boulevards, that unique man who throughout the whole of last
summer was the admiration and delight of city and court, whose
portrait was engraved in twenty different manners, and was to
be found in Sevres china, on the overmantels of all our pretty
women, or in wax modelled in the study of the Sieur Curtius,
between M. de Voltaire and M. le Comte d’Estaing—this man in
short, so rare and so honoured, has thought fit to develop his
great talents in the theatre more worthy of his glory than
the trestles of the Variétés Amusantes. He made his début on
the 22nd February 1780, a date for ever memorable, on the
stage of the Comédie-Italienne, in the rôles of the triplets
of Colalto.” (The three hunchbacks of Tabarin.) “Although on
that day there were several other interesting spectacles, and
notably the first performance of _Atys_, we cannot remember
ever to have seen in any of our theatres on the most remarkable
occasions, even during the triumph of M. de Voltaire, such
a concourse of spectators. There were as many people in the
wings and in the corridors as in the pit and boxes, and it was
necessary to turn away at the door a number far in excess of
that which was admitted. What then was the success of a first
appearance which attracted such extraordinary attention? Upon
what depends the most brilliant of renowns? The object of so
fine an enthusiasm, the idol of the boulevards, transported
into this new temple, beholds there his honours tumbling about
him and his glory eclipsed. It was in vain that the crowd of
his adorers whom he had dragged after him never ceased to
applaud him and to shout with emotion, ‘Courage, Jeannot,
courage!’
“The illusion was dissipated. The Roscius of the fair seemed
here confounded in a crowd of the most ordinary actors. He was
found to be out of countenance, his voice was harsh, his play
not only common and trivial, but further, cold and destitute
of humour. It would seem that his countenance and voice cannot
lend themselves save to expressions of the lowest and most
stupid; such a character he was able to portray with a very
arresting naturalness, but it is the only character that fits
him; in other rôles he has not even the merit of being a good
caricature. Although this judgment was passed upon him at
that first performance yet all Paris flocked to see him, and
his mere début alone was the source of greater profit to the
Comédie-Italienne than all the other novelties of the year put
together. Oh, Athenians! This is not the first of your follies;
and if the gods are propitious to you it will not be the last.”
“I am not acquainted” (says Mademoiselle Clairon in her memoirs) “with
an actor in the forain shows known as Volange; but all Paris is unanimous
on the subject of the perfection of his talent at the Variétés Amusantes.
He was induced to appear at the Comédie-Italienne, where the work and the
talent may perhaps not be compared with those of the Comédie-Française;
but in that setting, this Volange, elsewhere so famous, was unable to
sustain comparison with the least of the comedians.”
vi
The modern JOCRISSE, whom the Piedmontese and the Milanese seem to have
copied from their Gianduja, and who seems to be a very recent personage,
dates nevertheless from the seventeenth century, for in 1625 we see him
parading the trestles in all his traditional stupidity. The same is the
case with Gringalet who, in 1634, at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, played the
parts of servant and served as interlocutor to Guillot-Gorju when the
latter desired to address the public.
Lajingeole, so well known in the marionette theatres, and in the
nineteenth century restored to the proper stage in _L’Ours_ and _Le
Pacha_, also dates from the commencement of the reign of Louis XIII.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century the Boulevard du Temple had
two famous dolts, Bobèche and Galimafré. Under his red coat and his grey
three-cornered hat, surmounted by a butterfly, Bobèche was the king of
farce. His reputation was colossal and his successes were very often due
to coarse truths and to malicious allusions which several times earned
him a reprimand from the police. Bobèche would frequently perform at
the houses of great lords, of ministers and of bankers. He toured the
provinces and in the end undertook the management of a theatre at Rouen.
Galimafré never enjoyed the fame of Bobèche; he was rather a sort of
Pagliaccio, and his talent was more appreciated by the lower orders,
who preferred his heavy stupidities to the subtler malice of Bobèche.
Galimafré left the theatre without, however, leaving the stage. He became
a stage-hand at the Opéra-Comique. In that office he was frequently
treated with disdain by those who did not know that this man who turned a
frame or set up a wing had held a crowd in ecstasy before him.
XII
ISABELLE
We have seen that in the company of the very famous Ruzzante there
existed an actress of the name of Fiorina, which may have been her own
or assumed for the purposes of the theatre. This name was often bestowed
by Ruzzante and many subsequent authors—such as Tarabosco in 1560 and
Calmo in 1553—upon the leading lady. Now it is Fiora, the sweet village
girl, so beautiful that Ruzzante is dying of love for her in his piece
_La Fiorina_; now it is Fiorinetta, the courtesan apprentice whom love
preserves from vice, and renders worthy of pardon.
