Chapter IX: Part 9

GRAPIGNAN. Faith! If the affair is conducted with heat it may
very well lead you to the hangman. We must get you out of it.
Did anybody see you?

THE THIEF. No, sir.

GRAPIGNAN. So much the better. To begin with we must lock up
the horse. For if the merchant came to discover it, seeing
that he has no other witness, he would not fail to have it
interrogated upon the facts, and then you would be lost.

THE THIEF. There is nothing to be feared on that score. The old
screw is incapable of unlocking its teeth.

GRAPIGNAN. Do not trust to that. Every day we behold dumb
witnesses bringing about the downfall of the accused.

THE THIEF. The devil!

GRAPIGNAN. We must lose no time. We must begin by procuring
witnesses at any price.

THE THIEF. But there was no one on the highway at that moment.

GRAPIGNAN. Never mind, never mind. We will discover someone who
was there.... I have in mind a couple of Normans who sometimes
work for me; but they will not undertake the matter save at a
good price, for they have just issued from an affair in which
without me ... you understand. (_He puts his hand on his neck
in a gesture suggestive of hanging._) Also it is a fact that
witnesses are very dear this year.

THE THIEF. How does that happen?

GRAPIGNAN. It is because no quarter is given them, they hang as
many of them as they can discover.

THE THIEF. If it is only a matter of money, sir, here is my
purse with twenty-four pistoles.

GRAPIGNAN. Heh! Heh! That may suffice for one witness,
but there are two of them. Haven’t you anything else, any
jewellery, any old diamond? On occasions like this, it is
necessary to know how to bleed oneself.

THE THIEF. Here is a diamond worth another twenty pistoles, and
here a watch, which may be worth twelve.

GRAPIGNAN. Well, well, out of love of you I might advance five
or six pistoles myself. After that we’ll make our accounts.

THE THIEF. Do so, sir. I place myself in your hands, and I
trust myself to your discretion.

GRAPIGNAN. Very well, then. It will be an extraordinary thing
if, with my two witnesses, I do not have your accuser sent to
the galleys. (_The thief departs._) Twenty-four pistoles on the
one hand, a watch and a diamond on the other: is it not better
that I should profit by these things than the provost? For this
poor devil will undoubtedly be sent to the wheel without delay!

Such is M. Grapignan, who succeeds in robbing even highway robbers.

v

IL SBIRRO (the Constable) was ever a type greatly in vogue in the Italian comedy. He is the same personage as the _Sergent du Guet_ of the booth of Polichinelle, under the names of _Corporal Rogantino_, _Corporal Simone_, _Capo de gli Sbirri_, etc. Like the _Podestà_ (chief magistrate), this terrific personage appears but little in the course of the plot’s development.

A vast felt hat, an enormous cloak, great strong boots, a long sword, 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.

LEANDRO speaks of his love for Rosaura. He seeks to
deceive Pantaloon.

At this moment:

TARTAGLIA comes on, speaking to himself of the great
wealth of Pantaloon.

LEANDRO asks for the hand of his daughter.

TARTAGLIA replies that she is affianced to the son of
Pantaloon.

LEANDRO is astonished; he makes a scene, etc., etc.

“From this textually rendered sheet” (says Gozzi) “comes the
comedy _I Contratti Rotti_, and from more than four hundred
other formulæ as concise as this come all our Commedia dell’
Arte. Such plays as these are not at the mercy of the sudden
illness of an actor, or the fact that another has been recently
recruited; a simple arrangement, broadly made, concerning
the basis of the scenic action, suffices for a successful
performance. At the moment of taking up the curtain it often
happens that the description of the rôles is changed according
to circumstances, the relative importance or the ability of
the actors. Nevertheless the comedy marches happily and gaily
to its conclusion. Not a year passes but that some scenes
are added or subtracted from the argument, and a simple
announcement made to the company is all that is needed for the
change to be ably executed. It will be seen that these clever
actors work upon the very basis of their subjects, establishing
always their scenes upon different foundations, and filling in
the dialogue with so much variety that they are always new and
perdurable. I have frequently heard these improvisors reproach
themselves with having badly established (_mal piantato_)
some scene or other, and proceed to re-establish it at once
by excellent arguments in such a way as to prepare their
companions for a fresh attempt.

