Castellinaria, and Other Sicilian Diversions Part 5

IN: Are you of n.o.ble birth?

GIOV: Yes.

IN: Are you valorous?

GIOV: Yes.

IN: Don Giovanni (_hiding her face_), I love you!

GIOV: My own, my beautiful one!

IN: There is, however, one little difficulty about which, of course, you could have known nothing. Some years ago I foolishly took an oath. I swore I would be true to my husband during his life.

GIOV: Well, but--let me see--yes, I did bring my sword with me. Suppose I were to step round and run him through the heart--if you don't mind waiting?

IN: I'm afraid it would be troubling you?

GIOV: Not at all. Any little thing of that kind. So glad you mentioned it.

IN: Thanks. I suppose you could not manage to bring it off within sight of the window?

GIOV: I don't see why not. Anyhow, I'll do my best.

[_Exit_ GIOV.

IN: Waiter! (_Enter_ WAITER.) Lay the cloth for two (_She meditates while the waiter lays the cloth_. Exit WAITER.) Being a Spanish lady of high degree, the only course open to me is suicide. Fortunately, this ring contains a dose of poison strong enough for two, otherwise I should have had to die unavenged or to send round to the chemist's for more.

(_She pours out two gla.s.ses of wine_, _splits the contents of her ring between them_, _and goes to the window_.) Ah! here they come. It is annoying that they are so far off. I cannot distinguish them in the dark; however, they are fighting. Now one is killed and the other is coming in. I wonder which it will be.

_Enter_ DON GIOVANNI.

GIOV: There! my own, my beautiful one. I'm afraid you did not have a very good view, but your poor husband was such a d.a.m.ned bad swordsman that I inadvertently killed him before I could get him as near as I intended.

IN: Well, I confess I should like to view the body, just to make sure you have not killed the wrong gentleman--if you've no objection?

GIOV: None whatever. You'll find him in the gutter up the street, under the third lamp post. (_Exit_ DONNA INEZ. DON GIOVANNI _observes the two gla.s.ses of wine and smells them suspiciously_. _Re-enter_ DONNA INEZ.)

IN: Perfectly satisfactory and I thank you.

GIOV: My own, my beautiful one! I love you! Be mine.

IN: Shall we not first have a little supper? You must be fatigued after your exertions. And see! here is a nice gla.s.s of wine for you.

GIOV: After you, Madama. (DONNA INEZ _hesitates to drink_.) You see, my beautiful one, I have had some experience in these matters, and now I never drink anything poured out for me by a lady unless she drinks some of it herself.

IN (_aside_): Being a Spanish lady of high degree I cannot possibly refuse. I can only trust that as he is of n.o.ble birth and valorous, he won't be such a blackguard as not to drink. (_Drinks_.)

GIOV: Brava! But--do you know?--after all, I think I should prefer a fresh bottle, if it's quite the same to you, my beautiful one. (_He empties his gla.s.s upon the floor_; _the wine flows about the stage in a stream of fire_. DONNA INEZ _dies in agony_. _Exit_ DON GIOVANNI _laughing_. _Curtain_.)

During the applause that followed, Brancaccia rose, exclaiming:

"Such a thing could not possibly happen."

She collected her wraps and we left the theatre, although the play was in nine acts and we had only seen three. As soon as we got home, she retired. I said to Peppino:

"I wish we had not gone to that play. I am sure Brancaccia has been frightened by it."

"No," said he, "not frightened."

"But she's gone away to recover herself?"

"Look here, Brancaccia don't be thinking of the drama. She don't be thinking of nothing--only the baby. She go to see if Ricuzzu is sleeping."

PALERMO

CHAPTER III MARIONETTISTS AT HOME

ALESSANDRO GRECO TO THE AUTHOR.

MARIONETTE THEATRE, PIAZZA NUOVA, PALERMO, 4 _June_, 1909.

MY DEAR ENRICO,

Since I last wrote to you there has been a continual to-do and no time for writing letters. What has been the to-do? Is it possible you have forgotten my telling you that I am studying to be a singer and that I take lessons every day? Now listen to this: Here in Palermo, a new opera was performed recently for the benefit of the victims of the earthquake at Messina. The story was taken from a great German romance and the music was composed by an Italian who is now in America. I was asked to sing as a supplementary tenor. We had a month of rehearsals and in the end the performance was splendidly successful. O my dear friend! If you had seen me on the stage! I was dressed as a warrior with a wig of curly hair and a pair of moustaches. I also received applause, and, when I appeared before the audience to bow my acknowledgments, I thought: "Oh, if only my dear friend were present, how he would be applauding me!"

You will understand after that whether I have had any time to write to you; but now that things have calmed down a little and there is less going on I can write to you as much as you like.

As you know, I am always busy in the teatrino; the other evening we repeated Samson, that play which you once saw here. If you will believe me, I was thinking of you the whole time because I remembered that when we gave it two years ago you were present.

Just now in the _Story of the Paladins_, Orlando is throwing away his arms and running about naked in the woods, mad for love of Angelica; and soon we shall have the burning of Bizerta and the destruction of the Africans. This will finish in July and we shall then begin the _Story of Guido Santo_.

What have you done with that photograph of myself which I gave you and which you put into your cigarette-case? Is still there, or have you lost it? I have often promised to send you another but have not done so because when you come to Palermo in September I hope we shall be photographed together, you and I. Nevertheless I send you this one now, it was taken by an English lady who came to the teatrino last summer; you see me getting into a rage with a paladin, I am talking seriously to him and swearing at him because he will not let me dress him properly.

I will not prolong this letter, I do not wish to bore you; but I promise you that I will never fail to let you know of my doings and I count on you to tell me of yours.

Costantino, Sansone, Rinaldo, Rosina, Angelica, Ferrau, Pasquino, Onofrio and all the other marionettes embrace you and send you their kind regards.

I am and always shall be Your affectionate friend ALESSANDRO GRECO (Buffo).

On arriving at Palermo, I went to the teatrino at about ten at night; not seeing the buffo in his usual place keeping order at the door, I guessed he must be on the stage and, knowing the way, pa.s.sed through the audience, dived under the proscenium, crept along a short pa.s.sage, mounted a ladder and appeared among them unannounced. The father, the buffo and his brother, Gildo, were so much astonished that they dropped their marionettes all over the stage and shouted:

"When did you come?" "Why did you not write?" "Why did you not telegraph?"

Thereby spreading their astonishment among the audience, who saw no connection between these e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns and the exploits of Guido Santo.

They soon recovered themselves, however, picked up their paladins and managed to bring the performance to its conclusion, and we shut the theatre and proceeded upstairs to the house. On the way the buffo took me aside into his workshop to show me two inflammable Turkish pavilions which he was making; Ettorina in her madness was to fire them in a few days, one in the afternoon and the other at the evening repet.i.tion, as a conclusion to the spectacle. I inquired:

"Who was Ettorina, and why did she go mad?"