Part 11

RODOMONT. What are you doing in this house, Tabarin? What are you doing, coward? I want to speak to you. Hither, coward! Hither, pig! I want to kill you! Be dead![4]

Mondor was a man of handsome presence, who expressed himself extremely well, and who had received a good education, as may be judged from the lessons in science and philosophy which he delivered to his public in the form of dialogues with his lackey Tabarin.

In the _Opuscules Tabariniques_ is the following passage:—

“Mondor is a kind of wit and a man of some letters, capable if he should wish it of a more honourable vocation. He is well-bred and courteous, removing his hat very gracefully and with a gentle smile when he returns a handkerchief or a glove.”

In the troupe of the _Fedeli_, which came to Paris in 1621 and again in 1624 under the direction of G. B. Andreini, the rôles of Captain were played by Girolamo Gavarini, of Ferrara, known in the theatre as _Capitano Rinoceronte_ (Captain Rhinoceros).

Niccolo Barbieri (Beltrame) relates in his _Supplica_ the death of this comedian on the 2nd October 1624, and says that upon his body was found “a very coarse hair-shirt, which occasions some surprise, for whilst we were well aware that he was pious and devout, we had no suspicion that he went to such lengths as this.” He adds that “people should not risk inconsiderately to speak evil of comedians, remembering that frequently there are very honourable men in their ranks and, better still, even saints at times, such as Saint Genest, Saint Ardélion, Saint Sylvain and San Giovanni Buono.”

Abraham Bosse performed the part of Matamoros from the beginning of the seventeenth century, armed to the teeth, in slashed and tight-fitting garments, and under a plumed hat of grey felt, similar to that worn by Spavento.

iii

CAPTAIN SPEZZAFER wore at first the costume of a gentleman of the court of Henry IV., a round, plumed hat, beard and moustachios, a heavy ruff and doublet, and very wide breeches, in keeping with the mode of the period. But in 1668 he modified the shape of his costume; and his manner of wearing the sword, very high up and suspended from a wide leather belt, gave him a certain similarity with Crispin of the French comedy. The colours he affected, however, were very different. Whilst Crispin is dressed from head to foot in black velvet, Spezzafer is arrayed in heavy silk of a bright yellow; his garments are cut after the fashion of those of soldiers of a few years earlier, under Louis XIII. He wears moustachios and a grey cocked hat, surmounted by a feather.

Spezzafer, whose name was Giuseppe Bianchi, was first seen in Paris in 1639, and again in 1645, with the troupe whose director he was and whose principal actors were the following:—Barbançois (_Polichinelle_), Bastona, Bonnetti, Caluci, Cialace (_Pantaloon_), Bonami (_dancer_), Franchi, Grandini, Micael Lardi, Merli, Magni, Nardo, Nicoli, Pozzi, Rinaldi, Usili; Mesdames Brigida Bianchi, Orsola Bianchi, Luigia Bianchi, Gambelli, Marizini, etc.

He died in Paris in 1680.

“His death being a subject of conversation at Versailles, M——, a doctor, claimed to resemble him; but the Prince of —— assured him of the contrary, upon the grounds that the Captain had never killed anybody. This Spezzafer was married to a woman of very equivocal conduct, and when in the comedy of _Arlequin Roi par Hasard_ he came to solicit the governorship of a place on the frontier, Harlequin would answer him: ‘How should you be able to govern it, you, who in twenty years have never succeeded in governing your wife?’ No doubt this pleasantry never failed to provoke the laughter of the public, but it must have been very bitter to him who was its butt.”

In one of Gherardi’s plays Captain Spavento finds it necessary to purchase under-clothing. It is what we may call a _scène intime_, for it is not customary to see Captains acting like simple mortals; they are always tuned to a diapason far too high ever to permit them to descend to the necessities of existence.

“It is said,” Harlequin tells him, “that you do not wear a shirt.”

“That was once my custom,” replies the Captain, “because then, being of an extremely furious nature, when once I was enraged, the hair of my body, which was abundant, stood up, piercing my shirt on every side, and putting so many holes in it that one might have taken it for a colander. But having become much more moderate since then, I now wear under-clothing like any other fellow.”