This FIORINETTA is the Philenium of Demophilus and of Plautus, brought
to light for the second time in the sixteenth century and transformed to
suit the tastes of the Renaissance. It is very interesting to follow the
transformation of this type. In the ancient theatre Philenium is no more
than a courtesan in love. Argyrippus is certainly not her first lover,
and probably will not be her last. She resigns herself to a division
of her favours between father and son, after having lowered herself to
flatter and to caress two slaves. She submits to all this vileness out of
love for the young man.
Fiorinetta is interesting in a very different fashion, and Ruzzante’s
piece is better than that of Plautus. All the world knows the _Asinaria_,
whilst Ruzzante’s _Vaccaria_ is almost unknown. We will give an outline
of it. Like Demænetus, Placido is a gentleman married to a rich wife
who has kept the administration of her fortune, and who causes her
revenues to be governed by a steward, modelled upon the dotal slave of
the _Asinaria_. Placido complains to his servant Truffo (the Libanus of
Plautus) that he has spent his life in tutelage, and that he is still a
_uomo fresco_—that is to say, a dashing fellow, addicted to pleasure, who
in the midst of opulence has never been able to enjoy anything. Madonna
Rospina deprived him of everything, and, through the authority of her
virtue, becomes the torment of the house and the family.
“I am not ignorant,” he says, “of the fact that my son Flavio
is in love with Fiorinetta, and that he has been living with
her for a year. I am not at all perturbed; it is the best
possible liaison. He is too young to marry. I want him to
settle down as late as possible. May God preserve him from such
an existence as mine. Let him profit by his youth. Fiorinetta
is not, thank God, a woman of religious inclinations, the most
dangerous form of mistress that exists; nor is she a married
woman, which again is a source of danger when the husband is
jealous; she is a child who loves him tenderly and who will
admit no other lovers. But her mother is a procuress who
wants to sell her daughter to the rich Polidoro because my
son has no more money to give her. Myself, I have no money.
My wife keeps everything under lock and key, and her steward
is incorruptible. It is necessary, my dear Truffo, that you
should exercise your arts to rob me—that is to say, to purloin
from my wife the sum necessary to my son so that for a year to
come he may not be troubled in the exclusive possession of his
mistress.
“Go, then, my dear Truffo. You have my authority for any
knavery. I am not one of those grumbling and turbulent old
men who proceed in such a way as to cause their death to be
desired. I wish to be my son’s best friend and to do for him
what in other days my father did for me.”
Fiorinetta loves Flavio. She loves him ingenuously and with all her soul.
She does not say, like Philenium to Cleæretu: “Permit me to prefer him to
all my lovers.” She says: “I want no lover other than himself.”
FIORINETTA. What do you want of me, mother?
CELEGA. You have again, to my misfortune, allowed Flavio to
enter the house by the garden gate. I did not wish to say
anything to you in his presence. But answer me now: Is it
possible that you do not wish to believe what I have told you?
You know nevertheless that what I tell you is always true.
When for the first time you received the caresses of Flavio of
which you were afraid, having never received those of any man,
I told you not to fear. Did I deceive you, seeing that you find
yourself so much in love with him?
FIORINETTA. It is more than true, my mother.
CELEGA. Very well, then, why do you not heed me now when I tell
you not to allow him to come again? Since he has nothing more
to give us he will ruin you.
FIORINETTA. Because I am unable to send him away in this
fashion. Because loving him I do not wish to hurt him by
leaving him. It is as if someone were to bid me to cease loving
you as my mother. That were impossible.
CELEGA. It is a fine thing if you contrast the affection you
bear your mother to that of a lover. I shall be compelled,
until you become a great lady, to go and beg, for the simple
reason that your lover will not turn his steps elsewhere. You
think he loves you? It is the pleasure that you give him that
he loves and not yourself! With me it is different.
FIORINETTA. He would weep too much, he would sigh too much. He
has so often sworn to love me. He has spoken so many promises.
CELEGA. Tears and sighs are very light proofs of love, and
oaths are always on the lips of lovers. I have never known
tears and sighs and oaths to proceed from any but those who
have nothing to give. Those who spend do not weep. You wish to
please Flavio and to belong to him alone. It is all very well,
my daughter, for a rich woman to have one only lover; but you
are not in such case.
FIORINETTA. Since he has been good to me in the past must I be
ungrateful to him?
CELEGA. The past is as nothing. But let us suppose then that
Flavio loves you. Do you think, perchance, that things will
always remain as they are? You are deceived. As soon as your
countenance begins to change so will his ideas change.
