nello is
sick and has no money to pay the Doctor: but that if a _quete_ be made for
him, he will get himself cured and make his appearance as usual. All the
while that one of the showmen goes about collecting the _grani_, the other
holds a dialogue with Pulcinello (still invisible). Pulcinello groans and
is very miserable. At length the collection is made. Pulcinello takes
medicine, says he is well again, makes his appearance and begins. At
another time the audience is informed that there can be no performance as
Pulcinello is arrested for debt and put in prison, where he must remain
unless a subscription of money be made for him to pay his debts and take
him out of gaol. Then follows an absurd dialogue between Pulcinello
(supposed to answer from the prison) and the showman. The showman scolds
him for being a spendthrift and leading a profligate life, calls him a
_briccone_, a _birbante_, and Pulcinello only groans out in reply, _Povero
me, Povero Pulcinello, che disgrazia! sventurato di me! di non aver
denari!_ These strokes of wit never fail to bring in many a _grano_.

At another time the curtain is drawn up and discovers a gibbet and
Pulcinello standing on a ladder affixed to it with a rope round his neck.
The showman with the utmost gravity and assumed melancholy informs the
audience that a most serious calamity is about to happen to Naples: that
Signor Pulcinello is condemned to be hanged for a robbery, and that unless
he can procure _molti denari_ to bribe the officers of justice to let him
escape, he will inevitably be hanged and the people will never more behold
their unhappy friend Pulcinello. The showman now implores the commiseration
of the audience, and now reproaches Pulcinello with his profligacy and
nefarious pranks which have brought him to an untimely end. Pulcinello
sobs, cries, promises to reform and to attend mass regularly in future.
What Neapolitan heart can resist such an appeal? The _grani_ are collected.
Pulcinello gives money to the puppet representing the executioner; down
goes the gibbet, and Pulcinello is himself again.

I shall return in a day or two to Rome, having seen nearly all that Naples
affords. I have now full liberty to die when I chuse according to the
proverb: _Veder Napoli e poi morire_.

Naples certainly is, taking it all in all, the most interesting city in
Europe, for it unites every thing that is conducive to the _agremens_ of
life. A beautiful city, a noble bay, a vast co