Part 5
Domenico was of short stature and comely face, but some ten years before his death he had become rather too stout for the part of Harlequin. At the foot of his portrait painted by Ferdinand, and engraved by Hubert, the following quatrain is to be read:—
“Bologne est ma patrie et Paris mon séjour, J’y règne avec éclat sur la scène comique; Arlequin sous le masque y cache Dominique, Qui réforme en riant et le peuple et la cour.”
After Domenico’s death a book was published by Florentin Delaulne bearing the following title:—_Arlequiniana, or the Quips and Pleasant and Amusing Stories culled from the Conversations of Harlequin_, 1694.
The work begins thus:
“On Saturday last, the 30th of the month, as I was leaving my room on the stroke of midnight, Harlequin appeared before me. He was wearing his little hat, his mask and the coat in which he performed. At first I was surprised to see him; but I was at once reassured, being persuaded that I had nothing to fear from a man for whom my affections had survived his death.
“‘Do not be apprehensive,’ he said to me; ‘I am charmed to see you.’
“Thereupon I ran to embrace him.
“‘No, not that,’ he said, ‘my body is now no more than abstract matter, ill calculated to receive such marks of your friendship. What folly induced you to publish things uttered between us when I was alive? Do you think to gladden the world with my stories? Was I so well known that my name should not yet be forgotten?’ etc.”
The author answers him that his name is immortal, that his person is beloved and esteemed throughout Europe; that in the rôles which he undertook he never played other than with justice and honesty.
“When you portrayed the knaveries of the practitioners, the distortions of women, the trickiness of bankrupts, or the impertinences of the bourgeois, do you think to have done them any harm?”
The conversation continues thus between the author and the deceased Domenico throughout the volume. Into this conversation are brought amusing stories, scandalous anecdotes of the time, quips, facetiæ, moralisings, philosophic dissertations, etc. It is a pot-pourri on the subject of Domenico.
In one of the comedies played by Domenico Harlequin seeks to sell his house. Having found a buyer, he protests that as he does not wish him to buy a pig in a poke he will show him a sample of the goods, and he produces from under his jacket a large piece of plaster.
In another scene Harlequin appears as a beggar. Ottavio questions him upon various matters; amongst other things he asks him how many fathers he possesses.
“I have only one,” replies Harlequin.
“But how does it happen that you have only one father?” demands Ottavio, losing patience.
“What would you?” is the answer. “I am but a poor man, and I have no means of affording more.”
Elsewhere Pasquariello seeks to lead Harlequin to a tavern; but in this piece Harlequin is of sober habits, and replies: “The glass is Pandora’s box; out of it come all the evils.”
Let us cite a few further traits of the character drawn by Domenico in the various Harlequins performed by him.
Mezzetin promises Harlequin that he shall wed Columbine if he will second him in a fresh piece of knavery. Whilst Mezzetin is considering his project, Harlequin counts the buttons of his doublet, and at each button says: “I shall have Columbine, I shall not have her; I shall have her, I shall not have her; I shall have her, I shall not have her; I shall have her, I shall not have her; I shall have her, I shall not have her; (_he bursts into tears_) I shall not have her!”
MEZZETIN. What ails you? Why are you crying?
HARLEQUIN (_weeping_). I shall not have Columbine! hi! hi! hi!
MEZZETIN. Who has said so?
HARLEQUIN (_indicating his buttons_). Buttonomancy!
In _L’Homme à Bonnes Fortunes_, Harlequin, disguised as a marquis, is the recipient of many presents from women whom he has contrived to please. He has already received and donned two dressing-gowns, when a third one is brought to him on behalf of a widow who comes to judge for herself of the effect produced by her present. There is a knock at the door. It is she. Harlequin has no more than time to slip this third gown over the other two, whereby he is given the appearance of an elephant. The widow enters, notwithstanding that admission has been refused her.
HARLEQUIN (_angrily_). Morbleu, madam! Did I not bid them tell you that I was not visible to-day?
THE WIDOW. To find you, sir, it is necessary to come upon you as you leave your bed; throughout the remainder of the day you are unapproachable.
HARLEQUIN. It is true that I have not an hour to myself. I am so exhausted by these adventures which the vulgar call _bonnes fortunes_ that my superfluity would be enough for twenty idlers of the Court.
THE WIDOW. But, sir, I find you very fat. What is the matter with you?
HARLEQUIN. Nothing, merely that I overate last night at supper.
THE WIDOW. There must be some other reason; are you perhaps dropsical?
HARLEQUIN. Indeed no!
THE WIDOW. Let us see. (_She pulls off his dressing-gowns, one after the other._)
HARLEQUIN (_defending himself_). Fie, madam! What are you about? This isn’t decent!