“It is very true that in this style of comedy some serious
actors, and more particularly some actresses, have a very
arsenal of premeditated material committed to memory, material
which serves for intercessions, for reproaches, for threats,
for the expression of despair and for sentiments of jealousy;
but it is none the less surprising to see that, face to face
with the public and improvising with other improvisors, they
are able to hold this material in readiness, and to select
from the mass with which their brains are stored, that which
is suitable to the occasion, expressing it with energy, and
earning the applause of the spectators.

“Such is the system of our improvised comedy, a glorious art
which our nation alone can claim for its own, and one that, in
the course of three centuries, has by no means exhausted its
wit.

“It would take too long to enumerate the four hundred and more
subjects which are continually being renewed in the dialogues.
The clever actors who succeed the clever actors who die suffice
to give an eternal aspect of novelty to these subjects. We
see Roderigo Lombardi, an excellent Doctor, replaced by
Agostino Fiorilli, a clever Tartaglia, renewing each subject
merely by the differences that lie between their respective
talents. A single new original personage suffices to revive the
originality of the entire company.”

Gozzi informs us, however, that the authors of his day, and notably Goldoni, wrote their dialogue after the first performance, and published the scenarii which had been successful in the hands of improvising comedians. For the rest, the majority of Italian comic authors have proceeded thus. Nearly all the comedies of the seventeenth century are extracted from old improvised scenarii of which Gozzi gives us a very curious although very incomplete list. He cites among others: “The famous Domenico Biancolelli, who has caused to be performed in dialogue a very large number of improvised Italian scenarii. His comedies are printed, but they have remained unfruitful, whilst the very same subjects, treated by improvisation, are still greatly appreciated in the theatre.” He further tells us that comedies written and recited by comedians who memorise them, which had never succeeded in bringing together sixty spectators, would attract a crowd from the moment that the improvisors took possession of the subject to embroider it in their own manner.

Many plays written up after the first performance, and published in the _sostenuta_ form, have served none but reading purposes. The comedians _dell’ arte_ took no notice of them, preferring their old dry and succinct résumés, which left their wit very much more free and untrammelled.

But whatever Gozzi may say, he has followed, like Goldoni, the extremely felicitous mixed style, half-memorised, half-improvised. It remains, however, that this mixed style could only be treated successfully by an original spirit, and one sufficiently in sympathy with his actors to leave them a free hand. It was a style that ended with himself. All that remained of it after him was the custom in Italy to cause certain comic masks to appear in the course of all sorts of performances.

Carlo Goldoni began, like Gozzi, and before Gozzi, by writing scenarii for the Commedia dell’ Arte. Numerous traces of this must remain in Italy, but Goldoni himself refused to edit these skeletons, of which he was unjustly ashamed, until he had written them anew with full dialogue, and thereby changed and converted them into complete plays. We have seen Gozzi reproach him with having ruined, by means of this cold work, many felicitous subjects in which the improvisors shone, subjects which, for the rest, were of no use to the comedians of his day in their new form, or else (according to Gozzi) were of use only for performance at banquets.

The quarrel between these two authors and their adherents was a very lively one. Both had a deal of merit; Goldoni’s was the greater wisdom, observation and reality, Gozzi’s the better invention, wit and originality. Both began in the same way by leaving an open field to improvisation. Little by little each felt the need to write up the rôles, and to substitute his own personality for those of the comedians. Both followed for some time the mixed style—that is to say, writing up the serious rôles, and leaving the rôles of the masks to improvisation. In the end both brought about the disappearance of the latter, Gozzi in spite of himself, and with infinite regret for his beloved Sacchi company; Goldoni, on the other hand, with the deliberate resolve to suppress masks and dialects, or to relegate them to a place of secondary importance. Thus he no longer permits them to improvise, but himself writes their dialogues for them. It was upon this ground that Gozzi was able victoriously to attack him. That which is written for improvisors is of necessity pale, cold and heavy, and it would be far better not to see Truffaldino or Tartaglia at all than to see them gagged by the logic of the author.

