enormous moustachios and a cardboard nose, and there you have the
elements out of which to construct a constable. This raiment was always
hung upon a nail behind the first wing. The whole could be put on like a
dressing-gown, for it is often Harlequin, Mezzetin, Scapin or some other
lackey who passes himself off as something that he is not. But let them
have a care! For often at the moment when they least expect it there
appears on the other side of the stage a real Sbirro, who moves silently
in the shadow, wrapped to the eyes in his great cloak. But his heavy
boots alone make so much noise that it would be necessary to be as deaf
as Pandolfe not to hear him. What are the uses of this sombre personage?
To execute justice upon the traitors and evildoers of the comedy. He was
born anywhere. He is of any age, or rather he is so old that he is of
none. He lives everywhere. He is, he has been, and he will be. He is as
ancient as comedy. But his spirit is obtuse, and unpardonable mistakes
are common with him. Being strong of hand and tight of grip, he is feared
by all. Harlequin flees before him as though he were the plague. Mezzetin
fears him more than fire, and the same is the case with the good Pierrot,
although he has done nothing to draw upon himself the constable’s
attention. Polichinelle alone is not afraid of him. He is his greatest
enemy. On no single occasion have they met but that sound blows have
been exchanged, and the Sbirro has not always issued in triumph from the
contest. But what matter? He is strong in his conscience and the support
of the law, and knows nothing but his duty.
vi
If the doctor was ridiculed on the Italian stage and in the comedies of
Molière, the APOTHECARY was not spared. But this worthy corps of science
triumphs in the person of _M. de Pourceaugnac_; he knows how to keep his
place, and never in the slightest degree does he impinge upon the rights
of the medical faculty.
“No, I am not a doctor,” says the apothecary to Eraste, “mine is not that
honour, and I am but an apothecary, an unworthy apothecary, your servant.”
In _Le Malade Imaginaire_ M. Fleurant is the model apothecary; he is
fully conscious of his worth, and does not jest on the subject of
his drugs. He is no longer the simple Matassin who, to introduce his
merchandise, seeks to deafen his client by bellowing its virtues in his
ear.
In the plays of Gherardi he bears the most ridiculous names, like
those of _Viseautrou_, _Cussiffle_ and _Clistorel_, and other kindred
ones. Callot calls him Maramao, and dresses him in a manner but little
different from the apothecaries to be seen in the comedies of Molière. He
presents him with a cap on his head, an apron about his body, armed with
his favourite weapon, which is as long as a culverin, and levelling it
with precision at Cardoni.
In the Italian comedy the apothecary is treated still better than in the
comedy-ballets of Molière. He plays a part, comes to mingle in the plot,
and alludes to his art in metaphors and symbols.
“I am persuaded, sir” (he says, addressing the Doctor, whose
daughter he seeks in marriage), “that a pierced chair would
more aptly denote an apothecary than a sedan chair.” (He has
been brought on in a sedan chair.) “But as such a vehicle
would not put me in good odour with my mistress, I have had
myself borne to your house in an elegant manner, to present
you my respects and all the submission which pharmacy owes to
medicine. I bring you a desperate patient, with whom simples
are of no effect, and whose cure in itself will shed the
highest credit upon your faculty.
“It is I, sir, who am both the patient and the illness; it is
I who am diseased to my very marrow by this terrible ailment.
It is I who am corroded by the perfections of Columbine. It
is I who desire to marry her, and finally it is I who implore
you to prescribe it me as a savoury decoction, which I shall
swallow with delight. To the Doctor all the honour, and to the
apothecary all the pleasure of it.”
XVII
SOME CARNIVAL MASKS
When it is considered that the greater part of the jests and the types
of Molière are to be found grossly but energetically sketched in the
Commedia dell’ Arte—that is to say, in the farces and parodies which,
without announcement of author and without printed publication, assembled
audiences for so many centuries before the appearance of the great
Poquelin—there can be no doubt that the interest of our researches
will be recognised just as it will be seen that they are without any
pretensions to raise the subject above its exact literary value. For
us it has been primarily an exploration in the archives of the eternal
comedy. Other lights will come in the course of time to complete this
work and to prove that the greatest comedian in the world is the people
that inhabit it.
Apart from their types of comedy the Italians possess a crowd of other
masks to be seen in the streets and public places during the last three
consecutive days of Carnival. A great number of these masks had their
birth in the theatres from which they have long since disappeared; but
the majority are no more than the products of fancy or fashion: of these
are the _Quacqueri_, who correspond to the French _Chicards_, and whose
costume is a medley of ancient and modern fashions; the _Matti_ (fools),
arrayed in long white shirts, wearing a nightcap and a white mask, the
neck smothered in an enormous collar. Men and women dressed thus run with
the crowd, performing a thousand follies, some with tambourines, some
with baubles, but most of them armed with sticks from the end of which
hangs a bladder or a wet sponge, with which they strike all the other
masks they meet.
