Bisceglia is a little town of Apulia where a dialect is
spoken which has the privilege of amusing Neapolitans however
vaguely they may discern the accent. From time immemorial the
character of Don Pangrazio in the theatre of San Carlino has
been played by natives of Bisceglia or else by Neapolitans who
know how to reproduce to perfection the speech of Apulia. Their
_succès-de-ridicule_ depends as much upon the accent as upon
the talent of the actors, who, for the rest, are incomparable
comedians. The public laughs with confidence from the moment
that Pangrazio makes his appearance. The bills of the play
never fail to add to the title of the piece these words, which
constitute a particular attraction to the crowd: _Con Pangrazio
biscegliese_ (with Pangrazio of Bisceglia). The effect produced
in our theatres by the dialects of our peasants cannot approach
the wild laughter excited by this Pangrazio; it would be
necessary to go back to the days of Gros-Guillaume and the
Gascon Gentlemen to find an equivalent to this personage, who
still sustains with the illustrious Pulcinella the national
Commedia dell’ Arte, that precious and charming tradition of
which the booth of San Carlino is the last asylum. This feature
of the popular taste is, however, a source of bitter and cruel
injustice: the native of Bisceglia cannot show himself in
Naples but that all the world bursts into laughter as soon
as he utters a word; the tyranny of custom and of prejudice
condemns him to the profession of buffoon; it were idle for him
to become angry, for the only result would be that the laughter
would grow still more unrestrained before an access of choler
in a Biscegliese.”
The particular merit of Pangrazio Biscegliese lies in the whining
intonation of the dialect of his locality, and in the exhibition of the
usual absurdities which provincials bring into a capital. The life of
the great cities, the luxury, the costumes, the somewhat relaxed morals,
cause him at every step to break into ejaculations of surprise. “We don’t
do that sort of thing at home,” he says at every moment; or else: “At
home there is not so much noise, there are not so many people to elbow
us as here, but at least everybody knows everybody. Nor is your Naples
as beautiful. I would that you could have seen Bisceglia built upon her
rock. That now is a lovely country covered with rich villas and famous
for her grapes and wines. You cannot say as much. And then in Bisceglia
you don’t see all this filth that is everywhere to be met in Naples. If
I could but finish my business I should not be long in getting away from
your noise, your fleas, your lazzaroni and your abandoned women.” The
native of Bisceglia is very often right, but his criticisms under the
ægis of his absurdities and his comical language pass for mere stupidity
on his part.
Like Pantaloon he represents several provincial types, tradesmen,
burgesses or old peasants; but fundamentally his character is always the
same: rather miserly, credulous and easy to deceive.
His black velvet doublet and breeches are old fashioned. The sleeves
of his coat and his cap are of red cloth, his stockings of red cotton.
To-day Il Biscegliese whom the Neapolitans also call _Pangrazio
Cucuzziello_ (Pangrazio the Cuckold), has undergone a change of costume
like most of the other Italian masks. He wears a red wig with a queue _en
salsifis_, and an embroidered waistcoat of the days of Louis XV. which
looks like a piece of tapestry. His coat and breeches are black, his
stockings red and his shoes buckled.
_Le Jettaturi, con Pangrazio Biscegliese_ is the title of a piece in
which M. Paul de Musset shows us Il Biscegliese as he was to be seen on
the stage of the San Carlino in Naples.
“The three knocks have been sounded. The little orchestra is
playing the overture. At last the curtain rises and we see Don
Pangrazio arriving laden with all his preservatives against
ill-luck: the horns of a bull, coral hands, a rat made out of
Vesuvian lava, a heart, the forks and the serpent. A burst of
laughter greets his entrance according to custom. Whereupon
he advances with a piteous air to the edge of the stage to
take the public into his confidence on the score of his
superstitious terrors.
“‘Sirs,’ he says, ‘if I have forgotten anything let me know,
of your charity. These big horns which I carry, one under each
arm, preserve my brow from a similar decoration. That, however,
is not what most torments me; for Dame Pangrazio is incapable
of wanting in fidelity to me. By turning this coral hand,
whose index and little finger are extended towards folk of a
suspicious countenance, I shall avoid pernicious influences.
My outfit is complete, and I have been told that I might thus
venture to show myself even in the streets of Toledo. I see
with satisfaction that one is safe in Naples ... a prudent man
never runs any risks in this capital; nevertheless I am not
quite easy. I have had an evil dream, and I am very anxious to
return to Bisceglia.’
