Renaissance Comedy: The Italian Masters - Volume 1 9781442688988

Table of contents :
Contents
Introduction: ‘Erudite’ Comedy in Renaissance Italy
The Pretenders / I suppositi
Cortigiana / La cortigiana
The Ragged Brothers / Gli straccioni
Alessandro / L’alessandro
The Sister / La sorella

Citation preview

RENAISSANCE COMEDY THE ITALIAN MASTERS, VOLUME 1 Edited with an introduction by Donald Beecher

Despite its richness and diversity as a cultural form, Italian Renaissance comedy has been largely overlooked by scholars of the period. In Renaissance Comedy, editor Donald Beecher corrects this oversight, providing a collection of eleven comedies representative of the principal styles of writing that characterize the genre. From early ‘erudite’ imitations of Plautus and Terence to satires and sentimental plays of the middle period, and later, more experimental works, the development of Italian Renaissance comedy is examined here in an engaging and perceptive manner. This first of two volumes includes five of the best-known plays of the period, each with its own historical and critical introduction. Also included is a general introduction by the editor, which discusses the significant features of Italian Renaissance comedy, as well as the stage histories of the plays and, in many cases, what little is known of the circumstances surrounding their original performances. The introduction also discusses the nature of the audiences, the occasions during which the plays were performed, and the patrons who helped bring the plays to the stage. While providing a much-needed critical edition, Renaissance Comedy offers invaluable insight into the history of Italian Renaissance drama and Italian culture in general. (The Lorenzo Da Ponte Italian Library) donald beecher is a professor in the Department of English at Carleton University.

THE LORENZO DA PONTE ITALIAN LIBRARY General Editors Luigi Ballerini and Massimo Ciavolella, University of California at Los Angeles Honorary Chairs †Professor Vittore Branca Honorable Dino De Poli Ambassador Gianfranco Facco Bonetti Honorable Anthony J. Scirica Advisory Board Remo Bodei, Università di Pisa Lina Bolzoni, Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa Francesco Bruni, Università di Venezia Giorgio Ficara, Università di Torino Michael Heim, University of California at Los Angeles †Amilcare A. Iannucci, University of Toronto Rachel Jacoff, Wellesley College Giuseppe Mazzotta, Yale University Gilberto Pizzamiglio, Università di Venezia Margaret Rosenthal, University of Southern California John Scott, University of Western Australia Elissa Weaver, University of Chicago

THE DA PONTE LIBRARY SERIES

RENAISSANCE COMEDY The Italian Masters VOLUME 1

Edited with Introductions by DONALD BEECHER

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press 2008 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in Canada isbn 978-0-8020-9292-2 (cloth) isbn 978-0-8020-9484-1 (paper)

Printed on acid-free paper

Library and Archives of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Renaissance comedy : the Italian masters / edited with an introduction by Donald Beecher. (The Lorenzo Da Ponte Italian library series) isbn 978-0-8020-9292-2 (v. 1 : bound) isbn 978-0-8020-9484-1 (v. 1 : pbk.) 1. Italian drama (Comedy). 2. Italian drama – To 1700. 3. Italian drama (Comedy) – History and criticism. 4. Italian drama – To 1700 – History and criticism. 5. Theater – Italy – History. I. Beecher, Donald II. Series: Lorenzo Da Ponte Italian library series pq4149.r45 2007

852’.05230802

c2007-902322-3

This volume is published under the aegis and with the financial assistance of: Fondazione Cassamarca, Treviso; Ministero degli Affari Esteri, Direzione Generale per la Promozione e la Cooperazione Culturale; Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali, Direzione Generale per i Beni Librari e gli Istituti Culturali, Servizio per la promozione del libro e della lettura. Publication of this volume is assisted by the Istituto Italiano di Cultura, Toronto. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

Contents

Introduction: ‘Erudite’ Comedy in Renaissance Italy donald beecher 1 The Pretenders / I suppositi ludovico ariosto 37 Cortigiana / La cortigiana pietro aretino 99 The Ragged Brothers / Gli straccioni annibal caro 205 Alessandro / L’alessandro alessandro piccolomini 281 The Sister / La sorella giambattista della porta 373

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RENAISSANCE COMEDY The Italian Masters VOLUME 1

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Introduction: ‘Erudite’ Comedy in Renaissance Italy Donald Beecher

Despite the military invasions and the sobering influence of the CounterReformation upon the arts in sixteenth-century Italy, the spirit of the high Renaissance nevertheless prevailed in many of the urban centres. When times were propitious, theatrical spectacles of many kinds from the sacre rappresentazioni to popular farces were assiduously cultivated. They were performed not only for festive tides such as Carnival and Epiphany, but for royal weddings and court receptions – with all the spectacle befitting affairs of state – not to mention dramatic entertainments in the grammar schools and confraternities, and in the learned academies, where, with alacrity, members debated the merits of the performances according to humanist criteria. Enjoying an elite status among all the forms of spectacle were the plays that theatre historians have subsequently designated ‘erudite,’ because their salient characteristic was a formal and procedural allegiance to the plays of the two ancient Roman playwrights, Plautus and Terence.1 The precise nature of that allegiance and the process by which it became the sine qua non of so distinguished and influential a body of theatrical creations is the leading question in defining the genre. Without doubt, such an alignment with the ancients was a product of the spirit embedded in the word renaissance, but now in the inverse sense that what was found remarkable in the arts of the ancients should be suffused through the modern works created in their image. To that end, the Roman comedy recommended itself for study, translation, and eventually imitation in the broadest and most creative sense of that term. For while the playwrights of the ‘regular’ or ‘erudite’ comedies, from the very outset, were keen to adapt the ancient world to the modern, to diversify their narrative and episodic sources, and to fudge the conventions deemed too narrow for contemporary tastes, their principal endeavour remained

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manifestly memorial, to the end that informed spectators might register the intertextual resonances as a principal source of pleasure. In the most restrictive sense, that imitation followed a reductive reading of the ancient plays whereby a handful of common denominators, expressed as rules, might, in the keeping of them, convey all the genius of the Roman theatre. But such an approach is too limited in its scope. Too be sure, imitation, in the first instance, could well mean confining the action to a single street or piazza adjacent to a cluster of houses or shops, or making certain that a two-hour action on the stage did not seek to represent a narrative relation requiring more than a natural day. Such ‘rules’ were to be deduced from ancient practices and spoken of in turn as the critical unities of time and place. Several of them were formalized as early as 1545 in Giambattista Giraldi Cinzio’s Discorso intorno al comporre delle commedie e delle tragedie, in which he recommends for comedy a local setting for the sake of realism, the teaching of morals, the use of verse, double plots to generate variety, and a narrative action confined to twenty-four hours. But the spirit of the ‘erudite’ was far more pervasive and plastic in actual practice, and touched upon more than conventions of location and pacing. The imitatio by which an ‘erudite’ creation achieves its identity begins in a complete digest of the features of the old plays. We must imagine such a mental process on behalf of those early writers working in the genre decades before the critical-cum-philosophical codifiers appeared. The cognitive operation involved can only be imagined. By inference, intuition – what should we call it? – a comprehensive impression was taken of actions by their structures, characters by their types and affiliations, settings by their common denominators, themes by their names, down to the spirit of laughter itself. From all these impressions and more, an invigilating frame of mind was put in place to supervise the creative process. Just how the mind performed this feat was the very essence of writing in the erudite mode. It was this reduction to principles and ethos that separated imitation from forgery, which allowed for creative variation and reconfiguration. By this same process, moreover, there were the subtle slippages whereby actions bearing the full identity markers of their models nevertheless pertained perfectly in spirit to their own contemporary worlds. In this remarkable way, acts of cultural memory remained acts of creation and imagination. That paradox was vital to the entire erudite endeavour. Some of the most self-evident markers pertained to iterative social types: miserly fathers, incarcerated daughters, determined lovers abetted

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by their clever slaves (or their nearest sixteenth-century counterparts), itinerant soldiers, pedants, and parasites, as well as nosy neighbours and scheming domestics. Plots took the shape of intrigues, rigorously planned to flow through an unchanging outdoor, urban, acting space. Speech applied to single persons as utterances of their own unique thoughts and motivations in specific social situations and in styles befitting each person’s temperament. Therein lay a quality of ‘realism’ simply in building the action, no matter how contrived and fantastic, out of social anecdotes generated by a community of autonomous wills in conflict. But not all readers have agreed with this appraisal, because the erudite challenge, for them, could entail only an archaeological exercise that destroys representational accuracy and social commentary. Nineteenth-century critics, on the whole, found these plays lifeless in their imitation of Roman comedy, not to mention immoral. Certainly this was true for Giuseppe Maffei in his often revised and republished Storia della letteratura Italiana (1825– 64). For him, a hint of redemption for the entire genre could be found only in the minute details of realism in language and characterization signalling a local and contemporary consciousness. Clearly, it was difficult for the realist/naturalist mimetic mentality to enter into the spirit of the erudite school in its quest for playful artifice through referential creativity. But for the erudite writers, the conventions of the ancients were tantamount to a discipline by which to sharpen their architectonic skills. Actual practice in the sixteenth century would reveal startling variations and dubious departures, but always on the part of writers fully mindful of the erudite ideal. Paradoxically, then, Ariosto, in the The Pretenders (I suppositi, 1509), the trendsetter for the genre, slips in more ‘realist’ allusions than does Bruno, who, some seventy years later in his Candlebearer (Il candelaio, 1582), strays from the spirit of the ancients only in compounding the elements of the learned tradition into a colossal intertextual edifice. Interaction with the legacy of the ancient Roman comedians created artefacts of examined proportions contained by remembered conventions. These writers prided themselves in calling attention to their own referential precision; to this end their plays were designed, not only in keeping with humanist habits, but according to the tastes of audiences and the cultural aspirations of patrons. Erudite comedy did not arise in an instant with the performance, in 1508, of Ariosto’s Cassaria (an excellent candidate for the first play in which all the formal ingredients came together). Rather, the mindset necessary to the creation of such a play emerged gradually throughout the preceding century in conjunction with the work of humanist scholars

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bent upon fostering the remains of the ancient theatre. The six plays of Terence had been accounted for throughout the Middle Ages, and some six to eight of Plautus’s were also known. But they had little bearing on cultural thought outside the schools where there had been a tradition of creating what were, to all intents and purposes, academic exercises in Terentian form, or where Terence’s own plays were performed as a means for teaching Latin. But our story may be said to begin in 1428 (or 1429), some eighty years before the production of the Cassaria, when Niccolò di Treviri made the astonishing discovery in a German library of a manuscript of the plays of Plautus that added twelve more to the canon. That was a significant ‘renaissance’ event, one that was heralded throughout Italy. A competition was launched among scholars, keen, in accordance with their humanist ambitions, to study, copy, and comment upon the new discovery. Even Pope Eugene IV became involved, begging to borrow the manuscript from its first owner, Cardinal Giordano Orsini. He wanted to show it to scholars in Florence, and principally to the renowned Guarino da Verona. The precious ‘corrected’ copy of the plays produced by Guarino was borrowed in turn, leading to scholarly intrigue, disobliging behaviour, and ten years of litigation in high places to have it returned. Publication followed in due course, the first Latin edition appearing in Rome in 1472. Printed editions made productions that were much easier to mount among the amateur enthusiasts devoted to the arts of antiquity. Then, with increasingly popular interest through the ‘vernacularization’ of these works, the final step seemed inevitable, namely, that new plays would be generated by the process of imitatio described above. The point to be underscored, however, is that such imitations were based on a decades-long humanist prologue – a prologue that would orient the erudite play in the values and practices favoured by those imbued with a compulsive admiration for the classical world. Meanwhile, the destiny of the Terentian plays ran a parallel course. These works had served the Middle Ages well as contexts for moralized commentary and for teaching Latin; such uses of the playwright did not come to an end, even in the sixteenth century. Nevertheless, a new and redefining perspective on the plays arose in 1433 (or 1435) when, in Mayence, a long-forgotten copy of Terence came into the hands of Giovanni Aurispa, accompanied by a commentary on the art of comedy by the fourth-century grammarian and scholar Aelius Donatus (combined with the scholia of other authors). Thereafter, this late Roman treatise began to circulate with the plays almost as an integral part of their meaning. Whether this commentary actually deserved the authority that was

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granted to it is now largely beside the point. The revolution was in contextualizing all subsequent readings and performances of the plays within a body of critical thought that was preoccupied with a correctness of form and procedure. In brief, the Donatus phenomenon set the model for the ‘humanist’ reception of these plays. His treatise created new mental habits insofar as the idea of the correct play became a ‘meta’ category in the consciousness of the spectator, who now viewed with formal expectations, engaged in comparative criticism, and categorized parts according to established criteria. Not only had the humanists, in their iconization of this treatise, invented reception theory, but they had invented the epitomizing process leading to the first principles by which imitations could be made. The Donatus commentary appeared in print first with the 1477 Treviso edition of Terence and many times thereafter, for these plays were enormously popular. With both authors now widely disseminated in print form, production could not be far behind. Credit for some of the earliest performances goes to members of the circle that had formed in Rome under the leadership of Julius Pomponius Laetus. Their passion was largely for Plautus, whose plays they produced throughout the 1480s and 1490s (even after their leader’s death in 1498), beginning with the Aulularia in 1484, as performed in the palace of a Roman cardinal. But the Florentines, among others, were soon to follow with productions by their ‘amateur’ societies. (Already on record, for them, was a school performance of Terence’s Andrea as early as 1476, while a seminary production of the Menaechmi in 1488 caused public excitement.) It was a time of amateur production, in Latin, within literary academies and schools, or in private gatherings. A purist spirit prevailed, for the goal of these performances remained largely historical – a restoration of ancient artefacts according to the best critical insights of the age. For them, there were as yet no interpolations, no contemporary allusions or improvisatory stage gags borrowed from the popular farces. But such temptations would ultimately prove too attractive to resist in other spheres of production. Plays about ancient Roman street life and family situations, rivalries and jealousies, frustrated lovers and wily servants, blustering soldiers and chatty maids were only a few tweaks away from becoming contemporary plays in all but name, for they reflect in their ways the universals of the human social condition. Moreover, the native theatrical tradition with its farcical lazzi, practical joking, and hyperbolical talk was well ensconced in Italian popular culture, perpetually enticing performers of the old plays to add a little cheese on the macaroni. Questions of propriety came up as early as the

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1490s, when references to contemporary life and popular joking first contaminated the humanist theatre. In fact, the tolerance of the learned comedy for the improvisatory routines of popular culture written into the scripts was to become the subject of debate throughout the history of the genre. Such ‘intrusions’ are fully apparent in Cardinal Bibbiena’s Calandra (1513), Caro dramatizes the burle from the Decameron about the magic that makes Mirandola ‘invisible’ in The Ragged Brothers (1544), while Giordano Bruno found such comic stage business irresistible in the writing of the Candlebearer (1582). Any playwright with an eye to pleasing audiences could not have been unmindful of the lightness and amusement that these insets inevitably provided. In this, we are again reminded of the overarching mission of the entire emerging genre, which was the pursuit of novelty in conjunction with a compulsive and necessary allegiance to the identifying markers derived from antiquity in a dual spirit of intellectual play and technical virtuosity. The next phase in this brief history of the genre was inaugurated by potentates. The professional scholars and informed amateurs had led the way, but when civic magistrates and court patrons began to look upon the production of ancient Roman plays as vehicles for the glorification of the city-state, evolution was bound to follow. We must reason thus on their behalf: that these plays were monuments of high culture; that states may reap prestige in terms of the culture they promote; that plays are by nature the stuff of which spectacles are made; and that while the texts themselves may be thought of as inviolable, they might nevertheless be surrounded by the music and ballet, machines and mimes, allegories and entries adored by the court. This was new only in bringing the entire range of courtly entertainments to the production of these prestigious theatrical artefacts from ancient Rome, although the procedure may have been a tacit recognition that the plays, on their own, would not make the grade with more diversified audiences. Ferrara’s Duke Ercole I commissioned the retranslation of these ancient comedies expressly for popular production, but the uninspired verse translations were not wholly successful. First to appear was the Menaechmi of Plautus in 1486, that ever popular play about twins and mistaken identities that inspired many an imitator down to Shakespeare in his Comedy of Errors. It was a brilliant choice. Other festive productions in the city followed in 1487, 1499, and 1501. There were, in fact, some twenty-two productions of Plautus and Terence in Ferrara between 1486 and 1505. That a grand patron of the arts chose for his city the mounting of these comic creations as a gift of entertainment was an act of cultural appropriation to the glorification

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of the Ferraran ruling dynasty. But as objects of state culture, they were now exposed to all the vicissitudes of opinion and to all the pressures for modification that might enhance their appeal or add to the splendour of the performances. Duke Ercole provided for the training of ‘amateur’ actors, while adding professional scenographers, dancers, and singers. With such a company of talents he was able not only to regale the city, but to dazzle Ludovico il Moro, his host during a state visit to Pavia in 1493, with the presentation of three plays. Among those actors was young Ludovico Ariosto, engaged in an apprenticeship, as it were, that would bear stellar results. These were the earliest ‘professional’ productions carried out in full costume with stage properties and elaborate backdrops, not always representationally appropriate to the more humble events of citizens’ lives depicted in the plays, but devised, rather, to impress and amaze the spectators with the perspective painter’s skills. Even on lavish family occasions the Ferraran court perpetuated its interest in Roman comedy, for no less than five Plautine plays were performed for the festivities celebrating the wedding of the crown prince, Alfonso, to Lucrezia Borgia, in 1501. A record survives of the some 110 sumptuous costumes that had been fashioned for the occasion, obviating the need for any doubling in the five plays, and the scenographers had made use of elaborate painted backdrops. Clearly for the spectators, however, the most memorable parts were the entr’acte performances featuring dancing and music, pantomimes, and even mock battles acted out in ballet. According to reports, these diversions saved the day because of the tediously prolix verse translations, which pointed to one of the major challenges for the future. Something had to be done to reclaim the language of wit and repartee from the pedants, something that would restore the verve and representational vitality of Roman comedy. An early attempt was made in Mantua under the patronage of Isabella d’Este, the daughter of Duke Ercole I, who had similar theatrical ambitions for her adoptive city. A writer hiding behind the name Publio Filippo Mantovano supplied her with a new play called Formicone (The Ant) that was performed in a boys’ school in 1503. His narrative source had been The Golden Ass of Apuleius, leaving the play a little short on real intrigue. Nevertheless, Formicone, the prankster servant (although, in fact, a bungler), puts up an entertaining show, first in setting up his master’s concubine with a lover, and then in stalling the master’s entry at the front door while the lover escapes by the back. What he couldn’t explain was the mysterious pair of slippers left inside. That was dealt with only by the return of the lover, who came expressly to create an alibi by

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accusing the dumbfounded servant of stealing them. Although Formicone’s performance was not yet up to the standards of the trickster slave of the Roman plays, his prankster’s cynicism in betraying a master’s trust for money set a pattern to be matched and surpassed in subsequent plays. Mantovano’s effort was, in fact, long remembered, insofar as some eighty years later Leone de’ Sommi, in his Three Sisters, thought the plot worth setting out in new guise. After all, it was an amusing social anecdote of crisis management and last-minute escape. But above all, for our purposes, it was a play mindful of the classical tradition, for the author divided his work into the de rigueur five acts (a convention imposed upon the Roman plays after the fact, but one that achieved paradigmatic authority nevertheless), and he carefully fulfilled the three-part plotting structure of Donatus, which began with a schematic relation of circumstances in the protasis, moved on to the epitasis or complication and crisis of the plot in the third and fourth acts, and concluded with the final unravelling in the catastrophe. The cast is small, the setting is contemporary and limited to a single location, the dialogue is lively and urgent, the action is brisk, and, above all, the play is written in prose. Civic production on the Ferraran scale created an economy of its own in which the search for novelty became a pressing factor. Twenty-four ancient plays constituted a finite repertory, at risk of growing stale from overexposure. Therein lay one impetus for the creation of more ‘Plautus and Terence’ in the service of the state. It would fall to the court poets to do their parts in extending the repertoire, while breaking with pedantry at the same time. These imitations were to be written in prose and, initially, would borrow their plots from fragments, ideas, and episodes taken directly from the Roman plays. Rejigging pieces from Plautus and Terence was a sure way of being ‘erudite’ before the fact, enabling the connoisseur spectator to take delight in tracing the new plots back to their donor texts. But increasingly thereafter, writers would also modify their plots through a conflation of materials drawn from at least three additional sources: the events of everyday life, narrative motifs from romances and novellas, and caricature routines from the popular theatre. Concerning the intrusion of the modern, a necessary slippage had been conceded from the outset in writing the plays in Italian. For whether the choice was literary Tuscan or local dialects, language carries overtones of the world to which it belongs, and by that means, perhaps above all others, the life of the modern city found its way into the classical mould. The first to try his hand in Ferrara was Ludovico Ariosto. Not only had he participated in the Pavia expedition, but he had a warm-up exercise

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in translating Terence’s Phormio. His assignment in 1508, however, was for a play inspired by the Roman models, but that somehow managed to turn Rome into Ferrara and old mores into new – the whole redounding to the glorification of the city, in accordance with the wishes of his new patron, Duke Alfonso. Thus, for action and ethos, his Cassaria (The Coffer) was precisely classical, yet the mise en scène included a wonderful backdrop depicting the city of Ferrara, the painter having been chosen by competition. This great canvas must have had a singular effect, for it featured the skills in perspective and visual depth that were among the triumphs of high Renaissance painting. The entire production was offered to the general public as part of the Carnival celebrations, with seating determined ceremonially according to social echelons. Ariosto’s play was the answer to a critical challenge and would set precedents for those to follow, precedents that were reified in his own Pretenders, which would appear the following year. One can speak only in descriptive terms about these plays, for the historical degree to which they were received prescriptively is difficult to calculate. But the aesthetic ideal they incorporate, in retrospect, appears paradigmatic. Ariosto had found the ideal formula for pleasing audiences through lively characters; living language, often in rapid-fire sequences; and surprising twists of plot. The two leading concessions to modernity – language and setting – were to prove critical. Ariosto’s piazzas were those of his own city, in effect bringing the matter of antiquity into the contemporary sphere, much as biblical scenes were painted in familiar Italian settings to bring the truths of the scriptures to a town or countryside nearby. The effect was created largely through his use of the language of contemporary personal, social, and colloquial exchange. There were issues remaining: whether characters should speak in proper literary Tuscan or in the dialects of their regions, or whether their speech should reflect their respective social classes. But the revolution was otherwise complete, insofar as spectators, through the localization of place and language, were pleased to believe that even the most generic of fables pertained to their own world and preoccupations. Moreover, the one-place setting consisting of an urban street or piazza with a few surrounding houses did far more than create an illusion of the local. It was the impetus behind much of the bustle and excitement on stage, for, as a permanent feature of the erudite genre, it circumscribed the design of every plot and thereby conditioned the mind of every maker. The only imaginable actions were those that exploited to the maximum this limited and specific public space, even as the space dictated that

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the action must pertain exclusively to the permutations of modern civic life. That the common setting was deemed an impediment is debatable, however, for what could whet the creative genius more than the necessity of creating intrigues so specifically timed that all their component parts must flow seriatim through the local square. Much of the dramatic effect of these works is generated precisely by the near collisions, the fortuitous timings, the unexpected encounters and impromptu explanations, the eavesdropping, and the claustrophobic compactness. This confined setting prescribes a cast consisting of members of a close-knit community, moving in and out of their shops and houses. The reader must construct in the mind’s eye what the spectator sees on stage: a meeting place always occupied by one or a few characters constantly adding to an unfolding intrigue. In this regard, theme and setting are one. Artifice in the plotting becomes a virtual necessity to the degree that so contracted a locale in conjunction with social intrigue is an invitation to exercise both a showy bravura and consummate skill in the designing of the play. Such conditions gave rise to a distinct profile of characterization as well. The representation of persons in these plays is no longer linked to biblical identities or to personifications attached to festivals. Characters are delineated as private citizens living their lives according to their own goals and desires – autonomous and self-directed. They speak for themselves, according to their respective natures, just as they might be heard in piazzas throughout Italy. But there is a catch. Comedy is an art form of hyperbole, and laughter is often a feature of non sequiturs, as when ordinary people find themselves inadequate to deal with extraordinary situations, or when characters themselves are dysfunctional exaggerations of a peculiar trait, or when they epitomize a class of individual associated with tendentious attitudes. It may be said that each crotchety father is an accident of his own making and circumstances, but crotchety fathers depicted from play to play link individuals to a class of oldster typically cast as meddling and insensitive to young love, sometimes doddering, sometimes intrusively paternal, sometimes miserly and stingy, and sometimes still pursuing their own erotic longings. By such processes of instinctual categorization, audiences and playwrights typologize characters so that the many are always seen in the one. In the first instance, they are autonomous, yet in representing all others of their kind, they become comparative, stereotypical, collective representations, thereby increasing expectations of laughter. Memory contributes the categories, much as portraits conform to common profiles: the pining or desperate lover, the crafty slave or lackey, the aging amoroso, the gourmet para-

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site, and the palavering pedant. The phenomenon works in such a way that even novel creations are perceived as hyperbolical manifestations of their classes and professions. Just how this functions to bring pleasure is work for cognitive philosophers, for we are a categorizing species, and our orientation to the world is organized around the placement of particulars in their most appropriate ontological contexts. This double nature of personhood as individual and type clearly plays upon the dissonances that arise in the negotiations between the empathetic individual and the self-deflating cliché. Thus, informed spectators arrive at the erudite performance with a substantial degree of knowledge. They know that the social world of these plays will be reduced to a level of generic desires and stylized characterizations, and that actions presented in the confined space of the urban piazza pertain to a community of desires in conflict that will be resolved through frenetic negotiations. They may realize, moreover, that most of these typologized characters have their prototypes in the Roman theatre, and that an amusing interface between the ancient and the modern is resolved in this theatrical form of ‘charactery’ in the mode of Theophrastus. Nevertheless, while these creations are rarely interiorized in a manner that would prove inimical to comedy, they are particularized. They profess their intentional states and thereby advance a sense of their personhood. Their longings and ambitions we are pleased to evaluate by extending empathy or withholding approbation. We judge them by the same criteria by which we profess to know our own desires and wills. I would be reticent to call this projected calculation of advantages and disadvantages on the basis of personal predilections ‘moral’ judgment, but there is little doubt that we extend to the characters of these plays our expertise in rating their deserts according to a rising and falling economy of merit, fairness, or quid pro quo. In this regard, these plays have a genius for drawing us in and making us care. Moreover, in choosing to depict the desires and tribulations of members of the mercantile class, we face ‘issues’: the conflict between generations and between the moneyed and the serving echelons, between the ‘housed’ and the ‘unhoused,’ as well as matters of propriety, the consolidation of wealth, marriage mores, manners and status, knavery and foolishness, all of which may be reformulated into themes. But of greater importance is the order of laughter that prevails around escape, deliverance, rewards, the incongruous, and the ridiculous. Concerning the disposition of plots, the ancients in general had but one story to tell, constituting an entire and relatively continuous action.

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There are no episodic interruptions in the narrative line. Certainly, for the purposes of maintaining a sense of the real and credible, no procedure could seem more self-evident. It might be called the unity of action and be granted a prescriptive status. But the ancients, in practice, left room for doubt; as their theatrical narratives progressed, not all the characters could be on stage at all times, and, in fact, they had to leave the stage, not only to cede the single acting space to others, but sometimes to conduct business off-stage necessary to the intrigue. A passage of stage time is thus required to provide an illusion of the passage of real time, often of a much longer duration. In that regard, single plots are more demanding than those in which an alternative form of representation is permitted, filling in, as it were, with characters only obliquely involved in the main action. Hence, it might be claimed that a double plot is actually more real than a single one, insofar as the acting space could be occupied by a subset of characters motivated by independent goals. Among the critically minded the point was to be endlessly debated as a kind of model for dealing with the nature of reality itself. Machiavelli’s The Mandrake (Mandragola) is one of the most notable plays based on a single plot, but by 1554, when Girolamo Ruscelli anthologized the play among those he deemed the best in the genre by that time, he faulted it for a flat fourth act due to its lack of a secondary action. Giraldi Cinzio went back to Terence’s Andria to prove that the double action was endorsed by the ancients, and that plays with double protagonists – twin lovers with contrasting characters (as in Della Porta’s The Sister ), or parallel old men in love – were always more engaging and structurally satisfying. Ultimately, however, all such plays are so highly convention bound that it seems almost perverse to say that one procedure is less likely to break the bond of credence than another. By one set of reasoning, reality inheres in the uninterrupted linearity of the story, while by another it inheres in the singularity of the acting space that must be constantly employed by as many subsets of action as are necessary to allow each plot its time to mature off stage. But the final arbiter in the matter for those inclined to double and even triple plots may be the sheer bravado of integrating such actions in ways that allow the story-within-story interlacing to contribute ultimately to a unified and admirably surprising grand finale. That was a liberty that authors in the erudite tradition would permit to themselves as the century wore on, with Caro pioneering the triple plot, and Bruno, in his triple design, carrying the pressure on the single acting space to its breaking point. Plots, after all, are a matter of memory for spectators, and where the playwright surpasses in his demands the reasonable expectations to

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be made upon that memory, the brio of the interwoven plot can become self-defeating. As to the question of realism, there can be no definitive answer. The reality of these plays is entirely a matter of convention, for while there is every sense in which such works request the acquiescence of the spectator as the basis for engagement, empathy, and experience, there is, at the same time, every sense in which, by their artifice, they request a metaconscious awareness that highlights the craftsmanship behind the illusion-making. This is an art form willing to maintain the cognitive distinctions that exist between our world and the world of the play. Drama generated in critical consciousness will always call attention to the conventions of the representational, whether the plot is single or double. Once again, realism is a misplaced standard. Castelvetro, in his Poetics (1571) had come to realize that a semblance of truth in the representation of everyday life was important, but that delight in the marvellous was altogether more compelling. How, but in a compound action nearly out of control, could the playwright better achieve his ends? The point has not been lost on the students of this theatre that many of the plays were created for performance during Carnival. It should only stand to reason, then, that plays so conceived, through their pursuit of laughter, would reify the spirit of the festival. But this symmetry can be validated only in the most generic ways. Carnival has been so theorized in recent years as to render one-line definitions suspect. In general, it is a time of licence, of relaxed authority, at least to the point of permitting the citizenry to engage in ritualized forms of ‘disobedience’ and indulgence, particularly in the domains of food and sex. Historically, such topsy-turvy celebrations became a part of the Christian calendar, separating a period of ‘fat’ from the lean of Lent. This tradition, in turn, owed its origins to the ancient agon between summer and winter, a mythic treatment of the periods of abundance and periods of privation that followed the seasons. The moral order of Carnival is a matter of intense debate, whether its inversions are deeply psychological or its subversions deeply social and political. For some, Carnival is merely an indulgence of the belly and groin, for others it is a temporary empowerment through the relaxation of civic and ecclesiastical powers, while for others it is a time of laughter, mockery, and derision, whether of a general or a pointed nature. Insofar as the comedies under investigation sometimes bring satisfaction to illicit lovers, as in Machiavelli’s Mandragola, or an anticipation of feasting on the part of the starved and the gluttonous, as in Caro’s The Ragged Brothers and Della Porta’s The Sister, or they allow the trickster-schemers their moments of controlling influence, inducing laughter at the folly of cuckolds, the

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pretensions of fathers, the out-knaving of knaves – in all these things, the goals of comedy might be said to resemble those of Carnival. Plausibly, too, they were linked in the minds of those impresarios who joined the plays to the occasion. But if laughter can be qualified by its contents, that which accompanies the ‘conflict resolution’ of a play that leads to new social harmony and order, and that which accompanies the self-indulgent hedonism of Carnival in apposition to want, may simply pertain to alien sets of mind. Laughter itself is a fairly neutral marker. It signals an awareness of the incongruous, and it follows from all manner of altered fortunes associated with escape, particularly from danger. Reduced to this common feature, both Carnival and comedy must rely upon the same phylogenetic reaction mechanism. But comedies are not levelling agencies. They register contests of will and power that lead to the reconfiguration of the plays’ miniature societies. Comedies are want driven, to be sure, and there are wills in conflict, but wants are addressed by a calibration of strategies and opportunities. The laughter evoked by erudite plays, even the mockery of fools, the exposure of stubbornness, arrogance, greed, frivolousness, or misplaced sentiment, is altogether more focused than that of Carnival. Comedy, in its design, moreover, establishes a point of view that is not that of a community of hedonists, but that of a community of spectators wishing select parties well in their struggles against the surrounding world. Such artistry exercises one of humanity’s most innate and polished skills, which is the ability to read the intentional states of others and to champion those whose desires and values most resemble our own. Comedy likewise is end driven, like a good joke awaiting its punch line; its laughter is computed against the background of an emerging design that generates an economy of suspense and reversal. By contrast, the laughter of Carnival is plotless; it is merely an emblematic signifier of an awareness of the pleasure principle associated with temporary irresponsibility and indulgence. Dare it be said, then, that comedy is simply of a higher emotional and intellectual order? Comedy, in this regard, is never far from the telos of romance, beginning with The Pretenders (I suppositi), in which two devoted adolescents pass through a period of trial, attempted avoidance of discovery through the rusefulness of a loyal lackey, then confusion along the way towards marriage and the public recognition of their proven mutuality. Spectators are above the action in the privileged position of judges, engaging in the derisive laughter that separates the superior from the inferior. Carnival is concerned not with fortune or fraud, or with their roles in the restoration of social order. All comedies indulge

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in emblematic inversions insofar as plots require obstructions, but they differ categorically from the single pervasive inversion that is Carnival, the plot of which is that it is here today and gone tomorrow. Yet the terms may be bent a little towards compromise. Many observers, beginning with Leo Salingar in Shakespeare and the Traditions of Comedy, rate highly the importance of Carnival, even in the thematic concerns of these plays. Traditional forms of holiday celebration seem to coincide with the licence and surfeit of the comic characters. It cannot be denied that the gluttons, cadgers, roisterers, and boasters written into these comic scripts do carry something of the spirit of Carnival laughter through their celebrations of excess. Aretino’s Cortigiana consists of two extended practical jokes, and their engineers are let off at the end because their schemes were carried out during Carnival. If gratuitous surfeit of this nature is all that is necessary to fix the alignment between the two, then the Candlebearer is decidedly the most carnivalesque of all the erudite plays, for it is not only grotesque by dint of its many representations of indulgence and sexual impropriety, but grotesque to the very degree that copiousness makes Carnival out of the genre’s forms and conventions. Carnival, in that sense, may be epitomized to explain the quality of memory by which the imitating form – namely, the play itself – seeks to remember its matrix. Another feature of these plays deserving mention is the trickster character who lives by his wits in a competitive world. He is the epitome not only of survival, but of survival by duping others, while at the same time he is a risk-taker, exposing himself to all the vicissitudes and dangers of not playing by the social rules. Typically, in the erudite play, he is merely a servant figure, a clever slave or loyal lackey, or more rarely a friend and accomplice, who comes up with a stratagem for overcoming the obstacles blocking the protagonist’s happiness. Dulippo in Ariosto’s Pretenders establishes the model in his quick-witted schemes for keeping at bay Erostrato’s rival, Cleandro, by pretending to court the girl himself and by having a Sienese visitor to the city stand in for his father – a man who brazens it out even when the real father comes to town. In a manner of speaking, the trickster is the intrigue-writer’s accomplice, functioning from within the play itself. Often, the subtlety of his wit accounts for the complexity of the action, and the course it takes may be owed in no small part to his watchful control. The benefit to the play is speed and intentional efficiency, as well as the high entertainment value in seeing the trickster at work. Once established as a structural principle and as a personality type,

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the trickster role is apt for theorizing in several directions. He may be aligned with all those playful schemers from Tyl Eulenspiegel back to the Amerindian tricksters profiled in a study by Paul Radin, representing a level in the development of the psyche that uniquely recognizes the human capacity to play merry pranks by misrepresenting reality to those singled out for the pratfall.2 Once in that mode of thinking, one sees the common denominator between tricksters who simply leave upturned hoes near garden paths in anticipation of having them stepped on by passers-by and tricksters who measure the social and psychological vulnerabilities of would-be victims in order to make them unwitting collaborators in the scenarios calibrated to their detriment. Hence, from the practical joker to the far-seeing satirist, the trickster provides a vision of the world. From a more recent cognitive perspective, the trickster exemplifies a perverse use of the human capacity to gain strategic advantage through the provisional construction of multiple views of the future before choosing a single course of action. This ability to control contingency through imagined action schemes is one of humankind’s most brilliant adaptive measures. Those who employ it to advantage prevail, provided their use of such a skill does not offend the collectivity and result in a loss of access to desired resources through exile. For that reason, tricksters are often loners and travellers, seeking new and unsuspecting societies in which they can exercise their pranks before moving on. In the erudite plays, the tricksters are frequently found among the déclassés, those with less dignity to preserve, with fewer stakes in the society, and, consequently, those more easily forgiven provided they succeed. They are masters of deception, whether verbally, as in avowing false allegiance, pretending to status, promising precious information, or physically, as in the use of disguises, transporting secret messages, or moving bodies in boxes and baskets inside and outside houses. They have responses on the tips of their tongues. They micromanage the versions of reality in the minds of others, supply reasons and explanations to their own ends, and often take a personal delight in the facility of their own performances. The trickster has a history in his own right from play to play as each playwright improves on his personality and devises ever more complex and daring actions through the agency of his witty inventions. The trickster’s counterpart is the trickster manqué (the failed trickster). One type in particular takes himself for the wisest, strongest creature alive, and the most beloved of the women to boot, but who constantly displays his idle bluffing, timorousness, and general incapacity to understand his surroundings. He is the man who thinks he manipulates others around

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him to his self-aggrandizing ends, but who is universally played upon until he is finally expelled from the society. He boasts that he is among the insiders everywhere, when, in fact, he is the ultimate outsider. He is the so-called braggart soldier, whose typological origin likewise goes back to the ancients. Among the old Roman plays there are eight exemplars to choose from, including Thraso in Terence’s Eunuchus, and Plautus’s Pyrgopolinices. One finds him almost everywhere in the regular comedy, but particularly in plays from the second half of the sixteenth century. He is seen in the present collection in Piccolomini’s Captain Malagigi in Alessandro (1544) and in Trasimaco in Della Porta’s The Sister (ca. 1590). The Captain makes an early appearance as Trasone in Nardi’s The Two Happy Rivals (1513) and puts in particularly memorable appearances as Giglio in Gl’ingannati (1532) and as the Spanish Don in Cecchi’s I rivali (1585). The Captain, too, is a character whose type anticipates and survives him, making him a self-contextualizing phenomenon in which the one and the many are invariably associated. Not only were the braggart’s attitudes replicated from incarnation to incarnation, but his phraseology was as well, and in incremental fashion. That the character type flourished so widely on both the ancient and the Renaissance stages underscores the universality of the pleasure in seeing a boaster capitulate under duress, take his beating, and suffer the humiliation of losing both his credit and in many cases the girl from town on whom he had his eye. Both eras also might have relished insults to a military that consisted principally of mercenaries, hence men who often betrayed the causes they were hired to defend and who, as big talkers far from their fields of glory or shame, could brazenly lie about their exploits. In Renaissance Italy, roaming foreign soldiers could be further historicized as members of the invading armies and occupational forces that wrought havoc in the country, as epitomized by the Sack of Rome in 1527. There is no reason to think that they were anything like their comic counterparts in the plays, but at least the ancient miles gloriosus provided some form of artistic pretext for ridiculing members of a profession that had been one of the banes of Italian civic life. But that little pleasure can have been gained only through projection and remote association, for in his purely theatrical guise the Captain was merely a blustering talker, a prating threat who was no threat at all and hence was the butt of festive laughter. The braggadocio soldier was but one rather tenuous means by which the traditions of comedy might be adapted to contemporary concerns. But often the playwrights went further in introducing precise allusions to recent times and places, events and circumstances. Such allusions may

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well have served to connect the rather timeless social intrigue plots of love and dupery to current events. Yet the asseveration of their ‘realism’ may be the expression of a misplaced ideal, as though that which makes us most readily confuse our sensations of being in our own immediate world with the sensations of participating in an imaginatively constructed world is necessarily best. If the social anecdote is autonomous and timeless in nature and able to incite a level of belief in those terms, then allusions to the newsy particularities of Roman or Florentine life may intrude upon the fable as jarring interpolations. Nevertheless, the way for such allusions had been opened by the use of modern urban settings and colloquial vernacular. There is little doubt, moreover, that such references brought pleasure, not because they made the action seem more real, but because spectators enjoyed hearing their own lives reflected in the words and deeds of stage personalities, precisely by creating little breaches in the dramatic illusion. The point is ultimately an important one, because the play in the erudite mode was not only a vehicle that easily tolerated such interpolations, but a vehicle that might be adapted to the satiric mode in which the enormities, aberrancies, and hypocrisies of contemporary life become the first order of business in the play. The author simply conceived of the action or narrative design as an allegory of modern manners in ways that audiences could not miss; their own imaginations would do the rest. That revolution within the genre was expressed to its fullest in the satires of Aretino, who hijacked the language, practices, and conventions of the erudite play to his own trenchant ends. This is yet another of the genre’s equivocal features: it could be taken to satiric ends without compromising its generic traits. In the trickery and foolery surrounding the mock-training of a Roman courtier, the very ethos of the city is opened to sardonic inspection. Contemporary allusion becomes the operative order of the Cortigiana. Just how comprehensive these topical references were to become depended upon the rhetorical design of the play, not to mention the tolerances of patrons, magistrates, and churchmen. Going topical meant running risks, so that what began innocently in Ariosto’s chauvinistic allusions might end in libel and attempts to assassinate the author, in the case of Aretino. In The Pretenders, Ariosto mentions the trials of travel, the gates and quarters of Ferrara, customs officials and border crossings, and intercity rivalries. The policies of the papacy in rebuilding Rome are featured in Caro’s The Ragged Brothers, while Della Porta dwells on the treachery of the Turks and the brutal life of captivity in The Sister. Through inferential associations, the scope of such topoi might be conceived in even

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broader terms: the conditions of war, the ambiguous legality of marriage contracts, the love of food and banqueting, the prevalence of Petrarchan sentiment, the machinations of magicians and astrologers, and the wiles of peddlers and quacks. There was talk of student life in Ferrara in The Pretenders, the decadence of Roman aristocrats in the Cortigiana, the dead verbiage of rote and mechanical humanist learning in the Candlebearer. Admittedly, however, these plays were not efficient vehicles for reflection upon national issues, the affairs of state, economic inequalities, religious strife, or the treatment of minorities. Their forte was in matters pertaining to family life, generational tensions, and the management of servants. One of the social données was the restriction of free choice in partner selection imposed upon the young, and an emerging sense of the value of ‘pair’ marriage marked by mutual affection between partners enjoying equal status in the relationship. The ratio of news to fable was to vary greatly in these plays, and it is part of the genius of the erudite package that it could sustain so much variety. Yet even in the most heterodox of these plays, the humanist fuse remains: a monitoring sense of form, proportion, and convention that calls each play back into the genre, whether in the everyday language, the stylized characterizations, the single urban setting, the act structure, the symmetrical disposition of the fable, the concern with manners and mores, the concentration of narrative time, the reliance upon trickery, disguises, and deceits to advance the plot, and the creation of miniature societies composed of families living among a confined social and commercial entourage. By the end of the century, such plays numbered into the low hundreds, perhaps two-hundred fifty in all, of which some twenty-five or thirty of the best, most successful, and most influential are read and reread today. The bulk of them were written after 1540. In the two decades before the Sack of Rome (1527) the quantity of plays remained slight. In Ferrara their value as productions of state had been seized upon from the outset, but Ariosto was the only act in town, and his modest six plays outnumbered those by other writers until the time of Cecchi, whose fifty theatrical works included twenty-two erudite comedies, and Grazzini, who wrote eight prose comedies. Bibbiena created his only play, the Calandra, for a court occasion in Urbino in 1513 – the city immortalized in those same years by Castiglione in his Book of the Courtier. Machiavelli’s Mandragola was conceived not long after, but, although it went readily to press, it came to public performance in Rome only in 1520, following the private performances in February 1518 for the engagement festivities of Lorenzo de’ Medici to Marguerite de la Tour d’Auvergne, and for their wedding

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in September of that year. It is the best known of his three plays, which include the Clizia and a translation of Terence’s Andria. The ‘idea’ of the erudite play did, indeed, spread, and there were those with great talent ready to turn their hand to the genre, including Aretino. But the idea of the commercial public theatre never took hold before mid-century, and before the construction of Palladio’s Olympic theatre in Vicenza in 1584 there were no permanent buildings devoted to the dramatic arts. Princes were, in fact, proud to destroy the one-time sets of their grand spectacles of state as a gesture of their material prowess. Such performances early in the century were intermittent in accordance with the political fortunes of the respective states where they were performed. Theatrical productions in the public sphere required not only patronage but peace and prosperity. It is a paradox of the times, then, that such dramatic spectacles were used not only to celebrate dynastic marriages, but to impress visiting foreign dignitaries and warlords. As the French troops and the German imperial armies poured through, seeking to impose their rule directly or through the creation of puppet states, local rulers had no choice but to choose among difficult options. But that history must be passed over in brief. Not until the 1540s was the production of regular comedy a truly widespread activity, and that cultural moment itself was curtailed within a few decades by a period of religious fervour accompanying the CounterReformation. Zealous churchmen could only look askance at the blatantly secular and often amoral depiction of social life in the plays. During those same years, printers also struck up a brisk trade in supplying a growing readership with editions, many of them carefully prepared by the authors themselves. Paradoxically, readers expected these plays to be even more ‘correct’ in their observance of the erudite conventions than were the performance versions, for which reason many were ‘translated’ from prose into verse. The humanist drama had come early to Florence, but its adaptation to state occasions, in the main, did not take place until the 1530s. To a large degree, beginning with Alessandro de’ Medici, a play’s meaning was the conspicuous cost of the actors and musicians, the dancers and scene-painters, the costumes and lavish properties, all bespeaking the power and munificence of the ruling family. In the grand Florentine tradition, all the traditional forms of princely entertainment were turned into intermezzi, thereby embedding the acts of the play within a grand court variety show. Members of the ruling family sometimes underwrote smaller productions in private homes, guilds, and confraternities,

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as well. Founded in 1542 and responsible for many of the productions, the Accademia Fiorentina itself was an extension of the state of Cosimo I. But plays were also fostered outside the ruling circle. Many were written for the schools and confraternities, as well as the literary academies frequented by passionate amateur writers, philosophers, collectors, and gentry. The importance of these organizations cannot be overestimated. The confraternities had an extensive association with the drama, for they had been much involved in the staging of the sacre rappresentazioni or religious festival plays on biblical events and the lives of the saints. One noteworthy ‘academic’ experiment involved the interlacing of two plays. Machiavelli’s Mandragola and Cecchi’s The Owl were actually performed at opposite ends of a large hall, alternating at the end of each act. It is to be asked what manner of meaningful contaminatio they had in mind in passing from one action to the other in such as way that the memory of one might intrude upon the other as it passed on the stage. Memory, in fact, must have been the key to the exercise. Mantua, later in the century and in a similar mode, sponsored annual competitions in which regular comedies, often written and performed by the Jewish community under the leadership of Leone de’ Sommi, were staged in pairs with performances by one of the leading resident or itinerant troops of the commedia dell’arte.3 But for all this variety of format and spectacle, the Florentine plays themselves remained conservative and auspiciously decent in their treatment of the citizen classes. The writers themselves, after all, belonged to the most respectable social classes and were often attached to organizations concerned with matters academic, humanist, or ecclesiastical. In nearby Siena, a few kilometres to the south, play production meanwhile had taken an innovative turn. There, the members of the Academy of the Intronati (founded in 1525), one of whose prominent members was Alessandro Piccolomini, sought to do away with the irrelevant intermezzi and to rediscover a social freshness in the plays. Their collaborative creations, although few in number, were to have a profound effect. Heroines in disguise, with their more delicate feelings, took to the stage, and in the process provided female chastity and honour with far greater thematic consideration. On occasion, the plays were dedicated to the ladies present in the audience, in the case of the Gl’ingannati as though they were hard-hearted mistresses to their lovers – in which role the authors styled themselves. For the members of the Intronati (a serio-comic name meaning ‘Dumbfounded,’ or ‘Thunderstruck’), the play became a courtly gesture in a courtly minded society.4 This was hardly surprising,

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given the spirit of the Sienese literary salons, in which women played leading roles, as they did in the famous games of wit and impersonation sponsored by the academy. Bibbiena, in his Calandra, had created a heroine in disguise who participated in the action, but her deeds did not epitomize the long-suffering, clever, and loyal (romance) heroine depicted in the plays of Siena. The motif appeared first in Parthenio (1516), the story of a constant and suffering wife in male disguise searching for a husband who thought she was dead; then in the Gl’ingannati (1532), most readily characterized as a prefiguration of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night ; and later in Bargagli’s La pelegrina. For the first time, the dramatic action was centred in the affective lives of heroines who, necessarily in disguise, negotiated challenging worlds while remaining true to themselves and their integrities as women. In this manner, Siena pioneered brilliantly a formula that would find variations in the love comedies of Shakespeare. Just as Bibbiena prioritized the lazzi or stage trickery routines of the popular plays, and Aretino did the same for the satire extrapolated from his Roman sojourn, the Sienese favoured more sentimental plots, in which young women had a more central role in writing the terms of their own destinies and affections. Nevertheless, the Sienese heroine-in-disguise did not resolve the generic problem of staging women of good class, for they simply could not be sent out into the streets to conduct their social affairs. Even though playwrights desired to include women as equals, propriety and decorum held sway. (Much as recent critics of the English theatre have been attracted to the cross-dressing of women as a manifestation of the plasticity of gender and associated psychological confusions, in historical terms it was merely an accommodation of the public setting prescribed by Roman comedy.) Typically, then, well-born women, including the amorosa, were rarely seen and almost never heard. By contrast, female servants enjoyed expanded roles, beginning with the Florentine plays at mid-century, as in Cecchi’s The Owl (1549) and Grazzini’s Jealousy (1550). Even mothers were scarce in these plays, with the effect that inter-generational confrontations were invariably with fathers (without the benefit of a mother’s moderating influence), although it is telling that, in Ariosto’s Pretenders, Damone, overwhelmed by events, laments the loss of his beloved wife, while in Della Porta’s Sister, the much lamented mother actually returns and makes a full appearance. Such a paucity of representation may be taken for a slight to women in general, but care must be exercised. Although relegated to brief sorties with their nurses, a hasty call for help to a passing attorney, or brief moments at their windows, nevertheless women’s destinies were

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quintessential to the plots and their desires were conveyed to the audience by visitors and residents alike. Servants schemed on their behalf and lovers persisted, keeping them at the very heart of the action. But until the stories could be represented indoors and actresses could take over from the amateur male actors who played their parts (as opposed to the professional boy actors of the Elizabethan theatre who specialized in female roles), women would continue to be more spoken about than heard. With regard to the status of women, as in all other social matters, these plays are not transparent historical documents. They typically feature stories about the trials of lovers in a society defined by laws and customs curtailing their freedom of choice. But equally typically, they are stories about inordinately jealous, scheming, and controlling fathers and disobediently red-blooded, hormone-driven youth in a contest of wills, compounded into a comic ‘psychodrama.’ In these plays, the older generation invariably serves in a blocking role, while house arrest of the young is merely a hyperbolical expression of geriatric naysaying. Disguises, furtive letters, and secret assignations under the old man’s nose are the equally hyperbolical expressions of counter-forces. Machiavelli’s wonderful invention in the Mandragola is a plot not only to dupe a suspicious husband, but to make him an active party in his own cuckolding. One of the rare stage mothers and a priest join in the mission, while the erotic prize, Lucrezia, comes to recognize and accept her bounty. Cynical as it may seem, the women are in control and ultimately arrange the household in accordance with their own erotic desires. Those who wish to categorize the status of the Renaissance woman through these plays must also take into consideration the deadly efficiency of their agency and the fact that, in the order of comic justice, not one of them is denied her wish, if only because Fortuna comes to her rescue when all else fails. What is the meaning of constraint if women, as they are set out in these plays, never fail in their hearts’ desires? The question is a rhetorical one. A favourite source of generational conflict was an adolescent of good standing in love with a social inferior. The preferred solution was to elevate the ‘low’ party through an anagnorisis or ‘discovery,’ by which a lost child is reclaimed by a loving, well-heeled, and generous parent. When money came into view, the dissenting parent was reconciled and the match could go forward. The transaction in all its permutations was so entirely fetching that playwrights redeployed the formula throughout the century. The Turks and their dreaded raids, especially in the south of Italy, provided the perfect mechanism for the separation of families and the loss of identities – a motif with origins in Terence. Children, af-

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ter many years, might then be found through a birthmark, a recitation of family names, or an identifying trinket, leading to touching scenes of reunion and the bestowal of dowries. Like all such motifs, however, it was in danger of growing shopworn. Francesco Grazzini acknowedges that problem as early as 1551 in the Prologue of his La gelosia (Jealousy). But playwrights wouldn’t give up the motif. Della Porta, among others, gave it a new lease of life. In The Sister, the anticipated moment of reunion brings despair rather than joy, because the person with whom the protagonist has fallen in love is his own lost sister. This variation would form the basis for his experimentation in mixed genres through which the audience is led through a double reversal. Generally, throughout the second half of the sixteenth century, interest in lachrymose comedy increased: stories of lost children, piracy raids, abductions, the misfortunes of war, the frightening loss of identity, abandoned lovers, and presumed deaths. More than ever, the narratives of the novellieri, beginning with those to be found in the paradigmatic Decameron of Boccaccio, were increasingly ransacked for new plotting motifs. At the same time, the troupes of the commedia dell’arte were performing everywhere, reviving an interest in the comic gags and practical jokes, the lazzi and burle, of the popular theatre. This in turn led to a fusion of modes in the regular comedy. Sentimental romance plots were interwoven with the knockabout routines of street rogues and low-life household members. No plays could be less similar than Caro’s The Ragged Brothers and Della Porta’s The Sister, yet at a certain critical distance, each play – one from the 1540s, the other from the late 1580s – is built around a highly sentimental love intrigue with loosely affiliated actions in the contrasting modes of Roman and contemporary farce. In Caro’s play, the scene in which Giulietta’s tearful letter releases her betrothed to marry a wealthy widow is placed in close proximity to the scene in which Mirandola is induced by the attorney to believe he has stolen a magic ring that will make him invisible. In Della Porta’s play, Attilio’s determination to seek exile and even death appears in juxtaposition with the bickering of a glutton and a braggart soldier, a stock situation to which the playwright attempts to bring even greater flights of invention and exaggeration. This alignment of the serious with the comic is one of the leading markers of the late erudite comedy, but it does not account for the tragicomic ordering of the action that Della Porta championed in The Sister. That was a feature of the sentimental plot alone, destined to take a double turn. Della Porta opined that such a twist was in keeping with the best classical traditions. Yet there was considerable disagreement among con-

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temporary critics. This final experiment in the modification of the genre may, in fact, represent a departure that genuinely compromised the spirit of the ‘founding’ playwrights. As this historical survey has suggested, the erudite comedy had its roots in humanist fidelity to authoritative models drawn from antiquity. The learned play is a creation based on a cumulative memory of the defining traits and conventions of a species of artistic practice. From the outset there were accommodations: the contemporary world emerged from the ancient, novelistic narratives made their appearances, satiric allusions crept in, and farcical routines were borrowed from the sotties. All of these variations were contained within the prevailing classical order. But the mixture of genres, even though the action ended in happiness, seemed to cross a line in much the same way that Shakespeare’s ‘problem’ comedies contrast perplexingly with the festive comedies. How far into adversity can the imaginations of spectators be taken without overwhelming the ethos of the comic? Is the presence of bickering buffoons sufficient notice that some miracle will emerge to draw the sentimental plot out of its nadir? In the spirit of the erudite writer, Della Porta prefaces his play with a notice of his interest in precisely those two markers of the well-designed classical play: the calibrated moment of discovery and the reversal of the fortunes of the characters. If plots could be doubled and tripled, could one not also introduce double reversals of fortune, first making the play take a radical downturn before recovering itself in joy? After all, even the most festive of comedies must pose efficient obstacles to the desires of those whom we wish well. Where then must the limit be drawn? In this regard, it did not help that Giraldi Cinzio had experimented with a mixed genre he called tragedia di lieto fin, tragedy with a happy ending. The comedy of Della Porta, in passing through complications leading to a false tragic stasis involving both characters and spectators, becomes indistinguishable from the tragedy of eleventh-hour escape. To be sure, comic masks and buffoonery kept up the cheer, together with a traditionalist’s respect for the conventions of time, place, and action and related neoclassical values, along with an ingeniously artificial plot assembled from multiple ‘memes’ – those minimal units of information that carry cultural ideas from context to context and from person to person. But genre stress inevitably arises when tragedy and comedy can no longer be distinguished one from the other. In another sense, however, this transition towards the sombre and sober was merely an opportunity latent in the genre, closely related to the seriocomic ethos that characterized the new pastoral modes. One sees the change as early as 1576 in Sforza Oddi’s I morti vivi. His declared pur-

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pose was to write ‘serious comedy’ by introducing the tragic into the comic and by anticipating laughter with tears. It may have been a reflection of the times, as well, which had lost its tolerance for licence and amorality. The plots of the weeping comedies were safely removed, as it were, from all forms of scurrilous derision. The tempering influence of the Counter-Reformation had to be reckoned with, and Della Porta, for one, was urged by members high in the Church to return to his writing of comedies as a diversion from his more dangerous and controversial studies that had brought him under the scrutiny of the Inquisition. The new formula calling for high seriousness intermixed with farcical insets scarcely affiliated with the main plot allowed for new acting arrangements as well. In such plays, academy members were thought to have performed the sentimental and touchingly rhetorical parts, while professionals were called in to play the buffoons and lazzaroni, the rogues, pompous soldiers, pedants, and pimps. Della Porta knew the formula well, kept his verbal battles confined to the stock characters, and concentrated on building his serious plots around characters with impeccable morals, devoid of devious mentalities, who capture our interest by the larger-than-life nature of their misfortunes. So how far had the genre come in nearly a century? Had the erudite comedy, by degrees, abandoned its roots in the strict imitation of the ancients by adapting itself to the life of the sixteenth century through the realism of contemporary detail? Did Aretino cross the line? Or had the sharp negotiations of the ancient comedy concerning family matters, money, friendship, children, and servants in the bustle of the marketplace been displaced by the sentimental, as seen in the study of sacrificial friendship in Oddi’s Erofilomachia (The Strife between Love and Friendship)? Had Della Porta crossed the line with his weeping comedy? There is no clear indication that documentary representationalism had won the day, on the one hand, or that symbolic or didactic theatre had taken over, on the other. Mixed-genre writing was decidedly a challenge, but perhaps, paradoxically, it was a mannerist attempt to carry the erudite genre even further in the direction of architectonic play that exposed the weakness in its genes. Academic drama had always called for invention, and invention for its own sake is a centrifugal force. The erudite theatre was as much in danger of a mannerist exploitation of its defining conventions as it was of transmutation into satire or sentiment. Novelty of plotting within the restricted acting space was not an obstacle but an opportunity, ever seeking new complexities of situation and strategies of reversal. At the same time, the language of the plays had become not more

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natural or idiomatic but more literary and ‘theatrical.’ Language called greater attention to itself in the serious plots by becoming declamatory, overwrought with sentiment, and inflatedly Petrarchan, while surpassing itself for pith and brevity or comic garrulousness in the farcical routines. By the end of the century, the prating pedants, the gluttonous parasites, and bragging captains were as popular as ever and no whit more realistic. The plays were fully scripted, but they remained an assembly of identifiable parts as though drawn from a vast residual repertory of theatre ‘memes’ or memory pieces, engagingly jammed together. Erudite policies remained intact. The most serious threat was the hubris of the artist who sought to surpass all others in artifice and invention within the established conventions. For such ‘centrifugality,’ the Candelaio can be said to mark the apogee of the genre beyond which none could go. The very copiousness and complexity of Bruno’s invention saturates memory at the cost of narrative coherence. Throughout the period of practice in the erudite mode, the ‘idea’ of the play as a stroke of ingenious invention had been a part of the creative consciousness. Called to the foreground, it could become a mannerist obsession. Bruno wrote prologues, as his forebears had done, discussing critical concepts and outlining his triple action around contrasting comic masks. Clearly, he was not working at odds with the conventions of the erudite tradition. The play is a ne plus ultra simply because the capacity of the human mind to orient itself in such a mass of detail, and from it derive the expected pleasures of disentanglement and closure, is carried to the margins of the possible. Erudite drama not only is fully actualized in the process, it also goes to seed. As stated at the outset, the essence of the erudite is referentiality, the awareness of the formal and ethical relationships that cause a new creation to adhere to an earlier and somehow quantifiable mode of creativity. The earliest erudite inventions remembered Plautus and Terence as playwrights, honouring their collective achievement by reducing to a set of common denominators the informing properties of their plays the better to replicate their ethos and reify their templates through modern imitation. Some of those commonalities prevailed throughout the sixteenth century: matters pertaining to the singularity of the acting space, the reticence to bring citizens wives and daughters openly upon the stage, the enactment of only the final few hours of much extended narratives, among the many already discussed. Other common features were modified at least in content. New character types emerged in keeping with later times, and story features leaked in from the improvisatory theatre, the pastoral, Petrarchan stylistics, the romance, and the novella, as well

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as from the observed life of the streets. Stage language as a potential repertoire for imitation was greatly extended, plots were multiplied and interwoven, and even the sad and happy endings of contrasting genres were juxtaposed within the actions of single plays. Eventually, all these modifications became subject to memory and imitation, although, with the progression of time, an imitation based on plays from earlier in the century, as opposed to those by the ancient Romans. In this much slower and more systemic way the genre grew, not in forgetting itself, but in ‘complexifying’ itself. Traditions do not always die by hostile takeover or by the betrayal of their informing principles, but possibly do so by the cumulative weight of their own conventions and ‘reminiscences.’ By 1530 Paolo Giovio, the humanist scholar, was complaining that the plays of the two Romans were no longer performed – their place taken over by the new Italian comedy. On the erudite comedy itself, the whirligig of time had probably taken its toll by the end of the century. In 1600 the commedia dell’arte had become a pan-European phenomenon, and the opera as musical drama was about to follow suit. By then, the idea of the erudite, through the translation of several of the leading plays, had travelled north, particularly to France, where its legacy would remain suffused in the art forms of the succeeding century. The English theatre, in which many of us have our principal orientation, barely comes in for mention. It is not that the Elizabethan and Jacobean playwrights were unaware of the Italian experiment, but they were uncertain whether they were prepared to abandon their own native stories dramatized according to their own relations and proportions through extended times and multiple places. Some authors tried initially to assert the classical modes, taking them from the colleges and boys’ schools into the repertoires of the wandering players or of those who were commercializing the London theatrical scene in the last quarter of the century. Gascoigne, in the late 1560s, had shown something of the way in his translation of Ariosto’s Pretenders as The Supposes, and the resemblances between Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night and the Sienese Gl’ingannati are only too well known. Philip Sidney, too, in his Apology for Poetry showed a distinct appreciation for the ‘regular’ features of the Italian comedy and made his recommendations (written circa 1580 but published posthumously). We learn of his preference for the unities and for a coherence of language and design in his critique of Gorboduc. His passages on the theatre in general are marked by examples from the ancient plays along with the critical guidance of Horace. But his remonstrations went largely unheeded.5 The London playwrights showed their full ap-

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preciation for the kinds of trickster plotting that arose with Plautus’s crafty slaves, but went beyond all the models, ancient or modern, in diversifying their intriguers to include not only the idle about town, but gentlemen rogues and dukes in disguise, as in the plays of George Chapman and John Marston. Chief among those who championed the ‘erudite’ legacy was Ben Jonson, whose Epicoene takes for its model Aretino’s outrageous joke on the stable-master in his Marescalco. Moreover, in Volpone, the one play in which Jonson sought the approbation of both universities and for which he earned an honorary degree, he outdid even himself in compounding his literary allusions, in keeping the unities, and in observing what he called ‘the strict rigour of comic law,’ in an effort to produce his theatrical mirth and instruction with the utmost correctness. Jonson could be a snob, outshining his contemporaries in his ‘rigour’ merely to salve his complexes, but there could be no denying that he knew how to make a proper play according the most stringent ‘rules,’ even though he boasted of his capacity always to observe such regulations as guides, not as masters. For Jonson, the erudite was a digest of a century-long set of aesthetic negotiations around the idea of the play, and he was prepared in his way to continue in the spirit of that exercise. In that regard, Volpone is nothing but pieces that might be said to have their Italian counterparts. Yet even Jonson, despite such affinities, was a genius of satire and architectonic invention too energetic and original to be contained in the ‘regular’ mould. Notes 1 These authors will be considered in the following pages as though they were a single writer, because both were read and digested as the basis of the ‘erudite’ tradition upon which the regular comedy of the sixteenth century was based. Some playwrights, in an equitable approach to their contaminatio – the process of constructing plays out of fragments and motifs of other plays – took care to borrow motifs from both Roman playwrights in building their new texts. Matters of the unities, act structures, character types and much more of a conventional nature were thought to apply to these authors equally and indifferently. But classicists would hasten to explain that, in fact, as playwrights, their works are characteristically different in many respects. Terence keeps the dramatic illusion intact, whereas Plautus is inclined to have characters make asides to the audience, or comment on their own roles. The works of Plautus feature more daring trickster intriguers who create confusion through wilful lying or impersonation than do Terence’s. The latter, by contrast, favours double

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love stories with confusion based on mistaken identities leading to more sentimental discovery scenes. On the whole, Terence is more willing to draw morals and to instruct, whereas Plautus is more interested in variety and diversity of plot, in song and festivity. Both playwrights were concerned with the tribulations of young lovers, but heroines rarely appear in Terence’s plays, and there are no impassioned love scenes, as there are in Plautine plays. Both playwrights offer scenes of domestic strife, but in the plays of Plautus there is grotesquerie for its own sake, which renders his thoughts on marriage and family life inscrutable, whereas Terence seems to take these matters more representationally and thematically. The Italian playwrights are inclined to vacillate between the same contrasting positions so that, should one choose to do so, one might provide an entire critique of the erudite theatre in the sixteenth century according to its admixtures and balancings of Terentian and Plautine traits. But that, too, might be to ride roughshod over the Romans, for Plautus’s theatre, in particular, is not easily polarized, given his wide-ranging interests and styles. Studies of these playwrights range from the earlier work of W. Beare in The Roman Stage (London: Methuen, 1950), George E. Duckworth, The Nature of Roman Comedy: A Study in Popular Entertainment (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952), and Erich Segal, Roman Laughter: The Comedy of Plautus (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1968), to more recent studies such as David Konstan, Roman Comedy (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983). 2 This pioneering study, entitled The Trickster, appeared in 1956 (reissued in New York by Schocken Books in 1972), and deals principally with the trickster cycles of the Winnebago Indians. The companion piece, entitled ‘On the Psychology of the Trickster Figure’ by C.G. Jung, is central, however, in dealing with the mentality of the type and his generic characteristics. Stories in kind were gathered and attributed to a single personality, thus creating the life ‘cycle’ of the trickster through the profile of his deeds, usually as an itinerant prankster, as in the case of Tyl, and even Dr Faustus. The lackey-tricksters of these plays participate in the same mental-manipulative outlook upon the social world. Crises are their call to action to win by foresight and fraud what others hope to gain only by open negotiation and luck. 3 For a brief account of these paired performances in Mantua, see the introduction to Leone De’ Sommi’s The Three Sisters, 21, 45. 4 For further information on the founding of the academy see Ian Frederick Moulton’s introduction to Antonio Vignali’s La cazzaria (New York: Routledge, 2003), 15ff. The name Intronati ‘does not suggest deaf or foolish so much as beaten up. Assaulted by the invasions and political

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upheavals of Italy in the 1520s, the Intronati are numb to the external world.’ Their motto, ‘Orare, Studere, Gaudere, Neminem laedere, Nemini credere, De mundo non curare,’ suggests ‘the weariness of its founders and their desire to construct a haven of playful scholarship in a harsh world.’ 5 Sir Philip Sidney, An Apology for Poetry, ed. Geoffrey Shepherd (London: Nelson, 1965), 134–7.

