ACT III

Isabella, Harlequin, and then Orazio

Isabella tells Harlequin that she is going to talk with her brother Orazio, and should he question Harlequin, Harlequin is to bear out whatever she may say. Orazio arrives. Isabella then relates to him that Flavio has just arrived at her house, bringing with him a young girl from Naples, betrayed and abandoned by the Captain, notwithstanding that he had sworn to marry her. This young lady has trusted the loyalty of Flavio, knowing him to be a friend of the Captain’s; but Flavio, desiring her to obtain reparation, has promised so to contrive that the Captain shall keep his word. To achieve this end he has thought of a trick: it is, of course with Orazio’s permission, to tell the Captain that Isabella is in love with him, and that he should come to visit her at her house; there, however, he will find instead the young girl whom he has abandoned, and thus he shall repair the wrong by marrying her. Orazio consents and inquires, where is this young lady. “She is in my house,” says Isabella. Harlequin, being questioned, answers in the same way. This decides Orazio to go in quest of the Captain, so as to send him immediately. Isabella goes in, followed by Harlequin, who can make nothing of the tales of his mistress and the answers delivered.

Flavio, Flaminia, then Pantaloon

Flavio, in despair from what Isabella has told him, comes to seek explanations from Flaminia. He knocks at her door and Flaminia appears. She is very angry with him. She weeps and complains that he has deceived her, but tells him that he may marry Isabella, and that she would be the last to throw any obstacles in his way. Flavio on the other hand overwhelms her with stern reproaches on the subject of Orazio, whom she wishes to marry. “I have never dreamt of it,” exclaims Flaminia. In the middle of their dispute Pantaloon enters. He seeks to console her and reproaches Flavio for the beautiful tears which he is causing her to shed. He proposes a way out of the difficulty. It is that Flaminia should accept him for her husband and he will renounce Isabella, “whose conquest he had undertaken.” Flaminia, in her vexation, tells Flavio that she will marry Pantaloon, old and ill though he may be, a statement which is but very little flattering to the latter. Flavio goes off angrily. Pantaloon, left alone with his future wife, attempts to caress her. He is rudely repulsed. Burattino goes mockingly to her aid, and Pantaloon, not knowing upon whom to vent his anger, insults Burattino and goes off.

Burattino, Pedrolino, then two rogues and Franceschina

Burattino watches Pantaloon off, deriding his stupidity, when Pedrolino, disguised as a mendicant, with a long false beard, and a patch over one eye, enters begging. Burattino bids him go to the devil, and seek work. Pedrolino replies that it is through having worked too hard that he has been driven out of his own country. At this moment a rogue, a friend of Pedrolino, arrives disguised as a merchant, pretends to perceive him for the first time, salutes him, thanks him and gives him money to recompense him for the great service rendered him in procuring him an heir. The false merchant announces himself delighted at having found him, and departs. Burattino, having overheard this conversation, is anxious to understand the subject of it more clearly, when a second rogue, also in agreement with Pedrolino like the first, comes to announce to him that his secret, whence it results that none but boys are born, has once more been perfectly successful. Thereupon he also departs. Burattino then detains Pedrolino, who pretends to wish to go. He summons his wife, and behold the two of them questioning this mysterious operator. Pedrolino cannot reveal his secret, but tells them that they are free to experience the excellence of his occult knowledge. Husband and wife having consulted together, they draw Pedrolino by cajoleries into the inn.

The Captain, Orazio, Isabella

Orazio having taken the Captain into his confidence on the subject of Isabella’s love for him, the latter is enchanted and consents gladly to the marriage. Isabella, summoned by her brother, and having manifested her joy in marrying the Captain, conducts him upon Orazio’s permission into the house. She returns to tell her brother that she has had the Captain taken to her own chamber, where he will find the young Neapolitan girl whom he so little expects. Orazio laughs heartily at the farce played upon the Captain, and goes in quest of Flavio, to advise him of the good success of this affair. Isabella, who wishes to kill two birds with one stone, calls Flaminia.

Isabella and Flaminia. (Night)

Flaminia expresses her surprise at finding Isabella in the street at such an hour. “The reason is a very simple one,” replies Isabella. “My poor brother Orazio is there in the house weeping and lamenting because you will not have him for your husband. Be generous, come and console him.” Flaminia, still angry with Flavio, resolves to go. They enter Isabella’s house.

Flavio, then Harlequin and Isabella

Flavio, at the height of his anger against Flaminia, wishes to marry Isabella out of spite; he hopes that Orazio will readily consent to their union. Harlequin, sent by Isabella, comes to beg Flavio to wait a moment for his mistress, who desires to speak to him. Isabella arrives, dismisses her servant and makes false confidences to Flavio. She tells him that she is to marry the Captain against her will, and that she would very much prefer Flavio if he would consent. She is a widow and may marry again as she pleases, whilst Flavio is free, since Flaminia is marrying another. Flavio, persuaded, consents to wed her. They enter the house arm in arm.

Pantaloon, Burattino

Pantaloon, lantern in hand, is seeking his house when Burattino comes on to tell him that he had better prepare the hundred ducats promised to Franceschina, because she is undoubtedly going to give birth to a boy forthwith. Pantaloon, very happily, goes to seek the money. Burattino re-enters his inn.

