“To Messer Marco Alvarotto
“Marco, my dear master, I rejoice with you in the pleasures you experienced at the hunt, and believing that on your side you would wish to participate in a joy which I have lately experienced, I am about to relate it to you.
“You will know that, finding this world the most beautiful country in the world, I took one day the firm resolve to remain in it for ever, or at least to be one of the last to quit it. Knowing full well, however, that it is no more the privilege of honest men than of any others to enjoy an existence which shall be more than an existence, I have indulged myself at length upon this subject in my little books[9]; these assure me that it is possible to live very long and even eternally, but that first it would be necessary for me to find a certain lady whom some call Modesty and others Wisdom, who has it in her power to bestow as long a life as one may ask of her; for some great personages long since dead are still living in their works. To this I answered: ‘Oh, my brothers, my little books, you are trifling with me; this lady is like that herb which has the virtue of rendering invisible whoever wears it, but which is nowhere to be found.’ Nevertheless I did not insist, knowing my books to be truthful and akin to honest men, who would not tell a falsehood for a thousand ducats. Thereupon I firmly resolved to seek this lady, and even though she were more hideous than Envy so truly to pay her my court as to persuade her promptly to come with me. But after having ransacked all my world of writing matter, after having sought and after having voyaged in my mind farther than the ships of Spain, without even finding a track of her footsteps, I fell one day into despair, like the gambler who is unlucky at the first throw. I cursed all writings, and in a passion I went to seek repose in the country.
“I was left alone by the hunt on one of our little hills called Este, awaiting the return of my dogs from behind another hill where they were chasing a hare. They were already so far that I could no longer hear their voices. It seemed to me that all things fell silent about me, and, whether as a result of this silence, or whether from weariness of mind, sleep entered gently and unperceived into my eyes, and he was no sooner within than, as it were, he set a chain upon the door and drove me out of myself. I desire to be, and I ought to be, grateful to him all my life, however long it may be, for the sweet and pleasant dream which caused me to see and hear things so lovely that it will be lovely to repeat them and even more lovely to believe them. Thus closed and double-locked as I have said, I beheld first of all our good and brave old Polo as he was in other days, so clearly that I did not have the courage to ask him whether he was living or dead. He was dressed in a festal robe, and seemed to be coming from the barber’s, with a countenance which announced rather that he had dined well than that he had fasted. I cannot think how he came by his knowledge of my desire to live for ever (I believe the soul to be a thing divine), but, after wishing me a good day and a happy year, after having rubbed his nose on the right and left, after having twice drawn breath, he began to speak: ‘Ruzzante, you have wearied yourself more over your books than ever I wearied my arms upon animals, and you will never be able to find the woman you seek unless I assist you and point her out to you. It is your mania for calling things by names which do not belong to them that leads you into error. You think her name is as you say. You seem to me much in the same case as that fellow who read Balotta upon a book on which was written Checarello. But come with me and I will lead you to her court, where you shall find many good companions to move you to laughter, even as you move others to it with your comelies or comegies (con le to comielie, ò comiegie), I know not what you call them.’”
It would take up too much space to translate here the entire discourse of the old peasant Polo to Ruzzante. He informs him, in short, that she whom he calls Wisdom is named Gaiety, and that he will be so happy upon beholding her, so joyous and so gay, that he will find by her that future existence which he seeks. “No longer will he suffer his dreadful pangs; no longer will he know pain; he will be able to breathe with all his lungs. An hour, a minute of this well-understood existence is better than a thousand years of a life which is unperceived.” The peasant describes in his rustic fashion the happiness of existence. For him, to sing, to dance, to drink as much as he thirsts, to have apples, well-cooked beetroots and good chestnuts, to saunter and do nothing but look on, is not that the way of happiness, of gaiety and of joy rather than for a man to dribble his brains into books? They go along talking thus in quest of Gaiety, and their way runs through a fresh and smiling countryside, to which Polo draws Ruzzante’s attention: “Have you ever seen a more lovely country, so surrounded with flowering hills and shaded woods, turning a quicker green from the last rains, these little streams bubbling over stones and losing themselves among herbs and flowers? Do you hear that little bird singing his song, hairo, hairo, hairo?” Across this earthly paradise, before the eyes of Ruzzante, is unfolded a whole world of allegorical figures, which come and go; these Polo explains to him after his own fashion:
“‘Look your fill; we are in the land of Gaiety. Consider first this woman, here at my side. This is Prudence, Gaiety’s principal cook. Then come Contentment and Pleasure, riding on horseback, in a carriage or in a boat. Look at this one rolling along the ground with his mouth so widely open that one may deem him on the point of bursting; this is Laughter. Look at that woman, beautifully attired and bejewelled; she is Fate. At her side is her brother Dance, who has removed his shoes that he may leap the better. Behold, he is dancing! These two ladies who come hand in hand are Mirth and Joy. The latter seems unable to contain herself, so constantly does she desire to sing, to dance, to gambol or play the lute. Further off is Kindness, embracing Friendship. Here are Peace and Charity. Look quickly that you may behold the Passing Hour which never more returns. There is one who goes before her whose name is Cock. He is the first to hear her. He advances, greeting her with song. Look at that one who is separated from the company, dressed in black. She is Corruption; it is she who spoils existence as the beasts destroy the plants. And there is Sadness with folded hands, her head upon her knees: to behold her glassy eye you might conceive her dead. Take no heed of this little fellow with a bow and a quiver at his hip; he is the worst of all; you could never believe how profoundly he is malicious. There is no existence so beautiful but that he will thrust himself in to ruin it with his wiles and his malice. His name is Love, but he is not the good Love, the child of God and of Liberty. I cannot think who were the parents of this evil child, but I suspect that they were Malice and Misfortune. Come on, run as if the plague pursued you. Do you not see? Jealousy is beside him with her scarlet raiment full of holes, to enable evil designs readily to enter in. Pain, drawing her lamentations, runs before Arson, which rolls upon the ground like a rabid dog. There is Caprice which never knows peace, which is never well where it is, which ever desires to be where it is not, which desires to be and not to be, and also desires to be another and yet not to be that other. Do not look because by dint of looking at all these we shall lose sight of Gaiety. Why do you stare at Love? Let him be.’
