At first it was supposed to be a mystification, as no one could believe in such an immediate repair; but when my audience were assured that I had fulfilled my promise, I received the applause so successful a trick deserved.
The next day the Pope sent me a rich diamond snuff-box, while thanking me for all the pleasure I had occasioned him.
This performance created a great sensation at Rome, and every one flocked to see my marvels. Perhaps they hoped to witness the famous trick of the “Broken Watch,” which I had performed at the Vatican. But though I was then very extravagant, I was not so mad as to spend 1200 francs a night in the performance of a trick which could never again be done under such favorable auspices.
An operatic company was attached to the theatre while I performed, but their performances were suspended during my stay in Rome. The manager employed this leisure time to rehearse a fresh piece to be performed on my departure, and this gave me a daily opportunity to mix with the actors. I had formed a peculiar friendship with one of the youngest of them, a charming lad of eighteen, with a tenor voice, whose elegant and regular features formed a singular contrast to his employment. His feminine face, with his small waist and timid demeanor, quite injured the effect when he played the part of a lover; he looked like a boarding-school miss in man’s clothes. Yet, I discovered afterwards that this effeminate person contained a bold and manly heart, for Antonio (such was the tenor’s name) had been engaged in several affairs of honor, in which he had done his manly devoir.
At this part of Torrini’s story I interrupted him, for the name of Antonio struck me.
“What!” I said, “can it be that——?”
“Certainly; the same person! Your astonishment is justifiable, but it will cease when I tell you that more than twenty years have elapsed since the time I speak of. At that period, Antonio did not wear a heavy black beard, and his face had not yet been embrowned by the open air and the fatigues of our laborious and nomadic life.”
Antonio’s mother was also engaged at the theatre; she performed in the ballets, and her name was Lauretta Torrini. Though close upon forty, she had retained all her pristine charms. She must have been very beautiful in her time, but the greatest scandal-mongers could not reproach her with the least levity. She was the widow of a government clerk, and had brought up her family by her own labor.
Antonio was not her only child; she had borne a daughter with him. These twins, as frequently happens, had such a striking resemblance, that only their dress distinguished them; and they had been christened Antonio and Antonia. The lad received a musical education at the theatre, but Antonia was always sedulously kept from the stage. After a careful education, her mother had placed her in a milliner’s shop, till she could set up for herself.
I have dwelled so long on this family because, as you can guess, it soon became my own. My friendship for Antonio was not quite disinterested, for I owed to it an introduction to his sister. Antonia was lovely and virtuous: I asked her hand, and was accepted. Our marriage was to take place as soon as my engagement had terminated, and it was arranged that Lauretta and Antonio should share our fortunes.