Fulvius, pronounced lost by the doctors in consequence of an abscess in
the breast, determined in his despair to go and get himself killed in
war. In battle he received a lance-thrust exactly in the middle of his
abscess, and this wound cured him immediately of his alleged incurable
ill. The very contrary happened to the consul Cneus Ruffinus, an old
warrior, who died in consequence of a comb’s tooth penetrating his head
whilst he was combing himself. Are we to argue from these events that
he who wishes to be well should go to war, and that none should ever
comb himself under pain of death? I have seen sick men despaired of by
their doctors, drink wine and recover health. Shall we therefore give
wine to all sick men that they may be cured? A cripple who could never
walk without crutches, slipped and fell; a passing vehicle ran over his
legs at that moment and broke them both, as a consequence he was so
thoroughly cured that thereafter he could walk without crutches. Is it
therefore necessary that he who is crippled or lame should go and throw
himself under vehicles so as to recover? It is very possible that some
undesirable events may have taken place in the theatre. But is that a
reason why one should not visit them? Two or three trees do not make a
forest, and a man may die as becomingly in the theatre as elsewhere.
“In Italy the customs of one town are very different from those of
another. In Naples a woman will call a man familiarly ‘my treasure’ or
‘my handsome fellow’ and other similar names, whilst in Lombardy such
terms are not uttered save between lovers, or else are employed only
by courtesans. To kiss a married woman in Naples is an insult to be
washed out in blood, whilst in Piedmont it is considered a very trivial
matter, and is deemed between acquaintances a proof of friendship or
a mark of reverence. In some countries it is customary for women to
salute strangers in this fashion; in others it were an impoliteness. In
certain parts of the Marches the women seem almost hostile to the male
sex, and they envelop themselves in their garments almost to the point
of concealing their countenances. In Venice young girls are dressed
entirely in white and widows entirely in black, and in such a fashion as
not to allow one to see their faces, which are beautiful, for there the
handsomest women are to be found. In other countries it is fashionable
for ladies to display the throat and part of the breast, whilst in others
again they are covered to the neck; and yet all alike are honourable
women. A fisherman will go half naked through the streets, as will also
a wool-worker. What in some would be licentious is rendered by custom
perfectly becoming in others. To see the naked feet and a little of the
leg of a beautiful lady seems to be a great affair, whilst washerwomen
and poor peasant girls display naked feet and legs without exciting the
least comment. Nevertheless a woman’s honour is everywhere the same. Why
should the one give scandal and not the other? Custom is answerable. Thus
is it with women who play in comedy; we know that the love speeches which
they utter are no more than fictions, which cannot be held to corrupt the
soul, since in uttering them an actress but conforms with the custom of
her art.”
iv
“Here come the coaches of Ferrara and Bologna! This way, sirs! This
way, illustrious gentlemen! Where are the baggages? I will take charge
of everything. Will your Excellencies lodge at the _Three Moors_, at
the _Golden Shield_, at the _Royal Hostelry_, at the _Pelican_, or
elsewhere? I will conduct you where you will. I am a faithful and
dependable man. Shall I carry your saddle bags? Mind that pool of water!
This way, my lords! Ficchueto! Fenocchio! Come and fetch the trunks,
portmantles, baggages, cloaks, swords and all the effects (_tutta la
roba_) of these gentlemen! Do you require a pleasant agreeable valet
who understands all things, or perhaps a _cicerone_? Here I am, my
masters! My services are at your disposal. I ask nothing but the honour
of being your servant, and you shall pay me what you please. Will your
Excellencies dine forthwith? Or perhaps you would prefer to whet the
appetite before supper? Here, sir host! Put all your dishes in the oven,
I am bringing you travellers of quality!” (_And in a whisper_:) “I am
to have half your profits or I shall proclaim your inn the hovel of a
poisoner.”
Thus SCAPINO.
Sometimes travellers will have none of him, telling him that they are not
making a stay, and giving him perhaps a few coppers to be rid of him and
his speeches. In such case he will set down the baggages and cloaks in
the middle of a brook, and walk off shrugging his shoulders in contempt
and pity.
“What misers! (_Che cacastechi!_) What needy fellows! (_Che bisognosi!_)”
Nevertheless Scapino is less of a rascal than his father Brighella. Where
Brighella would freely ply his dagger, Scapino will but ply hands and
feet, and more often still no more than his legs, for he is a thorough
coward, and he will not give the lie to the etymology of his name
Scappino, which is derived from _scappare_, to escape.
