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.