Suggestions for Further Reading Andrews, Richard. Scripts and Scenarios: The Performance of Comedy in Renaissance Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Aretino, Pietro. Cortigiana. Translated by Leonard Sbrocchi and Douglas Campbell. Introduction by Raymond B. Waddington. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 2003. – The Marescalco. Translation and Introduction by Leonard Sbrocchi and Douglas Campbell. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1992. Ariosto, Ludovico. The Comedies of Ariosto. Translated by Edmond Beame and Leonard Sbrocchi. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975. – Supposes. Edited by Donald Beecher. Annotated by John Butler. Translated by George Gascoigne. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1999. Bargagli, Girolamo. The Female Pilgrim. Translated with introduction by Bruno Ferraro. Ottawa, Dovehouse Editions, 1988. Beecher, Donald. ‘Intriguers and Tricksters: The Manifestation of an Archetype in the Comedy of the Renaissance.’ In Comparative Critical Approaches to Renaissance Comedy, edited by Donald Beecher and Massimo Ciavolella, 53–72. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1986. – ‘Machiavelli’s Mandragola and the Emerging Animateur.’ Quaderni d’italianistica, 5, 2 (1984): 171–89. Boughner, Daniel C. The Braggart in Renaissance Comedy. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1954. Bruno, Giordano. Candlebearer. Translated with introduction by Gino Moliterno. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 2000. Cecchi, Giovan Maria. The Horned Owl. Translated with introduction by Konrad Eisenbichler. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1981. – The Slave Girl. Translated with introduction by Bruno Ferraro. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1996. Caro, Annibal. The Scruffy Scoundrels. Translated with introduction by Massimo Ciavolella and Donald Beecher. Waterloo, Ont: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1980.

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Clubb, Louise George. Giambattista Della Porta, Dramatist. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965. – Italian Drama in Shakespeare’s Time. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989. – ‘Theatregrams.’ In Comparative Critical Approaches to Renaissance Comedy, edited by Donald Beecher and Massimo Ciavolella, 15–34. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1986. Della Porta, Giambattista. The Sister. Translated with introduction by Donald Beecher and Bruno Ferraro. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 2000. De’ Sommi, Leone. The Three Sisters. Translated with introduction by Donald Beecher and Massimo Ciavolella. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1993. – Five Comedies from the Italian Renaissance. Translated and edited by Laura Giannetti and Guido Ruggiero. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003. Herrick, Marvin T. Comic Theory in the Sixteenth Century. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1950. – Italian Comedy in the Renaissance. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1960. – Tragicomedy. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1962. Hodgart, A. Buono. Giordano Bruno’s The Candle-bearer: An Enigmatic Renaissance Play. Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen Press, 1997. Howarth, W.D. Comic Drama: The European Heritage. London: Methuen, 1978. Lea, Kathleen M. Italian Popular Comedy. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1934. Machiavelli, Niccolò. The Comedies. Edited and translated by David Sices and James B. Atkinson. Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1985. McCabe, Richard A. Incest, Drama and Nature’s Law 1550–1700. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Mitchell, Bonner. ‘Circumstance and Setting in the Earliest Italian Productions of Comedy.’ Renaissance Drama, n.s. 4 (1971): 185–97. Mulryne, J.R., and M. Shewring, eds. Theatre of the English and Italian Renaissance. London: Macmillan, 1991. Newbigin, Nerida. ‘Politics and Comedy in the Early Years of the Accademia degli Intronati of Siena.’ In Il teatro italiano del Rinascimento, edited by Maristella de Panizza Lorch, 123–34. Milan: Edizioni di Communità, 1980. Orr, David. Italian Renaissance Drama in England before 1625: The Influence of ‘Erudita’ Tragedy, Comedy, and Pastoral on Elizabethan and Jacobean Drama. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1970. Pietropaolo, Domenico. The Science of Buffoonery: Theory and History of the Commedia dell’Arte. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1989. Radcliff-Umstead, Douglas. The Birth of Modern Comedy in Renaissance Italy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969. – Carnival Comedy and Sacred Play: The Renaissance Dramas of Giovan Maria Cecchi.

‘Erudite’ Comedy in Renaissance Italy Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1986. – ‘The Sorcerer in Italian Renaissance Comedy.’ In Comparative Critical Approaches to Renaissance Comedy, edited by Donald Beecher and Massimo Ciavolella, 73–98. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1986. Rodini, Robert J. Antonfrancesco Grazzini: Poet, Dramatist, and Novelliere, 1503–1584. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970. Salingar, Leo. Shakespeare and the Traditions of Comedy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974. Scrivano, Ricardo. ‘Towards a “Philosophy” of Renaissance Theatre.’ In Comparative Critical Approaches to Renaissance Comedy, edited by Donald Beecher and Massimo Ciavolella, 1–14. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1986. Weinberg, Bernard. A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961.

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LUDOVICO ARIOSTO

The Pretenders (I Suppositi) A Prose Comedy

Translated by Edmond M. Beame and Leonard G. Sbrocchi Introduction by Donald Beecher

Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975 Published by permission of the University of Chicago Press

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Ariosto: The Pretenders 39

Introduction to The Pretenders by Ludovico Ariosto The greatest literary achievement of Ariosto’s career is without doubt his monumental Orlando furioso, that vast panorama of chivalric adventures that occupied him as a writer from 1503 until its first publication in 1516. That Ariosto is far less known as a playwright may be due to the competition posed by his own great epic poem. Nevertheless, his plays – occasional creations though they were for the winter festivals of the Duke of Ferrara – established the model for all subsequent creations in the erudite mode of theatrical writing. Lodovico was born in 1474 in Reggio Emilia. His father was a court official, and the family had destined the boy for a career in law. But his humanist interests emerged early. In 1494 he studied with the great Latinist, Gregorio da Spoleto, and later with Pietro Bembo, author of Gli Asolani (1505). Ariosto spent his entire adult life in the service of the d’Estes, the ruling family in Ferrara, as a diplomat, local administrator, ambassador to the pope, soldier, and court poet, while looking after his mother and his nine younger brothers and sisters following the death of his father in 1500. From 1503 to 1517 he was personal secretary to Duke Alfonso’s brother, Cardinal Ippolito d’Este, during which time he not only worked on his vast epic poem, but wrote elegies and epithalamia for court occasions, as well as sonnets, canzoni, satires, epigrams, and his first two comedies. Duke Alfonso, after 1517, named Ariosto as his superintendent of court spectacles, a post he occupied up to the time of his death in 1533. His private life was a happy one, particularly during the last twenty years, which he shared with his beloved Alessandra Benucci. Ariosto died in Ferrara and, since the nineteenth century, is buried in a tomb provided by Napoleon I. Ariosto’s interest in the drama began at an early age. At eleven he saw the Menaechmi, which was performed in Italian in the courtyard of the ducal palace. Shortly thereafter, he was creating theatrical roles for his brothers and sisters to perform before the household, leading to a full-scale tragedy on the death of Thisbe. As a law student he played in the Latin productions performed at court and made the trip in 1493 to Pavia with the acting troupe under the direction of Matteo Boiardo, whose Orlando inamorato became the model for his own epic poem. The critical moment for the development of a native drama came in 1507 when Duke Alfonso and Ippolito decided to present something fresh for the carnival season, in prose this time, to be accompanied by all the usual betweenthe-acts mimes, dancing, and music. The Roman plays had been badly translated and were losing favour. What the duke and his brother sought

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was a theatrical entertainment that adhered strictly to the Roman models for ethos and conventions, but that offered an even more complex plot, more sentiment, and more contemporary realism. They knew what had to be done to rescue the genre. Ariosto met the challenge with his Cassaria, performed for Carnival in 1508. The play was full of references to the old plays, Terence’s Andria, Phormio, and Heautontimorumenos, as well as Plautus’s Mostellaria. But the setting was now Ferrara, the language was modern, and the plot situations were full of invention. Such was the new formula: a mere exercise in humanist imitation for some, perhaps, but in reality a new genre in the making. I suppositi, or The Pretenders, was his second play. It appeared a year later, the first performance taking place inside the ducal palace on 6 February 1509. Prosperi described the event in a letter to Isabella d’Este in Mantua, stating that it was ‘truly modern’ and full of delight, yet appropriately moral and ingeniously designed with a triple set of pretenders in the persons of the father, the son, and the servant.1 Here was a plot more intricate than ever before, already resembling the triple plots of Caro, Piccolomini, Bruno, and Della Porta. In the inaugural production, Ariosto performed his own prologue, which is to say, he himself acted as the author. Moreover, the play was deemed particularly attractive for its reflection of the customs of Ferrara, thereby granting the desired realism, while the lovers kept up the sentiment, the crafty servant attempted some high-handed trickery before Fortuna took over, and the comic-mask characters maintained a patter of farcical talk and nonsense. Most impressively, in all these things Ariosto observed the unities, character types, and general spirit of the ancient Roman playwrights. In 1519, Pope Leo X enjoyed a production of The Pretenders given in the apartments of Cardinal Cibo – now by candlelight, but still accompanied by musical interludes and dancing, together with a splendid backdrop painted by Raphael. From a letter to Alfonso d’Este, following the performance, we learn that the pope laughed heartily at the jokes and was pleased in general by the play.2 There were performances in Venice in 1524 and again in Ferrara in 1525 and 1526. In fact, the play had already appeared in print by 1510 in a pirated edition, one that served, nevertheless, to spread the model of the new erudite mode across Italy. Later in his career, Arisoto settled upon the idea of turning his own early prose plays into hendecasyllabic verse. The basic design of The Pretenders was not much altered in the process, but the dialogue became less sparkling, sentiments became more sentimental, and the three lamenting fathers became more mawkish. We can only guess that Ariosto bowed to

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popular pressure in writing initially in prose, but that in his heart he sided with the contingent of humanist scholars favouring verse, at least when it came to scholarly publication. The entire matter had been hotly debated. When Ariosto refused to rework his prose versions for later performance in Mantua, Duke Federigo Gonzaga in turn refused to allow the verse transcriptions to be performed.3 Which should have precedence, the pleasures of rhythmic recitation or the realism of spoken Italian? Giraldi faulted both the prose and the verse forms because he preferred the use of endecasillabo piano to the verso sdrucciolo chosen by Ariosto. Benedetto Varchi not only approved of Ariosto’s plays, but favoured those in prose, while Ercole Bentivoglio sided with Giraldi in favour of verse. Such debates are reminders of the extent to which both scholars and princes relished these plays for their sprightliness and pithiness, or for their formalities and rhetorical graces, as reflected through the conscious choice of styles. It is well to reiterate that amateurs and connoisseurs evaluated these plays attentively not only for their verisimilitude, audience accessibility, witty resolutions, and decorum, but for the elegance or naturalness of the language. These were creations in a new and self-conscious vernacular, one that listeners sought to discern for its qualities of beauty, music, idiom, artifice, complexity, and rhetoric. The point will re-emerge in future discussions, for despite the appeal of these plays as social representations, they remain self-defining artefacts with distinguishable parts, qualities of style, and consciously referential components. Ariosto went on to write several other plays in the erudite mode, including La lena in 1528 and Il negromante, first performed for Carnival in 1529. Yet in spite of his paradigmatic work in the Italian theatre, he remained interested in the translation and court-sponsored production of Latin plays until the end of his career. In the prologue to The Pretenders, the author boasts that he had completed his humanist mission in imitating Terence’s Eunuchus and Plautus’s Captivi, thereby warranting the play’s antiquarian authenticity. But while the first impression is that of a hybrid work full of allusions to be identified by those knowledgeable in the tradition, the second is that the play’s link to its Roman past is pure riddle. The borrowings are so suffused, claims the Prologue, that not even Plautus or Terence, were they present in the audience, could recognize them. Such is the anomaly of the genre, that the ancients must be honoured in deeply referential ways, while simultaneously the work maintains its quest for novelty and independence. Ariosto was aware of the danger of mere imitatio, by which he could be accused of a lack of invention. A play so conceived might appear

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to be little more than a pastiche. Yet rather than break with the practice of building the new out of borrowed motifs, a solution was found in further diversifying the sources. Thus, Ariosto led the way in turning to the novelieri for complementary materials. In Day VIII.7 of the Decameron, a lover stoops to conquer a married woman by disguising himself as a servant in order to gain entrance to her household, much as Erostrato does in becoming a servant in Polinesta’s household. There are further echoes in Day V.7 of the same work in which a servant gets his master’s daughter pregnant, is apprehended and sentenced to be hanged, but is rescued by his father at the gibbet, restored to his noble estate, and allowed to marry the girl. The stupidity of the man from Siena, who in the play is induced to impersonate Filogano (Erostrato’s father) is a proverbial feature of the Florentine novella. The resulting impression is no longer merely that every motif in the play has an ancient or modern source, but that potentially so many analogues exist that exact provenances are beyond demonstration. The reason was not simply that humanist imitatio was employed in creating such plays, but that a similar practice had prevailed throughout the age, resulting in a network of citations that defines and interconnects all of the narrative arts. Far more important, however, was the underlying faith of these playwrights that the imitation of art and the imitation of life could join in common cause, because the imagination permits spectators to entertain all the improbabilities of the compound plot as components in a possible social anecdote. On the thematic front, the social reach of The Pretenders rarely extends beyond the mercantile household. Matters of state, religion, or officialdom, for the most part, not only are excluded, but would have been impolitic and liable to misinterpretation. To be sure, there are gossipy asides about the customs officers and allusions to the rivalries among city states – safe enough for an all-Ferrarese audience – but the principal matters in hand pertain to adolescents in love and to the relationships between children and their parents. The play is about disguising in order to be near the beloved, unexpected arrivals, a surprising discovery scene, and the reversals of fortune. Two young men, a master and his servant, have been in Ferrara for some two years before the play’s action begins. The master, Erostrato, intending to become a student at the university, instead meets Polinesta in the street and falls in love. He exchanges identities with his servant, Dulippo, and seeks work in the girl’s household, where he wins her over in secret – and gets her pregnant too. Meanwhile, the girl has been pledged to a rich old lawyer, Cleandro, who has promised a big dowry for her. In a desperate effort to block those plans, Dulippo, now a

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gentleman scholar, makes a sham counter proposal – one that, by rights, requires the consent and support of his father. A stand-in would clearly be required to make it work. Out of this scheme comes a wonderful imbroglio in which two ‘fathers’ meet and struggle to establish who is the true parent, while another character unexpectedly becomes the father of a lost child, and a third father appears to lament his ‘ruined’ daughter. Behind the play’s action is the imperative of erotic desire that looks for its end in marriage, combined with the motif of children who, after years of separation, are reunited with their parents. As in subsequent plays in the genre, much of the initial action is determined by trickery, or at least a valiant attempt to control contingency through witty social innovations, while much of the later action is driven by chance or, more precisely, by good fortune that provides for the helpless and despairing at precisely the right moments to make for tight, economic, and fortuitous plotting. Where trickery fails, sheer coincidence, seen as Providence, determines whether destinies are malign or benign. The principal meaning of the title – it contains several overtones, including that of the suppository alluded to at the very end – means ‘supposers,’ those who impersonate or pretend to be other than they are in reality, but also ‘supposes,’ in the sense of situations based on deception – the denotation taken by the play’s first English translator, to the extent of numbering each situational deception or ‘suppose’ in the margins of the first edition. But while there is duplicity in this play, it is not particularly malicious or fraudulent, although it is meant to deceive for personally motivated reasons. Erostrato provides an honest account of who he is to his sweetheart, if not to her father, and Dulippo, who plays at being a gentleman, ironically turns out to be a gentleman born and, in that regard, no pretender at all. Such ruses are timeworn techniques for launching a comic action, and the identity-change tactic goes back at least as far as Aristophanes’ The Frogs in which Dionysus exchanges identities with his slave. Once again it is demonstrated that there is nothing like the witty prankster servant, with his proposed scenario of future events, for creating fast-paced, economical intrigues – for as long, that is, as he can control the whirligig of events. In this regard, Dulippo becomes another of those crafty internal designers who, for a time, staves off disaster for the lovers. We are even allowed to think that he just might prevail over his rival, Cleandro. But ultimately, his schemes become so far-fetched that we come to accept their imminent failure, largely unapprised of the circumstances that will reverse the looming disaster. No trickster imagination could ultimately

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countermand the presence of the real Filogano, nor is there recourse to ruse when Damone catches Erostrato with his daughter and incarcerates him.4 When Erostrato is caught, he appears to us a young man without fight or resources. Yet perhaps it is best that love achieve its victory not on the basis of deception, but on the basis of negotiation between families headed by fathers ultimately tempered by reason and goodwill. With this counter-turn, the play strikes a new chord: ‘O Fortune, I forgive you fully, for you have restored my son to me today’ says Cleandro (V.v). To be sure, none of this would have happened if Dulippo had not engaged in his foolery and trickery, but in the end it is Providence herself who makes the determining discoveries. Even Filogano can proclaim ‘that there isn’t a single leaf that falls unless moved by the Divine Will’ (V.viii). Such proclamations do say something about the human condition and its representation in the comic vision of the play. The combative survival of the most cunning generates the art form of the trickster as knave – a figure functioning at the margins of society in relatively amoral and devious ways. The comedy of Providence is a reaffirmation of a beneficent universe, one in which happy endings come about through a personified sense of agency placed beyond human control. Through a mixture of the two, the romance interests are not entirely beholden to knavery, and reunions are not entirely the product of inscrutable forces. Both Dulippo and Erostrato initially are deceivers; both mean to get ahead by craft. Yet both fail in their practices and are, for a time, suspended in helpless grief. More to the point, these elements join in a complex plot, full of surprises and a variety of moods. This play takes for its setting a representative piazza in the city in which it was first performed, encouraging not only a kind of realism, as has often been remarked, but also another form of pretending, for the city on the backdrop is that which has its ‘alternate reality’ just beyond the confines of the theatre space. Dulippo could strut about in the cloak of the student, just as students could be seen in the streets of the city. This play’s action, in fact, is a student prank in a university town, as in Cecchi’s Owl, creating a town-gown encounter that would have been part of the daily dynamics of the city. But such social referentiality is tightened when, at one point, Erostrato leaves the stage in search of his servant and comes back protesting that he has looked in the piazza and in the courtyard of the palace, only dozens of metres away, and that he has met every scholar and doctor in Ferrara except Dulippo. The joke is, presumably, that he has been only to the edge of the stage. Recent critical interest in the commedia dell’arte has brought about a

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renewed appreciation for the ‘mask’ characters of the erudite drama, as well. Essentially, these are the typologized individuals who function as theatrical variations on the ‘theme’ of their respective identifying markers: the lover, the nurse, the parasite, the prating lawyer or doctor, the troublesome household servant, the trickster lackey, the tyrannical father, or the gourmet parasite. Clearly, in their hyperbolical ways they were sources of entertainment, based on the iterative nature of their representations from play to play. But the comic delights of cumulative caricature were by no means a sixteenth-century invention. A legacy of such types was already available in the comedy of the Romans: wrangling cooks, lawyers, boasting soldiers, old hags, angry fathers, and itinerant cadgers of dinners. One example is the parasite who comes to life again in Pasifilo, a character derived from the Roman entertainer at banquets who was also an eager feeder, a gossip, and self-appointed social meddler. Pasifilo is a guileless hypocrite. He becomes a triple agent, offering to advance causes wherever a meal was in store, despite the fact that his causes were at crosspurposes. Not surprisingly, in the end, he himself is easily gulled. Yet for all his infidelities, he is not excluded from the final banquet, but invited to preside over the kitchen preparations, as though he were Lord of the Feast. His place is a natural one in this now festive society of the piazza, where everyone knows he is a gossip and hardly to be trusted. Rather, it is the greed for news on the part of those who should have known better that propels him into action. To emphasize such comic delights and the little lessons of tolerance and goodwill in a society where deviance intends nothing more than to advance the cause of love and procreation against the resistance-cumgrace of a passing generation will seem somewhat ‘old-fashioned’ in a critical era in which subversion and the agendas of political liberation have found favour at all cost. But the desire and reward structures of this play ultimately endorse the order of romance in which deliverance takes precedence over protest. Cleandro, initially the pedant lawyer and geriatric lover – and hence due for his fair share of ridicule – is reclaimed as a parent lamenting the past, while even the old hag whose gossip exposes the lovers and brings them to the nadir of their expectations is allowed an explanation for her supposed malice. Pasifilo is granted a court fool’s exemption from punishment. Even Nevola, the ‘butt’ of a nasty joke at the end, is not a general object of scorn. This is a play featuring prodigal sons whose ‘returns’ both generate and restore families. The ensuing banquet is the ‘fatted calf’ of Carnival. In The Pretenders, joy and forgiveness overcome all memories of obstacles and injuries. There are no lingering

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thoughts of injustice and malice, as there will be in the ‘problem’ comedies to follow, when, for example, in Della Porta’s The Sister, incest is a fact forced upon the spectators’ imaginations, and falling in love cuts short a boy’s quest to liberate his own mother from slavery. Perhaps even more perplexing for the modern reader is that original audiences were caught up with the aesthetic appeal of plays such as The Pretenders, evaluating them as created objects in accordance with the proportions and conventions appropriate to their forms. There was a choice of attention priorities to be made between the dramatic representation as social statement and the play as an ingeniously designed artefact – as an invention to amaze the intellect and please the senses. The commissioning duke and his brother spoke of imitation, complexity of action, and sentiment, features pertaining rather more to beauty than to truth. Bernardino Prosperi described the play as ‘elegant and delightful’ from beginning to end. His letter is a reminder that these early audiences were connoisseurs of the genre and mindful of the components that make, not only for the erudite performance, but for a work that is playfully mimetic, economical and self-contained in its action, witty in its design, a well-executed artefact, complex and engaging, and the product of a consummately imaginative intellect. Worthy of record is that some fifty-seven years after The Pretenders was first acted in Ferrara, it came again to the boards in the English translation of George Gascoigne, and in that reincarnation it became one of the principal channels through which the Elizabethans developed their imperfect sense of the Italian theatre. Gascoigne was a remarkably accurate translator, but an ‘Englishing’ process took place at the same time, so that just as what was Roman became Ferraran in Ariosto, now what was Ferraran became Elizabethan. It was performed by the law students of Gray’s Inn for a festive occasion during the midwinter revels. These were years during which things Italian were fashionable in England, and Gascoigne’s choice of Ariosto was a discerning one. That the erudite formula did not catch on in England as it did in France has been the subject of considerable but inconclusive debate. Certain of the English writers from Sidney to Jonson had ‘erudite’ oriented sensibilities where dramatic form was concerned, but even Jonson, the most classical of the major dramatists, by no means consistently imposed the compositional disciplines that guided the Italian comedy. It may be said that the telling of stories on the English stage had its own unwritten traditions that undermined the socalled unities of time and place for reasons that may pertain largely to national character and a certain independence of spirit shaped by narra-

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tive habits remote from sixteenth-century Italy. But that a bid was made in the 1560s to ground that burgeoning theatre on Italian habits through a scant one or two imitations or translations of erudite comedy cannot be erased entirely from the history of English drama. Leonard Sbrocchi, in collaboration with Edmond Beame, based his translation on the authoritative, standard edition constructed from surviving manuscripts edited by Michele Catalano, first published in Bologna by N. Zanichelli in 1933. Two other modern versions also were consulted, that edited by Cesare Segre in Ariosto’s Opere Minori, published by Ricciardi in Milan in 1954, and that included in the Commedie, edited by Aldo Borlenghi, published in Milan by Rizzoli in 1962. Notes 1 In Commedie del Cinquecento, ed. Aldo Borlenghi, 2 vols (Milan: Rizzoli, 1959), I: 986. 2 Bonner Mitchell, ‘Circumstance and Setting in the Earliest Italian Productions of Comedy,’ Renaissance Drama 4 (1971): 185. 3 Michele Catalano, Vita di Ludovico Ariosto recostruita su nuovi documenti, 2 vols (Geneva: Olschi, 1930–1), II: 323–4. 4 This episode compares with that in Piccolomini’s Alessandro in which Lucilla’s irate father attempts to imprison Cornelio.

The Pretenders I Suppositi A Prose Comedy

Dramatis Personae nurse polinesta Young lady, Damone’s daughter cleandro Doctor of Law pasifilo Parasite erostrato Scholar dulippo His servant caprino Boy, Erostrato’s servant sienese Traveler from Siena servant His servant carione Cleandro’s servant dalio Cook in Erostrato’s household damone Polinesta’s father nebbia Damone’s servant psiteria Damone’s housemaid filogono Erostrato’s father ferraran [citzen] lico Filogono’s servant rosso (silent) Damone’s servants moro (silent) (The action takes place in Ferrara)

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Prologue We are about to have you witness a new comedy by the same author who presented the Coffer to you last year. It is called The Pretenders because it is full of substitution and pretence. As you know, children have been substituted for one another in the past, and sometimes they are even today. You have seen this in plays, and you have also read about it in history books. Perhaps there is someone in the audience who may have either experienced it personally or at least has heard about it. But, to have young men substituted for old men must certainly seem new and strange to you; and yet, this has occasionally been done, as you will see very clearly in our new story. Don’t take these substitutions in a bad sense, my good audience, for they are not like the substitutions illustrated in the lascivious books of Elephantis,1 or those others imagined by Sophists in their contentious dialectics. In this play, among other things, the servant is substituted for the master and the master for the servant. The author confesses that in this he has followed both Plautus and Terence, the one who substituted Cherea for Dorus, the other Philocrates for Tindarus and vice versa, one in the Eunuchus, and the other in the Captivi. He has done so because he wants to imitate the celebrated classical poets as much as possible, not only in the form of their plays, but also in the content. And just as they in their Latin plays followed Menander, Apollodorus, and other Greek writers, so he too in his vernacular plays is not averse to imitating the methods and procedures of the Latin writers. And so, as I told you, he has taken part of the plot for his Pretenders from Terence’s Eunuchus and part from Plautus’s Captivi, but so little, indeed, that if either Terence or Plautus knew, they would not be offended and would call it poetic imitation rather than plagiarism. Whether or not the author should be condemned for this he leaves to your discretion; but he asks you not to pass judgment before you have heard the new story in its entirety, a story that unfolds part by part. And, if you deign to give this play the same kind attention that you gave to his previous one, he’s sure that you will not be less satisfied. So be it.

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ACT I Scene i nurse and polinesta, a young lady nurse: No one is about. Come outside, Polinesta, where we’re not confined and where we can be sure that no one will hear us. I believe that in the house the beds, the cupboards, and even the doors have ears. pollnesta: The vases, pots and pans have ears too. nurse: You jest, but for heaven’s sake, you’d be better advised to be more cautious than you have been. I warned you a thousand times to take care lest you be seen talking to Dulippo. polinesta: Why shouldn’t I speak to him as I do to others? nurse: I’ve told you ‘why’ many times, but you don’t listen to me, and this will bring ruin upon yourself, Dulippo, and me. polinesta: Oh, yes, the danger is so great! nurse: You’ll see. Isn’t it enough that through my help you and Dulippo spend your nights together, even though I arranged this rather unwillingly. How I wish you were inclined towards a more respectable love than the one in which you’re involved. What a shame that you’ve rejected so many noble youths who would have cherished you and taken you as a wife. But instead you’ve chosen one of your father’s servants for a lover. You can expect nothing but disgrace from a choice like that. polinesta: Who was the cause of it all but you, Nurse? It was you who didn’t cease to endear him to me – now praising his beauty, now his fine manners, convincing me that he loved me exceedingly – until I became fond of him, and finally fell in love with him. nurse: It’s true that from the beginning I recommended him to you because of my compassion for him and his continual pleading. polinesta: You mean because of the compensation and the payment you were getting. nurse: You can believe what you will. Still, you can be certain that if I had thought then that you would progress this far, neither pity nor compensation, penny nor paternoster, would have brought me to speak his cause. polinesta: Who brought him into my bed the first night, if not you? Who other than you? Be quiet, for God’s sake, or you’ll make me say something foolish.

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nurse: Now, it’s I who am the cause of all your misfortune! polinesta: Rather of all my good fortune. I’ll have you know, Nurse, that it is not Dulippo whom I love, nor a servant, for I’ve given my heart more worthily than you think – but I’ll say no more now. nurse: I’m glad that you’ve changed your mind. polinesta: On the contrary, I haven’t changed it at all, nor do I intend to. nurse: What are you talking about then? polinesta: I don’t love Dulippo or a servant, and I haven’t changed my mind, nor will I. nurse: Either this doesn’t make sense or I don’t understand. Please speak clearly. polinesta: I won’t say anything more, for I promised not to tell. nurse: Do you hesitate to tell me for fear that I’ll reveal it? You trust me in matters of honour and life and now you’re afraid to tell me something that I’m sure is of little consequence compared to the secrets I already know. polinesta: This matter is more important than you think; yet I would willingly tell it to you if you promise not only to be silent, but also to refrain from giving any sign by which you might be suspected of knowing it. nurse: I give you my word, so speak freely. polinesta: I want you to know that the young man known as Dulippo is really a Sicilian nobleman. His true name is Erostrato, and he’s the son of Filogono, one of the richest men in that country. nurse: What? Erostrato? Isn’t Erostrato the son of Filogono that neighbour of ours, who ... polinesta: Be quiet if you will and listen to me. The person whom you take for Dulippo, I told you, is Erostrato. He came to this city to pursue his studies. He had only just landed when he met me on the Via Grande. Immediately he fell in love with me, and his passion was so vehement that there and then he changed his mind, cast aside his books and his long gown, and determined that I alone would be the subject of his study. And in order to see me and talk to me more readily, he exchanged clothes, name, and status with Dulippo, the only servant whom he brought with him from Sicily. So, that very day, Erostrato, master and scholar, became Dulippo, a servant, and dressed as you saw him, a student of love dealings. He plotted in such a way that before long he managed to become one of my father’s servants. nurse: Are you sure about this?

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polinesta: Absolutely. For his part, Dulippo adopted the name of Erostrato, along with the clothes of his master, his books, and other things relating to studies. Then, posing as the son of Filogono, he began to take up literary studies from which he has profited and gained much credit. nurse: Are there no other Sicilians here, or are there none who have passed through who might have recognized them? polinesta: Hardly anyone who turns up here settles down, and very few pass through. nurse: This has been fortunate indeed. But how is it that the student, whom you claim to be Dulippo and not Erostrato, has asked your father for your hand in marriage? polinesta: This is a pretence he uses to confound that nasty old doctor with the long cap who insists on seeking me as his wife. Alas! Is that not him coming? What a beautiful prospect for a husband! I would rather be a nun than his wife. nurse: You’re so right. Look how he comes to show off! Oh God, there’s nothing so foolish as an old man in love! Scene ii cleandro, a doctor of law, and pasifilo, a parasite cleandro: Weren’t there people just here in front of the door, Pasifilo? pasifilo: Yes, my most learned Cleandro; didn’t you see your Polinesta? cleandro: Was it my Polinesta? By God, I didn’t recognize her! pasifilo: I’m not surprised. The air is dense today, somewhat foggy. I knew her more by her clothes than by her face. cleandro: I thank God that at my age I have very good eyesight. I feel I’ve changed very little since I was twenty-five or thirty years old. pasifilo: And why not? Are you so very old? cleandro: I’m fifty-six. pasifilo: (Aside) That’s ten less than he is! cleandro: What did you say – ten less? pasifilo: I said that I thought you to be ten years less. Why, you don’t seem more than thirty-six or thirty-eight at the most. cleandro: I’m nonetheless the age I told you. pasifilo: You’re at a fine age, and with your good habits you’ll live to be a hundred. Let me see your hand. cleandro: Are you a chiromancer?

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pasifilo: Who makes more of a profession of it than I do? Please, show me your hand. Oh, what a beautiful and distinct line. I’ve never seen one quite that long. You’ll live longer than Melchizedek. cleandro: You mean Methuselah. pasifilo: I thought they were one and the same. cleandro: You’re not very learned in the Bible. pasifilo: On the contrary, I’m most learned, but in the contents of a bottle. Oh, what a nice Mount of Venus!2 We’re not in a convenient place. I’d like to read it another day when we have more time, and then I’ll tell you some things that will please you. cleandro: It will be a great pleasure. But tell me. Do you think Polinesta would rather have Erostrato or me for a husband? pasifilo: Why, you, without doubt. She’s a noble-minded young lady and takes more account of the reputation that she’ll acquire by being your wife than of what she could hope to gain as the wife of a scholar whose status in Sicily God only knows! cleandro: Yet he acts very grand in this city. pasifilo: Sure, that’s his way when there’s no one to call his bluff. But never mind about him. Your good qualities are worth more than all of Sicily. cleandro: It’s not right for me to praise myself; yet I tell you truly that my knowledge, when I’ve needed it, has been of more value than all the goods I could have had. I left Otranto, my native city, with only the coat on my back, when it was taken by the Turks.3 I came first to Padua and then to this city, where as a reader, lawyer, and councillor I amassed, in the space of twenty years, a fortune of fifteen thousand ducats or more. pasifilo: These are true virtues. What’s philosophy? What’s poetry? All other knowledge compared to law is mere nonsense. cleandro: Nonsense! Well said; unde versus: Opes dat sanctio Justiniana; Ex aliis paleas, ex istis collige grana.4 pasifilo: Excellent verse! Who wrote it? Vergil? cleandro: What Vergil? It’s one of our very best glosses. pasifilo: It certainly is an excellent moral, worthy to be set in letters of gold. By now you must have gained more than you had left in Otranto. cleandro: I’ve made triple that amount. Yet the fact is I lost a five-yearold son there, a child who was dearer to me than all the possessions in the world. pasifilo: Ah, truly, that was too great a loss! cleandro: I don’t know whether he died or whether he still lives in captivity.

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pasifilo: I’m crying out of compassion. But cheer up, for you’ll have other children by Polinesta. cleandro: What do you think about Damone’s delay? pasifilo: He’s a father who wishes to have his daughter well placed. Before he makes up his mind, he wants to think it over carefully. But I have no doubt that in the end he’ll decide in your favour. cleandro: Did you let him know that I’ll give him two thousand gold ducats as a wedding gift?5 pasifilo: I told him that a long time ago. cleandro: What was his reply? pasifilo: Only that Erostrato offered the same. cleandro: How can Erostrato make such a commitment without his father’s consent? pasifilo: Do you think that I neglected to remind him of this? Don’t worry, your rival will never have her except in his dreams. cleandro: If you really want to help me, then go, my Pasifilo, and find Damone. Tell him that I ask for nothing but his daughter. I don’t want a dowry. I’ll endow her myself, and if two thousand ducats aren’t enough, I’ll add five hundred more, even a thousand and whatever else he wishes. Go, and do the things I know you can do. I don’t want anything to make me lose this suit. Don’t wait any longer; go now. pasifilo: Where will I find you then? cleandro: At my house. pasifilo: At what time? cleandro: Whenever you wish. I would invite you to dine with me, but today I’m fasting since it is the vigil of Saint Nicholas, whom I hold in devotion. pasifilo: (Aside) Fast until you die of hunger. cleandro: Listen. pasifilo: (Aside) Speak to the dead, who also fast. cleandro: Don’t you hear me? pasifilo: (Aside) And don’t you understand! cleandro: Are you hurt because I didn’t invite you to dinner? Well, you can come, then, and share in what I’ll be eating. pasifilo: Do you think I lack a place to eat? cleandro: Of course not, my dear Pasifilo. pasifilo: Be assured that there are some who beg me [to dine with them]. cleandro: I’m very certain of it. But I do know that in no other place are you as welcome as in my house. I’ll be expecting you.

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pasifilo: Well then, I’ll come, since you insist. cleandro: Be sure to bring me good news. pasifilo: And you be sure that I find a good meal. cleandro: You’ll be pleased. pasifilo: And you’ll see my work. —What a miserable and avaricious man! He finds an excuse to fast because he doesn’t want me to dine with him, as if I had to eat with his mouth and as if he were preparing sumptuous feasts so that I would be obliged to him for an invitation. Not only does he prepare his table parsimoniously, but there is always a very great difference between his food and mine. I never taste the same wine that he drinks, nor the same bread that he eats, and there are the other little attentions that he gets from me, since we share the same table. He thinks that because he occasionally has me over for dinner or supper with him, this compensates for the dirty work that I’m always doing for him. There may be some who believe that he has liberally rewarded me in some other way; but I can truly say that never, in the six or seven years that I’ve been involved in his affairs, has he given me as much as a shoelace-worth. He thinks that I feed on his favour because he sometimes forces himself to say a good word on my behalf. Oh, if I weren’t able to gain a living some other way, I would really be in a fix! But I’m like the beaver or the otter who lives either in water or on land, depending upon where the pickings are better. I’m no less a servant of Erostrato than I am of the doctor, friendlier now to one, now to the other, depending upon which one prepares a better meal. I know so well how to stand between the two of them that even though one of them sees or hears that I’m with the other he doesn’t lose faith in me, for I lead him to believe that I hang around his rival merely to pry into his secrets. And so whatever I can learn from both of them I report to one or to the other. It doesn’t matter to me how this affair turns out. I shall be rewarded whichever of them is the victor. Ah, here is Dulippo, Damone’s servant. I’ll find out from him whether his master’s at home.

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Scene iii pasifilo and the false dulippo pasifilo: Where are you going, my gallant Dulippo? dulippo: My master’s alone, so I’m looking for someone to dine with him. pasifilo: Don’t trouble yourself any further. You won’t find anyone more suitable than me. dulippo: I don’t have permission to bring so many. pasifilo: What do you mean, ‘so many?’ I’ll come alone. dulippo: How can you come alone when there are ten wolves in your stomach? pasifilo: Such is the custom of you servants. You hate all your master’s friends. dulippo: Do you know why? pasifilo: Because they have teeth. dulippo: No, because they have tongues. pasifilo: Tongues! And what displeasure did my tongue ever give you? dulippo: I’m joking with you, Pasifilo. Go into the house or you’ll be too late, for my master is about to sit down at the table. pasifilo: Does he dine so early? dulippo: He who rises early dines early. pasifilo: I would willingly live with this man. I’ll follow your advice. dulippo: You would be wise to. —It was a sad and unfortunate thing when, as a suitable remedy for my desires, I decided to exchange my name and attire with my lackey to pose as a servant in this household. I had hoped that, just as hunger is relieved by food, thirst by water, cold by fire, and a thousand other such sufferings are alleviated by appropriate remedies, so by continually seeing Polinesta, by frequently talking with her, by furtive embraces, and by being with her almost every night my loving desire would be fulfilled. Alas, of all human conditions, love alone is insatiable! It is now two years that, in the guise of Damone’s servant, I’ve been a servant of Cupid, and thanks to him I’ve obtained as many benefits as any enamoured heart could desire, and more of these than other fortunate lovers. But just when I should feel rich in abundance and find myself satiated, I feel poorer and more desirous than ever. Alas! What will become of me if now she’s taken away by Cleandro, who by means of this annoying parasite seeks to procure her as his wife? Then,

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I would be deprived not only of the pleasure of our nightly embracing, but even of speaking to her. He would immediately become so jealous that he wouldn’t even allow the birds to see her. I had hoped to thwart all the old man’s plans by means of my servant who, pretending to be me, with my name, my clothes, and my credit, has offered himself as a rival and competitor for her hand; but every day this crafty doctor devises new schemes to incline Damone to his will. My servant has told me that he intends to set a trap in which this cunning fox would be caught; what he has concocted I don’t know, nor have I seen him this morning. Now as I go to take care of the things that my master has ordered, I’ll try to find him, at home or wherever he may be, so that in my love’s labour I may get from him, if not help, at least hope. Ah, here is his lackey coming outside just in time. Scene iv The false dulippo and caprino, a boy dulippo: Oh, Caprino, what of Erostrato? caprino: Of Erostrato? Of Erostrato there are books, clothes, money, and many other things that he has in the house. dulippo: Ah, gluttonous one! I asked you to tell me about Erostrato. caprino: In prose or in verse? dulippo: If I grab you by your hair, that will make you answer to the purpose. caprino: Pffft! dulippo: Wait a moment. caprino: I haven’t the time. dulippo: By God, we’ll see which of us can run faster! caprino: You should have given me a head start. Your legs are longer than mine. dulippo: Now tell me, Caprino, what about Erostrato? caprino: He left the house early this morning and didn’t return. I saw him later in the piazza, and he told me to get this basket and come right back. Dalio is waiting for me there, so I’m on my way. dulippo: Go then, and if you see him, tell him that I absolutely must speak to him. As a matter of fact, it would be better if I went to the piazza. Perhaps I’ll find him there.

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ACT II Scene i The false dulippo and the false erostrato dulippo: If I had a hundred eyes6 they wouldn’t suffice to look for him. I checked in the piazza, in the courtyard,7 and there isn’t a scholar or a doctor in Ferrara whom I haven’t met, except for him. Perhaps he went back to the house. Ah, here he is, finally. erostrato: At last, Master, I’ve found you. dulippo: For God’s sake, call me Dulippo. I want you to keep up the reputation that you acquired when you began to use my name. erostrato: It doesn’t matter, because there’s no one around to hear. dulippo: If you get into the habit you could easily slip where it will be noticed, so be careful. Now, what news do you bring me? erostrato: Good news. dulippo: Good news? erostrato: The very best; we’ve won the contest. dulippo: Lucky me, if it were true. erostrato: You’ll see. dulippo: How? erostrato: Last night I met the parasite and without too much prodding he came with me to supper. There, with a good reception and with better things that followed, we became great friends, so much so that he revealed to me all the plans of Cleandro as well as the wishes of Damone. And he promised from now on to work for my benefit in this matter. dulippo: Don’t trust him. He couldn’t be more deceptive or a greater liar if he had been born in Crete or Africa.8 erostrato: I know him for what he is, but I also found that what he told me is the absolute truth. dulippo: Well then, what did he tell you? erostrato: That Damone intends to give his daughter to the doctor, because he offered him two thousand ducats as a wedding settlement. dulippo: And this is the good news, I mean, the very best news that you bring me? You say that we’ve won the contest? erostrato: Don’t jump to conclusions before you hear the rest of the story. dulippo: Then continue.

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erostrato: To this I replied that I was prepared to give as large a wedding gift as Cleandro. dulippo: It was a good reply. erostrato: Wait, though, until you hear where the difficulty lies. dulippo: The difficulty? Is there worse to come? erostrato: How can I, posing as the son of Filogono, undertake such an obligation without his authority and consent? dulippo: You’ve studied more than I have. erostrato: You haven’t wasted your time either, but the exercise book that you have before you doesn’t treat of these matters. dulippo: Stop this nonsense and come to the point. erostrato: I told him that I had received word from my father and that I expected him to arrive in this city any day. I asked him that, for my sake, he plead with Damone to put off a decision about the marriage for fifteen days, because I hoped – rather I held for certain – that Filogono would confirm and approve my commitment. dulippo: At least this scheme is useful in that it prolongs my life another fifteen days. But what will happen then? My father won’t come and, even if he does, it may not be in our best interests. Alas! Wretched me! Cursed be ... erostrato: Calm down; don’t despair. Do you think that I sleep when there’s something to be done for your benefit? dulippo: Ah, my dear friend, revive me! Ever since this whole business began I’ve continually been in a state worse than death. erostrato: Well, then, listen. dulippo: Out with it. erostrato: This morning I got on my horse and rode out through the Lion’s Gate intending to go towards the Polesine to attend to the business you know about. But something better came up that made me change my mind. I had ridden about two miles beyond the Po when I met an elderly gentleman of good appearance, who approached in the company of three men on horseback. I greeted him, and he responded graciously. When I asked him where he was coming from and where he was going he replied that he had come from Venice and was returning to his native city of Siena. Immediately, with an expression full of amazement, I said to him: ‘You are Sienese and you come to Ferrara?’ And he replied: ‘And why shouldn’t I come here?’ I answered: ‘Good heavens, aren’t you aware of the peril that awaits you if you’re recognized as Sienese?’ With great astonishment and no less fright he stopped and asked me courteously to explain precisely what I meant.

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dulippo: I don’t see the meaning of this deception. erostrato: I thought you wouldn’t, but hear more. dulippo: Continue. erostrato: I then answered him: ‘My dear Sir, at one time I was a student in your city and I was so courteously and well received there that I feel most affectionately indebted to all Sienese. And thus if injury or disgrace threatens any of you I cannot tolerate it at all. I marvel that you’re not aware of the insult that your countrymen gave to the ambassadors of the Duke of Ferrara who were passing through Siena on their way back from the king of Naples.’9 dulippo: What story is this you’re telling me? How does this nonsense concern my affairs? erostrato: It’s not a story I tell you, and it concerns you very much. So listen. dulippo: Go on. erostrato: Then I continued: ‘The ambassadors had with them several colts, some wagons full of saddles and very beautiful harnesses, sumac, perfumes, and many other fine and luxurious things, all of which King Ferrante was sending to the duke.10 When they arrived in Siena they were held up by the customs officials. And despite the licence that they had and the witnesses who testified that the goods belonged to the duke, they didn’t release them until they paid a duty on every little thing without the remission of a penny, just as if these had been the goods of the most humble merchant in the world.’ dulippo: It could be that this concerns me. But I still don’t make heads-or-tails of it. erostrato: Oh, how impatient you are! But let me continue. dulippo: Go on; I’ll listen as long as I can. erostrato: I proceeded to tell him: ‘As soon as the duke learned of this, he complained to the Sienese Senate both through letters and through an envoy whom he sent there for this purpose. But he received the most insolent and discourteous reply you ever heard. Because of this he was inflamed with such scorn and hatred against all Sienese that he ordered that any who turn up in his territories be stripped to their shirt and driven away with the utmost disgrace.’ dulippo: How did you invent such a big lie on the spur of the moment, and for what purpose? erostrato: You’ll see – and for our purpose a better lie couldn’t be found. dulippo: Well, then, I’m awaiting the conclusion.

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erostrato: You should have heard the expressions I used and have seen the gestures I made in order to persuade him. dulippo: I can imagine; I know you well enough. erostrato: I also informed him that the duke ordered all innkeepers in Ferrara, under penalty of death, to notify the officials of any Sienese who lodge with them. dulippo: This also! erostrato: Having heard this, the man of whom I speak – and I realized at once that he wasn’t the shrewdest man in the world – started to turn his horse around and retrace his steps. dulippo: No doubt in believing your story he showed little sense. How could he not know what had taken place in his own city? erostrato: It’s simple. As he had left Siena more than a month ago, it well could be that he didn’t know what had occurred there within the past six days. dulippo: I still say he has little sense. erostrato: I believe he hasn’t the slightest bit, and I think it was our good fortune that such a man was sent to us. Now, listen. dulippo: Finish the story. erostrato: As I told you, when he heard these things, he was about to turn back. Then I pretended to think seriously about his predicament, and after a short interval I said to him: ‘Don’t worry my good man, I know an excellent way to save you, and because I love your city I’ve decided to do anything necessary to prevent you from being recognized in Ferrara as a Sienese. I want you to pretend to be my father, and thus you’ll come and lodge with me. I’m a Sicilian from a place called Catania, the son of a merchant named Filogono. Hence you’ll say to anyone who asks you that you’re Filogono, a Catanese, and that I, who am called Erostrato, am your son, and I’ll honour you as my father.’ dulippo: Ah, what a fool I’ve been! Now I see your scheme. erostrato: Well, how do you like it? dulippo: Very much. But I have one reservation. One thing bothers me. erostrato: What reservation? dulippo: It seems impossible to me that after being in Ferrara a while and talking to others, he won’t soon perceive that you’ve tricked him. erostrato: How is that? dulippo: It would be easy for him by acting once more as a Sienese to discover that everything you told him is a lie. erostrato: Certainly this could happen had I stopped here without

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making further provision. But I’ve already entertained him well and will entertain him even better. I’ll honour him so that I’ll be able to confide in him with the truth. He won’t be so ungrateful then as to refuse to help me in this matter in which all that is required is a few words from him. dulippo: What do you expect him to do then? erostrato: What Filogono would do if he were here and were happy with the marriage. I believe that it won’t be too difficult for me to induce him to complete any documents, contracts, and other obligations in the name of Filogono that I’ll ask of him. What trouble would it be for him to pledge someone else’s name, since he wouldn’t suffer the least harm from it? dulippo: Provided that the plan succeeds. erostrato: At least we can’t have any regrets, because we’ve done everything possible to help ourselves. dulippo: Now, then, where have you left him? erostrato: I had him dismount outside the city at the Crown Inn. As you know, we have neither hay, straw, nor stalls to accommodate horses at our house. dulippo: Why haven’t you brought him with you? erostrato: I wanted to speak to you first and inform you of everything. dulippo: You haven’t done badly, but don’t delay any longer. Go and bring him home and don’t spare any expense in making him comfortable. erostrato: I’m off then. But, my goodness, isn’t that him coming our way? dulippo: Is that him? I’ll wait for him here to see if he looks as stupid as he seems. Scene ii The sienese, his servant, the false erostrato, and the false dulippo sienese: He who travels about often encounters great and unforeseen dangers. servant: That’s true. If the boat we were in this morning when we passed Pontelagoscuro11 had split open and sunk, we would have all drowned, for none of us can swim. sienese: I’m not referring to that. servant: Then you must mean the mud that we encountered yesterday

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coming from Padua that almost tripped up your mule on two occasions. sienese: Oh, what an idiot you are. I speak of the danger that we nearly fell into coming to this city. servant: A great danger indeed to find someone who takes you from the inn and lodges you in his own house! sienese: Thanks to the gentleman you see there. But enough of this nonsense. Take care – and I say this to all of you – make sure that none of you mentions that we’re Sienese; and address me as none other than Filogono of Catania. servant: I’ll never remember such a queer name, except for the Castagnia [chestnut] part. men: What Castagnia? I said Catania, Catania, may the devil take you. servant: I’ll never be able to pronounce it. sienese: Then keep quiet and don’t mention Siena or any other place. servant: Do you want me to act dumb as I did once before?12 sienese: It would be ridiculous to do so now. Enough! I know you like to joke. —Welcome, my son.13 erostrato: Remember that these Ferrarans are most crafty. Be sure that they cannot tell either by your speech or your manners that you’re anyone but Filogono, the Catanese, and my father. sienese: Don’t worry. erostrato: It’s you and your servants who have to worry, for you would immediately be despoiled, or even worse. sienese: I’ve just been admonishing them. They’ll know how to pretend perfectly. erostrato: Pretend with those of my household no less than with others. All my servants are Ferrarans who never knew my father or saw Sicily. Here’s my house. Let’s go in. sienese: I’ll go in first. erostrato: That’s the proper way for due respect. dulippo: An excellent beginning. I hope that the middle and the end are as good. But is that not my rival and competitor, Cleandro? Oh, the avarice, oh, the folly of men! In order to avoid a dowry for his gentle and virtuous daughter, Damone is ready to make this man his son-in-law, a man whose age suits him rather to be his father-in-law! He loves his own purse much more than his daughter’s, and in order not to lose a single florin himself he doesn’t care whether his daughter’s remains empty forever, unless he expects the old man to put some of his doubloons in it. Ah, wretched me! I jest and I really don’t wish to.

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Scene iii carione, a servant, cleandro, and the false dulippo carione: What a time you pick to come to this district, Master! There isn’t a banker in Ferrara who hasn’t already gone for a drink. cleandro: I’ve come to see if I can find Pasifilo to take him to dine with me. carione: As if the six mouths that you have at home – and seven with the cat – aren’t enough to eat a pound-and-a-half of perch, a pot of chick-peas, and twenty asparagus – for this is all that is prepared to feed you and your household. cleandro: Are you afraid that there won’t be enough for you, you wolf? dulippo: (Aside) Should I not tease this old bird a little? carione: It wouldn’t be the first time. dulippo: (Aside) What shall I say to him? carione: I’m not referring to this. It’s just that your household will feel uneasy. Pasifilo won’t be satisfied; he’ll devour you together with the skin and bones of your mule. I would say the flesh as well, if she had any. cleandro: It’s your fault [if she hasn’t any], for you take care of her. carione: It’s the fault of the hay and fodder, which are so costly. dulippo: (Aside) Leave it. Leave it to me. cleandro: Shut up, you drunkard, and look around to see if he’s in the neighbourhood. dulippo: (Aside) If I don’t do anything else, I’ll sow so much discord between him and Pasifilo that Mercury14 himself couldn’t make them friends again. carione: Couldn’t you have sent someone to look for him, without coming here in person? cleandro: Yes, since you servants are so diligent! carione: Surely, Master, you’ve come here to see someone other than Pasifilo, for if Pasifilo wished to dine with you he would have been waiting for you at your house an hour ago. cleandro: Be still while I find out from this fellow whether he’s in his master’s house. Aren’t you one of Damone’s servants? dulippo: Yes, if you please, at your service. cleandro: I thank you. Could you tell me whether Pasifilo came to speak with your master this morning? dulippo: Yes, he did, and I believe that he’s still with him. Hah, hah, hah!

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cleandro: What are you laughing about? dulippo: About a discussion that he had with my master, a discussion that not everyone would find amusing. cleandro: What sort of discussion? dulippo: Ah, I’m not supposed to say. cleandro: Was it something concerning me? dulippo: Uh! cleandro: Why don’t you answer? dulippo: I’d tell you everything if I thought you would keep it secret. cleandro: Don’t worry: I’ll be silent. (To Carione) You wait there. dulippo: Woe to me if my master should learn of this. cleandro: He’ll never learn of it, you can be sure. dulippo: What assurance do I have? cleandro: I give you my word of honour. dulippo: It’s a bad pledge. The Jew wouldn’t lend you a penny on it. cleandro: Among honest men it’s worth more than gold and jewels. dulippo: Do you want me to tell you then? cleandro: Yes, if it concerns me. dulippo: It concerns you more than anyone else, and it grieves me that a boor such as Pasifilo should mock a man like you. cleandro: Tell me, tell me what is it? dulippo: First, I want you to swear to me on something sacred that you’ll never mention this to Pasifilo, to Damone, or to anyone whomsoever. cleandro: I agree; wait, let me get a document. carione: (Aside) This must be some little story that he gives him from that young lady who has been driving him mad, and he hopes to get some profit out of it. cleandro: Here, I found a letter. carione: (Aside) He doesn’t know my master’s stinginess; one would need pincers, not words, to get anything out of him. He would sooner have a tooth pulled from his jaw than a grosso 15 from his purse. cleandro: Hold it in your hand. I swear to you that whatever you tell me I won’t reveal to anyone unless you agree to it. dulippo: Fine. I’m sorry that Pasifilo makes fun of you and that you believe that he speaks and acts on your behalf, when, in fact, he continually urges my master to give his daughter to a foreign scholar named Rosorostro or Arosto.16 I can’t pronounce it – it’s a devilish name. cleandro: Who is it? Erostrato?

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dulippo: Yes, that’s it. It would never have found its way out of my mouth. And he speaks every evil imaginable about you. cleandro: To whom? dulippo: To Damone and even to Polinesta. cleandro: Ah, the scoundrel! And what does he say? dulippo: The worst that can be said.17 cleandro: Oh, God! dulippo: That you’re the greediest and most miserable man that was ever born, and that you would let her die of hunger. cleandro: Pasifilo says this of me? dulippo: Her father doesn’t pay much attention to it. He knows well that a man of your profession couldn’t be other than extremely greedy. cleandro: I’m not really greedy, but it’s just that today whoever doesn’t have any wealth is considered an idiot. dulippo: He said that you’re a bore, that you’re the most obstinate man in the world, and that you’ll make her die of anguish. cleandro: Oh, that malicious man! dulippo: And that night and day you continually cough and spit, so that even pigs would be disgusted with you. cleandro: I never cough or spit. Cough, cough, cough ... It’s true that I have a little cold now, but who doesn’t at this time of the year? dulippo: And he says much worse things: that your feet and armpits stink and your breath is even worse. cleandro: Oh, that traitor! The body that I ... dulippo: And that you’re exposed underneath and have a hernia larger than your head that hangs all the way to your knees. cleandro: I’ll be damned if I don’t punish him. He lies in his throat in saying this. If we weren’t in the street I’d let you see for yourself. dulippo: And that you ask for his daughter more out of desire for a husband than a wife. cleandro: What does he mean by that? dulippo: That with her as bait you intend to attract young men to your house. cleandro: Young men to my house? For what purpose? dulippo: Because you suffer a certain infirmity for which a useful and appropriate remedy is to be with adolescent boys. cleandro: Can it be that he’s said these things? dulippo: Yes, and countless others, not only now, but many, many other times.

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cleandro: Does Damone believe him? dulippo: More than you think, in fact, so much so that he would have rejected you outright a long time ago had Pasifilo not begged him to keep you guessing in the hope of obtaining some little reward from you. cleandro: Oh, that scoundrel, that faithless rogue! As if I hadn’t considered giving him the very socks from my feet – after I’d worn them a little longer! He wants to obtain something from me? Heh! I’ll let him have a rope to hang himself. dulippo: Is there any other information you want from me? I’m in a hurry to get back to the house. cleandro: No, nothing else. dulippo: Remember, for heaven’s sake, don’t say a word about this to anyone. It would be the cause of my ruin. cleandro: I’ve already given you my word. But tell me, what’s your name? dulippo: They call me Maltivenga.18 cleandro: Are you from this city? dulippo: No, I come from a castle near Pistoia named Fustiucciso.19 Good-bye, I must be off. cleandro: Oh, wretched me! In whom have I confided? What a messenger, what a spokesman I’ve chosen! carione: Master, let’s go eat. Do you intend to continue looking for Pasifilo until dark? cleandro: Don’t bother me now. May the two of you be hanged! carione: (Aside) He must have received unpleasant news. cleandro: Are you in such a hurry to eat? May your hunger never be satisfied! carione: I’m certain that it never will be as long as I remain with you. cleandro: Let’s go, and may God give you the plague. carione: A plague forever to you and to all the rest of you misers.

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ACT III Scene i dalio, a cook, caprino, the false erostrato, and the false dulippo dalio: By the time we get to the house I don’t think I’ll find a single unbroken egg in that basket you’re carrying. But who am I talking to? Where the devil has that glutton disappeared again? He must have tarried to chase a dog or to play some foolhardy and dangerous prank.20 He stops at everything he finds in the street. If he sees a porter, a peasant, or a Jew, chains couldn’t prevent him from doing some mischief. —One day you’ll reach the end of your rope. Every few steps I have to wait for you. By God, if I find a single broken egg, I’ll break your head. caprino: Then I won’t be able to sit down. dalio: Ah! Garbage, garbage. caprino: If I’m garbage, then it’s not safe for me to go near a goat. dalio: If I weren’t carrying a load I’d show you whether or not I’m a goat. caprino: I’ve rarely seen you when you’re not loaded, either with wine or with blows. dalio: You little unspeakable! ... caprino: You’re a ... a poltroon! You curse with your heart, but you don’t dare use your tongue. dalio: I’m going to tell the master. Either he sees to it that I’m not insulted by you or I’ll leave him. caprino: Do me all the dirt you can. erostrato: What’s all this noise? caprino: He wants to beat me because I sass him when he curses. dalio: He lies in his throat. He insults me because I tell him to hurry up. erostrato: No more of this. You, Dalio, prepare what we need for dinner. When I return I’ll tell you exactly what I want boiled and what I want roasted. And you, Caprino, bring in that basket and come keep me company. —Oh, how I’d like to find Pasifilo! But I don’t know where. Here’s my master; perhaps he’ll be able to tell me. dulippo: What have you done with your Filogono? erostrato: I left him at the house. dulippo: And where are you going now? erostrato: I’m looking for Pasifilo. Can you tell me where he is?

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dulippo: No. It’s true that he dined here with Damone this morning, but I don’t know where he went afterward. What do you want with him? erostrato: To let Damone know that my father has arrived and that he has agreed to the wedding gift, and to all the other things that he can do for us. I’ll show you what I can do with that blockhead who turns everything into food for his stomach. dulippo: Go, my dear friend. Seek out Pasifilo so that all that is possible for our cause can be completed today. erostrato: But where should I look for him? dulippo: Wherever banquets are being prepared. Often you’ll find him at the butcher’s or at the fish market. erostrato: What does he do there? dulippo: He watches whoever buys a good breast or a loin of veal or a large fish, and later he turns up unexpectedly, wishing him ‘Good health! Prosperity!’ And so he worms his way into a meal. erostrato: I’ll look in all such places. It’ll be surprising if I don’t find him there. dulippo: When you return I’ll tell you something that will make you laugh. erostrato: About what? dulippo: About a discussion that I had with Cleandro. erostrato: Tell me now. dulippo: I don’t want to detain you. Now go and find him. Scene ii The false dulippo, damone, nebbia, a servant dulippo: This amorous battle between Cleandro and my serving man, which he pursues in my name, is like a game of dice21 in which you see a player who, despite his many losses, gambles all he has left. You expect him to be wiped out, but Fortune smiles at him and he wins the next throw, and two and four more until he recovers his losses. You now find that the other player, who previously had piled up all the chips, has his pile diminished so much that he’s reduced to the situation of his adversary not long before. Then there’s a resurgence and a letdown. First one and then the other wins in turn and then loses, until they reach a point at which one of them has taken all and stripped his adversary cleaner than a glass doll. How many times have

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I thought that I had won the game against this cursed old man! And how many times also have I appeared to be the loser! Then within the space of a few days, Fortune has so worked things that I could neither hope too much nor feel despair. This plan that my cunning servant has devised at the moment seems safe enough. Still I continue to worry, just as in the past, that some unexpected difficulty will arise. Oh, here’s my master, Damone, coming out of the house. damone: Dulippo. dulippo: Yes, Master. damone: Go into the house and tell Nebbia, Rosso, and Moro to come out, because I want to send them to various places. And you go to the little room on the ground floor. Look in the writing cabinet to see if you can find a deed drawn up by Lippo Malpensa to the property called Serraglio that Ugo da le Siepi sold to my great-grandfather, and bring it here to me.22 dulippo: Yes, Master. I’m going. damone: (Aside) Go, then, for you’ll find a very different deed from what you expect. O, how unhappy is he who places his trust in anyone but himself! O, outrageous Fortune, who has sent this little thief from hell to destroy my honour and that of my entire household! (To his servants) You, come here and do exactly what I tell you, but be careful. Go into the room on the ground floor, where you’ll find Dulippo, and while pretending to look for something, sneak up behind him, seize him, and tie him hand and foot with the rope that I left on the table precisely for this purpose. Then carry him to the small dark room under the stairs and leave him there. Do this with as little noise as possible. And you, Nebbia, return here immediately after you’ve finished. Here’s the key – bring it back. nebbia: I’ll do that. damone: Alas! How should I avenge myself for such a grave insult? If I punish this miserable scoundrel myself for his terrible behaviour, as my just wrath impels me to, I’ll be punished by the prince according to law, for it isn’t right for a private citizen to take justice into his own hands. But, then, if I bring my complaint to the duke and his officials, I make my shame public. Woe is me! What shall I do? Even if I make this miserable man suffer every possible pain, it won’t bring back my daughter’s honour or remove my perpetual dishonour. But whom should I torment? I, I alone, am the one who deserves to be punished, for I entrusted her to this old whore of a nurse. If I wanted her to be well looked after, I should have seen to it myself. I should have had her

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sleep in my room. I shouldn’t have kept young menservants around. I should never have been so lenient with her. Oh, my beloved wife, now I realize the damage that I’ve caused since I lost you! Alas! Why didn’t I give her in marriage when I had the chance three years ago? I wouldn’t have married her off so richly, but at least it would have been with honour. I waited year after year, month after month, for a good match for her, and see what has happened! To whom did I expect to give her? To a prince? Oh miserable, unfortunate, wretched me! This is really the greatest of sorrows. Compared to this, what is it to lose one’s wealth, one’s children, or one’s wife? This is the only grief that’s mortal and, truly, it will kill me. Oh Polinesta, my kindness and my leniency towards you didn’t deserve such a harsh reward. nebbia: Master, we’ve carried out your command; here’s the key. damone: Very well. Now, go find Nomico da Perugia and ask him to lend me those shackles he has; and return immediately. nebbia: I’m going. damone: Listen, if he asks what I want them for, tell him that you don’t know. nebbia: I’ll say that. damone: And be sure not to tell anyone that Dulippo has been caught. nebbia: I’ll not tell it to a living soul. Scene iii nebbia, pasifilo, psiteria, a maid nebbia: It’s impossible to manage someone else’s money without part of it remaining in your claws. I wondered how Dulippo could dress so well on the small salary that my master pays him. Now I understand how. He was the purchaser. He was in charge of selling grain and wine. He took care of the accounts and was the factotum. Dulippo here, Dulippo there. He was the master’s favourite. He was preferred by the children. Compared to him, we other servants were nothing. And see what has happened to him now! It would have been better if he hadn’t done so many things. pasifilo: You’re so right; he’s done too much. nebbia: Where the devil did you come from? pasifilo: From your house, out the back door. nebbia: I thought you had left two hours ago. pasifilo: I’ll tell you. After dinner I went into the stable to ... you know

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what, and I fell into the deepest sleep I ever slept. I lay on the straw and slumbered ’til now. But where are you going? nebbia: To do something that my master ordered me to. pasifilo: Can’t you tell me? nebbia: No. pasifilo: You’re very secretive. —As if I didn’t know it better than he does. Oh God, the things I heard! Oh God, the things I saw! O Cleandro, O Erostrato, both of you seek a wife, and a virgin at that. But maybe you’ll find them both together, for although Polinesta isn’t a virgin, perhaps she has the virgin you seek in her womb! Who would ever have believed this of her? Ask the neighbours about her. They’ll tell you that she’s the best and the most pious girl in the world; that she associates only with nuns; that she spends most of the day praying; that very rarely do you see her at a door or a window; that she doesn’t appear to be in love with anyone; that in short, she’s a little saint. Much good may it do! Whoever takes her as a wife will get more dowry than he thinks. If nothing else, he won’t lack for a nice pair of rather long horns. However, this marriage won’t be broken off because of my tongue. In fact, I’ll do as much as I can to hasten it. Say, isn’t this the mischievous old lady whom I just heard revealing everything to Damone? —Where are you going Psiteria? psiteria: Nearby, to see a friend of mine. pasifilo: What would take you there? A little gossip about the lovely doings of your young mistress, perhaps? psiteria: Not at all, but how do you know about these things? pasifilo: You made them known to me. psiteria: And when did I tell them to you? pasifilo: When you told them to Damone, for I happened to be in a place where I both saw and heard you. Oh what a fine deed! To accuse that unfortunate girl and thus give the poor old man a reason to die of grief! And this is to say nothing of the ruin of that unhappy young man and the nurse, and of the other scandals that will follow. psiteria: It came out unintentionally, and I’m not as much at fault as you think. pasifilo: Then whose fault is it? psiteria: I’ll tell you how it happened. I knew for quite some time that by an arrangement with the nurse Dulippo slept with Polinesta almost every night, but I said nothing. Then this morning the nurse began shouting at me, calling me a drunkard three times over. Finally, I had to answer her: ‘Shut up, you pimp, don’t you think I know what you do

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for Dulippo nearly every night?’ And truthfully I had no idea that I was being overheard. But fate would have my master hear me, and I was summoned to a place where I was forced to tell him everything. pasifilo: And how well you told it to him! psiteria: Ah, wretched me! Had I thought my master would take it so badly, I’d have let him kill me rather than reveal it to him. pasifilo: Small wonder he took it badly. psiteria: I’m sorry for that poor girl who cries and tears her hair and is so agitated that the mere sight of her moves one to pity. All this she does, not because her father has beaten or threatened her – on the contrary, the sorrowful old man has cried along with her – but because of the pity that she has for her nurse, and most of all for Dulippo, both of whom are in a very bad way. But I must go now. I’m in a hurry. pasifilo: Go then, for you really have fixed them well.