Always a valet, he frequently changes his master; he is an intriguer,
a wit, a garrulous fellow and a fluent liar. He bears a very evil
reputation. He is a humbug (_un imbroglione_), a beggar and more or less
of a thief, but greatly in favour with soubrettes. These young ladies
find it impossible to amuse themselves without him. Scapin is a character
that has been treated in a masterly manner by the hand of Molière. His
name is the French equivalent of Brighella. They are one and the same
personage, wearing the same costume and endowed with the same natures.
In France Brighella lost his original name and modified his costume in
the early part of the seventeenth century. Fundamentally, however, he
remained unchanged in all but the label.
Caillot, in his _Petits Danseurs_, represents the Italian Scapino of his
day, dressed like Fritellino, in ample garments with mask and beard,
plumed hat, cloak and wooden sword. It was in such raiment that Dionis of
Milan, the director of a troupe, played the parts of lackey in 1630.
But, upon being introduced to the French stage by Molière and Regnard,
Scapin’s costume became mixed with that of Beltrame, Turlupin and
Jodelet. He discarded the mask, assumed garments striped green and white,
his traditional colours, and became Gros-René, with powdered face,
Mascarille, La Violette, Sganarelle, etc.
Molière, upon being reproached with the follies of Scapin, replied: “I
saw the public quit _Le Misanthrope_ for Scaramouche; I entrusted Scapin
with the task of bringing them back again.”
The Italian Scapino, who appeared on the Italian stage in Paris in
1716, resumed the costume of Brighella, slightly modernised, and he
perpetuated the rôles created by the ancient Briguelle and by Mezzetin.
Giovanni Bissoni played these parts in the troupe of 1716. Born in
Bologna, he became an actor at the age of fifteen. He was engaged as a
clown in a small troupe under the management of a certain Girolamo, a
charlatan who sold his unguents by the aid of his farces, in 1681. After
a short while Bissoni found himself as wise as his master. He became
first his partner and afterwards his competitor. He set out to sell his
unguents in Milan; but, finding himself forestalled there by another, and
being in danger of starving, he bethought him of a stratagem which was
successful.
He set up his trestles in an open place near that in which his rival was
operating. He boasted with emphasis the efficacy of his drugs. “But why
should I boast of them?” he asked the crowd. “You know all my remedies;
they are the same as those of the operator, my neighbour here, for I am
his son.”
Thereupon he proceeded to invent a very likely story. He related that
this rigorous parent had cursed him, on account of certain youthful
follies, had driven him from home and refused to recognise him. This
speech was reported to the other operator. Bissoni, profiting by the
emotion of the crowd, went with a penitent air and a countenance bathed
in tears, to throw himself on his knees before his pretended father and
to implore pardon for his faults. The other maintained the fictitious
character imposed on him far beyond all hopes that Bissoni could have
entertained: he called him fool and rogue, and protested that, far from
being his father, he did not even know him. The higher rose the anger of
that operator against the swindle perpetrated by Bissoni, the more did
the people become concerned in the fate of this poor youngster, until in
the end they were so deeply moved that they not only purchased all his
drugs, but made him presents in addition.
Bissoni, satisfied with his success, and fearing lest the truth should
come to light, hastened to depart from Milan. Soon afterwards he
abandoned the trade of charlatan and joined an itinerant troupe in
which he played the parts of Scapin. Later he entered the service of M.
Albergotti, as _maître d’hôtel_, travelled in France with him, and then
returned to Italy. It was there that Riccoboni found him when he was
assembling the company for the Regent of France, and he engaged him for
the Comédie-Italienne to play _Zanni_ parts. His talent was mediocre but
he continued in this employment until his death, in May of 1723, at the
early age of forty-five. He bequeathed all of which he died possessed to
Riccoboni, who had frequently rendered him good service.
On the 2nd September 1739 Alessandro Ciavarelli, born in Naples, made his
début at the Comédie-Italienne in the part of Scapino.
“Ciavarelli met tant de grâces
Quand il représente Scapin,
Qu’à ses lazzi, à ses grimaces,
On le prendrait pour Arlequin.”
In 1769, Camerani, a very mediocre actor, enjoyed nevertheless a sort of
celebrity for his singular capers, and his gluttony, which was the cause
of his death. He succumbed to an indigestion of _pâté de foie gras_.
