My next experience in a marionette theatre was at Trapani. I approached
the subject with Mario, a coachman whom I have known since he was a boy.
He was quite ready to help me, and told me there were two companies in
the town, one of large puppets, about as high as my umbrella, the others,
to which he went every evening, being rather smaller. Accordingly, at
about a quarter to eight, he called for me, wrapped in his melodramatic
cloak, and hurried me through the wet and windy streets to the teatrino.
He kept me on his right hand because he was the host and I the guest, and
if, owing to obstructions, he found me accidentally on his left he was
round in a moment and I was in the place of honour again. He insisted on
paying for our seats, fifteen centimes each, and we went in.
This teatrino was in every way a much smaller place than that in Catania;
it belonged to a private gentleman who had bought the puppets for his own
amusement and spent much of his time among them, sometimes working them
himself. He has since married and parted with them and the theatre is
now (1908) closed. No complaint could be made about the seating
arrangements or the ventilation. There were benches on the floor with a
passage down the middle, a few rows in front were reserved for boys at
ten centimes each and at the other end of the hall was a small gallery
for ladies, twenty centimes each. I asked Mario so many questions that
he proposed we should go behind the scenes, which was exactly what I
wanted. He spoke to one of the authorities, who was politeness itself
and, showing us through a door and up three steps, introduced us behind
the curtain. Our heads were high above the opening of the proscenium,
which was about the size and shape of the opening of the fireplace in a
fairly large room. We were in a grove of puppets hanging up against the
walls like turkeys in a poulterer's shop at Christmas--scores and scores
of them. There were six or eight men preparing for the performance and a
youth, Pasquale, took charge of us and pointed out the principal figures.
"This warrior," he said, "is Ferrau di Spagna."
He was in tin armour, carefully made and enriched with brass and copper
ornamentation, all as bright as a biscuit-box. I said--
"He looks a very terrible fellow. Why is he so red about the eyes?" for
the whites of his eyes were redder than his cheeks.
"Because he is always in a rage. And this lady is Angelica, Empress of
Cathay; she wears a crown and will die this evening. This is her
husband, Medoro; he is a black man and wears a crown; he will perish
to-night by the sword of Ferrau."
I rapidly constructed by anticipation the familiar plot. The jealous
husband would kill his erring wife and would then be killed by her lover;
but, being unversed in the habits of Cathaian emperors and their
entourage, I had run off the track. Pasquale put me straight.
"Prima Ferrau uccide Medoro." (Ferrau first kills Medoro.)
"And then kills Angelica?" I inquired.
"No. Angelica si uccide personalmente, so as not to marry Ferrau."
I was next introduced to Galafrone, the father of Angelica, who also wore
a crown, and to two valorous knights, Sacripante, King of the
Circassians, and the Duca d'Avilla.
There were more than two hundred marionettes altogether, including
Turkish and Spanish soldiers. The knights and ladies were kept in green
holland bags to preserve them from the dust, and taken out as they were
wanted. They varied in height from twenty-four to thirty-two inches.
Ferrau was thirty-one and a half inches from the soles of his feet to the
top of his helmet; Angelica was twenty-six and a half inches; ordinary
Turks and Spanish soldiers were only twenty-four inches each.
Pasquale was very proud of Ferrau who really was magnificent. He was
made of wood with loose joints. An iron rod went through his head, and
was hooked into a ring between his collar-bones. Another rod was
fastened to his right wrist. There were three strings--one for his left
hand, which held his shield, one to raise his vizor and one which passed
through his right fist and across his body to his sword-hilt so that he
could draw his sword. I should have liked to buy him and bring him to
London with me; he would be an ornament to any house. But he was not for
sale; and, besides, it would not have been right to break up the company.
When Don Quixote, carried away by his feelings like a Sicilian facchino,
came to the assistance of Don Gayferos by drawing his sword and attacking
the Moorish puppets, he broke up Master Peter's company in a very literal
sense, and had to pay four and a half reals for King Marsilio of
Saragossa and five and a quarter for the Emperor Carlo Magno; but it is
not clear how large or how splendid they were.
Each figure requires one operator who stands between the wings, which are
about up to his waist and so solid that he can lean his elbows on them
and reach comfortably more than halfway across the stage. There are four
openings between the wings, and thus there can be eight puppets on the
stage at once, operated by eight manipulators, four on each side. This
could not be done with the life-sized marionettes in Catania, which were
all operated from behind, and never came forward. At Trapani the stage
was much deeper in proportion, and the flies from which the scenery
descended were high above the heads of the operators, so that the figures
could walk about backwards and forwards all over the stage. The
footlights were in the usual place in front of the curtain, and during
the performance boys got up from their seats in the front row and lighted
their cigarettes at them.