“Whilst he was speaking thus it seemed to me that I heard music. Not that of songs and instruments, but a something more harmonious, like a concert. It seemed to me that all this made up so beautiful a thing that it would be impossible to relate it in a thousand years, even with a thousand tongues. I wanted to look attentively so as to miss nothing, such was the pleasure I gathered from this spectacle. But my eyes seemed hindered I know not by what heaviness. Making yet another effort to open them the dream took flight, and I found myself restored to reality.
“At the same moment I beheld my dogs returning, driving the hare before them. They were so tired that one of them came to lie down before me and to let me take the palpitating hare from his jaws.
“I remembered my dream, and I bethought me that the music which I had heard greatly resembled the voices of my dogs. It seemed to me also that the cause of all those lovely things which I had seen coming and going in my dream were my dogs pursuing the hare, which, by passing again and again before me, caused me in the end to open my eyes.
“There you have my divertissement; laugh over it with some good companion. I kiss your hands and commend myself to you and to our friends, to whom I augur happiness and an existence as eternal as that which I was seeking.
“Ruzzante.
“From Padua, on the feast of the Epiphany, 1535.”
It would be wrong for the commedia sostenuta to claim Ruzzante; he belongs to our subject every whit as much as Gozzi and Goldoni, those ungrateful successors of his who never mention his name, and who very possibly never read his works. In accordance with the ancient Italian custom, Beolco wrote his comedies after he had played them with his gay and clever comrades; he performed them at least partly in impromptu. Moreover in some of his pieces many scenes are no more than indicated in a few words, to be played and improvised by the actors; for instance:
“The Bravo enters and falls upon Ruzzante, etc.
“They now sing, and when they have done, Nale enters, and drawing his sword, advances upon Menego saying: ‘Draw, traitor!’ Menego, frightened does not draw but runs hither and thither receiving many blows.”
Elsewhere: “Hereupon the priest makes a few signs and noises are heard which terrify Menego and Duozzo, whom the priest reassures, etc.”
Some of the works of Ruzzante were preserved in the family of his protector Cornelio; others were published, some in their original text, some translated into Italian. Five of his comedies printed severally for the first time in 1551, and some of them reprinted more than once, were, in 1563, collected into an octavo volume in Venice by Giovanni Bonadio. These were La Piovana, L’Anconitana, La Moschetta, La Vaccaria and La Fiorina.
An edition of the complete works of Ruzzante was issued in 1584 in duodecimo by Giorgio Greco at Vicenza. It bore the title:
Tutte l’opere del famosissimo Ruzzante di nuovo e con somma diligenza rivedute et corrette, et aggiuntovi un sonetto et una canzone dello stesso autore. Al molto magnifico signor Vespasiano Zopiano gentil’huomo Vicentino. Ristampate l’anno del Signore 1584.
Another edition appeared in Vicenza in 1598, and a third and last edition, which is the best known, was published in 1617 in Venice by Domenico Amadio:
“The works of the celebrated Signor Angelo Beolco, a nobleman of Padua, surnamed Ruzzante, are,” says the publisher in a preface to the readers, “so beloved and appreciated by all the world for their sentiment, wit, delicacy and erudition, that they are sought after by everyone as a most learned and interesting collection. Having regard, then, to this general desire, I have reprinted them with care, and I deliver them to the public revised, corrected, and conforming entirely with the originals on the score of purity of style and primitive simplicity. In delighting you with this book, I trust that the nobility of your soul will take into consideration my labour and my good intention, which are always at the services of the pleasure and the well-being of all.”