After the departure of Harlequin Spezzafer approaches a shop.

SPEZZAFER. Now here, opportunely, is a linen shop. Let me see if they keep what I require.

A SEMPSTRESS. Sir, we have very beautiful Dutch linen and other things.

SPEZZAFER (_taking up a shirt from the counter_). I shall be delighted to buy something from you. (_Aside._) This girl is pretty, well made, and her eyes are blue. (_Aloud._) This shirt would do very well for me, but I think it is too small.

THE SEMPSTRESS. Too small! you cannot think that. It is three quarters and a half long.

SPEZZAFER. How much do you want for it?

THE SEMPSTRESS. It will cost you ten ducats, not to overcharge you.

SPEZZAFER. Ten ducats!

THE SEMPSTRESS. Yes, sir. I make only a livre on each sou.

SPEZZAFER. I will give you thirty sous.

THE SEMPSTRESS. Thirty sous! It is easily seen you’re not used to wearing shirts.

SPEZZAFER. There! There is a ducat, not to haggle further. Do not compel me to go elsewhere.

THE SEMPSTRESS. Oh, very well, take it then, on condition that you will do me the honour to come again. This is the sign of _La Pucelle_.

In the middle of the eighteenth century the costume of the Italian Captain resembles that of a soldier of the time. He wears a three-cornered hat, long hair tied in a queue, and coat, waistcoat and breeches of military cut. The long sword which he carries pointing upwards gives him still a little of the air of his ancestors.

iv

GIANGURGOLO—which is to say Jack Glutton—is the Calabrian type of Captain. Like Matamoros he is passionately devoted to women; but he is frightened of them; he is always afraid of discovering a man under the petticoat. Nevertheless he carries the great sword of the Captain and has adopted his soldierly gait. Like his primitive type he is boastful, a monstrous liar, timid beyond all measure, and moreover as famished as a savage. Yet he will go four days without eating for fear of meeting with a rebuff, which would make it necessary for him to become angry and perhaps to fight—in other words, to be beaten. Thus he has recourse to theft to nourish himself, because he never has a farthing. He prowls about the stalls of the macaroni merchants; lifting up his great cardboard nose, he sniffs and nourishes himself upon the smell of the edibles. If by good fortune he can put his hand upon victuals, it is amusing to see the quantity whose disappearance he can contrive. His stomach is a gulf. But, for the sake of a few pounds of macaroni, a few dishfuls of polenta, one or two _salami_, how much shame must he not endure! He is a compound of Gargantua, Matamoros and Pierrot. He is, moreover, foolish and vain and proclaims himself a Sicilian gentleman. “The earth,” he says, “trembles under me when I march.”

The members of the watch are a terror to him. He has a guilty conscience, and at their approach, notwithstanding his titles, his nobility and his redoubtable arms, he could gladly squeeze into a rat-hole. When he is quite certain that he is dealing only with poor inoffensive people he causes himself to be served on a grand scale, and repays them by enraging furiously. If in the moment of his fury a child to amuse itself should shout out behind him, he will disappear so quickly and for so long that years may pass before he is seen again in the country. He wears a long and pointed felt hat, a rapier, a scarlet doublet whose sleeves, matching his breeches, are of pale yellow striped with red. Francesco Ficoroni (in his _Dissertatio de larvis scenicis et figuris comicis_) gives the reproduction of an ancient mime engraved upon onyx, which very much resembles Giangurgolo in headdress, long nose and ungainly posture.

v

IL VAPPO, or Smargiasso (fanfaron), is a Neapolitan type, representing the spadassin of the end of the eighteenth century. He is a great brawler, an excessive boaster, and above all an incredible poltroon, like the other varieties of the Captain. He wears an ample square-cut riding-coat, a three-cornered hat of an exaggerated height, yellow breeches and a long rapier, whose old and rusty hilt rattles as he moves. He is a clumsy, awkward fellow, striking terrific postures, a Franca-Trippa of Callot, dressed in a slightly more modern manner.

vi

The Romans also have a sort of Captain, ROGANTINO, who has the same manners and the same character as their Marco-Pepe. In Bologna the Corporal Rogantino is the chief officer of the watch; he is brutal, speaks with a bizarre accent, vibrating his rs, and, when he has to effect an arrest, if the guilty escape him he will often seize an innocent man; should anyone attempt to hinder him, he wants to strike and incarcerate everybody.