The sentence of death which Goldoni attempted to pronounce against the Commedia dell’ Arte is fully set forth in his piece entitled _Il Teatro Comico_, which he himself has placed at the head of his collection (edition of Turin, 1756), declaring it to be a sort of preface to his work. There is very little that is amusing in this comedy; it is rather to be considered a critical piece; but it is of interest to students of the history of this style.

A theatrical director is rehearsing some new actors in a fresh piece, and dissertating at length upon the subject:

ORAZIO (_the manager of the company_). You see that it is
very necessary to procure actors who are united by a literary
convention; without that they will usually fall into the trite
or the unnatural.

EUGENIO (_the second lover in the company_). Then it becomes
necessary entirely to suppress the improvised comedy?

ORAZIO. Entirely, no! It is as well that Italians should
continue masters of an art which other nations had not the
courage to create. The French are in the habit of saying that
Italian comedians are very daring to risk making impromptu
speeches to the public; but that which may be called temerity
on the part of ignorant comedians is a fine quality with
comedians of ability, and, to the honour of Italy and the
glory of our art be it said, there are still many excellent
personages who bear triumphantly and meritoriously the
admirable prerogative of speaking impromptu with as much
elegance as the poet may achieve in writing.

EUGENIO. But usually the masks are at a loss when they utter
what is premeditated.

ORAZIO. When what is premeditated is brilliant, graceful, well
suited to the character of the personage which is to utter it,
all good masks will learn it gladly.

EUGENIO. Would it not be possible to suppress masks in
character comedies?

ORAZIO. Woe to us were we to attempt such an innovation! It
is not yet time to risk it. In all things we must not offend
universal taste. In other times the public attended comedy
only to laugh, and they desired to see no other actors on the
stage but the masks. Did the serious characters render the
dialogue a little too long, at once they grew weary; to-day
they have learned to listen to serious rôles, to enjoy words,
to be interested by events, to favour the moral, to laugh at
the sallies and altercations derived from the serious itself.
But the masks are still beheld with pleasure, and it is not
necessary to withdraw them altogether. Rather let us seek
to limit their conventions and to bridle their ridiculous
characters.

EUGENIO. But this is a very difficult way of composing.

ORAZIO. It is a way that has lately been rediscovered, and to
which we devote ourselves. Very soon we shall see the most
fertile wits rising to improve it, as is desired with all his
heart by him who invented it.

Notwithstanding this naïvely perfidious attitude, Goldoni did not dare until very late entirely to suppress the masks; but he had so completely transformed them that they might well look upon him as their assassin. Success abandoned him in a measure as he denaturalised the national taste in the speeches of these personages, who, thanks to him, came to utter dialogues in the French fashion—that is to say, like lackeys and soubrettes imitating their masters. He acknowledged himself beaten, became a Frenchman, and produced in France _Le Bourru Bienfaisant_; that, after all, was his real genre.

It is none the less true, and Gozzi himself recognised it, that Goldoni had worked for the Italian theatre, especially at the beginning, in a felicitous and amusing manner. His Venetian pieces are still quite charming, notwithstanding the narrower and heavier garb which he gave them in redressing them for his readers. Compelled to leave the Venetian dialect to his principal comic personages, he has contrived to produce some real characters for the comedy of manners. Nevertheless the sum total of his theatrical work does not sufficiently justify the title awarded him of the _Italian Molière_. If any Italian genius deserves such a comparison it is the genius of Ruzzante, who at once actor and author was, like our great Poquelin, nourished upon Plautus and Terence, upon whom, like him again, he improved considerably.

FOOTNOTES

[1] The names of Demetrio and Cornelio continued to be adopted in the theatre for old men’s rôles, particularly in memorised comedies, such as _La Vedova, comedia facetissima_ by Nicolò Buonaparte, a citizen of Florence, 1643.

[2] Aldo Manuzio, the famous Venetian printer of the fifteenth century (_sta zovene bella à muo un papagà in stampa d’Aldo_).