The principal authors had entered into an agreement to obtain from the
Théâtre-Italien an increased remuneration for their rights. Camerani
pronounced himself against them at the meeting held by the actors,
delivering himself on that occasion of the following witticism:—“Sirs,
take care. I have already been telling you for some time that as long as
there are authors comedy will never thrive.”
v
Giovanni Gherardi, of Prato in Tuscany, went to Paris in 1675 to replace,
under the name of FLAUTINO, the Brighella of the Italian troupe. He made
his début in _Arlecchino Pastore di Lemnos_.
Giovanni Gherardi was a good actor; he was extremely comical, he played
the guitar perfectly and imitated various wind instruments with his
throat. He was in himself a whole orchestra.
He remained a very short time in the theatre. His depraved morals led
him into trouble. He was imprisoned and upon his liberation immediately
quitted France. He left one son, Evaristo Gherardi, the famous Harlequin.
vi
GRADELINO is another variant of the type of Brighella. It was under this
name, already known in Italy, that Constantino Constantini went to play
in Paris in 1687.
Constantino Constantini was a member of a good family of Verona; he had
set up a factory and was a discoverer of several chemical secrets for
the dyeing of cloth. Having fallen in love with a comedienne, not only
did he quit his country and his business to follow her, but further
induced his legitimate wife and children to accompany him. Thus in
the wake of that actress he wandered through Italy under the name of
Gradelino, accompanied by his two sons, Angelo Constantini (_Mezzetin_)
and Gian-Battista Constantini (_Ottavia_). When his mistress died,
Constantini went to Paris to display there his accomplishments, which
were very real, and had already earned him the greatest success in Italy.
He conceived the unfortunate notion to sing on the Parisian stage a song
composed in Italy against the French. He was so thoroughly booed and
hooted, notwithstanding his talent, that he never dared to show himself
again.
vii
The earliest MEZZETINI date from the end of the sixteenth century, and
had their birth in the _Gelosi_ company. They then wore white linen
garments, a mask, a hat, a cloak and the wooden sabre of the ancient
_Zanni_. Thus they are depicted by Caillot. They were then no more
than simple variants of Scapino and Brighella; their costume was the
same, their name only was different. But when, at the beginning of the
seventeenth century, the rôles of _Zanni_ assumed a greater importance,
the actors who played them adapted their costumes to the tastes of their
day, both when they preserved the original type intact and when they
modified it.
Angelo Constantini was the first to dress the character of Mezzetin in
the striped red and white garments which became characteristic of him.
He had been received into the old troupe in 1682 to double Domenico
Biancolelli in the rôle of Harlequin; perceiving that the troupe had no
second _Zanni_, no Brighella, he took up that character, and borrowed
from the Italian and French buffoons, his predecessors, this striped
costume traditional of the _Sannionnes_ of antiquity. He discarded the
mask which had been worn by Brighella, Beltrame, Scapin and all the
earlier _Zanni_, both Italian and French. We know that Molière himself
long played lackey parts under a mask. Constantini fashioned the cut of
his garments after the mode of his day, whilst preserving the striped
fabric.
After the death of Domenico, Mezzetin wore the lozenges of Harlequin and
played the same rôles until the arrival of Evaristo Gherardi. Mezzetin
then resumed his livery and his character of shrewd lackey, acting
sometimes on his own account, playing the parts of deceived or deceiving
husbands such as Sganarelle, sometimes appearing as the servant of
Ottavio or of Cinthio.
Angelo Constantini, the son of Constantino Constantini, after spending
his youth playing in Italy, went to Paris in 1682, and made his first
appearance there in _Arlequin Protée_, in the rôle of Glaucus-Mezzetin,
whilst Domenico played Protée-Arlequin.
When it fell to his lot to replace Domenico, Constantini received from
the hands of Columbine, in a scene prepared _ad hoc_, the garments
and the mask of Harlequin. He retained this rôle for a very long
time, but he always played it under his own name of Mezzetin. As his
countenance, despite its great swarthiness, was comely and mobile, and
as he was beloved of the public, the entire audience rose, and, by way
of manifesting its esteem for him, shouted: “No mask! No mask!” As a
consequence Constantini performed without mask until Evaristo Gherardi
came to make his début as Harlequin, and to appropriate the character on
his first appearance. Constantini then returned to his rôles of Mezzetin
and continued in them until the theatre was closed in 1697.