ACT IV Scene i The false erostrato, alone erostrato: Woe is me! What should I do? What means, what remedy, what excuse can I find to cover up the deception that until now has gone on for two years without the least difficulty? Now it will be known whether I’m Erostrato or Dulippo, since my old master, the real Filogono, has arrived unexpectedly. While looking for Pasifilo, I was told by someone that he was seen leaving through Saint Paul’s gate. I then went to find him at the port where I saw a boat arriving at the shore. I looked up and there on the prow was Lico, my fellow servant. And then I saw my master sticking his head out of the covering. Immediately I turned and hurried back to warn the real Erostrato so that both of us together could find a quick way out of this sudden misfortune. But what could we resolve in the end, even if we had plenty of time to deliberate? Everywhere he’s known as Dulippo, a servant of Damone, and I likewise am known as Erostrato, the son of Filogono. —Come here Caprino, hurry, before that old lady enters the house, and ask her to see whether Dulippo is inside. Ask her to tell him to come into the street because you want to speak to him. Listen, don’t tell her that I’m the one who’s asking for him.

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Scene ii caprino, psiteria, the false erostrato caprino: Hey, old woman ... hey, you deaf old hag. Don’t you hear, you ghost of a woman? psiteria: May God keep you from growing old so no one will talk to you that way. caprino: Go and see if Dulippo’s in the house. psiteria: Unfortunately, he is. I wish he never had been! caprino: Ask him to come out here. I want to speak to him. psiteria: He can’t. He’s tied up right now. caprino: Give him the message, my beautiful one. psiteria: Eh, gallows-bird, I told you he’s tied up. caprino: You’re crazy. Is it so difficult to give him a message? psiteria: You know very well that it’s difficult, you pesky glutton. caprino: You’re such a blabbery old crone! psiteria: May you get the pox, you little rapscallion. You’ll hang yet. caprino: And you’ll burn, you ugly old witch, if a cancer doesn’t consume you first. psiteria: If you come near me, I’ll give you a blow with a cane. caprino: If I throw a stone at you, I’ll crack your stupid pate. psiteria: Go to hell! I believe you’re the devil who has come to tempt me. erostrato: Caprino, come back here! What are you quarrelling about? Alas! Here comes Filogono, my real master. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him to see me dressed like this or before I’ve found the real Erostrato. Scene iii filogono, an old man, ferraran, lico, a servant filogono: Certainly, my dear man, what you say is indeed true, that no love can be compared to a father’s love. I wouldn’t have believed it, if someone had told me three years ago, that at my age I would leave Sicily, even if the most important business necessitated it. And now, just to see my son and take him back with me, I’ve undertaken this long and troublesome voyage. ferraran: It must have been very exhausting and inconvenient for you at your age.

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filogono: I came as far as Ancona with some noblemen, my compatriots, who had made a vow to Loretto. Then, with little difficulty I reached Ravenna by boat in the company of some pilgrims. But from Ravenna to here, going against the current, was more troublesome than all the rest of the trip. ferraran: You also found the accommodations bad. filogono: The very worst, but that’s nothing compared to the trouble the customs officials gave us. How many times did they open the coffer that I had on the boat and this valise. How many times did they search them and turn all the contents upside down. They wanted to look in my pockets or search me down to my bare chest! At times I thought they would flay me alive to see whether I had something between the skin and the muscles. ferraran: I’ve heard that they commit grave injustices. filogono: You can be sure of it, and I’m not surprised, for whoever seeks such a position must be either a rogue or downright badtempered. ferraran: Your past ordeal will be rewarded by even greater joy when today, as you rest, you’ll be in the company of your dearest son. But your son is young, so why didn’t he go to see you? Why go through so much trouble to come here, for, as you say, you have no other business to attend to? Was it perhaps because you were more concerned about distracting him from his studies than about placing your own life in danger? filogono: That wasn’t the reason. On the contrary, I would rather he discontinue his studies, provided that he returns home. ferraran: If you didn’t want him to benefit from his studies, why did you send him here? filogono: When he was at home he was hot-blooded, as young men usually are, and his activities didn’t seem suitable to me. Every day he did something that caused me more than a little displeasure. Without realizing that I would so much regret it later, I encouraged him to go study in any city of his choice – so he came here. I believe that he hadn’t even set foot here when I began to have regrets, and from that moment until now I haven’t been happy. I’ve written a hundred letters imploring him to return home, but with no results. In his replies he always begs me not to remove him from his books from which, he assures me, he is profiting greatly. ferraran: Truly, I’ve heard him praised by men of good faith, and he’s among the most noteworthy of scholars.

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filogono: I’m glad to hear that he hasn’t wasted his time. Yet I don’t care for him to become so learned if I have to be separated from him for so many years. If I happened to die without him near me I would die in desperation. I won’t leave this city unless he returns with me. ferraran: To love one’s children is human, but to have such tenderness is womanly. filogono: That’s the way I am. And let me say that my coming here was mainly prompted by what was told me by two or three Sicilians who at various times happened to pass through this city. I asked them about my son and they told me that they had been in Ferrara and that they had heard most wonderful things about him, but that they were never able to see him, although they had been to his house, some two and others three times. I fear that he’s so occupied with his learning that he doesn’t want to do anything else, and avoids speaking to friends and fellow countrymen so as not to take even the least bit of time from his studies. For this same reason I suspect that he doesn’t eat very well, and I fear that he stays up all night. He’s young and has been brought up in ease and luxury. He could die, he could easily go mad, or meet some similar misfortune. ferraran: All excesses, even virtuous ones, should be condemned. Now, here’s the house in which your Erostrato dwells. I’ll knock. filogono: Knock. ferraran: No one answers. filogono: Knock again. ferraran: I think they’re asleep. lico: If that door were your mother, you’d bang on it harder than that. Let me do it. Hello! Hey there, isn’t anybody home? Scene iv dalio, filogono, lico, and ferraran dalio: What madness is this? Are you trying to break down the door? lico: I thought you were asleep. filogono: What’s Erostrato doing? dalio: He’s not at home. filogono: Open up and let us in. dalio: If you think you can lodge here, forget it. There are other strangers who came here ahead of you, and there isn’t room enough for everyone.

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filogono: O excellent servant! You’d be the pride of any master! Tell me, who’s inside? dalio: Filogono of Catania, Erostrato’s father, who arrived this morning from Sicily. filogono: He’ll be inside once you’ve opened up. So open, if you please. dalio: It’s easy enough for me to open up. But I assure you that you cannot lodge here, for the rooms are full. filogono: And who is there? dalio: Didn’t you hear? I told you that Erostrato’s father, Filogono of Catania, is here. filogono: When did he arrive? dalio: About four hours ago. He dismounted at the Crown Inn, where he left his horses. Erostrato went there and brought him back. filogono: I think you’re mocking me. dalio: And you take pleasure in keeping me here so that I won’t be able to do my chores. filogono: He must be drunk. dalio: He seems to be. Don’t you see how red his face is? filogono: Which Filogono are you talking about? dalio: He’s a fine gentleman, the father of my master. filogono: And where is he? dalio: He’s here in the house. filogono: Can I see him? dalio: I think so, if you’re not blind. filogono: Please ask him to come out so that I may speak to him. dalio: All right. filogono: I don’t know what to think of this. lico: Master, the world is large. Don’t you think there’s more than one Catania and more than one Sicily, more than one Filogono and more than one Erostrato, and even more than one Ferrara? Perhaps this isn’t the Ferrara where the son we’re looking for is staying. filogono: I don’t know what to think other than that you’re crazy and that fellow is drunk. Look here, my good man, see if I’ve mistaken the address. ferraran: Don’t you think I know Erostrato of Catania and where he lives? I saw him here yesterday. But here’s someone who can clarify the situation. He doesn’t appear to be a drunkard like the servant.

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Scene v sienese, filogono, lico, ferraran, dalio sienese: Are you the gentleman who asked for me? filogono: I would like to know where you’re from. sienese: I’m Sicilian, if you please. filogono: From what city? sienese: From Catania. filogono: What is your name? sienese: Filogono. filogono: What is your profession? sienese: A merchant. filogono: What merchandise did you bring here? sienese: None. I came to see my son who is studying in this city and whom I haven’t seen for the past two years. filogono: Who is your son? sienese: Erostrato. filogono: Erostrato is your son? sienese: Yes, he is. filogono: And you are Filogono? sienese: Yes, I am. filogono: A merchant from Catania? sienese: Why do you have to ask? I wouldn’t lie to you. filogono: On the contrary, you do lie and you’re a cheat and a villain. sienese: You wrong me by calling me a villain, for I never offended you as far as I know. filogono: But you’re wicked and you lie when you say that you aren’t. sienese: I am who I told you I am. If I weren’t, why would I say it? filogono: O God, what audacity – and with such a straight face! You are Filogono of Catania? sienese: How many more times must I tell you? I’m the Filogono that I told you I am. What are you surprised at? filogono: To find a man with such effrontery! Neither you nor someone greater than yourself could change you into what I am – rascal and liar that you are. dalio: Should I let you insult the father of my master? If you don’t get away from this door I’ll thrust this spit in your belly. Woe to you if Erostrato were here! Go back inside, Sir, and let this old bird caw in the street until he bursts.

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Scene vi filogono, lico, ferraran filogono: What do you think of this, my Lico? lico: What do you want me to think except bad thoughts. I never liked the name Ferrara. But now I see that the thing itself is worse than the name. ferraran: You’re wrong in speaking badly about our city. These people who are insulting you are not Ferrarans, I can tell by their accent. lico: All of you are at fault, especially your officials who allow such cheating in their city. ferraran: What do the officials know about these things? Do you think they’re aware of everything? lico: On the contrary, I think they’re aware of very little and they’re not concerned where they don’t see any profit. They should have their eyes and ears open wider than the doors of the taverns. filogono: Shut up, stupid, and mind your own business. lico: I’m afraid that if God doesn’t help us, both of us will seem stupid. filogono: What shall we do? lico: Well, I’d look everywhere until we find Erostrato. ferraran: I’ll keep you company. First we’ll go to the school. If he’s not there, we’ll find him in the piazza. filogono: I’m tired, and I had better rest rather than wander about. Let’s wait for him here. He must return home sometime. lico: I am afraid you may find a new Erostrato too. ferraran: Look, look I see him there ... But where did he go now? Wait here while I call him. Oh Erostrato, oh Erostrato, don’t you hear me? Oh Erostrato, come back here. Scene vii The false erostrato, ferraran, filogono, dalio, lico erostrato: (Aside) Well, I can’t hide any longer. I must have courage, otherwise ... ferraran: Oh, Erostrato, Filogono your father has come from Sicily to see you. erostrato: You’re not telling me anything new. I saw him and I spent some time with him. He arrived early this morning.

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ferraran: According to what he told me, it doesn’t seem to me that he has seen you. erostrato: And where did you speak to him? ferraran: You don’t seem to recognize him. Look, he’s coming our way. Filogono, here is your son, Erostrato. filogono: This is Erostrato? He doesn’t look like my son. erostrato: Who is this fine gentleman? filogono: Why, he looks like my servant Dulippo. lico: Who wouldn’t recognize him? filogono: My, you’re dressed in a long robe! Are you also a student, Dulippo? erostrato: To whom is he speaking? filogono: It seems that you don’t know who I am! Am I speaking to you or not? erostrato: Are you speaking to me, Sir? filogono: Oh God, what have I come to? This rascal pretends not to know me. Are you Dulippo or am I mistaken? erostrato: You certainly have mistaken me for someone else, for that’s not my name. lico: Master, didn’t I tell you that we were in Ferrara? You see the faith23 of your servant Dulippo who denies knowing you! He’s picked up the customs of this city. filogono: Oh shut up and go to hell. erostrato: Ask anyone in this city, for there isn’t a gentleman who doesn’t know my name. You who brought the foreigner here, tell me, who am I? ferraran: I’ve always known you as Erostrato of Catania, and I’ve heard you called that since you came to this city from Sicily. filogono: Oh God, I’m going crazy today! erostrato: I’m afraid that you already may be. lico: Don’t you realize, Master, that we’re among cheats? The one whom we thought was our guide is in collusion with that other fellow, so he tells us that this is Erostrato when he is really Dulippo, my fellow servant. ferraran: You shouldn’t complain about me, for I’ve never heard this man called anything other than Erostrato of Catania. erostrato: How else could you have heard me called other than by my own name? But I’m certainly mad to listen to this old man who seems to have gone out of his mind. filogono: Ah, you renegade! You scoundrel! You traitor! Is this the way to welcome your master? What have you done with my son?

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dalio: Is this dog still barking here? And you allow him to insult you, Erostrato? erostrato: Go back inside, you idiot. What are you going to do with that pestle? dalio: I’d like to crack the head of this raving old geezer. erostrato: And you, put down that rock. All of you get back into the house. Don’t pay any attention to his insults; have respect for his age. Scene viii filogono, ferraran, lico filogono: Whom should I look to for help, since the one whom I raised and always considered as a son betrays me and pretends not to know me? And you, whom I took as a guide and held as a friend, you’re in league with that wicked servant of mine. Without any consideration for the fact that I’m a foreigner and at present am in misery, and without any reverence for God, that most just Judge who knows all, you right away go ahead and falsely testify that this fellow is Erostrato – he whom the whole world and even nature itself couldn’t make anyone but Dulippo. lico: If all other witnesses in this city are like this one, anything whatsoever can be proven. ferraran: Sir, since he came to this city, I know not whence, I have always heard him called Erostrato, reputedly the son of one Filogono the Catanese. Whether or not he is, I leave to your judgment and to others who knew him prior to his coming here. If someone testifies to what he believes is true, he cannot be condemned as a perjurer by man or God. I’ve only said what I heard from others and what I thought to be true. filogono: Alas! This man whom I gave as a servant and escort to my dearest Erostrato has either sold or murdered my son, or has made some awful agreement with him. And not only has he usurped the clothes, the books, and other possessions, which Erostrato brought with him from Sicily, but his name as well, so that without any difficulty he could profit from the bills of exchange and letters of credit that I gave to my son. Ah, wretched and unhappy Filogono! Ah, most unfortunate old man! Isn’t there a judge, a captain, a podestà 24 or some other official in this city to whom I can have recourse? ferraran: We have judges and a podestà and, above all, a most just

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prince. Don’t worry. You’ll get justice provided your cause is right. filogono: Take me, please, take me right now to a prince, to a podestà, or to whomever you wish, for I want to bring to light the worst cheating, the worst iniquity, the most wicked crime that was ever committed. lico: Master, someone who wishes to institute a suit needs four things and you know them. First, he needs a good cause; second, a good spokesman; third, influence; and fourth, someone to carry it out. ferraran: Influence? I didn’t know that the laws mention this. filogono: Don’t listen to him, he’s a lunatic. ferraran: Please tell me, Lico, what do you mean by influence? lico: To have someone to recommend your cause, for, if you expect to win, he’ll see to it that the case ends quickly. But if the decision isn’t in your favour, the case can be postponed or dragged out so long that your weary adversary, because of the excessive expenses, will give in or settle out of court. ferraran: Don’t worry on this score, Filogono, for although it isn’t the custom here, I’ll also provide you with influence. I’ll take you to a lawyer who will suffice for all these things. filogono: Must I then give myself as prey to lawyers and attorneys, whose insatiable greed I cannot satisfy with the means I have, and couldn’t do so even if I were in my own city? I know their methods very well. The first time I speak to them, they’ll promise that without any doubt the case is won. After that, however, they’ll seek you out every day to cast more doubts as to the outcome, and they’ll say that I’ve been at fault for not having informed them of everything at the beginning. And their object here is not only to draw the money out of my purse, but the marrow out of my bones. ferraran: The man whom I have in mind is half a saint. lico: What’s the other half – a devil? filogono: Well said, Lico. I, too, have little faith in those who walk about with their necks twisted. ferraran: Assuming that what you say is true and even assuming worse, the hatred and malevolence that this particular lawyer has for Erostrato or Dulippo, whoever he is, will make him take your case and pursue it vigorously without too much concern about what he’ll gain from you. filogono: What enmity is there between them? ferraran: They are enemies in love. Both are suitors for the same woman, the daughter of one of our better citizens.

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filogono: Do you mean that this scoundrel enjoys such credit in this city at my expense that he dares ask for the hand of a daughter of one of your better citizens? ferraran: That’s right. filogono: What’s the name of his adversary? ferraran: Cleandro. He’s one of the best doctors of law here at the university. filogono: Let’s go find him. ferraran: Follow me.

ACT V Scene i The false erostrato, alone erostrato: What a stroke of bad luck this is. Before I could find Erostrato, I had to run into my old master in such a ridiculous way. I had to pretend not to know him. I was forced to argue with him and answer him with more than one insulting word. I’ve offended him so grievously that no matter what happens in this affair, he’ll dislike me forever. Therefore, I resolve that, even if I have to go into Damone’s house, I’ll speak to Erostrato immediately. I’ll renounce his name, give up his clothes, and flee from his house as fast as I can. As long as Filogono lives I’ll never return to his house, the house in which I was raised since the age of five. Here is Pasifilo, who comes at just the right time to go inside and let Erostrato know that I have to speak to him. Scene ii pasifilo, the false erostrato pasifilo: (Aside) I received two excellent bits of news. One, that Erostrato is preparing a lavish feast for this evening. The other, that he’s looking everywhere for me. To save him further trouble in finding me, and because there’s no one in this city more suitable than I am to indulge where there is abundant and tasty food, I’ve come to see whether he’s at home. But, my goodness, here he is. erostrato: Pasifilo, do me a favour if you don’t mind.

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pasifilo: Who has a better right to ask me than you? I’d go through fire for your sake. What do you want? erostrato: Go to Damone’s house. Knock and ask for Dulippo, and tell him ... pasifilo: I won’t be able to speak to Dulippo. erostrato: And why not? pasifilo: He’s in prison. erostrato: What do you mean, ‘in prison?’ Where? pasifilo: In the worst of places – here in his master’s house. erostrato: How do you know this? pasifilo: I was there. erostrato: Is it really true? pasifilo: I wish it weren’t! erostrato: Do you know why? pasifilo: Don’t ask any more questions. It’s enough that you know he was caught. erostrato: I want you to tell me, Pasifilo, if you ever hope to have any favours from me. pasifilo: Please don’t force me to tell you. What does it matter if you know it? erostrato: It matters very much, more than you think. pasifilo: And it matters more to others – even more than you think – that I keep quiet. erostrato: Ah, Pasifilo, is this the trust I’ve placed in you? Are these the offers [of help] that you’ve made me? pasifilo: I wish I had fasted today instead of coming before you! erostrato: Either you tell me or this door will remain closed to you forever. pasifilo: I would sooner have everyone in the world dislike me before suffering your enmity. But if you hear something that displeases you, blame no one but yourself. erostrato: Nothing could disturb me more than Dulippo’s troubles, not even my own. So don’t think that you can tell me anything worse than the news you gave me already. pasifilo: Since you order me to, I’ll tell you the truth. He was caught in bed with your Polinesta. erostrato: Alas! Has Damone found out? pasifilo: An old woman accused him, whereupon Damone took him, along with the nurse who had been his confidante and accomplice in this, and put both of them in a place where they’ll undergo a rather harsh penance for their sins.

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erostrato: Go into the house, Pasifilo, into the kitchen, and have them prepare and cook the food as you like it. pasifilo: If you had been the chief justice25 you couldn’t have given me a sentence more in keeping with my desires. I’m going immediately. Scene iii The false erostrato, alone erostrato: I wanted to get rid of this fellow as fast as I could so that he wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes or hear the sighs from my breast that I can no longer hold back. Ah, cruel Fortune! The troubles that you’ve inflicted upon me in the past two hours, even if distributed throughout many years, would be sufficient to make any man miserable! Nor have they come to an end, for I already foresee others worse than these, infinite in number and unforgettable. You’ve made my master, now that he’s almost decrepit, come to Ferrara – he who, when he was a young man, never left Sicily – and on this very day when least we needed him! You strengthened, diminished, and regulated the winds so well that he could neither have arrived here yesterday nor three or four days hence! Wasn’t it enough to have thrown this obstacle in my way, without having young Erostrato’s love-scheme discovered at the same time? You had kept it secret for two years just so you could reveal it on this awful day. Alas! What am I to do? What can I do? There’s no time now to invent schemes. Every hour, every moment that we delay in assisting Erostrato is perilous. I must go then and find my master, Filogono, and tell him the whole story without a single lie, so that he can provide a quick remedy to save the life of his unhappy son. That’s the best thing to do. That’s what I will do, even though severe torture will certainly follow for me. The love that I have for my young master and my obligation to him demand that I save his life, even at great personal risk. But what should I do? Should I go looking for Filogono throughout the city or wait for him to return here? If he sees me again in the street he’ll shout and won’t listen to anything I tell him. Then a crowd will gather around, and there’ll be more than a little turmoil. I think it’s better for me to wait here awhile, and then, if he doesn’t return, I’ll go looking for him.

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Scene iv pasifilo; the false erostrato pasifilo: (To Dalio, inside) Yes, do that, but don’t put it on the fire until we’re ready to sit at the table. (To the false Erostrato) Everything is set, but if I didn’t just happen to be here there would have been a terrible scandal. erostrato: What would have happened? pasifilo: Dalio was about to put the thrushes and the veal on the spit at the same time, ignoring the fact that veal takes a while to roast while fowl cooks immediately. erostrato: Oh, I wish this were the greatest scandal that was happening. pasifilo: And one of two misfortunes would have followed. If he had left them on the fire long enough to cook the veal, the thrushes would have been burned and ruined. If he had taken them out earlier, we would have eaten them cold or not properly done. erostrato: Your advice was good. pasifilo: If you wish, I’ll go buy some oranges and olives, for without them this meal will be worthless. erostrato: Nothing will be lacking; don’t worry. pasifilo: Hearing about Dulippo has made this fellow all nervous and irritable. He’s so jealous that he’s bursting. But let him burst if he will. As long as I dine in his house this evening, I don’t care about anything else. Isn’t that Cleandro coming this way? Now then, it’s his head that we’ll crown with a horn. Surely Polinesta will be his, for Erostrato, after learning about Dulippo from me, won’t ask for her hand, nor will he want her any longer. Scene v cleandro, filogono, pasifilo, lico cleandro: But how will you prove that this fellow isn’t Erostrato, when everybody knows that he is? And how will you prove that you’re Filogono of Catania, when that other man, supported by the testimony of the sham Erostrato, denies it and obstinately claims that he is? filogono: Let me be put in jail and have someone sent immediately to Catania – and I’m willing to pay for it – to bring back two or three

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trustworthy people who know the true identity of Filogono and Erostrato. We’ll abide by their decision as to whether I’m Filogono, or this other fellow. At the same time, we’ll see whether this impudent scoundrel is Erostrato or my servant, Dulippo. pasifilo: (Aside) If only I could speak to him. cleandro: This will be a long and very expensive procedure, but a necessary one, for I don’t see a better way. pasifilo: May God bring you happiness, my remarkable Master. cleandro: May He give you what you deserve. pasifilo: Then He’ll give me your favour and perpetual happiness. cleandro: He’ll give you a noose with which to hang yourself, glutton and scoundrel that you are. pasifilo: I confess to being a glutton, but not a scoundrel. You shouldn’t call me that, for I’m your servant. cleandro: I want you neither as a servant nor as a friend. pasifilo: What have I done to you? cleandro: Go to the gallows, you faithless traitor. pasifilo: Ah, Cleandro! Patience is a virtue. cleandro: I’ll make you pay for it, you can be sure, you drunken lout. pasifilo: I don’t know how I’ve offended you. cleandro: I’ll let you know at the right time. But for now, you knave, out of my sight. pasifilo: I’m not a knave, Cleandro. cleandro: Do you dare open your mouth, assassin? I’ll make you ... pasifilo: What the devil! When I lose my patience, what will you do to me? cleandro: What will I do to you? If I didn’t restrain myself, you low-life ... pasifilo: I’m an honest man like you. cleandro: You lie in your throat, you gallows-bird. filogono: (To Cleandro) Ah! Don’t get into a frenzy! pasifilo: Who’s going to hit me? cleandro: I’ll get you soon enough! Let me go, let me go ... pasifilo: Good-bye, then. I won’t stay here and quarrel. cleandro: Go then, and if I don’t make you pay for this, may my name be changed.26 pasifilo: What the devil can you do to me? After all, I have no goods to worry about if you sue me. filogono: You’ve completely lost your calm.

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cleandro: That villain ... but let’s forget it. Let’s return to where we were. I won’t stop until I have him hanged as he deserves. filogono: You’re disturbed and you won’t pay attention to me. cleandro: No, no. Tell me about your situation. filogono: I was saying that if we send someone to Catania, and if we ... cleandro: Yes, yes. I understand that, and it must be done. But how come this man is your servant? Where did you get him? Tell me the whole story. filogono: I’ll tell you. At the time the Infidels took Otranto ... cleandro: Alas! You remind me of my sorrows. filogono: How is that? cleandro: The very time I was forced from my home, my native city. My losses were so great that I can never hope to recover them. filogono: I’m sorry about that. cleandro: Continue. filogono: At that time some of our Sicilians, who were scouring the sea with three armed galleys, spotted a Turkish ship returning to Valona from the conquered city laden with rich booty.27 cleandro: Perhaps a good part of it was mine. filogono: They sailed towards the ship, fought, and finally captured it, and brought it back to Palermo whence they came. Among the things they had for sale was this boy, a child of five or six at the time. cleandro: Alas! I left a child of that age in Otranto. filogono: And, as I happened to be there and liked his appearance, I bought him for twenty-four ducats. cleandro: Was the boy Turkish, or had the Turks kidnapped him from Otranto? filogono: They had carried him off from that city. But what does it matter? The fact is I paid for him with my own money. cleandro: I’m not asking because of this. Oh, if only he’s the one I hope he is! filogono: Who do you want him to be? lico: We’re in for trouble. Stop right there. cleandro: Was his name Dulippo, then? lico: Look after your own interests, Master. filogono: What are you chattering about, presumptuous one? His name wasn’t Dulippo, but Carino. lico: Sure, let him pull everything out of your mouth.28 cleandro: Was his name Carino? Oh God, if you would only make me happy today! Why did you change his name?

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filogono: We called him Dulippo because he used to call out that name when he cried. cleandro: Now I’m certain that this is my son, who was named Carino. The Dulippo he cried for was one of my servants who fed him and to whom we had entrusted him. lico: Didn’t I tell you, Master, that we’re in Bari,29 and we thought that we were in Ferrara? To deprive you of your servant, this man will adopt him for a son just by telling stories. cleandro: I’m not accustomed to telling lies. lico: Everything has a beginning. cleandro: Believe me, Filogono, I’m not cheating you in the least. lico: Not in the least, but in the most. cleandro: Be quiet for a moment. Tell me, did the child have any recollection of his family, or did he remember the name of his father or mother? filogono: Yes, he did; and he told me, but I really don’t recall it. lico: I do. filogono: Tell us then. lico: I won’t say it; he’s already found out too much from you. filogono: Tell us, if you know it. lico: I know it, and I’d rather have my throat slit than say it. Why doesn’t he say it first? Isn’t it obvious that he’s groping for information? cleandro: You know my name. My wife and the mother of the child was called Sofronia. My family name is Da la Spiaggia. lico: I don’t know all these things, but I do know that he said his mother’s name was Sofronia. I’m not surprised that you know this, if you’re working together. Has he informed you of everything? cleandro: I don’t need any clearer signs than this. Without any doubt he’s my son whom I lost eighteen years ago and for whom I’ve cried a thousand times. He must have a rather large mole on his left shoulder. lico: No wonder you know it, if he told it to you. Of course there’s a mole; I wish he had ... cleandro: Ah, Lico, what astonishing words. Hurry, let’s go find him. Oh, Fortune, I forgive you fully, for you have restored my son to me today! filogono: I’m much less obliged to her, for I don’t know what has happened to my son. And now you, whom I chose as a lawyer, must have turned completely in favour of Dulippo and against me. cleandro: Filogono, let’s go speak with my son, for I have hopes that we’ll find your son with him. filogono: Let’s go.

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cleandro: Well the door is open, so I’ll go in. No need to call or knock. lico: Master, be careful how you go in there. I’m certain that he’s figured out some trickery to bring you to ruin. filogono: As if I would care to remain alive if my son were lost! lico: I warned you. Now do as you please. Scene vi damone, psiteria damone: Come here, you chatterbox, you foolhardy woman. How could Pasifilo have learned of this if not from you? psiteria: He didn’t hear it from me, he told it to me first. damone: You’re lying, you old crone. You’ll tell me the truth if I have to break every bone in your body. psiteria: If you find it to be otherwise, you can even kill me. damone: Where did he speak to you? psiteria: Here in the street. damone: What were you doing here? psiteria: I was going to Mona Bionda’s house to look at a piece of cloth she’s weaving. damone: How did he happen to speak to you about this, unless you began the discussion? psiteria: On the contrary, he started to reproach me and insult me because I was the one who told you everything. I asked him how he knew about it, and he told me that he had overheard us, for he was hidden in the stable when you called me there today. damone: Ah, damn me! What shall I do? You go back to the house. —Before I die I’ll pluck out the tongues of a couple of those chirpers. The fact that Pasifilo knows about my shame disturbs me more than the shame itself, a shame occasioned by a lack of care on my part. Whoever wants to keep something secret should tell it to Pasifilo. Then no one will ever hear of it except those who have ears. By now it’s common gossip in a hundred places. Cleandro must have been the first to hear about it, then Erostrato, and then one person after another, until the whole city knows. Oh, what a dowry she prepared for herself! When will I ever be able to marry her off? Ah, poor me, I’m truly more miserable than misery itself! Merciful God, if only what my daughter has told me were true – that this fellow who violated her is not the low born he has feigned to be until today, but a man of nobility

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and wealth in his own country. Even if what she told me were only half-true, I would be happy enough to see them married. But I fear that this wicked Dulippo has deceived her with these stories. I’m going to question him further, and by his answers I’ll be able to tell whether this is the truth or merely lies he invented to attain his goal. Isn’t that Pasifilo coming out of our neighbour’s house? What makes him so happy that he jumps like a madman in the street? Scene vii pasifilo, damone pasifilo: Oh God, I hope I find Damone at home so that I don’t have to search for him all over the city! I want to have the honour of being the first to tell him. Oh happy day! There, I see him at the entrance to the house.30 damone: (Aside) What news does he want from me? —What good thing has happened, my dear Pasifilo, that you’re looking so cheerful? pasifilo: Your good fortune is the cause of my happiness. damone: What do you mean? pasifilo: I know that you’re terribly saddened by what has happened to your daughter. damone: You’ve no idea! pasifilo: But you should know that the one who dishonoured you is the son of a man of such quality that you’ll not reject him as a son-in-law. damone: What do you know about that? pasifilo: His father, Filogono of Catania, of whose riches you must have heard, has just arrived from Sicily and is in our neighbour’s house. damone: Do you mean in Erostrato’s house? pasifilo: No, Dulippo’s. Until now we’ve thought that this neighbour of yours was Erostrato, but he isn’t. The one you hold as a prisoner in your house, whom you call Dulippo, is really Erostrato, and he’s the master of this other one, who is really Dulippo, and who in this city has always been called Erostrato. They arranged this between them so that Erostrato, under the name of Dulippo and dressed as a servant, could easily accomplish what he has done in your house. damone: Then what Polinesta was telling me a short time ago was accurate. pasifilo: Did she also tell you this? damone: Yes, but I thought it was a story.

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pasifilo: On the contrary, it’s the very truth. Filogono will be coming to see you soon, and Cleandro is with him. damone: And why Cleandro? pasifilo: Listen to another strange story. Cleandro has discovered that the Dulippo who called himself Erostrato is his son, the one who had been kidnapped by the Turks when they captured Otranto. He ended up in the house of Filogono, who raised him since he was a child and sent him to this city in the company of his son. There never was a stranger situation than this; one could write a play about it. They’ll all be here in a moment, and you’ll hear the full story from them. damone: I want to hear the whole matter from Dulippo or Erostrato, whoever he is, before I speak to Filogono. pasifilo: That will be fine. I’ll go and delay them a little. But it seems that they’re already coming. Scene viii sienese, filogono, cleandro sienese: (To Erostrato, offstage) There’s no need to apologize any more. Even though you tricked me, I received no greater injury than a few insults, so I consider it of little account. In fact, it was a useful lesson that I learned – and without any personal loss – to be more careful next time and not to believe everything at first hearing. Furthermore, as it has been for the purpose of a love scheme, I dismiss it lightly and with a minimum of anger. —As for you Filogono, if I’ve done something that displeased you, take it in the spirit in which it was done. filogono: The only thing that bothers me are the insulting words I spoke to you. cleandro: (To the Sienese) Enough has been said about this. Further discussion would be superfluous. Later on you’ll find that you wouldn’t for anything in the world have missed experiencing this fraud, or whatever you want to call it, for it will provide you with a compelling tale to tell in a hundred places. And you, Filogono – you can believe that heaven has ordained this, for in no other way would it have been possible for my Carino and me to recognize each other, considering the enmity, about which you have heard, that existed between the two of us. filogono: I know that what you say is true, because I believe that there isn’t a single leaf that falls unless moved by the Divine Will. But let us

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find this Damone, for every moment that passes seems like a year to me until I see my son. cleandro: Let’s go, then. —You, Sir, can remain with my son in the house, as these matters at first mustn’t be dealt with in the presence of too many witnesses. sienese: I’ll do as you please. Scene ix pasifilo, cleandro, filogono, damone, erostrato pasifilo: Cleandro, can you tell me how I’ve offended you? cleandro: I realize now, Pasifilo, that I insulted you unjustly, but the witness whom I relied upon distorted the truth for his own sake and led me into this error. pasifilo: I’m glad that justice was not thwarted by malice; but you shouldn’t have believed these things so readily and insulted me so. cleandro: I get angry very easily and I cannot help it.31 pasifilo: What anger? To insult an honest man publicly, to make accusations against him, and then blame it all on anger? This is a fine excuse! cleandro: Never again, Pasifilo. I am, as I always was, your friend, and, as the occasion arises, I’ll give you the clearest proof of it. Tomorrow morning I expect you to dine with me. Here’s Damone coming out of the house. Let me speak first. —Damone, we come so that your sorrow may be changed into gladness since we know how you suffer for what has happened. We come to assure you that the person whom you’ve thought until now to be Dulippo and a servant of yours is, in fact, the son of this gentleman, Filogono of Catania. He’s not inferior to you in blood, and in wealth he far surpasses you, as you no doubt have heard. filogono: I’m prepared to amend, insofar as I can, my son’s misdeed by making him your legal son-in-law, if it pleases you. And if there is something else that I can do for you, you’ll find me ready and willing. cleandro: And I, who previously had asked for Polinesta as a wife, will be satisfied if, at my request, you grant her to this gentleman’s son, who, because of his youth, his love for her, and a thousand other reasons, deserves her far more than I do. Besides, I sought a wife mainly to provide me with an heir. But now I neither need nor want one, for today I have found the son whom I lost when my city was captured, as I’ll tell you later.

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damone: There are many reasons, Filogono, why I should want a family alliance and your friendship no less than you want mine. So I accept your proposal, and I’m more gratified with it than with any that were offered to me or for which I could have hoped. I receive your son as a son-in-law and you as a most honoured relation. And how my soul rejoices to see you satisfied, Cleandro. I’m so happy that you’ve found your son about whom Pasifilo has told me everything. Now, Filogono, here’s your Erostrato, whom you’ve longed for, and this is your daughter-in-law. erostrato: Oh, Father! pasifilo: How great is the tenderness of fathers towards their children! Filogono is speechless with joy and tears come out instead of words. damone: Let’s go inside the house. pasifilo: Well said. Inside, inside. Scene x nebbia, damone, pasifilo nebbia: Master, I brought the shackles. damone: Take them away. nebbia: What do you want me to do with them? pasifilo: Shove them up your ass. —He who has nothing to do with this can leave, for we don’t want to be too many at this wedding.32 Notes 1 Elephantis was a Greek poetess, the author of amatory verse and pseudomedical works in which various sexual postures, some depicting sodomy, were illustrated. The Emperor Tiberius had these reproduced on the walls of his palace. See Martial, Epigrammata, Bk. XII, chapter xliii, and Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars, ‘Tiberius,’ chapter xliii. 2 The height of the Mount of Venus, the peak formed by the confluence of the two major lines in the palm of the hand, is, for the palmist, a determining factor in the length of one’s love life. 3 After the capture of Constantinople in 1453, the Turks appeared as a constant, though remote, threat to the Italian states. The threat became very real, however, in 1480 when a large Turkish expeditionary force sailed from Valona in Albania to attack Otranto on the southern tip of the Italian peninsula. The city fell after nearly a month-long siege, and half its

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population was either massacred or taken as slaves. Only with the death of the sultan, Mehmet II, in 1481, did the Turks abandon Otranto, as well as their plans for further attacks against the West. This example of Turkish barbarity, nevertheless, impressed itself deeply on the Italian mind, and the ‘cruel Turk’ was to be a recurring topic in the literature of the period. See, for example, Machiavelli, Mandragola, Act III, Scene iii. For a different view of the European reaction to the Turks see C.A. Patrides, ‘ “The Bloody and Cruelle Turke”: Background of a Renaissance Commonplace,’ Studies in the Renaissance 10 (1963): 126–36. ‘Hence the saying: “Justinian’s law provides riches; from it you will gather grain, from other things you will get chaff.” ’ Sopradote: a gift by the groom, who receives no dowry, to the father of the bride – in this case a bribe. The verse version has: ‘I don’t believe that all the eyes that Argo was supposed to have had would have sufficed ... to find this man.’ Of the ducal palace. The allusion is to the classical themes of the deception of the Greeks and the disloyalty of the Carthaginians. Ercole d’Este (1431–1505), second duke of Ferrara and Modena (1471–1505); Ferrante I (1431–94), king of Naples (1458–94). In the 1525 prose edition the line reads: ‘ ... all of which the viceroy was sending to this prince as a gift’; whereas the verse version has: ‘that the king of Naples was sending as a gift to his daughter and son-in-law, the duke.’ Ercole d’Este had married Eleanor of Aragon, daughter of Ferrante I. Garofalo in the verse edition. Pontelagoscuro is the port for Ferrara, located some four miles north of the city on the main branch of the Po; Garofalo is about eight miles downriver. The verse version is more specific: ‘What would you think if I pretended to be dumb as I did in Crisobolo’s house?’ The reference is to Trappola’s pretense in Act IV, scene vii, of the Coffer. Possibly the same actor played both parts. The dialogue that follows proceeds somewhat differently in verse: erostrato: Welcome, Filogono, my father. sienese: And I hope you are well Erostrato, my son. erostrato: Always remember to keep up the pretense, so that these Ferrarans, all of whom have the devil in them, won’t be able to tell that you’re Sienese. sienese: They’ll never know; rest assured that we’ll do what we have to. erostrato: You’d be despoiled of everything and there would be other injuries done to you, for, a furore populi, you would immediately be expelled as rogues. sienese: I was just admonishing them, and I’m sure that they won’t fail me in this.

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erostrato: And you must pretend the same way with my household, for

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my servants are all from this city; they never saw my father and never were in Sicily. This is the house. Let’s go in; you follow me.’ The reference is undoubtedly to mercurius vitae, the mercurial element in alchemy, which was thought to have the power of keeping extremes, such as body and soul, together. The grosso is a silver coin, equal to twelve denarii, which first came into use in the thirteenth century when an increase in the value of silver led to a reduction in the weight and size of the denarius. Obviously a pun on the author’s name. Ariosto’s surname derives from Riosto, a castle in the countryside near Bologna. The variations of the patter that follow are worth noting in the verse edition: ‘dulippo: Imagine the worst things that can be said: that there isn’t a more miserable and stingier man than you ... cleandro: Pasifilo says this of me? dulippo: And that coming to live in your house she would die of hunger because of your avarice ... cleandro: Oh, may the devil take him! dulippo: And that you’re the most annoying and hot-tempered man in the world, and that you’ll make her die of anguish ... cleandro: Oh, that foul tongue! dulippo: And that you continually cough and spit night and day, with such filth that pigs would be disgusted with you. cleandro: I never cough and spit. dulippo: Certainly, I can see this. cleandro: It’s true that today I have a very bad cold, but who doesn’t at this time of year? dulippo: And he says that your feet and armpits smell so that they pollute the air; and furthermore, that you have intolerable breath ... cleandro: I’ll be damned if I don’t make him pay for this. dulippo: And that you have a hernia ... cleandro: Oh, may he get Saint Anthony’s fire! Everything he says is entirely false. dulippo: And that you seek this girl more for want of a husband than a wife. cleandro: What does this mean? dulippo: That you hope through her to lure young men to your home. cleandro: Young men? What for? dulippo: Imagine it yourself.’ Dulippo’s last line is somewhat more precise and vulgar in the 1525 prose edition: ‘Because you suffer a certain infirmity in your behind for which a good and appropriate remedy is to be with adolescent boys.’ ‘Evil-befall-you.’ ‘Drop dead.’ Scherzare con l’orso means, literally, ‘to play with the bear.’ Zara or ‘hazard’ is an old form of craps played with three dice. See Dante, Purgatorio Canto 6, 1.1. Ariosto reveals Damone’s intentions vis-à-vis Dulippo through his choice of names: Lippo Malpensa – Philip the Evil-Minded; Serraglio – the Prison;

Ariosto: The Pretenders 97 Ugo de le Siepi – Hugh of the Fences. 23 A pun on the name Ferrara: fé rara (rare faith). 24 The institution of the podestà dates from the twelfth century, when internecine party rivalries forced many of the Italian city-states to transfer extraordinary power to an outside individual. By the fourteenth century the podestà had lost his political function and had become a sort of chief justice with police powers. 25 The text has ludice de’ Savi (Judge of the Twelve Sages), the title of the head of the Ferraran magistrature, a position held by Ariosto’s father from 1486 to 1488. 26 This line and that of Pasifilo that follows are omitted from the verse version. 27 Valona, a strategic base in Albania facing Italy across the Strait of Otranto, was captured by the Turks in 1414 and subsequently was used for raids against the West. 28 This line was omitted from the 1525 edition. 29 A pun on the word barare (to cheat) or baro (a cheat); hence Bari – the city of cheats. 30 The verse rendition breaks this speech of Pasifilo into three parts and improves the opening of the scene from a dramatic standpoint by introducing more movement: ‘pasifilo: Oh, God, I hope I find Damonio at home. damonio: (Aside) What does he want from me? pasifilo: May I be the first one to tell him! damonio: (Aside) What does he want to tell me? What brings on such happiness that he jumps so? pasifilo: Oh, lucky me! I see him over there in the street! damonio: Pasifilo, what news do you bring me? How come you seem so joyful? pasifilo: I bring you quiet, peace of mind, and happiness. damonio: I could use it.’ 31 This line and Pasifilo’s to follow are omitted from the verse edition. 32 Ariosto varied the finale. In the verse ending Pasifilo says: ‘Shove them up as far as the hilt. You know what I mean, Nevola. Farewell, all of you. If you’ve enjoyed the story of the Pretenders give us an indication so that we may know.’ In the 1525 edition Pasifilo is more direct: ‘Shove them up where one farts. Farewell, all of you, and give us a sign of your enjoyment. Farewell.’

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PIETRO ARETINO

Cortigiana (La Cortigiana) 1525

Translated by J. Douglas Campbell and Leonard G. Sbrocchi Introduction by Donald Beecher

Published originally in the Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation Series. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 2003. By permission of the publisher.

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Introduction to the Cortigiana by Pietro Aretino Pietro Aretino, notorious and talented, the ‘scourge of princes’ and ‘secretary of the world’ was born in Arezzo in humble circumstances in 1492. His wanderings took him first to Perugia, then to Siena, and eventually to Rome where from 1517 he was employed by the vastly wealthy Agostino Chigi of Sienese banking fame. Through sheer impudence he acquired favour, and notably that of Pope Leo X. But that same impudence exercised at the time of Leo’s death in 1521 necessitated his first flight from the city. Aretino had maligned the man who was to win the papal election. When his own candidate assumed the throne two years later as Clement VII, he returned, but only to find himself at the centre of the I modi scandal of 1524.1 In the summer of the following year, Gian Matteo Giberti attempted to have him assassinated. With multiple knife wounds as an inducement, Aretino was well advised to quit the city, now for the final time. The first version of his Cortigiana, which was used as the basis for the present translation, was written in the late winter and spring of 1525 at the height of his disillusionment. In this work, he provided his own trenchantly satiric impressions of the life of the courtier in the papal city of the early 1520s. By that time, through his satires and pasquinades, Aretino had made himself so notorious by his pen that no Italian city would offer him asylum – or so it is said – except the city republic of Venice. It is there that he made his way, after passing again through Mantua, and there that he lived out his remaining sixty-four years as an independent man of letters, friend to artists, and member of academic circles – admired, courted, feared, and brazenly detested by the likes of Anton Francesco Doni. But those are other stories. The Cortigiana was the first of his five comedies, followed by his equally famous Il marescalco (1533), then by La talanta (1542), L’ipocrito (1542), and Il filosofo (1546). Aretino, unique among the poligrafi (those who wrote to the popular tastes served by early commercial publishers), issued in print some 3,000 of his letters – which were remarkably successful – as well as his scurrilous and racy Ragionamenti, an account of the lives of courtesans. He died in Venice in 1556. The title of the play is a riddle, for no courtesan is prominent in the action. But there are hints at Aretino’s figurative intent. The two protagonists of the play are courtiers after a fashion. Parabolano, from Naples originally, has had some success in establishing himself, but he has adopted all the vices of the Roman courtier from miserliness and ingratitude to vanity and lust. By contrast, Messer Maco is a provincial booby

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down from Siena, who dreams of becoming a cardinal. He is so naïve that he offers himself to the first man in Rome who will teach him the courtly arts. Each protagonist becomes a gull to pranksters, whose interwoven schemes take up the greater part of the action. Along the way, these stories provide Aretino with opportunities galore for his diatribe against the entire system of power brokerage, corruption, luxury, and neglect of the worthy that afflicts the Roman court and its satellite households. ‘Cortigiana’ must therefore translate as ‘the way of courtiers’ or ‘court affairs,’ rather than ‘the courtesan.’ And, as Raymond Waddington points out in his introduction to the play, the court in question is the papal court, prostituting itself through all manner of simoniacal aberrancies. Hence the figurative association between court life and the commercializing of sexuality that persists just under the surface. In making the papal court synonymous with the city of Rome, the city itself becomes a whore – even the Whore of Babylon of Protestant indictment.2 The ‘Prologue,’ by contrast, styles the play itself as ‘Lady Courtesan Comedy.’ In these terms, Aretino appears to be justifying his departures from the norms of erudite comedy, because his brand of artistry acknowledges what might be called ‘the courtesan factor.’ Presumably, he means that the humanist play was too proper and reserved, while the successful commercial play, like the courtesan, must combine charm, variety, saleable commodification, and a little nastiness to boot. For that reason, his plot is a compound one and therefore is shifty and deceptive in appearance, unpleasant too, yet true, sweet, jolly, then irritable, silly, and bold. If infinite variety, tantamount to things fickle and fetching, can be personified, then the double action is a courtesan plot, and comedy ‘herself’ becomes a demanding mistress, both a ‘lady’ and a bit of a whore! This assembly of traits – those of the clever, unpredictable, alluring but ultimately deceitful professional woman whose livelihood was a blend of social charm, literary and musical talents, and commercialized sex – represented for Aretino a focal point of topical concerns and figurative nuances of paradigmatic magnitude. Perhaps it was his friend Andrea the Venetian painter (represented in the play as Messer Andrea) who was his inspiration, for he had written a work, Il purgatorio delle cortigiane, on the long-term prospects of the prostitute and the ills that would inevitably overtake her. The complex metaphor of the courtesan was particularly useful because it could be variously moralized, aestheticized, and eroticized and because it was attached to a life trajectory that began in beauty, high society, noble lovers, elegant soirées, and expensive gifts, but ended in bawdry, cosmetics, sleazy trysts, magical spells, syphilis, and the hospital

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of the incurables. Aloigia, the bawd in this play, is a remarkable portrait of witchcraft and piety, a woman who traffics in magic and assignations as though she were on a mission of charity. She is no longer a courtesan, if ever she was one, and is a reminder of the complex continuum between the fashionable courtesan onesta of the salons and those whose place in the sex trade is on the brink of the Roman underworld. The notion of the ‘courtesan,’ as Ariosto’s universal analogy for the human condition, holds many contradictory connotations, among which readers must make a selection according to circumstances. For while Rome may be a whore outright, the play itself seeks merely to seduce the attention of spectators with a variety of equivocal charms. In the most moral sense, however, the courtesan epitomizes all that is alluring but false, whereby all men are made prey to their animal appetites. Messer Maco submits to the outrageous deceit that he can be turned into a courtier by being poured into a mould – that is, by being purged through eating medlars (fruit resembling brown apples, eaten when decayed) and being baked in a sweating bath. This was Aretino’s private parody of the courtier-in-the-making according to the prescriptions in Castiglione’s famous Book of the Courtier, a work sought in the streets as the play opens and seldom far in the background. Becoming a Roman courtier is a prostitution of the self to a system of false honour and false rewards. To complete the satiric ‘essay,’ Maco passes from the arts of fawning to the arts of lechery with the declaration of his uncontrollable infatuation for Camilla the courtesan. His desire is accompanied by flights of pseudo-Petrarchan gibberish and a Rabelaisian randiness that makes him both reckless and rude. The analogy between the ways of the courtesan and the making of the courtier appears loose and approximate. But in Aretino’s mind, a common notion held these two worlds in apposition: the essence of what it was to be a courtesan, and the essence of what it was to become a courtier. In the vocabulary of favours bought and sold, of diseases clad in elegant gowns, of cosmetics and rot, flattery and empty rituals, in Milton’s terms, the ‘proud fair’ of ‘casual fruition,’ there was a nexus of moral associations. In that shifting context of analogous values resides the quintessence of Aretino’s satire in the play. The Italians had their literary collections of pranks and pranksters in the likes of Poggio Bracciolini’s Facetiae (1380–1459) or Giulio Cesare Croce’s Sottilissime astuzie di Bertoldo (ca. 1600). The novella, from its beginning, featured the tricks of itinerant jokesters as well as the routine deceits of marital cheaters whose origins lay in the fabliaux. Concerning the little fraud that Rosso practises on the fishmonger, analogues have

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been found in the novelle of Sacchetti, Morlini, Straparola, Sozzini, and Arienti.3 But where practical joking was concerned in the Italy of the sixteenth century, life and art had also taken to imitating each other. Cardinal Bernardo Dovizi da Bibbiena, the author of the Calandra, himself was notorious: a man who had been not only the perpetrator of many pranks, but the victim of a goodly number as well. Tellingly, Baldesar Castiglione provides Bibbiena, in the character of Bernardo, with a forum on the subject in his Book of the Courtier. Banter and witticisms, as all would agree, are beneficial, even necessary, to the social life of the courtier, of which, Bernardo avers, practical joking is a natural extension, for a good prank is an exchange of wit in action in which the perpetrator gains by his invention at the expense of the victim, who is mocked in good humour for his inattention. In the courtly milieu, however, there are limitations, for a proper practical joke ‘is nothing but an amicable deception in matters that do not offend, or only slightly ... The more clever and discreet these jokes are, the more they please and the more they are praised; for one who is careless in playing a practical joke often gives offense and provokes quarrels and serious enmities.’4 Bernardo proceeds to recount several practical jokes that, as Raymond Waddington confirms in his introduction to the play, undoubtedly served Aretino as models for segments of the Cortigiana. With Bibbiena’s own Calandra for a model, as well, our playwright seized upon the idea, more forcefully than before, that the beffa, or practical joke, such as was staged in the popular farces, could be extended in its preparation and execution to cover large portions of a comedy still functioning according to the conventions of the erudite mode. To this end, Aretino’s play leaves behind the pining lovers, transgendered disguises, and romance closures of former plays in favour of trickery tout court. Inside the social panorama of the play he plants Messer Andrea, his own real-life friend and noted practical joker from the time of Pope Julius II. The playwright provides him with a new and consummate trickster’s role in having him train Messer Maco in the ways of the Roman courtier. Andrea’s self-awareness in the part is an added dimension, for he states that ‘of all the tricks they played in the palace in the old days there wasn’t one as good as this one’ (II. 24). Fools of Maco’s calibre were not formerly unknown in Rome, as witnessed by the mockery of the arch-poet Cosimo Baraballo, who was pelted and jeered as he rode through the streets on the papal elephant. Ariosto himself had written a pasquinade in celebration of Baraballo’s foolishness. Maco was so tractable and gullible, however, that in due course Messer Andrea grew

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weary of the joke and wished simply to get it over with, for the victim was ‘stupidity incarnate ... he’s no fun anymore’ (V.8). Trackless thinking made for delays of incomprehension, but Maco is never recalcitrant and goes to his various destinies like a lemming en route. Essentially, Andrea and his associates make him talk nonsense, subject him to physical torture in the baths as part of his self-transformation, and set him up with the courtesan to whom he had taken a fancy, merely to make him leap from a window as though he had been chased by armed Spaniards. Such stage business does not fly high in cultural terms, but Maco was too foolish to respond to anything more refined. With Messer Parabolano, however, other issues come into play, for here was a man with mental acumen sufficient to have known better. Rosso, his ambitious servant, takes advantage of his amorous interests, merely for the private satisfaction of knowing that he could bring his boss to congress with a baker’s wife while making him believe that he held his idealized Laura in his arms. Rosso’s stratagem for self-advancement is cut short, however, when Parabolano discovers that he is the victim of an ‘old trick,’ that of substituting a whore for the dream lady. Its most recent incarnation had been Fessenio’s plan, in the Calandra (1513), to put the eroto-geriatric Calandro into a dark room with a prostitute. Parabolano’s moment of recognition and shame provides the context for the reinstatement of Valerio, followed by other reactions once again in keeping with the spirit of The Book of the Courtier. In short, he takes his humiliation in good measure; admits the lesson; laughs at himself; restores order to his household; makes peace between the feuding baker and his wife, almost with the efficiency of a good magistrate; even extends forgiveness to Aloigia the bawd for her rather treacherous but instinctual part; and imposes the spirit of carnival on the action by inviting them all home to celebrate the occasion. He can admit that he has been the blind actor in a scenario prepared specifically for him, and that hence it was all worthy of a play. The social reality of the joke thereby collapses back into its ‘idea’ as a burla, the theatrical realization of which could be no better managed than by the good Cardinal Bibbiena. Aretino brings the matter full circle in this game of artifice and ‘reality.’ This pattern of jesting is confirmed in the play by two inset pranks perpetrated against tradesmen in order to make off with unpaid goods. These beffe take their inspiration directly from Book II of Castiglione – paradoxically so in light of what Bernardo had said about harm and injury. Rosso is a trickster without scruples, for as a man frustrated by his own injured merit, he is prepared to find his compensation in preying

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upon anyone whose loss will bolster his ego. In The Book of the Courtier, Bernardo tells of Ponzio the shrewd peasant who cheats the poultry-seller of his capons by pretending to measure a bell tower with a string. As soon as he is out of the tradesman’s sight, he nails the string to the wall and makes off down a side street with the booty. In another prank, foreigners are led to believe that one Cesare is about to leap from a bridge. The more he protests, the more they are convinced of his derangement and exert themselves to bring him into subjection. Readers will find both models adapted to the play, first in the practice put upon the fishmonger for his lampreys by involving him with the sacristan and a cock-andbull story about demon possession, and second in the scheme to dupe Romanello the ironmonger-cum-used-clothes merchant, who is made to model the ecclesiastical garb Rosso pretends to buy for his order. When Rosso flees with stolen goods, Romanello follows, only to be accused of being the thief, as well as a Jew disguised in monastic clothes. This is rough humour, for it is fraudulent and cruel. Rosso’s intent was to have Romanello lashed by the police. Aretino finds extra mileage in the trick by convincing Messer Maco that the police are looking for him because his papers are not in order. What are we thus to conclude? According to Bernardo, practical joking had its place in the courtier’s life as a form of wit and pleasantry. Both he and Aretino understood the value of the trick structure as a principle of comic design. That just such practices had been a part of Roman life in recent memory provided the precedent for treating comedic trickery as a representation of social reality. The benefits to the artist are extraordinary, for the trick, by design, is an elaborate intentional structure that carries its own potential for invention and resolution within the action of the play. Trickster perpetrators devise and massage the action as internal makers and as spectators of their own suspense-driven enterprises. In adopting these prank scenarios and turning them into social representations, Aretino devised his own formula for comedy. As a result, the compound trickster plot consisting of elaborate practical jokes became his most important contribution to the tradition of the erudite play. Aretino was too clever not to appreciate that his romance-free, fragmented, satiric double plot, with scenes scattered about the city, was a calibrated departure from practices established in the plays of Ariosto, and he was testy enough to go on the defensive over the matter without much caring where critical opinion came down. He would simply make his own digest of the features useful to him and let the matter fall where it would. That he had extensive first-hand experience with the genre is

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easily demonstrated. Almost certainly, he would have been present at the production of Ariosto’s The Pretenders as it was performed against a backdrop painted by Raphael in the Vatican apartments of Cardinal Cibo in March 1519. Nor would he have missed the performance of Machiavelli’s Mandragola in the spring of 1520 for Pope Leo X.5 To be sure, the Roman production of Bibbiena’s Calandra pre-dates Aretino’s arrival in the city, but there can be no doubt of his knowledge of the play. Together they constitute a profile of the genre sufficient for the composition of the Cortigiana. In the first, Aretino would have seen an integration of multiple actions, the dramatic representation of a city, and the introduction of the stage bawd. In the second, he would have found farcical sub-episodes, stage lazzi, and the elaborate gulling of a hyper-eroticized old fool. In Machiavelli, he would have seen a single action constituting a sustained trick put upon Messer Nicia, coupled with a satiric undercurrent so ultimately comprehensive as to leave no part of the play’s society unscathed. That Aretino took inspiration from all three is no guarantee that his own play had achieved the critical configuration of conventions and referential parts in the humanist mode necessary to qualify for membership in the genre. But if the play falls short or wilfully exceeds the limits, it does so in running free with many of the features that mark the genre, including the five-act structure and a cast of street-life contemporaries motivated by their material and erotic desires in the grand piazza that was Rome. If Aretino went his own way, it was because he wanted that portrait of a city to become an anatomy of the common values driving its denizens to so much folly and excess. The agenda of the satirist had simply taken its toll on the strictures of classical form. The satiric effect is scattered and dispersed, yet cumulative. Clearly, Aretino was on a mission of grievance amid all the carnival topsy-turvyness. What had gone so dreadfully wrong with the system of patronage that had worked so well in former times? Like the two ragged brothers of Caro’s play, Valerio and Flaminio, courtiers in Parabolano’s household, make their appearances in leitmotif fashion, lamenting the times, with all their attendant enormities and injustices. They are men aggrieved not merely by lack of reward but, paradoxically, by negligence proportionate to their duty and honesty as counsellors and advisers. The reigning corruption was reflected in the schemes of renegade servants seeking to climb by slandering others while deviously filling their own bellies and coffers. But the origins of the malaise are ultimately to be sought at the highest social and political echelons. Corrupt courtiers were the creatures of corrupt masters. Those who encouraged sycophancy generated sycophants. Those

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who were miserly with their followers provoked the deviancy that abetted survival in an environment of eliminatory competition. Talent and loyalty were traduced by flatterers. Meanwhile, courtiers driven by their own appetites made themselves hostages to those who supplied their baser needs. What begins as a choral introduction to underhanded types such as Rosso ends up in a general complaint. Flaminio has given up and is determined to leave Parabolano’s service to seek his fortunes in the north. The stories he tells to old Sempronio in Act II, scene v, form an anatomy in brief of the entire class of Roman aristocrats caught in the vortex of vanity and eccentricity. Once a man achieves the status of a courtier, he becomes an ‘envious, ambitious, wretched, ungrateful flatterer, a wicked, unjust, heretical hypocrite, a thief, an insolent lying glutton; and ... well, what’s the mildest vice there is? Treachery? Well then, treachery’s the mildest vice you’ll find there’ (II. v). The point is proven when Valerio is cashiered for his loyalty by the slander of an envious low-lifer working in collusion with a professional procuress to whom Parabolano has willingly turned his ear. The corruption had begun with the manners and tastes of the elite. Thereafter, among the members of the serving class, expected reward had turned to revenge motivated by the mentality of the underworld. No wonder the horrendous Sack of Rome that followed two years later would be treated by many, including Aretino himself, as divine justice for the sins of the city. For sheer theatrical exuberance, there is no play to match the Cortigiana until Bruno’s nearly out-of-control Candlebearer. Scene changes are determined by the entries and exits of characters. That this play proposes some 108 such units in itself is witness to the frenetic pace of the action on stage as individuals and groups follow upon each other in dizzying succession. No attentive spectator need be lost in the action so long as the parties are identified by costume, circumstance, and the surrounding company. But one must remain alert, for each micro-configuration makes its contribution to the diverse satiric intrigues unfolding in overlapping segments. The little gestures of invention and intentionality are nearly everything in the world of satire, and to miss a contributing part is to lose the force of the trickster’s craft. So much restless hustling in the saturated streets is emblematic in its own right. Stage traffic is tantamount to the speed of folly. The fullness and frenzy of the stage action is matched by the banquet of language. In this, as in other matters, Aretino continues to go his way in rejecting the more homogenized effect of casting all speech in the Tuscan of Boccaccio and Petrarch. Therein he anticipates the dialectal

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potpourri that would become the very soul of the commedia dell’arte. To be sure, there were sociological reasons for maintaining the linguistic bazaar of the Roman streets, for it was a capital full not only of seekers in from the provinces, but of foreigners, tourists, and pilgrims. But for the sake of his comedy, Aretino was also apprised of the effect to be achieved through a babel of dialects – Roman, Neapolitan, Sienese, and Bergamask, swollen with street cries, ragtags of Maco’s Latin, and goodly bits of Spanish in kaleidoscopic fashion. Language entertains. It becomes part of the stage bustle, a component of the social centrifugation characteristic of satiric comedy. More to the point, language is the witness and marker of minds and a sure indicator of unintelligibility, shallowness, pretension, or folly. Tricksters expose minds by luring them into the most ridiculous of speech acts, abetting the satire in the process. Messer Maco is taught to simper in the dialect of yokels, which he takes for the finest nuances of the court, and on his own initiative cuts two ways in bankrupting the affectations of the Petrarchan love letter and botching a strambottino for Camilla (II.xi– xii). This points to more than a Rome that was host to foreigners in demographically substantial numbers. The courtier’s world was a social order in which language was the marker of place. That Messer Maco seeks to effeminate himself in learning all the speech ways of a ‘nymph’ is patently telltale. Elsewhere, he is made to assume the disguise of a Sicilian porter whose coarse vocabulary he attempts to learn with little success, much as Piccolomini makes his Pantalone lover, Gostanzo, assume the accoutrements and lingo of a locksmith. Language is theme, not only as a reflection of Roman diversity, but as a component of the satiric vision. Aretino reworked the play for publication in 1534, some nine years after its initial conception. His vitriol had diminished somewhat in the intervening years, and much would be altered. The two cynical Histrions of the first Prologue he replaced with a stranger and a nobleman speaking in far more casual tones about the new splendid backdrop, the identity of the author, the number of poets wandering the land like Lutherans, the objectionable pedantry of the theatre critics, the crucifixion of Petrarch by his commentators, and the purging of Rome when the ‘Spaniards’ sacked the city in 1527. Deleted from the play are its acidic edge, the dark commentary on the political circumstances of the city, and the many covert quips against his personal enemies. But the most notable changes are to the ending, for Aretino realized, in deference to the aesthetics of plotting, that the multiple-plot action calls for a grand closing tutti to which all of the principal parties of both satiric actions are somehow brought together on the stage. In the revised version, he makes amends for his

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original fragmentariness. Now, even the fishmonger and Romanello the rag merchant are recalled for the finale. Not only does Parabolano want the pardons extended beyond those offered in 1525, but he widens the circle of those invited to the banquet, further advancing the festive spirit of reconciliation over the exclusionary spirit of satire. Such was the comedy known to generations of readers before the discovery of the codex in the National Library of Florence containing the 1525 original. The Cortigiana of 1534 is a smoother, more tempered and retrospective play. But despite its structural anomalies and excesses, the original version is still to be recommended as a monument of spleen generated by a satiric genius in that spring and early summer of his discontent. J. Douglas Campbell and Leonard G. Sbrocchi based their translation on the text of La cortigiana, edited by Giuliano Innamorati, published first in 1970 in the Collezione di teatri, Vol. 137, and reprinted by Einaudi, Turin, in 1980. Other versions consulted include that in the Edizione nazionale delle opera di Pietro Aretino, edited by Giovani Aquilecchia and Angelo Romano for Salerno, Rome, 1992, and that in Tutte le opera di Pietro Aretino, edited by Giorgio Petrocchi for Mondadori, Milan, 1971. Notes 1 Aretino’s friend Marcantonio Raimondi created the scandal by imitating in a set of engravings the famous and salacious drawings of sexual positions by Giulio Romano, published as I Modi: The Sixteen Pleasures. Romano managed to get away, but Raimondi was imprisoned, and Aretino did what he could to get him released. He then put his own safety on the line by composing sonnets to accompany the engravings in protest to the censorship. Later he tried to smooth matters over with the pope, but Giberti carried his grudge and tried to have Aretino assassinated in the following summer. 2 Cortigiana (Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 2003), 14. 3 Ireneo Sanesi, La commedia, 2 vols (Milan, 1954), I: 287. 4 The Book of the Courtier, trans. Charles S. Singleton (Garden City: Doubleday, 1959), 180–1. 5 Raymond Waddington provides a further account of these events and Aretino’s probable connections to them in his introduction to the Cortigiana, 16–17.

