One evening, M. D. R.'s assembly was more crowded than usual.
The conversation turned to the approaching carnival. Everyone regretted the lack of actors, and the impossibility of enjoying the pleasures of the theatre.
I saw my opportunity.
"I will bring a good company here at my own expense if the boxes are subscribed for at once," I said, "and if the monopoly of the faro bank is granted to me."
No time was to be lost. Carnival was near, and I would have to go to Otranto to engage the troupe.
The plan was accepted with general delight. The proveditore-generale placed a felucca at my disposal, and in three days all the boxes were taken.
A Jew hired the pit, except for two nights a week, which I reserved for my own profit.
The carnival was long that year, and I had every reason to hope for success. It is said generally that the profession of theatrical manager is difficult, but, if that is the case, I have not found it so by experience, and am bound to affirm the contrary.
I left Corfu in the evening.
A favourable breeze carried us all night, and by daybreak we reached Otranto without the rowers having once touched their oars. The passage from Corfu to Otranto is only about fifteen leagues, and the sea, that capricious tyrant, chose this time to behave like a servant.
I had no intention of landing for any boat arriving in Italy from the East had to submit to quarantine.
I went only to the parlour of the lazaretto.
There, placed behind a grating, one may speak to visitors who stand behind another grating six feet away.
As soon as I announced that I had come to engage a troupe of actors for Corfu, the managers of the two companies then in Otranto hastened to the parlour.
I told them at once that I wished to see all the performers, one company at a time.
This produced a comic scene worthy of the stage they claimed to serve.
Each manager wanted the other to present his troupe first. Neither wished to risk being judged before knowing the effect of his rival. They argued, protested, gestured, and praised themselves by insulting the other.
The harbour-master, tired of their noise, told me the only way to end the dispute was to choose myself which company I would see first.
One was from Naples, the other from Sicily. Knowing neither, I gave preference to the Neapolitans.
Don Fastidio, their manager, looked vexed by the honour, while Battipaglia, the Sicilian director, appeared delighted. He hoped, no doubt, that after seeing the Neapolitans I would be more eager for his own troupe.
An hour later, Fastidio returned with all his performers.
Imagine my surprise when among them I recognized Petronio and his sister Marina.
The moment Marina saw me, she gave a cry of joy, sprang over the grating, and threw herself into my arms.
The whole place burst into confusion.
High words passed between Fastidio and the harbour-master.
Since Marina belonged to Fastidio's company, the harbour-master compelled him to shut her in the lazaretto, where she would have to perform quarantine at his expense. The poor girl wept bitterly, and I was sorry for her, but there was no remedy to her imprudence.
I ended the quarrel by asking Fastidio to present his people one after another.
Petronio was in his troupe and played lovers. He told me he had a letter for me from Therese.
I also recognized a Venetian acquaintance who played Pantaloon in the pantomime. There were three actresses, tolerably pretty, a Pulcinella, and a Scaramouch.
Altogether, the company was decent.
I told Fastidio to name the lowest price he would take for the whole company.
"Be reasonable," I said. "If you ask too much, I shall give the preference to your rival."
"Sir," he answered, "we are twenty, and shall require six rooms with ten beds, one sitting-room for all of us, and thirty Neapolitan ducats a day, all travelling expenses paid. Here is my stock of plays, and we will perform those that you may choose."
The terms were clear enough, and I thought of poor Marina, who, thanks to her affectionate leap, would have to remain in the lazaretto before appearing again on the stage at Otranto.
"Prepare the contract," I said. "I wish to leave at once."
I had scarcely spoken when war broke out again.
Battipaglia, seeing the engagement escape him, lost all command of himself. He called Marina a harlot and declared that she and Fastidio had arranged the whole scene beforehand, violating the rules of the lazaretto to force me into choosing their troupe.
Petronio heard him.
He sprang to his sister's defence. Fastidio joined him. In an instant the unfortunate Battipaglia was dragged outside and treated to a generous dose of blows and fisticuffs, which was not exactly the thing to console him for a lost engagement.
A little later, Petronio brought me Therese's letter. She was ruining the duke, getting rich accordingly, and waiting for me in Naples.
Everything was ready towards evening.
I left Otranto with twenty actors and six large trunks containing their complete wardrobe. A light breeze blew from the south, and, had it remained faithful, we might have reached Corfu in ten hours.
We had been at sea about an hour when my caicco master came to me.
"I can see by the moonlight a ship." He said. "It might prove to be a corsair."
I was unwilling to risk anything. I ordered the sails lowered and had the boat turned back to Otranto.
