CHAPTER XVIII—A YOUNG CRITIC
One day after rehearsal I had an appointment with a young man whose acquaintance I had made the previous evening behind the scenes. He was sitting on a packing-case, exchanging compliments with the head fireman, and inquired whether I was looking for anything; finding I wanted a seat he took me under his protection, scoured the theatre for a chair, and put it for me in a corner with a view of the stage. There was only room for one chair, so he sat on my knee and put his arm round my neck to keep himself in place. He was absorbed by the performance, but, while the curtain was down, had leisure to tell me that his name was Domenico, that he was nearly thirteen years old and brother to one of the ladies of the company; he was at school in the town
and his sister had got him a week’s holiday and taken him to stay with her.
“And so they call you Domenico,” said I, just to keep things going.
“No,” he replied, “they call me Micio.”
“Why do they do that if your name is Domenico?”
“Because they are all very fond of me. Domenico is my name as I said, but Micio is a caress.”
“I see; then may I also call you Micio?”
“Of course you may, and I hope you will.”
He was very fond of reading and wanted me to lend him a story-book, but Tristram Shandy, which was the nearest approach to a story-book I had with me, was in English, so that would not do. Then he began searching my pockets for chocolate, but there, again, he was disappointed. It was to give me an opportunity of remedying these deficiencies in my equipment that we made our appointment, and he was to do the bargaining. During rehearsal I consulted his sister, which I suppose would have been the correct thing to do in England, but she only shook her finger at him, and he only laughed and played at hiding his fresh brown