FIORINETTA. Oh! I have no fear of that.
CELEGA. That which we do not fear comes more quickly than that
which we do fear. Consider now: what do you find lacking in
Messer Polidoro that a rich man should have?
FIORINETTA. He is ugly and unpleasant. I have never seen a more
hideous face.
CELEGA. He is so rich that his wealth conceals all his faults.
I can think of nothing uglier and more unpleasant than a man
without money.
FIORINETTA. He is diseased.
CELEGA. Now there’s a misfortune! When a young man is seen
to be a little pale, with a scratch in his leg or a lump on
his arm one cries at once: He is ill! But I shall not say
another word. Do as you please and you shall always be a poor
unfortunate; do as I tell you and you shall soon be rich and
a great lady. Look at Nina, who a little time ago was going
barefoot and in rags through taverns and other disreputable
places, and who to-day is the owner of so many silken gowns and
so many collars of pearls, and has so many servants to do her
will.
FIORINETTA. Have patience. The next time that Flavio comes I
will talk of it with him.
CELEGA. Fool! Know that if you persist in loving him who has
nothing to give you, all the others will be equally close. Our
future lies in competition. I have already told you a hundred
times what you should do. Should anyone present you with a
necklace, a ring or anything else, show it immediately to all,
so that another, not desiring to seem less rich, shall make
you a present of greater value. It is necessary to know how to
receive each and how to talk with everyone so as to lead all to
suppose that you are in love with them.
FIORINETTA. You want me to love all the world as I love Flavio?
CELEGA. I did not say love all, but pretend to do so.
FIORINETTA. My mother, that were too painful a life. I could
never pretend the contrary of what I feel and of what is in my
heart. I think that it is better to marry, and I wish to lead a
purer existence than that which you suggest.
In a later scene between Fiorinetta and her lover, she shows herself as
passionate as she was meek and gentle with her mother.
FLAVIO. Why do you not let me go, dear heart? Why do you retain
me? Is it so as to increase the pain which I must experience
when I leave you?
FIORINETTA. Can you believe that I am anxious to let my soul
depart from me?
FLAVIO. Mine will remain with you, for you are the asylum of
all its joys and all its happiness.
FIORINETTA. How can it remain with me since I no longer exist
without Flavio?
FLAVIO. Nevertheless your mother wishes to separate us.
FIORINETTA. I may occasion grief to my mother, but nothing
shall separate me from you.
FLAVIO. When this new lover stands before you with all his
money your sentiments will change, perhaps.
FIORINETTA. Flavio, you must not say such things to me. Not all
the gold in the world could suffice to change my sentiments
towards you. My heart is not for sale like merchandise in
the open market, and if the love which I bear you were not
sufficient to cause me to persevere in my purpose, my mother’s
project would be. She wishes to separate me from you—from you,
the only thing in all the world that I love! She shall not long
rejoice in the possession of me, I shall stab myself to the
heart or otherwise rid myself of life.
FLAVIO. No, you must live. Let me die, for if I were deprived
of you I should be deprived of life’s greatest happiness. Joys
and pleasures shall never be wanting in your life.
FIORINETTA. You want me to live, but existence without you
would be worse than death. Tell me what pleasure could be a
pleasure for me without Flavio? What joy could be a joy, what
delight could be a delight for me without you?
FLAVIO. If in my death there were not the death of every hope
of seeing you again, which is the greatest good of all, know,
my heart, that no one would die more gladly than I, able to
glorify himself in dying of love for the most beautiful woman
nature ever created.
FIORINETTA. If I should ever happen to survive you, Flavio,
know that my life would be so bitter and full of torments that
death must seem a sweet thing by comparison. But, so that it
shall not be said that I should ever experience any other
pleasure after your death, I should make an effort to live
and to prolong this miserable existence so that my sufferings
should compensate me a little for the loss of a lover as dear
as you. Listen, Flavio, render me the most pious service in
your power, take your sword and pass it through my heart. Life
is dear to me only on your account, it belongs to you, it is
your thing: if you want to die, bear it with you.
FLAVIO. Oh! beloved lady, if rather I could but join my soul
to yours so as to make but one! Gladly would I strip myself of
life to give it to you. Would not that be the best use to which
it could be put?
FIORINETTA. You increase my happiness and my life by attaching
your lips to mine.
FLAVIO. Delicious lips! Am I unfortunate enough?
FIORINETTA. Hold your Fiorinetta in your arms, my Flavio!...
Flavio, I am dying.... Help!