At daybreak we sailed again.
This time the wind came from the west and promised us Corfu. For two or three hours all went well. Then the captain pointed towards a brigantine cutting the water at some distance.
"A pirate," he said.
"How do you know?"
"She was shaping her course so as to get to windward of us."
I watched her.
To test the matter, I ordered our men to change course to starboard. The brigantine changed at once.
That answer was clear.
I could not go back to Otranto, and I had no wish to go to Africa. I therefore ordered the sailors to land on the coast of Calabria, by hard rowing and at the nearest point.
The sailors were frightened to death.
They communicated their fears to my comedians. Soon the boat was full of tears, sobs, vows, and invocations.
Each actor called upon his favourite saint. I heard Saint Nicholas, Saint Januarius, Saint Anthony, the Virgin, and several others summoned to our assistance; but not one single prayer to God did I hear.
Scaramouch wailed like a widow at a funeral. Fastidio sat pale and stupid, his mouth open, his eyes fixed on the pirate, offering the saddest possible image. Pulcinella muttered prayers into his hat. The actresses cried into their handkerchiefs, which, to their credit, they did with some grace.
Had the danger been imaginary, the spectacle would have made me laugh heartily.
Unfortunately, the danger was real.
Marina alone was cheerful and happy, because she did not realize the danger we were running, and she laughed at the terror of the crew and of her companions.
Towards evening a strong breeze rose.
I ordered them to spread every sail and run before the wind, even if it grew stronger. To escape the pirate, I had resolved to cross the gulf. It was a bold remedy, but danger behind us made danger ahead seem almost friendly.
All night we flew over the water.
By morning we were eighty miles from Corfu. I determined to gain the island by rowing. We were in the middle of the gulf, the sailors exhausted, the actors pale, and the women silent. Yet I no longer feared the pirate.
Then another gale came from the north.
Within an hour it blew so hard that we were forced to sail close to the wind in a manner which made the felucca lean as if she meant to pour us all into the sea. Every moment she seemed ready to capsize.
Everyone looked terrified but kept complete silence, for I had enjoined it on penalty of death.
In spite of our dangerous position, I could not help laughing when I heard the sobs of the cowardly scaramouch. The helmsman was a man of great nerve, and the gale being steady I felt we would reach Corfu without mishap.
At daybreak we sighted the town.
At nine in the morning we landed at Mandrachio.
Our arrival caused surprise for no one expected to see us arrive that way.
As soon as the actors were ashore, the young officers came, quite naturally, to inspect the actresses. They found little to admire, except Marina.
I told her that I could not renew our former acquaintance and she received the news without complaint.
I felt certain that she would not lack admirers.
The others, who had looked ugly at landing, produced a much better effect on stage especially the pantaloon's wife.
Duodo, commander of a man-of-war, called upon her. Pantaloon, however, proved intolerant concerning his better half. Duodo, not being a man to let jealousy interrupt his amusements, gave the husband several blows with his cane.
The next day, Fastidio came to inform me that Pantaloon and his wife refused to perform any longer, but I made them alter their mind by giving them a benefit night.
Pantaloon's wife was much applauded. Unfortunately, in the middle of the applause, the pit began to cry,
"Bravo, Duodo!"
The poor woman took this as an insult, and perhaps she was right.
She came straight to the general's box, where I usually sat, and complained of the outrage. The general, who liked to settle theatrical matters with the authority of a prince, promised her, in my name, another benefit night at the close of carnival.
I was obliged to ratify the promise.
The fact is that, little by little, to satisfy those greedy actors, I gave away all the seventeen nights I had reserved for myself.
The benefit night I gave Marina came at Madame F.'s special request. She had taken the girl into high favour since Marina had enjoyed the honour of breakfasting alone with M. D. R. in a villa outside the city.
My generosity cost me four hundred sequins.
The faro bank, however, brought me more than a thousand, although I never held the cards myself.
The theatre consumed all my time. Actors, boxes, quarrels, benefits, costumes, jealous husbands, eager officers, offended actresses, and pleased ladies left me little leisure.
My conduct with the actresses earned me much goodwill. Everyone saw that I carried on no intrigue with them, though I had every facility to do so.
Madame F. complimented me, saying that she had not entertained such a good opinion of my discretion.
During the carnival I had no time even for the passion which filled my heart.
Only at the beginning of Lent, after the comedians had left, did I find myself free enough to give rein to my feelings.
One morning, Madame F. sent a messenger who, summoned me to her presence.
It was eleven o'clock.
I went at once.
"Madam," I said, "what may I do for your service?"