This last edition includes the following works of the very celebrated Ruzzante: with the apologetic titles of the editor:
La Piovana, “or the history of the purse.”
L’Anconitana, “a comedy which treats of love and which cannot fail to give pleasure.”
La Rhodiana, “a surprising and very laughable comedy, full of very piquant sayings in various languages, by the very celebrated Ruzzante.”
This last comedy is attributed to Andrea Calmo, a Venetian actor and author, a contemporary of Ruzzante’s. There is reason to believe that it was written by Ruzzante after having been played from a scenario supplied by Calmo. That at least is what appears to be proven by the following fragment of the prologue:
“... It is the custom in Carnival time to amuse you with divertissements and performances of this style, but we should have been unable to have done it this year without the assistance of one of our companions, who, although unable to leave his own troupe, suggested to us and brought us the work which you are going to see performed this evening. We have been compelled, then, to have recourse to his good memory which has given us this work, a work which will undoubtedly please you if you will not make too much noise.”
La Vaccaria, “a comedy no less witty than amusing.”
La Fiorina, “a comedy no less piquant than delectable.”
La Moschetta, “a comedy no less amusing than agreeable.”
Three discourses by Ruzzante, “written and recited in rustic language. Works full of wit and sallies, and marvellously amusing.”
Two dialogues “in rustic language, moral, witty and agreeable.”
A dialogue “very facetious and very droll, played at the hunt in 1528.”
The characters in the plays of Ruzzante are: In the rôles of fathers and of ridiculous and battered husbands, Messer Andronico, Messer Cornelio (old men of Venice), Demetrio Placido, Diomede, Ser Thomao, Pittaro, Sivello, Pasquale, Tura and Maregale; the lovers are Tancredo, Theodoro, Gismonde, Flavio, Roberto, Federico, and Polidoro (a ridiculous lover); the leading ladies are Ginevra, Isotta, Fiorinetta, and Beatrice; his peasant girls are Gnua, Fiore, Bettia, Nina, Ghetta and Dina; his soubrettes are Besa, Gita, Betta and Maddalena; in the rôles of mother he has Theodosia, Ruspina, Resca, Sofronia, Felicita, Celega and Prudentia (ruffiana), and Doralice (a courtesan); his rustic types are Ruzzante, Menego-Menato, Duozzo, Marchioro, Bilora, Bedon, Truffa, Vezzo, Loron, Forbino, and Siton; his intriguing lackeys are Tonin the Bergamese, Nale, Slavero, Garbuio, Daldura, Garbinello, Zane, Bertevello, Campeggio, Naso and Corrado (the German). In addition to these his comedies include a notary and Piolo, a singer.
END OF VOLUME ONE
THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH
[1] About £160,000 of our present money.
[2] I.e. players in the Théâtres de la Foire—that is to say, players who set up their theatres at public fairs.
[3] See the dialogue between Clindor and Matamore, etc., etc., in P. Corneille’s L’Illusion Comique.
[4] Mondor’s diction in these performances in Paris was an extraordinary mixture of French, Italian and Spanish, which it is only possible to appreciate by a glimpse at the original:
“Rodomont. Cavallières, mousquetadères, bombardas, canones, morions, corseletes! Aqui, veillaco!... Son il Capitanio Rodomonté, la bravura, la valore de todo el mondo; la mia spada s’est rendue triomphante del toto universo.
“Tabarin. Il est vray, par ma foy; il n’y a personne qui joue mieux de l’espée à deux jambes que luy.
“Rodomont. Que fasto en sta casa, Tabarin? Que fasto veillaco? Io te quero ablar.... Aqui, veillacon? Aqui, poerco? Io te quero matar, eres moerto!”
[5] Courtesans did not allow their hair to grow, so that they might dress in male attire when the fancy took them. But those who were faithful to their lovers retained long hair as a sign of the propriety of their conduct.
[6] “The white uniform of the gardes-françaises,” says M. Édouard Fournier, “is somewhat reminiscent of the costume of the naïve comedian; hence they are everywhere called Pierrots. The street urchin did not stop at that: whenever he beheld a soldier in white uniform he imitated the cry of the sparrow, which is also called a pierrot, and cried out ‘Piou-piou’; hence this sobriquet, which is still given to our infantry soldiers.”
[7] “Il TEATRO delle favole rappresentative, overo la ricreatione comica, boscareccia e tragica; divisa in cinquanta giornate. Composte da Flaminio Scala, detto Flavio, comico del sereniss. sig. duca di Mantoua. In Venetia 1661.”
[8] Gennari, in his Saggio storico sulle accademie, page 21, calls him “the new Roscius of his day, an admirable man, a prodigious actor and the author of very clever comedies.”
[9] The manuscripts were not printed until several years after his death.