His scenes conclude in a general mêlée from which Rogantino issues invariably in a pitiable condition. “They have beaten me,” he says, “but I told them what I thought of them.” This character is preserved in Rome to this day, together with Pulcinella and Cassandrino, as one of the heroes of the marionette booth.

IV

COLUMBINE

In the _Mostellaria_ of Plautus, Philematium, a musician, has for waiting-woman a certain Scapha, who converses with her in terms very similar to those in which Diamantine converses with Aurelia, or Columbine with Isabella. In the following scene we are permitted to be present at the toilet of a woman of antiquity.

PHILEMATIUM. See, I beg you, Scaphe, whether this gown suits me. For it is my aim to please Philolaches, who is at once my lover and my master.

SCAPHA. Why do you not seek to acquire provoking ways, since in yourself you are entirely lovely? Lovers do not care for a woman’s gowns, but for what they contain.

PHILEMATIUM. And now what do you say?

SCAPHA. Concerning what?

PHILEMATIUM. Look at me closely and you will agree that this gown improves my beauty.

SCAPHA. The force of your beauty is greater and carries more influence than your raiment. All that you put on borrows grace and value from yourself.

PHILEMATIUM. I do not want you to flatter me.

SCAPHA. If I dared, my dear mistress, I should say that you are very foolish, since you prefer to be wrongly criticised rather than to be justly praised. Strange taste! As for myself—by Pollux! I would rather receive praise which I do not deserve than reproaches for faults of which I am aware.

PHILEMATIUM. I detest people who seek to please me by falsehood. If you find me wanting in anything, have the goodness to correct me.

SCAPHA. I certainly think that you act grossly against your interests when you give yourself entirely to Philolaches. You count upon none but him; you are so submissive, complaisant and obedient to this young man that all other lovers count for nothing with you; it does not become a courtesan to have but one intrigue; she should leave that to ladies of high degree.

PHILEMATIUM. Since my dear lover has delivered me from shameful bondage I do no more than my duty in showing him a hundred times more tenderness than when I flattered him to obtain what he has done for me.

SCAPHA. In that case consider him as a husband in conscience and in honour as well as in tenderness and, upon that footing, allow your hair to grow like that of a married woman.[5]

PHILEMATIUM. See whether my headdress is well arranged. Give me my white.

SCAPHA. What for?

PHILEMATIUM. To rub it into my cheeks to beautify me.

SCAPHA. It is like whitening ivory with soot.

PHILEMATIUM. Give me also my rouge (_purpurismum_).

SCAPHA. With these colours you are about to spoil the most beautiful work of nature. Confine yourself to the bright tints of your youth. You require no white-lead nor rouge of Melos nor any other sort of plaster.

PHILEMATIUM. Do you not think that I should do well to rub myself with scent, and to perfume myself?

SCAPHA. Beware of doing it! A woman smells best when she smells of nothing, for what can be thought of those women who perfume themselves, and proclaim themselves by their scents? They are treated as toothless hags, who seek to disguise themselves under paint and perfume.

PHILEMATIUM. Consider well my long robe and my jewels. Do you find me well adorned? Does everything suit me?

SCAPHA. It is not for me to judge; it is Philolache’s taste alone that is to be consulted on that subject. Purple is convenient for dissembling age, and as for gold, it suits no woman.

ii

From the flattering, cynical and corrupted slave was born in the Italian theatre the _servetta_ or _fantesca_, a confidential waiting-maid, known later in France as the _soubrette_, a character confounded with that of sophisticated and malicious village girls. As early as 1528 we find women playing this rôle in the lively and noteworthy comedies of Angelo Beolco (Ruzzante) performed at the theatre of Padua. She is called Betta and Bettia (for Elisabetta), Gnua (for Genoveffa), Gitta (for Gianetta), Nina, Besa, etc. Usually these are peasant women, who betray their husbands or their lovers for very little, “a piece of bread or a ribbon,” or even, very often, merely out of a spirit of mischief. Thus Bettia is enclosed with her lover Tonin, a man-at-arms, and speaks from the window to Ruzzante, her husband, who bids her open the door and return home with him, in which case he will forgive her fault.

