for brains, can I get them! No. But make a fiasco, Luigi, and not a
second ten for you, my friend: and away, out of my sight, show yourself
no more!'

Luigi humbly said that he was not the instrument of a fiasco.

Half spurning him, Antonio-Pericles snarled an end both to his advices
and his prophetic disgust of the miserable tools furnished unto masterly
minds upon this earth. He paced forward and back, murmuring in French,
'Mon Dieu! was there ever such a folly as in the head of this girl? It
is her occasion:--Shall I be a Star? Shall I be a Cinder? It is
tomorrow night her moment of Birth! No; she prefers to be extinguished.
For what? For this thing she calls her country. It is infamous. Yes,
vile little cheat! But, do you know Antonio-Pericles? Not yet. I will
nourish you, I will imprison you: I will have you tortured by love, by
the very devil of love, by the red-hot pincers of love, till you scream.
a music, and die to melt him with your voice, and kick your country to
the gutter, and know your Italy for a birthplace and a cradle of Song,
and no more, and enough! Bah!'

Having thus delivered himself of the effervescence of his internal
agitation, he turned sharply round upon Luigi, with a military stamp of
the foot and shout of the man's name.

'It is love she wants,' Antonio-Pericles resumed his savage soliloquy.
'She wants to be kindled on fire. Too much Government of brain; not
sufficient Insurrection of heart! There it is. There it lies. But,
little fool! you shall find people with arms and shots and cannon
running all up and down your body, firing and crying out "Victory for
Love!" till you are beaten, till you gasp "Love! love! love!" and then