Cortigiana La Cortigiana 1525

Dramatis Personae histrion i histrion ii messer maco a young gentleman from Siena sanese servant to Messer Maco grillo servant to Messer Maco parabolano a Roman gentleman valerio steward to Parabolano flaminio a courtier in service to Parabolano rosso servant to Parabolano cappa servant to Parabolano sempronio an elderly former courtier master andrea zoppino a pimp master mercurio a doctor aloigia a bawd togna wife of Ercolano ercolano a baker a seller of books and papers a fishmonger a sacristan priests

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father guardian of araceli romanello a Jewish merchant a policeman biasina maid to Camilla Pisana

Prologue histrion i: I had learned a kind of prologue – a piece of nonsense, part gossip, part double-talk, part plot summary – call it an introduction if you like. I was going to perform it for you for the sake of a friend of mine, but everyone wants to make trouble for me. Look – if you know what’s good for you, you’ll just applaud and go home. histrion ii: What? Applaud and go home? After all the work I’ve done on this ... this abstract, this argument – whatever the hell you want to call it – trying to make this shit flow smoothly? And now you want me to throw it away? You’re about as straight as the Tower of Pisa! And the way you throw your weight around! histrion i: Okay, okay, so I made a mistake. No need to crucify me! It’s only a play! histrion ii: Yeah, you’re right. It wouldn’t be fair or proper to crucify a person over something as trivial as that. histrion i: They crucify people for nothing at all. You want proof? A Roman named Messer Mario1 who came to see me a while back wants to get me in hot water for calling him a pimp. histrion ii: Ha, ha, ha! histrion i: Go ahead, have a good laugh, but I feel more like crying. As soon as this Mario guy left, Ceccotto the Genoese,2 who used to be a tailor but who’s into astrology now, jumped on me, accusing me of saying that Spaniards are better than Frenchmen. And even that fool Lorenzo Luti3 almost drew a knife on me, saying I’d bad-mouthed him and called him a fool just because he’s from Siena. And that Lady Maggiorina,4 the Roman sawbones, is screaming her head off because someone told her I think she’s a witch. There’s a thousand stories like that. I don’t want my boss to think I’m that kind of person. It’s important what kind of impression you make, especially on the big shots. histrion ii: You might as well just lie down and die if you’re going to worry about what impression you’re making on the big shots. You worry too much about offending them. Their good will’s worth about

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as much to you as the jubilee5 was to Girolamo Beltramo.6 Now let’s get serious: give us your damned prologue, I’ll give these gentlemen a dose of plot summary, and then whoever’s going to play the comedy, let them get on with it! As for me, once I’ve done my job, that’s that. I’ve got the plot summary right here. histrion i: Now I hope you’re all happy, and anyone who takes offence can just scratch his ass. You can look wherever you want7 – not just in Italy but the whole world – and you’ll never find another crowd of loafers like this, all gathered in one place. You all rushed in when you heard the racket, but none of you had any idea what it was all about. At least when they had that doctor from Vercelli8 and his friends drawn and quartered, people knew the whys and wherefores of it a couple of days beforehand. Now I suppose some wise guy out there’s going to say he just came to enjoy the show – as if a play has nothing else to do but make him laugh. You won’t shut up, eh? I’m warning you – I wouldn’t hesitate to expose every last one of you. By God, if you don’t shut up I’ll sic the dog on you. I’ll tell everyone which of you are doing it, and which of you are having it done.9 If it weren’t for the respect I have for Milady Comedia, who’d find herself deserted, I’d make all your sins a matter of public record. I know all about them – better than the Marches know the kind and saintly memory of Armelino10 (if you’ll pardon my mentioning it). Some of you should be out paying rent for your lady’s house, or seeing that her servant gets his salary. If there’s anyone here who’s had a falling out with the steward, you should be trying to set things straight with him. And if there’s anyone who hasn’t eaten, please go in now, before the bells ring to announce that it’s time for supper. And if you haven’t said your offices yet, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a sin against the Holy Ghost if you didn’t say them now. Now if you’re a father or a brother with a son or brother at court, and you’re putting up with all kinds of hardships to keep him there, to make a Messer or a Reverend out of him, you can congratulate yourself, because the great benefit he’ll end up with is that he’ll be able to chase after fairy tales. But I’m wasting my breath; and anyway I can see that you’d rather I told you about the play. Come on, loafers, pay attention! Are you going to sit down or aren’t you? Some of you are sitting

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on very uncomfortable seats. Why? To watch a story. If you felt as uncomfortable as that at St. Peter’s, when it came time to view the Blessed Countenance11 you’d tell Messer Lord God you’re coming back to see him some other time. You know, you’re lucky there are some honest women (well, a few, anyway), because you’ll find yourself in hot water, and it won’t be orange water, I’ll tell you that! But let’s get back to business. Milords, you’re my patrons, and, although you may think I sometimes go a little too far, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. You’re all noble, decent, and courteous men, and you can take a joke. Don’t think that you’re going to dislike this bit of nonsense we’re about to show you – it was written with you in mind. It makes me laugh to think about it: before the curtain opened, you probably thought it was the Tower of Babel back there, but instead it was Rome itself. Look: there’s the Palace, St. Peter’s, the piazza, the fortress, a couple of taverns – the Hare and the Luna – the fountain, St. Catherine’s – the whole thing.12 There: now that you can see that it’s Rome (you can see the Colosseum and the Pantheon, all sorts of things), and there’s no doubt that it’ll be a comedy, what do you think it’s called? The Courtesan. Her father’s from Tuscany and her mother’s from Bergamo,13 but don’t be surprised if she dispenses with those melt-in-your-mouth sonnets, with their Oils, and their Crystalline Liquids, and their Nevermores, their Hithers and Thithers, or any of that kind of crap, because Miladies the Muses eat nothing but delicate little Florentine salads.14 I’ll have you know that I’m a follower of the Bolognese cavalier, Cassio de’ Medici,15 a poet, so it seems, who in one of his works on the lives of the saints writes this divine and memorable verse: Per noi fe’ Cristo in su la croce el tomo.* Now you’d never catch Petrarch using tomo for ‘fool’ – it was that pompous ass from Bologna (and he was no Petrarch).16 Just like Cinotto,17 another Bolognese patrician, when he wrote against the Turk: Fa che tu sippa, Padre santo, in mare, El Turco deroccando e tartussando Che Dio si vuol con tecco scorrucciare.† * ‘For

us Christ, on the cross, played the fool.’

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Sippa is an archaic word; deroccare and tartussare are modern. Cinotto was crowned as a poet by Pope Leo,18 so I suppose it’s all right for him to use them, but there are commentators on Petrarch’s vocabulary who make him say things that even Nocca da Firenze,19 who kept his silence after they tortured him in his hometown, wouldn’t have said even if you were to torture him some more.20 No one knows better than Pasquino21 what words can or can’t be used. He has a book that traces his genealogy, and you can read many fine things there, as you’ll hear, because although he’s the son of a poet, here I make him a writer of prose. Parnassus22 is such a high, rugged devil of a mountain that Saint Francis himself23 wouldn’t climb it, not even to receive the stigmata. That place belonged to a poor gentleman by the name of Apollo, who – either out of desperation or because of some vow – built a hermitage and lived there. Now it happened that someone – I don’t know who – touched the hearts of nine fine ladies. These ladies, having been received by the aforementioned Apollo, entered the monastery with him and took their vows, and it wasn’t long before they fell deeply in love with him. Now since the devil happens to be subtle, Milord Apollo handsome, and Miladies the Muses very beautiful indeed, the marriage was consummated, and sons and daughters were born. And because Apollo was a good singer, as you can tell from his lyre and from the many years he sang and played in the public square, all his sons and daughters were poets. Now when it came to be known that on that mountain there were nine beautiful women all at the beck and call of one man, many people climbed to the top through hard work and talent, while many others, who thought they could make the climb, broke their necks instead. The moment the Muses, kind ladies that they were, saw that they could give Apollo a rest, they made those who had been clever enough to climb that devil of a mountain feel very much at home, with the result that they placed invisible horns on the head of that gentle creature Apollo. This was the alchemy that produced Pasquino, no one knows from which Muse or from which poet. He is a bastard, that’s for certain. And anyone who says that these Muses are sisters is mistaken – he reads the chronicles about as accurately as Mainaldo the Mantuan24 judges his antiques and his jewels. They’re not even related! Look at how many languages there † ‘Holy Father, the Turk is on the seas destroying and harassing – because God wants you to know that he is angry with you.’

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are to be read. Pasquino’s a case in point: sometimes he speaks Greek, sometimes Corsican, or French, or German, Bergamese, Genoese, Venetian, Neapolitan. This is because one Muse was born in Bergamo, another in France, this one in the Romagna, that one in Chiasso – and then Calliope, of course, was born in Tuscany. You can imagine whether a mixture like that could produce sisters! The reason why Tuscan’s more pleasing than the others is that when Petrarch was in Avignon, he fell in love with Laura, who was a servant of Calliope and spoke just like her. Now Francesco liked the sweet tongue of Milady Laura, and he began to write in praise of her, and, since no other style matches his – except perhaps that of the Abbot of Gaeta25 – we must follow his authority. As far as the spoken word is concerned, you can do what you want, provided of course that you don’t tell the truth. A Milanese, for instance, can say micca for ‘bread,’ and a Bolognese can say sippa for ‘he.’ histrion ii: My God! Now if you were reading the charge and sentence at the trial of a podestà,26 that might sound great. It was quite a speech! What the hell do you care about these language questions? I thought you’d never finish. I’d have been here all day with this thing in my hand, and it’d get cold, and these people would get only half of the plot. histrion i: You’re right. But could you give me some inkling of what spices you’ve put in this plot summary27 to ease the flow, because if you’ve used Slenders, and Tendrils, and Zephyrs, and Tranquils, and Serene Countenances, and Refulgent Rubies, and Silken Pearls, and Limpid Words, and Honeyed Glances, well, they’re so dry and stiff that they’d stop up the bowels of an ostrich – and as you know, an ostrich can digest a nail. histrion ii: What did I put in it? Shit! That’s what! Now shut up and wait until I’ve told the story – then you can talk to me. histrion i: Go ahead then.

The Argument histrion ii: This’ll be good for you, what I’ve got in here. The way it’s put together, it could draw laughter from tears itself. Messer Maco De Coe from Siena, studiante in libris,* has come to Rome to put himself in the service of some pope, as a cardinal. Once, when he was almost dead with brain fever, his father swore that if the boy recovered, he, * ‘A

student of books.’

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the elder Maco, would see that he became a cardinal in the service of a pope. His wish was granted. The son is now as healthy as ever, and a little handsomer, and his father, to fulfil the vow he made for his son’s recovery, has sent him to Rome. Master Andrea, whom he takes as a teacher, makes him believe that you can’t become a cardinal in the service of a pope just like that; first you’ve got to become a courtier. Andrea has no difficulty making him believe a story about a certain Gioan Manente de Reggio,28 who went to a foundry to have himself made into a courtier. By means of this wonderful piece of nonsense he takes this ineffable fool to the public baths, where, he tells him, there are moulds that make the most handsome courtiers in the world. So Messer Maco turns himself from an ass into an ox, and makes all the wise and witty words of crazy old Mastro Andrea29 come true. You’d never believe a man could be so stupid, except that you can see even greater miracles than that at court any day of the week. Take the Elephant’s Will.30 Now that, it seems to me, was a much bigger thing, because the beast itself was so huge. Or hearing Master Pasquino, who’s made of marble, talking sense. And you know, it still seems miraculous to me to see the likes of Accursio and Serapica ruling the world – one of them used to look after the farms of Caradoso the goldsmith, and the other was keeper of the kennels.31 But that’s enough moral philosophy for now. Seven cities fought over Homer;32 each one has always wanted to claim him as its own. That’s not quite the way it happens with Messer Maco: more than thirty towns have declined to acknowledge him; no one wants him, either as a friend or a relative. Milan rejects him as a simpleton, Mantua as a fool, Venice as an asshole; even Matelica33 rejects him. To settle the dispute we’ve brought the case to trial, and with the audience’s co-operation it will, like many things, soon come to a conclusion. Today we’ll make him a Sienese; tomorrow, whoever wants him can have him. And we have something else I think you’ll enjoy: Parabolano the Neapolitan, another Accursio, at court more through the whim of fortune than through his own merits, will fall in love. He’s pining away for Laura, the wife of Sir Luzio, a Roman. He doesn’t want anyone to know about this amour, but one of his rascally servants, hearing his master moaning about her in his sleep, discovers the secret. He makes his master believe that Laura is in love with him, and, with the help of a procuress, he manages to get them together. As a result, this big shot, dumb as they get, finds himself mixed up with a baker, who’s fouler

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than villainy itself. What with all this happening, you’ll witness a small sampling of the courtly ways of men and women, and you’ll see two comedies born and die on the same stage. But don’t be afraid, Milady Comedia Cortigiana is falser than the chimera, more unpleasant than trouble, truer than honesty, sweeter than harmony, jollier than happiness, more irritable than anger, sillier than buffoonery, and, to tell the truth, bolder than insolence. And if you see Messer Maco or the others coming on the scene more than six times, don’t fret yourself – Rome is a free city, and the chains that hold the mills on the river couldn’t hold back these crazy asses ... I mean ‘actors.’ So don’t get excited if somebody speaks out of character – this isn’t Athens: they do things differently here. Besides, the fellow who wrote this story has a mind of his own, and the Bishop of Chieti himself34 couldn’t reform him. histrion i: You really ladle it out by the bucketful, don’t you (as Messer Zanozzo Pandolfini35 used to say)! My God, you handle a plot summary like a master! It was like a good laxative! Now let’s step aside and listen to what Messer Maco will do to become a courtier. There he is. Ha, ha, ha! Oh what a fool! Ha, ha, eh, ho!

ACT I Scene i messer maco, the master, and sanese, his servant messer maco: Well, Rome sure is the capus mundi.* And if I hadn’t come here ... sanese: The bread would be mouldy. messer maco: Holy shit! I never would’ve believed it! It’s a thousand times prettier than Siena! sanese: I told you, didn’t I? Rome’s not only a little prettier than Siena, but a bit bigger too. But ‘No,’ you said, ‘in Siena we’ve got the academy, and all the scholars, and the Fonte Branda, and the Fonte Beccia; there’s the piazza, and the palace36 – and then in the middle of August we’ve got the running of the bulls, and the carts with all their candles and their waterworks, and a thousand other things. We make * Head

of the world

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marzipan in Siena and bericuocoli * by the hundreds; the Emperor loves us, and just about everyone else does too – except the Florentines.’ messer maco: It was true what you told me: you never see men as well dressed as this in Siena, riding along on horseback with their servants. This is wonderful! sanese: Ssh! Listen! A woodpecker’s talking. messer maco: A parrot, you mean, you damned fool! sanese: It’s a woodpecker, not a parrot. messer maco: And I say a parrot, not a woodpecker! sanese: Sorry to say this, boss, but you’re a fool. This is one of those an ancestor of yours bought for three lire and sent to Corsignano, only to find he’d sent the wrong one. Or so Morgante said.37 messer maco: Morgante didn’t like us, Sanese. When I showed one of the feathers to the brassworker, he said it was a parrot’s, and a fine one at that. sanese: Boss, you don’t know birds. messer maco: I do so, damn you! sanese: Don’t get mad! messer maco: I’ll get mad if I damned well please. I’d like some obedience and respect – and when I say something I expect to be believed. sanese: I respect you like a ducat, I obey you like a servant, and I believe you as if you were – Messer Maco. messer maco: I forgive you. Let’s drop it. Scene ii master andrea, messer maco, and sanese master andrea: Are you looking for a master? messer maco: Yes sir. sanese: His name is Messer Maco de Coe ... master andrea: No, no! I was asking whether you were looking for a master to serve. sanese: ... and he turned twenty-two on the night of the Epiphany. master andrea: Let him speak, damn you! messer maco: Let me do the talking! It’s very bad of you to speak before I do. * A Sienese cookie made with flour and honey and garnished with pine nuts, pistachios, or ground almonds.

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master andrea: What did you come to Rome for? sanese: To see the verbum caro 38 and the jubilee.39 messer maco: You don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here as a pope to find a place in the service of some emperor or king of France. sanese: You mean a cardinal in service to some pope. messer maco: You’re right, Sanese. master andrea: You can’t be a cardinal without becoming a courtier first. Now I’m an expert on the subject, and because of the love I have for the city, I’d be happy to do anything I can for you. messer maco: Ago vobis gratis.* sanese: Didn’t I tell you? He’s a scholar. master andrea: Your learning will bring you honour, especially among the Bergamese. But where are you staying? messer maco: In Rome. master andrea: Yes, yes, but I mean where in Rome? sanese: On a long, long street. master andrea: You’re a credit to your master. messer maco: Wait – I have it on the tip of my tongue: botto ... scotto ... arlotto ... scarabotto ... biliotto ... Ceccotto ... Ceccotto!40 Ah! That’s who we’re staying with – a wise man, and a favourite of the Emperor. master andrea: My goodness! I’m happy to have met you. And as a token of our friendship I’ll get you a book that teaches the art of courtier-making. It’s the same book I used when I turned the Cardinal of Baccano, the Monsignore della Storta, and the Archbishop of Tre Capanne from beasts into men.41 messer maco: Oh, please do that! master andrea: I’ll be right back. I’ll find you at Ceccotto’s. sanese: What’s your name? master andrea: Andrea, at Your Lordship’s service. sanese: Of what? Where from? master andrea: S.P.Q.R.42 I’m off.

* ‘I

am grateful to you.’

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Scene iii messer maco and sanese messer maco: Bonum est nomen Magister Andreas.* sanese: See, you’re becoming what you wanted to be, just as it was prophesied. messer maco: What did you say? sanese: ‘Your Lordship ...’ Didn’t you hear Master Andrea call you ‘Your Lordship?’ messer maco: I commend myself to Your Lordship. sanese: Fine. Now lift your cape. messer maco: Like this, Your Lordship? sanese: Yes, Messer, wear your cap like this, walk along in a dignified way, like this ... That’s it – excellent! messer maco: Will I be a credit to the city? sanese: Damn it, of course you will! Scene iv A rascal who sells books and papers rascal: Read all about it! The Peace Between Christianity and the Emperor! The Capture of the King! La riforma della corte, written by the Bishop of Chieti! The Caprici of Brother Mariano, in ottava rima. An Eclogue by Trasinio! The Life of the Abbot of Gaeta! Fine stories! Splendid stories! La Caretta! Il Cortigiano falito! Get your stories here!43 Scene v messer maco and sanese messer maco: Run and buy that book, Sanese, the one that’ll teach me how to become a courtier. Run! Run! sanese: Hey there! Sell me the book that’ll make this gentleman a courtier.

* ‘That’s

a nice name: “Master Andrea.” ’

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Scene vi messer maco, alone messer maco: Look at that pretty lady up there, dressed in silk and leaning on the windowsill! She must surely be the wife of a King of Milan or a Duke of France. My goodness, I feel like I’m falling in love! What a beautiful street this is – there isn’t a pebble in it! Scene vii sanese, alone sanese: This book cost me two baiochi ... or balochi ... whatever it is they call money in Rome!44 It’s a good thing my master is next thing to a doctor, or he’d never in a thousand years understand the way they talk in this town. If I really knew how to read, this book would make me a courtier before my master, Maco da Coe of Siena. O, madrama not vuole, o Lorenzina. Le star ... starne ... e ... ne ... . They say starne; why don’t they say gallo or gallina? ... no, they say starne. Let’s see: e vado mendicano uno spe ... speda ... da ... spedale ... (Why don’t they say palazzo?) ... so, when you put it all together, it’s spedale, and it goes like this: Le starne odiavi e or bramo una radice E vado mendicando uno spedale.* 45 Christ! In Rome, you eat a root and you end up in a hospital! It’d have been better for me to stay in Siena as a Sienese than come to Rome as a courtier. But where did my master go? Messer Maco! Maco! Master! Boss! Oh, no! Thieves have stolen him from me! Thieves! I’ll get the magistrate to hang you! Hey you, you with the cap, where’s my master? See? No one answers me. I’d better have the town crier call for him and then get out of here.

* ‘I

hate partridges, and I yearn for a root, and now I’m begging for a place to stay.’

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Scene viii messer maco, alone messer maco: Now I’ve lost my servant, and I barely managed to find my way back. I’d better figure out where I am. This is the door ... no, this one ... no, it must be this one. Oh, how can I manage without Sanese? Scene ix cappa and rosso, Parabolano’s servants rosso: Our master is the most outrageous crook, the most incorrigible scoundrel, and the wickedest villain in the world. And barely three years ago he was just like us, trotting along as a footman. cappa: I remember when he was a stableboy, and now he wouldn’t condescend to touch the purest gold – not even with gloves on. If God himself were his servant, he still wouldn’t be satisfied. He never shows his servants any consideration. He hires them for a month at a time to see how they get along. A poor fellow will try to serve him the best he knows how so that he can stay with him, but at the end of the month he says, ‘You’re not going to make it with me. I need someone who can do some heavy work. If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know, but you’re not for me.’ rosso: I know what you mean. With dirty tricks like that he gets good service without having to pay any salaries. cappa: It really bothers me: his valet takes more time to dress or undress him than it takes to get from one jubilee to the next. I blow my stack when I think that the bastard has a servant use a silver tray to bring him the paper to wipe his ass with – and before he takes it the servant has to bow to him. I wish he’d drop dead. rosso: When he’s at mass his page keeps track of his paternosters, and each time he says one, the page does a paternoster of his own, and makes a bow the way the Spanish do. It’s the same way when he’s at the font. First the boy – the one I mentioned – kisses his own finger, then he puts it into the holy water and presents it to his master. The clumsy clod touches the boy’s finger and with great ceremony makes the sign of the cross on his own forehead. cappa: Christ, that’s worse than the Prior of Capua!46

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rosso: He can’t scrape his feet, or comb his beard, or wash his hands, or mount his horse without a master of ceremonies. cappa: How about hitting the bastard on the head some night with an ax? rosso: Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but let’s wait and see. Maybe some day he’ll change the way he treats us. In any case, something’s bound to happen. Scene x The steward, valerio, and the squire, flaminio valerio: Did you hear what they said? flaminio: You drunkards! Good-for-nothings! Thieves! Traitors! Is this the way to talk about your master? Scene xi rosso and valerio rosso: Boy, I sure made you jump, eh, Valerio? When Cappa and I realized you and Flaminio were listening, we started criticizing the Master – as a joke. But everybody knows what a great guy he is – and a perfect gentleman! valerio: You have the gall to open your mouth, you shameless scoundrel! And you, Cappa – I wouldn’t want to cheat the gallows, or I’d tear your heart out on the spot. Filthy gluttons! Off to your whorehouses ... By God, I’d like to ... rosso: Please, take it easy! Scene xii flaminio and valerio flaminio: I swear, these noblemen, they don’t deserve better servants than the likes of Rosso and Cappa. You’re almost better off being like them than doing a proper job. I don’t know how many times the Master’s remarked to me how well behaved, and faithful, and polite Rosso is! valerio: Polite? Sure, if liars, drunkards, backbiters, gluttons, thieves,

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and frauds are polite, then Rosso’s an angel. Eh? What do you think? Look, if their noble lordships will swallow that kind of thing, then they’ll call anyone well bred who can slice a pheasant, or make a neat bed or a graceful bow. A fellow like Rosso will get to be a big man at court before any scholar of Greek or Latin. A person like that, who stays on his master’s good side by his talent for delivering messages, gets to be more arrogant than patience is humble. Oh, oh, oh, oh! flaminio: No more than an hour ago I heard about another master who was putting Julio down because he’s a commoner. He said Parabolano was wrong to raise the status of a peasant like him just because of his ancient noble origins. valerio: Flaminio, old man, in this day and age you can’t just say, ‘Monsignor So-and-So, or Lord Such-and-Such, is a relative of mine.’ Whether you’re good or bad depends upon what you do yourself, not what your ancestors did. If noble blood were all that was needed to bring honour to men who don’t deserve it, then the King of Cyprus and the Prince of Fiossa wouldn’t be in such bad shape. Signor Constantino would get the principality of Macedonia back; he’d think it beneath his dignity to be governor of Fano.47 flaminio: It’s true – chronicles, and epitaphs, and privileges granted to your ancestors aren’t of much use: Raphael the Jew48 wouldn’t lend two cents on aristocratic memories. Rome cares as much about nobility as Romanello49 cares whether it’s today or tomorrow that the Messiah’s coming. valerio: It’s clear as can be. Fortune laughs at Greek or Trojan blood; more often than not cardinals and popes are born of the line of Ser Adriano.50 Scene xiii parabolano and valerio, his steward parabolano: Valerio? valerio: Yes, sir. Goodbye, Flaminio. parabolano: Call Rosso. valerio: Oh sure, be nice to Rosso. The way he’s just been talking about you, Hell will have to dream up new punishments for him. parabolano: My goodness, you take him too seriously! There’s no shame in being criticized by someone like that, and no glory in being praised.

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valerio: I’m perfectly aware of that. But the fact remains that you set people like him on a pedestal. There he is – look at the face on him! parabolano: Go inside and straighten up the room. And Rosso, you come with me. Scene xiv parabolano and rosso parabolano: Where have you been? rosso: At the tavern, saving Your Lordship’s honour, and I saw that tempting little piece, Angela Greca. parabolano: What was she doing? rosso: She was talking to Don Cerimonia the Spaniard. They were talking about going to some vineyard for supper – I don’t know which one – and I acted like Massino’s cat.51 parabolano: What did Massino’s cat do? rosso: She closed her eyes to keep from catching mice. parabolano: If only my other flame burnt as hot as that one, I’d have no problems. rosso: When all’s said and done, there’s no point doing anything for a great lord, because everything ends up boring him. parabolano: Alas, my love will never bore me – she hardly even looks at me. rosso: Didn’t I tell you? You fill up too fast. parabolano: Be quiet now, and listen to me. rosso: Speak up. I’m listening. parabolano: You know Messer Ceccotto’s house? rosso: That fool? Yes sir. parabolano: Foolish or wise, you’ll go there and you’ll take a present for Messer Maco, from Siena. His father treated my father very well when he studied in Siena. But I don’t know what to send him. rosso: Send him a few turtles. parabolano: Turtles? From someone like me? You dolt! rosso: Send him a couple of nice Syrian kittens. parabolano: Can you eat cats, you rascal? rosso: If you send him ten artichokes, he’ll be your slave. parabolano: Devil take you! Where can you find artichokes at this time of year, you blockhead? rosso: Give him two flasks of Mangiaguerra.52 Riccio has some excellent stuff at the Hare.

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parabolano: Do you think he’s a drunkard like you, you numbskull? Now get out of my hair. Take these ten scudi and buy some lampreys. Tell him ... even though the gift is small, to eat them for the sake of our friendship. Try to find one or two decent words to say, won’t you? rosso: One or two? I’ll say eighty thousand! It’s a shame they don’t send me as an ambassador to some Sophy. I’d bring honour on myself. I’d say to him, ‘Your Magnificence, Your Reverence, Your Sacred Majesty, Holy Father, Most Christian, Most Illustrious, Most Reverend in Cristo Patri,* Your Fatherhood, Your Almightiness, Viro Domino,† ’ and so on. And I’d make a bow, like this, and another one like this ... I’d bow my head and everything. parabolano: Come on, hurry up, you big fool. But first bring this cape to Valerio. I’m going to the stable to look at those Arabian horses the Conte di Verucchio53 sent me as a gift. Scene xv rosso, alone rosso: I’d like to see how I look in silk. I’d give anything for a mirror to see myself strutting around in these fancy clothes. After all, with a fine suit of clothes even a coat rack looks good. And most of these great lords would look like baboons or monkeys if they went around badly dressed. I should take off54 with both the money and the clothes. I’m a real fool not to. I could stay a thousand years with this jerk, Parabolano, and never see a ducat. Besides, everyone would bless me for robbing one of these thieving masters – they rob us, body and soul. But why don’t I cheat this fishmonger? That’s a good idea. As far as that scoundrel my boss is concerned, I’ll have lots better chances. And I want to try that trick that other fellow like me played – he was pretending to be shopping, and he sent a fishmonger to a friar confessor. Everybody knows the story.

* ‘In

Christ the Father.’ God.’

† ‘Man

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Scene xvi rosso [dressed in the cape] and fishmonger rosso: How many do you have left, not counting these? fishmonger: None. Brother Mariano’s steward just bought the rest. rosso: You look like an honest fellow. Keep your whole catch for me: you’re the one I’ll be dealing with from now on. fishmonger: My dear sir! Your Lordship! Please, please! I’d be delighted to serve you. rosso: Fine, fine. What do you want for these? fishmonger: Eight scudi ... more or less ... whatever Your Lordship would like to give me. Don’t worry that I’m poor – I have a generous heart. rosso: I’ll give you six. Even at that price, I’d be paying more than they’re worth. fishmonger: Whatever you like, Your Lordship. rosso: Dear, dear, would you look at how long it’s taking my servants to get here with the mule! Those rascals! Those loafers! I’ll send them to Ponte Sisto!55 fishmonger: Don’t upset yourself, sir. I’ll deliver them. rosso: Thank you. I told them to take the mule, but they must have thought I said the horse, and it’s quite a job to saddle a fiery devil like that one. fishmonger: I bet that’s what’s happened! rosso: Let’s go. We’ll meet them on the way. What’s your name? fishmonger: Facenda. I’m a Florentine, from Porta Pinti. I live at San Pietro Gattolini. And I have two sisters at Borgo a la Noce, if it please Your Lordship.56 rosso: Get a pair of stockings made for yourself the colour of my coat of arms. fishmonger: Your Lordship’s kindness is enough. Don’t worry about anything else. rosso: Whose side are you on, the Colonnas or the Ursinis?57 fishmonger: To tell the truth, I’m on the side of whoever wins. rosso: You’re a wise man. Make sure that the left one’s a solid colour and the right one is striped. fishmonger: I’ll do that, just as Your Lordship wishes. rosso: Get some one to paint my crest on your stall. fishmonger: What’s your crest?

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rosso: A golden ladder on a blue field. But isn’t that just my luck! I have a few ducats on me, but not what I need. There’s my steward over there, at the door of St. Peter’s. See him? He’ll pay you. fishmonger: Just in time. That’s lucky. rosso: Wait for me here. I’ll be right back. Scene xvii rosso and sacristan rosso: Father, you see that poor wretch over there? His wife is possessed, and she’s doing crazy things down at the Luna. I beg you, Father, chain her to this column and in the name of God take this curse from her. She’s got maybe ten spirits in her body, speaking every language under the sun, and the poor man is half crazy. Scene xviii sacristan, rosso, and fishmonger sacristan: He’s coming over. Look, I have a few words to say to this friend of mine, then I’ll be glad to do whatever I have to. fishmonger: Thank you, Father. rosso: Now don’t you worry. Give me the lampreys, and take these four julios as a down payment for the stocking-maker. fishmonger: You’re doing too much, Your Lordship. But which stocking is to be striped? rosso: Whichever you like. fishmonger: Good. A man could starve waiting for this damned steward. Hurry up, cancer take you! Talk, talk, talk! Well, so long as he pays me royally for my time. I’d have taken four scudi for them, but you’re giving me eight! Great stewards, eh? And wonderful managers! Scene xix sacristan and fishmonger sacristan: Hey! Can’t you hear? fishmonger: I’m right here, Your Lordship’s servant. sacristan: Now don’t worry. I’m here to help you.

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fishmonger: If Your Lordship does anything for me, it will be like alms to a beggar. I have four little children, and not one of them weighs more than any of the others. sacristan: When did they enter? fishmonger: Four. sacristan: During the day or the night? fishmonger: Between last night and this morning. sacristan: And the name? fishmonger: You don’t know? They’re lampreys. sacristan: No, no – I’m asking your wife’s name, and how many spirits have possessed her. fishmonger: Go ahead, have a good time, and God bless you for it. But if you had to worry about your bread, it’d be no joking matter. sacristan: Your father must have put a curse on you. fishmonger: My father put a curse on me when he left me poor. sacristan: Have San Gregorio’s masses58 said for him. fishmonger: I’ll have ... I’d better not say it. What the devil do San Gregorio’s masses have to do with lampreys? Steward, I want to get paid; if not, I’ll complain to the Pope himself. sacristan: Hold him, priests! Stay still! Qui habitat !* Cross yourselves. fishmonger: Christ! Let go of me, you damned priests! sacristan: You’re biting me! Demon, I exorcise you! fishmonger: Using your fists, eh, you bastards? sacristan: Drag him into the church – to the holy water. fishmonger: Me? Possessed? Me? I could kill you! sacristan: You will leave this man without doing any injury, in aiutorio altissimi!† Wherein will you enter? Answer me! fishmonger: Up your ass, that’s where! Up your ass! You got that? Scene xx cappa and rosso cappa: You seem very happy, Rosso, laughing away to yourself. What’s going on? rosso: I’ve just got to laugh! I played this joke so neatly, the trickmaster himself couldn’t have done it better. When I have time I’ll tell you * ‘It

is here that he dwells!’ the name of the highest helper!’

† ‘In

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about it. Right now I’ve got to bring this cape to my master, and then make a present of these lampreys to a gentleman. I’ll meet you later at the Hare. cappa: Hurry back. rosso: Yes, yes. Right away. Scene xxi fishmonger and cappa fishmonger: Rome’s too much for me. Anyone who thinks it’s paradise must be joking! cappa: What’s the matter, Facenda? fishmonger: What lousy tricks they play in Rome! And who to? To a Florentine! Imagine what they’d do to a Sienese! And every day you hear about some new law forbidding us to carry arms! cappa: What’s the trouble? Can’t you tell me? fishmonger: Sure I can tell you. The way I’ve been cheated out of some lampreys – well, I’m ashamed to talk about it. And then they chained me to the column as if I were possessed. ‘Put out the lamp.’ ‘Knock on the door.’ ‘Don’t hurt anyone.’ I’ve taken so many punches that all my hair’s fallen out. Cuckold priests, sodomites, thieves! By the body ... by the blood ... If I get my hands on that pig of a Sacristan I’ll eat his nose off! I’ll bash his eyes in! I’ll tear out his tongue! Damn Rome, the court, the church, everyone who lives here, and everyone who believes in it! cappa: My God, this must have been one hell of a swindle! I almost feel as if it happened to me! If there’s anything I can do, just ask me. fishmonger: Thanks, but I just want to get out of Rome! I want to leave the filthy place. If I ever find someone from here in Florence ... well, I might just ... I might ... yes ... yes ... Scene xxii parabolano and valerio parabolano: Oh, how hateful life’s beginning to be! valerio: It’s for poor servants like us that life is really hateful. parabolano: You can’t feel the cause of my suffering. valerio: More often than not you suffer because you’re too well off. It

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really bothers me to hear someone like you complaining. Think about a person like me, living on someone else’s bread: what should I do? If I so much as stumbled over a piece of straw I’d break my neck! parabolano: I don’t understand. valerio: If you were like a lot of servants who balance their hopes on the scales of some priest’s whim, then you’d understand. parabolano: Oh envious fortune! valerio: Fortune? You nobles are the fortunate ones – in fact, you’re the ones who control fortune! You raise up vice and ignorance from the stables, and then down into the stables you throw virtue. parabolano: I’m wasting away! valerio: What do you want? parabolano: The reward for my labours. valerio: Who do you want it from? parabolano: Where am I? If only I could receive some letters, some messages. valerio: Where should these letters be addressed to? parabolano: Wherever I am. valerio: You’d be late getting them. parabolano: Why? valerio: Because it seems to me you’re neither here nor there. parabolano: Help me. valerio: I can’t help you if you don’t tell me your secret. parabolano: How many bitter poisons are hidden in precious vessels! Let’s go inside. Scene xxiii master andrea, alone master andrea: First I volunteer to find a master for this Sienese, then I set myself up as his teacher. What do you think of that? Well now, if I’m so smart I guess I’d better get on with it, and by August I’ll have him all sewed up. And if this works, I’ll do a job on my father as well. Anyone who wants his brains sent through the mail, I’d be glad to pay for the horses. I think the greatest act of charity in the world would be to drive someone crazy, maybe by giving him an office or a benefice. No sooner do his brains leave him but his head’s filled with power, and splendour, and triumphs, and gardens that bloom like rosemary at every change of the moon. These people get such a charge when you say you believe

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them, or flatter them, or agree with anything they say! By God, people like that wouldn’t trade their situation for the one the Emperor gave to Ceccotto.59 But there’s that big prick, my pupil, standing at the door like a boundary post. I swear, as soon as I find the master of the revels I’m going to have him placed on the catalogue of fools, so that he can be solemnly commemorated, to the glory and honour of the most reverend and imperial city of Siena. Scene xxiv messer maco and master andrea master andrea: Welcome, Your Lordship. messer maco: Oh, good evening, and good year! Am I glad to see you! I lost my servant, and now I thought I’d lost you, too. master andrea: It’d be better to lose me for good than just misplace me. Now here’s your book. Let’s go inside and I’ll give you a lesson. Because it’s the first time, it’ll be short and sweet. messer maco: Please, Master, do me a favour and teach me a bit of courtiership right now. master andrea: Gladly. Open your eyes – wide. The first, most important lessons a good courtier learns are how to blaspheme and how to commit heresy. messer maco: Oh no, I won’t do that. I’d go to hell. That would be bad for me. master andrea: Hell? What do you mean? Surely you know that here in Rome there’s no need to break your neck keeping Lent! messer maco: Is that right? master andrea: Of course! Look, everyone who comes to Rome, the moment they get to court, they want to look as if they’ve been around: they wouldn’t go to mass for all the gold in the world. And if they do, they never open their mouths without swearing on the Madonna and the Sacred Host. messer maco: Well then ... I’ll curse the cunt of Modena. How’s that? master andrea: Fine. messer maco: But how do you get to be a heretic? That’s a tricky one. master andrea: When someone tells you ostriches are camels, say ‘I don’t believe it.’ messer maco: I don’t believe it. master andrea: And when someone tells you that priests have any common sense, scoff at them.

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messer maco: I scoff at them. master andrea: And when someone tells you there’s any conscience in Rome, laugh at them. messer maco: Ha, ha, ha! master andrea: In short, whenever you hear someone saying anything good about the Roman court, tell him he’s not telling the truth. messer maco: Wouldn’t it be better to say ‘You’re lying in your teeth!’? master andrea: Great! That would be quicker and shorter! That’s enough for the first lesson. Later I’ll teach you about the Barco, the Botte de Termini, the Colosseum, the arches, Testaccio, and thousands of other fine things that a blind man would give an eye to see.60 messer maco: What’s a Colosseum? Is it sweet or bitter? master andrea: It’s the sweetest thing in Rome, and everyone loves it, because it’s an antiquity. messer maco: I know about the arches because of the chronicles, and I’ve seen them written about in the Bible. It’s the same with antiquities. But must all antiquities be grottoes? master andrea: Yes and no. As you find out about these matters you’ll get to know Master Pasquino.61 But you’ll find it’s no easy job getting to know who Master Pasquino really is. He’s got a sharp tongue. messer maco: What’s his trade, this Master Pasquino? master andrea: He’s a poet who plays filthy songs on the rebec.62 messer maco: A poet? What do you mean, poet? I know all the poets by heart, and I’m a poet myself. master andrea: Really? messer maco: Sure! Listen to this epigram I wrote in praise of myself. master andrea: Go ahead. messer maco: Si deus est animas prima cupientibus artem Silvestrem tenui noli gaudere malorum Hanc tua Penelope nimium ne crede colori Tityre tu patule numerum sine viribus uxor.* master andrea: Oh, mercy! What style!

* ‘If

it was a god who first coveted the sylvan art Do not rejoice in the tender ills; And do not trust overmuch your Penelope’s complexion, Tityrus, you husband with a calendar, for your wife is without men.’

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messer maco: Mortem repentina pleno semel orbe cohissent Tres sumus in bello vaccinia nigra leguntur O formose puer musam meditaris avena Dic michi Dameta recumbans sub termine fagi ...* master andrea: What a rich vein of foolishness! messer maco: Aren’t I clever, Master? master andrea: Cleverer than usury, which can teach you to read your pawn tickets! My goodness, if you were to give me these songs I’d be rich! I’d have them printed by Ludovico Vicintino and Lautizio da Perugia63 and I’d be rich as a king. But since you’ve lost your page, we must find you another one, because I want you to fall in love! messer maco: I’m already in love with a lady, and I’m rich, and whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. master andrea: Since you’re rich, we’ll get you a house and some clothes. You’ll buy horses, and we’ll have masked banquets in the vineyards. Go along now, my most magnificent sir! Ha, ha, ha, ha!

ACT II Scene i rosso and cappa rosso: If you’ve never been to a tavern, you don’t know what paradise is! What a friendly place! People can make a name for themselves here. O sweet tavern, you do whatever anyone asks – you’d think we were all lords. And look at how everyone bows to you! By God, Cappa, if I had any children I’d send them to the tavern to teach them how to behave – how to get along in life. cappa: You’re a smart fellow! rosso: Ah, that lovely music the spits make when they’re crammed with thrushes, or sausages, or capons! Ah, the aroma of suckling calf, stuffed with succulent spices! * ‘Sudden

death brings the world full circle. There are three of us in the fight to tie up the black calf. O gorgeous boy, with your pipe you meditate upon the muse. Tell me, Dameta, reclining in the shade of a beech tree ...’

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cappa: Right! If there were taverns next door to perfume shops, people would be turned off civet. rosso: There are some dumb oxen who make a big thing about how sweet it is to love and to make love. I’ll tell you what’s sweet: having a good feed, without all that sighing and jealousy. You know Caesar, who the boss admires so much? Now if he’d just had himself a good time in a tavern, with everything set up just right, he’d have got fed up with his triumphal arches, I’m sure of it; but on the other hand his soldiers would have been more willing to go through them. cappa: I can believe it. rosso: The splendour of it! What a joy it is to see steaming roasts, and all kinds of fish! There’s nothing like the sight of a well-stocked table! If I’d been that pope who built the Belvedere,64 with its splendid view, I’d have spent all my money in a tavern. Talk about beautiful views! I’d have a wonderful view of something every month or so, and it wouldn’t be loggias or painted chambers. cappa: Rosso, these lampreys are fit for an angel! Now me, I don’t begrudge anyone leaving the stables to become a nobleman; but when I see guys like Brandino or the Morro de’ Nobili65 stuffing their guts with heavenly, divine morsels like these, I want to explode – it turns my stomach – I can’t breathe! rosso: Sure they’re delicious, everyone knows that, but if that fishmonger of mine finds me, he’ll see that I digest them in a hurry. cappa: Let him do what he wants. I’ve never been a fighter, but I’d die a hundred times a day for one of these lampreys. But there’s Valerio calling for you. See you later. Scene ii messer maco, master andrea, and grillo, servant of Messer Maco master andrea: This robe looks good on you. You’re like a paladin. messer maco: Come on! Don’t make me laugh! master andrea: Have you managed to learn what I taught you? messer maco: I can do anyone. master andrea: Do me a duke. messer maco: This way ... Like this ... and this ... Whoops! I fell! master andrea: Get up, blockhead! messer maco: Make me two eyeholes in the cape. I can’t do a duke in the dark.

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master andrea: Okay. Now, how would you address a gentleman? messer maco: I kiss your hand. master andrea: And a lady? messer maco: Thy heart is mine! master andrea: A good friend? messer maco: Ah, by my faith! master andrea: A priest? messer maco: I swear to God. master andrea: Good! Well done! And a servant – show me how you’d give an order. messer maco: Bring me my mule and lay out my clothes, or I’ll kill you! grillo Tell him to let me go, Master Andrea. I don’t work for roughnecks like him! messer maco: It’s only a joke, Grillo. I’m learning how to be a courtier. I won’t hurt you. master andrea: Let’s go now. You’ve got to learn about Borgo Vecchio, Corte Savella, Torre di Nona, Ponte Sisto, and Dietro Banchi.66 messer maco: Does Borgo Vecchio have a beard? master andrea: Ha, ha, ha! messer maco: Does Torre de Nona ring vespers as well? master andrea: With a few pulls of the rope for compline, too! Then we’ll visit St. Peter’s, where you’ll see the pine cone, the ship, the Camposanto, and the obelisk.67 messer maco: Can we go into the Camposanto with our shoes on? master andrea: You can, yes; others, no. messer maco: Let’s go. I want to eat that cone, and I don’t care what it costs. Scene iii rosso, alone rosso: That stupid master of mine thinks I don’t know why he’s acting so strangely – and I pretended not to know what’s eating him. When I was taking my usual walk through the house last night, I heard him talking in his sleep; he was having it off with Lady Laura, Messer Luzio’s wife. He was calling her by name and caressing her just as though she were there. This is my secret – I haven’t told anyone. I’ll pass off the bawd Aloigia as her nurse, and that way I’ll make the Master believe whatever I want. I’m off to see her now. I bet she could corrupt chastity itself. She’ll do anything I want, because she loves me.

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Scene iv parabolano, alone parabolano: I’d rather die than live like this. When I was a nobody, the itch to climb the ladder bothered me twenty-four hours a day. And now that I’m just about content with my position I’m taken with a horrible fever that no medicine can cure. Except one. And that’s a medicine you can’t buy no matter how rich or important you are, because it’s only sold by the god of Love, and the price he asks is the blood, the tears, even the death of his subjects. O Love, what can you not do! You’re much more powerful than Fortune. She governs only men; you command both men and gods! She is fickle and inconstant ... What with women’s weapons like those and this suffering of mine, I’ll never win her, though I want her more than life itself. I must go to my room. Maybe Love will teach me how to free myself, just as it taught me to get myself all tangled up. Then again, maybe I could make my own escape from this torment – with stone, or steel, or rope, or poison! Scene v flaminio and old sempronio sempronio: Would you advise me, then, to place my son Camillo in service at court? flaminio: Yes, if he’s an enemy of yours and you hate him. sempronio: The court has declined a lot in the time that you’ve been a courtier. Why I remember when I was with the most reverend Monsignor, there was nothing like it – it was a paradise! We were a band of brothers, each of us rich and each one a favourite. flaminio: You old folks followed the old rules, but by the Lord Harry, we’re living in modern times! In your day, a servant of Pope John68 would be given a bed, a room, his wood, his candles, and his horse, and they’d pay for his washerwoman, his barber, his servant, and every year two new suits of clothes. Nowadays, no sooner is a poor courtier accepted than he has to look after his own fire and water – and even when they take you under their wing, they only give you half a servant. Think about it. Can a whole man get along with half a servant? The only thing to be said for them is that if you get sick when you’re in their service, they’ll put you in the hospital with lots of recommendations.

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sempronio: What do they do, with so much money coming in? flaminio: They go to whores and boys. But they die before they’ve really satisfied their lusts, and then they leave fifteen or twenty thousand scudi to the kind of people who don’t care a fart for their souls. sempronio: But that’s madness! flaminio: It wouldn’t be so bad if they treated their servants well. But do you know what those clowns do? sempronio: No, I don’t. flaminio: They’ve learned to eat by themselves in their rooms. They’ll tell you it’s because it would be the death of them to eat two full meals a day – and that they eat very little at night. But the reason the skinflints do it is so they won’t have to invite poor deserving men of talent to have dinner with them. sempronio: That’s shameful! What a terrible thing to do! flaminio: There’s a great story about the Bishop of Malfetta.69 His steward had paid a couple of pennies more than usual for a fish, so he didn’t want it. The steward and some of the servants pooled their money and bought it. While they were cooking it to eat it together, the good bishop smelled it and ran to the kitchen; he wanted to pay his share and eat some of it, but the fine fellows wouldn’t go for that. sempronio: Ha, ha, he, he, oh, ho, ho! flaminio: Here’s a better one. I heard at Ponzetta’s70 that there was a most reverend Monsignor who used to have them put an egg and a half in each omelette, and then he’d put it in one of those forms that keep cardinals’ hats in the proper shape. Now one morning a strange thing happened: the wind carried them, like the leaves of autumn, to the steps of St. Peter’s, and they fell like crowns upon the heads of the people. sempronio: Ha, ha, ha! flaminio: Listen – here’s another one. You used to have men as chamberlains; well we have women: our masters’ mothers. They’re always giving us trouble: they taste the wines and see if there’s enough water. They keep the keys of the wine cellars and they ration the food – so much on feast days, so much on regular days. They even count the bowls of soup! sempronio: Well I’m sure my son wouldn’t stay in a house like that! flaminio: Once he’s a courtier, he’ll become an envious, ambitious, wretched, ungrateful flatterer, a wicked, unjust, heretical hypocrite, a thief, an insolent lying glutton; and ... well, what’s the mildest vice there is? Treachery? Well then, treachery’s the mildest vice you’ll find there.

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sempronio: What? You mean there are thieves even at court? flaminio: Thieves? Sure there are! And the least thing they rob you of is ten or twenty years of life and service. And you’re always waiting for somebody to die – it doesn’t matter who. Let’s say that the one you hoped would make way for you survives. Then, unhappy wretch, you’re tormented by all that vexation, all those fevers and sufferings you went through during the sickness of the one whose death was going to make you rich, because now he’s in good health. It’s a cruel thing to wish for the death of someone who never did you any harm. sempronio: May God forsake me if my Camillo ever serves at court. flaminio: Sempronio, if you’re asking my advice so that I’ll tell you what you want to hear, that’s one thing, but if you want me to tell you the truth that’s another matter. sempronio: I’m most obliged to you, Flaminio, and I know you’re a good and honest man. I’m determined not to send my son into anyone’s service – we’ll talk about this some more when we have the time. I’ve got to go pick up my pay from the Strozzi Bank71 for some services I did. flaminio: And I’ll go back to court and waste away with bitterness. Scene vi rosso and aloigia, a bawd rosso: Where are you going in such a hurry? aloigia: Oh, here and there – the usual worries. rosso: What have you got to complain about? You’ve got Rome under your thumb! aloigia: Maybe so, but my dear old mentor’s troubles have really shaken me. rosso: What’s the matter? Is she sick? aloigia: She’ll be sick all right – and all because of her goodness. They’re burning her tomorrow morning. I ask you, is that fair? rosso: It’s not fair, and it’s not decent. Why the devil are they burning her? Did she crucify Jesus or something? aloigia: She hasn’t done anything. rosso: What, do they burn people for doing nothing? What is this? Thievery! Corruption! Take it from me, Rome’s on the road to ruin. aloigia: She loved her comare’s baby so much that she drowned it. rosso: Is that all?

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aloigia: She cast a spell on her compare as a favour to a friend. rosso: That’s what I call style! aloigia: She poisoned Georgina’s husband because he was such a loser. rosso: The magistrate couldn’t take a joke. aloigia: Rosso, my dear, she’s made the will of a queen – I’ll inherit everything she has. rosso: Wonderful! What did she leave you? Can you tell me? aloigia: Lots of lovely things: alembics for distilling, washes to take away freckles and the scars from the French disease, a strap to lift sagging breasts, tweezers for plucking eyelashes, a flask of lovers’ tears, a glass of bats’ blood, dead men’s bones, for torments and betrayals, owls’ claws, vultures’ hearts, wolves’ teeth, bears’ fat, ropes from people who’ve been hanged by mistake. That’s all they talk about in the neighbourhood. And then thanks to her I’m the one they call on to clean their teeth and get rid of stinking breath, and do a thousand other services. rosso: Free her soul by fasting, and have them say San Gregorio’s masses and St. Julian’s paternosters,72 and any other prayers that might do her good. aloigia: As if I wouldn’t do that if she needs me to! The poor dear thing! rosso: Crying won’t get her back. aloigia: Even policemen raised their caps to her. It breaks my heart when I think of it. And it was hardly a month ago, at the Peacock, that she drank off six mugs of wine right from the jug without batting an eyelash! She was the best friend anyone ever had. There was never an old woman who ate so much and worked so little. rosso: And so Death wants her for himself. aloigia: Whether she was at the butcher’s, the deli, the market, or the fair; by the river; at the bakery, or the baths, or the barber’s, or the tollhouse, or the tavern; with policemen, or cooks, or messengers, or priests, or friars, or soldiers, they always expected her to say her piece. Everyone considered her a Solomon. rosso: Burn them! Hang them! There’s not a good man or woman left! aloigia: She was like a she-dragon, an amazon – she’d pluck out hanged men’s eyes, or at night in the graveyards she’d pull the fingernails off corpses to make a cure for the colic. She’d change herself into a cat, or a mouse, or a dog, and she’d fly over the water, riding the wind all the way to the walnut tree in Benevento.73 rosso: What’s her name?

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aloigia: Madonna Maggiorina, God forgive me.74 Don’t cross yourself – you heard it right! rosso: Is this the way they do justice in Rome? Oh, oh, oh, oh! This is too much! aloigia: You’re a good man. That’s why you feel sorry. rosso: If this were the middle of August, I’d have her name called through every quarter of the city by Rienzo Capovacina, or by Lielo, the chief of the Parione gang.75 aloigia: If they just clipped our ears and noses and paraded us around with mitres on our heads, we could live with it. I went through it myself when I was a youngster. After all, it’s not much more than a fleabite – and anyway, you’ve got to go through things like that up here so as not to go down there to the hot place. rosso: That’s true. Those priests who were drawn and quartered – what gave them the patience they needed was a good drink of wine. aloigia: That was another dirty trick. And weren’t they sworn brothers of my dear mentor? rosso: Let’s drop the subject before we lose our tempers. Let’s talk about something cheerful, because we’re going to die too, and God knows whether it will be better or worse. Cheer up, Aloigia. My master’s in love with Messer Luzio’s Laura. aloigia: He’s my foster brother. rosso: We’re rich! He’s never told anyone – it was while he was dreaming that I heard him say it. I’d like ... aloigia: Quiet – leave it to me. You want him to believe that she’s pining away for him. rosso: Let’s go inside. You’re as welcome as a privy to someone who’s taken a dose of salts. Scene vii messer maco and master andrea messer maco: You mean that bronze pine cone is made of wood? master andrea: Yes sir. messer maco: That ship with the drowning saints – what’s that? master andrea: It’s a mosaic ... messer maco: Oh yes, music. Have her teach me music – it’s important if I’m to become a courtier. Although I already know the staff and the scale: re be mi mi fa sol fa re.

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master andrea: You’ve got a good start on it; but now it would be a good idea to go have a rest. messer maco: I’m awfully thirsty, God forgive me. master andrea: Here’s the house. After you, sir. messer maco: You go ahead – you’re the teacher. master andrea: You go first, sir. messer maco: Non bene conveniunt.* With your permission. Scene viii parabolano and valerio parabolano: Shall I speak, or hold my peace? If I speak, she will scorn me, but if I remain silent, I will die. If I write to her declaring my love, she will be angry to find herself loved by a man of low estate. If I say nothing, the concealment of such passion will lead to my death. O God of Love, be thou my counsellor. valerio: Sir, I don’t want to be presumptuous, but if I’m to serve you properly I must know what’s bothering you. Then I’ll stake my life on finding an answer to your problem. parabolano: I know, you’ve always been like that. That’s why you’ve become what you are to me. But as for this latest misfortune of mine, you don’t need to know about it. valerio: That’s not worthy of a man of your position. It’s little credit to you that a base desire should so completely overcome your common sense. You may try to hide it, but it’s easy to see that you’re suffering the effects of love: you eat little; you’re not sleeping at all; your passions are painted on your face. But if it is love, don’t you have the courage to win whatever woman you want? You’re rich, handsome, noble, generous, and shrewd, and you have a smooth tongue. A man with talents like these could win Venus herself, let alone a woman who’s pierced your heart the way this one has. parabolano: If wise words were salves to cure my wounds, you’d have healed me by now. valerio: Please, sir, pull yourself together. Is this really you? You’re not yourself. Stop acting so strangely. You don’t want the court and all your followers talking about you. And do you want them to know about this shameful foolishness in Naples? It will bring you shame; it will be the * ‘It’s

not the right thing, but ...’

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death of you. Do you think your family would be pleased to hear such a thing about you? What glory would it bring to your country? What comfort to your friends? What profit to us poor servants? parabolano: Go take a walk! You’ll have me flying off the handle if you don’t stop jabbering! Scene ix parabolano, alone parabolano: I know that what Valerio says is true – he’s a very sensible young fellow. But I’m so much in love that I can’t get over it. Yet I know that everything comes to an end. Today is different from yesterday; ice and snow don’t last forever; eventually the gods and the heavens are satisfied. It’ll be better if I follow Valerio’s advice. There he is at the door. Valerio! Scene x parabolano and valerio parabolano: Valerio, if I were in love as you say I am, what remedy would you give me? valerio: Find a go-between and write a letter. parabolano: What if she refuses it? valerio: You can be sure that a woman will never refuse either letters or cash. parabolano: What should I tell her? valerio: Follow Love’s dictation. parabolano: What if she takes it the wrong way? valerio: Remember: women’s flesh is more tender than ours, and their bones are softer. parabolano: When would you send the letter? valerio: I’d wait for an opportune moment. parabolano: I sure got you talking, didn’t I? Well it’s not love that’s bothering me. valerio: If it had been up to you, Master, the fortress of San Leo would never have been captured;76 you don’t even have the courage to win a woman. parabolano: This doesn’t make me feel one little bit better. Now let’s go inside. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I’d rather be by myself.

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Scene xi master andrea, alone master andrea: Messer Meathead has been drinking, and he’s fallen in love with Camilla Pisana after seeing her through her chamber windows. This is one of those times when Cupid becomes stupid. He sings extempore and composes the most wretched verses. They’re the most disgusting lyrics you’ve ever heard. And so that you won’t take me for a liar, like the astrologers who are always predicting the flood, I’d like to read you a letter he’s sending to the lady. Letter from messer maco to camilla pisana ‘Hail, queen of mercies. Your marble eyes, your glittering mouth, your snaky hair, your coral brow, and your brocaded lips have turned me inside out, and so I’ve come to Rome, and, favente deo,* for the sake of your love I’ll become a courtier, because you are softer than ricotta, cooler than ice, shinier than mandrake, sweeter than the full moon, and more beautiful than Fata Morgana77 or the Morning Star. So search out the time and await the place where I can say a thousand words to you, which will be as secret as a proclamation and fiat voluntas tua.† Maco, whose suff’ring for you makes him sick, He has to have you, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick!’ Scene xii messer maco and master andrea messer maco: Take this little poem along too. master andrea: Gladly. But I want to read it first, because you’re a tricky devil. How do I know you’re not telling them to give me a hundred lashes? messer maco: No, no, Master, I’m fond of you. master andrea: Oh, I’m sure you are. * ‘God † ‘May

willing.’ your will be done.’

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A strambottino78 by messer maco, read by master andrea O little star of love! O angel’s courtier! O carven image! Visage oriental! I ache to sail my ship into your port; you’re More lovely far than all that’s occidental. Your glorious beauties came to us from France, Like Judas, who did on his rope expire. For love of you, as courtier I’ll advance. I wait for you in transports of desire. Oh how full of meaning your verses are, how terse, how polished, how learned, how original, how witty, how divine, how fluent, how sweet, how succulent! But there’s one little phrase that’s not quite right. messer maco: What? The ship in the port? master andrea: Yes sir. messer maco: It’s poetic licence. Now to my goddess. Off you go! Quickly! Scene xiii master andrea, alone master andrea: Poetry is really taking a bath today! We’ll have to saddle a camel for Messer Maco and crown him with thorns, and nettles, and beets; laurels and myrtles make a big fuss before they’ll grace anyone’s temples – it’s only emperors, poets, and taverns they’ll condescend to decorate. But it looks as if we’ll have to put Messer Maco in a straitjacket for two or three months or he’ll go crazy with joy – he’ll explode! Now let’s go find Zoppino. Scene xiv rosso, alone rosso: The old woman will do what she has to. Oh, she’s a tough one, this Aloigia. She has more tricks up her sleeve than the stitches of a thousand tailors. She’s a bearded witch, Satan’s mother-in-law, the devil’s wife, the mother of the Anti-Christ! But let her be what she wants; as for me, all I need is to bump off my boss and get my own

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back for the thousands of pointless troubles the little twerp has caused me. He may think of himself as about twenty-two come April or May, but he’s over forty. He thinks that all the duchesses in the world are pining away for him, but it’s the baker’s wife he’ll be tasting, the big ignoramus! Here he comes. Scene xv rosso and parabolano parabolano: What’s new, Rosso? rosso: I’d like you to have a little laugh – just for me. parabolano: All right. rosso: There’s a bad word that’s written everywhere; no one knows who writes it, and it’s never been spoken by a happy man. parabolano: Anything more? rosso: Look here, let’s get back to the point. What would you pay me if I were to guess how love tortures you, and for whom? It’s not the wine that gave me this gift of prophecy – it tastes like water, thank God, so that my mind is clear as a bell. parabolano: What are you talking about, brother? rosso: Brother, eh? Listen – I know her name, whose wife she is, where she lives, everything. parabolano: What? Her house, her husband, herself? rosso: Everything: wife, husband, nurse, kids – and worse. parabolano: If you can tell me the first letter of her name, you’ve earned yourself a hundred ducats. rosso: Gold ducats or cheap ones?79 parabolano: Gold. rosso: Large or small? parabolano: Large – and lots of them! rosso: Get me out of the servants’ quarters and I’ll tell you everything – although you don’t deserve it. parabolano: I’ll make you chamberlain. Does it begin with an S ? rosso: No sir. parabolano: An A? rosso: Right! Just like Viola! parabolano: With a Z ? rosso: Santa Luna is a little higher. parabolano: With a C ?

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rosso: You’re looking through a peephole! Look – tomorrow or next day I’ll be glad to tell you. parabolano: Dear God, how can you stand by and let a servant torment me? rosso: What does it matter whether you find out today or tomorrow? After all, even if you murder Laura, you’ll still have Rosso at your service, and he’s as valiant as Astolfo.80 parabolano: Stop it! Where am I? rosso: In ecstasy! parabolano: Am I asleep? rosso: Yes, as far as doing me any good is concerned. parabolano: Who am I talking to? rosso: Rosso, who’s not going to be eating in the servants’ hall any more. To me that sounds better than if I were podestà of Norcia, ambassador to Todi, and Viceroy of Baccano.81 parabolano: Let’s go inside, my dearest friend. It’ll be worth your while. Scene xvi zoppino, a pimp, and master andrea master andrea: No one’s had this much fun since jokes were first invented. zoppino: I’ll tell him that the lady sent me to call on his highness, and if it weren’t for her respect for the Spaniard, Don Lindezza, who’s so jealous that he keeps guards at her door night and day, he could come and sleep with her. But if he comes in disguise, there’ll be no danger. master andrea: You’re on the right track. But here he is now, the ass – he’s on his way out. Take your hat off to him. Scene xvii messer maco, master andrea, and zoppino zoppino: The lady kisses your hands and feet. She has fallen ill for love of you. messer maco: Oh, the poor thing! Thank you so much! zoppino: The lady kissed the letter and the poem a hundred times or more. She has learned it by heart and sings it at the organ.

