“Exactly, I comprehend; and the runaway would fare hardly, if he were caught again. But I should like to hear him in Otello.”
Thus encouraged, Luigi recited a brilliant tragic scene from Otello. The eyes of the director kindled; he followed with hands and head the motions of the youthful performer, as if carried away by sympathetic emotion, and applauded loudly when he had ended.
“Bravo—bravissimo!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands; “that is something like—it is just the thing! You will make a capital Moor, when you are set in shape a little. Come, my fine fellow, I will engage you at once, and you shall not find me a bad master. I will give you fifteen ducats a month, and here is the first month’s pay in advance, to furnish your outfit. You must appear like a gentleman, and your clothes are shabby. Go now, make your purchases, pack up, and let us be gone. I will have a mule ready for you.”
The hostess led off her protégé in triumph, while the Impressario busied himself in preparations for immediate departure. Poor Luigi, being new to the city and its pleasures, had contracted sundry debts the day before, which honor bade him pay before he made other use of his money. By the time these demands were satisfied, a round bill paid to the hostess, and a new coat, with change of linen, provided for himself, not a fraction was remaining of his fifteen ducats. But it was no less with a light heart and smiling face that he joined his employer, and the whole troop was soon on the road out of Naples.
On their arrival at Salerno, the Impressario had advertisements struck off, announcing that a young tragic actor would appear in an extremely popular part. He presented him to the public as a phenomenon—as an example of the most wonderful genius, developed at a tender age.
The Impressario was walking briskly about giving directions, in the happiest mood imaginable, rubbing his hands, and congratulating himself on the possession of such a prize. Visions of wealth in prospect rose before his eyes, as he saw the treasurer counting out the piles of gold just received. But alas, for the deceptions of the world, his present joy and bright anticipations for the future! Fate breathed on his magic castle, and the fabric melted into thin air.
Luigi was behind the scenes, arrayed in an imperial costume of the middle ages, endeavoring, by the practice of action and gesture, to habituate himself to the feeling that he was sustaining the part of a sovereign. He was partly encouraged, partly abashed by the comments of one of the chorus, a young and lovely creature, whose expanding talents gave promise of future eminence. The name of Rosina, though not her own, will suit here as well as any other.
“That will not do, your majesty!” she cried, correcting an awkward movement Luigi had just made. “Only think of such an Emperor!” and she began to mimic his gestures with the prettiest air of mock dignity in the world—so saucy and provoking at the same time, that the lad vowed he would have his revenge in a kiss; and presently the little maid was chased around the scenes by Luigi, to the great disorder of his imperial robes and the discomfiture of his dignity.
Suddenly there was an unusual bustle, and the sound of steps and voices without. “The curtain is going to rise!” cried Luigi in consternation. “Give me my sword, quick!” But the noise came nearer, and was in the direction opposite to the audience. What was his astonishment and dismay when he saw advancing towards him the vice-rector, followed by six sbirri, with the manager giving expression to the utmost grief and despair. The young débutant stood petrified, till the vice-rector advanced, and laying his hand on his shoulder, arrested him by virtue of an order from His Majesty the King of Naples. It was his business—so he proclaimed to the astonished bystanders—the whole company having rushed together at the news of this intrusion—to secure the person of the fugitive Luigi, and carry him back to the Conservatorio della Pietá de’ Turchini, where he would be remanded to his musical studies under the direction of the famous master, Marcello Perrino.
The disappointment was too much for the dignity of the Emperor in petto. Luigi burst into tears, and blubbered sadly; the pretty Rosina cried out of sympathy, and there was a general murmur of dissatisfaction.