“Why, M. Major-domo! How can a man as intelligent as yourself ask such a question as that?”
“I confess I don’t understand it,” said Johan, biting his lips.
“Well, then, M. Major-domo, you will easily see that if the two operators in a theatre like mine are not pretty nearly of the same height, one of them would have to let his head appear, which would not produce a good effect among the burattini, but would rather look as if an inhabitant of Saturn had come amongst them; or else the other, the shorter of the two, would have to stretch his arms up so high, that he could not endure the fatigue through two scenes.”
“Then your assistant wears pattens to bring him up to your height! Upon my word that’s very ingenious!” And Johan added, with a sceptical air:
“It’s singular that I did not hear the noise of those pattens, when he was going down stairs a while ago.”
“There again, M. Major-domo, your natural shrewdness seems to be slumbering! If those pattens were not well shod with felt they would make an insupportable clattering in the theatre.”
“Oh, that’s the reason, is it? But you don’t explain to me how it is that this fellow, vulgar and stupid as he is, can support you so brilliantly?”
“It can’t be explained,” answered Christian; “but, nevertheless, it is almost always the way with an artist. He shines on the stage—or I should say, in this case, under the stage—but once outside the theatre, he turns dark again, particularly if he happens to have the bad habit of drinking with the servants in the families where he may happen to stop.”
“What! Do you imagine that he has been drinking here with—”
“With some of your footmen. They must have given you a report of his interesting conversation, M. Major-domo, since you are so well informed about the low grade of his intelligence.”