Chapter II: Introduction (2)

In 1639 Louis XIII. summoned from Italy a troupe of players, half singers, half improvisers, which remained but a little while in France. It included the celebrated Tiberio Fiurelli, who went by the name of Scaramouche. These short visits were several times repeated, as we gather from the works of Andreini and Beltrame. They tell us that these troupes of Italian comedians were not settled in Paris. They were sent for and the expenses of their journeys were defrayed; they remained in Paris or attached to the Court for as long as they afforded entertainment, and, after some years, they were given a sum sufficient to meet the expenses of their return journey.

A company summoned to Paris in 1645 by Cardinal Mazarin played at the Petit-Bourbon Theatre. It was made up of Pantaloon, Harlequin, Mezzetin, Trivelino, Isabelle, Columbine, the Doctor, Scaramouche, Aurelia, Gabriella Locatelli, Giulia Gabrielli, and Margarita Bartolazzi.

Here is the title of a piece performed in this theatre:

“Explanation of the scenery and action of the piece entitled
_La Folle Supposée_ (_La Finta Pazza_), the work of the
celebrated Giulio Strozzi, most illustrious Italian poet, to
be performed by the grand royal troupe of Italian comedians,
entertained by his Majesty at the Petit-Bourbon, by command
of the Queen Mother of the Very Christian King [Louis XIV.]
printed in Paris, November 1645.

“Flore will be played by the graceful and pretty _Louise
Gabrielle Locatelli_, named Lucile, who by her vivacity will
prove herself a true light of harmony....

“Thétis will be played by the signora _Giulia Gabrielli_, named
Diane, who will marvellously portray her choler and her love.

“The prologue of this piece will be spoken by the very
excellent _Marguerite Bartolazzi_, whose voice is so ravishing
that it is impossible worthily to praise it.”

Further on we read on the subject of another scene:

“_Note_: This scene will be entirely without music, but so
admirably performed that the harmonies dispensed with will not
be missed.

“The first act of the piece concludes with a ballet by four
bears and four apes, performing a very amusing dance to the
sound of little drums.

“And ostriches will appear and in the course of lowering their
necks to drink at a fountain will perform a dance.”

Here is the argument of the eighth and last scene of the third act:

“Nicomedes recognises Pyrrhus for his grandson, and meanwhile
there arrives an Indian, who, having made his bow to the king,
announces that among the merchandise aboard his ship which the
tempest has driven into port, there are five parrots, of which
he makes offer, causing them to be brought on in a cage.

“At the same time four Indians go through a Moorish dance;
finally the parrots take flight from the hands of their owners
and leave these in despair at the loss; after which the piece
concludes and all take ship for the war in Troy.”

In 1653 a new troupe appeared, in which again we find some actors who had already visited France several times, such as Tiberio Fiurelli (Scaramouche), Locatelli (Trivelino), and Brigida Bianchi (Aurelia). This troupe was the first to settle definitely in Paris. The Petit-Bourbon Theatre was assigned to them, as well as to the troupe of Spanish comedians who, from 1650 to 1672, played concurrently with the Italians.

The following is an announcement by Loret, who published his letters in verse every Saturday:—

_The Historic Muse of Loret, for the 10th August 1653_

Une troupe de gens comiques.
“Venus des climats italiques.
Dimanche dernier, tout de bon.
Firent dans le Petit-Bourbon.
L’ouverture de leur théâtre
Par un sujet assez folâtre.
Où l’archiplaisant Trivelin,
Qui n’a pas le nez aquilin.
Fit et dit tout plein de folies
Qui semblèrent assez jolies.
Au rapport de certains témoins.
Scaramouche n’en fit pas moins.
Mais pour enchanter les oreilles,
Pâmer, pleurer, faire merveilles,
Mademoiselle Béatrix
Emporta ce jour-là le prix.”

N. Turi (of Modena) played the parts of Pantaloon; Angelo-Agostino-Constantino Lolli (of Bologna) the parts of Doctor Baloardo; Marco Romagnesi, under the name of Orazio, the parts of first lover; Turi the son, under the name of Virginio, those of second lover; Beatrice Adami, under the name of Diamantina, the parts of soubrette; Jean Doucet appeared in the character of a zany; Tiberio Fiurelli in that of Scaramouche; Brigida Bianchi played the parts of leading lady or _amoureuse_ under the name of Aurelia, and Domenico Locatelli was seen as Trivelino.

The performances were held between two and five o’clock in the afternoon, the choice of hour being governed by consideration of the mud and thieves encumbering the badly lighted streets of Paris after dark.

This troupe left the Petit-Bourbon in 1660 and found accommodation, by order of the king, together with Molière’s company, at the theatre of the Palais-Royal. Performances were given on alternate days and the company, reinforced by several other actors and actresses from Italy, was made up as follows:—

VALERIO, OTTAVIO, Andrea Zanotti.
EULARIA, Orsola Corteze, wife of Domenico.
DIAMANTINA, Patricia Adami, wife of Angelo Lolli.
HARLEQUIN, Giuseppe-Domenico Biancolelli, called _Domenico_.
CINTHIO, Marco-Antonio Romagnesi.
SCARAMOUCHE, Tiberio Fiurelli.
FLAUTINO, Giovanni Gherardi (1675).
MEZZETINO, Angelo Constantini (1682).
COLUMBINE, Catarina Biancolelli, daughter of Domenico.
PIERROT, Giuseppe Giaratone (1684).
PASQUARIELLO, Giuseppe Tortoretti (1685).
AURELIO, Bartolomeo Ranieri (1685).
MARINETTA, Angelica Toscano, wife of Tortoretti.
PULCINELLA, Michel-Angelo da Fracassano (1685).
GRADELINO, Constantino Constantini (1687).
OTTAVIO, Giovanni-Battista Constantini (1687).
HARLEQUIN, Evaristo Gherardi.
LEANDRO, Charles-Virgile Romagnesi de Belmont.
SPINETTA, BRIGHELLA and the CAPTAIN, whose real names are not known.
LA CANTATRICE, Elisabeth Danneret, called _Babet_.