“I care nothing about your forgiveness; I do not need it. At home it is I who have to labour and I am sick of it. Whilst you are glued to a chair and never do anything I must set my hands to everything. Go and seek another servant to clean your pots and pans, and to do your house-work. Do you think that I, who am as fresh and lively as a fish, shall submit to having no society but yours? I am here, and here I remain. I am sorry about your honour; but you have brought this upon yourself.”

In 1530 we find waiting-women in the troupe of the _Intronati_ under the names of Columbina, Oliva, Fiametta, Pasquella, Nespola and Spinetta. But the most famous actress in this line was Silvia Roncagli, born at Bergamo, who, under the name of Franceschina, went to France in the troupe of the _Gelosi_ in 1578. She returned to Italy with that company and played in Florence the rôles of waiting-woman to Isabella (Isabella Andreini). She spoke French perfectly, and at times permitted herself entirely French improvisations. The soubrette in the troupe of the _Fedeli_, which went to Paris with G. B. Andreini, still bore the name of Franceschina.

The wife of Tabarin, who improvised on the trestles of the Place Dauphine, assumed also the same _nom de guerre_. L’Etoile claims that she was Italian; he is certainly confusing her with Silvia Roncagli. Her real name was Anne Begot, and her reputation was much better than was supposed, for the stupid people of Paris took the farces and the follies which she uttered literally as being expressions of herself.

iii

Patricia Adami, born at Rome in 1635, was known under the name of DIAMANTINA. She played first in Italy and later in France. In 1600, after the decease of her husband, Adami, a comedian who died young, she made her first appearance in Paris, and her versatile talents caused the public very quickly to forget the actress who had preceded her in 1653, summoned to France by Cardinal Mazarin. Of the latter no more than her theatre-name of Beatrix is known, and this from the quatrain of Foret:

“Mais pour enchanter les oreilles, Pâmer, pleurer, faire merveilles, Mademoiselle _Béatrix_ Emporta, ce jour-là, le prix.”

Patricia Adami was of slight stature and rather brown of skin, but extremely pretty, and of a great vivacity on the stage. Agostino Lolli, who played the parts of Doctor, fell in love with her and they were married. She continued her successes and persevered in her employment until a younger star rose to eclipse her—that is to say, until the début of Caterina Biancolelli (Columbine). In 1683, Diamantina, having grown old, withdrew altogether from the theatre.

iv

The type of soubrette remains always the same. From the days of Plautus to those of Gherardi, and from those of Gherardi down to our own, it has undergone but little variation; but the soubrette became personified in the character of COLUMBINE by Teresa, Caterina and the second Teresa Biancolelli—grandmother, granddaughter and great-granddaughter. The most remarkable of the three by her versatile talent and her numerous creation is Caterina Biancolelli, daughter of the famous Domenico, and wife of Pierre Lenoir de la Thorillière, a pupil of Molière’s and a distinguished actor in his company.

She is sometimes soubrette, sometimes mistress, advocate, dancer, singer and swaggering gallant. It is said of her that she filled with equal ease all rôles, and that she spoke fluently several languages, dialects and jargons. She appears to have been a very well-educated woman of real talent. “She was small and brunette, but of a very comely countenance. She had more than beauty; she had physiognomy, a fine air, easy gesture and a sweet and pleasant voice.” Born in 1665 of Giuseppe-Domenico Biancolelli and Ursula Corteze (known in the theatre under the name of Eularia), she took the surname of Columbina, a surname which had been in vogue in the theatre since 1560; her paternal grandmother had already borne it and had been painted in walking costume, holding a basket containing two doves (_colombes_) in allusion to this her stage name. This portrait was preserved in the house inhabited by Domenico in the village of Bièvre, near Paris.