Vezzo and Truffo run on to assist in restoring her to consciousness; but
Vezzo says that he has no rose-water, and Truffo, who has sold his shoes
to keep Celega quiet with the money, is unable to buy any.
FLAVIO. Listen, Fiorinetta, my beloved: is this a proof of the
love you say you bear me, this desire to be the first to die?
Why do you not open your loving eyes? Do not conceal from me
the light of my life. Is it not enough already that I should
have to weep for my own misfortunes without your increasing
them? Fiorinetta! You do not answer your Flavio! Answer me!
Truffo and Vezzo run from side to side seeking something by means of
which to restore her to consciousness. Truffo suddenly shouts: “Return
to life, we have the money!” Flavio, happy to know that they have been
able to purloin from the steward the money which is to appease Celega
and render them both happy, says: “We have no further reason to be
sorrowful—do you hear? They have brought the money.”
FIORINETTA. Beautiful heaven! Where am I?
FLAVIO. In the arms of your Flavio.
FIORINETTA. Flavio, why do you not let me die? I should die so
happily in your arms!
Truffo and Vezzo reflect upon the fact that money is more potent than
rose-water to conquer swoons.
FLAVIO (_to FIORINETTA_). Take courage, my life, my love. In
spite of adverse fortune we shall be happier than ever. (_To
the servants._) But which of you two has the money?
In Plautus’s play, Libanus and Leonida, the two cunning slaves, compelled
the young couple to desire the money for some time. The result is a
burlesque scene of an incredible coarseness, in which the master is
compelled to embrace the knees of one of his slaves and to bear the other
on his shoulders. Philenium is condemned to caress them, which does not
seem to cost her any very great effort, for she herself offers them her
kisses, and is spontaneously prodigal of the most tender epithets.
Fiorinetta is too chaste, and Flavio too seriously enamoured to admit
of this. The scene is no less comical in consequence of a long and very
humorous story related in dialect and as a duet by Vezzo and Truffo,
whose only purpose is to render the two lovers impatient. In the end,
after having appeared to doubt the word of his young master, Vezzo exacts
that he shall tenderly embrace his mistress by way of an inviolable oath.
Thereafter he considers himself assured of his master’s protection in the
dangers he has incurred to serve him.
In the _Asinaria_, Demænetus, the father of the lover, demands and
obtains the favours of Philenium as the price of his complacence. The
young man consents to it to ensure the continuance of his pleasures. The
old man’s cross-grained wife surprises this orgy, trounces the son and
threatens the father, whilst driving him off with blows. It is a scene of
gross realism.
Ruzzante is also a realist. He calls things by their names and does not
cloak the brutal and licentious morals of his day. But he belongs to the
Renaissance; his spirit tends to the ideal, and he completes the destiny
of the courtesan by a fifth act of his own creation, which is certainly
the best of the piece.
[Illustration]
After having ably softened the monstrosities of the ancient text so as
to preserve that which is comical—as for instance turning the old man’s
desire for the courtesan into a simple pleasantry, so that it may serve
as a lesson to his son, and making the son’s submission no more than a
feint, with the mental reservation to withdraw Fiorinetta in time from
this opprobrium—Ruzzante enters into romantic developments.
The mother of Flavio, Madonna Rospina, pauses on the threshold of
the house of Celega at the moment of blazing out. She recovers her
self-possession, and with great prudence and dignity accuses herself
of being the cause of all the evil. She has been wanting in indulgence
and liberality; she has driven her son to despair, her husband to vice
and her servants to theft. She goes to Celega, and shows her so much
gentleness and pity that this miserable woman repents her, and withdraws
to a convent, after having confessed that Fiorinetta is not her daughter,
but a child fallen into her hands during the fortunes and turmoil of war.
The wars to which she alludes are those of Charles VIII. and Louis XII.
Thus we behold Fiorina purged of this sordid relationship with Celega,
and the effect of her constancy is to bear good fruit in the forgiveness
of the mother of her lover and the repentance of her own supposed mother.
The manner in which Celega excuses herself for her evil designs is
arresting:
CELEGA. Know, lady, that under pressure of the miseries of
life good thoughts frequently disappear. That is the fault
of fortune which with reason is said to be blind. I say this
for myself, who, not that I might become rich, but so that I
might avoid the horrors of want, have done what has been seen.
Nevertheless when this child fell into my hands, I had nothing
but good will for her. But the little care shown by the great
and powerful for the poor in the world wrought a change in me.
And then the might of the great misleads us; we don’t know how
to refuse them what they exact. What could I do to preserve
this child from a cavalier as great and as noble as your son?