The costume of _Bajaccio_ or _Pagliaccio_ is still very much in favour
during carnival, as is that of Pulcinella, both for men and women. The
_Maghi_ (sorcerers) is a character adopted by graver folk, as is that of
the _Abbatacci_, who, dressed entirely in black, saving for one white
stocking, go aping the ways of advocates and other men of the robe.
_Le Poverelle_ (female mendicants; a disguise for women) cover their
faces with a white mask, release their hair, and let it fall upon their
shoulders and dress entirely in white; the _Poverelle_ form into troupes
and go in quest of alms, which consist of flowers, fruits and sweetmeats.
Other disguises greatly in vogue are those of _Marinari_ and _Pescatori_
(sailors and fishermen), of _Giardinieri_ and _Giardiniere_ (male and
female gardeners), _Cascherini_ (topers), _Scopetti_ (sweeps), etc.
In a collection entitled _Trattato su la comedia dell’ arte, ossia
improvisa_, a title but little justified by the reproduction of five
masks of the Italian comedy, Francesco Valentini published in Berlin in
1826 a volume containing a large quantity of these carnival costumes.
It would be impossible to give a better idea of the scenes that were
to be witnessed during Carnival than by translating some passages from
Valentini’s sketch:
“I am now compelled” (he writes), “so as to render my little
treatise as little incomplete as possible, to present some
little scenes which take place in the streets of Rome. And that
I may succeed in this, I beg that in imagination you will
transport yourselves with me to some place in the neighbourhood
of the Corso, where our theatre is set up.
“It is the twentieth hour (in other words, two o’clock in the
afternoon), and no one is yet to be seen. The sky is overcast,
but the weather will be safe; it will not snow.
“Behold! here already is a Pulcinella, playing a trumpet,
leaping and talking. Let us listen. He complains of the
indolence of the masks; it is after two o’clock, and they are
not yet ready; a very little more would induce him to beat
them. He departs quite angrily, protecting his better half, who
leans upon his arm.
“Suddenly there is a great noise; a Harlequin, walking on
tiptoe, lantern in hand, leads the way for a _Quacquero_ and
his lady, the _Quacqueressa_; with him comes a _Bajaccio_
under an open sunshade. What the devil’s this, my friend, a
sunshade and a lantern? Night and sunshine? Yonder our desolate
Pulcinella is returning, and he who lately was lamenting is
now at the very summit of hilarity; he has just met another
Pulcinella, to whom he relinquishes his wife. Reciprocal joy.
Here comes an _Abbataccio_ and here two or three _Quacqueri_,
_Poverelle_, _Sbirri_, _Micheletti_; and last a Captain
_Fracasso_ in argument with a Tartaglia:
“‘If you don’t return at once to the galleys I will cut you in
two, piece of a thief!’
“‘_Vo ... i ... v’in ... ga ... gannate_,’ replies Tartaglia,
‘_io non sono ... chi ... chi ... rícer ... ca ... ca ...
cacate_’ (You are mistaken, I am not he whom you are seeking).
“Listen, listen to the Harlequins, crying as they run: _Chi ...
... chi ... chichirichi chic ... chirichi!_
“Turn now to this _Abbataccio_, a book under his arm, who
with the assistance of other masks has just seized upon a
poor imbecile of a peasant, who has come to see the Roman
carnival, and who certainly never expected to become an actor
in this farce: ‘You are my debtor,’ he bellows at him, ‘these
last two years, these last two centuries. Your grandfather,
great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather, or, if you prefer
it, your archi-great devil of a father, who was my man of
affairs, wrote me a bill of exchange. Don’t you believe it?
Do you deny the patent truth? I am going to show it to you.’
With that he opens his book, which turns out to be nothing
but a flour box, blows into it, and thus almost blinds the
poor peasant, who was gaping at him. He becomes the butt of
the laughter and ridicule of all who are present. A mask in
the dress of a groom comes to rub him down; the sweeps sweep
him, and a fool mystifies him. The peasant attempts to depart,
but at this moment a Doctor, an Apothecary and some Matassins
insist upon offering him their services. ‘He has turned pale,’
cries one, pointing to his flour-covered face, ‘he is about
to die.’ He gets away at last and darts round a corner of the
street, followed by his mockers, of whom heaven alone knows
when he will succeed in ridding himself.