[3] _Les Bigarrures et touches du seigneur des Accords_, _Les Apophthegmes du sieur Gaulard_ and _Les Escraignes dijonnoises_ (1560), as well as the _Vaillans faits d’armes de Bolorospe_ (1633), must have supplied Turlupin with matter to be embroidered and amplified into texts of the style of the following:—

“... Habillé de vert (de gris), parfumé (comme un jambon) d’odeur (de sainteté), et enveloppé d’un manteau (de cheminée). Il rencontre une dame parée d’une belle robe (d’avocat), d’une fine fraise (de veau) et d’une riche côte (de melon), bordée, d’un filet (de vinaigre).” Then follows the description of his hero: “Il a un corps (de garde), une tête (d’épingle), un cou (de tonnerre), des épaules (de mouton), des bras (de mer), une main (de papier), un pied (de cochon), un dos (d’âne), une langue (étrangère), une haleine (de savetier). Il était fort bien vêtu, il avait de belles chemises de toile (d’araignée), un rabat de point (du jour), une culotte (de bœuf).... Sa maison était bâtie de pierres (philosophales), soutenue de piliers (de cabaret), et on y entrait par deux cours (de chimie), d’où on montait vingt-cinq degrés (de chaleur), et on se trouvait dans une grande chambre (de justice).... Il courait à la chasse suivi d’une meute de chiens (-dent), de quatre valets (de pique), montés sur des chevaux (de frise) portant des lacs (d’amour) et des filets (de canards).... Il visitait souvent ses châteaux (en Espagne), ses terres et ses champs (de bataille) ... et mourut d’une chute (d’eau), etc., etc.”

[4] The site of the gallows.

[5] In the _Collier de Perles_, performed in 1672, Harlequin, who plays the part of a certain Marchese di Sbrofadel, having swallowed a medicine, imagines himself at the point of death. He summons a notary to make his will. The Doctor goes out and returns with Tartaglia, who plays the notary.

TARTAGLIA. Ser ... ser ... servant illustri ... tri ... tri ... trious.

HARLEQUIN. This notary is from Tripoli.

TARTAGLIA (_sits down, draws pen and paper and begins to write_). L’an ... an ... an ... an....

HARLEQUIN. Que l’on mène cet âne à l’écurie!...

TARTAGLIA. _I ... i ... i ... io son ... son ... sono presto._

HARLEQUIN. _Va, bene!_ I leave this house to the Doctor.

THE DOCTOR. But the house is mine!

HARLEQUIN. I know, that is why I am leaving it to you: if it were not yours I should not leave it to you. I leave my cabinet to my cousin.

TARTAGLIA (_writing_). My ca ... ca ... ca....

HARLEQUIN. Faites vite retirer ce notaire, il va salir tous les meubles.

TARTAGLIA. ... binet! à mon cou ... cou ...

HARLEQUIN. I leave sixty-five acres of broadcloth to dress my family in mourning.

THE DOCTOR. You are making a mistake. Cloth is not measured by the acre.

HARLEQUIN. It seems to me that a man may measure his own property as best he pleases.

TARTAGLIA. Pou ... pou ... pou ... pour habiller ma famille en feuille.

HARLEQUIN. Je laisse à _Lallemand_, mon valet de chambre....

TARTAGLIA. Un lavement à mon valet de chambre.

HARLEQUIN. Lallemand! et non lavement.

TARTAGLIA (_writing always under the dictation of HARLEQUIN_). _Si si ... si ... si ... signor_, il y a bien lavement ... ent ... ent ... ent.

HARLEQUIN. Je laisse toutes mes vielles nippes à la fripière, ma voisine.

TARTAGLIA (_repeating_). Tou ... tou ... toutes mes vieilles tri ... tri ... tripes, à la tri ... tri ... tripière, ma voisine.

HARLEQUIN. _Ohimé!_ ce notaire-là n’en peut plus; il faudrait lui donner une médecine pour lui faire évacuer les paroles...! Je laisse vingt écus à mon cuisinier, à condition qu’il dépendra de mon frère cadet.

TARTAGLIA. Qu’il pend ... pendra mon frère cadet.

HARLEQUIN. Enfin, je laisse au notaire ci-présent, une langue de pore pour mettre à la place de la sienne.

TARTAGLIA. Po ... po ... po ... porc toi-même!

