"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 Crœsus, but, as I think I was telling you, a terrible miser, as well as a perfect ass. 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 principal 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 jackass, and is under the impression that he sings a magnificent bass, 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 hellish 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 nobody 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 unsurpassed 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, sturdy 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 circumstances 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.