enterprising Mezzetin fell in love with the king’s mistress, and declared
himself. Nor did he stop there; he set himself to depreciate the king
in the spirit of this lady. The lady, it is said, was indignant at the
insolence of the comedian. The king was informed of what had passed and
concealed himself in the lady’s chamber, where an assignation had been
given to Constantini. What happened no one knows beyond the fact that
Augustus came forth in a fury, sword in hand, threatening the comedian’s
death. “But probably he felt that it was not fitting that he should soil
his hands in the blood of a man who had betrayed him so unworthily.” He
ordered his arrest, and had him imprisoned in the castle of Königstein.
Mezzetin remained for twenty years in this fortress. At last another lady
of the court, who then enjoyed some influence over the heart of Augustus,
induced the King of Poland to visit his fortress-prison of state. There
she summoned Constantini, who appeared “with a beard which he had allowed
to grow ever since his arrest.” He flung himself at the king’s feet, but
notwithstanding that the lady added her supplications to the actor’s,
Augustus remained inexorable and refused the solicited mercy. This lady,
however, continued her efforts with such good result that a few months
later Constantini was restored to liberty. “All his property was restored
to him, but he was commanded to quit Dresden and the state of Saxony.”
Mezzetin set out for Verona, but he remained there only a little while.
Anxious to revisit Paris and to return to the stage where so long he had
played with success, he joined the new company of the Regent, and was
received into it with joy and surprise. He made arrangements with his old
comrades to perform in five or six pieces for the payment of a thousand
crowns, and he reappeared on the stage on the 5th February 1729.
In the _Mercure de France_ for the month of February 1729 you may read:
“The Sieur Angelo Constantini, a native of Verona, known
heretofore by the name of Mezzetin, a comedian of the old Hôtel
de Bourgogne, played in the same theatre, and made his début
in the rôles which he had erstwhile performed in the comedy
entitled _La Foire Saint-Germain_, originally presented in 1695.
“This piece was preceded by a prologue by the Sieur Lelio, the
son, of which the following is the subject:—
“Momus and Harlequin first make their appearance. Momus
complains that his place should so long have been abandoned.
He inquires of Harlequin the cause, and Harlequin imputes it
to the extreme love of the French for novelty. Momus promises
to remedy this difficulty by a novelty which shall surpass all
others. By his orders a venerable old man comes forward; he
explains that this is the Mezzetin of the old Italian theatre.
At a further order from the god who introduces him, and who
takes him under his protection, he casts aside his old man’s
robe, and appears in the garb of Mezzetin. Momus recites a
fable on the subject of old age. This fable does not at first
seem favourable to an old man of seventy-five, but Momus
consoles him with a tap from his bauble, thereby shedding upon
this beloved disciple a pleasant folly which is to take the
place of youth.”
Mezzetin then relates a dream which he has just had. He dreamed himself,
he says, in Paris, on the Italian stage; he beheld a guitar issuing from
the boards and he was singing again notwithstanding his great age. Whilst
he is relating this a guitar is, in fact, thrust upwards. He takes it,
tunes it and sings to his own accompaniment, addressing the groundlings:
“Mezzetin, par d’heureux talens,
Voudroit vous satisfaire;
Quoiqu’il soit dupuis très long-temps
Presque sexagénaire;
Il rajeunira de trente ans
S’il peut encor vous plaire.”
There was such a concourse of spectators that, notwithstanding that the
prices of admission had been doubled, as many people had to be turned
away as it was found possible to admit.
He gave five performances, and a few days later set out for Verona,
leaving in Paris “more creditors than reputation,” according to one of
his detractors. He died in Italy at the end of that same year, 1729.
Angelo Constantini had married in Italy Auretta, the daughter of Dorsi
and of the famous actress Angiola. Auretta was seen in Paris at the
Italian theatre of the Hôtel de Bourgogne; but she was not a success. Her
talents and appearance were only mediocre. Thence she went to Germany. Of
this marriage were born a daughter who became a nun at Chaumont, and a
son named Gabriele Constantini who played Harlequin in Italy.
viii
NARCISINO is a native of the town of Malalbergo, between Bologna and
Ferrara. The Bolognese, having already in the Doctor a character which
spoke the dialect of the educated classes, the actor Ricconi created,
towards the middle of the seventeenth century, another personage speaking
that of the lower orders—a dialect which is almost a different language
from that which is spoken still to-day. This character was, in the
seventeenth century, sometimes a stupid servant, sometimes a master;
further he would very often play the rôles of fathers and of guardians
usually imbecile, stupid, and as obstinate and malicious as possible. He
shared these duties with Tabarino and Fitoncello, rôles which, like those
of Beltrame and Sganarelle, served two purposes, and were created—or
rather reconstructed—by the actor Bigher, in Bologna.