“Thereupon Don Pangrazio relates his dream, from which he draws
all manner of prognostications. In fact all possible accidents
happen in the one day to poor Pangrazio. Whilst he is rubbing
up his amulets a thief steals his handkerchief, another his
snuffbox, a third his watch. Pulcinella disguises himself as an
usher to relate to him a false exploit. A wily girl pretends
to mistake him for her lover who was carried off to Barbary
by Corsairs; she embraces him and overwhelms him with her
caresses. Pangrazio attempts to escape, when a cart knocks
him over into the mud. He gets up furiously, cursing clumsy
folk, thieves and the abandoned girls of Naples, whereupon
two charming young men in yellow waistcoats with seals, gold
chains and quizzing-glasses politely accost him, and assist him
to cleanse himself of the mud. This happy encounter charms Il
Biscegliese, who is in ecstasy with the fine manners and the
politeness of the gentlemen of Naples. With their canes they
knock upon the table of the inn and command the waiter to
serve Signor Pangrazio with the best and the most expensive in
the house: sweetbreads and peas, Milanese fried cutlets, boiled
eggs, beetroots and cucumber salad. To all this Pangrazio
prefers the classical macaroni; he is served with a _rotolo_,
which he consumes, eating it with his fingers. Meanwhile the
two fashionable fellows dine and consume the more refined
dishes which Il Biscegliese has declined; then they exchange
a signal; they rise, take up their hats, overwhelm the other
in salutations and depart. The old man finds it impossible
to believe that he should again have fallen a victim to his
credulity. With his bizarre conjectures upon the cause of the
absence of the young men he amuses the public, and ends by
paying the bill, not, of course, without a deal of haggling.”
v
An old yellow wig showing the weft; and surmounted by a nightcap with
a greasy ribbon, upon a bald head, whose red ears they barely conceal;
two eyebrows shaggy and grey shading the little eyes so suspicious
and mistrustful in their glances; a rubicund nose smeared with snuff;
coarse fleshy lips gaping stupidly when their owner listens or watches
what is happening about him; a short thick neck denoting a choleric
irascible temperament; a prominent abdomen encased in a waistcoat that
was erstwhile embroidered, and a pair of old red breeches; the whole
enveloped in a make-believe dressing-gown, a soiled yellow rag which
fifty years ago was plush; a pair of thick legs in woollen stockings,
ending in feet of an abominable size and length, these thrust into shoes
which remind us of charcoal boats; a ponderous gait and a continual
grumbling; and there you have CASSANDRO.
No one has risen yet; it is hardly day, and already Cassandro is
complaining of the laziness of his servant and his daughter. So much the
better, when all is said! He will have time in which to contemplate his
money. Having taken a discreet pinch of snuff, from a box that creaks
like a wheel in need of greasing, he slyly opens a hiding place known to
himself alone; but a startled fly is on the wing, and Cassandro prudently
shuts up his treasure once more. Next it is his servant, Pierrot, asleep
on his feet, who blind and yawning comes to strike his head against his
master, crushing underfoot Cassandro’s corns and bunions ill-protected by
the enormous shoes. A splendid kick administered to Pierrot, who responds
at hazard by a buffet which never misses the face of his master, is the
affair of a moment.
Pierrot recognises his mistake and repents his precipitancy. He begs
pardon of his good master and all is forgotten. “It is already light,”
says Cassandro, “and I must go out; bring me my things and particularly
my spectacles which I left in my room. Be quick!” Cassandro is no longer
alone, therefore he must pretend in the presence of others to be deaf and
short-sighted—an old ruse, but an unfailing one.
Whilst recommending his servant not to cook anything for breakfast and to
lock the door upon his daughter, he assumes his fine coat. He takes his
looped hat, his cane with its ivory head, his green gloves, his colossal
watch, which himself he has mended to avoid useless expenditure. The
movement of this watch of his makes such a tic-toc that when he passes
in the street the neighbours, attracted by the noise, come to the
thresholds of their shops and say: “There is Messer Cassandro. Where is
he going?” “To see his mistress,” reply the wits.