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messer maco: For good news like that I’ll order a little marzipan for you next time I send to Siena for some. master andrea: You’re too generous! Now Zoppino, let’s go inside and work out what Lady Camilla wants Messer Maco to do. Scene xviii rosso, alone rosso: I’m in better shape than I deserve. My master gave me a thousand kisses and calls me Sir. He wants everyone to obey me, even the cellarman. Ha, ha, ha! Oh, yes, yes, yes! I’ve become a greater master than Marforio.82 Happy the man who knows how to take advantage of fools. I can see it now – everyone will tip their hats to me. Now I must find Aloigia and bring her to see him. If this gets out, it’ll be too bad for him. But I know every hole in Italy that I can hide in. I have faith in Saint Aloigia. She’s got more up her sleeve than the calendar of feast days. I’ll probably have to wait an hour or so for her: she’s busier than busyness itself. Scene xix grillo, alone grillo: What a babbling simpleton this master of mine is! I tell you, he’s such a fool that no one envies him. But he’s in good hands now – Master Andrea and Zoppino. The one would swindle usury itself, and the other is so learned he’d drive the Sapienzia Capranica83 to the madhouse. Well, there’s no limit to what nature can do – he’d even believe that donkeys can teach school. As good old Strascino84 used to say, he’s a noodle without salt, cheese, or fire. Scene xx master andrea, zoppino, and messer maco messer maco: She loves me, does she? master andrea: More than if she’d given birth to you. messer maco: If the little rascal has a child by me, I’ll pay for the cradle – the little sweetheart, the good-for-nothing, the scamp.

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zoppino: Let’s get back to business. I think the surest thing would be for him to come dressed as a porter, with Grillo following him, dressed in his clothes. messer maco: Dress me up properly, Master. master andrea: Don’t worry. But you’ll have to learn a few words to disguise your speech. If someone asks you if you’re a porter, say oida. messer maco: Ola. master andrea: Fine. And if someone asks, ‘Are you from Bergamo?’ say maide, maide. messer maco: Be, be. master andrea: And if someone says, ‘When did you come here, porter?’ answer anco. messer maco: Cacaro. master andrea: Ha, ha, ha! Excellent! Go along with Grillo to disguise yourself. Your clothes are inside. Scene xxi master andrea and zoppino zoppino: Let’s put a load on him that’ll break his back. master andrea: No, that would be too much. It’ll be enough to dress him as a porter, and the moment he’s at his place by the door, just change your cloak and ask him if he wants to carry someone to the hospital who’s sick with the plague. zoppino: I get it. I’ll give you a good laugh. A prank like this would make the Old Testament young again. I’ll see you later. Scene xxii grillo, dressed as messer maco, and master andrea grillo: Do I look like a gentleman? master andrea: Don’t ruin the joke. We want him to believe that he really is the Sicilian porter – then take him you-know-where.

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Scene xxiii messer maco, master andrea, and grillo master andrea: The spirit of wisdom itself wouldn’t recognize you. But now’s the time to show us how smart you are. Sit yourself down by the lady’s door, and if anyone goes by pretend that you’re here to carry a trunk. But if you see that there’s no one in the street, go inside the house and do you-know-what with her. messer maco: But gently, I swear to God. I kiss your hand. master andrea: Now you go ahead – we’ll be right behind you. If you have the bad luck to come across that cheating Spaniard, Grillo, who looks just like you when he’s wearing your clothes, well, walk right past him – he won’t suspect a thing with you dressed like that. Do you understand, lunkhead? messer maco: I’ve got it. But walk close behind; someone might steal me from myself. Scene xxiv master andrea and grillo master andrea: Here’s a story that should be in Boccaccio. Wonderful! He, he, he, ha, ha, ha! The coronation of the Abbot of Gaeta85 was nothing to this, even though they had him riding on an elephant. Of all the tricks they played in the palace in the old days there wasn’t one as good as this one. grillo: Is this Zoppino ever a rascal! What a clever old buzzard! Look how he pretends to be someone else, while Messer Mescolone86 there sits himself down and stays there as solid as a house. master andrea: Let’s go closer and listen to what old Zoppino is telling him. Scene xxv messer maco, dressed as a porter, and zoppino zoppino: Do you have a partner to help you carry an invalid to Santo Spirito?87 messer maco: Spirit? You know very well I have spirit!

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zoppino: Santo Spirito, I said. It’s only the plague. messer maco: The plague? No, I don’t have it. zoppino: It’s no joking matter, you fool! Is bread so cheap that you don’t need any work? messer maco: If bread is cheap, tough luck for you. Scene xxvi master andrea, messer maco, grillo, and zoppino master andrea: Hey Sicilian, do this gentleman a favour. It’s an errand of mercy. messer maco: Master Andrea, are you joking, or have these clothes turned me into somebody else? master andrea: You talk like a Sienese, and every Christmas the Sienese embroider their cloaks just like that. What a rascal! messer maco: Isn’t this me, then? master andrea: To the gallows with you! grillo: Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for there, you damned bastard you. messer maco: For God’s sake, Grillo, you thief – you’re making fun of me. Give me back my clothes, you cheating swindler, you! master andrea: Stand back, you boor, you coward, or I’ll kill you! messer maco: Oh dear, dear, I’m in trouble. zoppino: Someone who just passed by said the Governor has put out a proclamation that anyone who knows about, or has seen, or is hiding a certain Messer Maco from Siena must report him, or his life will be forfeit, because he came to Rome without a passport. grillo: Oh no! I’m done for! master andrea: Don’t worry – take those clothes off and we’ll put them on this porter. You put on his cloak. When the police find him they’ll hang him in your place. messer maco: Hang me? Mercy! Run! Run! Help me! I’m a dead man! zoppino: Hold him, hold him! Take this! And that! Spy! Thief! Ha, ha, ha, ha! master andrea: Run after him, Grillo, and bring him back home. Tell him we played a trick on him – to amuse the lady. Tricks like this are all the rage in Rome. He’s from a good family and some of his relatives may not think it’s funny, and that would be bad for us. grillo: I’ll go. He looks as silly as an owl in a crowd of Florentine

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bankers. There are guys with the gift of the gab who get fat making up tricks like this, the way others get rich from money-lending.

ACT III Scene i parabolano and his steward, valerio parabolano: Good, clever, discreet, and well behaved: that’s Rosso! No question about it! valerio: The way you praise Rosso you’d think he’s the one who put you where you are. parabolano: He doesn’t come to me with the servants’ complaints. valerio: That’s because he’s a liar. parabolano: Or tells me the footmen haven’t been paid. valerio: Because he doesn’t care what happens to you. parabolano: Or that the colt’s having a fit. valerio: And so you believe his lies? parabolano: Or that the merchant’s dunning us for the fabric. valerio: But you’ve got to pay your debts. parabolano: He may not have brought me verses singing my praises; what he has brought me is life, and health, and peace. I consider him a true friend, the best of companions, a blood brother. valerio: Well I’m amazed that you don’t like those clever fellows who travel from court to court. parabolano: Look, I don’t live on poetry. And in a couple of days I’ll have got rid of all those philosophers who’ve been hanging around the house. I’ve been keeping them in food and drink against my better judgment. I want to share everything I have with Rosso. He has plucked me out of hell and placed me in paradise; he has given me life; he has revived my parched, dried-up hopes for the passions of love. And now off you go – I’m expecting Rosso and the welcome news that only he can bring.

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Scene ii rosso and aloigia rosso: I leave it to you. aloigia: You think this is the first time I’ve done this? rosso: No, no. aloigia: Then leave it to me. This must be your master now. rosso: That’s him. aloigia: I could tell it was him – the way he cracks his knuckles, and raises his face to the sky, and puts his finger to his mouth or his hand to his cheek – those are the signs of love. Oh, what fools these gentlemen are! They’ll be pining away for a princess, but then some slut comes along and their appetite is satisfied. I’ve seen them, even in the Dietro Banchi!88 And then they boast how they said or did something with lady such-and-such, or something else with madame so-and-so. rosso: I believe it! It must be quite a chore, managing an affair with a great lady. aloigia: That’s for sure. The only ones who can bring it off are either servants or stewards, and that’s only because it’s so convenient for them. rosso: Boy, am I happy to have all those worries about women behind me. It amazes me the way those loafers chase after them – at vespers, or mass, or during Lent; cold or hot, night or day. If they happen to reach their goal – after twenty years of trying – then, after a thousand false starts and a four-hour wait in some dirty, dangerous hole or other, a little cough or a sneeze will ruin everything, and bring disgrace on the lady and her whole family. But let’s talk about our Orlando.89 Step aside a little and I’ll do what I have to with the Master. Scene iii rosso, parabolano, and aloigia parabolano: Welcome, dearest Rosso. rosso: This is the nurse of that ... that ... You know what I mean. parabolano: You’re the one who has the angel in her care? aloigia: I am Your Lordship’s servant, and my Laura sends her respects. parabolano: I kneel to await her message. aloigia: I’m the one who should be kneeling, speaking to such a great gentleman.

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parabolano: Come on, get up – enough of this Spanish nonsense! aloigia: My lady kisses your hand. She has no other god but you. But I’m ashamed to come to you dressed in such a shabby gown. Forgive me. parabolano: This gold chain will buy you a new one. Take it. aloigia: Thank you so much! You didn’t need to, really! rosso: Didn’t I tell you? He gives away a hundred ducats as carelessly as a merchant steals them. (Aside) I’m lying in my teeth. aloigia: I can believe it. rosso: He gives us more clothes every year than they sell in the Piazza Navona.90 (Aside) If only the bastard would pay us our salaries! (Aloud) I won’t mention food and drink, but in the servants’ mess it’s always carnival time. (Aside) More like it’s always Lent – we’re all skinnier than a fast. aloigia: I am your slave. rosso: And friendly with his servants? Why, we’re all his pals. (Aside) I wish his life was as short as one of his friendly looks. aloigia: It’s a gentleman’s duty. rosso: Would he use his influence to help us out if we needed it? Why, for the least of his servants he’d speak to the Pope himself! (Aside) He should live so long! He wouldn’t lift a finger – not if he saw us with the rope around our necks. parabolano: It’s only to be of use to my friends that I am what I am, and Rosso knows it. But please, describe Laura’s face when you told her about me. aloigia: The face of an empress! parabolano: What does she say about me? How does she say it? aloigia: She speaks with great respect; she’s like sugar and honey. parabolano: What promises does she make to me, her servant? aloigia: Great ones! Magnificent ones! parabolano: Do you think she’s pretending? aloigia: (Ironically) Pretending? Oh sure! parabolano: How do you know? aloigia: Why, she’s fallen ill on account of you. Besides, she’s a noblewoman. parabolano: Does she love anyone else? aloigia: No sir. parabolano: Are you sure? aloigia: I’m certain. parabolano: What is she doing now?

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rosso: (Aside) She’s taking a piss. aloigia: She’s cursing the day, because it never seems to end. parabolano: What does the day matter, so long as heaven’s at the end of it? aloigia: It will feel like a thousand years before she’s with you tonight. parabolano: Reverend Mother, let me have a few words with you in private. aloigia: Whatever Your Lordship pleases. parabolano: Wait here, Rosso, we’ll be back in a moment. rosso: I’ll stay, but I’m not happy about it. Scene iv messer maco and rosso messer maco: What should I do? rosso: Hang yourself. messer maco: The police are looking for me. There must be some mistake. rosso: Well your face doesn’t exactly inspire trust. messer maco: Do you know Messer Rapolano?91 rosso: Messer Maco, what’s that you’re wearing? Have you gone mad? messer maco: Well, Master Andrea was taking me to the whores, and ... Scene v parabolano, aloigia, messer maco, and rosso parabolano: What are you saying, Rosso? rosso: Well as you can see, that rascal Master Andrea has talked your friend Messer Maco here into wearing these clothes. parabolano: You are Messer Maco? messer maco: Yes, I am, I am! parabolano: Rosso, you go along with dear old Mother here. And you, Messer Maco, come into the house with me. What a scoundrel that blockhead Master Andrea is! I don’t know if I can ever forgive him! messer maco: Don’t mind my teacher. He’s just playing a trick on me.

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Scene vi aloigia and rosso rosso: What did he tell you? aloigia: That he’s on the point of death. Listen, I’ve screwed in every whorehouse in Italy. In my heyday neither Lorenzina nor Beatrice could have kept up with me. I had minks and sables; I had parrots, monkeys – everything! You understand? rosso: And I’ve been servant to an innkeeper, monk, tax-collector, go-between, stool-pigeon, cop, hangman, coachman, miller, singer, jailbird, and con-man. That’s my story. Make what you want of it. aloigia: Look, I meant no offence – all I meant to say is that of all the things I’ve done, nothing has given me more trouble than this one. Listen, I have a few years up my ass. I used to be a lady, but I had to start from the bottom again, renting rooms, washing clothes, cooking, selling candles. rosso: Look, Aloigia, you should be glad I put this affair in your hands. It may be your last one. They’re using fewer and fewer women at court. You know why? Well, they can’t take a wife, so they take a husband instead; they satisfy their appetites much better that way, without breaking the law. aloigia: God save us! What a pack of wild animals that court is! And I’m talking right up as far as the bishops who wear the mitres! And they don’t even seem ashamed of it! rosso: Those are wise words, by God. Your confessor should use you in a sermon. aloigia: You’re right. But I’m not looking for worldly success. I learned from my old mentor that before you ride in a fine coach, you’ve got to ride a donkey. A beautifully decorated cardinal’s mitre wouldn’t be worthwhile if the neighbours claimed it was all done just for the glory of it. But while we’ve been talking I’ve thought of a way to give Parabolano what he wants and at the same time to keep ourselves out of trouble, now that we’ve gone this far. rosso: Tell me! Tell me! aloigia: Ercolano the baker has a wife who’s really something. I’ll see to it that she’s with your master tonight, in my house. When gentlemen want something it’s like a fever. And they always pick the worst of us women. He’ll never catch on.

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rosso: Let me give you a kiss! Never give up, you crown of all queens! Boy, if you hadn’t found a way out I could see myself getting into quite a fix! Now my dumb master will get himself the flower of Rome, and as far as we’re concerned, salvum me fac.* It’s clear as can be! Well, it’s agreed, then. I’ll see you later. Scene vii flaminio and valerio valerio: In these last few minutes you’ve gone crazy. If you take my advice you’ll stay in service! flaminio: I’ve definitely decided to find a new master. As the Spaniard said, it’s better to lose than to lose a lot. Boy oh boy! When I think of it: fifteen years I’ve served him! He never ate or mounted a horse without my looking after him. And now I have nothing. I feel like drowning myself. And I’m not so stupid that if some benefit had been thrown my way it would’ve been wasted. valerio: That’s the way Fortune works. Sometimes she’ll not only get a master to do his servant a good turn, but she’ll make a prisoner out of a great King of France92 for no reason at all. flaminio: It’s true. If the masters wanted to, they could call a halt to their servants’ bad luck – just as the nephew of Ancona, the Archbishop of Ravenna, did these past few days. A benefice he gave to the virtuous Master Ubaldino hasn’t worked out, so he borrowed a thousand scudi on interest, gave them to him, and cheated fortune in that way.93 valerio: There’s only one Archbishop of Ravenna, you know. flaminio: Well I want to get away. I might at least find a master who’d look me in the face maybe once a month, and when I spoke to him his only answer wouldn’t be to call me a fool for insisting on doing things my own way. I wouldn’t have to pawn my cloak and gown to keep from going hungry. Listen to this, Valerio – yesterday a position worth fifty scudi came vacant. I mentioned it to him right away, but he wouldn’t say a word on my behalf. He had them give it to the son of Sibilla the bawd instead. valerio: Masters do as they please. They advance whoever they want, and they ruin whoever they want. It’s a question of devoting yourself * ‘I

hope we get away with it.’

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to the good goddess Fortune, and make the best of what you’ve got. Here it is in a nutshell – one person will serve forever and never have anything to show for it, while somebody else, the first day he’s in service he’ll be rich. But you mustn’t give up hope – a courtier’s stock rises the moment he least expects it. flaminio: Maybe so, but some people are so unlucky that the moment never comes. Do you think he wasn’t full of promises when I first came to work for him? A person who tosses words around like that should be prepared to do something as well. I’m finding a new master. valerio: Where will you go? It’s a mess everywhere. If you go to Milan, God only knows how the Duke will end up. In Ferrara the prince does nothing but keep open house. There are no more kings in Naples. In Urbino the Duke is nervous, because past difficulties are still giving him trouble.94 Believe me, when the court of Rome suffers, everyone else suffers as well. flaminio: I’ll go to Mantua. His Excellency the Marquis Federico95 sees that everyone gets the bread he needs. I’ll stay there until Our Lord the Pope straightens out the world – and I’m not just talking about Italy. That’s when I’ll come back, because I’m sure that His Holiness will put virtue back where it belongs, just as his brother Leo did.96 valerio: You talk it over with me again soon, then do it my way and you’ll be fine. Flatter the Master; when he’s got a woman or a boy in his bedroom, say he’s reciting his offices. All they want is for you to praise everything they do, both the good and the bad. You know what you can say and still live like a free man. The only thing that offends or displeases them is the truth. flaminio: But don’t you see, Valerio, it’s always the evildoers who are rewarded. I’ll see you again, but I’ll do what’s best for myself. Envy’s everywhere at court – along the corridors, in the chambers, up and down the staircases – but no one has ever had reason to be envious of me. You can see what a wretched state I’m in. But I don’t mind, because no courtier’s soul will ever be damned because of me. valerio: Some might think you’re envious, since you say your master rewards those who don’t deserve it. flaminio: I didn’t say that out of envy, but because I was disgusted at how little sense he has. valerio: Goodbye.

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Scene viii parabolano and rosso parabolano: It’s a sweet thing indeed to love and be loved. rosso: The sweetest things are eating and drinking. parabolano: Sweet will be my Laura. rosso: If anyone wants her. As for me, I’d prefer a pitcher of Greek wine to Angela the Greek. I’d rather have a meal than Amelia.97 If gluttony could get you into paradise, I’d be at the head table by now. parabolano: The ambrosia that drops from the mouths of lovers has a sweetness very different from the taste of partridge and Greek wine. rosso: I’ve tasted hundreds of them. I’ve tasted Lorenzina, and Lady Momma-Doesn’t-Want-Me-To,98 and others, too, some of the most popular ones, but the only thing I found there was guck that’d turn the stomach of a galley slave. parabolano: Don’t compare cranes and partridges. Have some respect for the ladies. rosso: Why? Don’t they piss like peasants? parabolano: I’m a fool to talk to you. rosso: And I’m a fool to answer you. Tell me, Master, isn’t there one thing sweeter than the ambrosia you’re talking about? What about the honey that drops from tongues that can speak both the good and the evil? Ah! Now I’ve got you. parabolano: Ha, ha, ha! rosso: Oh, those verses that Master Pasquino writes – they’re marvellous! The barber says they should read one every day between the epistle and the gospel. Christ, they’d bring a blush to the cheeks of shame itself. parabolano: You seem very familiar with the poets. rosso: I used to work for Messer Antonio Lelio,99 and I know a thousand fine phrases by heart. parabolano: Come on, we must talk about Aloigia. Let’s go inside. Scene ix messer maco and master andrea messer maco: Master Andrea, how do we come into this world? master andrea: Through a very wide window.

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messer maco: And why do we come into this world? master andrea: To live. messer maco: How do we live, then? master andrea: By eating and drinking. messer maco: I eat like a wolf and drink like a horse, so I guess I’ll live forever. Well, when a man has done living, what does he do then? master andrea: He dies in a hole like a spider. But let’s get back to Gian Manenti.100 messer maco: Who was this Gian Manenti? master andrea: A great courtier and musician who made a new man of himself in those same moulds where we’re going to re-make you. messer maco: How do they work? master andrea: You’ll have to soak in lukewarm water. messer maco: Will it hurt? master andrea: Look, when they make cannons, and bells, and towers, do they hurt? messer maco: I don’t think so. But I thought that cannons and bells and towers grew like pine trees. master andrea: You were way off the mark. messer maco: Will I turn out well? master andrea: Tremendously well. It’s easier to make a man than a cannon. messer maco: It is, eh? master andrea: Yes sir. Now we must arrange for the doctor and the moulds and the medicines. Scene x grillo, the servant, messer maco, and master andrea grillo: Until Signor Parabolano sent word that Your Lordship had been found, we were desperate – the lady had people looking for you everywhere. messer maco: The poor thing was worried about me, was she? master andrea: Grillo, listen carefully to what I tell you. I want my lord here to be made over, like the other courtiers. grillo: You’ve made a good start – soon you’ll be in velvet. But for the love of God you’d better warn the ladies so that they can get a good supply of mattresses – when you’ve become a courtier they’ll throw themselves out of the windows for love of you, and you don’t want them to hurt themselves.

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messer maco: That would be a shame. I’ll see that someone brings mattresses. grillo: What delicacy of feeling! master andrea: Now let’s get things moving. Let’s go! Quickly! Scene xi aloigia and rosso aloigia: My heavens, I’m as busy as a marketplace. I’ve more letters to deliver than a courier, and more messages than an ambassador. Some want ointments for the French disease,101 others want powders to whiten their teeth or to cure God knows what maladies. And now I bet Rosso’s looking for me. What did I tell you? rosso: Drop everything and figure out some way that my master can play with his rod tonight. aloigia: I’ve got to say a few words to my confessor, then I’ll come and see you. rosso: Hurry up. My master’s gone to the palace and he’ll be back soon. I’ll be around the house. Scene xii flaminio, alone flaminio: I’m glad I talked to Valerio. He’s a sensible, helpful young fellow, and he wishes me well – although advice is cheap, and what I need right now is help, the way justice needs the help of Pope Clement.102 I’d be ready to give up hope, but then I compare my fate with that of greater men than myself. That was despicable, the way Cesare103 was betrayed – he always valued his lord’s reputation more than his own life. Scene xiii valerio and flaminio valerio: Who are you talking to, Flaminio? flaminio: I’m easing my own troubles by talking about someone else’s. valerio: Whose troubles do you mean?

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flaminio: Cesare’s – all Rome’s talking about them. valerio: Please, let’s talk about something a little more agreeable. What happened to him is too serious. As I’ve told you, we should respect great men. It’s risky as the devil to insult them. flaminio: The devil indeed! To tell the truth, you risk your life when you tell the truth. But enough of this. valerio: Let’s think about your problem. Come to the Banchi with me.104 I’ve something to tell you that you’re going to like. But let’s go inside – I forgot my note of exchange. flaminio: Let’s go – we’ll leave by the garden gate. Scene xiv grillo, alone grillo: I’ve got to find Master Mercurio. He’s the best fellow in the world, and the greatest joker. Master Andrea told Messer Maco that he’s the doctor who helps make courtiers. But by God, here he is! Welcome, Master Mercurio. Scene xv master mercurio, a doctor, and grillo, servant of messer maco master mercurio What do you want, Grillo? grillo: Master Andrea has the most beautiful prank going on you’ve ever heard. A Sienese gentleman came to Rome to make himself a cardinal in service to the Pope, and he’s taken on Master Andrea as a teacher. Master Andrea’s convinced him that the first thing he must do is to take on the shape of a courtier. Now we want to take him to the baths. They’re really hard on someone who’s never taken one – it’s as bad as being seasick. By the time we’ve shaved him and dressed him, he’ll be a laughing stock. You’ll be the doctor. master mercurio Ha, ha, ha! I have an even better idea. You know the hot-water cauldrons? grillo: Yes. master mercurio We’ll put him in there to soak, and we’ll tell him that they’re the courtiers’ moulds. But first we’ll give him a few pills. grillo: You’ve got the idea! Let’s go to Master Andrea. Messer Priapus is waiting for us.105

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Scene xvi aloigia and the father guardian of Araceli aloigia: I was just coming to Araceli106 to see you, Father, but you’ve saved me the trouble. father guardian: I come to St. Peter’s every day to do my devotions. aloigia: God forgive ... I mean God reward you for it. But you’re always praying – and you’re fatter and handsomer than ever. father guardian: I don’t follow the rules as strictly as all that – I may not get to paradise today, but there’s always tomorrow. aloigia: True, true, no reason to be in a hurry – and then it’s big enough that we’ll all fit in, thank God. father guardian: That’s right. And there’ll be room left over, because our souls are like lies – no matter how many millions of them you tell, like Tinca Martelli the Florentine,107 they don’t take up any room. But what miracle made you come to see me? aloigia: There are two questions I want to clear up. This is the first. father guardian: Well? aloigia: I want to know whether my dear old mentor’s soul will go to purgatory. father guardian: Purgatory? Yes, for a month or so. aloigia: They told me it wouldn’t. father guardian: Don’t you think I should know such things? aloigia: Oh, how wicked of me! I shouldn’t have listened to those slanderers. She will go, then? father guardian: Yes, take my word for it. What’s the other question? aloigia: Oh, what a memory! I’ve a mind like a sieve ... Wait ... No ... I’ve forgotten. Oh, now I remember! The Turk – where is he? father guardian: In Calcutta, in Turkey. aloigia: They’re saying in the piazza that in a week’s time he’ll be in Rome. father guardian: So what? Even if he came in four days, what difference would it make? aloigia: Quite a difference! father guardian: But what would happen? aloigia: It would be terrible – a filthy trick – I can’t even think of all that impaling! Impaling! Oooh! But will he come, Father? father guardian: No, you silly woman! aloigia: What a comfort you are to me! Imagine! To impale a poor

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little woman! May God and your prayers forbid it! I like to have a bit of bread in my mouth, but I could never swallow the Turk! father guardian: Now go along, and God bless you. I can’t stay with you any longer. I have to hurry. To tell you the truth, I heard in confession that Verucchio’s men plan to murder their count, Giovan Maria Giudeo.108 I’m going to have them arrested, and the first twenty will have their heads cut off. And it’ll be all my doing. aloigia: And a very good thing it is, too. You monks know everything. father guardian: That’s for certain – no one betrays anyone without our knowing about it. And we know how to get what we want, too – whether it’s a bit of veal or a young goat. I’m talking about the priests, of course. As for the minor friars, well, matins, masses, vespers, and compline are for them. They may be bothered in their dreams by a bit of flesh, but they eat with the cats. aloigia: And I thought you were all saints – you with your sandal-worn feet. Now go along and God bless you. Tomorrow, or whenever you get back, I want you to say San Gregorio’s mass for my husband’s soul. He may have been a bad man, but come nighttime, I could always do what I wanted with him. father guardian: Just come along and you’ll be looked after. Scene xvii aloigia, alone aloigia: You’ve got to have certain talents – like the ones my mentor had – if you want to survive. And if you want to know what’s going on, you’ve got to be friends with a monk or two. But let’s get back to business. When I think about it, Madonna Maggiorina’s death has made me the luckiest woman on earth. When she’s in paradise she’ll be a good go-between for me up there, just as she always was down here. Now I must go – I don’t want Rosso to have to wait all day.

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ACT IV Scene i master andrea, messer maco, master mercurio, and grillo master andrea: We have agreed on the price, and Messer Maco is ready to risk taking the medicine. messer maco: Tamen,* I’m really wondering about taking pills. master mercurio: Pillolarum Romane Curie sunt dulciora. messer maco: Nego istud, nego, nego, magister mi. master andrea: Hyppograssus affirmat hoc, dico vobis. messer maco: Nego prepositio hanc. master mercurio: Domine, usquequo vos non inteligitis glosam de verborum obligatione che sic inquit: totiens quotiens vult diventare cortigianos novissima dies pillole at aque syropus accipere bisognat? † messer maco: You’ve used a false rhyme: bisognat isn’t Tuscan, and I have a Petrarch here in my pocket that’ll prove it.109 master andrea: Come on, now, talk normally, not this gibberish. messer maco: Trans fabrilia fabri.‡ master mercurio: You know what medlars are, don’t you, sir? messer maco: Yes sir. master mercurio: Well, in Rome we call medlars ‘pills,’ and you can take as many of them as your guts will tolerate.110 master andrea: Did you understand exactly what Master Mercurio said? messer maco: Yes, I did. He’s a very learned man. I’d eat a thousand medlars for his sake. master andrea: That’s the spirit! In Bartolomeo Coglione’s time, you’d have been one of Malatesta’s best soldiers.111 grillo: Master, I’d better get going – the moulds are waiting. messer maco: Yes, go ahead, and pick out the best and most comfortable one you can find. * ‘However.’ † ‘master

mercurio: The pills of the Roman Curia are sweeter. messer maco: I deny it, I deny, I deny, my master. master andrea: Hippocrates affirms it, I tell you. messer maco: I deny that proposition. master mercurio: Sir, now you don’t understand the obligation implied in this sentence. Don’t you realize that if you want to become a courtier in this day and age you must take pills and syrupy water?’ ‡ ‘Through the tools to the work.’

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grillo: I’ll do that. Anything else? messer maco: Make sure it’s big enough to get my whole head in, and see to it that no one’s used it before. master andrea: Hurry, Grillo, and check that there’s a set of scales. He has to be weighed, because we have to pay a penny a pound the minute he’s done. But my dear sir, before you turn into someone else, please swear that you’ll be kind to me. You know what usually happens: as soon as you take someone away from tending donkeys, and raise them to the heavens, like Accursio or Serapice,112 they don’t give another thought to their friends or relations. messer maco: By the body of Judas, I’d like to chuck you under the chin! master andrea: That’s a child’s oath. messer maco: By the Gospels! master andrea: That’s how a peasant swears. messer maco: By God’s faith! master andrea: The porters say that. messer maco: By the blessed cross! master andrea: Women’s words. messer maco: Cunt ... Blood ... By the body of ... master andrea: By the body of what? messer maco: You really want me to swear? master andrea: Why not? messer maco: Of ... Christ! Of Christ! There! I said it! master andrea: Ah, Messer Maco, I’m joking – you swear like a trooper, and, my dear old fellow, I’m your most devoted servant. master mercurio: Come on, let’s not waste time. The moulds are getting cold, and here in Rome wood’s worth a fortune. messer maco: Wait, I’ll order a load from Siena. master andrea: Ha, ha, ha! Here’s the workshop where they make those plusquam * perfect courtiers – and there’s Grillo at the door! How are things, Grillo? grillo: Everything’s ready – the moulds, the scales, the medlars, and the workmen. The things that you’ll see will be more fantastic than the humour of melancholy. messer maco: Where is the moon right now, Master? master mercurio: What? Oh, a long way off. messer maco: No, I want to know whether it’s full or not. * ‘more

than’

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master mercurio: No sir. messer maco: Good. I was afraid it was, because then in fluxo ventris comes, but sola fides sufficit. Let’s go, in nomine Domini.* Scene ii aloigia and rosso aloigia: Ah, there you are, Rosso. I was asking my confessor when the mid-August feast of the Madonna is, because I’ve taken a vow to fast the night before. Then I came along the street of la Piemontese, and she gave me these sleeves. Then I rinsed my teeth with half a jug of Corsican wine, and now here I am. rosso: To make a long story short, Aloigia, Valerio’s got it in for me, and I feel the same way about him. If you were to work out a way we could put him in the boss’s bad books, I’d make it worth your while, because then I’d be in charge of things. aloigia: You give me a cut of your take, and I’ll see to it that he breaks his neck on a blade of grass. rosso: It’s yours! But tell me how you’re going to do it. aloigia: I’m thinking about that right now. rosso: Work it out carefully – it’s important. aloigia: I’ve got it! Hold tight! rosso: God, I hope so. aloigia: Here it is. rosso: Well? aloigia: I’ll say Valerio heard us talking about Laura, and he warned her brother, and the brother, whose name is Rienzo di Jacovello,113 has sworn to make trouble for all of us. But quiet – here’s your master. Scene iii parabolano, rosso, and aloigia parabolano: What is my Soul doing? aloigia: She’s dying for Your Lordship, but ... parabolano: ‘But’? God help me, what do you mean by ‘but’? * ‘ ... the looseness in the belly [comes, but] faith alone suffices; [Let’s go], in the name of the Lord.’

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aloigia: It was the act of a scoundrel! parabolano: What act? Who? aloigia: You should never do anyone a favour. rosso: That Valerio of yours ... parabolano: Valerio? What did Valerio do? aloigia: He went and told Laura’s brother that Rosso and I are pimping for his sister. But don’t tell anyone I told you. parabolano: Is that possible? rosso: I’m ready to explode! I can’t keep quiet! The worst man in Rome! He’s killed a dozen policemen, and he still goes around armed in spite of the Governor’s proclamation. I hope to God you get out of this one in one piece. parabolano: That traitor! I’ll take this dagger and stab him to the heart! That filthy tongue of his! aloigia: For the love of God, sir, don’t get involved in this affair – it’ll ruin us! parabolano: The scoundrel! It serves me right! I dragged him kicking and screaming out of the mud, made a man of him, and now he has an income of a thousand ducats! rosso: That’s what I say! I realized he was trying to ruin you, but I held my tongue because Your Lordship would have said I was talking nonsense. parabolano: Come inside for a while. The pain is tearing me apart! Scene iv rosso, alone rosso: The proverb says, as you make your bed, so must you lie in it; and if you’re a donkey but you think you’re a deer, you’ll lose your patron and you’ll never get rich. I’ve put one over on you, I know it. You’ll become the Duke of Tigoli114 and I hope it kills you, you dressed-up donkey! Now me – I’m a liar, a layabout, a cynic, a cheat, a flatterer, a stool-pigeon, a thief, a perjurer, and a pimp. And that gets you further than being someone like Messer Angelo de Cesis.115 With Aloigia helping me, I’ll bring in fresh merchandise every day, through both the front door and the back. I’ll be the favourite – and then it’ll be ‘Up yours, Valerio.’

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Scene v aloigia and rosso aloigia: I’ve taken care of him; it only took a couple of words. I promised him that if he comes to my place at eleven he’ll find himself with Laura. I told him she’ll be all alone in the dark, because she’s so shy you couldn’t get her there otherwise. We can manage this because her husband’s away – he’s going to Veletri116 for the week. But before we arranged all of this he fired Valerio and gave him a good tongue-lashing. Now away with you – I’ve no time to waste. rosso: What a witch she is! If the pupil can set things up so easily, think what the teacher must have been like! What did you say, sir? Scene vi parabolano and rosso parabolano: Is that the way Valerio talked about me? rosso: There’s more I could tell you, but I don’t like telling tales. parabolano: I’ll have him locked up! rosso: You ought to do that – you’ve no worse enemy than him. I don’t know what poison it was that he bought ... But I shouldn’t ... parabolano: Are you sure? rosso: I know what I’m talking about. Nobody can stand him – not even the street kids, or the whores, or the gamblers. parabolano: Tomorrow morning I’ll hand him over to the law. rosso: He talks about your mother, and your sisters, and your family, and he doesn’t care what he says about them. Now I don’t like fighting, otherwise a couple of days ago I’d have shown him a thing or two about gossiping about your affairs. parabolano: There you go – that’s what happens when you trust a servant. Dear, dear, dear! Take the keys, Rosso, all of them, and use them properly. rosso: I’m no expert, but at least I’ll be faithful to you. As far as other things are concerned, I’ve no reason to envy anyone – and I’m not just bragging. But let’s get this little annoyance out of the way, and if he’s done something wrong, let’s punish him. Tonight Aloigia will do what she’s promised, and I’ll be left with my tongue hanging out. What’s the first thing you’re going to say to her?

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parabolano: What would you say? rosso: I’d let my hands do the talking. But it’s too bad she can’t see your face. There’s not a woman in Rome who doesn’t pine away whenever you pass by. I’m not just flattering you – it’s the truth! And if I were a woman, I’d want you to do a job on me right away, without wasting time. If you’d like to take a ride to kill some time until evening, the little mule is ready. parabolano: I think I’ll walk. Let’s go this way. There’s nothing I’d rather do than talk to you. rosso: This is your slave you’re talking to, Master, and I’m as reliable as death itself. When I think about your Lady Laura, I’m struck dumb by her beauty. She’s elegant, she’s charming, and yet she’s grave and demure and virtuous. Jesus, she was made for you! Scene vii valerio and flaminio valerio: My master’s love has completely turned against me. He fired me. It was as if I’d murdered his father or something. Why is it that gentlemen are so easily taken in by the worst kind of people? By God, I’ve stumbled right into what I’ve always been afraid of. It’s true that I have enough to live comfortably, like a gentleman, and I wouldn’t mind taking a rest and never have to serve again. But I don’t like to leave my master under a cloud – people will think I did something wrong. So you see, Flaminio, everyone has his troubles. flaminio: ‘Oppressed by ills, I fear the worst,’ as Petrarch said.117 I was hoping you might be able to do something for me, but now I see you’ve had worse luck than I have. They say that misery loves company, but I swear, Valerio, my love for you makes me feel even worse. valerio: I want to find out if this is a case of infatuation. I’m sure he is in love. And I wonder if the whole thing was invented by that rogue Rosso. He’s been talking in secret with him all the time lately. But that’s the way the world goes. flaminio: Don’t rush into things. You’ve always acted wisely: use your wisdom now, when your honour and the fruits of so many years’ service are at stake. valerio: Goodbye. I’ll be able tell you soon where this thing came from.

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Scene viii togna, wife of ercolano the baker, and aloigia [aloigia knocks] togna: Who’s there? aloigia: It’s Aloigia, dear. togna: Wait, I’ll come right down. aloigia: Good day, my love. togna: What do you want, Granny? aloigia: Come to my house at ten o’clock tonight. There’s something I want you to do for me, in confidence – it’ll be to your advantage. togna: Oh no, that’s just my luck. My husband’s got so jealous I don’t know where I am any more. But ... aloigia: What do you mean, ‘but ... ’? Your luck? You do as I tell you, and don’t be so childish. togna: When it comes right down to it, I suppose I can’t pass this one up. I’ll be there if it kills me. It’ll serve him right, the drunken swine. aloigia: Thank you. Oh, by the way, come dressed as a man. Some crazy things happen in Rome at night – you could be gang-raped,118 verbi gratia.* And remember, thanks to me you’re half-way there. togna: Thanks a million. Fine, then, I’ll come. And as for Ercolano, to hell with him. Scene ix ercolano the baker, togna, his wife, and aloigia ercolano: What’s all the jabbering about? aloigia: About your soul. ercolano: How pious of you! togna: You should be thankful. ercolano: Shut up, bitch! togna: Can’t a person have a talk with a nice old lady? ercolano: Where’s my shovel ... aloigia: My good man, Antonia was just asking me when the Lenten service at San Lorenzo Extra Muros119 will be. ercolano: There’s nothing in that for me. Now get the hell out, and don’t let me see you around here again. And you – in the house! By ... * ‘as

they say’

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togna: Go to hell! Scene x ercolano, alone ercolano: If you keep goats, you’ll have horns. This little wench of mine isn’t up to standard. I’ve noticed how she goes out at night to amuse herself. I’m not so blind drunk I can’t see I’m from Corneto, and now with this Aloigia hanging around there’s no room for doubt. When I get back home I’m going to play drunk, then I’ll know for sure whether I’ve come straight from Cervia.120 Scene xi ercolano and togna ercolano: Come down here, you lazy loafer! Togna! Who do you think I’m talking to? togna: What do you want? ercolano: Don’t expect me for supper. togna: So what else is new? ercolano: Now you listen to me ... togna: You’d do better to stay home, instead of hanging around taverns and running after whores. ercolano: Get off my back. Get my bed made right now, so I can sleep as soon as I get in. togna: I always have to eat with the cat. I know the devil didn’t want you to join up with someone who’d treat you the way you deserve, but I’m far too good for you. ercolano: Don’t perch up there in the window, showing yourself off like some slut. togna: The wolves will eat me up. ercolano: That’s enough. You know what I’m talking about. I’m going. togna: To hell! But enough talk – it’s time to do something. If two mouths kiss, one of them’s bound to stink. Yours with wine and mine with love. I’ll see that you wear them, even if you burst for it, you jealous drunkard!

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Scene xii parabolano and rosso parabolano: Who knows? Perhaps the sun and the moon are in love with her! rosso: That may very well be, because the sun and the moon are as horny as can be. parabolano: It frightens me when I think of it: the house she lives in, the clothes she wears, the bed that keeps her warm, the water that washes her, and the flowers that she smells – all these can claim her love. rosso: You’re too fearful. May Cupid take heaven and earth by the hair. parabolano: I hope to God I’m wrong. Now let’s go back home. Scene xiii grillo, alone grillo: Ha, ha, ha! Please, no more laughing – stop! – let me speak. Ha, ha, ha! – please! Messer Maco – ha, ha! – Messer Maco was in the moulds. He threw up till you’d think his soul would come next. They shaved him, dressed him in new clothes, perfumed him, and talked a whole pile of nonsense. Now he’s saying things that’d bring a laugh to a melancholic. He wants all Rome for himself, the ladies, and the power, and the glory. That crazy Master Andrea makes him believe things that would make a liar out of the Gospels. Messer says mi-mi-mi and si-si-si just like a Bergamese, and uses words that not even an interpreter could understand. If I wanted to tell you exactly what he says I’d have to have the memory of a Ricordo.121 But enough of that. He sent me to look for marzipan, the Sienese kind. But I’ve got something more interesting to do – let him wait till the crow comes home.122 Oh, I forgot – Master Andrea has a mirror; it’s concave, and it shows people looking the opposite of what they really are. When they come out of the bath he makes them look into it, and they lose all hope. You stay here and watch for him. As for me, I’ve seen enough.

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Scene xiv rosso, alone rosso: Damn him! What did I tell you? Christ! No sooner do I sit down to have a drink but I have to run for Aloigia. I’ve become his messenger boy, lovesick as he is. Well, as long as he promises to make me chamberlain ... And yet I’d rather be a nobody than a chamberlain. Do you know anyone who loves them? There’s one I know who lends money at high interest to his own master – and it’s the same money he’s stolen from him! You know, all the stuff they give to their whores is like so many mouthfuls stolen from their hungry servants. By God’s asshole, if it weren’t for the example of Pope Clement’s major-domo – the one exception to the rule – I’d spill the beans. But where did Aloigia go, the old witch? Scene xv romanello, a Jew, and rosso romanello: Any old iron! Any old iron! rosso: I think I’ll play one on this Jew just like I did on the fishmonger. romanello: Any old iron! Any old iron! rosso: Come here, Jew. What do you want for this monk’s gown? romanello: Try it on. If it fits we can make a deal. rosso: Help me with it. I’d like to get out of these rags for once. romanello: It’s just right! Like it was made for you! rosso: How much? romanello: Ten ducats. rosso: That’s too high. romanello: What’ll you give me? rosso: Eight scudi. And I’ll take this cape for one of my monks at Araceli as well. romanello: I’m happy you’re buying it for your brother. I’ll try it on myself so you can see if it’s big enough. rosso: I wouldn’t mind seeing how it looks on you. romanello: Give me a hand. Here, hand me the cord and the scapular. What do you think?

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rosso: I like it. It’s good material, and it’s almost new. romanello: Very new. It belonged to Cardinal Araceli in minoribus.123 rosso: Turn around so I can see how it drapes. romanello: There. rosso: (Fleeing with the gown, with the Jew after him dressed as a friar ) Thief! Thief! Stop him! Catch him! Thief! Thief! Scene xvi policeman, rosso, and romanello policeman: Stop in the name of the law! What’s going on here? rosso: This monk came out of a tavern and started running after me like a crazy man. I didn’t want to argue with a priest, so I took off. romanello: Officer, this guy’s swindled me, sir. I’m Romanello the Jew, who ... policeman: Sacrilege! You scoundrel! Making fun of Christians going around wearing holy robes! Take him to jail. romanello: Is this what you call justice? rosso: Captain, Your Lordship had better do something about this, because I’m with someone who’d make you sorry you didn’t. This kind of thing shouldn’t happen to a person who’s just going about his business. policeman: Don’t worry, he’ll pay for it. A few strokes of the lash should get the wine out of his head. Scene xvii rosso, alone rosso: Armelino’s in charge of this district,124 and if he doesn’t keep this guy on the job for ten more years he’ll be making a big mistake. He’s got a great eye for a thief, hasn’t he! Oh, the crooked things that go on here in this filthy Rome of ours! God must be truly patient, or he’d have sent down some great calamity by now. I deserve to be hung up like a piece of antipasto, and he’s let me go free, while poor Romanello’s lost his robe and they’ve sent him to prison. It’ll cost him more than just a few fast words to get out of this one. You need good luck to get along in the world. Now that I feel better, let’s find the old lady.

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Scene xviii master mercurio, master andrea, and messer maco master andrea: It must be a hundred years at least since anyone’s seen as handsome a fellow as you! master mercurio: By God, you should be thankful for the high quality glue they use in those moulds! messer maco: Ha, ha! Show me the mirror. I feel like a new man! Oh, the pain I suffered! But now I’m a courtier and I feel fine. Here, give me the mirror. Oh, my God! I’m ruined! Maimed! Done for! Oh, my mouth! My nose! Merciful heavens! Vita dulcedo ... et verbum caro factum est.* master mercurio: What’s wrong? Does your body hurt? messer maco: I’m finished! I’m not myself! ... regnum tuum ... panem nostrum ...† Swindlers! You’ve changed the way I look! I’ll have you charged as thieves! Thieves! ... visibilium et invisibilium ...‡ master andrea: It never hurts to do a little praying, but do you have to throw yourself on the ground? Stand up and take a good look in the mirror. messer maco: Scoundrels! Give me my face, and you can take yours back. If I recover, I solemnly swear I’ll say the pestilential psalms for a month. master andrea: Fine, fine! But look at yourself in the mirror again. messer maco: I won’t. master andrea: Yes you will. messer maco: Laudati pueri dominum!§ I’ve recovered! I’m back together again! And handsomer than ever! Oh little star of love! Oh angel’s courtier! Oh carven image! Visage oriental! ... master mercurio: You do your celebrating to music? My, what a voice! messer maco: I want all the ladies of the court – right now. I want to be Pope and I want to screw Camilla. Now! Now! Let’s get moving. I’m in a hurry! * ‘life

sweetness ... and the word became flesh.’ ... your kingdom ... our bread ...’ ‡ ‘visible and invisible’ § ‘Praise the Lord, children!’ †‘

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master andrea: Away you go, Master Mercurio. See the cashier at the Chisi125 tomorrow, and you’ll be paid on Messer Maco’s behalf. master mercurio: I’ll do that – and, Your Lordship, I kiss your hands. Scene xix master andrea and messer maco messer maco: I want to screw the lady, I tell you, screw her! Let’s go! master andrea: Don’t you want to wear something more suitable? messer maco: Shittable? What are you talking about? The lady, I said! The lady! master andrea: Take it easy! Let’s go inside and we’ll get your sword and your cape, and then we’ll go to the lady. You don’t go around Rome at night in a bathrobe. messer maco: Let’s go. The devil’s got into me! Scene xx aloigia and rosso rosso: (Knocks) Aloigia? aloigia: I was just looking for you. There’s something I want to tell you. rosso: What? Isn’t everything ready? aloigia: Togna, Ercolano’s ... rosso: What? She doesn’t want to come? aloigia: I was talking to her a while ago, and her husband caught us. rosso: And did he realize that ... aloigia: Don’t worry. Go tell your master to get ready. At eleven o’clock he has to break a couple of lances. Make sure he understands what he has to do. My compliments to His Excellency. Goodbye. rosso: Goodbye. I’ll go this way so I don’t meet my master. Too late – here he is. Scene xxi parabolano and rosso parabolano: Well? What’s happening? rosso: To make a long story short, your friend will come at eleven

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o’clock. So you’d better take a dose of something to build up your strength. parabolano: She’s a fine woman, that Aloigia! rosso: The most loving woman in the world. parabolano: I’ll be worn out by eleven. Can you hear them sounding, Rosso? Listen: one ... two ... rosso: Sure, it’s the church bells calling to prayer. parabolano: Oh! Right. What will we do while we’re waiting? rosso: A little snack. parabolano: What an idea! rosso: Well I don’t want to eat like some monk of the Papal Seal, you know. parabolano: For pity’s sake, let’s talk about Laura. rosso: For pity’s sake, let’s pick up a quick bite to eat and a couple of glasses of wine on the run. parabolano: I feed myself with the memory of my lady. I crave nothing else to satisfy my hunger. But I want to make you happy. Let’s go. rosso: Gratis vobis.* You’d soon forget your memories if you were hungry.

ACT V Scene i valerio, alone valerio: No question about it now, my master’s angry with me. I can see it on the face of every servant. Oh, oh, oh, oh! It’s really true: you never see a face at court that’s not a sham. Up till now they treated me almost as if I were the master. Everyone praised my wisdom, my goodness, my generosity. Everyone loved me. Now nobody knows me, and everyone’s having his say about me. And it’s the ones I’ve always encouraged and helped out with my own money who are the first to insult me. Well, there we are! The very walls of the rooms have turned their backs on me. Good fortune has its friends, and ill fortune its enemies! What will I do? Who will advise me? No one. I’m sure if I wanted to drown myself I could find someone to tie a stone around my neck. * ‘I

thank you.’

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Come on now! God’s in his heaven. Justice and innocence should count for something. I want to talk this over with the monsignor from Ravenna.126 There aren’t many like him at court. He’s sure to give me the help and advice I need. Scene ii ercolano, drunk, and togna togna: I’m standing here at the door waiting to see if that fool husband of mine comes back. I’d like to break his leg. It’s night already but he hasn’t come. This must be him now. ercolano: ‘Sh ... show ... show me the wa ... wa ... way to go ho ... ho ... home ...’ Oh, the wind ... windows are dancing. Ha, ha, ha! To ... Togna, ho ... hold me so I don’t fa ... fall in the Ti ... Ti ... Tiber. Ha, ha, ha! togna: I wish to God you would. It might water all that wine you’ve drunk, you old fool. ercolano: I’m no ... not drunk. No, I’m a ... asleep. The Cu ... Cu ... Culiseum is on my bed. Take me upstairs, qui ... quick. I could sleep through the trumpets on Judgment Day. togna: Go on up, you pig! I’d like to tear you to pieces. Scene iii messer maco and master andrea messer maco: Is this really me, Master? master andrea: If only it weren’t. messer maco: Nonsense, I say. I want to screw her, I tell you! master andrea: Take it easy! messer maco: You’ll have to take a sword to me! Christ, but I want to screw her! master andrea: Slow down! Here’s the door. (Knocks) messer maco: Knock harder! Open up, by the body of ...

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Scene iv biasina, a maid, master andrea, and messer maco biasina: Who’s there? messer maco: Me! It’s me! I want to come up and sleep with the lady! biasina: She’s got company. messer maco: Send him away. Otherwise, you fucking cow ... biasina: What a boor! That’s not the way a gentleman talks. master andrea: Open up, Biasina; don’t let the gentleman here get angry. biasina: One of yours, eh, you old goat you? I’ll pull the latch. Come on in. messer maco: Well, you finally opened, did you, old shitface Marfisa?127 Scene v ercolano, alone, wearing his wife’s clothes ercolano: The bitch! The bitch! I should give her back to her brothers! I’ve caught her this time, the slut! Poor as I am, I’ve never made her go without anything for lack of money. I’ll find her if I have to run around all night, and then I’ll cut her throat. Oh! Oh! Oh! I hadn’t noticed till now, but those were her clothes at the foot of the bed. Did she leave the house in my clothes? You run away dressed as a man, and I chase you dressed as a woman! I’ll go this way! No, this way! I’d better take the street through Borgo Vecchio – or maybe Santo Spirito – I’d be sure to get my hands on her in the Camposanto.128 But she must have gone down this way, because she went out the back door. Scene vi parabolano and rosso parabolano: It’s a disagreeable feeling, this waiting! rosso: Especially when hunger’s gnawing away at us. parabolano: Quiet. One ... two ...

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rosso: You think every bell you hear is a clock. That’s Madam Onesta’s funeral bell, and you’re counting the hours! But listen: one ... two ... three ... four ... and a quarter. Your appetite will be looked after, and that rascal Lord Cupid ... parabolano: I’ve still got a year to wait! rosso: Let’s say two. As for me, I’m not going to stay out here in the open any longer. The wind’s killing me, and I sure don’t go for the idea of getting sick. Bloody women! Why aren’t you content with money? That’s what keeps everyone else going. parabolano: Let’s go inside. I want you healthy, Rosso old fellow. Scene vii valerio, alone valerio: Messer Gabriele Cesano and Messer Ioanni Tomaso Manfredi are certainly right to praise this Bishop of Cremona.129 He’s even kinder than everyone says he is. I told him my troubles and money was the least of what he offered me. It’s a pity he’s a priest and lives in this infernal court. Of the thousands you’ll see there, there are only a couple of good ones: Ravenna and the most reverend Datario.130 As for the others, take one look and then pass them by.131 O court, how much more cruel you are than hell! It’s true! Hell punishes vices but you revere, you adore them. But this isn’t doing me any good. I must find my master. I’ll find him walking by himself. I know where to look for him. I’ll speak to him before I go to sleep and find out the cause of my troubles. Scene viii master andrea and zoppino master andrea: Zoppino, I’m tired of this joke. This guy is stupidity incarnate, and he’s no fun any more. Let’s jump him though – but first let’s exchange our cloaks. zoppino: Here, give me yours, and you take mine. master andrea: Once we’ve thrown him out of the house we’ll sleep with Camilla. (Knocks) Open up there! Ah! You’ve had it, you cheat! Coward! Lout! Stay where you are!

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Scene ix messer maco, in his nightshirt, throwing himself out a window messer maco: Help! My ass is wounded! I’ve got a hole in my ass! The street! Run! I’m finished! But where am I running to? Where’s the house? Oh dear! Oh dear! Scene x parabolano and rosso parabolano: What was that noise? rosso: Just someone partying. parabolano: Is it eleven o’clock yet? rosso: What’s the matter? Why are you so pale? parabolano: I’m pale on the outside because of the fires within. rosso: (Aside) You’ll put your fires right out, you bastard. parabolano: I’m afraid that when I’m with her I won’t be able to say a word. rosso: No, no – you’ve got to chatter like a marketplace. parabolano: When one has a sensitive nature, Love steals away one’s boldness. rosso: Piss on Love! A man who’s afraid to speak to a woman is a fool. Here’s Aloigia, running like a thief. parabolano: Dear, dear! rosso: What the devil’s wrong? parabolano: I’m afraid that ... Scene xi aloigia, parabolano, and rosso aloigia: Sir, Laura is in the house of your servant Aloigia (thanks to me), and she’s waiting there for you, timid as can be. Do keep your word, sir, and this first time don’t try to see her against her will. She’s so bashful she’d die. Do what you have to do quickly, because although her husband has gone to one of his farmhouses, he sometimes comes back at night, and that’d be the ruin of her.

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parabolano: I’ll do nothing to offend her. I’d rather pluck my eyes from their sockets. aloigia: Well, you take a little walk, and then go into my house. Scene xii parabolano and rosso parabolano: O blessed night! You are dearer to me than the miraculous face of God to the pure in heart. O my bounteous star, which of my merits led you to bestow such a treasure upon me? O my faithful servant, how obliged I am to you! rosso: (Aside) That’s the way: a little praise for me. parabolano: O angelic beauty of brow, of breast, of hands, soon I’ll be your only possessor. O gentle lips, where Love distils the sweetest ambrosia, allow me, all fire as I am, to dip my own unworthy lips in your sweetness. O goddess, will you with your tranquil light illume the chamber, so that I may see her on whom my life and death depends? rosso: An impressive prologue! parabolano: Isn’t this what I’m supposed to do? Praise my mistress and the heavens for giving me such a gift? rosso: Not as far as I’m concerned. I hate women like wine hates water. Scene xiii aloigia, parabolano, and rosso aloigia: Hush, sir. Come along quietly. Give me your hand. parabolano: Oh, God! How very, very thankful I am, Aloigia and Rosso! rosso: (Alone) Go on, eat a bit of that rotten meat you give us poor servants all year long. You crook! Wouldn’t it be nice if some cutthroat was waiting in there to chop you up in a thousand pieces; then for a change you’d be the one who’s treated like a dog! Scene xiv aloigia and rosso aloigia: He’s in the room with her, and he’s roaring like a stallion that’s just caught sight of the mares. He sighs and he weeps. And his

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bows! He makes more bows to her than the Spanish do in the Seggio Capuano.132 He’s promising to make her duchess of Magliana or Campo Salino.133 rosso: If I liked women, I’d have done what the lords do, and had a taste of her beforehand. But tell me, seriously: how many of these acts of mercy do you perform in the average year? Not that the bastards don’t deserve even worse. aloigia: Thousands. I’d be hard put to find a Roman woman for every fool who wants one. Every peasant who gets a bit dolled up thinks he’s a monsignor, and right away he wants me to bring him some high-born ladies. I give them bakers’ wives to satisfy their appetites, and they pay me as if they were queens, the stupid fools. But what’s on your mind? rosso: I’m thinking that tomorrow I’ll be escaping from the servants’ mess – if he doesn’t get wind of this little caper. And even if he does, what could happen? I can face it. I know I deserve to hang for the terrible thing I’m doing to my master, but I don’t think about it. aloigia: What an awful man! rosso: The only thing I’ve ever been afraid of is the servants’ mess. aloigia: A big fellow like you, scared of the servants’ mess? rosso: If you could see the table all set up, and then had to eat the food that was on it, you’d be frightened to death yourself. aloigia: I’ve never happened to see one. rosso: The moment you set foot inside, it doesn’t matter whose it is, you find yourself in a cavern so dark it’d make a morgue seem cheery. In the heat of the summer it’s boiling, and in winter the words freeze in your mouth. The stink’s so fierce it’d take the smell from a civet cat. That’s where the plague comes from, nowhere else! Shut up the servants’ messes, and presto! Rome’s cured of the plague. aloigia: Merciful heavens! rosso: There are more colours on the tablecloth than on a painter’s smock. It’s washed in the pigs’ tallow that’s left over at night from the candles – although most of the time we eat in the dark. And the bread’s as hard as enamel. You can never wash your hands or your face. We eat St. Luke’s mother at every meal. aloigia: You eat Saints’ flesh? rosso: Even the crucified ones! No – when I said we eat St. Luke’s mother I meant the way they paint them: he’s an ox and his mother’s a cow. aloigia: Ha, ha, ha! rosso: That beef they feed us is older than creation, and it’s cooked so badly, abstinence itself would lose its appetite.

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aloigia: They should be ashamed! rosso: Morning and night always the same cow! The broth they make of it makes lye-water taste like sugar. aloigia: Aagh! rosso: Don’t throw up yet – there’s worse! They always put kohlrabi and pumpkin in the soup – just when it’s ready to be thrown out, I mean; otherwise, forget it. It’s true, in place of fruit – as a refreshment – they give us a couple of chunks of buffalo cheese. But it sits in your stomach like a lump of glue that’d kill a statue. aloigia: Jesus! rosso: Oh, and I’d forgotten about Lent. Listen to this: all through Lent they make us fast. You thought maybe they’d give us a treat in the morning? Four anchovies, or ten rotten sardines, and twenty-five cockles that would make hunger despair – but you’re so exhausted that you take your fill. And a bowl of fava-beans without oil or salt. Then at night five bites of bread that would break the jaws of a satyr. aloigia: Oh, oh, oh, oh! That’s terrible! rosso: Then summer comes, and a man craves some place that’s nice and cool. You go into the servants’ mess, and the heat jumps up at you – it rises out of the filthy pile of bones, which is all covered with flies. It would frighten away rage, let alone appetite. How about a little refreshment? Some wine perhaps? Take it from me – a dose of medicine would be less disgusting. The wine is watered down with lukewarm water that’s been sitting all day in a copper vat. I think it’s the smell of the vat that refreshes you the most. aloigia: Filthy scoundrels! rosso: Once in a hundred years there’s a banquet, and the leftovers – things like chicken necks, and feet, and heads, stuff like that – they pass along to us, but by the time they get to us they’ve been through so many hands they’re as dirty as Giuliano Leni’s neckband.134 Now here’s the good news: our elegant and graceful servers are full of ringworm and syphilis! They wouldn’t wash their hands if the Tiber was after them. You want to know how badly off we are? The walls are always weeping, as if they pitied the misery of those who eat there. aloigia: No wonder you’re afraid of the servants’ mess – you’ve got a thousand good reasons. rosso: On Fridays and Saturdays it’s always rotten eggs, and they’re as stingy with them as if they’d just been laid. But what really makes us curse God is the way the butler treats us. We’ve hardly finished the last mouthful when he chases us away, banging away with his staff just for

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spite. We’d like to finish off the meal with a little conversation – since it’s impossible to do it with the food – but he never lets us. aloigia: And everyone comes running to Rome to make courtiers of themselves, eh? Oh, it’s cruel! And what’s that? Oh, no! This is terrible! We’re done for! Listen to the racket coming from my house! I was afraid this would happen! Oh dear, dear, dear! We’re ruined! I’ll go see what’s going on. Scene xv rosso, alone rosso: I’m done for. Throw me on the junk-pile. Where can I go where he can’t get at me? Listen to that noise! He’s going to kill both the baker’s wife and the bawd. I’ve got to do something! Scene xvi parabolano, alone parabolano: I’m the most humiliated person in the world! And it serves me right – I let myself be taken in by a bawd and a servant. And I probably laughed, didn’t I, when they played that joke on Messer Filippo Adimari.135 He was told at vespers that they’d found four bronze statues when they were digging the foundations of the house he’s having built in Trastevere. He ran like a fool to see them, on foot, alone and in his nightshirt, and when he found there was nothing there, he must have felt after that joke the way I feel now after this one. And I gave Messer Marco Bracci the Florentine136 a hard time because of that wax statuette he found under his pillow. It was Pietro Aretino who’d put it there. Thinking it was witchcraft, he had Lady Marticca137 flogged – she’d slept with him that night, so he thought she must have been so much in love that she cast a spell on him. It was the same way with Messer Francesco Tornabuoni138 – remember the fun I had when he drank ten different syrups because we’d convinced him he had the French disease? Who wouldn’t laugh? Valerio, Valerio, what a mistake it was to drive you away – and where are you now? Now I realize he was one servant who could see the truth.

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Scene xvii valerio and parabolano valerio: Here he is, sir, your servant Valerio. Whether you intended it or not, I recognize myself in what you said. And I deplore my wretched fate and those terrible slanders that have, for no reason at all, disgraced me in your eyes. parabolano: It’s love that’s to blame, Valerio. I was too credulous. I’m not usually like that. Don’t be angry with me. valerio: That’s the way you great gentlemen are, and that’s what makes me angry. You’re quick to believe flatterers and liars, but you’ll dismiss a faithful, honest man from your favour without even hearing what the absent suspect has to say. parabolano: Please forgive me. I was tricked by Rosso, who led me here to enjoy a whore, instead of the Roman gentlewoman who’s the queen of my life. valerio: So! Because of someone like Rosso, with all his fast talk, a gentleman like you lets himself fall into the hands of a common bawd – I saw you coming out of her house just now. Rosso talked you into dismissing someone who has served you for so many years with unquestioning obedience. You should be ashamed – a gentleman like you, blinded to common sense by a foolish appetite, putting us all in the hands of a pimp, and taking every lie as gospel truth. parabolano: No more! I’m ashamed to be alive! I’d like to kill them, both the young woman and the old one who lives here. valerio: You’d be piling shame on top of disgrace! On the contrary, I beg you, let her get out, and let’s have a good laugh about how they put a new twist on an old trick. Then you can be the first to tell it and people will forget your juvenile behaviour that much sooner. parabolano: That’s wise advice. Wait for me here. Scene xviii valerio, alone valerio: Didn’t I guess it was Rosso’s doing? In the end, all you can do is pray to Christ. Otherwise, anyone who puts you at the mercy of a great lady becomes the master of masters and he can do what he wants, as if he were the master himself.

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Scene xix parabolano, togna, aloigia, and valerio parabolano: I see! When I was dreaming I let it slip that I had fallen in love, and Rosso became the author of my disgrace. aloigia: Yes, sir. I’m putting myself in your good hands, Your Lordship. I did wrong, but it was because I was too compassionate and good! Oooh! parabolano: What? You’re crying? Good God, I must do something for you! aloigia: When I saw that you were so lovesick, I was afraid that an overdose of love would make you even sicker, and so I made up my mind. valerio: By God, she deserves to be forgiven; it’s her compassionate nature and her ingenuousness that gives her the strength of mind to do such clever things. parabolano: Ha, ha, ha! Am I the first one? aloigia: No sir. parabolano: Ha, ha! By God, I’ve changed my mind – I’m going to laugh at this silly prank and my own stupidity! Whatever happens to me, it serves me right. I shouldn’t have come. And Aloigia did just what she was asked to. valerio: Now you’re showing some common sense! And you, madam, you’re looking sad! You’re a better person for having had your pleasure with such a great gentleman. togna: Alas! I’ve been betrayed! I was brought here by force, dressed in my husband’s clothes! aloigia: You’re not telling the truth. Scene xx ercolano, togna, aloigia, valerio, and parabolano ercolano: Aah! I found you, you bitch! Aah! You pig! Don’t hold me back! parabolano: Stay where you are! Don’t move! Stay back! You’re dressed as a woman! Ha, ha, ha! ercolano: She’s my wife! I want to punish her! togna: You’re lying!

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ercolano: Aah, you slut! This is the way I present myself to you – a horned man! I, who serve Lorenzo Cybo139 and all the cardinals of the palace! togna: So what? I still belong to you, don’t I? ercolano: Let go of me! Don’t hold me back! I want to cut her throat! Put horns on Ercolano, would you? valerio: He’s the palace baker! Ha, ha! Stay back! Keep still! Put that down! parabolano: If this story doesn’t end in tragedy it will just blow over. Calm down, Ercolano, and you too, Togna – I’m in on this dance too. I’d like to see all discord resolved at my expense. I consider myself lucky I got out of this as well as I did – at least you’re no worse than a baker’s wife. ercolano: As long as she comes back to me, I’ll forgive her. togna: And I’ll do whatever the gentleman here wants. Scene xxi parabolano, messer maco in a nightshirt valerio, ercolano, and aloigia messer maco: The Spaniards! The Spaniards! parabolano: What’s all this racket? What is it? messer maco: The Spaniards wounded me! Thieves! Animals! Scoundrels! parabolano: What’s going on, Messer Maco? Are you completely unhinged? messer maco: The traitors made a hole in my ass with their swords! valerio: Ha, ha, ha! What a story! It’s like something out of Aesop or Orlando! Poggio140 can pick up his jokes and retire. parabolano: Come on, speak up! What is it? You were chasing around like this earlier today! messer maco: I wish I had ... I’ll tell you: Master Andrea had made a new courtier out of me, the handsomest one in Rome. At first, the devil saw to it that my appearance was ruined. Then, the moment that happened, it pleased God to re-make me, and He did a good job of putting me back together again. Since I’d been re-made, I wanted to do things my way, as was only right. So I went to the house of a certain lady. I undressed to go to bed with her, to have a bit of fun. But the Spaniards tried to kill me, so I jumped out the window. I almost broke my legs, Sir, you know that?

