“How, then, this excitement?” would be your disposition to inquire.  “Why this sensation?”

It is very simple.  My hair had been shaved off, all over my ears, leaving only a little above the back of the neck, to give an appearance of far-reaching baldness, and on my head was painted, in ah! so brilliant letters of distinctness: 

Theatre

Folie-Rouge

Revue

de

Printemps

Tous les Soirs

Such was the necessity to which I was at that time reduced!  One has heard that the North Americans invent the most singular advertising, but I will not believe they surpass the Parisian.  Myself, I say I cannot express my sufferings under the notation of the crowds that moved about the Cafe’ de la Paix!  The French are a terrible people when they laugh sincerely.  It is not so much the amusing things which cause them amusement; it is often the strange, those contrasts which contain something horrible, and when they laugh there is too frequently some person who is uncomfortable or wicked.  I am glad that I was born not a Frenchman; I should regret to be native to a country where they invent such things as I was doing in the Place de l’Opera; for, as I tell you, the idea was not mine.

As I sat with my eyes drooping before the gaze of my terrible and applauding audiences, how I mentally formed cursing words against the day when my misfortunes led me to apply at the Theatre Folie-Rouge for work!  I had expected an audition and a role of comedy in the Revue; for, perhaps lacking any experience of the stage, I am a Neapolitan by birth, though a resident of the Continent at large since the age of fifteen.  All Neapolitans can act; all are actors; comedians of the greatest, as every traveller is cognizant.  There is a thing in the air of our beautiful slopes which makes the people of a great instinctive musicalness and deceptiveness, with passions like those burning in the old mountain we have there.  They are ready to play, to sing—­or to explode, yet, imitating that amusing Vesuvio, they never do this last when you are in expectancy, or, as a spectator, hopeful of it.

How could any person wonder, then, that I, finding myself suddenly destitute in Paris, should apply at the theatres?  One after another, I saw myself no farther than the director’s door, until (having had no more to eat the day preceding than three green almonds, which I took from a cart while the good female was not looking) I reached the Folie-Rouge.  Here I was astonished to find a polite reception from the director.  It eventuated that they wished for a person appearing like myself a person whom they would outfit with clothes of quality in all parts, whose external presented a gentleman of the great world, not merely of one the galant-uomini, but who would impart an air to a table at a cafe’ where he might sit and partake.  The contrast of this with the emplacement of the establishment on his bald