Caterina made her début on the 11th October 1863, in _Arlequino Protèo_. She came on and in Italian addressed her father who was playing Harlequin: “I was told that your lordship desired to speak with me. But what a droll figure is your lordship’s! You have the air of a turkey-cock.”

“How? Of a turkey-cock?” replied Harlequin; “I am the chief comedian of a troupe of turkey-cocks—I mean of a troupe of comedians. But I sent for you because I know that you have great talent for comedy, and I am going to give you a rôle in _The Burning of Troy_: I will represent the horse, you shall represent the fire,” etc. Columbine rejects the piece, which, she says, would end in smoke and hurt the eyes of the spectators. Choice is made of _The Loves of Titus and Berenice_. Columbine announces that she is going to _imberenice_ herself (imberenicciarmi), and Harlequin goes off to _titusine_ himself (intitusinarmi).

She scored a great success, and from the moment of her début she gave a free rein to her wit and audacity in improvisation. As soubrette to Isabella she remonstrates with her mistress, who is desolated at the prospect of marrying a man whom she does not love.

“You will live” (she tells her) “as live the majority of wives in Paris. In the first four or five years you will be prodigal, and then when you shall have consumed the greater part of your husband’s fortune in moveables, gowns, equipages and jewels, you will part company with him; your marriage-portion will be returned to you, and you will live thereafter as a great lady. How simple you are! Do you think rich men are married to be loved?”

Elsewhere she deals in home truths with her master:

“Quite frankly, sir, if you do not take care, you will, for all your millions, become the laughing-stock of Paris. It is well known that there is no man, be he great or little, who has not sometimes something in his head; but it is a shame to see you without occupation, lamenting your life and haggling from morning to night about the merest necessities of the house! Alas! for the days of your extravagance, when nothing was talked of but your ostentation and good humour. Whenever you returned from town you would always chat with me for a moment, your hand under my chin. It was Columbine here, Columbine there; now a ribbon, now a ring, now a fan. In short one had, now and again, some little mark of your remembrance. Now you come home a hundred times without once saying: ‘God keep you.’ You never cease from grumbling, you become as ugly as yellow lard, as cantankerous as a devil. Of your fifty lackeys you have dismissed fifteen; there remain only three coaches here, and I think—God forgive me!—that you retrench your wife’s expenditure in dress.”

On the subject of coquetry, Columbine thus admonishes Isabella:

“Things must never be allowed to go to extremes. But I assure you that a little pinch of coquetry scattered through the manners of a woman, renders her a hundred times more lovable and desirable. I but repeat the words of my mother, who was a marvellously well-informed woman on this subject. I have heard her say a hundred times that it is with coquetry as with vinegar: when too much is put into the sauce it becomes sharp and detestable; when it contains too little it is so faint as not to be tasted; but when you achieve that mediocrity which arouses appetite, it will induce you to eat your very fingers. It is the same with woman. When she is coquettish at the expense of her honour, fie, fie! that is not worth a devil. When she is not coquettish at all, that is still worse; her virtue seems confounded with her temperament, and you would suppose her merely a lethargic beauty. But when a beautiful woman has just so much sparkle as is required to please, faith, if I were a man, that should tell with me.”

In _Le Banqueroutier_ to prove to Isabella that her heart is more tender than she cares to confess, this is what she imagines:

COLUMBINE. Bring me a mantle, a scarf, a wig and a hat belonging to mademoiselle’s brother. I will beguile our leisure by counterfeiting one of these sighing lovers.

ISABELLA. But what shall I call you?

COLUMBINE. You shall call me “Chevalier.” And be on your guard, for, faith, I shall press you closely. You laugh? Had God but made a man of me I should have been a dangerous rogue. (_She goes out, to return dressed as a man._) Faith! mademoiselle, it is not without trouble that one penetrates to your apartments. If your brutal porter but wore laced breeches he would be taken for a Swiss. Do you know that I have spent literally two hours at your door, and that this rascal would not have consented to open if it had not occurred to me to tell him that I am a relative of yours? Count me a rascal if I do not speak the truth. By the way, have I told you that I love you?

ISABELLA. That statement has not yet reached me.