Harlequin gives him a kick which sends him flying, together with his pens, paper, portfolio and ink-horns. Tartaglia gets up, his face covered with ink, and goes off in such a rage that he is unable to articulate intelligible sounds.

[6] On this score Gozzi is absolutely mistaken, so far at least as Ruzzante is concerned, whom evidently he had never read. Ruzzante’s pieces, as we have said, are never licentious, and virtuous women attended their performance. “_Ad audiendas eas hominum tam mulierum concursus_,” says B. Scardeon. This is further proved by the prologues which Beolco himself recited, and in which he frequently addressed himself to the good and beautiful ladies of the audience, sometimes rebuking them upon the exaggerated fashions of their toilettes, sometimes speaking to them of faithful love and of conjugal love in the most naïve, and at the same time the most idealistic manner. In the _Gelosia_, of Lasca (1581), there is a prologue addressed entirely to ladies, as is also the case with _Il Granchio_, of Salviati (1566) and several other comedies of the sixteenth century.

INDEX

A

Achæus, i. 9

Acrobates, i. 10

Actresses, in ancient Rome, i. 14;
in fourth and fifth centuries, 22;
in sixteenth century, 29;
morals of, 180;
admitted to the Italian stage, ii. 77;
admitted to the French stage, 79;
dancing essential to, 80;
in Beolco’s plays, 80;
in the Renaissance, 133

Adami, Patricia, plays soubrette parts, i. 44;
in Paris, 162;
marries Agostino Lolli, 163

_Adamo, L’_, described, i. 254

Adelphi Theatre, Legrand plays at, i. 230

Æschylus, i. 9; ii. 53

Aigremont, Mlle d’, cantatrice, ii. 73

Alborghetti, pantaloon, i. 49

Alvarotto, Marco, Beolco’s letter to, i. 303;
plays Menego, ii. 101

_Amante Romanesque, L’_, scene from, ii. 152

_Amants Magnifiques, Les_, Louis XIV. plays in, ii. 83

Amelia, Martino d’, i. 25; ii. 256

_Amour des Trois Oranges, L’_, produced, i. 100

_Anconitana, La_, quotations from, i. 236; ii. 132

Andreini, Francesco, in Scala’s company, i. 37;
his career, 149;
as author, 150;
his preface to Scala’s collection, 240

Andreini, Giovanni-Battista, heads the Uniti Company, i. 89;
his birth, 149;
plays Lelio, 150;
biographical note of, 254;
his _L’Adamo_, 254;
his _Teatro Celeste_, 255;
other works by, 256

Andreini, Isabella, i. 38;
her marriage, 149;
plays Isabella, 162;
in France, 239;
her distinguished career, ii. 135

_Anfiparnasso, L’_, ii. 57

Angeleri, Giuseppe, plays Brighella, ii. 167

Apothecary, the, described, ii. 273

Apuleius quoted, i. 60

Argens, Marquis d’, on morals of actresses, i. 180

Argieri plays Pulcinella, i. 113

Aristophanes, i. 10

Arlecchino. _See_ Harlequin

Arlequine, i. 173

_Arlequin Esprit Follet_, i. 95

_Arlequino Proteo_, i. 164

_Arlequin Poli par l’Amour_ quoted, ii. 151

_Artémire Délivrée_ quoted, i. 97

Arzigogolo, scene of, ii. 97

_Asinaria_ contrasted with Beolco’s _La Vaccaria_, ii. 128

Atella, theatre at, i. 11

Atellanæ, comedies so called, i. 11;
licentious, 12;
the source of the Commedia dell’ Arte, 32, 107

Augustus I. of Poland and Angelo Constantini, ii. 192 _et seq._

_Aulularia_ quoted, ii. 18

Aulus Gellius on ancient masks, i. 16

Aurelia, i. 41;
described, ii. 139;
played by B. Bianchi, 140

Aurelio. _See_ B. Ranieri

_Avocat Pour et Contre, L’_, scene from, ii. 221

B

Babron, Mlle, cantatrice, ii. 73

Bacelli, La, cantatrice, ii. 70

Bagnacavallo, Lidia di, i. 35;
and A. Valerini, ii. 134

Baletti, Elena-Virginia, plays Flaminia, i. 149;
in _The Wiles of Isabella_, 242;
marries L. Riccoboni, 265;
her career, ii. 165