In 1697 the troupe was expelled from Paris, and the theatre closed as the result of a comedy (_La Fausse Prude_) in which Constantini, who filled the rôle of Harlequin, permitted himself satirical allusions to Madame de Maintenon.

Under the designation of _Théâtres de la Foire_ were comprised, down to the end of the eighteenth century, the performance halls established on the sites of the markets of Saint-Germain and Saint-Laurent, which had begun their existence with rope dancers, trained dogs, etc. It was then that the actors of the forain theatres appropriated the Italian repertory, establishing themselves upon that suspension of privileges and upon the exemptions granted to the traders of the fairs of Saint-Germain and Saint-Laurent.

But the actors of the Comédie-Française, anxious to secure the maintenance of their rights, obtained from M. de la Reynie, the Lieutenant of Police, a sentence including “prohibition to all excepting the French comedians to perform in comedy or farce in the city of Paris under pain of fine.”

The forain[2] players appealed against this sentence, and continued their performances pending judgment. There was renewed opposition from the French comedians. M. de la Reynie again forbade the forain players to perform “any spectacle in which there is dialogue.”

Obedient to this mandate they declared that they would perform no more dialogues, and two or three days later they announced: _Scaramouche and the Scrupulous Pedant_, a comedy in three acts entirely in _monologues_. When a comedian had spoken his part he withdrew to the wings, and he who was to deliver the answer came to take his place to disappear again in his turn and make room for the first one. In this fashion seven actors took part in this comedy.

Derided by the public, and exasperated by the forain players, the actors of the Comédie-Française and the magistrates, accompanied by several squads of the watch, by forty archers, two parliamentary ushers and two constables, invaded the forain theatres on the 20th February 1709, destroying the booths, the benches and the scenery, after which they withdrew extremely proud of having made an end of these recalcitrant folk.

But the forain players did not account themselves beaten. No sooner had the archers departed than, with the aid of the public, they restored the damage in a few hours, and on the morrow they billed a play and performed it as if nothing had happened. But on the next day the ushers and archers reappeared, and this time they did not confine themselves to breaking up and pulling down; they delivered everything to the fire, and for several days twelve archers were on guard over these ruins of farce with no other occupation but that of burning and annihilating.

The forain actors were therefore compelled to submit; but they again found means to re-establish themselves, for some years later they were to be heard singing the following verses of Panard in their theatres:—

“Les lois ne sont qu’une barrière vaine
Que les hommes franchissent tous;
Car, par-dessus, les grands passent sans peine,
Les petits, par-dessous.”

The directors of the Opéra soon came to understand that no successful opposition could be made to the development of these little theatres, and they sold the right to sing to the theatre of the fair of Saint-Laurent since the Théâtre-Français denied it the right to speak. That theatre thereupon assumed the title of the Opéra-Comique.

Amid the enterprises of the forain theatres were the performances of Bertrand, Alard, the widow Maurice and Decelles, associated and primarily the sole proprietors of the shows given at the fairs. Later on they admitted Dolet and Laplace to share this right with them. Then came Ottavio and Domenico, to be succeeded by Saint-Edme and Madame Baron who, in rivalry with the Chevalier Pellegrin, came to replace Francisque and Lalauze, and finally by Ponteau, who obtained the privilege of the Opéra-Comique from the Royal Academy of Music in 1728, and kept it until 1742.

A large number of more or less celebrated French authors worked for the forain theatre, such as Lesage, Fuzelier, d’Orneval, Panard, Favart, Diderot, Piron, Vadé, Carolet, Sedaine, Dorville, Laffichard, Gallet, Fagan, Dallainval, Boissy, Taconet.

“Who would believe,” asks Grimm, in 1772, “that the opera and the two comedy troupes, the French and the Italian, should be perpetually united to persecute by virtue of their privilege, the theatre of the fairs? From the moment that a manager conceives a good idea to attract the public, and from the moment that he attempts something which is tinted by success, that successful thing is forbidden. In the hope of hindering the better classes from patronising these performances, the managers have been forbidden to charge more than twenty-four sous for the best seats, so as to compel decent people to be mingled and confounded with the populace. Preach tolerance and flatter yourselves to see it reign in a country in which Henry IV. and Polichinelle were persecuted with equal fury!”

The theatre of the fairs introduced actors and actresses of recognised merit to the public, and the public have applauded these—the comical and singular performances of Domenico, the son of Harlequin, the naïveté of Belloni as Pierrot, the voice and the slyness of Mademoiselle de Lisle in soubrette rôles, the amusing gibberish of Desgranges as Scaramouche, the grimaces of Paghetti in the rôles of Pantaloon and Cassandre, and the modest air of Mademoiselle Molin as leading lady.

Harlequinades and pantomimes were also played from 1759 to 1771 at the Ambigu-Comique, which was situated then on the Boulevard du Temple, whilst at the Théâtre Gaudon, in 1769, were to be seen performances by Polichinelle, Harlequin, Isabella and other Italian characters.

The four halls of the fair of Saint-Germain were open from the 3rd of February to Palm Sunday. Those of the fair of Saint-Laurent were open from the 1st July to the 30th September, as was also that of the fair of Saint-Ovide, which was made up chiefly of mountebanks and marionette shows.

Some of the Italian types preserved their original form, and were played in costumes adopted long since and remaining invariable. Others, however, underwent changes of name, of character and of costume. Pierrot became Gilles, Pantaloon came to be called Cassandre, Leandro became a ridiculous lover, a coxcomb, a poltroon, a sort of Captain; Jeannot, which in the Italian companies had been no more than a very sketchy character, became a complete and important rôle, and attracted all Paris. Nor yet had the forain actors hesitated to borrow types from the Théâtre-Français; thus Crispin, Harpagon, Sganarelle, and Gros-René came to be mingled with the Italian types, a further happy amalgamation which endured until the closing of the fairs of Saint-Laurent and Saint-Germain, fallen into desuetude and out of fashion, in 1789.

