, for speaking my suspicions frankly in your presence. You are, I know, acquainted with Salvator Rosa and also with Antonio Scacciati. What if you are acting with our enemies? What if you are only trying to entice my dear uncle into your theatre so that they can carry out some fresh villainous scheme, for I know that my uncle will not go without me?”
“What a suspicion!” cried Nicolo, quite alarmed. “What a terrible suspicion, Signora! Have you such a bad opinion of me? Have I such a bad reputation that you think I could be guilty of treachery like that? But if you think so unfavourably of me, if you mistrust the assistance I have promised you, let Michele, who I know rescued you out of the hands of the robbers, accompany you, and let him take a large body of gendarmes with him, who can wait for you outside the theatre, for you cannot of course expect me to fill my auditorium with police.”
Marianna fixed her eyes steadily upon Nicolo’s, and then said, earnestly and gravely, “What do you say? Michele and gendarmes should accompany us? Now I see plainly, Signor Nicolo, that you mean honestly by us, and that my suspicions were 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 expressions on his face that clearly showed 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 niece, 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 at my heart. Oh! this nervousness, this anxiety—it is indeed the sweetest confession that you love me.” And he besought her not to give way to fear, but to go and listen in the theatre to the finest arias which the most divine of composers had ever written.
Nicolo too did not stop 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 theatre 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 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 fully expected that Signor Splendiano and little Pitichinaccio would go with him as on the first occasion.
The night that Signor Splendiano had slept in his wig near the Pyramid of Cestius he had had, besides the spectres who ran away with him, all sorts of sinister apparitions visit him. The whole cemetery seemed 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 essence and electuaries. Accordingly the Pyramid Doctor, although he could not contradict Signor Pasquale’s opinion that it was only a wild trick played on him by a gang of dissolute young men, grew melancholy; and, although not ordinarily inclined to superstition, he now saw spectres everywhere, and was tormented by forebodings and bad dreams.
As for Pitichinaccio, he could not be convinced that it was not real devils come straight from the flames of hell that had fallen on Signor Pasquale and himself, and the bare mention of that dreadful night was enough to make him scream. All the claims of Signor Pasquale that there had been nobody behind the masks bu
t Antonio Scacciati and Salvator Rosa were of no effect, for Pitichinaccio wept and swore that in spite of his terror and apprehension he had clearly recognized both the voice and the behaviour of the devil Fanfarelli 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 Nicolo Musso’s theatre. Splendiano was the first to decide to go—after he had procured from a monk of St. Bernard’s order a small 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. Pitichinaccio could not resist the temptation of a promised box of candied grapes, but Signor Pasquale had to consent that the dwarf might wear his new abbot’s coat, instead of petticoats, which he affirmed had proved an immediate source of attraction to the devil.
What Salvator 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 Nicolo’s theatre alone with Marianna, without his companions. Both Antonio and Salvator racked their brains to prevent Splendiano and Pitichinaccio from going along with Signor Pasquale. Every scheme that occurred to them had to be given up for lack of time, for the principal plan in Nicolo’s theatre 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 Michele’s head to practice some of his blundering, thus accomplishing what Salvator and Antonio’s craft was unable to accomplish.
The Best Tales of Hoffmann Page 51