ged, but
because they attempted less and because, being so small, their defects
were less obvious. A small one may, and generally does, enter like a
bird alighting on a molehill, but he has such a short distance to go that
he is at rest before one realizes that he has not attempted to walk.
Besides it is a mode of progression we are all familiar with, having
practised it in dreams since childhood. A life-sized marionette, on a
larger stage, has, perhaps, two or three yards to traverse; he tries to
take steps and is easily caught tripping, for without strings to his feet
his steps can only be done in a haphazard way. There are marionettes
with strings to their feet, and though they may do _The Story of the
Paladins_, this is not their usual business, they are more elaborately
articulated, and are intended for operas, ballets and other complicated
things.

And then, again, in Catania a glimpse of the hand of an operator or of
some one standing in the wings offended at once as a blot on the
performance. But looking at the small figures at Trapani one accepted
them almost immediately as men and women, and forgot all about absolute
size, so that when the hand of an operator appeared and it was larger
than the head of a marionette, it seemed to belong to another world,
while a real man standing in the wings could not be seen above his knees,
and it required a mental effort to connect his boots and trousers in any
way with the performance.

The speaker at Catania did well with a good voice; nevertheless one felt
that disaster was in the neighbourhood and was being consciously avoided.
The idea of failure never crossed the mind of the cobbler from Mount
Eryx. His voice was rich and flexible, full of variety and quick to
express a thousand emotions. Listening to it was like looking long and
long into a piece of Sicilian amber in whose infinite depth, as you turn
it about in the sunlight, you see all the colours of the rainbow, from
red, through orange, yellow, green and blue, even to a glowing purple.
There was nothing he could not do with it, and he managed it with the
quiet dignity and easy grace of a young lion at play.

CHAPTER VII--THE DEATH OF BRADAMANTE

Before the last act, which concluded with the death of Angelica, a dwarf
had appeared in front of the curtain (not a human dwarf, but a marionette
dwarf) and recited the programme for the following day, stating that the
performance would terminate with the