THE WIDOW. One, two, three dressing-gowns! That is to say, three mistresses! Ah! Traitor! It is thus, then, that you betray me! And you say that you love none but me!
HARLEQUIN (_attempting to seek refuge in the wardrobe_). Madam, I can bear no more!
THE WIDOW. Now I know the worth of your oaths.
HARLEQUIN. Madam, I must go.... If I don’t——
THE WIDOW. Rascal!
HARLEQUIN. Madam, I can no longer answer for the discretion of——
THE WIDOW. Are you shameless? I will have no more to do with you. Return me the dressing-gown. (_She attempts to drag her dressing-gown from him; they fight, HARLEQUIN knocks off her headdress, she loses one of her petticoats, and departs._)
On the subject of the etymology of the name of Harlequin, it is explained thus by Domenico:
CINTHIO (_to his lackey, HARLEQUIN_). By the way, since you have been in my employ it has never occurred to me to inquire your name?
HARLEQUIN. I am called Arlecchino Sbrufadelli.
(_At the name of Sbrufadelli CINTHIO bursts into laughter._)
HARLEQUIN. Do not presume to mock me. All my ancestors were people of consequence. Sbroufadel, the first of the name, was a pork butcher, but so superior in his profession that Nero would eat no sausages but those which he made. Of Sbroufadel was born Fregocola, a great captain; he married Mademoiselle Castagna, who was of so lively a temperament that she gave birth to me two days after the wedding. My father was delighted, but his joy was cut short by certain pettifoggeries on the part of the police. Whenever my father met an honest man on the highway he never failed to take off his hat, and if it happened to be night, he would take off his cloak as well. The police sought to curb this excess of civility and ordered his arrest. My father did not wait for it. He took me in my swaddling clothes, and, having thrust me into a cauldron, and the rest of his movables into a basket, he left the city, driving before him the donkey that bore his house and his heir. He frequently struck the beast to cries of “Ar! Ar!” which in the asinine language means “Get on! get on!” Whilst proceeding thus, he perceived that a man was following him. This man, observing that my father was considering him attentively, hid himself, crouching (_se messe chin_) behind a bush. My father, who took him for the officer sent to arrest him, conceiving that he assumed this position the better to surprise him, beat his donkey more severely than ever, crying _Ar! le chin_, that is to say: Get on, he is crouching. So that, as I was still without a name, my father, remembering the fright which he had received, and the words _Ar! le chin, Ar! le chin_, which he had repeated so often, called me Arlechino.
In another Italian scene we see Pasquariello giving advice to Harlequin, who is in difficulties on the subject of finding a good profession.
PASQUARIELLO. Set up as a doctor. If fortune smiles on you you’ll soon be rich. Consider how much the doctor has earned since he has been in fashion to treat gout. He has amassed more than two hundred thousand francs, and he knows no more about the gout than you do.
HARLEQUIN. Then of necessity he must know very little, for I know nothing.
PASQUARIELLO. That should not hinder you from being a clever doctor.
HARLEQUIN. Parbleu, you mock me! I can neither read nor write.
PASQUARIELLO. No matter, I say. It is not knowledge that makes the successful doctor, it is impudence and wordiness.
HARLEQUIN. But how, then, do they manage with their patients?
PASQUARIELLO. I will tell you. You begin by having a mule and promenading through Paris on it. First comes a man who says: “Sir doctor, I beg of you to come and see my parent who is ill.” “Willingly, sir.” The man goes ahead and the doctor follows on his mule. (_Here PASQUARIELLO imitates the man who walks; he turns round and says to HARLEQUIN who follows him trotting_): What are you playing at?
HARLEQUIN. I am playing the mule.
PASQUARIELLO. You arrive at the house of the sick man. Your guide knocks, the door is opened, the doctor alights from his mule and together they ascend the staircase.
HARLEQUIN. And the mule? Does the mule also ascend the staircase?
PASQUARIELLO. No, no, the mule remains at the door, it is the man and the doctor who ascend the staircase. Behold them now in the patient’s antechamber. The man says to the doctor, “Follow me, sir, I am going to see if my parent sleeps.”
(_Here PASQUARIELLO walks on tiptoe, stretches out his arms, and pretends to draw aside the curtains of a bed._)
HARLEQUIN. Why do you step so softly?
PASQUARIELLO. On account of the sick man. We are now in his chamber, beside the bed. “Sir, the patient is not asleep, you may approach.” Immediately the doctor takes the arm-chair by the bedside, and says to the patient: “Show me your tongue.” (_PASQUARIELLO puts out an enormous tongue and, imitating the patient, says_:) “Oh, sir, I am very ill!”
HARLEQUIN (_considering PASQUARIELLO’S tongue_). Eh! what an ugly illness!
PASQUARIELLO. That tongue is very dry and very heated.