Narcisino was still held in great esteem and enjoyed a great vogue in
Bologna at the beginning of the nineteenth century. His part was then a
singular one. He scarcely appeared at all in the course of the actual
plays, coming upon the stage merely to utter or perform some buffoonery
which had no connection with the scenic action.
Wearing a straw hat, his hair long like that of the peasants, dressed in
extremely wide coat and breeches, in red and green stripes, sometimes
with a cloak on his arm or a basket of fruit in his hand, he would
come during the entr’acte to perform an interlude and to chat with the
audience, criticising the manners of his day, and relating amusing
adventures of the suburbs and the country. He was a sort of Pasquino or
Bruscambille. He was accorded the right to say anything he chose, but he
was obliged to confine himself to generalisations, avoiding personalities
that were too pointed.
“Sirs! It must be confessed, and you will confess it with me I
am sure, that falsehood is a curious thing. Should there be any
liars in the theatre I beg them to have the goodness to depart
so that they may not hear what I am going to say.” (_He pauses
a moment._) “Well, then! Does no one depart? I see, sirs,
that we are all men of sincerity. I may tell you then between
men.... Ah! but I perceive some women yonder! All sincere and
frank ladies are entreated to remain; those who are addicted to
falsehood may return home to see whether the wine is turning
sour in their cellars.” (_A pause._) “Not a lady departs. Well
done, ladies! I see that I have round me nothing but frankness
and loyalty.” (_He goes to one side of the stage, stoops, and,
with his hand to his mouth, as if he were speaking secretly in
the ear of each_:) “I don’t believe it for a moment, but they
wish to be taken for something that they are not! Now, since
frankness and truth reign here, I will tell you in confidence
that women must imagine men to be far more stupid than they
are, to relate to them a heap of inventions which they have the
air of believing and of accepting as current coin until one day
when, weary of this tissue of diabolic invention, they dismiss
the lies together with the women who utter them.
“I ask you now, ladies (yes, it is to you in particular that
I address myself), is it not true that when you don’t even
so much as stir your tongues you still indulge in falsehood
by means of your raiment? I ask you whether it is not the
greatest falsehood that a woman could invent to lead us to
believe in the existence of that which she does not possess.
I see it every day. The thinnest women parade themselves in
petticoats of the rotundity of the cupola of Saint-Mark in
Venice. The streets of Bologna are now too narrow, for our
ladies are compelled to go afoot—there are no carriages capable
of containing them. I ask you what is the result of all this?
Under these mendacious cruppers what is there? Nothing!”
In another interlude he says: “Sirs, let all misers depart
quickly, lest they might employ their ears in listening to me!
Since no one budges I may speak freely. How foolish are those
people who spend some forty years of their lives in piling
farthing upon farthing to make halfpence, and halfpence upon
halfpence to make livres, and livres upon livres to make louis!
By the time that they have amassed sufficient for enjoyment
they can no longer make use of their fortune; old age has
exhausted them. Let the exhausted ones depart, I am going
to address young people in the prime of life. Oh, you young
fools, who think but of eating, drinking and making love! Is
that the aim of existence? I pause, sirs; we are in the theatre
and not at a sermon.” And, with a pirouette like that of
Stenterello, he disappears.
ix
There are several French characters derived from the type of Scapino,
among which the principal ones are Turlupin, Gandolin, Grattelard and
Jodelet.
TURLUPIN (unlucky, unfortunate) was created at the end of the sixteenth
century at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, by Henri Legrand. He played the
rôle for more than fifty years in a costume greatly resembling that of
Brighella in point of shape, and somewhat derived from that of Harlequin
in point of colour.
Turlupin was of great fecundity in quips, puns, cock-and-bull tales and
gibberish, and in that style of jests which derived from him the name of
_turlupinades_. Like most of the French comedians of his day he helped
himself to what he found available; but the most prolific source was
undoubtedly Rabelais.[3]
“He was an excellent comedian,” says Sauval; “his sallies were full of
wit, fire and judgment; in a word, he was short of nothing but a little
naïveté; and notwithstanding this, everyone confesses never to have
seen his like. Although florid he was a handsome well-made man, with a
pleasing countenance. He was astute, witty and amusing in conversation.”