Orazio, then Harlequin and the Captain

Orazio, becoming impatient at not finding Flavio, makes shift to enter his house, and knocks loudly at the door, which he finds closed. Harlequin appears, carrying an enormous lantern and bids Orazio make less noise, or he will disturb the young married people. “Ah,” he cries, “your sister Isabella is a clever woman, to have known how to get herself a husband and to marry Flaminia at the same time.” The Captain, also lighting himself with a lantern, comes to grasp Orazio’s hand and to thank him for having given him his sister to wife. Orazio understands nothing of all this.

Flavio, Flaminia, Isabella and the preceding ones

Flavio and Flaminia enter hand in hand, having made the peace, and they congratulate Isabella upon having so adroitly carried through this intrigue. Orazio inquires where is the young Neapolitan lady. Isabella confesses that the young Neapolitan lady and herself are the same person, and announces that the story which she invented was no more than a ruse to induce her brother himself to give her to the Captain, whom she loves. Orazio, having conquered his astonishment, finds the Captain of a rank equal to his own and announces his consent. A great noise is heard in the inn.

Pedrolino, Burattino, Franceschina, and the preceding ones

Pedrolino runs on, chased by Burattino, who is armed with the kitchen spit and seeks his life. The others separate them and demand to know the reason of this quarrel. Pedrolino explains that, Burattino having mocked him, he, to avenge himself, had sworn to make a cuckold of him. “That, then,” cries Burattino, “was your fine secret!” Pedrolino adds that he did not wish to execute it lest it should injure his reputation. But Franceschina replies that he lies, and that it was she who repulsed and beat him. Peace being restored, the Captain marries Isabella, Flavio marries Flaminia, and thus the comedy comes to an end.

It will be seen from this long yet succinct scenario, this skeleton or ossatura, as it was then called, that the comedy which was but in its beginnings in France was already an accomplished thing in Italy; that it was as soundly invented and developed as those which French authors began to indite some fifty years later. With the exception of the jests of the shoes of Pantaloon and the supper of Burattino, which have no connection with the action and which would seem to be two of those traditional scenes interposed perforce into all performances to satisfy a certain portion of the public, the scenario of The Wiles of Isabella, like all those of the same collection, is very ably put together and leaves nothing to be desired from the point of view of proportion and logical development. When compared with the contemporary works of such Frenchmen as Jean de la Taille it will readily be seen that the Italians were very much the masters. It is true that the pupils profited fully from the lesson, and that in the seventeenth century they were able to indulge in reprisals. But to Italy must be given the credit due to her of precocity in the arts. It is to be remembered that whilst she culled through the ages the fruits of her ancient civilisation, France strode towards the future, her hands empty of those riches which the past had bequeathed to Italy.

That which was made for France by her great masters was as the labour of bees; the flowers did not bloom on French soil; the flight of these ingenious and mighty spirits crossed the Alps and the Pyrenees, to gather the precious nectars and return with the honey. France is rightly proud of them, but it is necessary to be just. Before Molière, before Corneille, before Calderon and Lope de Vega, and forty years before the birth of Shakespeare, Angelo Beolco (termed Ruzzante) had—as we shall see—created the modern theatre.

iii

Giovanni-Battista Andreini, the son of Francesco Andreini and the famous Isabella, was born in Florence in 1579. He seems to have been the first actor to bear the name of Lelio in the theatre. In the Gelosi troupe he replaced Domenico Bruni (Fulvio) in the capacity of lover.

After the death of Isabella Andreini in 1604, the Gelosi troupe was disbanded. G. B. Andreini undertook in 1605 the management of the Fedeli troupe, which was recruited by more than one of the old Gelosi. In 1601 G. B. Andreini had married in Milan Virginia Ramponi, a young and beautiful Milanese, known by the name of Florinda. After her death Andreini married in second nuptials the celebrated actress Lidia.

In 1613 Andreini wrote a blank verse piece in five acts dedicated to Marie de Médicis, which was performed in that same year in Milan. This piece, of a religious character (rappresentazione sacra), is entitled, Adamo. The characters in it are Adam and Eve, the Eternal Father, the Archangel Michael, Satan, Lucifer, the elementary Infernal Spirits, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Seraphim, the Angels, Death, Hunger, the Flesh and the Serpent. In short, it is a mystery play of the fifteenth century.

The Milanese edition of 1613 is extremely curious, with its engravings by Procaccini interposed in every scene. Its dedication to the Queen of France stirred in her the curiosity to know the author and the company. He went therefore to Paris in 1613, and remained there, playing several of his pieces, until 1618. He was installed at the Hôtel de Bourgogne from 1621 until 1625. He lost his father in that year and bade farewell to France in a work half theatrical, half mystic, entitled Teatro Celeste.

“Teatro Celeste, in which we see Divine Mercy calling several penitent and martyred comedians to the ranks of the blessed in Paradise, in which those who practise the profession of the theatre are poetically exhorted to follow their art without offending virtue, and not only to leave upon earth an honoured name, but further not to close against themselves by vice the path which leads to Paradise. Dedicated to my most illustrious and most reverend lord and very respected patron the Cardinal de Richelieu. By Gio. Batt. Andreini of Florence, known in the theatre as Lelio.”