“What is this noise? What is happening? ‘A Spectre, a
Spectre!’ (_una Fantasima!_) cries someone, and you behold
the Pulcinelli, Arlecchini, Brighelli, Pantaloni cutting a
thousand capers of terror. Captain _Ammazzasette_ (Rodomont)
puts his hand to his sword and runs to meet the phantom, which
lengthens itself almost indefinitely, and then disappears, to
the great shouts of the assembly.
“Observe this crowd, listen to this noise! Here comes the
cause of it: a well-harnessed donkey, bearing the king of
the Polichinelles with two little Polichinelles, his sons,
seated in the panniers. His court, consisting of thirty or
forty Polichinelles, escorts him, playing all conceivable
instruments. This general masquerade is extraordinary,
capricious and very droll. Consider that no two wear the same
head-dress; one wears a huge wig, another a basket, some an
evil hat, others go with shaven heads, and yet another bears a
cage with birds in it.”
This scene is illustrated in the work, and indeed each Pulcinella wears
a fantastic head-dress. But the remainder of the costume is invariable.
It consists of a sort of round skirt in grey linen bordered with red or
blue, descending to the knee; the front of this blouse, open upon the
breast, ends in a heart of red cloth. The trousers, similarly decorated
with red or blue, are wide and do not go below the ankle. These garments
are caught to the figure by a cord, from which hangs a copper bell,
similar to that which mountaineers hang about the necks of their cattle.
The mask is black or brown, the cap traditionally pointed, whilst the
wide ruff and the black shoes complete the costume of the Pulcinella of
carnival, such as he was in 1826.
“Along the Corso, from end to end, the people swarm like ants.
There is no window that is not crowded with sightseers. And
how varied is the assembly! Here ranks, ages and sexes are
all intermingled and confounded. Joy, gaiety and good humour
rule; pleasantries, practical jokes, laughter, nosegays and
clouds of flour on this side, and a rain of flowers on the
other, long queues of carriages filled with masks, and ancient
coaches on which the youthful nobility of Rome is representing
the abduction of Proserpine. Next we see women disguised as
officers, as sailors, as natives of Frascati or Albania. Two
squadrons of ancient warriors on cardboard horses engage
furiously in combat, and so on. The revels conclude with
races of unfettered and unmounted horses down the middle of
the Corso. Such is the Roman carnival until the hour of the
Angelus, at the sound of which everyone unmasks, and all go
to conclude the day at the theatre, at a soirée, or at home.
Shrove Tuesday being the last day, the Angelus bell is impotent
to command obedience; all retain their masks and then begins
the scene of the _Moccoli_, too well known to need reporting
here.”
After alluding thus superficially to some of the masks of the Roman
carnival, we may not pass in silence over several singular fantastic
and religious types, indispensable to all the scenarii of mystery plays
performed by the marionettes in Italy and in a less degree elsewhere.
These are Satana or the Devil, Mago or the Warlock, L’Incantatrice or
the Fairy, the Good Genius, the Archangel Michael and all the spirits
who preside over the elements, over nature, and so on. These personages,
the last surviving vestiges of the mystery plays, have marched down
the centuries step by step with the masks. The moment that an Italian
scenario departs from absolute reality it invariably falls into the
marvellous. The _fiabesco_, or fairy style, reached its highest diapason
in the eighteenth century at the hands of Carlo Gozzi.
XVIII
CARLO GOZZI AND CARLO GOLDONI
At the end of the eighteenth century, when the Italian comedy was dying
in France, having been fused into comic opera and French comedy, it was
also expiring in a literary sense in Italy, but not without one last
flicker, perhaps the most brilliant of all since the days of Ruzzante.
Carlo Gozzi did for the Commedia dell’ Arte the very opposite of that
which had been done by Beolco (Ruzzante). The latter had protested
against the academic language of his day. He had enthroned the dialects
upon the stage, and proved that this rustic speech was the only one
suitable to rustic and bourgeois pieces. Some two hundred years later,
towards 1750, Carlo Gozzi, finding the Italian language softened by the
various schools of literature through which it had passed, considered it
a fitting vehicle to convey the ideas of all classes; and after a stern
and derisive fight with the theatre of Goldoni, which was imbued with the
Venetian spirit, he became the exclusive poet, the absolute master of an
excellent company. Sacchi, the principal of this company, had with him
some precious actors, and he himself was a Truffaldino of the very first
rank.