He entered the theatre in 1583 and spent his life there, quitting it only
for the grave which was accorded him in the church of Saint-Sauveur in
1637.
In the French troupe at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, “Gros-Guillaume,” says
Tallemant, “was _le fariné_, Gaultier the old man, and Turlupin the
rogue. The latter also played the part of _Zanni_, who was regarded as
the facetious one of the company, and in that character he wore a costume
similar to that of Brighella, with the little cloak and pantaloon.”
Turlupin was a man of well-ordered life, a husband who would not suffer
his wife to enter the theatre, and who lived after the fashion of a
bourgeois. He devoted long hours to learning his rôles. “He studied his
trade assiduously, and it would happen sometimes that when a man of
quality who esteemed him invited him to dinner he would answer that he
must study.”
Louis Legrand, his son, upheld the celebrity of his father. He made his
début, under the same name of Turlupin, in December, 1620, and lived
until 1655.
x
GRATTELARD (1620), a French buffoon of the tabarinic farces, surnamed by
derision the Baron Grattelard, is another type of cunning lackey. His
costume is very similar to that of Trivelino. Like Trivelino he wears a
doublet and pantaloon in the Italian fashion, very wide and embroidered
with deep-coloured triangular designs upon a pale ground. He wears
also the half mask, the chin-piece and the skull cap, the wide pleated
collar, the lath and the light coloured shoes, a cap like Brighella’s but
no cloak. Above a portrait of this character lately discovered in the
Bibliothèque des Estampes the following distich is to be read:—
“Ma mime n’est belle ny bonne,
Et je vous jure sur ma foy
Qu’on peut bien se fier à moy,
Car je ne me fie à personne.”
The same engraving presents two other characters of the same
epoch—_Jasmin_ (a sort of Crispin) and _Jean Broche_ or _Boche_, who is
somewhat related to the Italian Doctors.
Already before Grattelard, other French buffoons had attached to their
theatre-names titles borrowed derisively from the nobility: _Le Comte de
Salles_, _Le Marquis d’Argencourt_, _Le Baron de Plancy_ and _Le Comte de
Permission_.
The most brilliant rôle of Grattelard is in the farce of _The Three
Hunchbacks_, a story drawn from the _Facétieuses Nuits_ of Straparole,
who himself derived it from an Eastern source.
_The Farce of the Hunchbacks_
“Trostolle the hunchback has three hunchback brothers, the
sight of whom he cannot bear. He is filled with horror of
misshapen people. One day, being compelled to leave home, he
enjoins his wife to lock up after dinner and not to allow
anyone to enter. He does not wish to find his brothers there,
in which case he would lay the stick across Madame’s back.
Thereupon he departs. Madame Trostolle has a love intrigue with
a certain Horace, who sends her his servant Grattelard with a
love letter.
“The husband being gone, the three hunchbacks arrive with
stomachs as hollow as wells and teeth as sharp as wolves’.
“‘It is a long time since we have eaten,’ says the first
hunchback, ‘and at need my belly might serve as a lantern.’
“‘Here is the house of my brother,’ says the second, ‘let us go
in.’
“The third knocks at the door. But Madame Trostolle recognises
them from their humps. Nevertheless she permits herself to be
moved by their entreaties, admits them and sets food before
them. But Trostolle returns and she hides the three brothers.
Trostolle, whilst suspecting the presence of the hunchbacks,
departs again upon receiving his wife’s assurances that no one
has entered the house. She runs then to her brothers-in-law and
finds them drunk.
“‘I think,’ she says, ‘that they have a reservoir on their
backs, for they have emptied a hogshead. However, they must be
got out of this.’
“Grattelard arrives with his letter: ‘Consider my trouble,’
says Madame Trostolle. ‘A hunchback has dropped dead on my
threshold. You must take him to the river.’
“‘What will you give me?’
“‘Twenty crowns.’
“‘Very good. Let us get to business.’
“‘Very well; here is the fellow.’
“‘He is very heavy,’ says Grattelard, and thereupon shoulders
the hunchback and departs to throw him into the water.
“‘I have made a bargain to get him to carry one away; I must
contrive that he shall carry away all three,’ says Madame.
“Grattelard returns. ‘I have thrown him into the water,’ he
announces. ‘But he was very heavy!’