I had not nearly completed my investigations; but, fearing we might be in
the way, we returned to the front and inquired about play-bills. There
was only one in the house, posted up near the box-office; we went and
inspected it--
TEATRO DI MARIONETTE.
Per questa sera dara 2 recite
la prima alle 5.5 la seconda alle 8
Pugna fra Sacripante e il Duca d'Avilla--
Ferrau uccide Medoro e acquista Angelica--
Morte di Sacripante per mani di Ferrau--
Morte di Angelica.
MARIONETTE THEATRE.
This evening two performances will be given
The first at 5.30, the second at 8
Fight between Sacripante and the Duke of Avilla--
Ferrau kills Medoro and gains possession of Angelica--
Death of Sacripante at the hands of Ferrau--
Death of Angelica.
There was a pleasant-looking, retiring young man in the box-office, who
was pointed out to me as "Lui che parla"--the one who speaks. They said
he was a native of Mount Eryx and a shoemaker by trade.
We returned to our places and sat talking, smoking, eating American
pea-nuts and waiting. The audience, which consisted of men of the class
of life to which Mario belonged, all knew one another; most of them met
there every evening. A subscription for one month costs three lire and
entitles the holder to one performance a day, the performance at 8 being
a repetition of that at 5.30.
The play now being performed is _The Paladins of France_; it was written
by Manzanares in Italian prose and is in three volumes. It does not
always agree with the other versions of the same story; but that is only
as it should be, for romances have always been re-written to suit the
audience they are intended for. It has been going on about four months,
that is, since last October, when it began with Pipino, Re di Francia ed
Imperatore di Roma, the father of Carlo Magno, and it will continue day
after day till May, like the feuilleton in a journal. During the hot
weather there is no performance in this theatre; but the same story will
be taken up again next October and is long enough to last through two
winters. It could last longer, but they bring it within reasonable
limits by removing some of the boredom. It concludes with the defeat and
death of Orlando and the paladins at Roncisvalle.
The portion of the story appointed for the evening's performance was in
five acts, divided into a large number of very short scenes, and if I did
not always know quite clearly what was going on, that was partly due to
the distracting uproar, for nearly every scene contained a fight, and
some contained several, the shortest lasting well over a minute. Whoever
had been employed to shorten the story would have earned the thanks of
one member of the audience if he had acted upon Pococurante's remarks to
Candide about the works of Homer. He ought not to have left in so many
combats; they were as like one another and as tedious as those in the
_Iliad_, besides being much noisier, at least we are not told that the
Homeric heroes were accompanied by a muscular pianist, fully armed, and
by the incessant stamping of clogged boots. Nevertheless the majority of
the audience enjoyed the fights, for no Sicilian objects to noise.
This is what I gathered: Angelica had come from far Cathay with the
express intention of sowing discord among the paladins by inducing them
to fall in love with her, and at the present moment Sacripante and the
Duca d'Avilla were her victims. These two knights met in a wood, raised
their vizors and talked matters over; there was to be a fight about it,
of course, but the preliminaries were to be conducted in a friendly
spirit--like a test case in Chancery. They separated, no doubt to give
them an opportunity of going home to make their wills and take leave of
their wives and families, if any. In the second scene they met again,
lowered their vizors, drew their swords and fought till Angelica
supervened. In the next scene the two knights and Angelica were joined
by Medoro with whom one of the knights fought. I recognized Medoro when
his vizor was up because he was a black man, but Sacripante and the Duca
d'Avilla were so much alike that I did not know which was fighting and
which was standing with Angelica looking on; say it was Sacripante that
was fighting, being king of the Circassians he was probably entitled to
precedence over a mere duke. Angelica, after some time, began to feel
qualms of conscience, so she interrupted and mentioned who Medoro really
was. Sacripante, in the most chivalrous manner, immediately desisted and
apologized--he had failed to recognize his opponent and had no idea he
had been fighting with the lady's husband. The apology was accepted in
the spirit in which it was offered, all accusations, expressed or
implied, were withdrawn, and friendly relations established. The four
then set out together to pass the night in an albergo. Angelica,
however, with her quick, womanly instinct, mistrusted the knights and,
taking her husband aside, proposed that they two should depart by stealth
and escape to Cathay, leaving Sacripante and the Duca d'Avilla asleep.
Medoro demurred, saying it was a very good inn and he was quite
comfortable where he was. So she told him a few facts which alarmed him
to such a degree that he consented and they decamped.