Baletti, Giuseppe, goes to France, i. 268;
married to La Dumalgé, ii. 86

Baletti, Luigi, plays Lelio, i. 50;
at the Théâtre-Italien, 272;
accidentally shot, 273

BALLERINA, THE, chapter on, ii. 75;
Gertrude Boon, Violente and Mlle Hamoche, 83;
La Camargo, 84;
La Dumalgé, 86

Ballets, scenario of _La Verità_, ii. 81;
Louis XIV. in, 82

Balli, Celesi, plays Pulcinella, i. 129

_Banqueroutier, Le_, scene from, i. 166

Barbançois plays Pulcinella, i. 113, 153

Barbera, La, success of, ii. 56

Barbieri, Niccolo, quoted, i. 152;
on Zeccha, 192;
on boys playing feminine rôles, ii. 78;
on Isabella Andreini, 136;
plays, 173;
his _Supplica_, 173 _et seq._

Baron, the, of Sicilian origin, i. 28;
a variant of Pantaloon, ii. 50

Bartolazzi, Margarita, i. 41;
in _La Finta Pazza_, ii. 157

Bastolet, Mlle, cantatrice, ii. 72

Bathyllus, mime of the first century, i. 19

Beaumarchais and Mlle Mesnard, ii. 70

Begot, Anne, wife of Tabarin, i. 162

Belloni plays Pierrot, i. 212

Beltrame, of Milanese origin, i. 29;
costume of, ii. 172;
played by Barbieri, 173

Benozzi, Giovanna-Rosa, plays Silvia, i. 49;
married to G. Baletti, 268;
presents her son to the public, 272;
her career, ii. 150;
in _Arlequin Poli_, etc., 151;
in _L’Amante Romanesque_, 152;
in _The Portrait_, 154;
her marriage, 155

Beolco, Angelo (Ruzzante), opens a career to Italian dialects, i. 26;
his _La Rhodiana_ quoted, 99;
Il Sitonno created by, 134;
names of his soubrettes, 161;
_La Vaccaria_ quoted, 235;
_L’Anconitana_ quoted, 236;
creates the modern theatre, 254;
dialogue of, 276;
chapter on, 279;
compared with his predecessors, 280;
his epitaph, 281;
his stage companions, 282;
his use of dialects, 283;
his realism, 286;
his letters, 287;
his times, 288;
dialogues quoted, 289 _et seq._;
his letter to Alvarotto, 303;
his methods, 308;
his works, 309;
characters introduced by, 311;
dialogue quoted, ii. 14;
women in his plays, 80;
dialogue of, 102;
_La Fiorina_ quoted, 121;
_La Piovana_ quoted, 163;
never licentious, 285 _f.n._

Bergerac, Cyrano de, boastfulness of, i. 145;
quoted, 146

Berneri, Giuseppe, poem by, on Meo Patacca, i. 129;
Marco Pepe, 132

Bertinazzi, Carlo, plays Harlequin, i. 49;
succeeds Thomassin, 88;
his début, 90;
his talents, 91;
his death, 93;
Collé’s criticism of, 94;
Grimm’s criticism of, 95

Bertoldino, _The Life of_, i. 183 _et seq._;
on the stage, 191

Bertoldo, _The Life of_, i. 183 _et seq._;
on the stage, 191

Bianchi, Brigida (Aurelia), i. 43, 44, 153;
goes to France, 257;
writes _L’Inganno Fortunato_, ii. 140

Bianchi, Giuseppe, plays Spezzafer, i. 153; ii. 140

Bianchi, Orsola, ii. 140

Biancolelli, Catarina, plays Columbine, i. 44, 67, 163;
her début, 164;
quotations from her rôles, 165 _et seq._;
in Paris, 173

Biancolelli, Françoise-Marie-Apolline, plays Isabelle, i. 67;
at the Comédie Italienne, ii. 141;
her marriage with M. de Turgis, 147;
pensioned, 150