The brothers Parfait tell the following story of Constantini:—“It is
worth while to relate a thing that happened to him at the house of M.
le Duc de Saint-Agnan. He had dedicated a play to this nobleman, who
was in the habit of paying generously for such dedications; with the
object of receiving the recompense he hoped for, he presented himself
one morning at the duke’s house; but the porter, suspecting the object
of his visit, refused to allow him to enter. Mezzetin, to overcome this
refusal, offered him a third of such recompense as he might receive
from his master, and out of consideration for this promise was allowed
to pass. On the stairs he met the head lackey, who proved no less
intractable than the porter. Mezzetin promised him another third, and
was thus introduced into the ducal apartments. There he found the duke’s
valet, who showed himself still more inflexible than the other two, and
was with difficulty overcome by a promise of the last remaining third. In
this fashion nothing was left for poor Mezzetin who, upon beholding the
duke, ran to him and cried: ‘My lord! here is a theatrical piece which
I take the liberty of presenting to you, and for which I beg that you
will compensate me by ordering that I be given a hundred lashes.’ This
extraordinary request amazed the duke, who demanded to know the reason
of it. ‘It is, my lord,’ said Mezzetin, ‘that to contrive to reach your
presence I have been compelled to promise to your porter, to your lackey
and to your valet each one third of whatever you may have the goodness to
give me.’ The duke severely reprimanded his servants, and sent a hundred
louis to the wife of Mezzetin, who had entered into no promises.”
The Mezzetin of the plays of Gherardi, although generally softened in his
ways, is often the real Brighella of other days, with all his villainy.
MEZZETIN (_to ISABELLE_). Come now, my beauty, tell the truth.
Is it not true that you would very willingly become my better
half? Look now, consider me—my air, my carriage! Eh? I grow
angry when I observe these little embryos attempting to enter
into competition with me.
ISABELLE. They must indeed have lost their wits. They are very
amusing marionettes.
MEZZETIN. No matter for that. Let us speak of the happiness in
store for us.
ISABELLE. These are calculations in which we are sometimes
mistaken, and it is not often that we find in marriage all the
happiness that we had expected.
MEZZETIN. I am gentle, peaceful, easy to live with, my humour
is silk and velvet. I lived six years with my first wife
without ever having the slightest dispute.
ISABELLE. That is very extraordinary.
MEZZETIN. I quarrelled with her only once. I had taken snuff
and I wanted to sneeze; she caused me to miss my stroke. In my
anger I took up a candlestick and broke her head. She died a
quarter of an hour afterwards.
ISABELLE. Heavens! Is it possible?
MEZZETIN. That was the only difference we ever had, and it
didn’t last very long as you can see. If a woman is to die it
is better that she should die at the hands of her husband than
at those of a doctor, who charges heavy fees, and who may keep
her languishing perhaps for six months or a year. I cannot bear
to see people languishing.
ISABELLE. And can you think without horror of having committed
as black a crime as that?
MEZZETIN. I? Not at all. I am used to blood from my youth. My
father had a thousand affairs in his life, and he invariably
killed his man. He served the king for thirty-two years.
ISABELLE. On land or sea?
MEZZETIN. In the air.
ISABELLE. How in the air? I never heard of such employment.
MEZZETIN. It is that as he was of an extremely charitable
disposition, and whenever he happened to meet a doomed man on
his way to the gallows, he would get into the cart with him and
assist him to die in the best possible manner.
ISABELLE. Oh! Horror!
MEZZETIN. If you had but seen him at work you would have been
inclined to get yourself hanged.
ISABELLE. As these are perhaps family talents, you should have
taken up your father’s office.
MEZZETIN. I inclined considerably towards it; but, as you know,
it is necessary that a gentleman should travel.
ISABELLE. I perceive only one slight difficulty to our
marriage; it is that I am married already.
MEZZETIN. Married? Pooh! What of that? Shall that embarrass
you? I am also married, but there is nothing easier than to be
widowed; twopennyworth of rat-poison will do the business.
In other scenes of the same repertory, Mezzetin shines only in his
clownishness and cowardice.
ISABELLE (_as an inn servant, receiving MEZZETIN dressed
as a traveller and followed by HARLEQUIN, his lackey_).
Good-morning, gentlemen, what do you lack?
HARLEQUIN. Come along, my girl; a chamber, a fire and the best
food. I always put up willingly at a house where the wine is
good and the waiting-woman pretty.