The last of the Italian troupes seen in France was that which the regent, Philippe of Orléans, summoned in 1716, under the direction of Louis Riccoboni (named _Lelio_); it was housed at the old Hôtel de Bourgogne in Rue Mauconseil, and was composed as follows:—

LELIO, Luigi Riccoboni.
MARIO, Giuseppe Baletti.
HARLEQUIN, Vicentini, called _Thomassin_.
PANTALOON, Alborghetti.
THE DOCTOR, Matterazzi.
SCAPINO, Bissoni.
SCARAMOUCHE, Giacopo Rauzzini.
FLAMINIA, Elena Baletti.
SILVIA, Gianetta Benozzi.
VIOLETTA, Margarita Rusca.
COLUMBINE, Teresa Biancolelli (1739).
LELIO, Giovanni-Antonio Romagnesi (1725) and Francesco Riccoboni (1726).
HARLEQUIN, Carlo Bertinazzi (1741).
LELIO, Antonio-Luigi Baletti (1741).
CORALINE, Anna Veronese (1744).
CAMILLE, Antonia Veronese (1744); Elisabetta Constantini; Mademoiselle
Belmont and Mademoiselle Dehesse (1730); Marie Laboras de Mézières
(1734); Madame Riccoboni (1762); Madame Favart (1749); Madame
Bognioli (1758).
ANGÉLIQUE, Mademoiselle Foulquier, named _Catinon_ (1753); Mesdames
Vesian, Bacelli, Zamarini, Billoni.

The company of 1716 was called the New Comédie-Italienne, or the Regent’s Company, to distinguish it from that of 1653, which it was agreed to name the Old Comédie-Italienne.

The several Italian troupes that played in France, down to that of 1716 inclusive, presented plays of various kinds. They gave a medley of scenes that had been committed to memory, of others that were entirely improvised, of scenes that were played throughout in dumb show, and of dances and singing, all with scenery and such _mise-en-scène_ as was then possible. Fireworks were never absent from the opening of a season, the Italians being anxious to preserve their ancient pyrotechnic reputation.

That which in Italy was called _opera_ (a work) was nothing more than this intermingling of various genres, of which an instance is afforded by _Le Gelose Politiche e Amorose_, of Pietro Angelo Zaguri, performed in the house of Giovanni Battista Sanuto, in Venice, in 1697. The prologue of this opera took place in an entirely imaginary country, inhabited by Eolus, to whom the Tiber, accompanied by Nymphs, came to pay a visit; it was at once a ballet, a drama, and a tragedy, mingled with couplets and dances.

The troupe of 1653 was chiefly concerned with the performance of pieces without much production, in which music played but a very minor part. The actors were very soon compelled to abandon their improvisations in Italian, as the spectators could not grasp the point of their pleasantries. It was thanks to this compromise that they were able to maintain themselves in France; for we see that the troupe summoned in 1639 by Richelieu—who was a great lover of Italian music and the Italian language—after having performed, danced and sung _L’Ercolano Amante_, was compelled to depart for lack of audiences.

That of 1645, summoned by Mazarin, which performed among other pieces _La Finta Pazza_ and _La Rosaura_, would not have enjoyed very much more success but for the spectacular operas (such as _Orpheus_) which roused enthusiasm. In this there were twelve changes of scenery and these represented: a city besieged and defended; a temple surrounded by trees; the banqueting hall on the occasion of the nuptials of Orpheus; a palace interior; the temple of Venus; a forest; the palace of the Sun; a horrible desert; Hades; the Elysian Fields; a wood on the edge of the sea; Olympus and the heavens. The expense of production, the properties and the scenery, designed and painted by Giacomo Torelli, amounted to five hundred and fifty thousand livres.

The pieces played in France by the Italians consisted of bare scenarii, upon which the dialogue was improvised, but into which the actors would also interpolate scenes written for them and learned by heart. Regnard, Palaprat, Delorme, de Montchenay, Lenoble, Mongin, Fatouville, Dufresny, de Bois-France, etc., supplied this theatre with scenarii, some of the scenes of which were written in full and others left entirely to the impromptu wit of the actor. Thanks to Gherardi, who has collected a number of these scenarii (designated _à la françoise_), we are able to judge what French wit could accomplish crippled by a sort of half-and-half language, whose French and Italian components were alike incorrect, offering, consequently, a piquant babble, which combined perhaps better than would have been possible to any other form of speech the fantastic gaiety of both nations. Even in the parodies of the dramas and tragedies of the epoch in which the verse and the rhymes forbade improvisation, the Italian actor would cut into the middle of an act to introduce an entirely irrelevant scene of _lazzi_ and of pantomime.

Nevertheless, towards the middle of the eighteenth century, and probably in consequence of the lack of good actors, singing came little by little entirely to displace dialogue. The Comédie-Italienne was no more than a theatre presenting comic operas or written pieces from the pens of Marivaux, d’Alainval, Laffichard, Legrand, Boissy, Delisle, Favart, Sedaine, Desportes, Lanoue, Fuselier, Anseaume, Vadé, etc. French actors were not slow to invade a theatre in which no one any longer spoke Italian.

In 1762 the Comédie-Italienne was amalgamated with the theatre of the Opéra Comique (the old fair of Saint-Laurent), and the troupe was made up as follows:—

Dehesse, _A Lackey_; Ciaverelli, _Scapin_; Carlino Bertinazzi, _Harlequin_; Baletti and Lejeune, _Lovers_; Champville, _A Ridiculous Lover_; Zanucci, _Lelio_; Colalto, _Pantaloon_; Caillot, _Colus_; Laruette, _Cassandre_; Clairval, _Leading Lady_; Madame Favart, _Soubrette_; and Mesdames Rivière, Desglands, Bognioli, Laruette, Bérard, Beaupré, Carlin and Mandeville.

In 1779 the administration dismissed the Italian players and thereafter comic operas only were performed. “The Comédie-Italienne having obtained permission not to perform any more Italian pieces, has replaced these by others of its old repertory which it had entirely abandoned after its amalgamation with the Opéra Comique. Therefore all our ultramontane actors have been dismissed with the exception of Carlino Bertinazzi and his double, who continue to perform their rôles of Harlequin in the French pieces” (Grimm, April 1779).

In 1780 the theatre of the Comédie-Italienne assumed the name of Théâtre des Italiens notwithstanding that there was no longer a single Italian actor connected with it.

