voice, begging leave to walk beside the young cavaliere, whom he had
more than once had the honour of seeing at Pianura; and, in reply to the
boy's surprised glance, added, with a swelling of the chest and an
absurd gesture of self-introduction, "But perhaps the cavaliere is not
too young to have heard of the illustrious Cantapresto, late primo
soprano of the ducal theatre of Pianura?"

Odo being obliged to avow his ignorance, the fat creature mopped his
brow and continued with a gasp--"Ah, your excellency, what is fame? From
glory to obscurity is no farther than from one milestone to another! Not
eight years ago, cavaliere, I was followed through the streets of
Pianura by a greater crowd than the Duke ever drew after him! But what
then? The voice goes--it lasts no longer than the bloom of a flower--and
with it goes everything: fortune, credit, consideration, friends and
parasites! Not eight years ago, sir--would you believe me?--I was
supping nightly in private with the Bishop, who had nearly quarrelled
with his late Highness for carrying me off by force one evening to his
casino; I was heaped with dignities and favours; all the poets in the
town composed sonnets in my honour; the Marquess of Trescorre fought a
duel about me with the Bishop's nephew, Don Serafino; I attended his
lordship to Rome; I spent the villeggiatura at his villa, where I sat at
play with the highest nobles in the land; yet when my voice went,
cavaliere, it was on my knees I had to beg of my heartless patron the
paltry favour of the minor orders!" Tears were running down the abate's
cheeks, and he paused to wipe them with a corner of tattered bands.

Though Odo had been bred in an abhorrence of the theatre, the strange
creature's aspect so pricked his compassion that he asked him what he
was now engaged in; at which Cantapresto piteously cried, "Alas, what am
I not engaged in, if the occasion offers? For whatever a man's habit, he