“‘You are mocking me,’ replies the woman. ‘You must have thrown
him in very badly, for he has come back again. Look! Here he
is!’
“‘To the devil with the hunchback! I will load my shoulders
with him again and carry him back to the river.’
“He goes and returns, but still he finds a hunchback.
“‘Don’t you understand that he will always come back?’ says
Madame Trostolle; ‘you don’t know how to go about it.’
“‘Mordienne!’ says Grattelard. ‘I shall end by getting angry! I
shall take him back again, but if he makes another appearance I
shall put a stone round his neck.’ And for the third time he
carries off the hunchback, whilst Madame goes off on the other
side.
“Trostolle returns; he has discharged his affairs and wishes to
assure himself that his brothers have not been to his house.
“‘How now! Death of my life!’ cries Grattelard, who has
returned for the third time, and perceives Trostolle, ‘there is
my hunchback again! To the river, my hunchback! To the river!’
“He seizes the husband, and carries him off like the others.
That done he returns to receive the promised twenty crowns.
“‘Well, have you thrown him into the river?’ inquires Madame
Trostolle.
“‘I had to carry him there four times!’ answers Grattelard; ‘he
persisted in coming back, but this time——’
“‘Four times! Has he by chance put my husband with the others?’
“‘Faith, the last one at least could talk!’
“‘Oh! what have you done?’ cries the woman. ‘You have thrown my
husband into the water!’
“‘There’s no great harm done! He was a hunchback who could
never have been straight. Here, this is a letter from Master
Horace.’
“‘Is he far from here?’ she asks.
“‘Since your husband is dead,’ is the answer, ‘you had best
marry him. Lo, here he comes!’
“‘Madame,’ says Horace, ‘if the affection which I bear you may
serve as a warrant to permit me to present to you my vows, you
may believe that I am the most faithful of your subjects.’”
xi
JODELET, a clownish lackey, ingenuous and stupid of appearance, was
played in the French troupe of the Hôtel de Bourgogne by Julien Geoffrin,
from 1610 to 1660. In shape his costume is that of Beltrame; as to its
colour, he wears a black cap, striped doublet, trunk and hose, the mask
of Brighella and the black chin-piece, the cloak, purse and wooden sabre
of all similar types.
It was for the character of this personage that Scarron wrote _Jodelet
Duelliste_ and _Jodelet Maître et Valet_ in 1645.
We have also _Jodelet Astrologue_, a comedy by d’Ouville, 1646; and _La
Feinte Mort de Jodelet_, a comedy by Brécourt, 1660.
Julien Geoffrin was the last to play _la farce_ in France.
“For one who plays the naïve with his face plastered with
flour” (says Tallemant) “he is a good actor. Farce is no longer
played save at the Marais, where he is, and it is on his
account that it is played there. Jodelet speaks through his
nose in consequence of not having been properly treated ... and
that lends him a certain quaintness.”
Jodelet played also sometimes with the Italian troupe.
Gilotin, Tripotin and Filipin played in farces at the French theatre of
the Hôtel de Bourgogne (1655). Filipin, whose real name was Villiers,
played the same rôles as Jodelet. Scarron wrote for him _Le Gardien de
Soi-Même_. He wore the black mask of the Italian lackeys, and a red cap
adorned by two feathers.
(1635) Goguelu was a French mask who appears to have attempted to
replace Gros-Guillaume at the theatre of the Hôtel de Bourgogne. He wore
wide pantaloons, a doublet like that of Brighella, the cloak, skull cap
and exaggerated moustache of the Italian buffoons.
Bruscambille, another type of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, was created by
Deslauriers. He was a native of Champagne, an actor and an author, and
he made his first appearance in 1598, on the trestles of Jean Farine,
joining the company of the Hôtel de Bourgogne in 1634.
XIV
SCARAMOUCHE
SCARAMOUCHE is the son or the grandson of Matamoros. His name, which
signifies “little fighter” or “skirmisher,” and his primitive Neapolitan
type, would place him in the category of Captains, if Tiberio Fiurelli
had not endowed him in France with every shade of character.
The costume of Scaramouche has never varied in point of colour; he has
always been dressed in black from head to foot. Riccoboni says that “in
point of cut it is an imitation of the Spanish dress, which, in the city
of Naples, had long been the dress of courtiers, of magistrates and men
of war. Towards 1680 the Spanish Captains came to an end in Italy, and
the old Italian Captain having long been forgotten, it became necessary
to find in the companies of Neapolitan comedians an actor to replace the
Spanish Captain; thus Scaramuccia was created. In Italy this personage
has never had any character other than that of the Captain; he is at once
a boaster and a coward.”