“Never again,” says Gozzi himself, “shall we see a Truffaldino
like Sacchi, a Brighella like Zanoni or a Tartaglia like
Fiorilli, this Neapolitan full of fire, and so justly famous
throughout Italy. Nor shall we see again such another
Pantaloon as Darbés, this comedian self-contained or impetuous
at will, majestic, stupid and so true to life that the Venetian
citizen thinks to see himself mirrored upon the stage when he
beholds this perfect model of his absurdities. La Smeralda was
an angel in grace, a butterfly in lightness. With three words
these people knew how to play a scene so as to make their
audiences die of laughter. Never would they have suffered a
piece to fail on its first performance. Sooner would they have
manufactured another one on the spot. It was necessary that
the spectators should laugh for their money, for the players
were honest, and not for the devil himself would they have
returned the price of the tickets. I lived with them for ten
years amid noise, quarrels, storms and injuries, and all with
so much pleasure that I would not exchange those ten years for
all the rest of my life. They would have burned Venice for me.
Alas! everything comes to an end. The extinction and dispersion
of the company is one of my greatest sorrows. Goldoni placed
his trust in imposing and deceptive words; and words are
omnipotent with spirits of narrow limitations; his pieces will
perhaps return to the surface, whilst my poor fables, if once
forgotten, will never see the light again.”
These poor fables, which indeed are very much forgotten in Italy, and
very little known elsewhere, are none the less destined to live in the
archives of the Commedia dell’ Arte. They are not exactly scenarii, the
rôles being succinctly and wittily written, particularly in those parts
in which the actors had to express serious or passionate sentiments,
which in the main are difficult to improvise.
“I flatter myself” (he says) “to have been of use to the
company and to the art. Who could count all that out of
complaisance I have written for them of prologues and of
farewells in verse, of scenes to be interposed, of compliments
for pretty actresses who were passing through, of additions
to the farces, of soliloquies, of despairs, of menaces, of
reproaches and of prayers?”
The scenarii of the pieces of Gozzi might simply be called fairy tales
in action, the _fiabesco_ or, as it were, the fabulous. They are very
pretty stories, and their principal scenic merit lies in the alternation
of burlesque with dramatic situation. Gozzi himself called them nursery
tales, but if so they are written by a very poetical nurse for no less
poetical nurslings. Hoffmann steeped himself in them to produce his
fantastic tales. M. Paul de Musset, in one of his writings full of
grace and good sense, upon modern Italy (_Revue des Deux-Mondes_), has
characterised perfectly the bizarre genius of the Italian librettist and
that of the German narrator.
The principal pieces of Carlo Gozzi are: _The Love of the Three Oranges_,
_The Raven_, _The King Stag_, _Turandot_, _The Woman Serpent_, _The
Happy Beggars_, _The Blue Monster_, _La Zobéide_ and _The Green Bird_.
These subjects gave scope to improvisation, to fancy and to that immense
share held by a group of inventive and witty actors in the success of a
theatrical work.
Gozzi was surnamed the Aristophanes of the Adriatic. But the Signora
Teodora Ricci supervened. “_Amour, tu perdis Troie!_” Gozzi, who until
then had allowed himself to be cajoled by all the charming comediennes
of the company, fell in love with the Signora Ricci, who had no talent
whatever. Sacchi, the old Truffaldino, was the rival of the poet, his
best friend. The other actresses became jealous, and the men took sides
in the contest. The end of it was the dispersal of the company. Gozzi
found himself compelled to change his style. He followed the example of
Goldoni, whom he had so consistently mocked, he wrote and arranged plays
in the foreign taste for Signora Ricci, with the result that his dramatic
genius was extinguished in compilation.
Happily the secret fire of his active genius was re-ignited, and his
spirit revealed itself under a different form. He turned to the writing
of satires—“the best fruits borne by this fecund tree.”
“The year 1797,” says M. Paul de Musset, “arrived. Gozzi
witnessed the fall of his country as a result of treachery, its
abandonment by the French general, the entrance of the German
bayonets and the derisive election of Doge Manin, his friend.
Heaven alone knows what had become in this conflict of the
Pantaloons and Truffaldini! The year of Carlo Gozzi’s death is
not even known. Nor do we know the year in which he was born.
This bizarre genius passed like one of those comets whose
course we have not the time to study.”
It may be well to cite some fragments and reflections of Carlo Gozzi on
the nature and the history of the Commedia dell’ Arte, and particularly
of the success scored by this genre in Germany.
“The improvised comedy, known as the Commedia dell’ Arte,
was in all times the most useful to the troupes of Italian
comedians. It has existed for three hundred years. It has
always been attacked but never conquered. It seems impossible
that certain men of our day, who pass for authors, should not
perceive that they are ridiculous when they condescend to step
from their importance to an amusing anger against a Brighella,
a Pantaloon, a Doctor, a Tartaglia or a Truffaldino. This
anger, which appears to be the result of intoxication, clearly
shows that in Italy the Commedia dell’ Arte survives in all its
vigour the shame of the persecutions exerted against it.