HARLEQUIN. It must be put on ice.
PASQUARIELLO. Let us feel the pulse. (_He pretends to feel the pulse of the sick man._) Now here is a pulse that goes devilishly quick! Let us feel the stomach. Now here is a stomach that is very hard.
HARLEQUIN. Perhaps he has swallowed iron.
PASQUARIELLO. Let me have paper, pen and ink. (_He pretends to write._) Recipe: this evening a _lavement_, to-morrow morning a blood-letting, and to-morrow evening a medicine. (_All this is mimed by PASQUARIELLO as if he were administering a ~lavement~, or a blood-letting, or swallowing a medicine._) Then you take your leave of the patient, and you depart saying, “Sir, to-morrow I shall come at the same hour, and I hope in a short time to restore you completely to health.” Then the man who has introduced you reconducts you again, and slips a golden half-louis into your hand; you mount your mule once more and depart.
HARLEQUIN. But how may I be able to guess whether he has the fever or not?
PASQUARIELLO. I will show you. When the pulse is equal, that is to say when it goes tac, tac, tac, there is no fever, but when it is intermittent, and when it goes quickly, ti, ta, ta; ti, ta, ta; ti, ta, ta, there is fever.
HARLEQUIN. Now that is quite simple: tac, tac, tac, no fever; ti, ta, ta; ti, ta, ta; ti, ta, ta, fever.
PASQUARIELLO. There you are, as learned as the doctors; let us go.
HARLEQUIN. Ti, ta, ta; ti, ta, ta; I am all for ti, ta, ta.
Harlequin, having become a doctor, prescribes as follows for the Captain, who has asked him for a remedy for toothache. “Take,” says Harlequin, “some pepper, garlick and vinegar, and rub your back with them; that will make you forget your pain.”
As the Captain is about to depart, Harlequin calls him back. “Sir, sir,” says he, “I was forgetting the best; take an apple, cut it into four equal parts, put one of these in your mouth, and then thrust your head into an oven until the apple is baked, and I will answer for it that your toothache will be entirely cured.”
In the very curious pictures possessed by the Théâtre-Français, bearing the inscription in gold letters: “_Farceurs françois et italiens, depuis soixante ans_,” we find Domenico in his costume of Harlequin together with several other Italian types—Brighella, Scaramouche, the Doctor, Pantaloon, Mezzetin, Matamoros—mingling with the French types: Turlupin, Gros-Guillaume, Gaultier-Garguille, Guillot-Gorju, Jodelet, Gros-René and Molière.
iii
In 1689 Evaristo Gherardi took up and continued the performances of the rôles of Harlequin. He was the son of Giovanni Gherardi, born at Prato, in Tuscany. He made his first appearance in the revival of _Divorce_, in the rôle of Harlequin created by Domenico in the preceding year. Here is what he himself has to say of it:
“This comedy had not succeeded in the hands of M. Domenico. It had been struck out of the catalogue of the plays which were revived from time to time, and the parts had been burnt. Nevertheless (notwithstanding that I had never been on the stage in my life, and that I had but left the college of La Marche, where I had just concluded my course of philosophy, under the learned M. Bublé), I chose it for my first appearance, which took place on the 1st of October 1689. The piece was so successful in my hands that it gave pleasure to everyone, was extraordinarily well attended, and consequently earned a great deal of money for the company.
“If I were the man to derive vanity from the theatrical talents which nature has given me, either with face uncovered or under a mask, in the leading serious or comic rôles, I should have in this the most ample grounds upon which to flatter my self-love. I should say that I did more in my beginnings and in my first years than the most illustrious actors have been able to do after twenty years of experience, and in the full prime of their lives. But I protest that very far from having ever become elated by these rare advantages, I have always considered them to be the results of my good fortune, rather than the consequences of my merits; and if anything has been able to flatter my soul in this connection, it is the pleasure of seeing myself universally applauded after the inimitable M. Domenico, who went so far in the expression of the naïveté—that which the Italians call _goffagine_—of the character of Harlequin, that all those who witnessed his performances must always find some fault with the most famous Harlequin of any later day.”
It will be seen that Gherardi praises himself quite naïvely. It is true that this self-praise was not exaggerated, that he had great talents, and that he was attended by constant success until the theatre was closed in 1697. He hoped to bring about its reopening by his protectors at Court; but in this he was disappointed. He then produced a very interesting collection of the memorised French scenes, which were frequently interpolated into the Italian scenarii.
Some months before the publication of this collection, in the course of a show given at Saint-Maur, with Poisson and la Thorillière, Gherardi happened to fall upon his head. He neglected to have his hurt properly cared for, and on the very day on which he had been to present his book to Monseigneur he was holding between his knees his son (borne him by Elizabeth Danneret) when he had a seizure, and suddenly expired. That was on the 31st of August 1700.