Biancolelli, Giuseppe-Domenico (Domenico), Gherardi on, i. 77;
defect in his voice, 84;
melancholy character of, 91;
father of Catarina, 163;
Fournier on, 204;
married to Orsola Corteze, ii. 141

Biancolelli, Pierre-François, plays under name of Dominique, i. 68;
plays Trivelino, 98

Biancolelli, Teresa, plays Columbine, i. 49, 163

Biancolelli, Teresa (the younger), i. 163

Bibbiena, Cardinal of, his _La Calandra_, i. 280

Bigottini plays Harlequin, i. 95

Biologues, i. 90

Birrichino, rôle described, i. 134 _et seq._

Biscegliese, Il, of Neapolitan origin, i. 28;
described by Musset, ii. 38;
ejaculations of, 39;
costume of, 40;
in _Le Jettaturi_, 40

Bissoni, Giovanni, plays Scapino, i. 49;
career of, ii. 182

Bobèche, ii. 118

Boon, Gertrude, ballerina, ii. 83

Borromeo, Cardinal Charles, i. 238;
scenarii bearing his autograph, ii. 137

Bos, Abbé du, quoted, i. 13

Bosse, Abraham, plays Matamoros, i. 152

Boxwell, the English clown, i. 232

Brazier quoted, i. 196

Brighella, origin of, i. 27;
Bergamese, 28, 45;
contrasted with Harlequin, 64;
in Venice, ii. 17;
described, 161;
descended from Epidicus, 163;
costume of, 166;
played by Angeleri and Zanoni, 167;
witticisms of, 167

Brocantin, variant of Pantaloon, ii. 26

_Broken Contracts, The_, scenario of, ii. 287

Brosses, Président de, on improvisation, i. 32;
on Meo Patacca, 131;
on _La Serva Padrona_, ii. 54;
on Italian opera, 55;
on a performance at Verona, 61, 85

Bucco, i. 107;
character of, 108

Buffoon, etymology of, i. 19

Burattino, gives his name to marionettes, i. 21;
in Scala’s scenarii, 29;
and Pedrolino, 202;
in _The Wiles of Isabella_, 242 _et seq._;
character described, ii. 252;
and Pantaloon, 253

Burchiella, Lucio, plays the Doctor, ii. 31, 37

C

Cabotino, ii. 238

Cacasenno, _Life of_, i. 184 _et seq._;
on the stage, 191

_Calandra, La_, performed at Lyons, i. 33;
written, 286;
quoted, ii. 256

Calcese, Andrea, plays Pulcinella, i. 112

Callot, his _Les Petits Danseurs_, i. 27, 63;
engravings of Captains, 148;
of Scaramouche, ii. 207;
his engravings, 231, 235

Camargo, La, Ballerina, ii. 84

Camerani plays Scapino, ii. 183

Camille. _See_ Antonia Veronese

CANTATRICE, THE, i. 28;
Elizabeth Danneret, 45;
chapter on, ii. 52;
some early singers, 56;
rôle of, 59;
Mlle Chantilly, 62;
Deamicis, 66;
La Piccinelli, 67;
Mlle Collet, 69;
La Colomba, 69;
Bacelli, Zanarini, Mesnard and Ruette, 70;
others, 72 and 73

CAPTAIN, THE, i. 26;
of Neapolitan origin, 28;
Spavento, 29;
Cocodrillo, 35, 45;
chapter on, 137;
_The Braggart Captain_ quoted, 138;
his bearing, 142;
Matamoros, 143;
European success of the type, 147;
costumes of, 147;
names of, 148;
Spavento, 149;
Rodomonte, 150;
Rinoceronte, 152;
Spezzafer, 152;
costume of, in the eighteenth century, 155;
Giangurgolo, 155;
Il Vappo, 156;
Rogantino, 157

Carlin. _See_ Carlo Bertinazzi

Carnival masks, ii. 275 _et seq._

Carpentier, plays Gillies, i. 213;
his drunkenness, 215;
his last appearance, 216

Casnar, i. 27, 107;
the ancient Pantaloon, ii. 10

Casperle supplants Hanswurst, i. 128

_Cassandre aux Indes_ quoted, i. 275