In 1783, when the hall in the Rue Mauconseil began to show signs of falling into ruin, a theatre was built on the side of the Hôtel de Choiseul, on the Boulevard des Italiens, and the _Théâtre des Italiens_ assumed the name of the _Théâtre-Favart_. Necessary repairs compelled the company to abandon it and to transfer themselves to the theatre of the Rue Feydeau, which was destined for a company coming from Italy. This company arrived in 1789 under the protection of Monsieur, the king’s brother.

After this rapid sketch of the history of the Italian comic style and of its types, let us say with the learned M. Charles Magnin, whose researches are so precious, that “the popular and plebeian drama along the open roads and in unroofed spaces has never failed to lighten the sadness of the serfs and the brief leisures of the rustics; it is an indestructible theatre which lives again in our own day in the open-air performances of Deburau, a theatre which links together the ancient and the modern stages. Erudition may discover for these _joculatores_, for these _delusores_, and for these _goliardi_ of our own times and of the Middle Ages the most honourable ancestry in Greek, Latin, Oscan, Etruscan, Sicilian and Asiatic antiquity, from Æsop the wise Phrygian hunchback down to Maccus, the jovial and disguised Calabrian, the hero of the Atellanæ farces, who has since become in the streets of Naples, by the simple translation of his name, the very sprightly Master Pulcinella.”

Pierrot, Harlequin, Pantaloon and Columbine are the only Italian types of pantomime surviving to-day, and each has been thoroughly transfigured. In Italy they are to be found only in the lesser theatres or among the marionettes.

A propos of the witty pantomime of M. Chaumpfleury that was performed at the Funambules, M. Théophile Gautier writes as follows:—

“Pantomime is the true _comédie humaine_, and although it does
not employ two thousand characters like that of M. de Balzac,
it is no less complete. With four or five types, it suffices
for everything. Cassandre [_i.e._ Pantaloon] represents the
family; Léandre, the stupid and wealthy fop, favoured by
parents; Columbine, the ideal; Béatrix, the dream pursued, the
flower of youth and of beauty; Harlequin, with the face of
an ape and the sting of a serpent, with his black mask, his
many-coloured lozenges, his shower of spangles, represents
love, wit, mobility, audacity, all the showy and vicious
qualities; Pierrot, pallid, slender, dressed in sad colours,
always hungry and always beaten is the ancient slave, the
modern proletarian, the pariah, the passive and disinherited
being, who, glum and sly, witnesses the orgies and the follies
of his masters.”

None must expect to find here a history of the Italian theatre; we shall make no mention of the mystery play, which, in Italy and in Europe, was essentially religious throughout the Middle Ages, nor of the academic and classic drama and comedy, which, from the fifteenth century onwards, amused the courts of the Italian princes. Nor yet shall we occupy ourselves with the serious dramas and comedies, in verse or in music, performed in Italy in later times, and largely derived from the modern French theatre. Our researches are concerned only with that which sets forth the real character of Italy; with that art _sui generis_ which is only to be found there, the impromptu comedy begotten of the Atellanæ, the masks full of originality, the buffoons full of wit and spontaneity, as much at their ease in the public square as in the Court of Versailles; it is in short of these _Commedianti dell’ Arte_, and of their successors along the same road, that we are going to attempt to disclose the history and to trace the types with the aid of our drawings, given to the light—as was said of old, in speaking of engravings—by our friend Alexandre Manceau.

I

HARLEQUIN

“Sirs, I was born in Bergamo, but so long ago that I remember nothing of it. I was called in those days—— Ah, but wait!... I can no longer remember my name, by Bacchus! Forgive me if I appeal to Bacchus, but he is the only god whom I ever take to witness.

“Sirs, I was well acquainted of old with one Maccus, whose temper was not always amiable, and it also happened that I had more wit than that coarse brute. Later I was lackey to a doctor who in reality was but an apothecary, and so miserly that for clothes he gave me no more than such old rags of his own as could no longer be employed to repair less seedy ones. I endured a noble poverty, and for long. You are looking at my hat! It is almost new. It was given to me by Henry III. He did not care about hats; he gave me one that proved too small for his monkish head. This rabbit’s tail is the emblem of his courage and of mine; not the courage of the lamb, but the courage of the hare, to run quickly and long.

“I was very naïve, not to say stupid, my masters; but with age, experience and wit came to my assistance, and to-day I have all that I need and some to spare. I said to myself at first, when I left my old apothecary, that I should be well advised to imitate my brother Brighella—that is to say, to find myself a situation where one may eat well. Therefore I chose hostelries. But, alas! if shoemakers are the worst shod, eating-house lackeys are the worst nourished. I abandoned that profession and became a soldier; a poor condition, believe me; later I turned comedian, tumbler, dancer, merry-andrew and mountebank at one and the same time. But, perceiving that my rags did not make a good impression at Court, I bought new cloth of all colours, red, yellow, blue, to replace the tattered pieces of my little garment, the like of which is not to be seen at present within a thousand leagues. On Sundays and holidays I put on my satin clothes; but they wear out too quickly and are too dear. And the fact is—must I confess it sirs?—I never have a halfpenny. That, however, does not prevent me from being gay, or from being pleasing to beauty; upon waiting-maids, now, I exert a peculiar attraction. I understand perfectly how to contrive certain delicate love affairs into which fathers, husbands and guardians have no business to be thrusting their noses. I am, for the moment, a lackey of condition to some young people, whose purse is not always quite as empty as their brains. In short, whilst waiting to transact my own affairs I transact those of others, and I will say with my old friend Polichinelle: ‘I am as good as many another!’

“I contrive so well that I now go to Court; I am the Marquis of Sbruffadeli; I overlook the waiting-maids; I court their mistresses, and I aspire to the hand of Isabella....

“But what is that? Who strikes me? Ah me! Where shall I hide myself? I cry you mercy, my master! I will restore you your garments. Do not beat me to death; let me die of old age! I resume my rags, my bat and my mask; I return to Columbine, and I shall avenge myself upon Pierrot.”

