The second scene was a Ballo Fantastico, which was given to take the taste of the tomb and the skeleton out of our mouths. It was done by a heavy Turk who danced cumbrously; presently his arms detached themselves and became transformed into devils who danced separately; then his legs followed their example; then his head descended from his trunk and, on reaching the stage, became transformed into a dancing wizard carrying a rod of magic and beating time to the music; then, while the body was dancing by itself, various devils came out of it followed by several serpents that floated among the devils; after which it developed a head, a neck, wings and a tail, so that it became transformed into a complete dragon, and the wizard mounted upon its back and rode about wizarding all the other creatures. Altogether the original Turk became transformed into sixteen different marionettes.
After this we had a funambolo or rope-dancer. The curtain rose disclosing his rope ready for him, he entered and, after bowing profusely, leapt up and sat first on the rope, then on a seat at the back. Here he played with his pole, holding it first with one hand then with the other, then balancing it on his head and doing tricks with it. Then he walked along the rope forwards and backwards
and danced, doing his steps with great care and precision. After which he sat down to recover his breath. Then he rope-walked again, doing impossible things—that is, they would have been impossible if he had not been sustained by many invisible strings, which the buffo manipulated with wonderful skill. I liked the funambolo even better than the wizard, he was extraordinarily lifelike.
In the evening I became transformed into an ordinary member of the public and saw the devils make the subterranean road. The performance contained a great deal besides about Periglio, a Turkish paladin, who, having been accused by the son of the Emperor of China of helping the Christians, was condemned to be beheaded. The father of his accuser with the other three Emperors came to see him die; they stood at corners relentlessly smoothing their beards and curling their moustaches with their right fists and crying “A Morire!” Periglio in chains was led on, blindfolded. The solemn headsman followed, carrying his axe, and, as the boy left off turning the handle of the mechanical piano, the cornet blasted a broken-hearted minor ninth over the last chord of the funeral march and prolonged it till—well, after all it was a mistake; Periglio had not really helped the Christians; his brother proved that, on the contrary, he had done them as much damage as any Turk among the allied armies of 200,000 men. So he was pardoned, and one of his friends gaily kicked the executioner off the stage. The brothers embraced and then, with their hands on their breasts, bowed to the audience to acknowledge the applause; but they did not know they were brothers, they had not yet recognised each other; that was to be another emotional moment to come later on.
The kicking the executioner off the stage and the embracing and bowing of the brothers were so absurdly natural that I inquired about them, and it seemed that Gildo had thought of these effects and carried them out.
“But then,” said the buffo, “Gildo is an artist. You should see him with Truffaldino.”
“What is Truffaldino? Another cavaliere errante?”
“He is the paladin who is a buffo. You should see him toss his crown from one side of his head to the other and put both his hands on his heart when he makes love to Angelica. He only plays the fool a little the first night, and more and more as the drama proceeds, until he dies by being pulled to pieces by four horses. It is all done by Gildo, and the audience laugh every night that Truffaldino appears.”
Then we were taken to Vienna, where Guido Santo and Argantino had arrived, but we only saw Argantino.
“Where is Guido?” I asked. “I want to see him.”