“I consider sound impromptu comedians as of much greater worth
than improvising poets who, without saying anything of any
sense, captivate the attention of those assemblies gathered to
hear them.
“The improvised Italian comedy, called _dell’ arte_, is very
ancient and very much more ancient than the regular and written
Italian comedies. It had its beginnings in Lombardy, whence
it spread through Italy and penetrated into France, where it
is still to be found. In the sixteenth century it was no more
permitted to women to be present at improvised comedies than
at written ones. Both styles alike had become too licentious.
We may judge of the obscenities of the written pieces, but not
of those which were improvised, and which we know only from
tradition.[6] These two styles were always in rivalry.
“In the time of the Austrian emperors Leopold, Joseph and
Charles VI., the French comedians made all possible efforts to
keep their place in the two theatres of Vienna. But they were
dismissed by these emperors, who desired none but German and
Italian comedians in their theatres, and of these they gave
preference to those of their own nation. The Vienna companies
of comedians followed the same working methods as those of
Italy, and the improvised comedy which we call Commedia dell’
Arte was preferred. Weiskern, Heindrich, Leinhaus, Prehauser,
Kurz, Jacquedt, Stéphanie, Muller, Breuner, Gottlieb, La
Huberin, La Nutin, La Elizonin, and La Schwagerin were clever
performers who played improvised comedy in German.
“Il Ganzachi, an able Italian comedian of our acquaintance,
who speaks German very fluently, went to reinforce the Vienna
company with the personnel and the material of our own theatre.
Weiskern and Heindrich played old men’s parts; Leinhaus played
Pantaloon in German with a Venetian accent; Prehauser played
Hanswurst, a sort of second Zanni; Kurz played Bernardone;
Brenner was seen as _Il Burlino_ (the jester); Gottlieb as
a village idiot; La Nutin, La Elizonin, and La Schwagerin
played the feminine rôles, and all were as much beloved by the
public as are Sacchi, Fiorilli, Zanoni, Darbés, Coralina and
Smeraldina by ours.
“The detractors of this style claimed to have buried it.
Improvised comedy, they said, no longer exists even in Italy;
everywhere now comedy is recited from memory. But anyone who
cares to look at the manuscript which serves as a guide to
these excellent comedians will find a single sheet of paper
placed near a little lamp, for the greater convenience of the
entire troupe; upon this sheet is the whole matter from which
ten to twelve persons will keep an audience in laughter for
three hours, and conduct to its proper conclusion the story set
forth.
“To give our reader a specimen of the guide which suffices for
our improvising comedians, I will transcribe here a subject
which I read by the light of the little theatre lamp, without
adding or subtracting a single word. It is that of _The Broken
Contracts_, which we see performed several times each year, and
always with success.
ACT I
LEGHORN
BRIGHELLA enters the stage, sees no one and calls.
PANTALOON enters, simulates fear.
BRIGHELLA wants to leave his service.
PANTALOON recommends himself to him.
BRIGHELLA is touched, and promises him his assistance.
PANTALOON says that his creditors demand payment,
especially Truffaldino, and that this is the last day
allowed him, etc.
BRIGHELLA pacifies him.
At this moment:
TRUFFALDINO. Scene in which he demands payment.
BRIGHELLA finds a way to fend him off.
PANTALOON and BRIGHELLA remain.
At this moment:
TARTAGLIA, at the window, listens.
BRIGHELLA perceives this. Plays a scene with
Pantaloon pretending wealth.
TARTAGLIA comes down into the street to pretend to
beg alms of Pantaloon. In the end they agree upon the
marriage of the daughter of Tartaglia and the son of
Pantaloon.
At this moment:
TRUFFALDINO says that he wants his money.
BRIGHELLA pretends that Pantaloon gives it to him.
When this has happened three times all go off.
FLORINDO speaks of his love for Rosaura and of the
hunger that torments him. He knocks.
ROSAURA listens to his protestations, wants to put
him to the test, and asks for a present.
FLORINDO says this is not possible at the moment as
he has no means.
ROSAURA bids him wait, telling him that she will make
him a present, and goes off.
FLORINDO remains.
At this moment:
SMERALDINA, with a basket which she gives to
Florindo, and goes off.
FLORINDO eats.
BRIGHELLA, having heard that Rosaura has sent this
basket, steals it and escapes.
FLORINDO follows him.