The Greeks represented and put upon the stage all the inhabitants of the earth then known to them, and the members of all classes of society: Greek citizens, merchants of Tyre, Persian wizards and sorcerers, foreign doctors, Egyptian priests, Chaldean astronomers, Macedonian soldiers, Scythian barbers; pedants, parasites, matrons, young girls, courtesans of Lesbos or of Athens, peasants and Asiatic or African slaves. Among these last we find an actor dressed now in the skin of a goat, now in the skin of a tiger, variegated in colour, which clung tightly to his body, armed with only a wooden staff, his head shaved, and covered by a white hat, his face by a brown mask; he was called by the vulgar the young satyr. Could this be the first Harlequin?

In an article on Harlequin, Marmontel writes, in 1776:

“This is at one and the same time the most bizarre and the
most amusing character in the theatre. A Bergamese negro is an
absurdity. It is probable that an African negro was the first
model of the character.”

The Sycionians, with whom the mimes were as ancient as with the Athenians, preserved the name of phallophores for their public phallic singers. These Sycionian phallophores wore no mask, they besmeared their countenances with soot, _fuligine faciem obductam_, or covered their faces with papyrus bark—that is to say, with a paper mask—to represent foreign slaves. They advanced rhythmically, from the side or back of the theatre, and their first words were always:

“Bacchus! Bacchus! Bacchus! It is to thee, Bacchus, that we
consecrate these airs. We shall adorn their simple rhythm by
varied songs which were not made for virgins. We do not repeat
old songs; the hymn which we address to thee has never yet been
sung.”

In Rome these same phallophores take the name of _planipes_. This name comes to them from the fact that having no need for the high tragic buskin to increase their size—since they performed quite close to the public on the thymele in the orchestra itself—they played, as it were, flat-footed. These actors performed only little pieces and improvisations of the Atellane farces.

“_Quid enim si choragium thymelicum possiderem? num ex eo argumentare etiam uti me consuesse trageodi syrmate, histrionis crocata, mimi centunculo_,” says Apuleius in his apology.

_Mimi centunculo_ indicates the garb of Harlequin, composed as it is of an infinity of pieces of various colours. His black mask is described by _fuligine faciem obductam_, and his shaven head, according to Vossius, by _Sanniones mimum agebant rasis capitibus_ (the buffoons performed in their pantomimes with shaven heads).

Harlequin and Brighella are called in Italy _zanni_, _zani_ or _sanni_, from the Latin _sannio_, a buffoon, a mocker; _sannium_, _sanna_, mockery, raillery, grimace.

“I have sought,” says Riccoboni (in his _History of the Italian
Theatre_), “the origin of this name of _zanni_, and I think
that it is a change in the first letter that has given rise to
doubt. We see that our predecessors very often used Z in the
place of S. All the most approved Italian authors have said
_zambuco_ for _sambuco_, _zampogna_ for _sampogna_, _zanna_ for
_sanna_.

“‘_Quid enim potest tam ridiculum quam sannio esse? qui ore,
vultu, imitandis motibus, voce, denique corpore ridetur ipso?_’
(Cicero, _De Oratore_, lib. ii.)

“‘_Planipes graece dicitur mimus, ideo autem latine planipes
quod actores planis pedibus, id est, nudi proscenium
introirent_’ (Diomed. lib. iii.)

“Is not the footgear of Harlequin indicated there? His foot is
simply enveloped in a piece of leather without a heel. From
top to toe, then, the dress of Harlequin is precisely that of
the Latin mime. I have found a book which, whilst not being
as ancient as I might have desired, yet contains enough to
show the difference between the costume in those days and the
present one.

“... In the time of Henry IV. a troupe of Italian comedians
came to Paris. The Harlequin of this troupe sought to induce
the king to present him with a gold chain and a medal. He
conceived the notion of writing a book, of printing it, and
addressing it to the king. On the front page there is a figure
of Harlequin of the height of some three inches.”

The costume of this Harlequin which Riccoboni has engraved consists of a jacket open in front, and laced with shabby ribbons, and skin-tight trousers, covered with pieces of cloth of various colours, placed haphazard. The jacket is similarly patched. He wears a stiff black beard, a black half mask, a slashed cap, in the fashion of the time of François I. and no linen; he is equipped with a girdle, a pouch and a wooden sword; his feet are shod in very small slippers, covered at the ankle by the trouser, which acts as a gaiter.

As for the mask with which Harlequin appeared in France, and which he wears still to-day, it is said that it was Michel-Angelo who restored it him, copying it from the mask of an ancient satyr. His costume in the seventeenth century, like his character, underwent a metamorphosis; we still find him arrayed in the same pieces of cloth of different colours, but henceforward they are symmetrically placed.

From the time of Domenico, who was the transformer of this type, the costume has changed but very little. The jacket has grown, little by little, whilst the trousers have shrunk, returning to their primitive form. Lozenges of different colours have lengthened; but the mask, the chin-piece, the black head, the rabbit tail—emblem of poltroonery—the bat and the girdle, have remained such as they always were.

That rabbit’s tail which adorns the head of Harlequin is a further tradition of antiquity. It was the custom to attach the tail of a fox or the ears of a hare to those upon whom it was sought to draw ridicule.

An innovation lies in the spangles which render the modern Harlequin a sort of streaming fish in gold and silver scales.

In the first Italian troupes of the sixteenth century—nomad troupes which derived as much from the Bohemians and the mountebanks as from the comedians—we find Trivelino, Mestolino, Zaccagnino, Truffaldino, Guazeto and Bagatino, who are of the same type under various names, and often under the same costume. It was not until Henry III. that a zany of this type appeared in Paris.

It has been pretended that as this zany was without doubt protected by the first president of Parliament, Achille de Harlay, his comrades came to call him Harlequino, meaning thereby the little protégé of Harlay. This name remained to him and to his successors in the type. But its etymology is victoriously refuted in an interesting passage of the learned commentators of Rabelais, Johanneau and Esmangard:

“Donat informs us that the procurers (_lenones_) in the ancient
comedies were dressed in variegated costumes, no doubt after
the manner of Mercury their patron, which persuades us that
that character in comedy which we call Harlequin, is none
other than Mercury, this being the reason why he is given a
variegated costume, made up of pieces of different colours.
Harlequin is a diminutive of _harle_, or _herle_, the name of
an aquatic bird, and not a derivative of that of M. de Harlay
or of Hercules. In Italy he is called Harlequino; in the
anti-chopin he is called Harlequinus, and in a letter of Raulin
in 1521 Herlequinus.”