“Il n’était ni bien ni mal fait, Grand ni petit, plus gras que maigre. Il avait le corps fort allègre, Le front haut, l’œil faible, mais vif. Le nez très-significatif. Et qui promettait des merveilles. La bouche atteignait les oreilles. Son teint était d’homme de feu; Son menton se doublait un peu; Son encolure, assez petite Le menaçait de mort subite.”
From an engraved portrait he resembles this description but little. His forehead is high, it is true, but his eyes are very large and lively, his nose aquiline and sensitive, his mouth small and well formed, and not a gash from ear to ear; the jaw is strongly outlined. In short, it presents a very intelligent countenance, full of finesse, advertising a lively and caustic spirit.
Here are some passages from the book of Gherardi—that is to say, from the scenes collected and performed by him:
DESPAIR OF HARLEQUIN IN _L’EMPEREUR DANS LA LUNE_
HARLEQUIN. Ah! unfortunate that I am! The doctor wants to marry Columbine to a farmer, and how can I live without Columbine? I shall die. O ignorant doctor! O inconstant Columbine! O knavish farmer! O extremely miserable Harlequin! Let me hasten to die. It shall be written in ancient and modern history: “Harlequin died for Columbine.” I shall go to my chamber; I shall attach a rope to a beam; I shall get upon a chair; I shall fit the rope round my neck; I shall kick away the chair; and behold me hanged! (_Mimicry of hanging._) It is done; nothing can stop me; let us hasten to the hanging crutch....
“To the hanging crutch? Fie, sir, you must not think of it. To kill yourself for a girl! It were a great folly....”
“Yes, sir; but for a girl to betray an honest man is a great wickedness....”
“I agree; but when you shall have hanged yourself shall you be any fatter?”
“No, I shall be thinner; I desire a slender shape! What have you to say to that? If you want to join me you have but to come....”
“Oh! as for that, no; you are not going....”
“Oh! but I am....”
“Oh! no, you are not....”
“But I _am_ going, I tell you.” (_He draws his sword, strikes himself and then exclaims_:) “There! I am rid of that tiresome fellow. Now that there is no one to interfere with me I will go hang myself.” (_He makes as if to depart, and then stops short._) “Ah! but no! To hang is a very ordinary death, the sort of death one sees every day; there is no glory in it. Let us seek some extraordinary death, some heroic death, some Harlequinic death.” (_He considers._) “I have it! I will stop up my mouth and my nose, so that the air may not pass through and thus I shall die. Behold, it is done.” (_He stops his nose and mouth with both hands, and, after remaining thus for some time he says_:) “No; the air still escapes; it is not worth while. Alas! what a trouble to die! Sirs, if any amongst you would be so good as to die, so as to afford me a model, I should be infinitely obliged.... Faith, I have it! We read in history that there are people who have been killed by laughter. I am most sensitive to tickling; if some one were to tickle me for long they would make me die of laughter. I shall go and tickle myself, and thus I shall die.” (_He tickles himself, laughs and falls down._)
In the same piece, a few scenes later, he goes to visit the Doctor, and announces himself as Colin, the farmer’s son who is to marry Columbine. The Doctor is his dupe until the arrival of the carrier, who announces that the farmer’s son is ill and cannot come. The Doctor turns upon Harlequin, eyeing him from top to toe, and says to him: “You are not Colin!”
“Forgive me, sir,” replies Harlequin, “I thought I was.”
Chagrined at not yet having succeeded, he seeks a new way to obtain Columbine. He runs backwards and forwards across the stage until he is out of breath, when he exclaims: “Will some one of his charity inform me which is the residence of Doctor Grazian Balouard?” (_He puts his hand to his mouth and imitates the sound of a trumpet_). “Pu, pu, pu! Doctor Balouard, a doctor at fifteen sous!”
THE DOCTOR (_aside_). What is the meaning of this? (_To_ HARLEQUIN.) Doctor Grazian Balouard? He is here, sir; what do you want with him?
HARLEQUIN. Oh! sir, you are choicely found. Address me your best compliments and bows. I am ambassador extraordinary, envoy from the emperor of the world of the Moon, and I am come to ask of you the hand of Isabella in marriage.
THE DOCTOR. Address yourself to others, my friend. I am not so easily taken in. An emperor in the moon! (_Aside._) Yet such a thing might be possible; since the moon is a world like ours, presumably there must be some one to govern it. (_To HARLEQUIN._) Are you really from that country, my friend?
HARLEQUIN. No, sir, I am neither from that country nor from this country. I am an Italian of Italy, at your service, born a native of the city of Prato, one of the most charming cities in all Tuscany.
THE DOCTOR. But how, then, did you contrive to ascend to the world of the moon?