THE FAMOUS TENOR, SPALLETTI.
About a week after my arrival at Athens I was enjoying atête-à-tête, at the Samos Restaurant, with a lamb cutlet of most unexampled obduracy, when there entered a stout individual, somewhere on the wrong side of fifty, dressed with great care, and sporting a gold chain of such length and massiveness that it might have served to fasten up a mastiff. His hands were covered with rings; and, in entering, he made noise enough for ten. Accosting a waiter who could speak Italian, he roared—
“WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK.”
“WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK.”
“WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK.”
“Giuraddio!What has become of my place?”
“This way,—this way, sir; there are four places at this table.”
It was the one where I was sitting.
The stout gentleman contorted his features with disgust, uttered language which would have been enough for any Arian, and came and sat beside me, remarking—
“Giuraddio!I don’t want my place taken!”
Every one present was looking at him, and smiling compassionately.
Before he had finished unfolding his napkin he was already asking me—
“Are you Italian, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Been in Athens long?”
“A few days.”
“I have been here three months. Every one knows me.”
“I should think so, if you always make as much noise as that.”
“You see how they are looking at me?”
“I have noticed it.”
“I ... I suppose you know who I am?”
“I have not that honour.”
“I am the celebrated Spalletti.... You will know——”
“No. I confess my ignorance.”
“Giuraddio!half the newspapers in the world have noticed me.”
“I read very few newspapers.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a journalist.”
“I am here. I have already given six representations ofLe Prophète.”
“And you are——”
“The celebrated tenor, Spalletti.”
“Blessed be modesty!”
“Eh!—What?”
“Nothing—only a remark on my part. A fine opera,Le Prophète.”
“Yes—so they say!”
“How—they say? Have you never heard it?”
“I!—I have other things to do. I get through my scenes, and that’s enough.”
“But have you not even read the words?”
“I have read my part,—and even that is too much. However, I think I will read it over one evening when I am going to bed, because I want to know who on earth thisProphetis.”
Yet it was this very part of the Prophet which he had just enacted for the sixth time!
He then told me that he had been engaged to sing in Thomas’sOmeleto—I should not have been surprised had he saidomelette—and left, after telling me that he put up at the Gran Bretagna, and requesting me to come and see him there.
At the door he turned back, and said—
“You must come and hear me at the theatre to-night! I am quite convinced I shall make you shed tears.”
I went—and found that the worthy man was right. His performance was such that it would have drawn tears from a stone.
I afterwards heard that the same gentleman had been asked to sing at a charity concert, and, being told that in this way he would perform anact of philanthropy, had replied that it was unfortunately impossible, because he was not acquainted with the play of that name, and therefore could not sing in any act of it.
Napoleone Corazzini.
Napoleone Corazzini.
Napoleone Corazzini.
Napoleone Corazzini.