“Harlequin’s performance down to the seventeenth century” (says
Riccoboni) “consisted of just a series of extravagant capers,
of violent movements and of outrageous blackguardisms. He was
at once insolent, mocking, clownish and, above all, obscene. I
think that with all this he mingled an agility of body which
made him appear to be always in the air, and I might add with
assurance that he was an acrobat.”

Our modern Harlequin is, above all, a dancer and a tumbler, in which he is in affinity with the most ancient type.

In the background of some of his drawings Callot shows us several Harlequins who are leaping and dancing and turning backward somersaults. So that in Callot’s day Harlequin was still a dancer.

Nevertheless, from 1560 onwards, we see Harlequin, the native of Bergamo, shedding some of the stupidity that had characterised him until then. He still remains a glutton, and he is always a poltroon, but he is no longer that type of farm servant from the neighbourhood of Bergamo, seeking everywhere for the donkey upon which he was mounted.

“His character,” says Marmontel, “presents a mixture of
ignorance, naïveté, stupidity and grace. He is like a mere
sketch of a man, a great child visited by flashes of reason
and intelligence, in all of whose capers and awkwardnesses
there is something sharp and interesting. The model Harlequin
is all suppleness and agility, with the grace of a young
cat, yet equipped with a superficial coarseness that renders
his performances more amusing; the rôle is that of a lackey,
patient, faithful, credulous, gluttonous, always in love,
always in difficulties either on his master’s account or on his
own, afflicting himself and consoling himself again with the
readiness of a child, one whose sorrows are as amusing as his
joys. Such a part demands a great deal of naturalness and of
wit, and a great deal of physical grace and suppleness.”

At the time that the zany Arlecchino was a fool, Brighella, the other Bergamese, was sly and astute. Harlequin and Brighella are both from the town of Bergamo. This town is built like an amphitheatre on the hills between the Brembo and the Serio in their courses from the Valtelline hills. It is said that the inhabitants of the upper and lower town are entirely different in character. Those of the upper town, personified in the character of Brighella, are lively, witty and active; those of the lower town are idle, ignorant and almost entirely stupid, like Harlequin. I crave the pardon of the inhabitants of the lower town for this statement, made upon the assumption that, like Harlequin himself, they also have become, since the sixteenth century, as lively and as witty as their compatriots of the upper town. It is said in the north of Italy that Harlequin the imbecile had over his left eye a wart which covered the half of his cheek, and that it was for this reason that he assumed the mask, which he has retained ever since.

Towards the close of the sixteenth century Harlequin, whilst adhering to his leaping movements, and his cat-like manner, becomes less simple, as we have said, and from time to time even goes so far as to permit himself a certain wisdom. It was in this manner that in 1578 the character was played in Italy by Simone of Bologna.

But it was in the seventeenth century that the rôle of Harlequin was completely transformed by Domenico Biancolelli, a man of merit, well informed, and the friend of literary men, who bestowed his own wit upon the character. Thus Harlequin became witty, astute, an utterer of quips and something of a philosopher. Even in the Italian troupes the actors who played the part under the names of Zaccagnino and of Truffaldino modelled their performances upon those of Domenico.

ii

Giuseppe-Domenico Biancolelli was born in Bologna in 1640. His father and mother were comedians in a company established in that city, and from his earliest infancy Biancolelli played with them in comedy, and made such rapid progress that at the age at which men are usually considering a career he was already counted amongst the good actors of Italy.

In 1659 Cardinal Mazarin, desiring to increase his Italian company, sent for several actors, including Biancolelli, who was then performing at Vienna in the troupe of Tabarini. This Tabarini had already been in France during the reign of Louis XIII. and the minority of Louis XIV. In response to the cardinal’s summons, then, young Biancolelli went to France in the following year, together with Eularia, Diamantina and Ottavio.

At the time an actor named Locatelli was playing the rôles of Trivelino, a sort of Harlequin, in the company which Biancolelli went to recruit. This, however, did not hinder Biancolelli from playing Harlequin, as second comic, alongside of Trivelino, until the death of the latter in 1671. From that moment the stage was dominated by Domenico, as he was generally known. He acquired the reputation of being the greatest actor of his century, and rendered popular the name of Arlecchino. He died at forty-eight of pneumonia contracted whilst dancing before Louis XIV.

“The Sieur Beauchamp, dancing master to Louis XIV. and composer
of his ballet, had performed before his Majesty a very
singular and greatly applauded dance in a divertissement which
the Italian comedians had attached to one of their pieces.
Domenico, who danced very well, gave forthwith an extremely
comical imitation of Beauchamp’s dance. The king manifested
so much delight in these parodying capers that Domenico
persisted in them for as long as it was physically possible
to him. He was so overheated that, being unable to change his
linen upon leaving the stage (because he had to return to it
immediately in his own rôle), he caught a severe chill which
ended in pneumonia. He lay ill for only eight days, when, after
having _renounced the theatre_, he died on Monday the 2nd of
August, 1688, at six o’clock in the evening, and was buried at
Saint-Eustache, behind the choir, opposite to the chapel of
the Virgin. He dwelt in the Rue Montmartre near the old Hôtel
Charôt.”

The loss of Domenico was a shattering thunderbolt upon the Italian comedy. His comrades closed the theatre for a month, and when they reopened it they put up the following announcement:—

“We have long marked our sorrow by our silence, and we should
prolong it further if the apprehension of displeasing you did
not influence us more profoundly than our legitimate pain.
We shall reopen our theatre on Wednesday next, the 1st of
September 1688. In the impossibility of repairing the loss we
have sustained, we offer you of the best that our application
and our care is able to supply. Bear us a little indulgence,
and be assured that we shall omit nothing that will contribute
to your pleasure.”