In this work Andreini sings the praises of pious comedians. He puts forward his claims in favour of his profession. One of his sonnets is in praise of St Ardélion, a pagan actor, a martyr like St Genest. Another is in honour of Giovanni Buono of Mantua, who, retiring to a cloister, lived in penitence and was considered a saint: “he who so long excited laughter is transformed into a fount of tears.”

Again, it is the beatification of Brother John the sinner, the ancient comedian of Adria, who, in his conventual cell, “affords the angels the spectacle of his mortifications and his piety.”

Further on we have the praise of comedians who lead virtuous lives in the practice of their art. A whole sonnet is consecrated to the memory of his mother, Isabella Andreini. He compares human life such as it is in the world’s theatre to a mad theatrical performance. The poet exhorts actors of disordered life to re-enter the path of good conduct. Then, in his last sonnets, he bids farewell to the theatre and to the world and aspires to do penance. “Deceiving stage, I go! Never again shall I tread thy boards, tricked out and proud. I abandon all that vain lustre even as I withdraw from the lovely land of France.”

Andreini departed, in fact, with his troupe (the Fedeli); but he remained nevertheless their Director until 1652, when at last he retired at the age of seventy-three, “honoured by the favour of princes, appointed master of the hunt of the Duke of Mantua and a member of the society of the Spensierati.” He wrote so great a number of pieces, pastoral plays, comedies and scenarii, that no biography has yet been able to include a complete list.

In the year 1622 he published in Paris La Sultana, L’Amor Nello Specchio, La Ferinda, Li Due Leli Simili, and La Centaura. His pieces are redolent of the taste of the epoch; they are full of obscenities. Riccoboni says of him:

“Giov. Battista Andreini was a man of wit and of letters, and I am sure that had he lived fifty years earlier he would have followed the path trodden by others and would have left us some good comedies; but after all he was both author and comedian, and he could not write anything of a fashion other than that of the wits of his epoch and other than his interest urged him.”

iv

Marco Romagnesi, an actor of talent, known under the name of Orazio—also written Horatio—went to France somewhere about 1645 together with his wife Brighida Bianchi (Aurelia). Loret gives an account of the performances which took place at Vincennes in 1659, in which “the husband of Aurelia did marvels.”

Orazio in dress and manners is a gentleman of the period. He wears a moustache and the royale of 1643—a cut of beard invented by King Louis XIII., who “was one day taken with the fancy to have the beards of all his officers cut in such a fashion as to leave them merely a little tuft on their chins.” A lampoon was written on the subject:

“However ridiculous that may be, all the world appeared presently with a beard à la royale,” and the long love-lock, termed at first moustache, and later cadenette, in commemoration of M. Cadenet de Luynes, who wore the most beautiful love-lock that was ever seen, tied in a coloured ribbon. This fashion, which had already been in vogue for some years, was still considered in good taste, as well as the great felt hat decked with white plumes.

Orazio’s costume consists of a pale green doublet, a colour in the very best of taste; breeches of white satin, laced with silver and decked with ribbons tied into a knot in the place of the old garters, which had now passed out of fashion; silk stockings, and shoes with large pale green rosettes. A white baldric embroidered in silver carried his long rapier; he leaned upon a cane, and was curled, pomaded and perfumed.

There you have Orazio marching to the assault of the heart of Aurelia or Isabella, and, like the lover conceived by Saint Amant in his enumeration of the reformations which he considers to be a lover’s due, he no longer smokes.

Notwithstanding this extreme care of his person, and under this effeminate exterior, Orazio is a cavalier as dangerous to his rivals as to the ladies who have caught his eye. Like Don Juan, fathers, tutors, husbands, brothers and servants cannot turn him aside from his enterprises. He has always a sword-thrust ready for his rivals, a cuff for his lackeys, and flattery that is honeyed, persuasive, and fraught with a dash of raillery, for his mistresses. He is a gentleman of the dernier bien mis, as the phrase ran then; one who knows of life nothing but its luxuries: dress, horses, duels and women. He quits the arms of Aurelia to run and throw himself at the feet of Isabella, and if on the way he meets the soubrettes Beatrix or Diamantine, he forget his latest passion to dally with them, and to betray even his valet. As prodigal of his life as of his purse, he is brave to the point of temerity, and his rivals all give way before him. The type of Orazio is something more than a lover; he is a hero of gallantry whose device is: “Fais ce que veux, advienne que pourra.”

Romagnesi played these parts down to the time of his death in 1660.

In 1653, Turi, born at Modena, a son of the actor who played the parts of Pantaloon, was to be seen in the rôles of second lover under the name of Virginio. After the death of his father he left the theatre at the age of forty and withdrew to Modena, where he took the habit of the order of barefoot Carmelites. A few days after having pronounced his vows he died, and he was interred in the convent (1670).

In 1660, the Italian company being definitely established in Paris, the cardinal summoned from Italy a leading lover (primo innamorato) to make good the loss which the company had just sustained in the person of Marco Romagnesi. An actor whose stage name was Valerio came to take up this position and occupied it until 1667.