To behold him as he comes adown the street you might be moved,
notwithstanding his dashing toilet, to give him alms; and, what is worse,
he would accept them. Nevertheless he is the richest man in this parish,
just as he is the most miserly. There is nothing that he will not do for
money. He would even give his daughter to Polichinelle. He considers
him, however, somewhat debauched, and prefers Leandro, the hidalgo, the
man of wealth, the pretty fellow. It is at the house of this prospective
son-in-law that he goes to seek a breakfast, to avoid, so he says, giving
trouble to his servants. “And then,” he adds, “we shall be better able to
talk over our little affairs at table.”
Meanwhile what is happening at his home? His daughter Columbine has
employed her charms to corrupt Pierrot; she has added to them a venison
pasty and a bottle of old wine which have put to sleep all the scruples
of her gaoler, and she abandons herself to mirth and dancing with her
lover, Harlequin.
It rarely happens that Cassandro does not return at this moment,
accompanied by his amphitryon, who struts like a cock and is laden with
gifts for the seductive Columbine. Thereupon the lovers take flight.
Columbine is to be sacrificed; but Harlequin, protected by a fairy whose
talisman he saved, holds his own against Cassandro, and battles in point
of wealth with Leandro. Cassandro does not hesitate. The richer of the
twain shall have his daughter, his little doll; and as the treasures
of fairies are inexhaustible, Leandro defeated, retires in a fury,
reproaching the old man with his lack of faith. Cassandro shrugs his
shoulders, laughs in his sleeve, and blesses the lovers.
The character of Cassandro was created in 1580, in the _Gelosi_ company,
under the name of Cassandro _da Sienna_. His were the parts of the
serious fathers, whilst Pantaloon, in the same complicated intrigues,
presented, together with the Doctor, the absurd personages, the jealous
husband, betrayed, beaten and contented. This character of Cassandro
disappeared from the Italian scenarii for more than a century, and it
was only in 1732 that Périer revived the name to perform under it the
rôles of ridiculous father in the forain theatres. He was imitated by
Desjardins, in 1736, and Garnier, in 1739. On the Franco-Italian scene,
Robert des Brosses, a native of Bonn, in Germany, who had joined the
theatre as a musician in the orchestra, made his first appearance on the
stage in 1744 in this rôle. This actor, estimable for his character and
his talents, added musical composition to his other gifts. He wrote the
music of a great number of ballets and comic operas.
In 1780, Rozière was playing the same parts in the Théâtre-Italien.
But the most famous of all Cassandri was Chapelle, whose credulity and
naïveté were proverbial in the theatre. Chapelle was short and fat; his
eyes, which were continually blinking, were crowned by thick, black
eyebrows; his mouth, always agape, lent him a stupid air. His legs
resembled those of an elephant. If you will add to all this a clumsy,
heavy shape, you will have some notion of Chapelle. One might imagine
that Nature, beholding him after she had made him, said to him: “I aimed
at making you a man, I have made you a Cassandro; forgive me, Chapelle.”
It was to Chapelle that the elder Seveste related on his return from a
tour in Normandy the story of how, during his sojourn in Rouen, he had
educated a carp, which followed him everywhere like a dog, but that
unfortunately he had just lost it, at which he was very much troubled.
“And how did you lose this carp?” inquired Chapelle.
“Mon Dieu!” said Seveste, “I was so imprudent as to take it with me one
night to the theatre. A terrible storm came on after the show. My carp
followed me without trouble down to the street, but there the poor beast
was drowned in attempting to leap across the gutter.”
“How unfortunate,” said Chapelle; “I thought that carp were able to swim
like fish.”
People had made him believe so many things that during the last years
of his life he had become so mistrustful and sceptical that when one of
the theatre boys would say to him: “You are to play to-morrow,” he would
reply: “Be off with you; I am not to be taken in!” Whenever he was asked
how he fared, he would turn his back upon the inquirer, saying: “That is
not true.” Chapelle, who added the trade of grocer to the profession of
actor, retired in 1816, and went to live with an uncle, who was a canon
in Versailles. He died at Chartres in January, 1824.
vi
The Romans have a type called CASSANDRINO, who is the same as their
Pasquale. He is a worthy citizen of Rome, of a ripening age of some
fifty years or so, but still young in his ways: agile, sedulously curled
and powdered, his linen always irreproachable, his white stockings
immaculate, his silver-buckled shoes well lacquered. He wears a light
three-cornered hat; his coat and breeches are of fine red cloth which
throws into relief his spangled white satin waistcoat, with its ample
skirts. In character he is charming; he is never angry whatever betide,
and he turns a deaf ear upon all jests at his expense. Courteous,
well-bred, astute and witty, it is not difficult to perceive in this type
the personification of one of the handsome curial _Monsignori_.