Domenico had married in Paris, in 1662, Orsola Corteze, who played under the name of Eularia. She bore him twelve children, five of whom survived him. They were:

Françoise Biancolelli, born in 1664, who played the rôles of Isabella;

Catherine Biancolelli, born in 1665, who played the rôles of Columbine;

Louis Biancolelli, knight of Saint-Louis, captain of the royal regiment of marines, military engineer, and director of the forts of Provence, who died at Toulon in 1729; he was a godson of Louis XIV., and the author of several pieces played at the Comédie-Italienne, and included in Gherardi’s collection;

Philippe Biancolelli de Bois-Morand, born in 1672, king’s councillor, elder councillor to Saint-Domingue, and marine commissioner;

Pierre-François Biancolelli, born in 1681, who, under the name of Dominique, played Trivelino parts at the Comédie-Italienne, and in forain theatres, and who died in 1734.

Anecdotes abound concerning the famous Domenico. It is related of him that being present one night at a royal supper he fixed his eyes upon a certain dish of partridges. Louis XIV., observing this glance of his, said to a lackey:

“Let this dish be given to Domenico.”

“And the partridges also?” inquired Domenico.

“And the partridges also,” replied the king, appreciating this readiness of wit. The dish was of gold.

Louis XIV. returning one day from a hunting expedition went incognito to attend the performance of an Italian piece that was being given at Versailles.

“That is a bad piece,” he said to Domenico, as he was leaving.

“Whisper it,” replied Arlecchino, “because if the king were to hear you he would dismiss me together with my troupe.”

Domenico was of short stature and comely face, but some ten years before his death he had become rather too stout for the part of Harlequin. At the foot of his portrait painted by Ferdinand, and engraved by Hubert, the following quatrain is to be read:—

“Bologne est ma patrie et Paris mon séjour,
J’y règne avec éclat sur la scène comique;
Arlequin sous le masque y cache Dominique,
Qui réforme en riant et le peuple et la cour.”

After Domenico’s death a book was published by Florentin Delaulne bearing the following title:—_Arlequiniana, or the Quips and Pleasant and Amusing Stories culled from the Conversations of Harlequin_, 1694.

The work begins thus:

“On Saturday last, the 30th of the month, as I was leaving my
room on the stroke of midnight, Harlequin appeared before me.
He was wearing his little hat, his mask and the coat in which
he performed. At first I was surprised to see him; but I was at
once reassured, being persuaded that I had nothing to fear from
a man for whom my affections had survived his death.

“‘Do not be apprehensive,’ he said to me; ‘I am charmed to see
you.’

“Thereupon I ran to embrace him.

“‘No, not that,’ he said, ‘my body is now no more than
abstract matter, ill calculated to receive such marks of your
friendship. What folly induced you to publish things uttered
between us when I was alive? Do you think to gladden the world
with my stories? Was I so well known that my name should not
yet be forgotten?’ etc.”

The author answers him that his name is immortal, that his person is beloved and esteemed throughout Europe; that in the rôles which he undertook he never played other than with justice and honesty.

“When you portrayed the knaveries of the practitioners, the
distortions of women, the trickiness of bankrupts, or the
impertinences of the bourgeois, do you think to have done them
any harm?”

The conversation continues thus between the author and the deceased Domenico throughout the volume. Into this conversation are brought amusing stories, scandalous anecdotes of the time, quips, facetiæ, moralisings, philosophic dissertations, etc. It is a pot-pourri on the subject of Domenico.

In one of the comedies played by Domenico Harlequin seeks to sell his house. Having found a buyer, he protests that as he does not wish him to buy a pig in a poke he will show him a sample of the goods, and he produces from under his jacket a large piece of plaster.

In another scene Harlequin appears as a beggar. Ottavio questions him upon various matters; amongst other things he asks him how many fathers he possesses.

“I have only one,” replies Harlequin.

“But how does it happen that you have only one father?” demands Ottavio, losing patience.

“What would you?” is the answer. “I am but a poor man, and I have no means of affording more.”

Elsewhere Pasquariello seeks to lead Harlequin to a tavern; but in this piece Harlequin is of sober habits, and replies: “The glass is Pandora’s box; out of it come all the evils.”

Let us cite a few further traits of the character drawn by Domenico in the various Harlequins performed by him.

Mezzetin promises Harlequin that he shall wed Columbine if he will second him in a fresh piece of knavery. Whilst Mezzetin is considering his project, Harlequin counts the buttons of his doublet, and at each button says: “I shall have Columbine, I shall not have her; I shall have her, I shall not have her; I shall have her, I shall not have her; I shall have her, I shall not have her; I shall have her, I shall not have her; (_he bursts into tears_) I shall not have her!”

MEZZETIN. What ails you? Why are you crying?

HARLEQUIN (_weeping_). I shall not have Columbine! hi! hi! hi!

MEZZETIN. Who has said so?

HARLEQUIN (_indicating his buttons_). Buttonomancy!

In _L’Homme à Bonnes Fortunes_, Harlequin, disguised as a marquis, is the recipient of many presents from women whom he has contrived to please. He has already received and donned two dressing-gowns, when a third one is brought to him on behalf of a widow who comes to judge for herself of the effect produced by her present. There is a knock at the door. It is she. Harlequin has no more than time to slip this third gown over the other two, whereby he is given the appearance of an elephant. The widow enters, notwithstanding that admission has been refused her.

HARLEQUIN (_angrily_). Morbleu, madam! Did I not bid them tell
you that I was not visible to-day?

THE WIDOW. To find you, sir, it is necessary to come upon you
as you leave your bed; throughout the remainder of the day you
are unapproachable.

HARLEQUIN. It is true that I have not an hour to myself. I am
so exhausted by these adventures which the vulgar call _bonnes
fortunes_ that my superfluity would be enough for twenty idlers
of the Court.

THE WIDOW. But, sir, I find you very fat. What is the matter
with you?

HARLEQUIN. Nothing, merely that I overate last night at supper.

THE WIDOW. There must be some other reason; are you perhaps
dropsical?

HARLEQUIN. Indeed no!

THE WIDOW. Let us see. (_She pulls off his dressing-gowns, one
after the other._)

HARLEQUIN (_defending himself_). Fie, madam! What are you
about? This isn’t decent!

THE WIDOW. One, two, three dressing-gowns! That is to say,
three mistresses! Ah! Traitor! It is thus, then, that you
betray me! And you say that you love none but me!

HARLEQUIN (_attempting to seek refuge in the wardrobe_). Madam,
I can bear no more!

THE WIDOW. Now I know the worth of your oaths.