Andrea Zanotti of Bologna, known in the theatre under the name of Ottavio, made his début in Paris on the Italian stage in second-lover parts, which he played from 1660 until 1667, when he was promoted to leading lover. Towards 1684 Zanotti retired from the theatre and returned to Italy with his family. He was an excellent comedian. He was surnamed “the old Ottavio,” to distinguish him from Giovanni Battista Constantini, who played in 1668 also under the name of Ottavio.

v

After the departure of Ottavio, Marco Antonio Romagnesi took up the leading parts, and played them until 1694 under the name of Cinthio, which was already in existence. A lover whose real name we have been unable to ascertain had already borne it in Rome in 1550.

It is under the pompous name of Cinthio del Sole that Marco Antonio Romagnesi, born at Rome, made his first appearance in Paris in 1667. He was the son of Marco Romagnesi and Brighida Bianchi. He succeeded Valerio, whose family name is unknown. We behold him, in the collected plays of Gherardi, dressed after the fashion of a young man of quality at the end of the seventeenth century, with the huge Louis XIV. wig, the pointed lace collar, waistcoat and coat of a long cut, a sash round his middle, a round hat slightly cocked, the crown encircled by feathers. This is the classic costume of the young men of Molière, of Léandre, Ottavio and all lovers.

In Colombine Avocat, Cinthio, passing in front of Harlequin, who, pretending to be a marquis, is richly but grotesquely dressed, surveys him from head to foot and then takes him by the sleeve to ask him, “Is that the fashion?”

Harlequin. Yes, sir, the fashion. What has it to do with you?

Cinthio (coldly). Are you not called the Marquis Sbrufadelli?

Harlequin. Yes, sir, the Marquis Sbrufadelli is my name. What have you to say about it?

Cinthio. And you are to marry Isabella, the Doctor’s daughter?

Harlequin. Certainly, and none shall hinder me. I am a gentleman of quality, and a man of heart, by heaven!

Cinthio (deriding him). Ha, ha, ha! the lovely fellow!

Harlequin (thrusting down his hat with one hand, and placing the other upon the hilt of his sword). What? To a man such as I? By death! By——

Cinthio (drily). What are you going to do with that sword?

Harlequin (suddenly softening). I want to sell it, sir. You don’t happen to want to buy it, do you?

Upon the death in 1694 of Angelo Lolli, who played doctors, fathers and tutors, Romagnesi took his place and played such parts until 1697, under the names of Cinthio, old Oronte, Persillet, Grognard, the Bailie of Bezons, the Doctor, etc. He remained in Paris until the suppression of the Théâtre-Italien, and died there in 1706. He had married in Italy in 1653 Giulia della Chiesa, who never played in comedy, and who died in London in 1675 on the occasion of a journey thither made by the Italian troupe.

“Cinthio was a man of wit who wrote both in prose and in verse. In 1673 he printed in Italy a volume of heroic, amorous, sacred and moral poems which were highly esteemed by the most famous Italian poets. He was a sound philosopher, very learned in letters, affable in conversation, polished in manners and very honest in his sentiments. His family was noble and distinguished.”

He wrote a large number of scenarii for the theatre.

Under the name of Aurelio, Bartolomeo Ranieri, a Piedmontese, had succeeded Zanotti (Ottavio) in the parts of second lover. His début in Paris took place in 1685. He was just a mediocre actor, “but he was unable to control his tongue and his political opinions, wherefore the court, informed of his malevolent reflections, commanded him to return to Italy.” He departed in 1689 and went to resume his interrupted studies of divinity. He took Holy Orders and Riccoboni speaks of having several times beheld him in the discharge of his sacred office.

vi

On the 2nd November 1688, Giovanni-Battista Constantini, a younger brother of Angelo Constantini (Mezzetin), who had left his native place, Verona, made his first appearance in Paris under the name of Ottavio.

“On the 2nd November 1688 the Italian comedians performed for the first time a comedy entirely in Italian entitled La Folía d’ Ottavio. The title-rôle, which is that of a lover, was filled by a young man who is a son of Gradelin and a brother of Mezzetin. He was applauded by the entire assembly. He performed on seven different kinds of instruments—namely, the flute, the theorbo, the harp, the psaltery, the cymbal, the guitar, the hautbois, and to these he added on the morrow the organ. He sings agreeably and dances very well. He is of a very good shape” (Note of M. de Tralage).

Ottavio succeeded Aurelio in the parts of second lover. In 1694 he assumed the leading rôles, when Cinthio abandoned them for those of doctors and fathers. In 1697, after the expulsion of the Italian comedians by order of Louis XIV., Constantini returned to Verona, and rendered important services to the French generals during the war of 1701. The Imperialists avenged themselves by pillaging his property.

“The Chevalier de Lislière, sent by the King into Italy to reconnoitre the positions, encampments and movements of the enemy, attests that the Sieur Constantini Ottavio, a gentleman of Verona, has given essential proofs of his zeal and of his attachment to France; he undertook several journeys by order of the generals, and he was so useful that he was the first to bring them news of the advance of the enemy in Italy. This he did at his own expense, refusing the emoluments which the generals offered him; the enemy, learning this, and being informed of his zeal for France, have wrecked his property in the neighbourhood of Verona. He has asked me to give him this certificate, and as I was frequently charged with communicating to him in the orders of the generals, I am unable to refuse my testimony of the zeal and attachment of the said Sieur Constantini to the interests of France, and of the disinterested manner in which he has afforded proof of this.