ISABELLE. Sirs, you shall have all that you seek, nothing is
wanting here.
MEZZETIN (_presenting his booted leg to ISABELLE_). Now then,
my girl, off with my boots.
ISABELLE. Draw off your boots! Indeed, sir, that is not my
business.
MEZZETIN. Are you not also the ostler?
HARLEQUIN (_to MEZZETIN_). Now that seems a resolute girl. But
I think that she is ogling you a little.
MEZZETIN. The little rogue is pretty, faith. Come here, my
girl; are you married?
ISABELLE. No, sir, thank God. I have not that honour; it is not
a good year for girls. All the young men are at the war.
MEZZETIN (_becoming mincing_). If you would but repose me a
little from my warlike exploits? I have money.
ISABELLE. Good! I am very fortunate, I have never been tempted
by money. I prefer a man whom I like to all the treasures of
the world, and if you want me to speak frankly, I like your
valet better than yourself. (_She strikes HARLEQUIN in the
stomach with all her strength._)
HARLEQUIN. Ouf! Faith, the rogue has good taste. Come, sir,
withdraw. This is not meat for your birds. (_Pushing MEZZETIN
away._)
MEZZETIN (_approaching her_). The little rogue does not
appreciate my merit.
ISABELLE. I beg you, sir, again to be quiet. I do not like to
be mauled. If you wish to put up at the inn the door is open.
Otherwise—your very humble servant.
(_She attempts to enter the inn, MEZZETIN arrests her, seizing
one of her arms; CINTHIO, who has seen this, comes out of the
inn and rudely thrusts MEZZETIN aside._)
CINTHIO. By virtue of what, sir, if you please, do you permit
yourself liberties with this girl?
MEZZETIN. By virtue of what? By virtue of my good pleasure.
CINTHIO. Your pleasure! Listen to me, my ugly little fellow.
Don’t warm my ears for me because I might find _my_ pleasure in
something that would not please _you_.
MEZZETIN. Sir, that is not the way to address a Parisian
gentleman who returns from Flanders.
CINTHIO. You from Flanders?
HARLEQUIN (_who has been hiding round the corner out of fear,
approaching_). May the devil take us if we are not!
MEZZETIN (_standing squarely_). Oh no, we were not there when
our general issued his summons to the enemies; they did not
appear on the last day of July to plead on the battlefield. The
case was called and it lasted for eight hours, but by virtue of
good pieces of cannon which we carried we very quickly routed
the enemy. They attempted two or three times to appeal, but
they were always dislodged from their opposition and condemned
to pay expenses, damages, interests and costs. Ah! _and_ costs!
Well then, were we there? Oh no! I am but jesting!
CINTHIO. As far as I can see, sir, you have observed the battle
in some lawyer’s office. But I recommend you to go your ways
and not to look behind you.
MEZZETIN. Sir, have a care what you do. Should you insult
me.... (_He draws his sword, CINTHIO carries his hand to his
own hilt._)
CINTHIO. Well?
MEZZETIN (_hiding behind HARLEQUIN_). You will have to deal
with my lackey.
HARLEQUIN (_running off_). I am not obliged to get myself
killed in your place.
CINTHIO. Begone! I don’t deign to answer you. But if you come
ogling this girl again I’ll beat you to death. (_He flicks
MEZZETIN’S nose with his gloves and departs._)
MEZZETIN (_after CINTHIO has gone_). But he is going for all
that! (_To HARLEQUIN._) Heh! What do you think of it? I nailed
him all right, didn’t I?
Sometimes Mezzetin would sing in parodies, accompanying himself on the
guitar. Watteau painted him playing this instrument amid the various
actors of the Comédie-Italienne: Isabelle, Ottavio, Columbine, and the
rest.
He also sang and danced in allegorical costumes in the ballets which
concluded most of the plays, or, after having played the rôle of the
servant of Ottavio throughout the piece, he would disappear in the last
act to go and make up as an American Indian.
After the suppression of the theatre and the company in 1697, Constantini
set out for Germany to seek employment. He had found an engagement
in a company at Brunswick, when Augustus I., King of Poland, who had
heard of him, made him a proposal. Constantini accepted it, and found
himself charged by this prince with the formation of a company which
was alternately to play Italian comedy and sing Italian opera. He went
to France in 1698 to recruit his company, and discharged his mission so
well that in the following year Augustus I. named him chamberlain and
treasurer of his entertainments, and ennobled him.