HARLEQUIN. Madam, I must go.... If I don’t——

THE WIDOW. Rascal!

HARLEQUIN. Madam, I can no longer answer for the discretion of——

THE WIDOW. Are you shameless? I will have no more to do with
you. Return me the dressing-gown. (_She attempts to drag her
dressing-gown from him; they fight, HARLEQUIN knocks off her
headdress, she loses one of her petticoats, and departs._)

On the subject of the etymology of the name of Harlequin, it is explained thus by Domenico:

CINTHIO (_to his lackey, HARLEQUIN_). By the way, since you
have been in my employ it has never occurred to me to inquire
your name?

HARLEQUIN. I am called Arlecchino Sbrufadelli.

(_At the name of Sbrufadelli CINTHIO bursts into laughter._)

HARLEQUIN. Do not presume to mock me. All my ancestors were
people of consequence. Sbroufadel, the first of the name, was a
pork butcher, but so superior in his profession that Nero would
eat no sausages but those which he made. Of Sbroufadel was born
Fregocola, a great captain; he married Mademoiselle Castagna,
who was of so lively a temperament that she gave birth to me
two days after the wedding. My father was delighted, but his
joy was cut short by certain pettifoggeries on the part of the
police. Whenever my father met an honest man on the highway
he never failed to take off his hat, and if it happened to be
night, he would take off his cloak as well. The police sought
to curb this excess of civility and ordered his arrest. My
father did not wait for it. He took me in my swaddling clothes,
and, having thrust me into a cauldron, and the rest of his
movables into a basket, he left the city, driving before him
the donkey that bore his house and his heir. He frequently
struck the beast to cries of “Ar! Ar!” which in the asinine
language means “Get on! get on!” Whilst proceeding thus, he
perceived that a man was following him. This man, observing
that my father was considering him attentively, hid himself,
crouching (_se messe chin_) behind a bush. My father, who
took him for the officer sent to arrest him, conceiving that
he assumed this position the better to surprise him, beat his
donkey more severely than ever, crying _Ar! le chin_, that
is to say: Get on, he is crouching. So that, as I was still
without a name, my father, remembering the fright which he had
received, and the words _Ar! le chin, Ar! le chin_, which he
had repeated so often, called me Arlechino.

In another Italian scene we see Pasquariello giving advice to Harlequin, who is in difficulties on the subject of finding a good profession.

PASQUARIELLO. Set up as a doctor. If fortune smiles on you
you’ll soon be rich. Consider how much the doctor has earned
since he has been in fashion to treat gout. He has amassed more
than two hundred thousand francs, and he knows no more about
the gout than you do.

HARLEQUIN. Then of necessity he must know very little, for I
know nothing.

PASQUARIELLO. That should not hinder you from being a clever
doctor.

HARLEQUIN. Parbleu, you mock me! I can neither read nor write.

PASQUARIELLO. No matter, I say. It is not knowledge that makes
the successful doctor, it is impudence and wordiness.

HARLEQUIN. But how, then, do they manage with their patients?

PASQUARIELLO. I will tell you. You begin by having a mule and
promenading through Paris on it. First comes a man who says:
“Sir doctor, I beg of you to come and see my parent who is
ill.” “Willingly, sir.” The man goes ahead and the doctor
follows on his mule. (_Here PASQUARIELLO imitates the man who
walks; he turns round and says to HARLEQUIN who follows him
trotting_): What are you playing at?

HARLEQUIN. I am playing the mule.

PASQUARIELLO. You arrive at the house of the sick man. Your
guide knocks, the door is opened, the doctor alights from his
mule and together they ascend the staircase.

HARLEQUIN. And the mule? Does the mule also ascend the
staircase?

PASQUARIELLO. No, no, the mule remains at the door, it is the
man and the doctor who ascend the staircase. Behold them now in
the patient’s antechamber. The man says to the doctor, “Follow
me, sir, I am going to see if my parent sleeps.”

(_Here PASQUARIELLO walks on tiptoe, stretches out his arms,
and pretends to draw aside the curtains of a bed._)

HARLEQUIN. Why do you step so softly?

PASQUARIELLO. On account of the sick man. We are now in his
chamber, beside the bed. “Sir, the patient is not asleep, you
may approach.” Immediately the doctor takes the arm-chair by
the bedside, and says to the patient: “Show me your tongue.”
(_PASQUARIELLO puts out an enormous tongue and, imitating the
patient, says_:) “Oh, sir, I am very ill!”

HARLEQUIN (_considering PASQUARIELLO’S tongue_). Eh! what an
ugly illness!

PASQUARIELLO. That tongue is very dry and very heated.

HARLEQUIN. It must be put on ice.

PASQUARIELLO. Let us feel the pulse. (_He pretends to feel
the pulse of the sick man._) Now here is a pulse that goes
devilishly quick! Let us feel the stomach. Now here is a
stomach that is very hard.

HARLEQUIN. Perhaps he has swallowed iron.

PASQUARIELLO. Let me have paper, pen and ink. (_He pretends to
write._) Recipe: this evening a _lavement_, to-morrow morning
a blood-letting, and to-morrow evening a medicine. (_All
this is mimed by PASQUARIELLO as if he were administering a
~lavement~, or a blood-letting, or swallowing a medicine._)
Then you take your leave of the patient, and you depart saying,
“Sir, to-morrow I shall come at the same hour, and I hope in a
short time to restore you completely to health.” Then the man
who has introduced you reconducts you again, and slips a golden
half-louis into your hand; you mount your mule once more and
depart.

HARLEQUIN. But how may I be able to guess whether he has the
fever or not?

PASQUARIELLO. I will show you. When the pulse is equal, that is
to say when it goes tac, tac, tac, there is no fever, but when
it is intermittent, and when it goes quickly, ti, ta, ta; ti,
ta, ta; ti, ta, ta, there is fever.

HARLEQUIN. Now that is quite simple: tac, tac, tac, no fever;
ti, ta, ta; ti, ta, ta; ti, ta, ta, fever.

PASQUARIELLO. There you are, as learned as the doctors; let us
go.

HARLEQUIN. Ti, ta, ta; ti, ta, ta; I am all for ti, ta, ta.