“Given at the camp of Saint-Pierre de Linage, the 12th June 1701.

“(Signed) Lislière.”

Ottavio returned to Paris in 1708 completely ruined, and in recompense for the services which he had rendered to the army before Verona he received from the King, through the interest of the Marshal de Tessé, the post of inspector of all the barriers of Paris. This important office enabled him to set up a sort of Italian theatre at the fairs of Saint-Germain and Saint-Laurent in 1712. But, as he was an extravagant man and of but little method, he did bad business. Later on, when the Italian troupe was summoned to France by the Regent Orléans in 1716, he went to offer his services to his compatriots, who accepted them with pleasure. But whether through disorder, or the incapacity of the people he employed to set up the machinery and carry out the repairs at the Palais-Royal, his comrades dispensed with him at the end of a month.

He died at La Rochelle in 1731. “He was a man of wit and of talent but, like his father Gradelin and his brother Mezzetin, the unbridled love of women and of the table left him in indifferent circumstances throughout his life and in misery at the end of it.”

Giovanni-Battista Constantini married in Italy a very beautiful woman named Teresa Corona Sabolini, who played under the name of Diana. But she never accompanied her husband on his journeys into France.

In 1694 Carlo-Virgilio Romagnesi, the grandson of Aurelia and Orazio, made his début at the Comédie-Italienne under the name of Léandre. Gifted with a handsome countenance and an innate talent for the dramatic art, he played all the lovers’ parts until 1697. When the Comédie-Italienne was closed he joined the troupe of Tortoretti, and toured with him through France. He fell in love with Elisabetta, the daughter of Giovanni-Battista Constantini, who was also touring the country, went with him to Lorraine and then returned to Paris in 1707, where he married the lady. He died in 1731.

vii

“Luigi Riccoboni, who played under the name of Lelio, was born at Modena in 1674. He was the son of a celebrated comedian, Antonio Riccoboni, and, following in his father’s profession, he was seen, always with success, in the rôles of leading lover, under the name of Federigo. He joined the company of Signora Diana, the wife of Giovanni-Battista Constantini, known in the old troupe under the name of Ottavia Diana. She induced him to abandon the name of Federigo for that of Lelio, which he always bore thereafter both in Italy and in France. Riccoboni had married in first nuptials the sister of Francesco Materazzi, who played the parts of Doctor in the troupe of the Regent d’Orléans. This first wife was named Gabriella Gardelini, and played soubrettes; but she abandoned this line for that of second lady. She died young and without leaving any children to Riccoboni, who later married Elena Baletti (Flaminia).”

Luigi Riccoboni had been entrusted with the formation of the Italian troupe which went to France in 1716 under the title of Comédiens ordinaires de S. A. S. monseigneur le duc d’Orléans, régent de France. He was then twenty-two years of age. He retired in 1729, together with his wife Flaminia and his son Francesco Riccoboni; but Flaminia and her son returned to the theatre a little while afterwards.

Lelio played with a great deal of spirit; “No one ever expressed overwhelming passion with so much verisimilitude.” To his gifts as an excellent actor he added those of a distinguished author. He wrote some thirty pieces and, moreover, a history of the Italian theatre, an Italian poem on the subject of declamation, and observations on comedy and on the genius of Molière. Upon retiring from the stage he repaired to the court of the Duke of Parma, who gave him the management of the theatres of his duchy and of his house. After the death of this prince, Lelio returned to France, where he died in 1753 at the age of seventy-nine.

“In the year 1690, at the age of thirteen” (he writes in his History of the Italian Theatre), “I began to frequent the theatre. Almost all the comedians of those days were ignorant fellows; lovers’ parts were played by the sons of comedians, men of no education, or else by young people who embraced the profession out of principles of libertinism.”

Riccoboni speaks, in this history, of an actor who, like himself, sought to uplift the bonne comédie—that is to say, the classical comedy written in verse and learnt by heart.

“As in all professions,” he says, “there is often to be found in this one a man of wit and of taste who detaches himself from the others; during the last days in which the comedians were still at liberty to go to perform in Rome during carnival, a young man of that great city was attracted to comedy, and followed the troupe. He had the good fortune to fall into the hands of Francesco Calderoni (Silvio) and Agata Calderoni (Flaminia), his wife, the grandmother of my own, who, having preserved a remnant of this art (classical comedy), opened a good door for him and showed him the good path.

“This young man, in his quest of distinction, passed through all the degrees of comedy and, by his application and study, succeeded in becoming the head of a troupe, and the greatest actor of his day. He of whom I speak is named Pietro Cotta, surnamed Lelio; he has always been accounted a man of great probity, the avowed enemy of all equivocal thought and of all that licence which, at the end of the last century, was so very much in evidence in our disordered theatres.”

In fact, Cotta’s aim was to uplift comedy in every sense. It was in Venice that he produced, for the first time, L’Aristodemo del Dottore, and he took care to inform his public “that there was no Harlequin in the piece, but that the subject was very moving.” This new species of spectacle attracted only a small number of admirers. Rodogune, Iphigénie en Aulide did not amuse the great public. Some other directors sought to imitate this new classical school, but without success. The public demanded Harlequin, Brighella, and Pantaloon, cudgel-blows and broad buffooneries. Pietro Cotta retired in disgust.