Celega disappears and Madonna Rospina calls her son: “It would be
impossible,” she says, “for me not to be anxious whilst knowing you to be
wandering about in this carnival time. Go seek your mistress, and conduct
her to our house. Later on you shall learn the good intentions that I
have in mind.”
FLAVIO. I know now that there is no love like that of a mother.
Oh, mother! mother! in what language, in what words should I be
able to please you as you deserve!
Here follows an excellent scene, in the highest degree amusing, between
Placido and Rospina, the father and mother of Flavio. The husband
rejoices in the happy change which has taken place in his wife. He says
that the most favourable things are those which are least expected.
ROSPINA. You are right, Placido; for who could have foreseen a
thousand years ago that Flavio would have married a wife to-day?
PLACIDO. What are you saying?
ROSPINA. Very soon you shall see Fiorinetta here to celebrate
the wedding.
PLACIDO. And you would consent to such a thing?
ROSPINA. Why not?
PLACIDO. Do you consider her a suitable wife for our son?
ROSPINA. I have heard you say that given that a woman were
suited to rejoice the soul of her husband, she should be chosen
without regard to her birth.
PLACIDO. But this girl has no dowry.
ROSPINA. How often have I not heard you curse those who seek
a great dowry, and who thereby bind themselves in cords that
deprive them of their liberty?
PLACIDO. That was said only in jest.
ROSPINA. But Flavio has taken it seriously.
PLACIDO. And will you suffer this?
ROSPINA. I shall do by him as I have seen you do.
PLACIDO. Do so then; but as for me, I shall never give my
consent to it.
ROSPINA. You will, and you will even go so far as to open the
nuptial ball if necessary.
PLACIDO. Not so. I shall withdraw to the country during the
event.
ROSPINA. Come, put a good face on the matter, and rejoice in
the thought of the happy days that are to come.
PLACIDO. You will have it so? Very well then, so be it!
A great ball is given, and the piece concludes with songs and dances.
This _Vaccaria_ of Ruzzante is extremely remarkable, especially since
discarding all the ancient grossness of the _Asinaria_ he has been able
to extract from it a romantic and amusing piece invested with a humour
more naïve and more natural than that of the original. In the story of
Fiorinetta brought up in evil by Celega and becoming, by virtue of her
sentiments, her constancy and sincerity, the legitimate wife of the
handsome Flavio, one might perceive the rehabilitation of the courtesan.
But one would be at fault. Fiorinetta is not, and never has been, a
courtesan, especially a courtesan of that epoch. She has neither the
ways nor the sentiments of one. A trafficker contrives that in spite of
herself she shall make the acquaintance of a man. He was young, handsome,
lovable and sincerely enamoured. She becomes attached to him; she would
have died rather than belong to another. Madonna Rospina, in marrying
her to her son, did no more than restore the honour which her son had
taken from the girl. The mother of Flavio would never have received the
ancient courtesan Philenium into her house.
The costume of Fiorinetta must have been very beautiful and in the best
of taste. It was an age in which refinements of toilet filled the most
important place in the life of a woman. “I know perfectly,” says Isotta
in _L’Anconitana_ of Ruzzante, “how to embroider collars in gold and
silk. I know how to dress a lady, and what colours are more advantageous
to dark women and to blondes; also what garments are best attuned to
go with liveries and devices. I know what colours signify love, hope,
jealousy and other things of the same kind. I know how the _faldigie_ are
to be worn, how the fringed head-dress suits best, whether it conceals
all the hair, whether it leaves an inch or two displayed; I know what
women are enhanced by earrings, and whether it is better to wear pearls
or plain gold in girdles and rings, as well as the different kinds of
corset to render the appearance of the throat more delicate, or more or
less to display the breast. I know what collars, carcanets, gold chains
and strands of pearls render a woman more imposing. I also know the kinds
of rings to adorn the fingers; how a woman should walk, how she should
laugh, turn her eyes, drop a curtsy, and what movements denote grace and
modesty; how to adorn the dress of the woman of fashion, how to combine
fabrics of different colours so as to obtain the richest effect. Some
women wear their hair hidden, or combed in so level a manner that each
hair lies beside its fellow; others wear it in a sort of disorder which
renders them more graceful and more beautiful, etc.”
The taste of the Renaissance was, more than that of any other age, based
upon an imitation of the Greeks and the Romans. The actresses did not
wear the dresses of their own time save under pressure in contemporary
pieces. All comedies which were a few years old became _ancient_, and
were represented in the ancient manner—that is to say, in fancy costumes
such as are to be seen in the pictures by painters of this epoch.