t any words
that are put into their mouths. Now, it seems to me that the proportion
of real men compared with marionettes is not greater on this stage than
we observe it to be in life, and therefore we may say that the proprietor
of this theatre is following the advice of your poet."

He noticed that one of the chief characteristics of the Catanian
marionettes comes into evidence when they are fighting. Two of them take
up their positions opposite each other, sidling round and round like
fighting cocks preparing to set to; they raise their scimitars, cross
them and rub them one against the other, like butchers sharpening their
knives; after a certain time spent in this sword exercise, they cross the
stage and, turning suddenly round, face one another and strike; the
consequence of this manoeuvre is that they both fall to the ground. We
were looking on at such a duel and when the climax came the buffo rose to
his feet and clapped his hands expecting the rest of the public to join,
but to his surprise they remained cold, and declined "to crown his
applause with their acquiescence," as he expressed it. He turned
wonderingly to the young man who was selling lemonade and said, speaking
with difficulty in broken Tuscan, as a Portuguese gentleman from Rio
might be expected to do:

"Tell me, Caro mio, why do not the public join me in applauding?"

"My dear Sir," replied the young man, "it is out of the question. You do
not seem to be aware of the identity of the marionette who has just been
killed. He is a Christian and the brother-in-law of Rinaldo. He is
Ruggiero, a very noble youth. The public do not applaud, because they
are sorry for his death and, besides, it would be an insult to Rinaldo if
they were to applaud at the death of his brother-in-law."

On hearing this the buffo borrowed my handkerchief and wiped away two
tears, one from each of his eyes, then he returned it politely and began
mumbling to himself.

"What are you saying?" I inquired. "Why do you speak so low?"

"Oh, it's nothing," he replied, "I was merely reciting a prayer for the
repose of the soul of poor Ruggiero."

* * * * *

The next morning I was down before him and had nearly finished my coffee
when he came slowly and sadly into the dining-room. I said:

"Good morning, Buffo mio, and I hope you have had a good night and slept
well after your long journey and your evening at the theatre."

He sat dow