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valerio: It really is true – God looks after children and fools! So you were in bad shape, but then you found someone in Rome to fix you up? messer maco: Yes, sir, if it please you, sir. valerio: You’ve had a lot more luck than good sense. Many a better man than you has come to Rome in excellent trim and gone back home broken down and ruined. They don’t care what you are or who you are – all they do is spoil good men and ruin them forever. parabolano: Ha, ha! Let’s take this fellow and his story home with us, Valerio, I want to get a bit more fun out of it. I laugh fit to burst when I hear funny stories like these. Tell Pattolo141 the whole thing tomorrow. He’s witty and well read – tell him I’d like him to make a comedy out of it. valerio: I’d be glad to. Madame Aloigia, come inside. This gentleman wants to be our friend in any way he can. aloigia: Your Lordship’s servant. I’ll see that he’s satisfied. valerio: And you, Messer Ercolana’s wife, go inside with Aloigia. As for you, Ercolano, make the best of things. And keep your horns invisibilium.* These days the greatest gentlemen have them. If you knew your history, you’d remember that horns come from heaven – Moses wore them, and everyone could see them. Even the moon has horns and it’s still in the sky. Oxen have horns and look at how much good they do with their plowing. It was because of the horn on his forehead that the horse Bucephalus was so dear to Alexander. And isn’t it the horn the unicorn wears on his brow as protection against poison that makes him so precious? Finally, aren’t the coats of arms of the Soderini142 and Santa Maria in Portico143 all horns? So keep them as marks of honour – as a crest. And remember how women with two beautiful horns found husbands for themselves, because, as I mentioned, Almighty God adorned the head of Moses with them, and he was the greatest friend He had in all of the Old Testament. ercolano: I don’t know about all that. I wouldn’t care if they all came from Limbo. I know a few noblemen who have some that are longer than a stag’s. And I know this too: poor and in disgrace as you see me here now, I’ve given horns to a dozen others. As far as this one’s concerned I’ll leave it to my children to avenge it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go inside. parabolano: And you, Messer Maco, it’s too risky to let you loose among women. They’re the ruin of the world, and they know more * ‘invisible’

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about it than the schools of law do. A pillar can hold up a column for a thousand years, but a woman would try its patience. You come inside as well. I’ll have your clothes returned to you tomorrow morning. Now be sensible, or those wicked women will drive you crazy. messer maco: I’ll keep my wits about me as far as those bitches are concerned. Now that I’m a courtier, I’ve got to make a name for myself. valerio: Well now, since I’m a lot happier than I thought I’d be, let’s have a good laugh to finish off the evening. My friends, if this story’s taken too long, I want to remind you that everything takes too long in Rome. If you didn’t like it, I’m glad to say it wasn’t me who asked you to come here. If you wait around till next year, you’re sure to hear a funnier one, but if you’re in a hurry, see you at the Ponte Sisto.144 Notes 1 Messer Mario was probably Mario de’ Prevaschi, or Mario Perusco, a fiscal lawyer in the service of Pope Leo X, born in Perugia; he was one of the investigating judges in the trial against Cardinal Petrucci (see below, note 8). 2 Francesco [or ‘Chechoto’] de Castiglione Ligure was a tailor who had a shop on St. Peter’s square and was well known for his practices in astrology. Pope Leo X gave him a monthly pension. He is also mentioned by Berni, a prominent writer of burlesque verse. 3 Lorenzo Luti was a painter, probably the same one mentioned by Mastro Andrea in a letter to Aretino (Pasquinate 164). 4 Beatrice de Bonis was a Roman prostitute, registered in the census of 1526 as living in the Ponte quarter, near the Albergo dell’Orso. She is the protagonist of the Lamento della cortigiana ferrarese (quoted by Aretino in Sei giornate 127, 210). 5 In 1300, Pope Boniface VIII (ca. 1235–1303) instituted the jubilee, which was to last for a year and was to be repeated every 100 years. During this period the pope grants plenary indulgences to all the faithful who make a pilgrimage to Rome, or who perform acts of equal merit. The interval between jubilee years was later changed to 25 years. 6 Girolamo Beltramo was a Jew of Spanish origin who converted to Christianity and made a fortune as a usurer. He lived in the Parione district and was protected by Pope Leo X. Berni refers to him as a clever card player.

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7 Text has Go look in Maremma, which refers not to the region in Tuscany, but to a proverbial faraway place. 8 Battista da Vercelli was a well-known doctor. Under Leo X, those responsible for the conspiracy instigated by Cardinal Alfonso Petrucci (1517) were tried and condemned. A great impression was made by the execution by hanging of one of Petrucci’s men-at-arms, Pocointesta Pocointesti, whose body was hung by the battlements of the Tordiona castle the morning of 6 June 1517, and an even greater one by the death by drawing and quartering of Marco Antonio Nino, Petrucci’s steward, and Battista da Vercelli, who had taken on the task of poisoning the Pope. 9 Text uses the Latin phrase, el tal è agens [the doer], el tal è patiens [the receiver]. 10 Francesco Armellini Medici (1470–1528) was born in either Perugia or Fossato. He inherited from his father the office of pontifical treasurer of the Marches, from which he amassed a huge fortune contracting excise taxes and selling livestock. In 1516 he was involved in a speculation in salt that almost ruined him and damaged the economy of the Apostolic Chamber. His new taxes on salt caused a popular revolt in Ancona in 1517. In the same year Pope Leo X made him a cardinal, and later a papal councillor and chamberlain. He continued in these duties also under the pontificate of Clement VII. He died in Rome in 1528. Hated by the poor, Armellini became the object of many pasquinate by Aretino and others. 11 The volto santo, the image of the face of Christ imprinted on the cloth with which Veronica wiped His face as He was carrying the cross. It is also called the ‘Veronica,’ and it is kept in the Vatican (St. John Lateran). 12 Apart from the taverns, these landmarks are, respectively, the Vatican; St. Peter’s Basilica; St. Peter’s Square; Castel Sant’Angelo; the large fountain at the head of Ponte Sisto near Via Giulia, built by Alberti, later moved across the river to a site near where the Trevi Fountain stands now; and the Church of Santa Caterina in the district of Regola. 13 The style of comedy in which Aretino wrote had established itself as a genre in the second half of the fifteenth century. It combined characteristics of the Commedia erudita (which originated in Tuscany) and the street theatre of Bergamo (which later developed into the Commedia dell’Arte). The Commedia erudita had a written text, for which the author was responsible, and often he also directed the performance, which took place at court; the Bergomask style, on the other hand, had only a canovaccio [an outline of the plot], and relied upon gestures, jokes, pranks, and the use of everyday language.

194 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 14 A parody of the imitators of Petrarch, who followed his superficial conventions but not his spirit. 15 Girolamo di Melchiorre de’ Pandolfi (1464–1533) was a poet and adventurer, born at Cassio near Bologna, died in Rome. He was at the courts of two Medici popes, Leo X and of Clement VII (which accounts for his being called Cassio de’ Medici). He wrote several books of verses and some saints’ lives. 16 After the break-up of the Roman Empire, Italian peoples reverted to their pre-Roman languages, which had, however, by then become variants of Latin. Dante, in the thirteenth century, realized that there was a problem as to which vernacular to use when writing in the vulgar tongue. In his treatise De Vulgari eloquentia, after discussing the origin of the languages, he comes to the conclusion that Florentine is the language to use, after incorporating words and expressions from other languages. At the beginning of the sixteenth century the language debate became very acute, involving some of the most prominent writers of the period, including Machiavelli, Bembo, Ariosto, Castiglione, and Speroni. During the Spanish and Austrian domination the debate subsided, but it came to the fore again after the Risorgimento. The solution reached today echoes that of Dante. 17 Pier Giovanni Cinotto was a poet and gentleman from Bologna. A famous prankster, he was welcomed at the court of Leo X. 18 Giovanni de’ Medici (1475–1521), the second son of Lorenzo the Magnificent, was destined to the priesthood from childhood. In 1489 Pope Innocent VIII promised to make him a cardinal. Very shrewd and charming, he commended himself to Pope Julius II, who placed him in positions of responsibility, in which he was very successful. In 1513, after Julius’s death, he was elected pope and took the name Leo X. He held a lavish court and offered hospitality to men of letters, scholars, and agents who added to his collection of classical manuscripts. He continued some of the works started by Julius II, such as the building of the new St. Peter’s and the decoration of the stanze by Raphael, and was an enthusiastic supporter of the arts in general. 19 Aretino mentions this person in Act I of The Hypocrite as well, but we have not been able to find out anything about him. The context implies that he was a well-known criminal. 20 The punishment named in the text is the strappado; it consisted of being tied with a rope at the thorax and dropped from a height until the rope brought the victim’s fall to a violent and painful stop. 21 At the beginning of the sixteenth century the remains of a group of Greek marble statues from the third century B.C. were unearthed. The

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best-preserved example, apparently representing a Greek hero, was placed on a pedestal at the corner where Palazzo Orsini (today Palazzo Braschi) stands. The Roman people called it Pasquino. It is not clear where the name originated. Some say it was the name of a teacher who lived in the neighbourhood, others that it was the name of a tailor, still others that it was so called because it had been unearthed at Easter time (Pasqua). Soon Pasquino became very famous, almost a living character. The reason was this: almost every morning, writings in verse or prose satirizing the papal court or prominent nobles, in both Latin and Italian, would be found on the pedestal or on the back of the statue itself. These became known as pasquinate. These anonymous satires were crude and violent, and often led to lengthy polemics and fights. The author of some of the most violent and cruel pasquinate was Aretino himself. For the ancients, Parnassus, a mountain in central Greece, was the home of Apollo, god of beauty, light, and poetry, and of the Muses. The Muses (and their respective jurisdictions) were Calliope (epic poetry); Clio (history); Erato (lyric poetry); Euterpe (music); Melpomene (tragedy); Polyhymnia (religious music); Terpsichore (dance); Thalia (comedy); and Urania (astronomy). St. Francis of Assisi (ca. 1182–1226) was the son of Pietro Bernardone, a merchant. After a dissipated youth he renounced all his worldly goods, made a vow of absolute poverty, and started preaching poverty, humility, and charity. He founded the three Franciscan orders. In 1224 he received the stigmata on Mount Verna. He died at the Porziuncola, near Assisi. Like St Catherine of Siena he is considered a patron saint of Italy. Mainaldo was a Mantuan antique dealer and jeweller. Aretino satirized him often and played many cruel jokes on him. Cosimo Baraballo (1460–1516), also called Archipoeta, was a ‘papal buffoon, famous for his burlesque crowning on the Capitoline Hill, towards which he was led on the elephant Annone as people shouted lazzi [quips, jokes] and let fly a torrent of rotten fruit; the strange triumphal cortege provoked the immoderate laughter of the Pope, who was watching the hubbub from a loggia’ (Del Vita, 999). Because of this ‘crowning,’ Aretino satirizes him in pasquinate and in the Testamento dell’elefante. He is also referred to by Ariosto under the name ‘Boraballe.’ A podestà was the head of a medieval commune (city state); he was responsible for justice and for leading the army in war. Appointed, for a limited period of time, by the Holy Roman Emperor, he was not allowed to be a citizen of the town that he administered. The position of podestà was restored during the Fascist regime. It was equivalent to the position of

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mayor, and, as in the medieval period, the appointment was made from outside, by the central government. Text uses Latin at this point: tamen ... ad un certum quid. Giovanni Battista Manenti was a broker in Venice who became rich organizing lotteries. Aretino wrote him a letter and also mentions him in Pasquinate romane. Mastro Andrea was a Venetian painter, well known in Rome during the pontificate of Julius II more for his pranks and jokes than for his art. He was a friend of Aretino, whose verses he would collect. His death at the hands of the Spaniards during the Sack of Rome (1527) was related to Aretino by Sebastiano del Piombo in a letter. He is also a character in Aretino’s Trionfo della lussuria di maestro Pasquino (Venice, 1537), a poem of four chapters in tercets, featuring the most famous prostitutes of Rome. Mastro Andrea himself wrote Il Purgatorio delle Cortigiane, which was reprinted many times (the Purgatori is the Roman hospital of S. Giacomo, also called degl’Incurabili, where many prostitutes suffering from syphilis ended up). Mastro Andrea is also mentioned by Aretino in Sei giornate. See note 25. The elephant had been donated to Pope Leo X by King Emanuele of Portugal and for a long time served as entertainment for the whole court. In 1516 Aretino wrote Il testamento dell’elefante [The Elephant’s Will], a marvellous satire of the Rome of Leo X. Accursio and Serapica were well-known clowns and guzzlers in the Roman court. Accursio (Francesco da Cazaniga, from Milan) was a courtier of both Julius II and Leo X; when he first came to Rome he became a bailiff of the goldsmith Caradosso. Aretino mentions him also in Sei giornate, 195, and in Ragionamento delle corti, 42. Serapica, Giovanni Lazzaro de Magistris, born in l’Aquila, rose from tending dogs and falcons at the papal court to the role of secret chamberlain to Leo X, and also acquired considerable wealth by stealing on the job. After the death of the Pope he was brought to justice and condemned by Pope Adrian VI. He is also mentioned in several of Aretino’s letters and in Sei giornate, 195. Caradosso is Cristoforo di Giovanni Maffeo Foppa, a goldsmith and medal-maker; he was born in Mondonico (Como) in 1452, worked in Milan in the service of Ludovico il Moro, and in 1505 moved to Rome, where he died in 1527. The cities that claimed to be Homer’s birthplace were Smyrna, Chios, Cumae, Pilo, Ithaca, Argos, and Athens. Matelica is a town in the Marches, in the province of Macerata, known for its fur and for its mechanical and food industries. Gian Pietro Carafa (1476–1559) became Bishop of Chieti in 1506. After the Sack of Rome he found refuge in Venice. He founded the monastic

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order of the Teatini, and in 1555 was elected pope, taking the name Paul IV. In 1557 he published the first Index of forbidden books. While Aretino was in Rome he had satirized Carafa in his pasquinate and pronostici, but his attitude towards him changed. Giannozzo Pandolfini, a Florentine priest who became a prelate at the court of Leo X, was Bishop of Troja, in the province of Foggia, from 1484 to 1514. He died in 1525. See Aretino, Sei giornate, 195. Siena had at least nine public fountains. The Fonte Becci was built in 1218 and most of the others about the same time. The Fonte Branda, built before 1193 and rebuilt several times, is the most famous because of the water’s abundance and its particular qualities. The piazza is the famous Piazza del Campo, built in the shape of a shell, at the top of which is Fonte Gaja (1343), sculpted in 1419 by Jacopo della Quercia, and at the bottom the magnificent Palazzo della Signoria (started in 1284). The allusion here is to an episode that occurred in 1462. A Sienese bought a woodpecker, convinced that it was a parrot, and gave it to Pope Pius II (Enea Silvio Piccolomini, 1405–64), who was passing through Corsignano, his native town. Luigi Pulci (1432–84) mentions this episode in his work Morgante, XIV 53, 1–5 as an example of the stupidity of the Sienese. Verbum caro is another term for the Veronica; see note 11. See note 5. See note 2. Baccano, Storta, and Tre Capanne are three localities with bad reputations on the outskirts of the city. S.P.Q.R. is the abbreviation for Senatus Populus Que Romanus [the Senate and the Roman People]. These initials are found on public works everywhere in Rome. The titles refer, respectively, to the truce between Pope and the Emperor ratified by the peace of Madrid in 1526; the capture of Francis I following the battle of Pavia, 24 February 1525; The Reform of the Court, a work by Carafa (see note 34); The Caprices, by Mariano Fetti (1460 [Florence]–1531 [Rome]), the most famous clown in the courts of Pope Adrian VI and Pope Clement VII, one of the monks of the Papal Seal, and the Abbot in charge of the Dominican convent of San Silvestro in the Quirinale district; La Caretta (The Cart ), probably Lamento di una cortigiana ferrarese, first attributed to Mastro Andrea, but later claimed by Aretino as his own work; no information is available on Il Cortigiano falito. A baiocco is a Roman copper coin of little value, in use in the papal states until 1866. The expression non valere un baiocco means ‘not worth much,’ and is often applied to a person.

198 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 45 These lines are taken from the Lamento di una cortigiana ferrarese, but are based on a popular song. Madrema-non-vuole [Momma-Doesn’t-WantMe-To] and Lorenzina were names by which two prominent prostitutes were known. 46 Giulio de’ Medici, the future Pope Clement VII, was named Prior of Capua by his second cousin, Pope Leo X, in 1514. 47 The king of Cyprus is probably Eugenio di Lusignano, pretender to the throne of Cyprus; Costantino Comneno, Duke of Acaia and Prince of Macedonia, was named governor of Fano by Leo X in 1516; there is no such town as Fiossa, although a number have spellings that are similar. 48 Raphael was a usurer in the Borgo district. 49 Romanello was a Jewish second-hand dealer who had his shop in the Borgo and who furnished stockings to the court of Leo X. 50 Adrian Florensz of Utrecht, the last non-Italian pope before John Paul II, took the name Adrian VI and was pope from 1522 to 1523. He was responsible for the internal reform of the Church. 51 La gatta di Massino is an expression applied to a person who pretends not to see anything. 52 Mangiaguerra is a dark, almost black, concentrated wine. 53 Gian Maria Giudeo, lord of the manor of Verrucchio (ancient castle of the Malatesta family in Romagna) and also lord of the Scorticata (today Torriana), was a famous lutenist in the court of Leo X; his brother Baldessar and his son Camillo were also well-known musicians. They may have been of Germanic origin. 54 Text uses the Latin phrase e non fare una leva eius, to run away. 55 The Ponte Sisto was a bridge in the Arenula district; the Arenula had a very bad reputation as a meeting place for prostitutes, skid-row tramps, and other riff-raff. Someone ‘sent to Ponte Sisto,’ then, would have been dismissed, and thus condemned to destitution. 56 These are all places in Florence: Porta Pinti is now known as Porta Roma; San Pietro Gattolini is a church in Via Romana; Borgo a la Noce is a district near the Church of San Lorenzo. 57 The Colonnas and the Ursini were the two most powerful Roman families at this time. 58 San Gregorio’s masses are masses for the dead. 59 See note 2. 60 The Barco is the quarry of travertine marble in Via Tiburtina, near Ponte Lucano; Botte di Termine is a water cistern within the Diocletian Baths, not far from the Fontanone dell’Acqua Felice; the arches are the triumphal arches of the emperors; Testaccio has not been identified.

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61 See note 21. 62 A rebec is a medieval instrument with three strings, played with a bow, favoured by troubadours. 63 Ludovico Arrighi, from Vicenza, and Lutizio di Bartolomeo d’ Rutelli (who died in 1527) were engravers and printers of the first half of the sixteenth century. They formed a company in 1524, at which time they published two poems by Aretino, Canzone in lode di papa Clemente VII and Canzone in lode del Datario. 64 Pope Innocent VIII started the building of Palazzo Belvedere in the Vatican, but it was Pope Julius II who conceived the famous courtyard and the large conch (a semi-circular niche surmounted by a half-dome), which were designed and built by Bramante. 65 Brandino and the Morro de’ Nobili were buffoons and parasites at the court of Leo X. Domenico Brandino, Cavalier of Rodi, was from Pisa, Giovan Battista de’ Nobili, known as ‘the Moor,’ from Florence. 66 Borgo Vecchio was the old Via Santa, which led to the Vatican before Pope Alexander VI built Via Alessandrina (known as Borgo Nuovo); Corte Savella was a court of law; Torre di Nona (now known as Tordinona) was a jail; for Ponte Sisto see note 55; Dietro Banchi, or Banchi Vecchi, near Via Calabraga, now called Via Cellini (Benvenuto Cellini lived there), was well known at the time of Aretino as a quarter frequented by prostitutes. 67 An enormous bronze pine cone was placed in St. Peter’s Square during the medieval period, and then in the courtyard of Palazzo Belvedere in the Vatican; ‘the ship’ is Giotto’s mosaic of the ‘Navicella’ in the portico of St. Peter’s Basilica; Camposanto, the Vatican cemetery, is now in Via Teutonica in the Vatican; the obelisk was moved from Nero’s Circus to St. Peter’s Square in 1586. 68 Leo X. 69 Alessio Caledonio was Bishop of Malfetta from 1508 until his death in 1517. Well known for his avarice, he was harshly satirized by Pasquino. He left his whole inheritance to Pope Leo X. 70 Ferdinando Ponzetta, a doctor and apostolic treasurer (1437–1527), succeeded Caledonio (see previous note) as Bishop of Malfetta in 1517, and Leo X made him a cardinal the same year. 71 The Strozzi Bank, near the Strozzi Palace, no longer exists; it was located where the Argentina Theater is now. 72 For San Gregorio’s masses see note 58; St. Julian’s paternosters: a prayer said to be useful for assuring hospitality and protection during travel. 73 The notion that witches and sorcerers gathered at the huge walnut tree at Benevento was very popular, especially during the Renaissance. The saying

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sott’acqua e sotto vento sotto il noce di Benevento [in rain and wind under the walnut tree of Benevento] is still current. In the late nineteenth century the liqueur producer, Alberti, based in Benevento, developed a liqueur that is said to rival the Benedictine, which he named Strega [witch], in recognition of the legend. See note 4. Capovacina may be either Liello di Rienzo Massienzo capo Vaccina, or Renzo Jacobacci, a Roman bravo. Parione is the district of Rome where Pasquino is found. The fortress of San Leo, near Pesaro, was long thought to be impregnable – even Dante mentioned it (Purgatory 4: 25). Aretino may be referring to its conquest in 1502 by Cesare Borgia, or, fourteen years later, by Lorenzo de’ Medici, Duke of Urbino. Fata Morgana was the fairy sister of King Arthur in Arthurian romance; she also appears in Ariosto and Tasso. A strambottino is a poem, usually satirical or amorous, of eight eleven-syllable lines, in alternate rhymes. It became a very common musical composition. Text has carlini. The carlino takes its name from Charles I of Anjou, King of Naples, who first had it minted in 1278. Made of gold or silver, and of varying value, it was coined in other Italian states up to the nineteenth century. Astolfo was the famous English paladin in Ariosto’s Orlando furioso, who flies to the moon on a winged horse, has Orlando’s senses stored in vials, and brings them back to earth so that Orlando can regain his sanity and, of course, win the war. Norcia is a town in Umbria, an agricultural and commercial centre known for the production of salami and sausages; also the birthplace of St. Benedict and of St. Scolastica; its fortress was designed by Vignola. Todi is a town in Umbria that flourished under the Etruscans; it was the birthplace of the medieval poet Jacopone and is known for its marvellous Duomo, its churches and palaces, and its furniture industry; for Baccano, see note 41. Marforio is a statue of a river god (perhaps that of the Tiber), so called because it was placed in Piazza Marforio (in 1592 it was moved to the Capitoline Museum). Roman satire made the god Pasquino’s interlocutor in numerous burlesque dialogues. The Sapienzia Capranica was the university in Piazza degli Orfanelli, in the Colonna district, founded in 1456–57 by Cardinal Domenico Capranica; also called Sapienza Fermana so as not to be confused with the other university, la Sapienza Romana.

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84 Strascino was the Sienese poet Niccolà Campani, a friend of Aretino. 85 See note 25. 86 The name Mescolone suggests a big fool who gets everything mixed up (mescolare: ‘to mix’; -one : a suffix, often derogatory, meaning ‘big’). 87 He is referring to the old hospital of Santo Spirito in Sassia. 88 See note 66. 89 Orlando is the lover-hero in Orlando Innamorato (1483) by Matteo Maria Boiardo. 90 The market used to be held in the Piazza Navona, before the transformation in the Baroque period that made it one of the most beautiful piazzas in Rome. 91 A mangling of the name Parabolano; but Rapolano Terme is also the name of a town near Siena, known for its medicinal baths. 92 See note 43. 93 Benedetto Accolti, Jr. (1497–1549), nephew of Piero Accolti, Bishop of Ancona (1505), was made Archbishop of Ravenna and cardinal in 1527. He was an ecclesiastical writer, but more important, he was a powerful businessman. At first Aretino attacked him, but their relations became friendlier. Of a very violent temperament, he committed many crimes when he was the apostolic legate in Ancona in 1532. Because of this he was arrested by Pope Paul III and imprisoned in Castel Sant’Angelo. Here Aretino seems to be referring to an act of generosity towards Giovan Battista Ubaldini, a writer and man of letters and a friend of Accolti. 94 In Milan Francesco II Sforza was trying to free himself from Spanish domination; at Ferrara Alfonso I d’Este was trying to resume good relations with Charles V after the battle of Pavia; Naples for a while had been the object of a struggle between France and Spain; Francesco Maria delle Rovere, Duke of Urbino, was consolidating his control of the duchy after the attacks of Leo X. 95 Federico II Gonzaga (1500–40) was Marquis and Duke of Mantua, Marquis of Monferrat. One of the most illustrious princes of the period and a protector of artists and writers, he helped Aretino several times. In 1519 he succeeded his father Francesco, fourth Marquis of Mantua, to whom Aretino refers in Il Marescalco IV, 5. 96 Pope Leo X and Pope Clement VII were second cousins. 97 Text has Oe vorei prima una pernice che Beatrice, with a play on the perniceBeatrice rhyme, for which we have tried to find a counterpart in English. Beatrice Paregia was a well-known prostitute. 98 See note 45.

202 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 99 Antonio Lelio was a satirical poet and author of pasquinate; he lived in the Parione district. 100 See note 28. 101 When Charles VIII of France (1470–98), with the help of Ludovico il Moro, Duke of Milan (1452–1508), came to Italy and occupied the Kingdom of Naples (1494–95), syphilis spread like wildfire – hence the name ‘French disease.’ 102 See note 10. 103 Perhaps this is Cesare De Gennato, to whom Aretino addressed a letter in 1540. 104 See note 66. 105 Priapus was the Greek god of fertility. In Rome he was also honoured as the god of gardens. Here the allusion is to Maco, who yearns to have sexual intercourse. 106 The church is Santa Maria d’Aracoeli, on the Capitoline Hill. 107 It is possible that Tinca Martelli was a historical character, but certainly Captain Tinca, mentioned by many writers, including Ariosto in the comedy Lena, is an example of the miles gloriosus. 108 See note 53. 109 See note 16. The language controversy, especially in poetry, was one of Aretino’s constant themes. 110 The medlar tree is very common in central and southern Italy. Its fruit is picked in late fall before the frost and put in hay to ripen. The reference here is to the bitter taste of the medlar if it is eaten before it is ripe. 111 Bartolomeo Colleoni (1400–76) was a highly successful condottiere (leader of a troop of mercenaries) who was for most of his life in the service of the Republic of Venice. In 1445 he was made captain for life of the armies of the Republic. He was immortalized in a famous equestrian statue in Venice by Verrocchio (1435–88). Aretino uses the spelling ‘Coglione’ to call attention to the pun associated with the name – coglione means ‘testicle,’ and Colleoni used the image of a pair of testicles as his emblem. The Malatestas were one of the most powerful families of Renaissance Italy. Aretino seems to be referring to Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta (1417–68), condottiere, poet, student of antiquity, and munificent patron of the arts, often considered the archetype of the Italian Renaissance prince. 112 See note 31. 113 The similarity between this name and the name that appears in Act II, scene vi (see note 75) suggests that Aretino may be playing with the name of a Roman bravo, or perhaps more than one.

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114 This is Rosso’s version of Tivoli, a small village near Rome, which of course has no Duke; it is the site of the summer residences of the most affluent and powerful Romans, both ancient and modern, notably the Villa d’Este; famous for its waterfalls, Tivoli is situated on the Aniene River, and has supplied water for the fountains of Rome since ancient times. 115 Angelo de Cesis was a fiscal lawyer for Pope Julius II and Pope Leo X (d. 1528). 116 Velletri is a town of Volscian origin south of Rome, known for its wine and olive oil. 117 Il mal mi preme e mi spaventa il peggio. Petrarch, Canzoniere 244:1. 118 Text has potresti dare in un trentuno [you could be taken by 31 men, one after the other]. See Sei Giornate 73–5 and Glossary. 119 San Lorenzo Fuori le Mura [outside the walls] was one of the churches that made money through the sale of indulgences during Lent. 120 When Ercolano says he is ‘from Corneto’ (i.e., he wears horns [corna] on his head) or ‘from Cervia’ (i.e., he is a male deer), he is saying that he wears the proverbial horns of a cuckold. 121 Ricordo means keepsake, souvenir. 122 This is a reference to the biblical story of the crow that Noah sent from the ark; it never came back. 123 Cristoforo Numalio, called Aracoeli (d. 1527), was General of the Order of the Minor Friars. He was made cardinal by Pope Leo X in 1517 with the title of St. Matthew, then transferred to Santa Maria d’Aracoeli. 124 See note 10. 125 The Chigi bank. 126 See note 93. 127 Marfisa is a character from the epic poems of the period. 128 Borgo Vecchio: see note 66; Santo Spirito: see note 87; Camposanto: see note 67. 129 Gabriel Cesano was a man of letters from Pisa (1490–1568), to whom Claudio Tolomei dedicated Il Cesano; Joanni Tomasi Manfredi was an agent in Rome for the Duchess Eleonora of Urbino; Pietro Accolti, uncle of Benedetto, Jr. (see note 93), took the place of his nephew as Bishop of Cremona from 1524 to 1529. 130 For Ravenna, see note 93; Giovanni Matteo Giberti (1495–1543) was Bishop of Verona and datary of Pope Clement VII. He actively promoted the Catholic Reformation. His work Constitutiones was very influential in the formulation of the canons of the Council of Trent. Giberti tried to have Aretino killed because Aretino attacked him violently many times in his pasquinate.

204 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 131 This is an allusion to Dante’s Inferno III: 51. 132 According to Romano, the Seggio Capuano was one of the most ancient of the five seggi [seats] in which Neapolitan nobility had been grouped since the fourteenth century. Petrocchi, however, identifies it with a Neapolitan quarter near Porta Capuana, where poor people lived. 133 La Magliana and Campo Salino were papal possessions, the latter, known for its salt works, situated at the mouth of the Tiber River near Fiumicino. 134 Giuliano Leni was an astrologer and guzzler at the court of Pope Leo X. Of Florentine origin, he was a conclavist with Cardinal Orsini and a friend of the great architect Bramante (see note 64). 135 Filippo Adimari was a Florentine noble who came to Rome with Giulio de’ Medici. 136 Marco Bracci was a Florentine gentleman at the court of Pope Leo X. Died in Rome, 1551. 137 Marticca was a Roman courtesan. 138 Francesco Tornabuoni was another Florentine nobleman brought to Rome by Pope Leo X. 139 Lorenzo Cybo (1500–49), captain of the papal army, brother of Cardinal Innocenzo (who built the 2,000-seat theatre in which Ariosto’s Suppositi was performed in 1519), was Marquis of Massa and Count of Ferentillo. A nephew of Pope Leo X, he followed his uncle’s wish and married Ricciarda Malaspina, Marchioness of Massa, the mother of Giulio Cybo. The marriage, however, was a rocky one. 140 The famous humanist Poggio Bracciolini (1380–1459) was author of the Facetiarum liber. 141 The Florentine Bartolomeo Pattolo was a dilettante poet at the court of Pope Leo X, author of the Orchessa, scorned by his contemporaries, including Aretino. 142 Cardinal Francesco Soderini (1453–1524) was Bishop of Volterra and adversary of Pope Clement VII. He seems to have been involved in the conspiracy of Petrucci (see note 8). 143 Bernardo Dovizi da Bibbiena, a man of letters and a diplomat, was made cardinal by Pope Leo X, with the title Santa Maria in Portico. His coat of arms consisted of two cornucopias (horns of plenty) filled with flowers, in the form of a cross. 144 See note 55.

ANNIBAL CARO

The Ragged Brothers (Gli straccioni)

Translated by Massimo Ciavolella and Donald Beecher Introduction by Donald Beecher

Revised from the edition published originally in the Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation Series as The Scruffy Scoundrels. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1980. By permission of the Carleton Centre for Renaissance Studies.

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Introduction to The Ragged Brothers by Annibal Caro Erudite comedy, for the most part, created a world of posturing and pretending, of tricks and identity changes, that distanced a play’s ‘reality’ from the more mundane and predictable conditions of everyday life. The language, mores, and settings were all familiar, to be sure, but the characters and situations belonged to a theatre that was notable for its artifice and improbability, a theatre in which conventions made steep demands. This is no less true of Caro’s Gli straccioni (1543), translated here as The Ragged Brothers, for it is a creation as full of adventurous improbabilities and stepped-up stage traffic as any to be imagined. By these same playful conventions, settings had been made contemporary in order to jar spectators into imagining the extraordinary events unfolding before their eyes as taking place in the next piazza. But with The Ragged Brothers, the conventional Roman cityscape signals more than contemporaneity. Rome now comes to the fore, conscious of itself as a specific place in a moment of history. Even the scruffy brothers of the play had living counterparts at one time wandering the streets of the metropolis. Mirandola, too, appears to have been based on a character of the same name who once amused the people of Rome with his foolish antics as a kind of self-appointed civic morosoph. More forcefully than ever, the backdrop enters the action. Caro had his reasons for calling attention to the local setting, for his piazza was not simply the stock stage set with a few representative houses, a shop, and a church, but the one-and-only piazza in which could be seen the new Palazzo Farnese in the glorious new Rome of the Farnese pope, Paul III. Ariosto’s plays had been written under d’Este patronage, the city of Ferrara was visible in the painted scenery, and the plays themselves were implicit celebrations of court munificence and power. But Caro’s play would render those overtones even more specific. The Ragged Brothers was not only written under the patronage of Pier Luigi, the pope’s son, for whom Caro was private secretary, but was designed as an explicit celebration of Farnese power and cultural prowess expressed through the renewal of the papal city. That Caro wrote the work specifically for one and only one occasion – which never came to pass – is made clear in later years when he refused to release it for other forms of production. As the play opens, two characters, newly arrived, walk through the city trying to get their bearings. Demetrio, a stranger to Rome, has come in search of his friend, Tindaro, who has changed his name to Gisippo. Pilucca, by contrast, is Roman born and bred, but still can find no trace

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of Lady Argentina’s house in which he had long been employed as a servant before being sent to the East in search of his master, the Cavaliere Jordano. Their disorientation is an extended comic allusion to the major alterations to the city that took place in the late 1530s and early 1540s – the very years in which Pilucca has been abroad. Rome had been devastated by the infamous Sack of 1527, when Imperial and Spanish troops held the city to ransom, looted freely for weeks, and destroyed many of its ancient treasures. In the years to follow, a ‘Renaissance’ Rome emerged as powerful families competed with one another in building the grandest and most elegant palaces on the choicest sites about the city. Pier Luigi had commissioned one of the most extravagant, the realization of which called for demolition in the surrounding areas between the Campo dei Fiori and the Via Giulia, in order that all four embellished facades of the new edifice could be seen to advantage. No wonder, then, that Pilucca can no longer find the house of his patron that once stood adjacent to the smaller Farnese townhouse before the expansion began. Thus the comic references in the play to a certain Boccaccio who, as wrecker and contractor, epitomizes these alterations to the city. However, such developments were ultimately about more than the pretensions of families. Paul III had a mission for making Rome, as the seat of the still-hoped-for universal Christian Church, not only glorious, according to the highest standards of earthly magnificence, but safe from external invasion as well as safe from internal corruption through the installation of a judiciary of unimpeachable standards. To these ends, the papacy engaged in civic ameliorations not only through slum clearance, the construction of broad commercial boulevards, and the extension of the city walls, but in the renovation of the city’s legal system.1 Caro’s play is therefore more than a sop to a patron. It is the celebration of a city reemerging, as it were, from its ashes. Even the conventional good magistrate, in the figure of Messer Rossello the papal attorney, is a porteparole for Roman justice and order. In protecting the rights of Agatina the slave girl, abused as a foreigner by her Roman captors, and in aiding the brothers from Chios – dressed in rags of protest in support of their just litigation against the Grimaldi – Rossello becomes a representative of the new Rome. Demetrio, the tourist, makes the point in his throw-away line: ‘What a beautiful palace! What a splendid piazza! O, magnificent Rome!’ The city, in fact, may be the principal character of the play. But the work is also complex in this regard, for Rome is sometimes gutless and lunatic. Much that Aretino had complained about eighteen years earlier in his Cortigiana might be swept out of sight, but Caro was

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allowed to aver that much remained to be changed concerning the workaday ethics of the city. Not only do men aggrieved and in rags wander the streets, but Mirandola is out of his asylum, and the Campo is filled with rogues who merely kill time in playing cards and practising their gags on the locals, while inside Madonna Argentina’s household a pair of servants, Pilucca and Marabeo, are so downright unscrupulous in their pilfering and filching that even the murder of their patron becomes an option. Caro briefly extends the satire to the monastic orders in the name of a certain Brother Cerbone who collaborates in receiving stolen goods and who could be called upon to lodge a contraband slave girl. The vindictive honour code of the Cavaliere Jordano, the thievery of the servants, and the unhinged mentalities of itinerants threaten the peace of the city. Regarding all of these enormities, the play exercises its powers of comic containment – Caro’s Rome is never beyond the bar of comic justice – yet a vague sense of latent violence and disorder lingers after the play. Jordano is tranquilized by the discovery of bloodlines attaching him to his enemies, yet he continues to emblematize the licence exercised by Roman nobility in defiance of papal and civil rule. At the play’s conclusion, there are no signs of reform on these fronts. The half slapstick, half malicious low-lifers are turned over to the Cavaliere, who, meanwhile, is lectured, ‘if you behave so lightly and irresponsibly during the reign of this Pope, whatever head you have left will be chopped off. Your boldness has been excessive. You have created a private prison in the city of Rome, treated women brutally, attempted murder, ’ but he never makes amends. Ironically, as the party sinned against by his pilfering servants, only the Cavaliere can withdraw the charges and free them from the clutches of the law in a way that permits them to join the Carnival feast that marks the closure of the play. Profusely they promise reform as a condition for their release, but the attorney predicts that they will end up on the gallows soon enough. Caro’s Rome is the glory of the Farnese, yet it remains the Rome that will nourish the vision of corruption in Thomas Nashe’s The Unfortunate Traveller (1594), in which the picaresque English trickster hero is overwhelmed by the corruption of Roman society from the lowest echelons up to the highest. Despite Caro’s politic anatomization of Rome-the-magnificent with its corrupt underside, the play remains firmly fixed in the traditions of erudite comedy. Nothing less would have served if high-cultural homage was to be paid through the dramatic arts, for it was the regular comedy, with its ties to humanism and the classics, that enjoyed the prestige associated with learning and the most challenging forms of artistry. Moreover, noth-

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ing less than a triple plot would be worthy of the occasion. It was the architectonic complexity and brio of the compound plot that signalled the ‘gift’ of artistic genius. Caro, in this play written in 1543, vies with Piccolomini for the honour of being the first, for the latter’s Alessandro, with its triple plot, was written in the same year. Lovers separated and pining, two old men obsessed by their litigation, the return of a master taken for dead, a slave girl liberated from her captors, crafty servants looking out for themselves in preparing the mistress’s wedding, an old chestnut of a trick played on the credulous Mirandola, all are woven together in breathless harmony. This achievement was likewise both Roman and monumental. More specifically, Caro was mindful of the experimental nature of his work. The central challenge was structural and related to the plot. He assumes in his prologue that his audience was interested in such matters, as indeed they must have been, for he sets up a debate between the traditionalists and the progressives. If comedy was to achieve novelty and variety, it needed latitude for manoeuvring, especially in matters pertaining to the action. The only problem was the lack of precedent in the plays of the ancients, for in general the actions of Plautus and Terence were ‘single.’ With only rare exceptions were there independent events involving a separate set of characters forming an action tantamount to a second or ‘double’ plot. The traditionalist spirit held that single actions were a critical part of the erudite formula, whereas the progressive thinker relished the particular beauty and freedom of resolving multiple actions in a single denouement. Not only would multiple intrigues produce diversity and variety, but admiration, for only the craftsman of extraordinary acumen was equal to the task of creating them. Were there not, then, at least intimations in the writings of the ancients to justify compound plots, so that both parties might be satisfied? In the prologue, Caro feigns deference to tradition, but his mind is made up that even triple actions have their place. His rationale was that while there were no precedents there were no prohibitions, and that in compensation he would follow the rules more strictly in all other regards. Fashions change, he states, and he must go with the fashions. But those fashions could have been issuing only from Siena and Florence, with the growing practice of paralleling farcical and sentimental actions in relatively isolated segments. That Caro had an interest in ‘weeping comedy’ is manifest in Giulietta’s letter to Gisippo in Act V, scene ii: ‘I return to you the wedding ring you gave me, although my love for you will never wane. May health be yours and joy at your nuptials. From the house of your bride. The wretched Giulietta.’ Yet the compound play required a place for knock-about farce, street an-

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tics, and practical joking, along with a parade of eccentrics and comic masks. Caro’s brilliant stroke was in finding them in the historical streets. To achieve this diversity of social materials while maintaining a necessary decorum, single plotting was no longer an option. But just which elements constitute identifiable plots in Caro’s multiple action? The author justifies his title by relating all three actions to the ragged brothers ‘through a litigation they have with the Grimaldi, through a daughter they left in Chios, and through a niece they didn’t know they had in Rome.’ His three-in-one formula, so stated, is a tad disingenuous, but it serves to identify the story of the lawsuit, the elopement of Giulietta, and the marriage of the widow Madonna Argentina as the discrete units of the action, distinguished not only by events but by ethos, for each has its own ‘humour’ whereby feelings will be diversely moved. The most coherent and sustained is, without doubt, the tale of Tindaro and Giulietta, not only because it follows the order of romance – the separation, trial, and reunion of lovers – but because it replicates the principal features of a well-known Greek ‘novel,’ that of Leucippe and Clitophon by Achilles Tatius.2 Leading motifs include the elopement by sea, the shipwreck, Leucippe’s alleged beheading by pirates on the bow of their ship, the news that Sostratos, Leucippe’s father, had approved of their marriage the day after their flight and was en route to Alexandria to find her, and that meanwhile, an Ephesian lady named Melite, rich and still young, had taken an impassioned fancy to Clitophon. The correspondences continue through Leucippe’s arrival as a slave in Melite’s household and the letter from the poor girl to her beloved wishing him happiness in his new marriage, while asking only that he arrange for the money to purchase her liberty. Tindaro imitates Clitophon in running out of excuses to delay the widow, both pretending to delicate indispositions, and at perfectly timed moments the dead husbands, Thersandos and Jordano, make surprise returns to their respective homes. This detailed replay of over half a Greek romance is something of a novelty in erudite plotting, for it introduces an elaborate structure of misadventure, fortune, catastrophe, and reversal, with the effect of stepping up the stage business to a frenetic pitch. In their pursuit of an abducted daughter and their litigation with the Grimaldi, the ragged brothers crop up in the action with the regularity of a leitmotif. That one of them is Giulietta’s father allows them a place in the main plot, but as the two malcontents from Chios, they pass like spectres, speak in echoes, and conduct themselves generally with such eccentricity that they become a comic motif unto themselves. Clearly their concerns

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are not of the same magnitude and complexity as those of the romance narrative, yet Caro has seen fit to name the play in their honour. Piccolomini would do no less in naming his Alessandro after one of the minor characters. Arguably, however, the two brothers have more emblematic weight, for in their litigation they speak only of grievance and injustice, while in their success they reassume the clothes of their class, thereby signalling in their way that ‘all’s well that ends well.’ Both had shared the outrage offered to them by Tindaro’s desperate elopement with Giulietta. But for all their grievances against Tindaro, the Grimaldi, and Fortune herself, they are essentially comic in their tatterdemalion guise and the parroting effect of their conversation. They are like twins whose identity has been collapsed through the hyphenation of their names. Yet, despite such comic diminution, Giovanni-Battista reappear for the reunion with a lost daughter, and eagerly use their new-found wealth not only to pay lawyers, but to endow relatives and promote unions. In their strangely anonymous way, they are the material means of comedy and the purveyors of Carnival. Caro sports with them, to be sure, for in real life their fortunes were not so blithe. Through them, he celebrates the power of comic make-believe insofar as he grants to them what they would never achieve in life. He has awarded their theatrical litigation with a theatrical victory and made them the universal donors of the final scene. For all of these reasons, together with their part in the farcical exchanges with Mirandola, the two brothers constitute a complete and independent secondary action. But what of the third plot? There are only fragments to choose from. The most complex stage business in the play concerns the preparation of Madonna Argentina’s wedding – an action to which Caro assigns plot status. All the servants of the household are called into action. Some of them are looking for a good feast at any cost. Others engineer delays in pursuit of counter-interests. Gisippo, the prospective groom, has been commandeered by those who mean to profit from his access to the widow’s bounty, while his loyalty to the memory of Giulietta is merely an added complication. In due course, lies are spread that Madonna Argentina is pregnant, some promoting, others seeking to control the effects of malicious gossip, making for the kind of intrigue and counter-intrigue that constitutes regular comedy at its best. Madonna Argentina is the initiator of this imbroglio, but she is foiled by the surprise return of her husband – the certainty of whose death Pilucca had sworn to repeatedly. But concerning their reunion, we are never made party to her more intimate thoughts. By rights, the entire segment is a sub-episode in the story of Gisippo and

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Giulietta, yet for sheer copiousness and complexity this action assumes a unitary status of its own. In a similar way, the merry pranks put upon Mirandola represent a substantial theatrical segment, for they are selfcontained beffe or farcical tricks forming complete miniature structures, even though these episodes remain a part of the story of the ragged brothers. The passage of Agatina from the hands of Pilucca to the Cavaliere Jordano, to the Attorney, to the household of Madonna Argentina is another major motif. Her sale to the Cavaliere as a sex object, her cry for justice, and her new-found security in the house of the widow who intended to marry her fiancé, Gisippo, constitutes a nearly independent action, even though it too is an extension of the lovers’ tribulations. The Ragged Brothers is so full of the intentions of so many characters that, not surprisingly, a few may have been lost in the play’s forward momentum. Nuta, a serving maid in Madonna Argentina’s household, threatens to send news of her cheating lover’s illicit behaviour to the governor, but the letter she carries finds no further role in the plot. Just how far the wedding preparations are carried along ultimately becomes an indifferent matter, although Barbagrigia, Madonna Argentina’s neighbour, states at one point that her house is full of women, the food is laid in, and the relatives are invited. Strangest of all, Caro, for reasons worth the speculation, avoids the affective scene of reunion we might have expected between Gisippo and Giulietta, not to mention that of Madonna Argentina and the Cavaliere. He turns, rather, to the prolix and tedious recitation of relationships, no doubt more comic in the theatre than on the page. Perhaps by dramatic rights, the lovers had far too much to say to one another in rehearsing their trials and tribulations than festive comedy could endure, while the situation between the ‘widow’ and her resurrected husband was so perplexed that no words could be imagined on their behalf. Caro’s options are only to be imagined, for he had written, as promised to his Farnese patron, a play with triple humours – slapstick, sentimental, and satiric – of which none could dominate the spirit of closure. The Ragged Brothers is an isolated theatrical masterpiece. It was never performed, never translated, never imitated in its time or after, and came to print in Venice only in 1582. The play stands on its merits as the comic invention of a man thoroughly imbued with the culture of the erudite theatre, even to the point of knowing how best to complexify, in pure mannerist fashion, without compromising the integrity of the genre. To the familiar balance of trickery and providence, Caro adds the resolving powers of the Roman magistracy whereby the bar of comic justice is abetted by the bar of legal justice in containing all that is criminal, neurotic,

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and extravagant. The play features its quota of fraudulent schemes foiled and identities restored, but the final stasis is found only through offices that redound to the credit of the new Rome. For this reason, Caro insisted that his play was for that age alone and not to be shared with those for whom the play could hold no affinities. Nevertheless, as a comic invention it has stood the test of time rather well. Even the freshness of its language, so easily lost in translation, and the vigour of the verbal combats, as epitomized by the domestic squabbling of Nuta and Marabeo, in the case of this play would require a leaden hand indeed to destroy. Annibal Caro was born in 1507 and educated in Florence, where he held a number of household and secretarial positions. These led him in turn to the contacts he needed to enter the circle of Pope Paul III, for it was Monsignor Giovanni Gaddi, Clerk of the Apostolic Chamber, who introduced him to Monsignor Guidiccioni, Bishop of Fossombrone, who recommended him to the service of Pier Luigi Farnese. In Rome, Caro met Antonio Blado d’Asola the famous printer, represented in the play as Barbagrigia. Both he and Caro were members of the serio-comic Roman Academy of Virtue, which fostered a series of salacious literary parodies. Pier Luigi commissioned The Ragged Brothers in 1543, possibly as a condition for employment. Caro finished the work on 28 June of that year. According to Caro’s letters, Pier Luigi appears to have taken a great interest in its composition, perhaps to the point of suggesting ideas and plot motifs. Moreover, there was an order given for complete secrecy concerning the project, presumably in the interests of preserving its novelty for the performance. Caro, nevertheless, broke the order in sending a copy to his old friend in Florence, Benedetto Varchi, in March 1544, with the understanding that he too would maintain secrecy. Time was passing in any case, and the special occasion for which the play was written appears to have passed without notice. In 1544 Caro was preoccupied with diplomatic missions, and his patron moved north to become the Duke of Parma. Within a scant three years, however, everything would change, for Pier Luigi, because of his refusal to acknowledge the privileges of the city’s old guard combined with his mismanagement of local affairs, was assassinated. Accused of crimes including grand larceny, Caro was compelled to leave the city with the utmost haste. After that time, he refused all requests to have the play performed. In a letter to Pier Luigi’s daughter, Vittoria of Urbino, he stated that it had been composed for Rome, in a particular way, for a particular moment, concerning issues still fresh in people’s minds, and in accordance with her father’s specific tastes.3 Even in later years, when he worked in the secretariat of the

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powerful Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, the pope’s nephew, he refused to allow its performance. For this new patron, he wrote his Canzoniere, an Apologia in rebuttal to the critique of Castelvetro, as well as translations of Virgil’s Aeneid, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, and Longus’s Daphnis and Chloe. Caro died in 1563. Massimo Ciavolella and I used, as the foundation for our translation, the edition of Gli straccioni by Nino Borsellino in his Commedie del Cinquecento (Milan: G. Feltrinelli, 1962–7), and Comedia degli straccioni, ed. Marziano Guglielminetti (Turin: Einaudi, 1967). Notes 1 Peter Partner, Renaissance Rome 1500–1559: A Portrait of a Society, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), ‘The Face of Rome,’ 161–99 passim. This work also contains illustrations of the Farnese Palace and its famous piazza. 2 Marvin Herrick points out that this Greek romance would become ‘a favorite source for Renaissance tragic-comedies and romantic comedies.’ He is thinking, in particular of Sforza degli Oddi’s I morti vivi (1576), which takes up many of the same motifs, but in a more sombre and sentimental vein. Both authors treated only the final moments surrounding the return of the dead husband, having relegated all the sprawling events of romance piracy and ritual murder to the narrative exposition. Italian Comedy in the Renaissance (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1960), 145, 188–9. For the text of ‘Leucippe and Clitophon’ see Collected Ancient Greek Novels, ed. B.P. Reardon (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 170–284. 3 Quoted in Nino Borsellino, Rozzi e Intronati, Esperienze e forme di teatro dal ‘Decameron’ al ‘Candelaio’ (Rome: Bulzoni, 1974), 190.

The Ragged Brothers Gli Straccioni A Prose Comedy

Dramatis Personae giovanni, battista the ragged brothers giulietta daughter of one of them, also known as Agata or Agatina tindaro lover of Giulietta, also known as Gisippo demetrio friend of Tindaro satiro servant of Demetrio madonna argentina niece of the ragged brothers cavaliere jordano her husband barbagrigia friend of Madonna Argentina marabeo steward of Madonna Argentina pilucca servant of Madonna Argentina nuta maid of Madonna Argentina messer rossello attorney at law mirandola lunatic ciullo, lispa, fuligatto rogues of Campo di Fiore

Prologue Most of you out there in the audience must have known the ragged brothers, the two old men from Chios, Giovanni and Battista, or I might say Giovanni-Battista, because they were like two persons fused into one, or a single one split into two – you know what I mean. They were the very Avino-Avolio1 of our times, with their long coats embroidered all over with skeins of thread and covered with patches one on top of the other.

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They always used to walk together in Rome – filthy fellows they were, with their long hair and hooked noses. The one was the spitting image of the other, the way they used to do the same things and speak at the same time, or echo one another. No matter that one of them is dead now, for not even death can sever the pair of them. The survivor is dead in the one who has passed on, and the dead one lives in the one who is still alive. I offer as proof that sometimes neither hide nor hair can be found anywhere of the one still alive, while today, right here on our stage, you’ll see them both in the flesh. You’ve probably heard the merry tales about that immortal pair, Castor and Pollux,2 who made some arrangement or other between them about their birth, life, and death together? Well, let’s say they never died, that they’ve turned into our two brothers here. Ours are just as handsome and they’re always doing the same things together – although to be honest they’re just a bit filthier. Consider them poor and insane if you will, but our author has made them both rich and wise. The reason that prompted him is itself quite hilarious. If I tell you now, please don’t give it away. These two brothers, knowing that the author has been for many years in the service of such lofty patrons as the Farnese family,3 have assumed he must be a pretty eminent figure himself. So, to solicit his favour, they have generously granted him 50,000 gold scudi,4 money we all know they are still trying to get back from the Grimaldi.5 Even so, the author, who has only imagined himself rich in his dreams, took these promises for real, and banked on them as though he had the cash in his hand. Like the chap who paid hard money for a feast of hot air,6 he will have the scruffy brothers recover their 300,000 scudi in this comedy of his, in exchange for the 50,000 scudi he received from them in words. He’s done the same thing for their intellects, for insofar as they have taken him for a great man he has billed them as wise men. These two ghostly characters who’ve given the play a name have also given it a subject – or rather three subjects: through a litigation they have with the Grimaldi; through a daughter they left in Chios; and through a niece they didn’t know they had in Rome.7 In the course of the comedy you’ll see the origin, unfolding, and resolution of a whole maze of fears, deceits, jealousies, and brawls. For the moment you need only know that these three circumstances will give rise to the most astonishing accidents of fortune involving men of diverse statures, wits, and characters: dead ones who are alive, live ones who are dead, madmen who are wise, widowers who are married, husbands who have two wives, and wives who have

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two husbands. You’ll see visible phantoms, kith not known to their kin, relatives who are enemies, prisoners who are free, and such like extravagances and novelties. The constipated traditionalist may take offence at the triple plot, because the ancients never went beyond a single or double one. But don’t forget that although there are no existing precedents for our procedure, neither are there prohibitions against it. And besides, the author didn’t choose to do it without good reason. The tale requires three types of humours: if the audience is not moved by the first or relieved by the second, the third is sure to purge them because its subject matter is pleasant and consistent with the others.8 All three are interwoven to form a single complete subject, although each one has its own parts and could alone constitute a comedy. To be faultless and full of art is indeed praiseworthy, but our author is happy merely to escape reproof. Note that he has followed the traditions in other areas. And in any case, change is inevitable, since actions and the laws of actions depend on the times and fashions, and these change with every age. If someone donned a purple-bordered toga today, no matter how fine he looked, he might as well have put on a flat cap and loose socks, because the current modes which dictate what appeals to men’s eyes, ears, and tastes, have declared against them both. There are just a few other things the author bids me say in his defence, namely, in short, that he knows he has a hard task on his hands, that he engaged in it out of obedience and not out of presumption, and that he has tried his level best to please. There’s no such thing as an established set of rules for comedy, anyway. The models are legion. Everyone has his own head, every head has its own ideas, and every idea has its reasons. So to please everyone is difficult, he realizes, and to do so in all respects is downright impossible. Therefore, simply to please you in part is sufficient recompense for his labours. Lend us a favourable ear. Sit back and enjoy yourselves. Insofar as many a dish will be served up in the banquet to follow, I trust there will be meat for one and all.

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ACT I Scene i demetrio, pilucca, and barbagrigia

demetrio: Since I’ve been your faithful companion through such bad times on the high seas, Pilucca, don’t abandon me on land, now that the times are good. I’m a stranger here in Rome, and I need someone to show me around until I find this Messer Tindaro I was telling you about. Are you with me? pilucca: What? Before we even lift a glass or two? demetrio: Come on. You had quite a few when we were in Ripa.9 pilucca: Uh huh – and since then? demetrio: Well, at least tell me where I might run into him. pilucca: Everybody turns up at Ponte10 one time or another. demetrio: And where is Ponte, then? pilucca: Wait a minute. Where are we now? And what piazza is this? I’ve never seen this street before, nor this one either. demetrio: Don’t tell me we need a compass on land too. pilucca: Where’s the Farnese palace, anyway?11 demetrio: If it were a grog shop, we’d have found it by now. pilucca: Maybe this is it? No, it wasn’t so high. demetrio: At being high, you’re the winner. pilucca: Still, it could be it. In fact, it is. But where is my mistress’s house? It used to be right across the way. demetrio: (Aside) He’s got as many loops in his brain as he has barrels in his belly. pilucca: I could have sworn it was here. demetrio: Greco?12 pilucca: No, farther along. demetrio: Corso?13 pilucca: On the other side. demetrio: Mazzacane?14 pilucca: Wait, where is Campo di Fiori?15 This way or that way? demetrio: Well at least you might recognize some of the people around here. pilucca: Hey, hey, it’s the printer’s shop ... what’s his name ... Barbagrigia.16

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barbagrigia: Welcome, welcome. pilucca: Well, well! How are things with you? barbagrigia: Bulging at the seams, as you can see. pilucca: I can see it quite well. That drum of a belly you’ve put on barely lets you through the door, God bless it. barbagrigia: (Aside) This guy’s nothing but insults and arrogance. —Who are you, anyway? pilucca: Me? I’m Pilucca. barbagrigia: What? Pilucca? That’s why you look so scrawny?17 demetrio: (Aside) There’s tit for tat. barbagrigia: So what’s this get-up all about? You look like a jailbird. pilucca: I got it by destiny, not felony. barbagrigia: It’s not the last time you’ll be there. demetrio: He means the police will be after you in no time. pilucca: His meaning is perfectly clear. barbagrigia: So what happened to you, anyway? pilucca: You remember that your good friend the Cavaliere decided to go to the Near East to collect some sort of inheritance for my mistress? barbagrigia: Like it was yesterday. pilucca: And that we haven’t heard a word from him since he left? barbagrigia: That too. pilucca: And that my mistress sent me to the corners of the globe looking for him? barbagrigia: Wise decision. pilucca: Well, I didn’t find him and damned near lost myself in the process. barbagrigia: You fell into the hands of the Moors, eh?18 Well, the gain was entirely ours. pilucca: Five cursed years. barbagrigia: I know the rest – an oar thirty feet long? pilucca: Worse. barbagrigia: Fifty pound chains? pilucca: Worse than that. barbagrigia: As many lashes as there are grains of sand? pilucca: Even worse. barbagrigia: Swarms of lice? pilucca: Worse, I’m telling you. barbagrigia: What the devil can be worse than that? pilucca: Hardtack and water. barbagrigia: Uh huh, and how did you manage to escape?

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pilucca: The devil be thanked, down she went, straight to the bottom at last. Only this gentleman and I escaped with our lives. barbagrigia: Ergo, their misfortune was really your good fortune. pilucca: Enough of all that. We’re here now – although where that is I don’t exactly know. I’m home from the sea, but my head’s still adrift. I have to confess, I can’t even find the house of Madonna Argentina, my mistress. barbagrigia: Ha, ha! pilucca: Where the devil has it gone to? barbagrigia: Boccaccio swallowed it. pilucca: Boccaccio who? barbagrigia: The chief wall-banger, you know who I mean, the lieutenant of earthquakes, the one who reduces residences to rubble with his bloody rod and magic thread.19 pilucca: Oh, right, right, the one with the glasses – he’s a good friend of my mistress. barbagrigia: Just the reason he did her the favour of shoving her house into the piazza. pilucca: Her house into the piazza? Not into this one. barbagrigia: Ha, ha! pilucca: I get it. What an idiot I am. Well, there could be no greater glory than falling to make way for a work of such splendour.20 demetrio: What a beautiful palace! What a splendid piazza! O, magnificent Rome! pilucca: Well, what shall I do? The house is gone, my mistress is lost, I’m starved half-blind, and I’m terrified of water. I won’t feel safe until I’ve gained my mistress’s cellar. barbagrigia: There the risk of drowning is even greater. pilucca: You’re cutting my throat by degrees. Just show me the way. barbagrigia: So where all did you go in search of the Cavaliere? pilucca: To the brink of the other world. barbagrigia: And after all that you never found him? pilucca: How could I if he’s dead? barbagrigia: O my beloved friend, my poor friend. Where? How did he die? pilucca: It’s worth an epic and I’m starving. barbagridia: Tell me in a word or two. pilucca: He died, just like that. But didn’t I mention my present famished state? Could you kindly direct me to the abode of my mistress?

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barbagrigia: All right, let’s go. You’ve been chastised enough. I’ll accompany you. I want to hear the whole story and offer my condolences to our lady. demetrio: Don’t we want to find that friend of mine first, Pilucca? pilucca: How can I find somebody else when I’m lost myself? barbagrigia: Who is it you’re looking for my good man? demetrio: A Messer Tindaro from Chios. The trouble is that I’m not sure he’s in Rome, although I can’t think he’s anywhere else. pilucca: That will be worse than looking for mushrooms. barbagrigia: I don’t know of him, myself, but these two ragged scoundrels coming along are from Chios. demetrio: Just have a look at this honourable pair! You go on ahead. I want to ask them something. pilucca: Right. I’ll meet you later. Scene ii battista and giovanni, the ragged brothers, and demetrio giovanni: Rome, sacred and holy? It’s the Rome of the fiend. battista: The very devil’s Rome, gutless Rome. giovanni: Rome, impoverished and lunatic. battista: And the cause of all our poverty and madness. giovanni: With the benediction of God Almighty. demetrio: (Aside) What kind of sneaking crows are these? They must be either brawlers or alchemists. giovanni: From Chios to Genoa. battista: From Genoa to Rome. giovanni: From Herod to Pilate, from pillar to post. battista: In the space of a day. demetrio: (Aside) They’re from Chios, all right, on their way from Genoa, and they’re in a bit of a tiff. Let’s wait and see if they’re the Canali. giovanni: If it’s true that Tindaro has abducted my daughter, Giulietta, we’re even more shamed and humiliated in the eyes of this town than we thought. demetrio: (Aside) They’re talking about Giulietta and Tindaro. They must be the ones. But why are they parading in these motley trappings? Are they crazy? Not that that makes any difference in Rome. Why are they acting so strangely? I wonder what’s going on between

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these two. What do they know about Tindaro? I’d risk introducing myself, but they might suspect me of being Tindaro’s accomplice in the kidnapping of Giulietta. Then again, they’ve never seen me. They don’t know I’m Demetrio. giovanni: Look at that fellow’s clothes. Isn’t he from the same country we are?21 battista: Where do you hail from, my friend? demetrio: From the East. giovanni: Which part? demetrio: From Chios. battista: A true son of Chios? demetrio: At your command, and you? giovanni: Why, from Chios too. demetrio: What brings you here? battista: Business, and you? demetrio: Mere chance. But may I ask, aren’t you from the Canali family? giovanni: Indeed, we are. demetrio: But why the rags? battista: The inheritance of poverty and our lawsuit. demetrio: By God, that’s quite an honour you’re paying yourselves. giovanni: For wretched malcontents like us, no finer attire will serve. battista: Not until we’ve avenged ourselves against our abusers. demetrio: Who are they? giovanni: If you’re from Chios you should know. demetrio: Oh yes, of course ... uh, Tindaro. battista: Tindaro and Demetrio. demetrio: Why Demetrio? Isn’t he one of your kin? Whatever he did must have been for your good and your daughter’s too. And as for Tindaro, no one will deny he acted out of teeming love for Giulietta. giovanni: A keen sense of our good, by God. battista: And teeming love it was. giovanni: To dishonour her. battista: And to heap shame upon her entire family. demetrio: When a man seeks a wife and his love is honest, there’s neither dishonour nor shame. He was moved not by contempt towards you but by the desire to be related to you. giovanni: In spite of us. demetrio: Out of good-will towards you. battista: He’s like the nuns of Genoa – he goes on his lark and then asks permission.22

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demetrio: Well, you made it quite clear you were determined to say ‘no.’ giovanni: Just because a person keeps saying ‘no’ doesn’t mean he can’t say ‘yes’ in the end, and that’s just what we did. demetrio: Don’t forget that for lovers, patience without hope turns into despair. battista: And don’t you forget that for the abused it turns into vendetta. demetrio: Do yourself a favour. Accept what they’ve done and what God has ordained. This will remedy past grievances and those still to come. And besides, why shouldn’t you rejoice that your daughter has married the richest, the most noble and honest youth in Chios? giovanni: The rewards due his merits have been forfeited by his insolence. battista: If he had proceeded properly without abducting her, she would have been his. demetrio: His she is now. And because there’s no taking her back, what can you do but give her up to him? giovanni: Since he can’t have her with honour, he won’t have her with consent. demetrio: Quite the contrary. Because you can’t stop the deed, how else can your honour be saved? battista: Deed, indeed! It’s a misdeed. Everyone will agree. demetrio: You’re on the wrong path. giovanni: You’re talking like one of their friends. demetrio: And one of yours, although you don’t know me. battista: What? Who are you? demetrio: Just wait. I’m sure we’ll have the occasion to discuss the matter again, to the benefit of all. giovanni: We don’t need more words on the matter. What we want to know is where they are. demetrio: I’m looking for them myself. battista: In Rome? demetrio: No hints from me. Your stubbornness silences me. giovanni: We beseech you to tell us. For news of our beloved daughter we’ll listen to anything you say. demetrio: Ah, that looks like Satiro strolling along. Adieu. giovanni: Where are you off to? demetrio: There’s no more time for chatting. battista: Listen, what’s your name?