Riccoboni went to France imbued with this mania for tragedy, but in France there was no need of Italian comedians to provoke tears; laughter was wanted. Therefore Riccoboni, having missed his aim in France, withdrew to Parma, where he gave performances of tragedies and French classic comedies translated into Italian; in these Pantaloon and the Doctor became truly noble fathers, and the lackeys, Harlequin and Scapino, similarly lost their original characteristics.

Riccoboni, it is plain, was consumed by the singular desire to destroy the Italian comedy, this Commedia dell’ Arte to which he owed his best successes, and of which he speaks in his book like a competent and intelligent man. Perhaps his sombre physiognomy, “which aided him to depict terrible and extravagant passions,” suggested to him the idea of throwing himself into the serious and tragic style. Nevertheless he had enjoyed a real vogue in his real line.

“The success of L’Italien Marié à Paris and the liveliness of the dialogue in the scenes between Lelio and Flaminia caused many to doubt that they were really being played impromptu. The enemies of the Italian company and French comedians added weight to these suspicions. This question was continually discussed in Paris, especially at the Café Gradot, where literary people then assembled.”

The two volumes of Riccoboni, entitled, a little presumptuously, Histoire du Théâtre Italien, form a work which it is useful to consult on the subject of the Italian theatre, although it is very incomplete, and written indifferently, yet agreeably, by an Italian who employs a French entirely his own, but who is wanting neither in wit nor good sense. He appreciates with exactness and subtlety the art of the theatre, although in the application of his theories he is very often wanting in taste, a circumstance which goes to prove that criticism is very much easier than practice.

Luigi Riccoboni took with him into France as second lover, in 1716, Giuseppe Baletti, surnamed Mario, who, in 1720, married Giovanna-Rosa Benozzi, very well known under the name of Silvia. Giuseppe Baletti, who was born in Munich, died in 1762.

On the 13th April 1725, Giovanni-Antonio Romagnesi, the son of Gaetano Romagnesi and grandson of Marco-Antonio Romagnesi (Cinthio), made his first appearance at the Comédie-Italienne in the rôle of Lelio, was well received, and continued to appear in lover rôles under this name. He was born at Namur in 1690. His mother, Anne Richard, after the death of Cinthio, married again, in Brussels, a man named Duret. This man ill-treated his stepson, who had already made his début in his mother’s company with considerable success. He was then fifteen years of age. Incensed by the harshness of his mother, and in despair under the ill-treatment of Duret, he resolved to leave them and to become a soldier. He enlisted with a captain who treated him no better than his parents had done, notwithstanding that the youth, to make a friend of him, had presented him with his watch, the most precious of his possessions. In the end Romagnesi, unable longer to endure his ill-treatment, deserted and joined the troops of the Duke of Savoy, where he enlisted with another captain whose brutality was even worse than that of the first. Falling thus from Scylla into Charybdis, he wrote to Quinault, who was then in Strasburg, and informed him of his sorry plight. Quinault replied, inviting him to go to Basle, where he would find the means to reach Strasburg. Romagnesi deserted for a second time, and, travelling from convent to convent, he managed to keep alive and to reach the gates of Basle without a halfpenny, and in rags.

But, at the gates of Basle, he discovered that no one approaching from the side of Savoy was admitted until he had undergone a searching interrogatory. What was he to do? A hundred paces from the town he perceived a herd of pigs driven by a child of ten. He advanced upon the boy and, taking possession of his whip, ordered him in a voice of thunder to wait an hour before re-entering Basle. He then set out, driving before him four or five of the largest pigs. “You will find them again,” he said, “at the entrance to the faubourgs of the city.” Thus, driving his pigs before him, he entered without hindrance in the wake of his herd, which he left at the place indicated to the boy.

He ran to the post, but failed to find there any letter from Quinault. The carrier would arrive only upon the morrow. This delay was hard upon a man who had not eaten that day, who did not know a soul in the city, and who had not a farthing in his pocket. He went to an inn, demanding supper and a bed, but his shabby appearance inspired no confidence in the hostess; she demanded payment in advance. Romagnesi then confessed that he was without money, but assured her that he would receive a remittance on the morrow, and be able to repay her. The fulfilment of such a promise seemed doubtful; it was in vain that he employed all his eloquence; it was wasted labour. He was on the point of being dismissed when a neighbouring baker, touched by the speech which he had overheard, undertook to pay his bill for him, should he fail to do so himself.

On the morrow the baker went to the post with Romagnesi. They found a letter from Quinault in which he announced his arrival that evening. In effect, he arrived, and it would be difficult to express the joy of Romagnesi, “which he expressed whilst tenderly embracing Quinault and weeping for gratitude.” Quinault kept the baker to supper when he learnt the service which the man had rendered to his protégé.