Originally he wore a mask, like all the types that date back to this
epoch. In his _Petits Danseurs_, Callot represents the Scaramuccia
of the _Fedeli_ company (whose real name was Goldoni) wearing a mask
and brandishing a sword. His costume differs but little from what it
afterwards became with Fiurelli, excepting the slashings in his doublet
and in his plumed cap, which suggest that the date of the creation of
this type is the end of the sixteenth century.
Tiberio Fiurelli, the most famous of all Scaramouches, discarded the
mask, floured his countenance and, by his facial play, “was the greatest
mime in the world.” The breeches that he wore at first were wide,
afterwards he assumed those which remained traditional to the type.
The girdle has sometimes been of cloth like the costume, sometimes of
leather. Trimmings and buttons were always of the colour of the dress.
Scaramouche proclaims himself marquis, prince or lord of several
countries which have never existed in any geographical chart. He was, he
says, abandoned in his early youth by his illustrious father, and reared
at the expense of some king or other, who caused him to spend his early
years at the oar of a royal galley. It is not to be doubted that he
found his way to the galleys later on, for he is the greatest thief that
ever breathed. He inherits all the boast and brag and poltroonery of his
father the Captain. Like him he is in love with all women; but his pale
countenance and evil reputation afford him few chances with the fair sex.
He avenges himself for his rebuffs by boasting of illusory favours and by
maligning the women whom he pretends to have jilted.
Notwithstanding his pretensions to nobility, for he claims to be as
noble as Charlemagne, and as rich as another ancestor of his named
Crœsus, he is nearly always the servant of a very minor gentleman, or of
a poor bourgeois, who employs him in the conduct of his love affairs.
But instead of doing his duty he prefers to amuse himself by beating
the watch and thieving from passers-by. In short, Scaramouche is a
good-for-nothing who finds delight only in disorder. If there are any
blows to be received in payment for his rascalities, he is sly enough
to procure for some neighbour the windfall that was destined for
himself. There is a perfect understanding between him and Pulcinella,
who is another rogue of his kidney. It is thus that, arm-in-arm, the one
shouting and gesticulating brutally, the other bellowing, leaping and
wheeling his sword about the ears of peaceful citizens, they sweep the
pavement, ogling the same women and thirsting for the same bottles. It
is rarely that the matter does not end in a dispute between these two
gossips. Pulcinella becomes angry, and Scaramouche vanishes.
[Illustration]
“Where is that poltroon, that coward?” cries Pulcinella, pounding the
tables with his great knotted cudgel.
When the formidable fellow’s anger is spent Scaramouche returns to
reprimand his friend upon his evil inclinations, his irascibility,
drunkenness and egoism; it is a speech full of good sense and morality,
to which Pulcinella listens absent-mindedly rubbing his hump. Most of the
time he does not listen at all, for he has no esteem whatever for this
poltroon. The matter, however, ends invariably in libations, and it is
glass in hand and his brain a little heated that Scaramouche gives a free
rein to his brilliant imagination. He will thus relate all his exploits
of gallantry to Pulcinella, who does not interrupt him save by occasional
exclamations of admiring astonishment, or by little mocking laughs, which
indicate his incredulity.
Suddenly, however, pots, glasses and bottles fly into fragments.
Pulcinella, wearied by all this chatter of Scaramouche, swings his
devastating club to put an end to the conversation; then he gets up and,
without paying his share, departs sneering.
Scaramouche has gone into hiding at the crash, and does not show himself
again until his comrade is far away.
“What an ass!” he exclaims. “What an animal! What rude, unmannerly ways!
Next time I shall correct him thoroughly; I shall pull his ears.”
Upon the remark of a third party, who accuses him of having been afraid,
he replies like Panurge: “Afraid? I? I have a deal of courage. I do not
mean the courage of the lamb, but the courage of the wolf, and even more
the courage of the slayer.”
Scaramouche is like the bowman of Bagnolet, “he fears nothing but danger.”
Tiberio Fiurelli was born in Naples on the 7th November 1608. Although
the son of a cavalry captain, he was, at the age of twenty-five, employed
as a servant by the leading lady of a company that then enjoyed a good
repute in Naples. He was a utility man, and played small parts from time
to time.