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giovanni: Where can we find you? demetrio: I can’t stay a moment longer. giovanni: Say something more to help us. demetrio: All in good time. I’m off now. But where can I find you? giovanni: Right here, as soon as we return from reclaiming our due. demetrio: Good. Then we’ll talk later. Scene iii demetrio, gisippo (also known as tindaro), satiro demetrio: (Aside) Satiro it is, by God. If only Messer Tindaro were here, this matter could all be sorted out. Wait a minute. It is Tindaro. What good fortune that I should meet them both today. gisippo: A wife, my wife? Let’s please not discuss it further. demetrio: (Aside) His wife’s Giulietta. Could he be speaking of her? I’d better do some eavesdropping. satiro: Your treatment of her is grossly unfair considering her great love for you. gisippo: What greater wrong than to accept her love when my heart is filled with love for another. demetrio: (Aside) Another? Odd that he should now be rejecting Giulietta – after we kidnapped her, after we suffered condemnation, confinement, and ruin to have her. satiro: You’ll live to regret it, master. gisippo: Bah! You’re boring me. You’re prodding for an answer I can’t give. You know I’m fond of you, but your harangues are getting pedantic and tiresome. demetrio: (Aside) What’s all this? I’d better find out what’s going on. gisippo: Satiro, can this really be Demetrio I’m seeing? demetrio: You can trust your eyes. It really is. gisippo: Demetrio! My faithful friend! satiro: O, master! demetrio: Ah, good old Satiro, and Messer Tindaro, I’ve found you at last. satiro: But I must tell you, Messer Tindaro isn’t Tindaro anymore. gisippo: That’s quite true. I’ve changed my name. demetrio: What’s happened? satiro: He now calls himself Gisippo. demetrio: Excellent! What a good idea.

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gisippo: But where are you coming from and what are you doing here? demetrio: You might say I’m a true man of the world, I’ve been so many places. I’ve been looking for you and I’ve got some good news. gisippo: Your presence alone is the best news you can bring. demetrio: I treasure your devotion, but I will treasure even more the fulfilment of all your hopes and dreams. gisippo: Alas, they’ll never come true. demetrio: How can that be, now that you have your Giulietta? gisippo: Alas, no longer mine, nor will she ever be. demetrio: Holy saints, you’re rejecting her now that her kinsmen have consented? Don’t you know? As soon as we took her away, a letter arrived from her father and uncle here in Italy giving you permission to take her as your wife. Had we held off for a single day, the abduction wouldn’t have been necessary. gisippo: Ah, Fortune, Fortune, these are your blows. The bad you send never misses the mark. The good ever goes astray, or arrives only when it is too late. demetrio: Her wretched mother, having received letters from here, was deeply grieved by your departure. When I heard that she was having you pursued, I sought you myself in order to share your destiny. Once my complicity in the deed was discovered, I was persecuted by the courts, but even more by Fortune. Only now have I escaped the Moors and after much mishap arrived in Rome. Then I encountered Giulietta’s father and uncle and tried to make them understand. Now, after all I’ve learned here and know from the home country, I can assure you that Giulietta will be yours with a universal blessing. Why are you crying, Messer Gisippo? gisippo: Alas. demetrio: Satiro, what’s the meaning of this? satiro: Didn’t you hear? Giulietta’s dead. demetrio: Dead? Giulietta? What are you saying, Satiro? gisippo: While I enjoyed her love her family was my enemy. Now that I have their blessing, she’s no longer mine. While alive, she was denied me. Now that she is dead, they bestow her upon me. demetrio: What an incalculable loss. You have reason enough to grieve. And yet, it is not meet that a man of your constancy and prudence should fall prey to despair for something that is natural, necessary, and without remedy. gisippo: Ah Demetrio. If only her death had been natural and necessary. Therein lies my grief. She was slain while still an innocent

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maid by the hand of heathen dogs. The cruellest of deaths she suffered, in my very presence, and the worst is that I myself was the cause of it. Ah, wretched Giulietta. demetrio: I feel my heart breaking. O, woe. What cruel destiny. satiro: Best leave off, sir, or he will die of anguish. Let’s give him a moment to recover himself. demetrio: Satiro, how did such a fell mishap come about? satiro: In a word, after abducting Giulietta, we sailed for Corfu. Just as we gained sight of Zacynthos, we were attacked and captured by five Turkish vessels.23 Messer Gisippo, hoping to find friends on the island to ransom us, was put ashore along with myself in the early morning, leaving Giulietta behind. When we landed, we discovered that the galleons of the Venetians had newly arrived from Cephallenia.24 He recognized the captain as a dear friend, and they determined between themselves to pursue and overcome the Turks, who had meanwhile set sail in flight. As we drew near, they tied Giulietta to the stern, threatening murder in order to stop us, but their threats only redoubled our efforts. Then suddenly, before our very eyes, they chopped off her head and threw her body into the sea. demetrio: Those treacherous beasts. satiro: Our galleons were delayed as Gisippo tried to recover the body, giving occasion to the Turks to slip away. demetrio: Ah, ill-fated maiden. Then who is the lady you spoke of before, the one he is now refusing to have? satiro: Ah, Messer Demetrio, God has sent us this opportunity in recompense for so great a misfortune. A widow, a very wealthy noblewoman, the most gentle creature in Rome – it is natural that blood should seek kindred blood – no sooner had she seen him than she fell in love with him. She wants him as a husband and as lord over all her wealth. And what a fortune she has! And what a woman he would have! An estate like a fief, and a very goddess. You are aware of our condition. If he doesn’t accept her, we’ll go on wandering forever, but I can’t hammer that into his head. Now that you’re here, why don’t you give it a try? demetrio: Here? Now? Surely it’s not the time to broach a subject like that. First let’s try to assuage his anguish, and when he’s better disposed, we’ll speak to him about it. satiro: But for now, let’s be off. There’s someone leaving the widow’s house, no doubt sent after me to get the marriage sealed. I want to hold him off till we get matters settled on our side.

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demetrio: I propose a stroll, Messer Gisippo. Now that I’m in Rome, I’d like to see the city. Scene iv pilucca, marabeo, and nuta pilucca: (Alone) All the trifling questions my lady has put to me have tired me right out. Four times already she’s had me summoned from the cellar, forcing me to repeat at least a thousand times that the master is dead. You’d think she was afraid of his resurrection. Right now I’m worried about my own mortality. While she argues with Barbagrigia, I’ve got my chance to tipple with the steward and renew our pact to pilfer the mistress. There he is now, standing at a window caressing his wine flask. —Greetings, Marabeo. You charm the fog at midday. O, Marabeo! (To audience) He’s lost himself over the brink of his glass, the lout. —Marabeo! marabeo: A wine with body and sparkling at the same time. It’s gone right down to the tips of my toes. pilucca: Just think, if it ever got to his head! —Marabeo! May you drop dead. marabeo: Who’s there? pilucca: You don’t recognize me, you old scoundrel? maraabeo: Not I. Let me have another nip and then I’ll be down. pilucca: May the devil take you since the flask will be empty. (To audience) What’s all the rumbling? Did he fall down the stairs? marabeo: Oh, ow, I’m in agony. pilucca: (To audience) His mouth still works. No harm done if his neck’s not broken. marabeo: My poor head! pilucca: What have you got there? Take your hand away. Nothing. When it comes to your head, a bruise is the least of your problems. Go on, finish it off yourself. marabeo: Who the hell are you, showing up today to make me break my neck? pilucca: You still don’t know me? It’s Pilucca. marabeo: From Lucca? pilucca: No, I’m Pilucca. marabeo: Pilucca. Who’d’ve recognized you looking so frazzled out? Say! Did the master ever come back?

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pilucca: Yes, he did. marabeo: The master has come back? pilucca: The master has come back, yes. marabeo: So my neck really will be broken. pilucca: Listen, I’ve been ordered to review your accounts. We have an agreement, you and I, if you know what I mean. marabeo: What do you think you’ll count? Since you left, we haven’t earned a penny. pilucca: Marabeo, I know you, and you know me. Besides being crooked by nature, I learned all my tricks from you, and I’ve just lately graduated from jail, so make up your mind. I’m not the type to be pushed around. Because we’re in it so far together, we’d better both keep our mouths shut and go on aiding and abetting each other. I want my cut of everything you’ve pinched down to the last cent25 or I’ll mangle this vintage for you. marabeo: This whole business scares me senseless. I need somebody like you. I’ll do whatever you say. pilucca: Then I want in on all past and future proceeds. marabeo: Fair enough. The old arrangements as usual? pilucca: With coin in the palm of my hand. marabeo: To settle the accounts? pilucca: Yes, with real money. marabeo: Enough said. I’ll see that you get it. pilucca: I mean cash. Give it to me now. marabeo: I give you my word. pilucca: I can’t spend that. marabeo: You’ll get it. Believe me! pilucca: All right, I’ll trust you. But let me deserve the money, since I feel a twinge of conscience in pilfering it, by giving you the news of the master you were asking about. marabeo: Tell me he hasn’t come back. pilucca: He hasn’t come back. marabeo: And that he’ll never come back. pilucca: He’ll never come back. marabeo: And that he’s dead. pilucca: He’s dead. marabeo: For real? pilucca: Can someone be dead just for laughs? marabeo: Master Jordano is dead? pilucca: Master Jordano.

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marabeo: At sea? pilucca: At sea. marabeo: The sea beheld him and rolled back her waves. Jordan passed through, just like the Scriptures said.26 pilucca: If so, he deserved it. marabeo: And you deserve your money for such good news, Pilucca. And now I’ll give you even better news. pilucca: What can top the news of master’s death? marabeo: I’ll tell you – the mistress is in love. pilucca: That’s a good one! O ho, I get you. My news secures all our past gains, yours sets us up for the future. marabeo: You’ve got it. The mistress will have her love and we two will look after her wealth. That business of conscience and loyalty, it’s fine for those who don’t mind dying of hunger and cold. Riches, Pilucca, wealth, if it’s a gentleman you want to be. Since our parents left us nothing, and these others haven’t sense enough to give it to us, not to mention that we don’t know the art of earning it, and hard work is bad for our health, is it any surprise that we make use of our hands? Anyway, the rope’s a better way to go than starvation. Are you with me, Pilucca? pilucca: Sounds like a good philosophy to me. Which school is it – Pleuripethetics or Stoiters?27 marabeo: I’ve got no use for all those alphabastards.28 We need more than chop-logic to live on. There comes Nuta and she looks mad as hops. nuta: You damned lazy traitor. So that’s why you didn’t want me in the house anymore. Once it was kidney stones, then a lumbago, then cancer – may you get them all for real. marabeo: What are you on about, Nuta? nuta: What am I on about? You swine-skinned bastard. marabeo: Aie, my beard, aie! nuta: So it’s fresh goods you wanted you decrepit old pig. It’ll make you putrid, I can tell you that. Take a woman by force, would you? marabeo: What woman? nuta: Everyone knows it, you filthy old tramp. pilucca: Ha, ha, ha! marabeo: My Nuta. nuta: By force, eh? marabeo: Shut your trap, Nuta. nuta: I’ll tell the whole world.

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marabeo: At least stop shouting so loud. nuta: Taking them by force, by force. pilucca: Nice favour she’s doing you, by God! nuta: By for ... marabeo: Shut up. nuta: Try and stop me you old reprobate. I say it to spite you – a maid by force. pilucca: If you want her quiet, tell her to yell. marabeo: My Nuta, sugarplum. nuta: Yours? You stinking dog. marabeo: Skin me alive, but please stop shouting. nuta: Nothing but a dirty old man.29 pilucca: Ha, ha, ha! nuta: If I didn’t have to go back home now, I’d denounce you before the Governor. marabeo: Listen to me, Nuta. Make her stop, Pilucca. pilucca: Nuta wait! Listen to just another word, Nuta. Just as I thought, the devil’s taken her. Scene v marabeo and pilucca marabeo: Pilucca, I’m ruined. pilucca: You’ve taken quite a thrashing. marabeo: It’s worse than that. pilucca: What kind of brawl is this? marabeo: Brawl, hell! It’s a brawl leading straight to a hanging rope or a dungeon. pilucca: Ah, send her to the devil. marabeo: You can laugh, but I’m scared out of my wits. You won’t believe what a fix I’m in or the dumb mistake I’ve made. pilucca: What’s this great blunder of yours? marabeo: Keeping a woman against her will. pilucca: Oh boy, you will flirt with the gallows. So who is this woman? marabeo: A young girl freed from the Turks by the Pope’s galleys. pilucca: And how did you come by her? marabeo: Here’s the story. Last summer our master’s galleys sailed for the East as privateers against the infidels. On their return they engaged a Turkish fleet that had just escaped the Venetians, gained

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the victory, put the infidels in chains and, upon arrival at Civitavecchia, released their Christian prisoners, because according to perennial custom and the decree of his Holiness there can be no Christian slaves in Rome. Among those freed was this girl who calls herself Agatina. But the captain who first captured her secretly held her back when the others were released. I happened to be in Civitavecchia at the time, and since the captain was a friend of mine, he showed me this slave of his. I liked her as much as I dislike all other women. The captain, short of money and as afraid to keep her as I am now, sold her to me on the promise that I wouldn’t take her to Rome. But I broke my promise and brought her here anyway, hoping to keep her a secret. I thought I could win her over so that my lust would be provided for. But in spite of my caresses, threats, and the torments I’ve inflicted upon her, I haven’t managed to gain one favourable look from her, and now, despite my vigilance, the secret has gotten out. pilucca: Is she good looking? marabeo: She’s beautiful, and good, and wonderfully intelligent. More that that, she’s a Christian, free, and apparently noble. Here I am, torn between the fear of keeping her, the despair of ever conquering her, and the grief of letting her go. How the secret got out I don’t know. I’m totally confused. I’ve no idea how to escape prosecution. Not even the egg of the Ascension,30 much less the captain, could save me from prison now – or much worse, from hanging, if the Governor ever finds out. Are you really a true friend, Pilucca? pilucca: What do you want me to do? marabeo: Get on the good side of this tattle-tale Nuta. Find out if she’s blabbed the news abroad, or make sure she doesn’t, if it isn’t too late and, above all, see that she doesn’t go to the Governor. Then we’ll think of some way out of this scrape. pilucca: Come on, you can put your mind at rest. I’ll go and have a little chat with her about all this. marabeo: And I’ll talk to Agatina, just in case she knows something.

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ACT II Scene i barbagrigia, gisippo, demetrio, satiro, and nuta barbagrigia: (Alone) O blessed be this dear friend of mine! At least she says what she thinks, and she thinks straight as far as I can see. Now that Pilucca has assured her that her husband is dead, she says she wants another one – young, a foreigner, one without means of his own, and that she’ll have him without consulting her parents. The reasoning behind all this reveals a wise woman. This Gisippo, whom she’s already approached, would be a pure fool to turn her down. It seems like a millennium since he started passing my shop – and that’s when he began to meet with her every day. In fact, there he comes with that foreigner. Her taste isn’t bad, I must admit. He’s just the right sort of bed-warmer for a widow. —Have you located that friend of yours, my good man? demetrio: I’ve found Messer Gisippo here, the very person I was looking for. barbagrigia: I’m glad. As a matter of fact, he’s just the man I need to have a few private words with, if you’ll permit aus. demetrio: As you wish. barbagrigia: Messer Gisippo, I know others have spoken to you about the subject on my mind. Now that you’ve given it careful thought, I trust you’ll be wanting to make a contract. gisippo: For a wife? barbagrigia: And what a wife! Most men who take wives might as well break their necks. But the lady I’m talking about will bring you contentment, peace, and happiness. I doubt that you know who Madonna Argentina really is. gisippo: If you have nothing else to talk about, I prefer your silence. satiro: Master Demetrio, they’re talking about the marriage. Now’s the time to hammer home. barbagrigia: But why? Are you out of your mind or isn’t she a good enough match for you? gisippo: Her station is far above the merits of my condition. I’m honoured to be loved and desired by a lady of her rank. I am no such friend of Fortune that I can scorn her wealth. No greater opportunity could ever have been bestowed upon a man. To accept is wisdom, to

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refuse, folly, yet I must refuse. Destiny has cast this in my way, but only now, when I cannot avail myself of it. barbagrigia: I can’t understand you when you talk that way. Why can you not, when you want to ? And you want to according to what you say, yourself. My God! Here’s beauty, honesty, wealth, and love rolled into one, and all in a country like Rome. And you have doubts about doing it? demetrio: Perhaps you should know that Messer Gisippo here remains aloof from all women, grieving as he does in memory of his dead lady. barbagrigia: Is it for a dead woman that you will disappoint so many living men and women and jeopardize your own future? gisippo: Dead she may be to the world, but in my soul she will be forever alive and immortal. demetrio: Even in the wisest, Messer Gisippo, the mist of passion obscures the light of prudence. Knowing your resolution in all things, I would not deign to counsel you were you not caught in this dreadful dilemma. But follow my reasoning closely, because it is by reason that one must be perennially ruled in the affairs of life. Is it because of grief, which is a temporary alteration of the soul, that you will not consent to marry? Grief will pass with that which has caused it, leaving remorse in its wake for having missed this chance. The passage of time and the necessities of life will soften your heart towards her, but only after her indignation has hardened hers against you. When your scorn has driven her into the arms of another, once she has turned away, you’ll yearn for the unattainable. Such a lady will not easily be found again. barbagrigia: He’s right. Do you think there are women like her on every street corner? gisippo: I intend no scorn in rejecting her suit. The failure redounds solely upon myself. I remind you that the necessities of life have no power to move those who desire to die. As for time, I know that it is balm to many wounds of passion, but it cannot heal my pain. demetrio: But why not? gisippo: Because my pain is infinite. demetrio: This is impossible since you are finite. gisippo: It is sufficient that it endures as long as I. demetrio: Your reasoning is false, because the sun never rises without bringing some alteration both to our bodies and our souls. barbagrigia: You speak philosophy, but I prefer to speak medicine. Pain inhabits the soul just as flatulence does the body. Take this

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neighbour of mine, precious as silver. Make a plaster31 of her to wrap around your heart and you’ll find yourself wondrously restored. Have you never taken into consideration the grace and beauty of that little widow? That angelic face? Those eyes of the Holy Spirit? That figure moulded by the hands of our Lord? How could you go on mourning, just having her before your eyes? gisippo: Alas, the memory of such beauty makes my sorrow complete. barbagrigia: How can this be? Is she not ravishing? gisippo: I find her beautiful beyond compare, had I never seen Giulietta. barbagrigia: Here we are again with Giulietta. Once you start caring for this one, she’ll seem more beautiful than Giulietta. demetrio: It’s true what he says. Experience brings love and love brings pleasure. One nail drives out another. gisippo: Mine is so driven in and riveted that even though the shaft breaks it will never come out. barbagrigia: You’re still young, my boy. Look at this white beard of mine. You can have faith in the simple words of experience. I had a wife, and when she died I thought I’d never get over it, that I’d never find such another mate. But not much time passed before I put my sorrow behind me and turned to my Paolina to heal my wounds. Now I value and love her a hundred times more than the one who died. And if she were to die today, I’d take another tomorrow, knowing the same thing would happen again. gisippo: I could never do such a wrong to my Giulietta. demetrio: Giulietta is beyond hearing or caring about such vanities as these. And could she hear or care, surely she would prefer your peace, profit, and honour to this pointless grief and the damage and reproof you’ll draw with this vain faithfulness of yours. If these reasons won’t prick you then I must sting you. The blame is yours in seeking praise for your faithfulness as a lover while failing in your duties as a friend. Just because you are oblivious to death, poverty, and dishonour, you shouldn’t condemn your friends to death or dishonour through your own fault. I feel entitled to reproach you, since your affairs are the cause of my present misery. I have lost my country, my friends, and my possessions in order to gratify your heart’s desire. And now with succour in view for my needs, and solace for your misery, you refuse such a lady, such wealth, and such a country as this noble Rome. You would not be happy for me, although I have been miserable for you. However, do as you please, and I’ll seek some other compensation for my life.

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satiro: Now he’s had his back put to the wall! gisippo: Messer Demetrio, it’s no cause for amazement that a desperate man who has lost his own sense of right and wrong should fail to perceive the needs of a friend. I hear your words and my heart breaks, because I have been the cause of your torment and shame. Yet how can I bring myself to follow your counsel if my sorrow will not cease, if my instinct abhors it, if my dreams frighten me away from it, if the image of my love so haunts my imagination that I cannot turn my thoughts to any other woman? demetrio: I’ve told you that your grief will pass away, that your instincts will lead you in the right way as soon as they are free from this passion. Dreams are but dreams. Images are erased by the imprint of other images. gisippo: These are mere words. My heart leads me a different way. demetrio: What nonsense coming from a man of your quality. I concede that at present your affairs may seem desperate. But it is laughable to think that you are the only man alive immune to the workings of time, and that for such a reason you should deprive our souls of their former privileges. gisippo: Wouldn’t it be the greatest hypocrisy in the world to accept this gentle lady, who bestows upon me her heart, her person, her wealth, if I did not love her as she deserves with all my heart? demetrio: You’ll come to love her in spite of yourself. What with her conversation, her beauty, the affection she bears you, the comfort and pleasure of day-to-day life with her, you’ll find yourself utterly transformed. gisippo: And you believe that I should forget Giulietta? demetrio: Even if you don’t forget her now, her memory will nevertheless wane by degrees until there is no passion left. Better to say ‘yes’ while you have the chance and leave the rest to God, because it is by His design that such an opportunity has been granted to you. gisippo: O hallowed spirit. Look down from your abode on high. See the constancy of my soul, the depth of my grief and the strength of my longing to come to you. Hear how your name is ever on my lips. See how your image is imprinted on my heart. Know that I am yours and yours alone. Yet see also the temptations and obligations which move me to break my resolution. Since I have never wilfully violated the laws of love, withhold your anger now that I must perforce fulfil those of friendship. Demetrio, our dearest companion and this most faithful minister of our love, compels me to bind myself to another,

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although in this I do not sever my ties with you. My body is to be sold for the well-being of my friend, but my soul will ever be yours. Though I remain faithful to you, let me not be ungrateful to him. Let my few remaining days of grief on earth serve to benefit this our dear friend. And so, to release me from the torment of your absence, either call me forth to join you above, or send me, as you can, some shred of consolation. Go now Messer Demetrio. Do with me as you will. My wishes are as nothing when set against my infinite debts to you. demetrio: You speak of paying a debt, and that I accept because I can prevail upon you in no other way. But I do so not for my own interest and pleasure, but for yours. gisippo: My only pleasure will be in your satisfaction and the hope for a speedy death. demetrio: Would that I could furnish you daily with such risks of death! barbagrigia: Risks! How absurd! This chap falls into a sea of happiness and thinks he’s going to die. It sounds to me like the story of the nitwit who ate a whole tree full of nuts just to poison himself. demetrio: Listen Barbagrigia, make sure you don’t mention anything of Messer Gisippo’s misery to Madonna Argentina. It’s enough that he’s willing. Take her word to this effect and give her this jewel on his behalf. Tonight we’ll place the ring on her finger. barbagrigia: It’s got to be sealed with more than a ring. It’s got to be flesh into flesh this very evening. demetrio: You make sure the widow is ready and I’ll look after the rest. barbagrigia: Women are always ready. Now we’re talking. I can’t wait to tell her the good news! satiro: Not before I get there. I want the tip for myself. There she is at the window with her maid. nuta: What’s troubling you, Satiro? satiro: A wedding! A wedding! nuta: Come on up! Come on up! Scene ii marabeo and nuta marabeo: (Alone) I can already feel the hangman breathing down my neck. I’m sure Agatina has talked to Nuta through the hole behind the stove. It seems like an age since Pilucca went to squeeze some news out of her. Uh oh, here she comes. I’d better stay out of sight.

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nuta: You’re trying to hide, you dirty rascal! Marabeo! —Mistress, Marabeo doesn’t want to come. marabeo: May the devil choke you to death, you ugly witch! nuta: Get upstairs, fast. The mistress wants you. We have to make arrangements for the wedding. marabeo: What! Wedding? nuta: Yes a wedding. marabeo: Whose? nuta: Our mistress’s, whose do you think? marabeo: No fooling? The mistress is remarrying? nuta: Yes, yes, remarrying. marabeo: The mistress is remarrying, now there’s a good one. Listen, Nuta, another word. nuta: I told you, the mistress is waiting. marabeo: Nuta, darling ... nuta: Keep your hands off me. marabeo: What arrogance. Well at least let me talk to you. What’s this wedding you’re so excited about? nuta: Our mistress’s, haven’t you got that straight yet? marabeo: But who with, my love? nuta: With her husband to be, Messer Gisippo. Is that all clear now? marabeo: How’s that? With the same Messer Gisippo who didn’t want her? nuta: All that matters is that he wants her now. The wedding’s this evening, so get upstairs. marabeo: What? This evening? nuta: Why, is it by any chance going to spoil yours with your little pussycat?32 marabeo: What pussycat? nuta: You still deny it, you faking rascal? Haven’t I seen her? Haven’t I spoken to her? Hasn’t she written everything to the Governor? marabeo: Then the Governor knows? nuta: He’ll know the minute I give him this evidence. marabeo: Nuta, sweetheart, you’ll be the cause of my ruin. nuta: What could please me more? marabeo: You realize that’ll be the end of the nice little thing we do together? nuta: Humph! I’ve had it with your little thing. marabeo: I can see how you’ve forgotten me, now that Pilucca’s back. nuta: Neither you, nor him, nor anybody. You’re all made of the same stuff, you men.

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marabeo: You should know, you’ve tried them all. But listen, let’s the two of us get married tonight, all right? nuta: You’ll be married in the Pope’s prison, you worthless lout. marabeo: O Nuta, sugarplum. Why so spiteful? Listen, show me what you’re taking to the Governor, just for a moment. nuta: I’m coming, my lady. I’m coming. Scene iii marabeo and pilucca marabeo: (Alone) When the snow melts, that’s when last year’s turds show through. Between my mistress remarrying and the Governor finding out that I’m keeping this girl against her will, I’m treading on a thin line – one way poverty, the other the gallows. Ah, here comes Pilucca. —Well, what happened between you and Nuta? pilucca: What did you want to happen? There’s a lot more business at hand besides yours. There’s business with the poultry dealers, with the confectioners, with the cooks. marabeo: There’s going to be a wedding, eh Pilucca? pilucca: Some sort of banquet, who cares what? Pigeons, capons, peacocks, heavy spending. marabeo: I didn’t look for this disaster, Pilucca, not a wedding. pilucca: Such a little disaster could fill our purses and our bellies for quite a few months. marabeo: There’s bad luck in it for us. pilucca: How come? marabeo: We’re fine with the mistress in love, but not married. Once she starts looking after her own yard, how can we go on scratching about? And if the husband has a stick, how can we find out what to scratch for? pilucca: Let’s not worry about bad luck before it comes. Let’s enjoy this wedding first, then see what happens. marabeo: We should think of something before it happens. Only the virtuous can be heedless. Half a brain is good enough for an honest man, but for a crook even a whole brain isn’t enough. By God, I thought I’d cut off all her routes to marriage. To think how many good catches crossed her path and how I managed to scuttle them all. I stoked her fires for this fellow because I knew how set he was against marrying. I can’t imagine why he suddenly changed his mind.

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pilucca: Well, there it is. It’s done now. marabeo: Done? By Christ, not if I can help it. pilucca: What can you do about it? The husband has already sent the wedding ring in pledge. Here I am, right now, preparing the dinner and all the rest; tonight’s the night it’s going to happen. marabeo: Tonight? So the fire’s already put to the squib. Well, we’ll launch a counter-attack, Pilucca. pilucca: Time’s already run out. marabeo: We’ve got to make fast use of our wits. Put a stop to this, somehow. We’ll play them a foul turn, tell lies to the groom about his bride, and to the bride about her groom. Let’s invent some other love affairs, make one of them an adulterer, make them both syphilitics. pilucca: Make sure you don’t sit down at the table after the plates are scraped clean, Marabeo.33 marabeo: It’s not the table I’m trying to deal with, but the bed, Pilucca. pilucca: Wait, I’ve got it. Let’s do the dinner, just for laughs, and wreck all the other plans at the same time. marabeo: Right, but meanwhile we can’t waste chances. You see those two coming round the corner? The bigger one’s the groom. pilucca: That’s Messer Gisippo? marabeo: That’s him all right. pilucca: Ah, so the other one must be Demetrio. marabeo: Which Demetrio? pilucca: The one who escaped from jail and came to Rome with me. marabeo: What’s he got to do with Gisippo? pilucca: How should I know? They’re both Levantines and must be friends. marabeo: That could be to our advantage. Do you know what I’m thinking now? That we set this Demetrio’s ears ringing with suspicions that the widow’s pregnant. pilucca: Good thinking. marabeo: In this sort of affair a little smudge blackens the whole lot. A tidbit of truth and they’ll swallow it all. pilucca: A perfect idea. marabeo: He doesn’t know anybody else in Rome but you? pilucca: Nobody else, and he doesn’t realize I know Gisippo either. marabeo: All the better. Looks like he’s heading this way. pilucca: I’ll wrap him up for you in a neat little package. marabeo: You know who could sell the pregnancy line? Brother Cerbone.

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pilucca: He could turn the fiction into truth. marabeo: We’ll worm the statement out of him in a way that makes it sound like an act of charity. pilucca: Exactly right, and to confirm it I’ll make a confession of my own. In the meantime, we’ve got to lay in provisions for the banquet. marabeo: Well, let’s get moving. I’ll carry on with the dinner preparations while you set up the friar to work on Demetrio. Lure him till he’s snared in the trap. pilucca: You think I can’t manage that? Scene iv marabeo, ciullo, lispa, and fuligatto marabeo: Ah you’re just in time, Ciullo. Pick up that basket and follow me. Call those two rogues over here to help you carry this stuff. ciullo: Hey, Lispa, Fuligatto, zà, zà. fuligatto: Look there, Marabeo, somebody is calling you from the palace. marabeo: Who can that be? lispa: Look, he’s waving at you. marabeo: Decked out like a sailor. There’s a lot of seamen going around today. He looks a hell of a lot like the master ... By Lucifer! It can’t be him. Wait here till I get back. ciullo: We won’t budge. Scene v ciullo, fuligatto, lispa, and mirandola ciullo: Let’s play a round or two to kill time. fuligatto: Good idea. Get the cards out. We can play a few hands of gilè.34 ciullo: So out with the pack. Hey, Fuligatto, put the basket here in the middle. Let’s cut the deck to see who serves. lispa: Here comes old Mirandola. Listen, before we start, let’s trick him into a feud with the scruffy brothers. ciullo: How do we do that? lispa: Easy. Those ragged rogues are demanding jewels from the Grimaldi, and tonight’s the time they’re expecting their answer. I’ve

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been given a couple of julians35 by their enemies to dupe them. All we do is convince Mirandola that the jewels they’re demanding have been stolen from him. ciullo: Great plan. Let’s do it. fuligatto: I’m with you. lispa: Fuligatto, you stay here and pretend you’re hearing ghosts from this cellar. I’ll go down and play the ghost of the devil Malariccia. And you, Ciullo, go fetch Mirandola. ciullo: Don’t you hear all those Mamelukes36 down there in the cellar, Mirandola? lispa: O, Mirandola! fuligatto: Listen, they’re calling you. lispa: O, Mirandola! mirandola: Who are you? Who’s calling me? lispa: I’m Malariccia. mirandola: What do you want with me? lispa: To tell you a secret. mirandola: Yes, what secret can it be? lispa: Remember the great Turk37 who promised you a pile of gems, and then sent you only those worthless baubles of glass? mirandola: I remember. lispa: Are you familiar with the scruffy brothers? mirandola: Sure, I know that pair. lispa: They’ve stolen your jewels. mirandola: Those damned cuckold thieves! But how could they do it? lispa: They’re gem-cutters, you know, and the stones passed through their hands. They kept the real ones and sent the fakes to you. mirandola: So what did they do with mine? lispa: They sold them to the Bank of St. George in Genoa, and now they’re asking the Grimaldi for three thousand ducats. mirandola: Ah, those crooked rascals. Fitted themselves out at my expense. lispa: I speak for the Great Turk. Have this money of the Grimaldi’s confiscated. Prepare men to undertake this enterprise. mirandola: First we have to find people who can take it away from them. lispa: My very reason for coming – to launch the campaign. mirandola: With how many thousand men? lispa: With five thousand fifty hundred thousand.38 mirandola: And what is the plan of attack?

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lispa: First I place Monte Mario inside Rome.39 mirandola: What for? lispa: In order to ride on the back of Castel Sant’Angelo. mirandola: By Jupiter, now you’re catching on. Add the Colosseum and the Pantheon as gun turrets and try the columns of Trajan and Antoninus as cannons. lispa: And what about the spires? mirandola: Out of the towers of St. Peter’s make battering-rams. Out of the others spears. The arches of the Roman baths will serve as crossbows. lispa: It shall be done. mirandola: And what’s that lazy Turk waiting for? lispa: He’s waiting for Monte Mario to be put in the saddle, and for the torture poles to be sharpened. mirandola: Why doesn’t he send his Janissaries40 in the meantime? lispa: He’s done that too. Some of them are already here in Rome. mirandola: So where are they? lispa: In the chancery, drawing out money. mirandola: So what remains to be done? lispa: Crown you emperor. mirandola: Emperor of what? lispa: Of Testaccio.41 mirandola: And of Trebizond?42 lispa: Of Trebizond, too. mirandola: What are my symbols of power? lispa: For Testaccio this mitre (gives him the cap of the condemned) ... and for Trebizond these sceptres.43 mirandola: These look like brooms to me.44 lispa: No, no, these are the fasces of the Roman consuls. mirandola: Doesn’t Testaccio border on Picardy?45 lispa: Indeed it does, and it’s sure to be yours by investiture of the Count of Hangland.46 mirandola: Give me the sceptres. lispa: Here they are. mirandola: What’s this, a halter? lispa: No, a necklace. mirandola: I will never starve again. lispa: Not if this necklace does the job.47 mirandola: Now I’m ready. Go fetch that gang of easterners and bring them here.

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lispa: The ragged brothers will be sentenced this evening. Remember to confiscate the money. mirandola: They’ll turn it over to me in a jiffy, all nice and scented. ciullo, fuligatto, lispa: Taràntara, taràntara, tif tif.48

ACT III Scene i pilucca, satiro, and demetrio pilucca: (Alone) Marabeo still hasn’t showed up with the provisions. I just may lose the stuffing out of my own belly in trying to stuff the mistress’s. Wouldn’t that be a big irony? Here’s Demetrio. I’d better find out if the good friar has done his job and planted the carrot in him. satiro: Nincompoop! That’s what happens when you marry in Rome. pilucca: (Aside) Ho, he’s planted it all right. demetrio: Seven years a widow, and now she’s pregnant. satiro: Could you just spell it out for me in plain language? demetrio: My guess, Satiro? This is just a trick for stalling the marriage. Only a simpleton would credit this without more proof. But there’s no time for that unless we postpone the wedding, and we can’t do that without Gisippo. If we tell him about all this, he’ll be so distraught he’ll never venture again. Maybe it’s not even true. But then, if it is, and we don’t tell him, he’s off to the slaughter, his honour tainted forever. So what shall we do, Satiro? We got him into this labyrinth – now we have to get him out. satiro: If you agree, we’ll tell him about the pregnancy. Then we can negotiate the delay of the wedding on our own – at least for this evening. One thing will lead to another after that. Meanwhile, I’ll search around to see if I can get to the bottom of this. demetrio: You make it sound good, but are you courageous enough to carry through? satiro: I’ll do what I can. I’ll say we’re not ready, that Gisippo is suddenly under the weather. demetrio: Ah, here comes Pilucca. You go and take care of the wedding. I’ll see what I can prize out of this guy. pilucca: (Aside) It’s a cinch. He’s running straight into the trap.

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Scene ii demetrio and pilucca demetrio: Greetings, Pilucca. pilucca: O, Messer Demetrio. Have you located that friend of yours? demetrio: Not yet. Will you help me look for him? pilucca: Got too much else to do. demetrio: What sort of business ties you up? pilucca: Wedding. demetrio: What? Don’t tell me you’re taking a wife? pilucca: No chance. It’s my mistress who’s taking a husband. demetrio: She’s not the one who’s marrying that Greek fellow? pilucca: Ah, do you know her already? demetrio: No, but I heard someone talking about her. pilucca: What were they saying? demetrio: That she’s a knock-out. pilucca: A real knock-out. demetrio: And loaded. pilucca: Really loaded. demetrio: High-quality goods. pilucca: Very high. demetrio: And a fairly casual companion. pilucca: They went so far as to say that? demetrio: And pregnant too, which is just a touch further. pilucca: Pregnant? demetrio: Substantially so. pilucca: Holy Mother, this is going too far. They’re saying she’s really in the family way? demetrio: They’re saying it all over town, which is worse. pilucca: Blazes and damnation. I told her not to let that cardinal hang around. demetrio: A she-cardinal, eh? But what’s going to happen when the groom gets word of it? pilucca: Well, if he doesn’t find out before tonight, it’s his tough luck. demetrio: And in the months to come – then how will it work out? pilucca: No problem! These days, seven months are just as natural as nine for having babies. It’s all just give or take, a little more, a little less, as the parties please. demetrio: Just listen to that.

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pilucca: You know what I’m saying, eh, Messer Demetrio Zoccoli? demetrio: Sure! Sure! pilucca: Not a word to anyone. demetrio: Look, here comes Messer Gisippo, so I’m on my way, Pilucca. pilucca: But ... he’s the groom! Do you know him? demetrio: Well, no real matter if I do. pilucca: (Aside) Cor, what a big mouth I’ve got. I’ll hang around to see if they’re friends. —O, Messer Demetrio. Just now, I was only kidding you. demetrio: Sure you were. pilucca: She’s not really pregnant. demetrio: Given birth just like that, eh? pilucca: Listen to me. demetrio: Adieu. I’ve heard enough already. pilucca: Please. demetrio: You keep mum, I’ll keep mum. Scene iii demetrio, gisippo, and giovanni and battista, the ragged brothers giovanni: In a word, this judge is so hard-headed that no amount of reasoning will break through. battista: There’s no getting around his stubbornness. giovanni: By God, there isn’t. battista: Let’s leave this business to our lawyer.49 We’ll go and have a further word with this fellow from Chios. giovanni: I’m sure he knows something about Giuletta. battista: Ah, there he is. But who’s that along with him? giovanni: I’ve no idea. battista: Didn’t he say he was hoping to find Tindaro in Rome? Could that be him? giovanni: We’d never recognize him. He was a mere lad when we left. But by God, he certainly resembles the father. battista: There’s a definite resemblance, all right. giovanni: Wait a minute, I know that servant. battista: Ah, that’s Satiro! giovanni: Satiro, it is! battista: Then it’s bound to be Tindaro. giovanni: It must be him, that treacherous dog.

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battista: Wait, let’s see if we can find out if Giulietta is in Rome. giovanni: O, my little girl. battista: We can step aside here and listen in. demetrio: Messer Tindaro ... I mean Gisippo. I couldn’t help saying Tindaro. gisippo: As long as we’re alone, it doesn’t matter. demetrio: Yes, but if I’m not careful, my tongue will get the best of me when there’s someone else around. giovanni: O, the vermin. He’s changed his name. battista: He couldn’t have chosen a better moment to let his tongue get the best of him. demetrio: Are you all set for the wedding? gisippo: As God wills. demetrio: You know, everything considered, I think it would be better to put it off for a day or two. gisippo: Would that I could put it off forever. demetrio: That’s not what I meant. But to marry a Roman lady with such haste might injure her honour – or ours. giovanni: Marry a Roman lady! Then, this can’t be our Giulietta. battista: Silence a minute. demetrio: The widow would have to agree to the postponement. giovanni: He’s taken a widow! demetrio: What shall we do? gisippo: You’ve managed everything up to now. You can handle the rest. demetrio: All right, then. Look, I’ve given word that you’re feeling indisposed. All you have to do is go home and pretend to be sick. I’ll look after the rest. giovanni: Those Tartars! And where have they left Giulietta? battista: Let’s go speak to them demetrio: Wait, Messer Gisippo. It looks like the moment has come to account for Giulietta. gisippo: To whom? demetrio: To her father and her uncle. gisippo: They’re here? demetrio: Right here, and not to be longer avoided. gisippo: I’m resigned. Let’s wait for them. Are these the ones? demetrio: These. gisippo: O God, I feel so miserable. demetrio: That makes two of us. gisippo: Messer Giovanni, I ...

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giovanni: Ah, you! You’ve had your pleasure. Now, where is my daughter? battista: Have you nothing to say? giovanni: Where have you left her? battista: What have you done with her? giovanni: Can’t you speak? gisippo: Messer Demetrio ... demetrio: Come now, it will all be explained in time. giovanni: What do you mean ‘in time?’ When you’ve gone to meet your Maker? battista: Tell us something about her. Tell us you’ll be faithful to her. giovanni: How is it possible? Hasn’t he taken another? gisippo: O, my grief! demetrio: Listen, let’s step out of the middle of the street. battista: Where is our Giulietta? gisippo: O, my Giulietta. battista: She’s not dead, is she? gisippo: Alas! Alas! giovanni: My girl is dead! You thief, you murderer. It wasn’t enough just to abduct her. You had to kill her to take another wife. Robbery! Adultery! Murderer! I’ll find justice in Rome. Justice! demetrio: Cease your shouting Messer Giovanni. Messer Tindaro’s only fault was in loving your daughter too much. giovanni: And that’s why the poor fellow hasn’t been able to take another wife? battista: Let’s not riot in the streets. Let’s go straight to the Governor. gisippo: What a maze I’ve gotten myself into. demetrio: God will help us, Messer Gisippo. Make your way home now. I must wait here for Satiro. Scene iv demetrio, barbagrigia, and pilucca demetrio: (Alone) O what turmoil, what desperate confusion this is. The wife he longed for is dead. The one he seeks is pregnant. As for the first, if we flee, we will be accused of having her killed. If we stay, it will take more than words to account for her death. As for the second, if the wedding’s called off, we will be massacred by her relatives. On the one side lies disgrace and imprisonment, while on the other there

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is nothing but strife and a cuckold’s dishonour. If I tell Gisippo about the pregnancy, he’ll bolt to his eternal ruin. If I don’t tell him, I betray a friend and leave him to his shame. Which course should I choose? Here comes Barbagrigia. It’s no use. The widow won’t give us time to consider. pilucca: (Eavesdropping on the others) I’d better follow Barbagrigia and find out what he’s going to do about this marriage. barbagrigia: (Unaware of the others) She’s the very fury of a woman. To pronounce widow and love is to put fire to saltpetre, coal, and sulphur. By God, if this marriage doesn’t come off tonight, the world will collapse back into chaos. demetrio: (Aside) Just listen to him. All hell’s broken loose today on account of us. pilucca: (Aside) And for us, the doors of paradise have opened wide. barbagrigia: They say that Greeks are shrewd, but these are a bunch of idiots. They state their desires, then shilly-shally around. They make promises, then they recant. We’re offering them a fortune and we have to beg them to take it. It must be true that good fortune chooses those who flee from it. demetrio: What’s the matter, Barbagrigia? barbagrigia: All the evil in world. What are these pranks you’re up to? Where’s the groom? demetrio: He’s sick. barbagrigia: What kind of sickness? It’s this poor lady who’s sick and desperate because of this luckless love she has for him. We have to get this wedding over with as soon as we can. demetrio: Things aren’t ready for tonight. barbagrigia: But this would be the height of scandal. demetrio: Scandal? Why? Would you force a man to marry when he’s sick? barbagrigia: And would you want to disgrace this lady? demetrio: What disgrace can there be in a day’s postponement? barbagrigia: Another day? Now that all the provisions are bought, the relatives invited, the news yelled all over Rome, the house full of women, and the festivities already begun? demetrio: I don’t know. It seems to me that you shouldn’t clamour for something you can’t get. An accident shouldn’t be taken for an insult. barbagrigia: But surely something can be done if you try! I’m warning you, when honour’s at stake, these Romans are very fussy. This smells more like a retreat than a postponement if you asked me. And if that’s

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so, you’d be advised to reconsider. My faith has been pledged. I’ve presented the ring on your behalf, and on your behalf the wedding has been proclaimed. Now if the event doesn’t take place, there will be a huge scandal. A woman’s rage knows no bounds, and this is a lady of power and influence, as you know. May I simply remind you to look well to your friend’s honour and your own debts. demetrio: Is it a criminal act to be sick? barbagrigia: This evening he’ll feel better. Let’s go. I want to speak to him. demetrio: He’s resting right now. You go present his apologies while I call for the doctor. barbagrigia: I haven’t the courage to face her. I’m going to look after my own affairs. You can arrange it among yourselves. pilucca: (Aside) O bless you! Nobody could have spoiled this marriage better than you, not even the marriage-contract wrecker himself. demetrio: Here come the Canali. They’ve been to see the Governor. Let’s not stay around here. We might find ourselves tangling with some evil spirits. Scene v attorney at law, mirandola and giovanni and battista, the ragged brothers attorney: Most certainly you can have him seized and made to answer for your daughter. Every kind of lawsuit in the world is known in the tribunals of Rome. Let’s go to the Governor and I’ll get you a warrant for his arrest. mirandola: Hey there, doctor, you with the gown on. attorney: What’s the matter, Mirandola? mirandola: These ragged brothers here, are you their attorney? attorney: I am, indeed. mirandola: Well, those jewels they’re arguing over with the Grimaldi, they’re mine. attorney: What do you mean, ‘they’re mine?’ mirandola: They belong to me, and these two have pinched them off me. attorney: How did you find this out? mirandola: The ghost of Malariccia has revealed it to me. attorney: If so, you’ve got it from the right sources. Why don’t you go talk to them about it?

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mirandola: (To the brothers) You’re bloody thieves! You’re swindlers! battista: Us thieves? giovanni: Us swindlers? mirandola: Nobody else. Either you give me the jewels or the money from the Grimaldi. giovanni: Who are you to make such accusations? mirandola: I am myself. Today, Mirandola, tomorrow someone who’ll have you hanged, you rats. battista: You must be someone else already to offer such inanities. giovanni: You must be crazy. mirandola: And you must be highway robbers. Don’t I have the letter from the Great Turk saying that he’s sending me these jewels? Here it is right here, and the inventory with it. battista: And here is our inventory. attorney: Aha! Let’s see if they’re the same. You read out yours and I’ll read out Mirandola’s. battista: ‘List of the jewels that are sold by us, Giovanni and Battista Canali, to Saint George of Genoa as ornaments for the statue of the saint.’ attorney: ‘List of the jewels that the Great Turk sends as a gift to Mirandola for his coronation.’50 battista: First of al, ‘a huge pointed diamond of one ounce, set into the iron of his spear.’ attorney: ‘A pointed diamond of one ounce which was the tip of the helmet of the Caliph Timer Lung.’51 battista: ‘Two big topaz stones cut as bosses for his horse.’ attorney: ‘Two cobble-sized topaz stones, set as paternosters for the bit of Bucephalus.’52 battista: ‘Sixteen-pointed diamonds for the rowels of his spurs.’ attorney: ‘Sixteen-pointed diamonds, which were the knots in the club of Salah-ed-din.’53 battista: ‘A balas of two ounces fixed in the breastplate of his armour.’ attorney: ‘A balas of two ounces, which was a button from the belt of Mohammed.’ battista: ‘A brooch of rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and sapphires used as the young girl’s earring.’ attorney: This item as well, ‘which belonged to the Empress of Orbec.’54 battista: ‘And two rubies for the eyes of the dragon.’55 attorney: Here they are, ‘which belonged to the head of Medusa.’

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battista: Is there ‘the ruby spinel of seventy carats?’ attorney: Yes, ‘the ruby spinel of seventy carats.’ battista: And ‘the sword handle of jasper?’ attorney: ‘The handle of jasper from the very sword of Aeneas.’ Ah, these all match together. mirandola: You see what these scoundrels have wrenched from me? attorney: So, what are your intentions? giovanni: Tobias himself couldn’t have bettered such idle fancies as these.56 battista: He’s talking utter nonsense. mirandola: You’ll know my intentions when we go before the Governor. attorney: Then let’s go to him. mirandola: If he doesn’t support my view, I’ll support it with my own hands. Just wait till you see what’s simmering in the pot for you.

ACT IV Scene i marabeo and pilucca marabeo: (Alone) Where in God’s name has my master come from, and on this of all days? That knave Pilucca must have betrayed me. I’ll bet they came back together. I’ll bet the master sent Pilucca ahead with news of his death to search his wife’s soul and sample the humours of the household. If it’s true, then I’ve gnawed the bait in the trap. But before you’ll get me, my dear Pilucca, and my scheming master, I’ll make you suffer so horribly that God alone knows how you’ll come out of it. pilucca: (Aside) He’s in a fit of anger. He must not realize how well things are going. —Marabeo, it looks like our lady will be without her spouse, after all. marabeo: The new one she’ll find in his place will be a lot worse for her and for us. pilucca: Which other one? marabeo: You’re asking me that, you package of misery? Don’t forget you’ve tried to have me sacked once already. pilucca: What’s this you’re raving about?

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marabeo: I’m looking at a face ready to lie. Now answer me this: you’ve returned with the master, haven’t you? pilucca: With which master? marabeo: With which? With the Cavaliere Jordano. pilucca: What’s this you say? Is he still alive? marabeo: As alive as you should be dead. pilucca: He’s back? marabeo: You ought to know, you bastard. pilucca: The master’s back? marabeo: You bet it’s the master. Didn’t you come with him? pilucca: Not me. marabeo: So you’ve decided to uncover my frauds, but don’t forget what I know of yours. pilucca: I haven’t a clue what you’re screeching about, Marabeo. marabeo: What a two-bit double-crosser you are. pilucca: Think what you like, I don’t know anything about it. marabeo: Either you’re lying, or Fortune is playing us some dirty tricks. pilucca: Anything is possible, except that I’ve squealed on you. marabeo: But you told me the master was a goner. pilucca: So I said, and believed it too. It was never certain, but I was fed up with having to go on looking for him. marabeo: So now that he’s back, what are your plans to save your neck? pilucca: I’ll concoct my excuses, just like I did back then. I’ll say it was told to me in such a place, at such a time, by such a person, so don’t blame me, blame him. marabeo: So you don’t know anything about this? pilucca: Nothing. marabeo: And you didn’t come home with him? pilucca: How many times do I have to tell you? marabeo: That’s amazing! So what’s happening, anyway? The dead are resurrected, the lost are found again. Both were prisoners of the Moors, both came back from the sea after years, the one not knowing about the other, and all on the same day. One fills here while the other pours there. What the hell is going on today? pilucca: The master has really returned? marabeo: You’ll see. pilucca: Where is he? marabeo: At my place. pilucca: How did he get there? marabeo: Once freed from the galleys of the Pope, he made for the

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Piazza Farnese, but he couldn’t find his house. Not wanting to be seen in his derelict condition, he came to my house, which he got into through the back door, in order to make himself more presentable. pilucca: His homecoming will be universally unwelcomed. Does he know that the mistress is about to remarry? marabeo: He knows that, and a whole lot of other things I told him. So can I trust you, Pilucca? pilucca: You ask me that, Marabeo? I have as much at stake in this as you do, you know. marabeo: Solving the problem of the wedding between Gisippo and the mistress was nothing, now that the master’s here. If the other was a cancer, this is a plague. You’ve spread false reports of his death, I’ve robbed him blind, and before you left, your hands weren’t always in your pockets. Now his wife has shamed him and he’s raging mad. He’s desperate. The mothers who spawned us are pitiful whores if we don’t find a way to wipe him out. pilucca: You scare me stiff. marabeo: I’m shaking all over, myself. pilucca: What are we going to do, then? marabeo: There are two ways of taking care of him. Either get him into a showdown with Gisippo, or into a war with the mistress. Gisippo might snuff him out, right at the start. Failing that, the mistress could make his life hell for years to come. I’ve been working on both routes. I told him how the mistress welcomed his death, how she longed to marry Gisippo, and that the union had been planned for this very evening. That’s put the very devil into him. I’ve reminded him how easily he can avenge himself, because everyone takes him for dead and knows nothing of his return. One way or the other, Cain over Abel or Abel over Cain, one of them will remain dead, the other will disappear, and we’ll be free of them both forever. pilucca: But do we want to risk damnation for it? marabeo: Let the world fall into ruin so long as we come out on top. Either we put no limits on our wickedness, or we stop meddling right now. pilucca: So how do we arrange this showdown? marabeo: No problem there, but we’ve got a long way to go before we’re ready for that. By the way, since we’re risking our lives anyway, we might as well take the opportunity to pick up a hundred scudi in the business. pilucca: Not even an alchemist can get gold out of risking his life.

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marabeo: Here’s how. You know what they could do to me for keeping that girl by force. Listen, not only has the master seen her, but he’s fallen love with her, even though he’s frothing at the mouth after Gisippo. He wants to buy her from me at virtually any price. He’s planning to massacre Gisippo and take her away. So, if I can’t get the most, I’m willing to settle for the least. pilucca: Not bad. marabeo: Meanwhile, if the Governor finds out about it, he’ll be sending for her, and me too, which is worse. So I’ll have to lie low for awhile and get her out of the house. pilucca: Where can we stash her away? marabeo: Brother Cerbone harbours all the rest of our contraband. pilucca: A great idea, but how will we manage without her being seen? marabeo: My place is just here in front, as you know. We’ll wait for the right moment, then bundle her off to another hiding place. pilucca: Seems like a good plan. marabeo: Oh look, there’s that beast of a master now, too impatient to wait at home while we set up Gisippo. I’m going to give orders to have the girl transferred. You go deal with the master, and if Gisippo happens along, make sure you point him out, and pretend to help the master against him. That’s sure to bring them into combat. pilucca: Right you are, but I’m afraid to approach him. Look how he hurls himself around. marabeo: Just the mention of Agata will calm him down. Scene ii jordano and pilucca jordano: (Alone) This wedding tonight’s going to turn into a funeral. I can just feel it. If I catch sight of him, I’ll pounce on him then and there. I could tear open his rib cage and eat his heart. pilucca: (Aside) I feel like my guts are in a bowl. jordano: (Aside) By his livery this fellow must be one of his ménage. pilucca: Sir, it’s me sir, Pilucca, one of yours. Don’t beat me. jordano: You’re dressed like a galley slave. pilucca: It’s for your sake that I was taken prisoner in the galleys. O master, I’ve been searching for you everywhere, and I’m so happy ... jordano: Go to hell! Is this the time for salutations? Where’s this groom? Let me get a look at him. The anger and shame are killing me,

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just to know he’s alive. pilucca: Have patience. He’s bound to come along. jordano: Where’s Marabeo? pilucca: He’s gone to move Agatina for you. jordano: There’s that headache too. I’m also in love. pilucca: Beware, there’s no greater danger in the world, sir. jordano: How is it possible that love can be born into a breast charged with anger and vengeance? pilucca: (Aside) His mind’s beginning to wander. —Master! jordano: How great a tyrant over men is beauty, and how young and ravishing is this girl. pilucca: (Aside) He’s put off the lion’s skin for the lamb’s. jordano: Love and cruelty have besieged me at once. pilucca: (Aside) By God, it’s verse. Now for the lute and a little sighing. jordano: Ah, me! pilucca: (Aside) Just as I said. This plot of ours will go right up his fundament. jordano: What’s that you say, Pilucca? pilucca: I was saying that your enemy will be in your pocket and your mistress in your breeches. jordano: You rogue. You’re mocking me? pilucca: I’m telling the truth. She’s at your disposal. jordano: Easy for you to say. pilucca: Really, in your power. jordano: Only her body. pilucca: What else do you want from her? jordano: Her soul. pilucca: Damn it, you want her breath, the life taken out of her? jordano: She’s as good as dead to me if I only have her body. pilucca: An ode to spiritual love. But if you have your pleasure, what else do you want? jordano: You talk like the beast you are. pilucca: Have you tried courting her? jordano: In a thousand ways. I’ve tried flattery and beggary, promises and gifts. I’ve wept, shown my anger and threatened. What haven’t I done? I even went to her – dagger in hand – like Tarquinius.57 But to no avail. She’d rather die than consent. pilucca: Have patience. It takes time for the grain to ripen. O, master, master, look. It’s Gisippo walking over there along the Via Giulia.58 jordano: Which one is he?

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pilucca: That’s him on the right. He’s not alone, master. I’d better draw my weapon too. jordano: Let there be a hundred with him. I’ll kill and kill till my wrath is satisfied. pilucca: Then you won’t be needing me, and I won’t stand in your way. Charge them while I cut them off in front. Scene iii pilucca, marabeo, agatina, and attorney pilucca: (Aside) I’d better get moving. I may be the one who has to prepare the egg whites for the bruises. Oh, there’s Marabeo at the door. marabeo: Well, Pilucca, what have you managed to get done? pilucca: I’ve spread rabies among the dogs. marabeo: Well, leave them to rip the hides off each other. Help me to get this girl out of the house. pilucca: Can we manage it without any noise? marabeo: I think so. She’s been so besieged by the master that she came to me, herself, and asked to be taken away for fear of further strife with him. She promised to come willingly. Brother Cerbone is already waiting for us. Let’s keep her here behind the door until the way is clear. Meanwhile, you make a quick check around. Come down here. pilucca: The road’s clear. Let’s go. marabeo: Now, come on. pilucca: Wow, a real firecracker. marabeo: You’re dragging your feet. agatina: O Blessed Virgin help me! marabeo: Hey, didn’t you promise to come along willingly? agatina: Yes, but only this far, you thugs. Now, may the heavens be witness of the violence you’ve used against me. Help, good people, help! marabeo: May God help us! agatina: Help! marabeo: Let’s gag her Pilucca. agatina: Oh! Oh! Oh! pilucca: Yelp all you want. This way, I said, this way. marabeo: We’re in trouble The attorney’s come to the window. pilucca: This girl will be our ruin.

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attorney: What insolence is this? agatina: Oh! Oh! Oh! attorney: Where are you dragging this girl? marabeo: Pull her, will you. pilucca: You push her. attorney: Do you hear me? This is an ugly looking business. Neighbours! Neighbours! Look to the street. My gown, give me my gown. marabeo: What are we going to do, Pilucca? pilucca: How should I know? marabeo: I’ll turn her loose and you take her. pilucca: Sure, I’m just dying to be hanged in your place. marabeo: I’m getting out of here. pilucca: So am I. Let’s beat it. Scene iv agatina and attorney agatina: What an outrage this is! What cruelty! Is it possible that one can find neither mercy nor justice in Rome? Even as a prisoner of the Turks, my honour was spared, but here among Christians, I’m subjected to violent assault and martyrdom. O my Tindaro, where are you? If only you knew where I am. attorney: What’s the cause of this turmoil, my child? agatina: O, my lord, for the love of God, don’t let them dishonour me like this. attorney: Who is tormenting you? agatina: A cruel brute, a certain Marabeo, who lives in this house, and who has kept me for months against my will. These irons and these bruises are testimony of the tortures he has inflicted upon my body in order first to rob me of my virginity, and then to offer me for sale. attorney: He’s a felon worthy of the gallows. To think of such assaults on a virgin, in Rome, in the Piazza Farnese, in the time of Paul III, and with the Pope here, now, in this very palace. But you’re safe now, my child, don’t worry. This villain will be punished. agatina: Is the Pope really here? O my lord, if you could only bring me to the feet of His Holiness, you would hear wondrous things, for I was freed from the Turks by his galleys. To think of it. This base-born slave has dared to deprive me of my freedom, the freedom that I received as a gift from the loftiest of princes! The glory due His Holiness for his

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noble deed has never been revealed because of this incarceration of my body. attorney: This is beyond doubt a meritorious case and worthy of pity. Leave it in my hands, my daughter, and I promise you satisfaction. Meanwhile, here is the house of a Roman lady who’ll make you feel entirely at home. I have an appointment now with certain of my clients, but their problems will require only a bit of my time. Then I’ll come right back to hear your case and to offer my help. (To a maid standing by) You take her in and, on my behalf, request of Madonna Argentina to give her shelter, and to not let her leave the house till I’ve spoken to her. Scene v attorney, giovanni and battista, the ragged brothers, and mirandola attorney: (Aside) The audacity of the wicked amazes me. Consider the hazards they run in committing such deeds under the very eyes of our wise and lofty prince.59 battista: Oh, here comes our attorney. attorney: If I haven’t done a turn for you today never call me attorney again. I was just going inside to wait for you. battista: Have you obtained the warrant against Tindaro? attorney: Not only that, but I’ve instructed the Captain of the Guards to act on it some time ago. battista: What else have you done for us? attorney: What more can you want than to see an end to all this litigation? giovanni: Did we get a favourable decree? attorney: Favourable. giovanni: God be praised. You’re a worthy man, Messer Rossello. battista: Well done, Messer Rossello. But what was Mirandola’s claim all about? attorney: Mirandola’s a lunatic. That list was concocted by our enemies in order to confound tonight’s settlement. But although the decree is in our favour, this leech will not drop off without a little help from us. And because his mind runs on jewels and spirits, I’ve got a trick in mind. Look, over there. He’s coming and looking hungry as hell’s mouth. Have you got a glass bead on you or some stone to show him?

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battista: Here’s a cheap ring. attorney: Perfect. You keep it and I’ll do the talking. Just agree to everything I say. mirandola: What a damned fool decree. Have it your own way with your decree, but I’ll have my jewels. If not, by the weeping Virgin’s body, I’ll have you put in a press. I’ll have the essence of dirt squeezed out of you both. attorney: Come over here Mirandola. Let’s settle this matter right now. mirandola: Just give me my jewels. attorney: How, if they don’t have them? mirandola: Then give me money. attorney: They have none. mirandola: Then what’s the bargain you want to make? attorney: To give you other jewels equal in value or greater in virtue. What more could you want than the bloodstone of Calandrino?60 mirandola: Calandrino who? But I might agree if they had the ring of Angelica.61 attorney: They have that too. mirandola: The one that makes people invisible? attorney: The very one. mirandola: But I see them. attorney: Because they haven’t put it in their mouth. mirandola: If you give me that one, I’ll be satisfied. battista: But we won’t be. attorney: Well, just let him see it. giovanni: Here, then. mirandola: Just let me hold it for a minute. giovanni: Well, I don’t know about that. mirandola: Why not? attorney: Because you’d put it in your mouth and disappear. mirandola: (Aside) If only I could have it. —Why don’t you hold it and put just a little of it in my mouth? attorney: All right, let’s try it then. mirandola: Can you still see me? attorney: Oh, this is amazing. I can see only half of you Mirandola, only one side. mirandola: Why are you hitting me? attorney: I’m trying to touch you to see if the other side is still here. You have only one eye. What happened to the other one? mirandola: You’re tearing it out.

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attorney: I can still feel you this way, but I can’t see you. mirandola: Carry on like that much longer and I won’t be able to see you either. attorney: Now put the ring right into his mouth and see if he disappears completely. Go on, don’t worry. It’s incredible. Now I don’t see you at all. mirandola: Uh! Uh! giovanni: Not so tight with your teeth, Mirandola. Ouch, ouch, you’re biting me. attorney: Mirandola, you blackguard! Hold on tight, don’t let him get the ring away. giovanni: Curse him, he’s biting my finger off. Ouch! Ouch! battista: Has he gotten it away from you? giovanni: O, my finger! battista: O, the ring! mirandola: You idiots, I’ve tricked you now. attorney: Treachery pure and simple, Mirandola. mirandola: To hell with the whole pack of you. Should I let such a lucky break slip past me? battista: O, Mirandola! giovanni: Mirandola, O! mirandola: Follow me. Come on. Now that I’m invisible, the whole world is mine. giovanni: Here he is over here, no over there. battista: Over there? No, over here. mirandola: You can search to your hearts’ content. attorney: Ha, ha, ha. He’s on his way. Ha, ha, ha. That’s the end of all your litigation. We’ve gotten rid of the madman, and he thinks he’s happy to boot. battista: We’d be happy too but for one thing: we’ve regained our possessions, but we’ve lost our own flesh and blood. attorney: I can’t bring your daughter back to life, but I vow that this Gisippo will answer for her death. You go and hasten the serving of the warrant. I have another important matter to attend to at Madonna Argentina’s house.