On the morrow, having equipped his new friend more suitably, Quinault set out with him for Strasburg. As Romagnesi’s desertion was occasioning Quinault some uneasiness, he thought it prudent to inform the Commandant of the place and the Intendant of the city. He related to them in detail the adventures of young Romagnesi in the most favourable possible light. Protection was accorded him, with the assurance that Quinault could cause his actor to make his début whenever he thought fit. At the end of a fortnight Romagnesi made his first appearance, and scored a great success. His uneasiness ceased entirely, thanks to an amnesty which was published and to a formal dismissal from his captain, who had received the order to issue it. After two years in Strasburg Romagnesi quitted Quinault’s company to enter Ottavio’s performing in Paris at the fairs of Saint-Germain and Saint-Laurent which had become known as the Opéra-Comique. He undertook there, and always with success, the rôles of lover. It was there, in 1716, that he began to write pieces for the forain theatres.

Ottavio, having done bad business, gave up his theatre. Romagnesi then went to tour the provinces until 1718, when he returned to Paris and appeared at the Théâtre-Français; but he was not received there. He went to Bordeaux, Brussels, Cambrai; whence he returned to Paris again in 1725, and appeared at the Comédie-Italienne in Les Surprises de l’Amour. He was accorded a good reception in this theatre, “of which he long sustained the glory as much by his talent for declamation as by the success of the pieces which he performed there,” which amount to some sixty-two.

“Romagnesi was tall and well made; his voice was a little muffled, and he appeared to labour when he had to recite any rather lengthy couplet. He was a good actor in all lines, but excelled particularly in drunken rôles and in impersonating Swiss and Germans.” He died suddenly at Fontainebleau in the arms of Mademoiselle de Belmont, on the 11th May 1742. The curé of Fontainebleau having refused him burial, his body was interred in Paris in the church of Saint-Sauveur.

Francesco Riccoboni, the son of Luigi Riccoboni and of Flaminia, was born in 1707 at Mantua. He took up the parts played by his father under the same name of Lelio. His first appearance took place on the 10th January 1726, and in 1729 he left the theatre together with his father. He re-entered it with his mother in 1731, and there played and danced with success until 1736. He then went to tour the provinces, returned to the Comédie-Italienne in the following year, and left the theatre for good in 1750. He was the author of several Italian pieces, and died in 1772. He occupied himself also with alchemy. He married Marie-Jeanne Laboras de Mézières, who was at once an actress and the author of many esteemed romances.

Antonio-Luigi Baletti, the son of Mario and Silvia, was, on the 1st February 1741, received at the Théâtre-Italien under the name of Lelio to declaim and dance. On the occasion of his début his mother Silvia addressed a speech to the public in which she craved their indulgence for a child who, notwithstanding maternal representations, had insisted upon facing the dangers of a first appearance. He was well received, together with Carlo Bertinazzi.

On the 23rd February 1670, the comedians gave a benefit performance in his favour of the Serva Padrona, to compensate him as far as possible for an accident which he had suffered in the theatre.

In the last act of Camille Magicienne, Pantaloon leads on some soldiers to force an entrance into a tower in which Camille has imprisoned Lelio and Flaminia; it was customary to discharge several shots against this tower. One of the soldiers who was to take part in the assault had, whilst waiting, placed his gun beside that belonging to the sentry of the theatre, who had quitted his post. The scene being reached sooner than was expected, the soldier was called; inadvertently he took the weapon of the sentinel, which was loaded, and put a bullet through the thigh of Baletti (Lelio). The performance was suspended, but the incident had no serious result.

In 1759 Zanucci undertook the rôles of Lelio or Mario in the forain theatres. Other principal lovers were: Dulaudet (1714), Deshayes (1718), Raguenet (1750), Joly (1737), Brou (1740).

viii

The earliest type of Leandro is a fresh and rosy lover, fluttering ribbons and lace. He is the accepted suitor of the beautiful Lavinia, of Isabella or of the naïve Beatrice. Thus he was at the time of his creation in 1556 in the Italian companies.

Corneille, Molière, Destouches present him in their pieces under a seductive exterior. His aspect is the same at the Théâtre-Italien down to the end of the seventeenth century, and we have already said that Carlo Romagnesi, renowned for his beauty, had made his début at the Comédie-Italienne in 1694.

This rôle, after the death of Carlo Romagnesi, was suddenly transformed, both in Italy and in the forain theatres; it came then to be that of a ridiculous personage entitled Leandro il bello, and this surname of “the beautiful Leandro,” which was well deserved by Carlo Romagnesi, was no more than a derision when applied to the Leandro who was thereafter to be found in pantomime. The transformation was not infelicitous. Leandro has the privilege of making us laugh. To see this personage strutting the theatre like a cock, his head lost in his ruff, his sword pointing upwards behind him and threatening the eyes of his neighbours or becoming entangled in the legs of his lackey, it would seem that we have not here a lover, but a sort of Matamoros. And as a matter of fact, this beautiful Leandro is always the son of some captain, a great slayer of Saracens; he too is in love with Isabella or Columbine; he deigns to condescend even to this soubrette when she is the daughter or ward of Cassandre; but notwithstanding his beautiful curls, his lace ruffles, his doublet, peaked like that of Polichinelle or of Matamoros, the sword of his ancestors, his titles, and the parchments which he always bears upon him, he never succeeds in receiving anything but kicks aimed at his stomach, but, thanks to the promptitude of his evolutions, always delivered at another address.

