Monsieur Scribe, in his opera The Court Concert, has portrayed under the name of Signor Astucio a character who aroused, and still arouses, a combination of admiration and awe among artists.

At the time of the opera’s first performances it was said that Astucio was a faithful portrait of the composer Paër, hardly exaggerated at all. It was going rather far in my opinion to attach the name of this Italian master to Monsieur Scribe’s vignette.

Was Paër the only rascally musician of his period? Is the race of Astucios extinct? And was the composer of Griselda its chief member? Phooey! There always have been and there always will be Astucios; even now we are surrounded, circumvented, undermined and contaminated by them. There are prudent Astucios and foolhardy Astucios, stupid Astucios and witty Astucios, poor Astucios and rich Astucios. Look out for this last sort— they’re the most dangerous of all. The witty Astucio may not be rich, but the rich Astucio is nearly always possessed of wit. The former pokes his nose into everything and grabs what he can; the latter wriggles out of even the most hopeless positions without leaving a trace: you could shut him in a bottle like a genie and he’d get out without even removing the cork. The former uses his wit to go where money can’t buy admittance, as easily as entering a ruin. But where wit is commonplace and therefore worthless, the latter knows how to manipulate situations to produce fabulous results.

Most Astucios have learnt from ants the art of destroying without seeming to attack.

The white ants of India establish themselves in a beam and little by little eat away its interior; then they move on to another beam, and to all the other supports of the house in turn. The inhabitants of the doomed dwelling suspect nothing; they live in it, sleep in it, even dance in it with a sense of total security; until one fine night, with beams, trusses and floorboards completely eaten away, the entire house collapses and crushes them.

Let’s not forget the patron Astucio.