to snatch at anything of the kind that was
offered to them. The arrangements of the theatre--or rather of the
little booth--could not be said to give evidence of any very
flourishing state of finances on the manager's part. There was no
orchestra; there were no boxes. There was a sort of gallery at the back
of the audience part of the house, adorned with the arms of the
Colonnas--a mark that the Conte Colonna had taken Murso and his theatre
under his special protection. The stage was a raised platform covered
with carpets, and surrounded with gay-coloured paper-hangings which had
to serve for forests, interiors, or streets, according to the
requirements of the drama. As, moreover, the audience had to be content
with hard, uncomfortable wooden benches to sit upon, it is not matter
for wonder that the first set of spectators expressed themselves pretty
strongly on the subject of the audacity of Signor Musso in giving the
name of a theatre to this boarded booth. But scarcely had the two first
actors who appeared spoken a few words, when the audience became
attentive. As the piece went on, the attention became applause, the
applause astonishment, and the astonishment enthusiasm, which expressed
itself in the most prolonged and stormy laughter, hand-clapping, and
cries of bravo!

And, in truth, nothing more perfect could have been seen than those
improvised representations of Nicolo Musso's which sparkled with wit,
fun, and _esprit_, castigating the follies of the day with unsparing
lash. The performers all rendered their parts with incomparable
distinctiveness of character, but the "Pasquarello" more particularly
carried the house away with him bodily, by his inimitable play of
gesture, and a talent for imitating well-known personages, in voice,
walk, and manner, by his inexhaustible drollery, and the extraordinary
originality of the ideas which struck him. This actor, who called
himself Signor Formica, seemed to be inspired by a very remarkable and
unusual spirit; often, in his tone and manner, there would be a
something so strange that the audience, while in the middle of a burst
of the heartiest laughter, would suddenly feel a species of cold
shiver. Almost on a par with him, and a worthy compeer, was the "Dr.
Graziano" of the troupe, who had a play of feature, a voice, a power of
saying the most delightful things in, apparently, the most foolish
manner, to which nothing in the world could be likened. This "Doctor
Graz