. . . They
rush on him and bind him with strings of sausages (will the Donna
Julia oblige by tucking up her sleeves and fetching the sausages from
the back kitchen, _with_ a brazier?) The music, slow at first,
becomes agitated as the old man struggles with his captors; it then
sinks and breaks forth triumphantly, _largo maestoso_, as he
discourses on the future greatness of Genoa. The whole written,
invented, and entirely stage-managed by Il Signore Fetto, Director of
Periodic Festivities to the Genoese Republic. . . . To be serious,
ladies, allow me to present to you four fellow-lodgers from--er--
Porto Fino, whom I have invited to share our repast. What ho!
without, there! A brazier! Fazio--slave--to the macaroni! Bianca,
trip to the cupboard and fetch forth the Val Pulchello. Badcock,
hand me over the basket and go to the ant, thou sluggard; and thou,
Rinaldo, to the kitchen, where already the sausages hiss, awaiting
thee. . . ."
In less than twenty minutes we were seated at table. Master Fazio's
hotel (it appeared) welcomed all manner of strange guests, and
(thanks to Mr.
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