d and slowly drew near to the
vine-clad arbour whence the music seemed to proceed, eagerly catching
up every sound in the meantime. The second voice had ceased to sing.
The first sang a canzonet alone. As I came nearer and nearer that which
had at first seemed familiar to me, and which had at first attracted my
attention, gradually faded away. The singer was now in the midst of a
florid, elaborate _fermata_. Up and down she warbled, up and down; at
length she stopped, holding a note on for some time. But all at once a
female voice began to let off a torrent of abuse, maledictions, curses,
vituperations! A man protested; a second laughed. The other female
voice took part in the altercation. The quarrel continued to wax louder
and more violent, with true Italian fury. At length I stood immediately
in front of the arbour; an abbot rushes out and almost runs over me; he
turns his head to look at me; I recognise my good friend Signor
Lodovico, my musical news-monger from Rome. 'What in the name of
wonder'--I exclaim. 'Oh, sir! sir!' he screams, 'save me, protect me
from this mad fury, from this crocodile, this tiger, this hyaena, this
devil of a woman. Yes, I did, I did; I was beating time to Anfossi's
canzonet, and brought down my baton too soon whilst she was in the
midst of the _fermata_; I cut short her trill; but why did I meet her
eyes, the devilish divinity! The deuce take all _fermatas_, I say!' In
a most curious state of mind I hastened into the arbour along with the
priest, and recognised at the first glance the sisters Lauretta and
Teresina. The former was still shrieking and raging, and her sister
still seriously remonstrating with her. Mine host, his bare arms
crossed over his chest, was looking on laughing, whilst a girl was
placing fresh flasks on the table. No sooner did the sisters catch
sight of me than they threw themselves upon me exclaiming, 'Ah! Signor
Teodoro!' and covered me with caresses. The quarrel was forgotten.
'Here you have a composer,' said Lauretta to the abbot, 'as charming as
an Italian and as strong as a German.' Both sisters, continually
interrupting each other, began to recount the happy days we had spent
together, to speak of my musical abilities whilst still a youth, of our
practisings together, of the excellence of my compositions; never did
they like singing anything else but what I had set. Teresina at length
informed me that a manager had engaged her as his first singer in
tragic ca