stage laughed, saying he was glad that
Pasquarello knew how to take advantage of his good dispositions, and
threw him two or three shining ducats.

"Pasquale, you're mad! the devil's in you!" the audience-Capuzzi cried,
very loudly. The audience called him to order. Pasquarello waxed still
louder in Capuzzi's praise, and came, at length, on the subject of the
arias which he (Capuzzi) had composed, with which he (Pasquarello) was
in hopes of charming the world. Capuzzi on the stage patted Pasquarello
on the shoulder, and said he could confide to a faithful servant like
_him_, that the truth was that he really knew nothing whatever about
music, and that the aria he had been mentioning, like all the arias he
had ever written, was cribbed from Frescobaldi's canzone, and
Carissimi's motets.

"You lie, you scoundrel, in your throat!" screamed the Capuzzi below,
rising from his seat. "Silence!--sit down!" cried the audience; the
women who were sitting near him dragged him down into his place.

The stage-Capuzzi went on to say it was time, now, to come to matters
of more importance. He wanted to give a large dinner the next day, and
Pasquarello must set to work briskly to get together all the
requirements. He drew out of his pocket a list of the most expensive
and recherche dishes, and read it aloud; as each dish was mentioned,
Pasquarello had to say how much it would cost, and the money was handed
to him on the spot.

"Pasquale!--idiotic fool!--madman!--spendthrift!--prodigal!" cried the
Capuzzi below, in crescendo, after the mention of the several dishes,
and grew more and more angry the higher the total bill for this most
unheard-of of all dinners became.

When at length the list was gone through, Pasquarello asked Signor
Pasquale's reason for giving so grand a dinner; and Capuzzi (on the
stage) replied: "To-morrow will be the happiest day of all my life. Let
me tell you, my good Pasquarello, that to-morrow I celebrate the
wedding-day, rich in blessings, of my dear niece Marianna. I am giving
her hand to that fine young fellow, the greatest of all painters,
Scacciati."

Scarce had the Capuzzi on the stage uttered those words, than he of the
audience, quite beside himself, and incapable of further self-control,
sprang up, with all the fury of a demon in his face of fire, clenched
both his fists at his counterfeit, and screamed out at him, in a
yelling voice: "That you shall not!--that you shall never! you
infernal sc