y style, and consequently the Romans formed a favourable
preconception of Musso's enterprise; but independently of this they
would in their longing to still their dramatic hunger have greedily
snatched at any the poorest pabulum of this description. The interior
arrangements of the theatre, or rather of the small booth, did not say
much for the pecuniary resources of the enterprising manager. There was
no orchestra, nor were there boxes. Instead, a gallery was put up at
the back, where the arms of the house of Colonna were conspicuous--a
sign that Count Colonna had taken Musso and his theatre under his
especial protection. A platform of slight elevation, covered with
carpets and hung round with curtains, which, according to the
requirements of the piece, had to represent a wood or a room or a
street--this was the stage. Add to this that the spectators had to
content themselves with hard uncomfortable wooden benches, and it was
no wonder that Signor Musso's patrons on first entering were pretty
loud in their grumblings at him for calling a paltry wooden booth a
theatre. But no sooner had the first two actors who appeared exchanged
a few words together than the attention of the audience was arrested;
as the piece proceeded their interest took the form of applause, their
applause grew to admiration, their admiration to the wildest pitch of
enthusiastic excitement, which found vent in loud and continuous
laughter, clapping of hands, and screams of "Bravo! Bravo!"

And indeed it would not have been very easy to find anything more
perfect than these extemporised representations of Nicolo Musso; they
overflowed with wit, humour, and genius, and lashed the follies of the
day with an unsparing scourge. The audience were quite carried away by
the incomparable characterisation which distinguished all the actors,
but particularly by the inimitable mimicry of Pasquarello,[4.2] by his
marvellously natural imitations of the voice, gait, and postures of
well-known personages. By his inexhaustible humour, and the point and
appositeness of his impromptus, he quite carried his audience away. The
man who played the _role_ of Pasquarello, and who called himself Signor
Formica, seemed to be animated by a spirit of singular originality;
often there was something so strange in either tone or gesture, that
the audience, even in the midst of the most unrestrained burst of
laughter, felt a cold shiver run through them. He was excellently
supporte