“Yesterday, towards nine o’clock” (says the author of the
_Chartreuse de Parme_), “I was issuing from those magnificent
rooms overlooking a garden full of orange-trees, known as the
Café Rospoli, opposite the Fiano Palace. A man at the door of
a sort of cave was saying: ‘_Entrate, o signori!_ Enter, sirs,
we are about to begin.’ I obtained admission to this little
theatre for the sum of twenty-eight centisimi, a price which
made me fear low company and fleas. I was soon reassured. I
had for neighbours some worthy citizens of Rome.... The Romans
are, perhaps, of all the people of Europe, those who most
love and are quickest to perceive fine shades of satire. The
theatrical censorship in Rome is more meticulous than in Paris,
and consequently nothing can be more flat than the comedies
performed there. Laughter has been driven to seek refuge with
the marionettes, where pieces more or less improvised are
presented. I spent an extremely pleasant evening at the Fiano
Palace. The theatre upon which the actors parade their little
persons may be some ten feet wide and some four feet high. The
mounting is excellent, and carefully calculated to suit actors
who are twelve inches tall. The fashionable personage among
the people of Rome is Cassandrino, a coquettish old gentleman
of some fifty-five to sixty years of age, quick, agile, his
white hair very carefully powdered, well groomed, and in
general more or less like a cardinal. Moreover Cassandrino
is trained in affairs and polished by rubbing shoulders with
the great world; he would in truth be an accomplished man but
for his weakness of falling regularly in love with all the
women whom he meets. You will agree that such a character is
extremely well invented in a country governed by an oligarchic
court, composed of celibates, where the power is in the hands
of age. It goes without saying that Cassandrino is secular; but
I will wager that in all the auditorium there is not a single
spectator who does not in his mind invest him with the red
skull-cap of a cardinal, or at least with the violet stockings
of a _monsignore_. The _monsignori_ are, as is known, young
men of the pope’s court, the auditors of this country; their
rank is a step which leads to all the others. Rome is full of
_monsignori_ of the age of Cassandrino, who have failed to make
their fortune, and who seek what consolation they can find
whilst awaiting the red hat.”
M. Frédéric Mercey gives us in his _Théâtre en Italie_ several accounts
of the pieces which were performed at the Fiano Theatre: _Il Viaggio a
Civita-Vecchia_, _Cassandrino Dilettante_, _Cassandrino Impresario_, etc.
In 1840 this theatre was directed and worked by a jeweller of the
Corso who, by a curious chance, was homonymous with the hero of his
improvisations—Signor Cassandro.
[Illustration]
vii
The spirit of Venetian mischief and Venetian quaintness appears to be
personified in the mask of FACANAPPA, the leading character in the
marionette troupes. His success in Venice is equal to that of the
Biscegliese in Naples. The bills never fail to indicate that he is
included in the piece; it is _Harlequin the Bankrupt, with Facanappa_;
_Pantaloon the Grocer, with Facanappa_, etc., etc. His every entrance is
greeted with applause and anticipatory thrills of mirth. It is he who
comes to notify the public of changes made during the performance, and
who at the final curtain comes forward again to announce the pieces of
the morrow, which, as usual, are _with Facanappa_. His is the privilege
of saying everything he pleases, and he is not backward in making
numerous allusions, employing the most current words in his Venetian
dialect, and manufacturing new ones when the need arises.
A long parakeet nose, surmounted by a pair of green spectacles like
those of Tartaglia, a flat wide-brimmed hat, a red cravat, an enormous
waistcoat with tinsel buttons and a long white coat, the tails of which
trail along the ground—such is the appearance of this personage, whose
offices are very varied, but whose character at bottom seems to be that
of a sort of Venetian _Monsieur Prud’homme_.
In the beginning of the eighteenth century this type bore the name
of Bernardone. In 1705, the actor Leinhaus played in the improvising
company of Venice the rôles of ridiculous parents under this name, with a
Venetian accent, so as to be as reminiscent as possible of the classical
Pantaloon.