On their way they encountered Ferrau who entered with a stamp of the
foot, sforzando, attacked Medoro and killed him dead, thus obtaining
possession of Angelica according to the play-bill. But she managed to
get free and appeared upon the coast where she met a sea-captain and,
telling him she was very rich, made terms with him, bought his vessel and
embarked for the Court of her father, Galafrone. She might have made
better terms had she not opened negotiations by telling him she was very
rich, but it was a matter of life or death and she was reckless, knowing
that Ferrau was after her. Sacripante and the Duca d'Avilla were after
Ferrau and presently caught him up and attacked him. He fought with them
both at once and killed one of them in a minute and a half. With the
exception of myself, every one in the theatre knew which he killed, for
they knew all the knights as they came on. Let us again give Sacripante
the precedence and suppose that he was killed first. Ferrau went on
fighting with the Duca d'Avilla and both were hard at work when the
curtain fell.
It rose again, very effectively, on the continuation of the fight, and
almost at once Ferrau cut off the Duca d'Avilla's head which rolled about
on the stage. Immediately there came three Turks; Ferrau stabbed each as
he entered--one, two, three--and their bodies encumbered the ground as
the curtain fell.
It rose as soon as the bodies had been removed and disclosed Ferrau
stamping about alone. There came three more Turks; he stabbed them each
as they entered--one, two, three--and their bodies encumbered the ground.
Then there came three knights in armour; Ferrau fought them all three
together for a very considerable time and it was deafening. He killed
them all and their bodies encumbered the ground with those of the last
three Turks. It was a bloody sight that met the eyes of Galafrone who
now entered.
The curtain fell, while Galafrone had the corpses cleared away, and rose
again on the same scene which was the ante-chamber of Angelica's
bedroom--for somehow we were now in her father's dominions, and it was
she who had sent the knights and the Turks to kill Ferrau before he could
approach her. Then there was an interview between Ferrau and Galafrone
on the subject of Angelica. The knight, having made her a widow, now
wished to make her his wife, the king saw no objection and promised to
use his influence with his daughter.
The scene changed to Angelica's bedroom; her bed was at the far end of
the stage with a patchwork quilt over it, but there was no other
furniture in the room except a sofa near the front. Her father brought
her in and I, knowing that she was to kill herself personally and that
this must be her last entry, examined her closely and detected a string
passing through her right hand and ending in the hilt of a dagger
ostentatiously concealed in her bosom. Of course I knew what that meant.
Her father, true to his promise, began to urge Ferrau's suit, saying that
he had forgiven him for having killed Medoro. But Angelica had not
forgiven him, and moreover she hated Ferrau with his bloodshot eyes and
his explosive manners. She made a long speech, admirably delivered by
the cobbler and as full of noble sentiments as a poem by Mrs. Browning,
then, suddenly drawing her dagger with the string, she stabbed herself
and fell dead on the couch, exclaiming--
"A rivederci."
It was an extremely neat suicide and her father concluded the
entertainment by weeping over her body.
These marionettes were not nearly so comic in their movements as the
life-sized ones in Catania, not because they were better managed, but
because they attempted less and because, being so small, their defects
were less obvious. A small one may, and generally does, enter like a
bird alighting on a molehill, but he has such a short distance to go that
he is at rest before one realizes that he has not attempted to walk.
Besides it is a mode of progression we are all familiar with, having
practised it in dreams since childhood. A life-sized marionette, on a
larger stage, has, perhaps, two or three yards to traverse; he tries to
take steps and is easily caught tripping, for without strings to his feet
his steps can only be done in a haphazard way. There are marionettes
with strings to their feet, and though they may do _The Story of the
Paladins_, this is not their usual business, they are more elaborately
articulated, and are intended for operas, ballets and other complicated
things.
And then, again, in Catania a glimpse of the hand of an operator or of
some one standing in the wings offended at once as a blot on the
performance. But looking at the small figures at Trapani one accepted
them almost immediately as men and women, and forgot all about absolute
size, so that when the hand of an operator appeared and it was larger
than the head of a marionette, it seemed to belong to another world,
while a real man standing in the wings could not be seen above his knees,
and it required a mental effort to connect his boots and trousers in any
way with the performance.
The speaker at Catania did well with a good voice; nevertheless one felt
that disaster was in the neighbourhood and was being consciously avoided.
The idea of failure never crossed the mind of the cobbler from Mount
Eryx. His voice was rich and flexible, full of variety and quick to
express a thousand emotions. Listening to it was like looking long and
long into a piece of Sicilian amber in whose infinite depth, as you turn
it about in the sunlight, you see all the colours of the rainbow, from
red, through orange, yellow, green and blue, even to a glowing purple.
There was nothing he could not do with it, and he managed it with the
quiet dignity and easy grace of a young lion at play.