Fifteenth Evening"I know a Pulcinella," the Moon told me. "The public
applaud vociferously directly they see him. Every one of his
movements is comic, and is sure to throw the house into convulsions
of laughter; and yet there is no art in it all—it is complete
nature. When he was yet a little boy, playing about with other
boys, he was already Punch. Nature had intended him for it, and had
provided him with a hump on his back, and another on his breast;
but his inward man, his mind, on the contrary, was richly
furnished. No one could surpass him in depth of feeling or in
readiness of intellect. The theatre was his ideal world. If he had
possessed a slender well-shaped figure, he might have been the
first tragedian on any stage; the heroic, the great, filled his
soul; and yet he