He is a Spaniard, a hidalgo of the old rock. He is no doubt rich, to judge by the silver embroideries upon his pink or yellow garments, and the simple Cassandre never fails to be imposed upon by his exterior. When he speaks, he bleats horribly. He holds himself as stiffly as a pine-tree (it is supposed that he wears corsets); he boasts to her whom he desires to marry of his bonnes fortunes, for which he has never failed to pay dearly; he submits to beatings from Harlequin, and flees at the approach of any danger. He is totally ignorant of everything, with the sole exception of the art of heraldry. Awkward and very susceptible, he never suffers anyone to pass in front of him; he frequently carries his hand to his rapier, but no one can remember ever to have seen its blade.

Sometimes he is dressed like a marquis of Louis XV., but he possesses all the virtues of the hidalgo, whether under his hempen wig or under his short red hair.

In Cassandre aux Indes, a farce of the boulevard theatres (1756), Leandro is in love with Isabella. Cassandre on his departure for the Indies had confided his daughter to the guardianship of Harlequin; the latter permits himself to be bribed by Leandro, who desires to penetrate to the presence of Isabella. After having ransacked the pockets of the lover, the lackey finds there: “A book to learn to read; a paper snuff-box; a book of puerile civility; a solar quadrant and a chain; a patch-box in white metal; a currycomb; a leather glove.” All this is not worth very much, so that Harlequin demands that he shall write him a note for ten crowns in exchange for which Leandro may have speech of Isabella.

Leandro, who is unable to write, makes a cross upon a piece of paper. The conventional jests on the subject being exhausted, Harlequin goes in search of Isabella.

Leandro. I am going to pay her a little impromptu compliment carefully prepared.

(Isabella enters followed by Harlequin. Leandro, without removing his hat, addresses her the following compliment.)

Lady, the admiration of your beauty has filled my heart with love of your fine eyes; and should you feel a reciprocity for your very humble servant, there is no happier man upon earth than I should be in all the world.

Isabella. Sir, it would be impossible to find a compliment more gallantly expressed, and I tell you frankly that you would suit me very well as a follower, were it not for a detail which is but a bagatelle, namely, that I am distressed to see that you are suffering from scurvy.

Leandro (his hat still on his head). Lady, I assure you that is no longer the case. I was cured at the age of sixteen. A scurvy gentleman would be an impossible thing!

Isabella. Sir, I have the honour to tell you that I perceive from my window that you are making eyes at me. It might be fitting that I should be moved to love you, but I have noted something which stifles my tenderness; in short, if you are not suffering from scurvy, you are clearly suffering from ringworm.

Leandro (still without taking off his hat). If a man were to offer me that insult, I should cut his face in two; but since it is you, lady, the respect which I must bear to my affections compels me to respect you.

Isabella (dropping a curtsy to Leandro). Farewell, sir. I found you an ass, I leave you an ass.

Harlequin (laughing and mimicking Isabella). I found you an ass, I leave you an ass. (Exeunt.)

Leandro (alone). What does it mean? I don’t understand. Oh, heavens, I did not take off my hat! Behold me lost for all time! Is it possible that I, who would take off my hat to a dog, should not have taken if off to my charming mistress? She will desire no further commerce with me. I am in a fury, which causes me the greatest sorrow. There is nothing left for me but to go and drown myself; if only I had poison at hand, I believe that I should pass my sword through my body!

Polidoro, the ridiculous lover of the fifteenth century, in a comedy of Beolco (Ruzzante), is the true modern Leandro, ugly, ungracious, unhealthy, but rich and confident of the power of his ducats.

“In short,” he says, “money is the true means of obtaining everything. I have taken my precautions to monopolise the favours of my beautiful lady, because I am not one of those who consent to be alone in the expense and accompanied in the pleasure.” To him enters the little servant of Celega, the entremetteuse.

Polidoro. Go ahead, Forbino, and tell thy mistress that I am coming. Make haste!

Forbino. I go, but at least give me something for the good news which I brought you on the subject of your rival Flavio.

Polidoro. I shall give but too much to thy mistress.

Forbino. Devil take her. I want you to give me something for myself also.

Polidoro. Be off quickly, rascal. Hast learnt to be insolent!

Forbino. A plague on you! I would give a ducat, if I had it, that Flavio should get the better of you, that he should find the money that he lacks, and that you should be left in the street to sing the todolina!

Polidoro. Gallows-bird! If I come at thee!

Forbino. Give me something.

Polidoro. Cuffs will I give thee.

Forbino. None but a fool could wish ill to Flavio. He is worth a good deal more than you, who in all your life have never given me a coin.

Polidoro. Wait! I will give thee one that is worth ten.

Forbino. Only a fool would wait. My compliments to you.

In the following century the name of Polidoro is bestowed upon old men, as in Gli Affliti Consolati, by Alfonso Romei of Ferrara, in 1604. In a burlesque fairy play (Les Pilules du Diable), which took Paris by storm, Leandro was called Sotinez.

Laurent the elder, a remarkable mime who had played Harlequins in many little theatres, gave this personage a costume, gestures and a physiognomy entirely noteworthy, and in the true colour of the Italian farce.