A small Italian musician, his teeth gleaming like ivory from contact with hard crusts, formed the whole orchestra. He played the accordion on the front bench. His melody ended, some one rapped three times, the performance commenced. First, two Polish warriors entered and performed a military dance, marking the time with their heels. Then followed a couple of Spanish dancers, who executed some wonderful pirouettes and pigeons’ flights. Then appeared the india-rubber man, who stretched and stretched himself, and finally bent himself until his nose touched his heels, and then he sneezed, a performance which convulsed the spectators with delight. He was succeeded by a lawyer in a black dress, who doubled himself, became triple and quadruple—a naïve symbol of the craftiness of his profession—then played in each of the four corners of the stage with his duplicates and suddenly flew through the frieze. The curtain falls. From every bench a sorrowful cry is heard, “Is it over?” [p083] No. The second part is going to begin. Rap! rap! rap! The curtain rises upon a second curtain, which represents a forest, a chief, two brigands, three acolytes. This is the band. [Illustration] THE CAPTAIN.—“My friends, I have heard from the old postillion that a post-chaise will pass through this narrow road. You must stop it.” THE BAND.—“Yes, captain.” THE CAPTAIN.—“You, Pedro, must guard this defile. We, my friends, must away to the mountains.” [p084] (_The band disappears on the side to the court. Pedro remains alone for one moment. A monk enters front the garden side._) PEDRO.—“Halt there; your money or your life!” THE MONK.—“But, my brother, I am as poor as you are. Capuchins have no money.” PEDRO.—“What are those twenty-five golden louis I see in this purse? And the repeater that I see; I—” (_Pedro attempts to rob the monk. The Capuchin falls on his knees._) THE MONK.—“Mercy! If I go home without this money the superior will shut me up in a dungeon.” PEDRO.—“That’s not my business!” THE MONK.—“At least fire into the folds of my frock without wounding me, so that I can prove that I was attacked.” PEDRO.—Very well. (_He fires._) THE MONK, _springing upon Pedro, and stabbing him with a dagger_.—“Fool! You missed me, but I shall not miss you!” (_He disappears on the court side; the captain and his band re-enter from the garden side._ _They pause before the body of Pedro._) A BRIGAND.—“The coward, he is asleep!” THE CAPTAIN.—“No, he is bathed in blood. The monk has killed him. Let us pillage the monastery.” The curtain falls; the show is really over this time. I went behind the scenes to ask the _impresario_ Bermont for the name of the author of this fine historical drama.