Zanobio is another type of old man of the same sort, but dating back to
the fifteenth century. This personage parodied the citizens of Piombino,
and his rôle was extremely characteristic. In the _Gelosi_ troupe, which
played in Florence in 1578, Girolamo Salimbeni, a Florentine, was engaged
by Flaminio Scala exclusively for this character.
viii
There existed once in Palermo a national theatre, like that of Naples,
but with types that were entirely different. Thus the father of the
family, the Baron (IL BARONE), a Sicilian lord, the dupe of his servants
and his daughter, was the personification of the nobility of the
land, and of the bourgeoisie aiming at aristocratic distinctions. It
is not known whether Lappaio and his successor Pasquinio, two famous
Sicilian actors, preserved this type, but down to the latter half of the
nineteenth century there were still no Sicilian marionette pieces that
did not include the Baron.
ix
Under the name of Fleschelles in serious rôles, and under that of
Gaultier-Garguille in farces, Hugues Guéru, who was born in Normandy,
played the parts of father and of old man, at first in the Théâtre du
Marais in 1588, and later at the Hôtel de Bourgogne.
His name, GAULTIER-GARGUILLE, is derived from _gaultier_, meaning _bon
vivant_, from the old French verb _gaudir_ (to rejoice or to enjoy) and
from _garguille_ which means _gargoyle_ or wide-throat. Guéru married
the daughter of Tabarin somewhere about 1620. He must then have been at
least fifty years of age (he was of the same age as his father-in-law),
whilst his wife was very young and very wealthy. After the death of
Gaultier-Garguille she was able, through her own wealth and that
bequeathed her by her husband, to marry a gentleman of Normandy. Gaultier
was a good and worthy husband, and in fine weather he would leave his
house in the Rue Pavée-Saint-Sauveur to repair to his country villa, near
the Porte Montmartre, there to live as a _franc bourgeois_.
He was lean of body, long of leg, and broad of face. He wore a greenish
demi-mask with a long nose and cat’s whiskers; his hair was stiff and
white, his beard pointed like that of Pantaloon, his breeches and shoes
were black, and he wore a black doublet with red sleeves; he was equipped
with a pouch, a dagger and a cane.
In 1622, the Hôtel de Bourgogne was in the apogee of its success. The
best farces performed were, according to the critics of the day: _La
Malle de Gaultier_, _Le Cadet de Champagne_, _Tire la Corde_, _J’ai la
Carpe_, _Mieux que Devant_, _La Farce Joyeuse de Maistre Mimin_, etc.
Gaultier-Garguille enjoyed in particular a great reputation as a singer
of absurdities, and somewhere about 1630 a collection of songs was
published, mostly of an obscene character, approved by Turlupin and
Gros-Guillaume. Hugues Guéru died in 1633.
He was replaced after his death by Jacquemin Jadot, who, however, never
reached the level of Gaultier-Garguille.
x
In the French company at the theatre of the Hôtel de Bourgogne in 1634,
GUILLOT-GORJU was the personification of the Doctor. The part was played
by Bertrand Haudouin de Saint-Jacques who, according to Guy-Patin, had
been dean of the faculty of medicine. He played for eight years at the
Hôtel de Bourgogne, then withdrew and went to Melun, where he resumed his
medical profession. But, seized with melancholy, he returned to the Hôtel
de Bourgogne.
“He was a big man, dark and very ugly: his eyes were sunken
and his nose resembled a trumpet, and although in general
appearance he was not unlike an ape and there was absolutely
no necessity for him to wear a mask in the theatre, he
nevertheless never appeared without one.”
Doctor Guillot-Gorju was dressed from head to foot in black. He wore
the ancient costume of the time of Henri IV. The doublet buttoned to
the chin, trunks like a pair of melons and tight stockings; he wore two
garters on his left leg, one above and the other below the knee.
He died in 1643 at the age of fifty.
IX
THE CANTATRICE
It was the custom of the Greeks to sing all their poetry and they gave no
theatrical pieces that were not sung and accompanied by instruments.
“In Homeric days,” says M. Charles Magnin, “the singers went
about like the troubadours in the Middle Ages, celebrating the
exploits of heroes in festivals, in public assemblies and in
the palaces of kings, and always preferring the very latest
songs.”
Thespis, in the scenarii which he composed, caused his songs to be sung
by a chorus; this, for instance, was the case with the songs to Bacchus
and Silenus in the scenarii entitled _The Vintage_. Thereafter the
actors would declaim. He was the first to draw from the chorus a solo
singer who was known as a _corypheus_. Æschylus added a second singer,
and when Terpander had introduced lyre accompaniments for the songs the
foundations of opera were laid.