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ACT V Scene i barbagrigia and argentina barbagrigia: (Alone) Nothing so strange as this has happened in a long time. This poor neighbour of mine must be desperate. I should try to comfort her and get her out of the house to prevent that beast of a Cavaliere from tormenting her. Ah, there she is at the door. She must have sent the maids away. —Cheer up, Madonna. For every ill there’s a remedy. argentina: A remedy? Only by casting myself in the river can I wash away the shame Gisippo has brought me today. barbagrigia: It was all for the best. If things had gone on, there would have been an even greater mess, now that the patron is back. argentina: Which patron? barbagrigia: You don’t know? Our patron, the Cavaliere. argentina: My husband Jordano has returned? barbagrigia: Returned – absolutely. argentina: Jesus! Jesus! So he’s not dead? barbagrigia: Dead? Well, if he is, he’s trying to make a few others dead along with him. argentina: You have to explain yourself. barbagrigia: He’s been trying to kill Gisippo. argentina: Where on earth has he come from, this man, all of a sudden? barbagrigia: He was in such a fit of rage I didn’t ask. They were fighting, and Gisippo had the upper hand. Just when he was about to kill him, the papal guard arrived and separated them. Now I don’t know where they’ve gone. argentina: Now what a dangerous and shameful situation I’m in. How long I waited for him. How long I had him sought after. How many accounts I’ve had of his death. And how long I’ve put off making any new alliances. Only recently Pilucca brought proof of his death. But now that I decide to remarry, my fiancé doesn’t want me anymore and my dead husband comes back to life. Yesterday I was a widow. Today I’m twice married and the wife of none. Surely this is a new and unheard of misfortune. barbagrigia: God will help you, Madonna. But while the Cavaliere is

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in his fit of anger, you’d best not stay here. Come with me and I’ll look after you as well as a good friend and neighbour can. argentina: There’s no need, for I have nothing to fear from him. It’s not guilt that troubles me, but shame. barbagrigia: Then there’s nothing to worry about. You go back inside and I’ll stay here to see what develops. Scene ii demetrio, barbagrigia, gisippo, and satiro demetrio: First our lives are in danger, and now we’re under threat of arrest. Let’s flee before the Canali have us seized. Wait, here’s Barbagrigia. barbagrigia: Oh, Messer Gisippo, are you wounded? gisippo: No, no. barbagrigia: And you, Messer Demetrio? demetrio: Me neither. barbagrigia: Thank God for that. I’ve never seen anything like this in all my life. gisippo: Who was that who tried to murder us? barbagrigia: A man who is himself already dead. demetrio: Strange corpses one finds in this city. barbagrigia: That was the husband of your wife. demetrio: That’s a good one! Husband of another man’s wife. barbagrigia: It’s the widow’s husband. demetrio: Here the widows are married? gisippo: You make me laugh in spite of myself. barbagrigia: I can see now it must sound like nonsense to you. I’ll restate it more clearly. That was the dead Cavaliere Jordano. demetrio: He’s alive ... barbagrigia: ... who was the husband ... demetrio: ... who is the husband ... barbagrigia: ... of Madonna Argentina, who was a widow ... demetrio: ... who is married ... barbagrigia: ... to you ... demetrio: ... to him ... barbagrigia: So who does she belong to – him, you, both, or neither of you? What’s to happen now? I can’t tell because I don’t understand it and so I babble about it senselessly, because it makes no sense to me and ...

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demetrio: Stop, we understand you. That was her husband, believed dead, but now alive. He came back, and when he found out that Gisippo wanted his wife, he wanted Gisippo’s life. barbagrigia: Yes sir. Amongst all of us we’ve managed to unravel the whole mess, but only in words. How will we untangle the situation itself? demetrio: Here comes Satiro looking frightened. He must have heard about the attack by the Cavaliere. Don’t fret, Satiro, we’ve suffered no harm. satiro: Good lord, what is all this if not the resurrection of the dead? demetrio: Never mind. We’ll see to it that he dies again, only this time for good. satiro: Who do you want to die? demetrio: Why, Cavaliere Jordano. Isn’t that who you’re talking about? satiro: What Cavaliere Jordano? Giulietta has risen from the dead, Giulietta! gisippo: Giulietta who, you donkey? satiro: You’ll never believe what I’ve seen, master. gisippo: You’ve seen some ghost or other. satiro: I’ve seen her. I’ve seen Giulietta, and with these very eyes. gisippo: Someone who looks like her, perhaps? satiro: No, herself in person. gisippo: Giulietta? satiro: Giulietta. gisippo: My Giulietta? satiro: Yours. gisippo: Alive? satiro: Alive. gisippo: Where? satiro: In the house of Madonna Argentina. gisippo: Are you in your right mind? satiro: I haven’t been drinking, I’m not stark raving mad, I’m not dreaming. I’ve seen her. I’ve spoken to her and she has spoken to me, and here – she gave me something – this letter and this ring. demetrio: This is the day of marvels. barbagrigia: It’s doomsday if you ask me. demetrio: If this is true! Think what would have happened! What a catastrophe! Two husbands of one wife and two wives of one husband under the same roof. gisippo: My God! This is the very ring I wedded her with, and this is a letter from her.

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demetrio: Didn’t you tell me she was dead? gisippo: So I thought, alas. demetrio: And this ring? gisippo: It is hers. demetrio: And this letter? gisippo: It’s in her handwriting. demetrio: How can this be? Let me read it. ‘Tindaro, my master, for so I must call you now that I find myself servant to the servants in the house of your betrothed. What infinite misfortune I have endured, and all with patience in the hope of finding you, my husband and my consolation. But now that I have found you at last, you have been taken from me. Hopeless and in despair, I long only for death ...’62 gisippo: Alas, what words are these? Read on. demetrio: ‘O Tindaro, you are taking another, yet are you not my husband? Though our union is unconsummated, and though your love for me is gone, yet by this ring you are mine and owe me the duty of those vows. Contrary to my wishes, did I not abandon my poor mother and journey far from my beloved country to be your wife? Remember that it was for you that I endured so many tempests and fell prey to pirates. For you I became as one already dead. For you I was sold, imprisoned and beaten. Although you have allied yourself with another, I have resisted all advances. Through so many harsh and cruel misfortunes I have remained constant to you both in body and in soul. Will you, who are under no constraints, who have been neither beaten nor sold, remarry of your own free will?’ gisippo: Giulietta writes these things? demetrio: ‘Only death can free me from this present sorrow. Yet, I would not die reviled and a slave. In order to remove all doubts, I shall present myself to my family with a witness of my virginity to prove that I followed you out of true love, and not for wantonness. As for my present state, if my prayers have any power to touch you, let me not die the slave of another, although I cannot die as your beloved. I beg you to seek legal means for my release, or to entreat your betrothed for my freedom. Surely so gentle a lady will concede to your wishes. Offer her the full sum that was paid for me. You have my promise that you will be repaid ...’ gisippo: O the grief that cries out from these pages. demetrio: ‘Your refusal can but precipitate my death, which I desire as much to end my misery as to remove myself as an obstruction to your future happiness. As proof of my good will, I return to you the wedding ring you gave me, although my love for you will never wane.

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May health be yours and joy at your nuptials. From the house of your bride. The wretched Giulietta.’ gisippo: Is it from the underworld, Satiro, that you have brought these words, or is it a monstrous trick? satiro: I tell you, Giulietta is alive. These things come directly from her. gisippo: Either what I am hearing now is a dream, or what I saw was an illusion. My soul is besieged with a parcel of passions: I burn, I tremble, I marvel, I’m incredulous, I rejoice, I’m saddened, I’m ashamed! We saw her die, Satiro, and if she is dead, how has this resurrection come about? And if she is not dead, who was the one we saw slain?63 satiro: She explained all that to me as well, how she was placed on the ship’s stern, how another woman was killed in her stead, and how they were later overtaken by the galleys of the Pope. Now, as Agatina, after these many adventures, she is being held captive by Madonna Argentina’s steward. demetrio: And how did she learn about Tindaro, since he also changed his name? satiro: The ring you bestowed upon Madonna Argentina was the clue. Then she saw me and I explained everything to her. gisippo: O, my beloved Giulietta! demetrio: Where are you going? gisippo: To see her. demetrio: Take care. Have you forgotten? Consider the enmity between you and the Cavaliere. gisippo: You consider it. You’re the one who got me into this mess. demetrio: I got you into it for your own good. But then, good advice and final results are not born in the same moment. I counselled you well enough. It was you who made a bad resolution to marry. If you tell me that Giulietta is dead, should I expect her to come back to life? gisippo: None of this matters now. Just help me find a remedy, for I can think of nothing else but her. demetrio: By restoring Giulietta and the husband of Madonna Argentina at the same time, Fortuna herself has given us the way to turn the household right-side-up again. This affair will virtually take care of itself. All we have to do is protect ourselves from the wrath of the Cavaliere. We’ll send Barbagrigia to Madonna Argentina and Satiro to Giulietta. barbagrigia: Why should I be concerned any longer with this neighbour of mine? demetrio: You must explain what you’ve heard and seen, but nothing else for the moment.

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satiro: Or I with Giulietta? demetrio: You’ll take her a letter from your master and console her at the same time. You can do it easily, because you know everything that has happened. You go home, Messer Gisippo, and take Satiro with you. Write the letter and send it off. gisippo: How can I wait so long before seeing her? demetrio: Well, I don’t know. gisippo: What do you want me to write – that I’m out of my mind? demetrio: Love will dictate the answer, and Satiro will deliver it. Enough of this. Look, the Canali are coming this way to have us arrested. God speed. I’ll look after this matter. And you, Barbagrigia, do as I told you. Scene iii giovanni and battista, the ragged brothers, demetrio, and attorney giovanni: Tindaro must be around here. There’s his companion. battista: The Captain of the Guards is probably in the Campo di Fiore. Let’s go fetch him. demetrio: Hold off, Messer Battista. We can account for Giulietta without the Captain of the Guards. battista: What’s there to account for if she’s dead? demetrio: Giulietta’s not dead. We certainly thought she was, but she’s alive. giovanni: You’re only stalling for time. demetrio: I’m giving you the honest truth. giovanni: Where is she? demetrio: You’ll find out later. battista: It can’t be true. demetrio: I tell you, she’s alive and safe. Would that she were happy as well. giovanni: About what? demetrio: About her Tindaro. battista: And how can we make her happy about Tindaro if he has taken another wife? demetrio: If you give your consent, his wife will be Giulietta. giovanni: How on earth? Will he marry two at once?

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demetrio: He’ll marry her alone – that is, if you’ll permit it. battista: How is this possible? demetrio: It will be so – you’ll see. giovanni: If it can be done. If she is not dead ... demetrio: Tell me that you will accept such a marriage. giovanni: We will. demetrio: Now I can reveal myself to you as Demetrio and rejoice with you in this general happiness. giovannni: Ah, Demetrio! battista: Ah, Demetrio! We ... demetrio: Please no time for recriminations. What I have done was done for the best. Accept it as such and all will be well. giovanni: Giulietta is alive? demetrio: She is alive. giovanni: Where is she? demetrio: In Rome. giovanni: But where in Rome? demetrio: In this very house. battista: Here comes the attorney all brimful of smiles. giovanni: What’s the good news, Messer Rossello? attorney: Everything that is needed to make your joy complete – your daughter is alive. I’ve done for you the service of recovering her, together with your belongings. battista: O, Messer Rossello, is it really true? giovanni: O, beloved Giulietta. battista: What destiny brought her to your hands? attorney: Destiny it was indeed. I chanced to meet that wretched Marabeo with a friend dragging her by force into the grasp of the Cavaliere Jordano, as I found out from her later. demetrio: The Cavaliere Jordano? This is a veritable wife market. giovanni: What’s that you say about my daughter? attorney: Never mind for now. She’s been freed and placed in this household. I questioned her and confirmed that she is your daughter. She then told me everything that has happened to her. I have undertaken to see that her freedom is secured, and I intend to see these scoundrels punished. giovanni: Dear sir, through your services our happiness is restored. For this you will be richly rewarded. giovanni: O beloved daughter. Sir, I must go and see her. attorney: You go ahead. Meanwhile, I’ll seek out the Governor.

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demetrio: I’ll go with your Lordship in case my help is needed. attorney: An excellent idea. Scene iv demetrio, attorney, and jordano demetrio: Look there, sir. That’s the Cavaliere Jordano, the one who tried to kill Gisippo and me a short time ago. If he attacks again, you’ll be my witness that I am only defending myself. attorney: But why should he want to kill you? demetrio: The Gisippo and Tindaro you’ve been hearing about are one and the same person. Destiny has fashioned a strange game leading to the present circumstances for this man and the Cavaliere, together with their two wives. More of that at our leisure. Right now I must keep an eye on his every move. jordano: Until I spill his blood my rage will devour me. Here comes that friend of his. —En garde! attorney: What do you intend to do, Cavaliere? jordano: Stand aside. attorney: Why would you dare such insolence? Can’t you see that I represent the Pope? jordano: What are you talking about – the Pope? attorney: Desist. What is your business with this man? jordano: What business has Gisippo with my wife? demetrio: Only the business of an honest wedding. And what right have you to assault his wife and to hold her in bondage? jordano: His wife? demetrio: Giulietta. jordano: I know no Giulietta. demetrio: How about Agatina, then, the one you’re trying to conquer? jordano: Agatina’s not Gisippo’s wife. She’s one of Marabeo’s slaves. demetrio: Nor does Gisippo know you as Madonna Argentina’s husband. jordano: But I am. demetrio: Possibly so, but nobody else knew it, least of all us. attorney: Cavaliere, where men’s lives are at stake, you cannot venture such ignorant assaults. jordano: What gentleman would do otherwise whose honour has been violated, and whose wife has been compromised in his own city, in his own house, and by a gang of cowardly foreigners?

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demetrio: You’d better keep your head, Cavaliere! Get this matter clear and start talking sense. We’re not guilty of these crimes. To call us cowards is a brutal insult. We are foreigners, but we will show you that the Cortesi and Canali from Chios are families of dignity and substance and not to be abused with impunity. jordano: It’s getting better by the minute. First you want to deprive me of my wife and possessions. Now you’ll strip me of both my family names. demetrio: What, are you a Cortesi? jordano: Yes, if you please. attorney: And a Canali? jordano: My wife is, the one they’re trying to take from me. demetrio: So who, then, is your father? jordano: What, you want to steal my father as well? attorney: What old wive’s tale is this? These two men are about to become relatives. Where is this Messer Gisippo? demetrio: In the house. attorney: Have him come out here, please. Scene v attorney, gisippo, jordano, giovanni and battista, the ragged brothers, pilucca, and marabeo attorney: Cavaliere, if you behave so lightly and irresponsibly during the reign of this Pope, whatever head you have left will be chopped off. Your boldness has been excessive. You have created a private prison in the city of Rome, treated women brutally, attempted murder. Your behaviour shows nothing but contempt for so lofty a prince. jordano: The revenge I seek is just. It is not punishment for my efforts I deserve, but compassion for my failure. attorney: That’s as you imagine it. But the reality is quite different. jordano: Here comes that traitor, Gisippo. attorney: Don’t make a move, Cavaliere, until I get to the bottom of this. Approach, Messer Gisippo. jordano: Gisippo! Gisippo! gisippo: Jordano! Jordano! attorney: No raging and shouting. Just answer my questions. Cavaliere, were you born in Rome? jordano: I was born in Rome.

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attorney: Is your father alive? jordano: No sir. attorney: And yours? gisippo: Also deceased. attorney: Where did yours come from? jordano: Genoa. attorney: And yours? gisippo: Chios. attorney: You both come from the same jurisdiction. Did their ancestors come from these places? jordano: Mine used to say they were from Chios. attorney: Now you’re both from the same homeland.64 Of which family is yours? jordano: Cortesi. attorney: And yours? gisippo: Cortesi. attorney: So, you are from the same family. What was your father’s name? gisippo: Messer Agapito. attorney: And yours? jordano: Messer Franco. gisippo: You’re the son of my uncle, Messer Franco? jordano: And you of Messer Agapito my father’s brother? attorney: Take it easy. jordano: I never heard he had a son called Gisippo. gisippo: Tindaro, perhaps? jordano: Tindaro, yes. Are you Tindaro? gisippo: I am. jordano: But why Gisippo? gisippo: For a good reason. Let it go at that. attorney: Strange case. Clarify this doubt for me. Did you know Gisippo, or Tindaro, whoever you are, that your father had a brother in Rome? gisippo: No sir, I thought he was in Genoa. attorney: Then, Cavaliere, your father came from Genoa to Rome? jordano: He did sir, and opened a business here with the Centurioni four years before the sack of Rome, and he died shortly before I was born.65 attorney: This part is now clear. You’re cousins beyond all doubt. But wait. You say, Cavaliere, that your lady is of the Canali family?

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jordano: She is, indeed. attorney: Who was her father? jordano: Messer Paolo Canali. attorney: The one who was protonotary?66 jordano: The very one. gisippo: What am I hearing? My Giulietta is Argentina’s cousin! attorney: How? gisippo: This Messer Paolo was the brother of Giovanni Canali, the father of Giulietta, who is in Rome now with another brother. attorney: And they are the ragged brothers? gisippo: That’s what people call them. They belong to the Canali family. jordano: Then these are my wife’s uncles? attorney: What a tangled affair this is. jordano: I went to look for them in the East, and here they are in Rome. attorney: What for? jordano: To settle with them the inheritance from Messer Paolo’s estate, which belongs to my wife. attorney: This comes together perfectly, like cheese on macaroni. Now the transaction can be completed. But Tindaro, Jordano, why do you continue to scowl? Don’t you recognize one another? You’re brothers. gisippo: Cavaliere, words cannot express my emotions. My soul tells me that you are of my own blood, and that I must forgive your transgressions and receive you as a brother. jordano: Likewise, I want to pardon you for your offences, but such insults to my honour rankle in my breast. gisippo: On the contrary, in attempting my Giulietta by force you have violated my honour. jordano: I had no way of knowing that she was Giulietta or that she was yours. And what’s more, though I tried, I had no success. gisippo: Nor did I intend you any dishonour. The marriage negotiations between Madonna Argentina and myself were proper in every way, given that you were taken for dead, and we were both unaware of the family ties between us. Now you’re alive and the wedding did not take place. What then is her offence or mine? jordano: I suspect adultery. attorney: Ah, Cavaliere, on the part of Madonna Argentina? gisippo: There is not a shred of evidence even to suggest it. Rather, I should suspect it of you, since my lady was entirely in your power. jordano: You may be proud of her, Tindaro. She’s a lady of incontestable virtue and constancy. She submitted to no violation at my hand.

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gisippo: As I accept your word, so you, as my brother, must accept mine. Your lady remains totally free of taint. jordano: I’m inclined to believe you. Your words and the record of her past life have convinced me that she is as chaste as ever. I accept you as my dear cousin. attorney: Just see how much harmony has been born out of such confusion. I swear, it’s a veritable comedy. And here come the scruffy brothers decked out in new attire. giovanni: Scruffy we were, but now we’ve abandoned our rags. battista: We’re rich. giovanni: We’re elated. battista: Our lunacy is over. giovanni: Today we gained three hundred thousand ducats. battista: And rediscovered our lost daughter. gisippo: And you’ve acquired a son, namely, me. jordano: And found a niece, who is my wife. giovanni: Niece? What niece? Now that we’re rich, the relatives start flocking in. battista: Niece on the money’s side. attorney: Niece on the side of your own blood, daughter of your brother Messer Paolo. giovanni: Of Messer Paolo, our brother? battista: Of Messer Paolo? attorney: Ah, here she is. And here is Messer Demetrio and Giulietta. If we have to wait for everyone to welcome everyone else and give a speech, we’ll be here all night. Hold off, my friends. I’ll give you a nice medley of everything. Cavaliere, Madonna Argentina is your wife and an honourable lady. To her you owe love and honour. Tindaro and Giulietta are husband and wife by mutual consent. Gentlemen, to them you owe your blessings. giovanni: We are pleased to welcome him into the family, and we wish to offer him one hundred thousand ducats of our earnings as a dowry. attorney: Very tidy! giovanni: And to you for your industry and concern, two thousand. attorney: I’m indebted to you for your courtesy and generosity. You should also take into consideration that Madonna Argentina, wife of the Cavaliere here, is the daughter of Messer Paolo Canali, your brother. This makes her your niece, Giulietta’s cousin, and Tindaro’s sister-in-law. Tindaro is, by the same token, Madonna Argentina’s brother-in-law and Jordano’s cousin. Jordano is Tindaro’s cousin

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and Giulietta’a brother-in-law. Giulietta is Jordano’s sister-in-law and cousin to Argentina. And you are the fathers, uncles, and fathers-inlaw of Giulietta, Argentina, Jordano, and Tindaro. Where there is union, let it be strengthened. Where no union is possible, let love turn into charity. Now, share the embrace all around. At your leisure you can speak the sweet words that are in your hearts. pilucca: There’s a whole lot of hugging and squeezing, Marabeo. Come out here – things may be looking up for us too. marabeo: Do you see the Captain of the Guards anywhere? pilucca: He’s not here. Come on out. marabeo: Have a good look. attorney: Aha! Here are the thieves. We need only see you hanged to make our rejoicing complete. I’m going to the Governor to arrange this service for you. jordano: But sir, since I’m involved in their crimes, such an order would destroy my peace. Let us not sully so festive an occasion. As a favour to me, I ask you not to carry charges against them. attorney: All right, but it won’t be long before the gallows catch up with them anyway. pilucca: No, listen. From now on we promise to be good and honest men. attorney: It won’t be easy for you two. marabeo: Allow us to beg forgiveness of Madonna Giulietta. attorney: By all means, and make certain that none of these previous affairs is seen or heard of again. marabeo: Does that include my account books? By God, that would be a blessing. pilucca: Well then, isn’t your master’s return gain enough? marabeo: How very true. I’m happy with things as they are. I wouldn’t want the Cavaliere to be troubled with the accounts. Master, let’s agree that they are settled between us. Anything you still owe me, I’ll willingly forgo as a gift to you. attorney: When these thieves should be making restitution they demand even more! It’s just like in the days of Ciollo the Abbot.67 jordano: I too am satisfied. Come, then, let’s celebrate. attorney: Let happiness be yours all around, now and forever. Strike up the wedding festivities and be you merry-makers all. And you, gentle spectators, present us with signs of joyfulness.

Caro: The Ragged Brothers 275 Notes 1 Avino-Avolio were two of the knights errant (paladins) at the court of Charlemagne. In Ariosto’s Orlando furioso they are inseparable companions. 2 Castor and Pollux, in Greek mythology, figure among the Dioscuri or sons of Zeus. Their mother was Leda. Tales associated with them deal largely with their bravery and military exploits. They were later adopted by the Romans, who built a temple to them in their capital. When Castor was killed, Pollux, who was immortal, asked permission to die too so that he could share his immortality with his beloved brother. Jupiter (Zeus) allowed them to spend alternating days in heaven and Hades. In the Rome of the Renaissance, the Dioscuri twins were said to represent the complementary powers of the pope and the emperor – a balance destabilized by the 1527 sack of the city by the imperial forces that led to the virtual imprisonment of the pope. Iconographically, the twins signified Roman liberty. Thus, an alignment of the ragged brothers with Castor and Pollux may suggest a period of decline in Roman privileges and liberties, a period that Rossello the Attorney figuratively brings to an end by restoring to them their daughter and their wealth, whereafter they reappear in the garb of prosperous citizens. It would have been pure wish-fulfilment to think that Rome really had escaped the imperial interference in their civic affairs, but in the safety of this emblematic comic action, Caro could suggest that the old symmetry had been restored as part of the justice to be found in the Rome of Pope Paul III. 3 The Farnese were one of Renaissance Italy’s most powerful aristocratic families. Caro had been employed by Pierluigi Farnese just a few months before writing this comedy. Pierluigi was the son of Pope Paul III (Alessandro Farnese) whose greatness as prince and prelate is several times mentioned in the play. Paul III was, indeed, one of the most outstanding of the Renaissance popes, and his death in 1549 brought about general mourning. If he had a weakness, it was in his favouritism to family members, including Pierluigi, to whom he gave the rule over Piacenza and Parma – an investiture so badly handled that it led to Pierluigi’s assassination by irate citizens. He was a man of the lowest moral character whom Burckhardt called ‘terrible,’ and who, during his lifetime, was a prime target of Aretino’s satire. 4 Scudi is a name still used for large silver coins. The name is a reference to the escutcheon of the prince or issuing nation that appeared on one of the faces. Initially, they were made of gold and known as scudi of the sun because they had a small sun before the inscription. The coin was imported into Italy from France in the sixteenth century, and it soon replaced the

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5

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8 9 10 11

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ducat, even in those states where the ducat had first been minted, namely, Venice and Florence. When an equivalent silver coin appeared, replacing the gold one, ‘scudo’ became the denomination of all other silver coins. The Grimaldi were a wealthy family from Genoa. The litigation between the two brothers, Giovanni and Battista, and the Grimaldi constitutes one of the main threads of the plot. Literally, the phrase reads ‘like the chap who paid hard cash for feasting only on the smoke of roasting meat.’ It is a reference to the ninth tale of the thirteenth-century collection of short stories known as Il novellino, in which the Saracen cook Fabrac demands to be paid by a poor man for having allowed him to dip a piece of bread in the smoke coming from one of the pots on the stove. Renaissance comedy, imitating the Latin, had to keep the action simple. Yet, in following the novella writers, plots increased in formal complexity. Caro’s play is an early example of a triple plot, as is explained below. This metaphor is based on the Renaissance theory of the humours and the processes of digestion. Ripa was one of the quarters of Rome, south of the centre on the Aventine Hill, having its own part on the Tiber. The bridge leading to the Castel Sant’Angelo. The Farnese palace was designed by Antonio da Sangallo (d. 1546) as a modest townhouse for Cardinal Alessandro Farnese who, when he was elevated to the papacy, had it converted into a grand residence ostensibly for himself, but actually for Caro’s patron, Pierluigi, his illegitimate son. Construction continued until 1550 and included contributions by Michelangelo. Greco was a street in Rome, as well as a kind of white wine. The word ‘corso’ is an allusion to the white wine of Corsica, but principally it refers to the renovations under the pontificate of Pope Paul III pertaining to the streets that were drained, levelled, and turned into boulevards. New public squares were created, and slum houses were replaced under the direction of the maestro di strade, Latino Giovenale Manetti. At this time, the Corso was turned into one of the finest boulevards in Rome. Pilucca is confused because most of this work took place during his absence. Mazzacane is presumably another reference to a wine from the region of Campania. Campo di Fiori is a square in the centre of Rome not far from the Pantheon, and only a short distance to the east of the Piazza Farnese where the principal action of the play takes place. Barbagrigia is the famous editor and printer Antonia Blado d’Asola, Caro’s

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18 19 20

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friend, and a member of the semi-serious Academy of Virtue to which Caro also belonged. In the original, Barbagrigia makes a pun on the name ‘Pilucca,’ and the verb ‘piluccare,’ to nibble away. Concern over the Turkish threat played into the politics of the age. For Pope Paul III, it was the leading issue of his reign and the cause for extending the city walls at considerable cost. The Papal States had been on the alert for a Turkish invasion throughout 1537 and 1538, a very real threat in light of the sack of Neapolitan territories in 1534. The fear of the Turks was real, yet by Caro’s time it had also become a literary commonplace. This is the ruddle and plumb-line of Boccaccio, the unidentified foreman of a demolition and construction company. The work of splendour is the new Farnese palace. The major renovations and enlargement began in 1534 with the papacy of Paul III. Many surrounding buildings were demolished and a grand piazza was constructed, where bullfights were later held. The Island of Chios at that time belonged to Genoa. Bandello’s novella I, 53, explains the allusions to the nuns of Genoa: ‘at present I want to do just as Uncle Pedrone told me several times the nuns of Genoa do, for they go wherever they feel like within the town and even outside, and when they return to the convent they tell their Mother Superior: “Mother, with your permission we went for a little recreation, to take an airing.” ’ These boats, designed for piracy, were light and fast, with but one mast and two or three guns. Zacynthos and Cephallenia, islands off the west coast of Greece, were both in the possession of Venice. They were important links in the eastern trade route. In the 1540s the sea power of Venice was waning, still unable to recover from the crippling effects of the League of Cambrai of 1508, when the major powers of Europe united to strip her of her military might. From that time onward, the Ottomans carried out attack after attack against Venice’s eastern possessions. In 1535 she lost Egina, Paros, and Syra, and in 1540 Malvasia and Nauplia. These were the years in which Pilucca was a slave in the Turkish galleys. The turning point came in 1532, when Sulieman failed before the walls of Vienna and thereafter turned all his efforts against Italy and the islands in the Mediterranean. Emperor Charles Vcarried out a successful Tunisian campaign against Muslim pirates in 1535, but the effects were short lived. By 1541 the Corsairs were back in nearly complete control. After a united western victory against the Turks in the famous sea battle of Lepanto in 1571, some 15,000 Christian slaves were liberated.

278 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 25 The original says ‘down to the fennel,’ meaning the last dish in a meal. 26 The reference is to Psalm 114.3: ‘The sea saw it and fled: Jordan was driven back.’ Marabeo’s pun is on the name Giordano, the husband of Madonna Argentina, and the River Jordan of the Psalm. 27 The play deforms the names of two ancient schools of philosophy, the Peripatetics and the Stoics. 28 The original, ‘alfabecochi’ is a word made up of ‘alpha,’ the first letter in the Greek alphabet, and ‘becchi,’ cuckolds. 29 Originally, ‘one of the dirty old men of Susan,’ in reference to one of the elders who spied on Susanna while she was bathing. The story originates in the apocryphal portion of the Book of Daniel, chapter 13. 30 On Ascension Day it was customary in Rome to place an egg at the window to keep away evil. Proverbially, only someone who was condemned to die could not be saved by the egg of the Ascension. 31 The name Argentina derives from ‘argento,’ silver. Plasters were wet cloths applied to injured areas, often made with wine and spices. 32 ‘Gattino,’ a little cat, is a play on the name Agatina. 33 Literally, ‘make sure the devil doesn’t get into the basin.’ 34 ‘Gilé’ was a popular card game. 35 ‘Julians’ were coins minted under Pope Julius II, a more valuable version of the Papal ‘carlin.’ The name was kept until the time of Pope Paul III. 36 The name of the famous Turkish warriors who seized Egypt in 1254. In Arabic the word meant ‘slave,’ and in Europe it became synonymous with frightening creatures or devils. 37 The Sultan of the Turkish empire. 38 The comic device of the non-existent number derives from the Decameron VI.10 and VIII.3. 39 Monte Mario was a quarter in Rome, at that time outside the city walls. Nevertheless, it was a centre of Roman renewal, for it was there that the Medicis had built their large palace, unfinished at the time of the Sack in 1527, and later to be known as the Palazzo Madama. The way to bring the hill inside the city was to extend the walls around it. 40 Janissaries were the select guard of the Sultans. They had a reputation for being thieves and ravagers, hence the following pun about being in the pontifical chancellery. 41 Testaccio was one of the poorest quarters in Rome. This area was also a ‘monte’ and for many years the location for rustic games held during carnival. Pigs were released at the top, and once they had dashed themselves to pieces, the general populace was allowed to fight for the meat. The tradition was resumed in 1536 but was found to be so disgraceful that it was terminated in 1545.

Caro: The Ragged Brothers 279 42 Trebisond was a city on the Black Sea, and an important seat of government under the Byzantine rulers until it fell to the Turks in 1461, eight years after the fall of Constantinople. Here the name has a comic effect. See Aretino’s Astrologo I.2 for a similar usage. 43 The mitre was an ecclesiastical hat, especially of bishops and abbots, but it was also the name of the cap given to those put in the pillory. 44 Perhaps a reference to the humiliating punishment of being beaten by brooms. 45 Picardy was the region of the ‘impiccati,’ of those who had been hanged. To send someone to Picardy meant to hang them. See Ariosto’s Negromante V. 6. Mirandola is given the halter as the symbol of his investiture. 46 Originally, the Count of ‘Boiona’ from ‘boia,’ the hangman. 47 That is, if he dies by hanging, he will never again be hungry. 48 Voices imitating drums and trumpets. 49 Messer Rossello. 50 A misspelling of this word ‘incoronazione’ joins the sense of ‘coronation’ to the sense of being made a cuckold. 51 This Mongol warrior is known to the English world as Tamburlaine (fl. 1336–1405). He was famed for his ruthlessness. There are comic intentions in the spelling and in mistaking him for a Caliph – a Muslim title. 52 Alexander the Great’s famous horse. 53 Saladin, the legendary Sultan of Egypt and Syria, lived in the twelfth century. 54 Possibly a comic reference to Giambattista Giraldi Cinthio’s tragedy, Orbecche, staged in 1541 and printed in 1543. 55 The two brothers had lent money to the Grimaldi for the statue of St. George slaying the dragon. 56 The Book of Tobias (5–8) relates the story of Tobias’s journey to the Medes to collect a debt, accompanied by the archangel Raphael. 57 Sextus Tarquinius, son of the King of Rome, raped Lucretia, the wife of Tarquinius Collatinus, by threatening her with a dagger. 58 Another of the remodelled streets of Rome, this one running just behind the Palazzo Farnese. By such references, the play creates a sense of the neighbourhood around the splendid new palace of the pope, with the house of Madonna Argentina nearby. 59 Yet another reference to Pope Paul III, the father of Caro’s patron Pierluigi, celebrated throughout the play as the rebuilder of the city, not only of its streets and walls, but of its judicial institutions as well. 60 The story of Calandrino comes from the Decameron VIII.3. 61 The story of the ring that made Angelica invisible comes from Ariosto’s Orlando furioso XII.23 and XXIX.64.

280 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 62 The beginning of this letter is taken verbatim from Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Cleitophon V.18, a Greek romance from the end of the third century. The work was well known to the Renaissance. 63 This passage likewise comes from the same passage as above in Leucippe and Cleitophon. 64 As stated above, the Island of Chios belonged to Genoa. 65 In 1527 an army of German mercenaries, joined by the forces of Charles Duke of Milan, ransacked Rome, leaving the city in shambles after several weeks of occupation. It was a watershed moment in the history of the city. Some 30,000 of its citizens were slain, and the rich cultural life of the city went into decline with the flight of its resident artists and writers. 66 The chief clerk in the law courts. 67 The expression was proverbial, possibly originating in Dante’s reference to Ciolo degli Abati in his Epistola IX, a man banished for his infamous deeds, then forgiven and allowed to return to Florence.

ALESSANDRO PICCOLOMINI

Alessandro (L’alessandro) A Prose Comedy

Translated by Rita Belladonna Introduction by Donald Beecher

Revised from the edition published in the Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation Series. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1984. By permission of the publisher.

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Introduction to the Alessandro, attributed to Alessandro Piccolomini The Alessandro (1543) is attributed to one of the leading spirits of the famous Academy of the Intronati in Siena, Alessandro Piccolomini. The basis for doubt is merely circumstantial insofar as at least one other of the Intronati plays, Gl’ingannati, appears to have been a group effort, in keeping with the collective and democratic spirit of the organization. Moreover, that their performances were presented to the ladies in the audience on behalf of all the gentlemen members makes creation by committee that much more appropriate. A favourite pose was to style the ladies in the audience as hard-hearted and the play as a carefully crafted bid for favour. That the Intronati plays depict virtuous and sympathetic heroines may, likewise, have been a choice in deference to their audience. The Alessandro conforms to the tradition in playfully praising the beauty of the ladies present while lodging a complaint against the fickleness of their aesthetic tastes and the lightness of their social conduct. The matter of authorship is ultimately an academic one, in any case. For much as Piccolomini must have had a part, and plausibly a large one, in the ‘anonymous’ creations of former years, in equal portion the ideas, plot motifs, disguised heroines, and contrasting sections of sentiment and farce, epitomized by Gl’ingannati (1532), are fully evident in the present work.1 Even as a solo effort of the playwright, the Alessandro maintains, in signature fashion, the cumulative stylistic and structural dispositions of the ‘Sienese school.’ Piccolomini was born in Siena in 1508. Hence, according to the regulations of the Intronati, he was eligible for membership in this distinguished society of gentlemen amateurs as early as 1528. The date cannot be confirmed, but the incentive was high for him to join at an early age, given the adherence of others from his illustrious family, including Marcantonio and Archbishop Francesco Bandini Piccolomini. The academy itself was yet young, for it had been founded only in 1525 by bright and irreverent characters such as Antonio Vignali, whose La Floria forms an early link in the chain of plays that makes up the Sienese tradition. The declared purpose of their meetings was to study the liberal arts, and in such a way as to avoid all political suspicion in a city that was under the scrutiny of invaders, coveted by the Florentines, only recently free from an experiment in autocratic rule by the powerful Petrucci family, and constantly threatened by internal factions. Their collective pose was, therefore, that of a group of dumbstruck, distracted, mute individuals incapable of intrigues or factiousness – hence their name ‘Intronati.’

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To that end, they sported comic names of a self-denigrating nature and pretended to make jokes out of all things serious. Piccolomini, himself, would adopt the name ‘Stordito’ (Numbskull). That spirit of foolishness carried through in their carnivalesque writing, including Vignali’s notorious La cazzaria (The Book of the Prick), in which he constantly juxtaposes high learning with outrageously graphic allusions to sexuality in all its permutations.2 Yet precisely such academic feinting was bound to call attention to itself, no longer on political but on moral grounds. The first prologue of the Alessandro provides confirmation, for it goes on at length about pious hypocrites who defame all secular recreations, yet sneak in to see their productions – at which point the actor breaks out in dismissive laughter. Years later, in the 1550s, Piccolomini would be called upon to defend the group once more, now in a formal treatise, against the attacks of the Jesuits. The more serious goals of the Intronati included the promotion of elegant Italian through regular meetings at which they discussed literature and scrutinized the writings of members. Conceivably, their interest in erudite theatre arose in the context of their scholarly discussions and exercises in collective writing. Moreover, their formal procedures, including the vetting and polishing by the six censori, would have been conducive to the collaborative authorship implicit in the creation of Gl’ingannati. The academy, in this regard, seems to have been a ‘hands-on’ editorial committee of the whole. Literary creations so conceived might therefore become the modified conception of a single originator or the harmonized entity of a collectivity. In making the transition from text to production, the matter of proprietorship becomes even more clouded. Models for comparison are those followed by the commedia dell’arte, in which an ‘authored’ scenario becomes the agreed on program for an improvisatory realization of the parts, and by the earlier Elizabethan acting companies, which handed out plots by act and scene to multiple authors for completion. Whether these plays were commissioned by the state for carnival-time production – the Intronati did, on occasion, collaborate in the creation of state entertainments, of which Piccolomini’s L’amor costante is an example – or whether they were conceived for the private recreational ‘evenings’ of the Intronati is equally uncertain. From its outset, the Academy had engaged in veglie or evening gatherings taken up with games of knowledge, wit, and recitation, as well as music and dancing, to which they invited their women folk. These ceremonial soirées, presided over by a gamesmaster, were courtly, genteel, and flirtatious in spirit, yet suffused

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with the intellectual preoccupations of the members. In such gatherings, theatricals would have had a natural place. The plays are written in literary Tuscan, providing the group with matter for ‘erudite’ consideration during their meetings, while doubling as divertimenti and as models of the social ideals the gentlemen of the Intronati wished to see preserved in Sienese society. Just how many such plays there may have been is open to discussion, for only some four or five of the texts survive. The allusion to ‘many’ such productions in the prologue to the Alessandro suggests that there were more, tantamount to a tradition created on an annual basis over several years. In 1530 Siena was under the control of the imperial troops of Charles V. For a proposed visit of the emperor himself in 1536, the city had commissioned a grand theatrical spectacle, presumably to have been staged in the manner of the state performances of the Medici. The choice fell on Alessandro Piccolomini’s L’amor costante. Just when the play was actually written is uncertain, although it has been placed as early as 1531 (hence pre-dating Gl’ingannati).3 Not the least of its features for the purposes of show and grandeur was its large cast of twenty-eight characters. But presumably for financial reasons, the production was never mounted. Many of the Alessandro’s features are fully visible in this play, making it ideal for comparative study. Nevertheless, years separate them, and during those intervening years, Piccolomini was actively engaged as a scholar and writer in other domains and would travel to influential places. In 1538 he left Siena to attend the University of Padua. While there, he became a member of the equally famous Infiammati academy, presided over by Sperone Speroni. Piccolomini remained in the city until late 1542 and would not have missed the first reading of Speroni’s controversial tragedy, Canace e Macareo, concerning the incestuous marriage of a brother and a sister. The occasion was a watershed for theatre, not only because the play pioneered the recreation of tragedy on classical models, but because it gave rise to a controversy conducted through pamphlets and treatises on the propriety of the play and the nature of the genre – a polemic that continued for nearly half a century. During the meetings of the Infiammati, there would have been much talk about theatre – its rules, conventions, traditions, and limits – which may have taken hold of Piccolomini’s imagination. A dimension of the theatrical emerges, as well, in a new project initiated during these same years, namely, an anatomization of contemporary society according to the established classifications of human types, professions, and humours. In a preface to the 1561 edition of La sfera del mondo (The Globe of the

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World), first published in 1540, Piccolomini claims to have written the first 300 speeches or scenes in a catalogue of some 500 projected dialogic exchanges organized according to characters in all their occupational, temperamental, and hyperbolical manifestations. Regrettably, the work is lost, but from its description alone one can see how readily it complies with the penchant of the age for creating definitive collections of social phenomena by working out all of their recombinant variables. His implicit premise in this exercise is that all society is a stage, that its characters are subdivided according to their most defining traits, and that each distinct type possesses an identifying form of speech. He begins by subdividing his character profiles according to family affiliations, contrasting ages, diverse professions, presiding moods, or obsessions, such as those of misers, boasters, prodigals, or the jealous. Piccolomini seeks to recreate a theatre of the world by placing these typologized individuals into dialogic pairs and by having them perform their speech acts in relation to one another. Although the stock character types of the erudite theatre are far more limited in number, their persistence as stage identities furnishes a kind of template for extending the ‘cast’ into a comprehensive portrait of society. Simultaneously, the theatrical arts cannot have been far from his mind in this attempt to provide each with a characteristic form of selfrevealing speech. An encyclopedia of 500 such dialogues joins in spirit with the fascination of the age with memory apparatuses as epitomized by the theatre of Giulio Camillo and described in L’idea del teatro (posth. 1550), as well as with the games based on human typologizing, as in Francesco Marcolini’s Il giardino di pensieri (1540) – a book functioning as a board game through which the players tag information for recall and reorganize it to creative ends. Just as plays exteriorize one sequence of remembered parts from the ancient plays, this encyclopedia of human dialogue purports to codify all such sequences, thereby containing all possible plays, like a block of stone in which every potential sculpture can be imagined. Thus, Piccolomini’s dialogic anatomy of all humanity may be thought of as a kind of theatrical workbook. But whether he had in mind more pragmatic intentions of pertinence to the theatre can only be surmised. Piccolomini returned to Siena in 1543 in time to write, or at least to play a lead role in the creation of, a new play, the Alessandro, involving a triple action, pleasantly deployed. In the first, a pair of fathers, once friends, find themselves at loggerheads over the amorous indiscretions of their two children; in the second, childhood sweethearts, despite their perplexing cross-gender disguises, rediscover one another after years of separation and hardship; and in the third, the household servants play

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a nasty trick on a love-besotted old man, his brain addled by desire for Brigida, the wife of the braggart Captain. Increasingly, the triple plot was touted as the mark of an ingenious creator, yet always at the risk of overburdening the audience’s ability to follow its complexity. Prologues therefore sought to enhance the rate of comprehension by naming the characters and summarizing the action in advance. Thus, we are told that everything will take place in the city of Pisa, and that ‘a certain Vincenzio lives here.’ One can hardly imagine the actor saying the words without simultaneously pointing to the property or painting representing the old burgher’s house. This is an important visual aide-mémoire for the spectator – although readers must be left to their own imaginative devices. In terms of the houses, one can see at a glance where the ‘factions’ belong and where the respective individuals are most likely to spend their time when they are not in the street. Moreover, grouping by abode prepares for an action consisting largely of invading ‘alien’ households through trickery and stealth. It helps to know that Vincenzio’s ménage includes his son, Cornelio; Querciuola, Cornelio’s servant and one of the principal pranksters of the action; Furbetto an errand boy; and Vincenzio’s supposed niece, Lampridia, in actuality a boy called Aloisio disguised as a girl; and her servant Niccoletta, a would-be matchmaker, who is clueless as to Lampridia’s true identity and gender. Gostanzo Naspi heads up the second mercantile-class household. He is father to the very sensible Lucilla, whose task it will be to convert Cornelio’s erotic longings to marriage while preserving her honour and respectability. Meanwhile, Gostanzo ties us to the third ménage, that of the Captain, whose clever but browbeaten wife is the object of Gostanzo’s amorous attention. There is an option for a fourth house, that of Monsignor Fieschi, who makes no appearance in the play, but whose page is Fortunio, a girl disguised as a boy and in love with Aloisio. Picture these three or four houses with their respective occupants and much of the potential in the action can be seen at a glance. The entire plot is about getting three lovers into the abodes of their beloveds without getting caught (i.e., Cornelio into Gostanzo’s house, Fortunio into Vincenzio’s house, and Gostanzo into the Captain’s house). It may be added that all the plots misfire, all the intruders are trapped, and, as the formula goes, you may read about all these entanglements and imbroglios in the pages of the play to follow. The genius of the work, then, is to be found largely in its triple invention, with all the resulting stage traffic, the sequential accidents and contingencies, and the on-the-spot extrications and comic reversals, all of which lead to a grand finale that brings ‘satisfaction all around.’4

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The Intronati writers were interested not only in the sentimental plots of long-suffering lovers, but in the farcical routines and stage trickery introduced by Bibbiena and Aretino. Gostanzo, the self-righteous and vengeful father of an ostensibly compromised daughter, is himself a foolish old philanderer. His devotion to Brigida, the Captain’s wife, makes him the ideal target for the furbo Querciuola. The trick practised on him belongs to an old genus, that of promising the foolish lover all the delights of the bed while arranging with the desirée to have him incarcerated in some wretched place – a cupboard, a freezing courtyard, a latrine, a coffer – and there made to wait, or worse, to be discovered by an injured party. A coda to the trick involves one of Gostanzo’s own domestics, who refuses to recognize him upon his return home. Ruzza tells his boss, still blackened in his locksmith’s get-up, that he is not allowed to let strangers into the house – master’s orders – forcing the senex lover to linger in the street in expostulation. The ancestors of this burla are numerous. In Gl’ingannati, Gherardo, another geriatric in love, anticipates Gostanzo’s style of love prattle in fantasizing about his sweetie and her kisses in terms of sugar and roses. In the remote background is the Decameron and its tale of Calandrino, whose love for Niccolosa leads him to humiliating reprisals (IX.5), or of Rinieri’s assignation with the widow that leaves him freezing in the courtyard (VIII.7). Bibbiena’s La calandra, a play that was paradigmatic to the age, is clearly a variation on the Calandrino stories, and in Pantalone of the commedia dell’arte there was a long future awaiting the simpering, stuttering, drooling old lover made the butt of endless ridicule and trickery. Piccolomini reveals his skill in recycling such familiar motifs, at the same time entirely naturalizing them to his play. But the principal model is surely Aretino’s Cortigiana, in which Togna, the court-baker’s wife, does some part-time sex-trade work largely to spite her drunken husband. She agrees to take part in a trick to deceive the love-besotted courtier, Parabolano, and ultimately finds herself chased by her ragingly jealous husband. Messer Maco, in a parallel episode, is sent in to Camilla the courtesan, but is frightened away by ‘Spaniards’ before he gets down to business. Querciuola’s double, Rosso, speaks of ‘a four-hour wait in some dirty, dangerous hole or other, [where] a little cough or a sneeze will ruin everything’ (III.ii). In the story of the crossed-dressed lovers – the victims of political upheaval, far from their Sicilian homeland, and unknown to each other – Piccolomini comes close to an invention of his own. The basic design has a self-evident source in the double disguising of the twins in Gl’ingan-

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nati, obviating the need to look further for origins. But the motif is now massaged in such a way that not only do the lovers fail to recognize each other, but they experience an erotic attraction through the resemblance to the lost sweetheart that each sees in the other. Thus, each is destined to experience desire for a person deemed to be of the same sex. Such an invention may prove more troubling to some modern readers than to those brought up in romance culture. For Aloisio and Lucrezia, the imperative behind the story is the mutual bond of childhood love, an allegiance surpassing all other considerations. It is the duty of every reader to indulge them in this high-minded fixation. Nevertheless, homoerotism does intrude, which the playwright openly avows. In spite of being a girl, Fortunio cannot resist a hopeless and pointless assault on the sleeping Lampridia. This ‘lesbian’ encounter is the inevitable by-product of heterosexual longings for Aloisio, as well as the mechanism for a shocking reversal. Piccolomini’s double disguise plot is a variation on the generic romance plot of separated lovers. Disguises merely add to the possibility for confusion and error, while the residual intentions and orientations remain firm. Modern critics have glimpsed in these violations of taboos, sexual transformations, cross-dressings, and orientational inversions an underlying anxiety concerning gender and its stability. Their premise is that homoerotic plot configurations must, in some sense, entail undercurrents of homoerotic desire. For this play, those undercurrents are largely in the minds of spectators, but the play incontestably provides the inflections for such innuendoes. One analogue and one source must suffice here for the many potential analogues and sources that exist. In Barnabe Riche’s Farewell to Military Profession, written nearly forty years after the play, a young man disguised as his sister is kept in the same room with the daughter of the old man to whom ‘she’ is to be married. Needless to say, the young man takes a fancy to the daughter, and in her presence prays to Venus to remedy his distress, by which means he convinces the poor girl that the goddess has transformed his sex. At that point the credulous maid reaches down to confirm that it is true. This mode of discovery will resonate with all readers of the Alessandro. More to the point, in her introduction to the play, Rita Belladonna calls attention to a story of lesbian attraction in Ariosto’s Orlando furioso.5 Bradamante, at first taken for a man and beloved as such by Fiordispina, nevertheless remains the object of her compulsive amorous attention even after she reveals her true gender. Homoeroticism thereby becomes a forthright factor in the action before it is displaced by a heterosexual

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solution. Bradamante has a look-alike brother, Richardet, who realizes an opportunity. He returns to Fiordispina’s castle, at first disguised as his sister, in order to claim the prize. Standing between these tales, yet again, is the paradigmatic Gl’ingannati, in which a twin of the opposite sex is called upon to resolve the impasse created by the unilateral love of one woman for another disguised as a boy. Shakespeare would make much of the motif in Twelfth Night. In addition to the famous Gl’ingannati, there are two further Intronati plays, Vignali’s La Floria and Piccolomini’s L’amor costante, that tell the most about the theatrical tradition to which the Alessandro belongs. The correlation of incidents and themes shared by these four plays merely confirms what has been said all along about the erudite habit of crossreferential composition. All of them feature beleaguered heroines, disguises, and strategic recovery scenes, mixed in with a set of comic characters and their practical jokes. They are all that remain of the ringing of changes that marks the dramatic productions of the Intronati. Floria is the romance heroine of Vignali’s play, in her case reduced by the fortunes of war and mishap to servitude in the household of a pimp. It is her destiny to become the object of insistent amorous attention on the part of a Florentine gentleman named Fortunio. With the help of his servants, he sets in motion a plan to win her that ultimately puts his property and life at risk. Her sole purpose, meanwhile, is to persevere in the preservation of her honour. Such is the action until a Genoese gentleman arrives and recognizes Floria as his daughter. Fortunio, now the lovesick lover, at last proves his worth and is given the girl in marriage. Although the play was published in Florence only in 1560, and its date of composition is unsure, Vignali was born in 1500 and the play seems to belong to the 1520s. Herein, the typical beleaguered heroine of the Intronati makes an early appearance, her true identity recovered in time to raise her status and allow her to win a lover reformed by her virtue. L’amor costante, as its name implies, is about constancy in love. Lucrezia, like her namesake in the Alessandro, is the victim of war and separation, this time not only from her family but from a husband. She finds herself the ward of one Guglielmo of Pisa. Contrary to her wishes, she is courted by Giannino. In a new variation, her husband, having found Lucrezia, takes service in the same household, where, at first, he confirms the loyalty of his beloved and then plans their escape to protect her from the advances of a persistent lover. When they are discovered by Guglielmo, he locks them in a room and forces them to drink poison. The scene anticipates the discovery of Cornelia and Lucilla as well as the outraged

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response of Lucilla’s father. But the plan to murder them brings Speroni’s Canace to mind, for while the poison was a mere sleeping potion, the horror of incest lurks in the background. Through the anagnorisis of this play, it is discovered not only that Guglielmo is Lucrezia’s father, but that Giannino is her brother. In this twist of the brother-and-sister disguise plot, the brother now courts his sister, and the father nearly murders his own daughter and son-in-law. Interspersed throughout this heavy action are the antics of a braggart Captain, a poet, and a stage pedant. Alessandro is both lighter in texture and more confident in the interweaving of its narrative parts, but the plays are of a piece in their dispositions and conventions, down to the trapped lovers locked in rooms to await their punishments. The Alessandro was a most successful play. Not only did it enjoy two productions with separate prologues, but it was published almost immediately. The first edition appeared in 1545, to be followed by another thirteen editions down to 1611. Its influence upon the French and English theatres was likewise important. Principally, it provided the characters and generic plot design taken over by Odet de Turnèbe in his Les contens (1580), and by George Chapman in May-Day (1601–2). The prologues are singular documents, for they make revelations about the social life of the Intronati and about the critical climate in which the two productions were received. Much has been made of the courtly address to the ladies, but there was complaint as well. The members of the academy appear to have espoused a code of manners appropriate to an aristocratic society, a code they deemed to be in danger if only because the ladies of their own entourage no longer endorsed it. After all, these ladies had been receptive to the attentions of rowdies on the occasion of the first production of the play, and they were developing a taste for entertainments of a lower calibre. At the same time, the Prologue pronounced his collective anathema upon pedants and prelates as critics, making much of the fact that the second production of the play had no alterations because no qualified objections had been stated. But there had been critics of a trivial vein, for by the time of this play erudite artistry had been reduced in the minds of some to mere rules and conventional regulations. But the more threatening detractors were those of a religious frame of mind. They are answered in a dismissive tirade coupled with a brief sermon on the power of plays to reveal love in action, which, as all must know, is the source of all goodness and constancy. ‘If there are any among you who do not wish to be present when love is being talked about, let them leave before the play begins, so

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that their stomachs do not turn at the mere sound of the word. Simple souls that they are, who haven’t got enough wit to understand that there is nothing holier among men than love, without which not only mankind, but the whole world, would sink into nothingness!’ There we leave Piccolomini, protesting that his play-making achieves a level of instruction by example at the highest moral echelons, allowing that prologues may protest overmuch. In the play proper, however, he had found his formula, making the Alessandro a consummate performance in the mode of the erudite makers. Rita Belladonna’s translation (1980), was based on the critical edition of L’Alessandro by F. Cerreta published in Siena in 1966, which contains the two prologues and an extensive list of the variants that appeared during the course of the work’s textual history. Notes 1 Douglas Radcliff-Umstead cites Piccolomini as a probable collaborator in the creation of Gl’ingannati and the director of the entire Sacrificio festival. The Birth of Modern Comedy in Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), 201. 2 Ed. by Ian Frederick Moulton (New York: Routledge, 2003). The introduction to this edition contains novel perspectives on the activities of the Intronati. 3 Rita Belladonna, Alessandro (Ottawa, Dovehouse Editions, 1984), 5. 4 These are, in fact, the words chosen as an appropriate translation of the title, Les contens, given to the French play by Odet de Turnèbe that was based on the Alessandro. 5 Alessandro, 10.

Alessandro L’Alessandro A Prose Comedy

Dramatis Personae vincenzio an old man from Pisa cornelio son of Vincenzio, in love with Lucilla querciuola servant to Cornelio furbetto errand-boy to Cornelio lampridia i.e., aloisio, believed to be Vincenzio’s niece niccoletta chambermaid to Lampridia, in reality a procuress fortunio i.e., lucrezia, in love with Lampridia messer fabrizio a doctor of law messer lucrezio a Sicilian gostanzo naspi an old man from Pisa, in love with Brigida ruzza servant to Gostanzo lucilla daughter to Gostanzo, in love with Cornelio captain malagigi a boastful captain fagiuolo servant to the Captain brachetto errand-boy to the Captain angela a procuress brigida wife to the Captain alessandro friend to Cornelio fracassa mute character picca mute character

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First Prologue My fair ladies, I have been sent here by your Intronati to deliver a prologue to their comedy. But it won’t be all full of merry jokes – you know the kind – like deliberately misinterpreting the plot, or giving a lot of elaborate explanations which lead nowhere at all. That used to be the case in the good old days, when the Intronati wrote lots of plays for you. Now they are in no mood to joke because of a little grudge, indeed, a rather serious complaint they have against you. You must have been wondering why the Intronati, having failed to pay their accustomed homage to you for such a long time, have now decided to write a play for you. Allow me to tell you briefly the reason for their long silence, why they have suddenly made up their minds to reappear, and something about the plot, and then I’ll be finished. I trust that your courtesy will be such that you will deign to listen with unfailing attention. The Intronati, my dear ladies, were born from the seeds of your beauty, they throve on the milk of your graces and, by your favour, they gradually reached the peaks to which you inspired them to climb. Small wonder, then, that for many years they strove to praise and exalt you with unremitting effort, sometimes in verse and sometimes in prose, doing their best to entertain you in different ways according to the season of the year, and never allowed themselves to forget the good taste and propriety which have rendered them famous. But it so happened that some of you began to enjoy a kind of entertainment very different from anything that the Intronati had to offer. Instead of poems and speeches, sacrifices,1 plays, and similar things, some ladies gradually began to enjoy – forgive me if I’m blunt – vulgar buffoonery, horseplay, and other nonsense which they had severely condemned before. A few members tried to warn them, to dissuade them from indulging in trifles so rough and so unworthy of them. Their hearts were broken at the thought that, by persisting in such behaviour, those ladies would shortly dim the fame that Siena enjoys throughout all Italy of abounding in women who are not only beautiful, but also modest and wise. But their advice grew daily less effective so that, in order to avoid utter futility, the Intronati decided to let this unfortunate matter follow its course until such time when the ladies themselves would realize their mistake. A few months ago, most gentle ladies, the Intronati noticed that things were going a little too far. They were filled with pity and, so as to prevent the danger that this infection might spread to all of you, they held a meeting at which they decided to resume their public explanations of poetic texts, their speeches, poems, and all the

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forms of entertainment which had been discontinued, so as to give you one last chance. Since it is Carnival, they are now presenting this comedy to you. Yet they declare that if it fails to help you to regain your previous reputation and to reinstate them in your favour, they will wash their hands of the whole matter. With tears in their eyes they will see you fall into the hands of those who paw you openly and disrespectfully at parties2 and in the streets, without an ounce of regard for your dignity. Then the gentlewomen of Siena will reach their nadir, for they have never been less respected and admired. That will stab the Intronati to the heart, since it has been their constant aim to honour you and to take the greatest care never to utter a single word that might damage your reputation. That will do for the first part of the message which I was charged to deliver. As for the play, it is full of the propriety required merely by your presence. It will not only entertain the audience, but also be invaluable to all those who will take it into proper consideration. On the one hand, people of all sorts will be able to derive models for their own behaviour from it. Fathers will learn to be not too strict, but reasonably lenient towards their sons. Sons, on the other hand, will learn to be obedient and respectful. Old men will give up their greed for gold and their lack of discretion towards the young. Masters will learn not to trust all their servants blindly. Young men burning with love’s desires will not rashly set their honour and lives at stake. Women will adorn their beauty with chastity and gentleness. In a word, all kinds of people may derive some advantage from it. Now, my ladies, you may object that there are some people in Siena who claim that plays ought to be condemned. Please, don’t allow yourselves to be deceived by those know-alls!3 Do you realize what sort of people they are? They are prating oracles, sanctimonious sages who overflow with ignorance and ill-will, trusting in their old age to the respect inspired by their white beards. They busy themselves all day with maligning this person and that one at the drapers and in the streets. But let me tell you, if that is what their crass ignorance prompts them to say, there are plenty of Intronati available to show them with good reason and with the support of authorities and examples that comedies are extremely useful and important to society, and that authors have often been commissioned to write them in powerful republics, in kingdoms, and in every well-ordered state. They can explain how plays first came to be written, for what reasons, and how they were adapted in various ways in the course of the centuries. However, to explain such things to those fools would be a waste of time, since they know absolutely nothing about the importance of poetry or drama or, indeed, of anything learned and

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moral. Even if they were to spread such slander out of sheer spite, there will always be some Intronati ready to expose all the errors of their malice and to reveal all the venomous thoughts which lurk in their minds. There are those among them who boast they have washed a poor man’s feet or that they have evaluated a girl’s abilities in order to find her a good match. Nevertheless, they are unable to achieve any fame by their wits and have thus used their malice to attain it in public and private life, practising hypocrisy and filling their own pockets at the same time. Some others will say that while the comedy is being played, it would be better to say the Lord’s Prayer and the Salve Regina several times over, just as if our souls, while they are clad with earthly matter, could live like angels in perennial contemplation, without some relaxation for the spirit which sustains life. If such relaxation is honest, like plays, for instance, I just cannot see why those hypocrites should condemn it. Ha, ha, ha! Shall I tell you how I know I’m right? I thought that at this time of day they would all be at evening prayers at Santo Spirito.4 Yet I can see about two dozen of them who have come here to see our play. Welcome to you! You claimed that plays were so disgusting. What is the reason for this change? Ladies, I could swear, if you look at them carefully, you will find they are more keen on having fun than anyone else. But what worries me most is that such hypocrites have infected some of you with their contagion. Among the gentlewomen of Siena, who used to be the wisest and wittiest in the world, some have become so foolish as to urge the Intronati to donate their budget for plays to some fat friar, so that he can read to them the edifying rules of his order,5 or flaunt a better pleated, more sweet-smelling frock. Those ladies fail to realize that it is much more useful to see a play than to hear the sermons of some vain affected friar, who will fill people’s heads with trickery and heresy. They are the same ladies who add that they would rather die than take part in such frivolities and who make other equally absurd, foolish remarks. What sibyls of our times, what lofty prophetesses!6 How I wish they could hear me. I’d give them a scolding they would remember for the rest of their lives. But what do I see? Some of them have come here to see the play! Ho, ho, ho! They pretended to be so reluctant! Now I don’t need to discuss the matter with them any further; by coming here they have passed implicit judgment on themselves. But let us return to our main purpose. This play, my ladies, is called Alessandro, even though he does not appear very often. I’ll tell you why some other time. For the moment, it will be enough to say that it is not without a reason. In order to prevent complaints, I’ll tell you beforehand

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that although this play is very proper, yet it deals with love. If there are any among you who do not wish to be present when love is being talked about, let them leave before the play begins, so that their stomachs do not turn at the mere sound of the word —simple souls that they are, who haven’t got enough wit to understand that there is nothing holier among men than love, without which not only mankind, but the whole world, would sink into nothingness! So, let those who have lost the taste for it leave. —I am waiting for them to leave and yet they don’t move. It’s just as I thought: they want to look as wise as the other ladies. Among the many useful things to be learnt from our play, the following is not the least important: that not only young and old people are subject to love, but also children, who appear to suck a sort of liking for each other with their milk, a liking which, as the children grow up, becomes imperishable in their minds. So that you may follow the plot better, let me ask you to imagine for today that you are in the city of Pisa. A certain Vincenzio lives here. Besides a son, whose name is Cornelio, he also has a man named Aloisio from Sicily in his house, who passes himself off as a woman and is believed by Vincenzio to be his niece, Lampridia. There is also Lucrezia, likewise from Sicily, believed to be a man and known as Fortunio; she is a page in the household of Monsignor Fieschi7 and is in love with Lampridia, whom she thinks to be a woman. The characters themselves will explain what they are doing and why they are in disguise. Here lives also Gostanzo Naspi, whose daughter is loved by Cornelio. There is also a captain. You will see for yourselves what will happen and how these love relations will turn out. Meanwhile I’ll step aside to make room for Vincenzio. He’s coming on stage as I speak, accompanied by a Sicilian professor of law, who is teaching at Pisa this year.

Prologue for the second time the play was performed Dear ladies! —Let all these gentlemen forgive me if I am not addressing them in particular. It has always been customary for the Intronati to address you and this matter concerns you only. —We are here to perform our play a second time at the request of many of you, and because we were told to do so by those who had enough authority to command such a performance. On the occasion of the first, Fortune, which presides so often at these events, joined in inciting certain young men to forgo their manners – although I’m not sure the blame is not to be laid on your beauty. These fellows, enamoured of your looks, thought they

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could increase their enjoyment by closer contact. They pressed around you at the entrance to such an extent that some of you must have felt embarrassed at being the centre of so much attention. Then they came pouring into the hall unhampered by torches, candelabra, or benches. You’ll remember the uproar which ensued. The Intronati were grieved by these events, since their only intention had been your pleasure. Their reward for repeating the comedy is your willingness to punish the rudeness of those scoundrels by refusing to look at them, by clapping your shutters in their faces, by treating them to silence for four days together. Let them learn at their own cost to be more discreet in future. The play itself remains unchanged. Not that the Intronati are so arrogant that they would not have followed some well-meant suggestions, but not a single gentleman has appeared to offer any. They have never been too proud to learn from those who could teach them, but nothing worthwhile has reached their ears, except the advice of a few pedants who, having learned nothing but how to strum on a psaltery, have taken it upon themselves to say that so-and-so came on the stage the same way he left, that one character was too tall, that another one should have said a few words in Latin, and such like nonsense. That’s just typical of those who, never having so much as glanced through the dramatis personae in Plautus’s plays, now want to dictate rules for the writing of comedies. Some others say that Captain Malagigi should have obtained some satisfaction, or at least that he should have made peace with the old man, and that there should have been some peasant8 or parasite, without whom a comedy is not worth the name. Alas, poor men, how their ignorance leads them astray! I’ll wager they don’t even know how to spell the word comedy, much less know the difference between comedy and tragedy. Let those people come to our Academy, where we’ll show them that in order to pass judgment on such matters one needs to have read much more than one of Aretino’s plays.9 We shall put them through an eight- or ten-year course including the study of Boethius’s teachings on literature, and particularly on rhetoric and poetry.10 There are also others who, apparently prompted by their keen interest, have asked whether there are alternative ways to make love which could be taught in a play. The Intronati will say nothing to them except that, if they knew why comedies were originally created and accepted in republics and in well-ruled principalities, they would not ask such silly questions. They would know that comedies are meant to be a mirror to human life, by means of which all vices are exposed so that, once known, they may be avoided.11 Some people will object that this play is too bitingly critical. We’ll leave them

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unanswered, since that objection has been raised only by those who have seen their own faults criticized and whose injuries cannot heal unless they smart a little. Those who are free from the same faults are not annoyed. On the contrary, they loved to see our play because, being wise, they like to see errors attacked and eventually suppressed. There will also be some people who, not knowing the reason why we are performing the play again, will object that by doing so we are diminishing its value. Yet if they have any common sense, they will realize that such is not true and that Terence had his Hecyra, one of his best comedies, performed not only once, but two or three times, since the performance had undergone an interruption, without the play’s losing any of its value for that reason.12 So that you may follow the plot better, let me ask you to imagine that, for today, you are in the city of Pisa. A certain Vincenzio lives here. Besides a son, whose name is Cornelio, he also has a man named Aloisio from Sicily in his house, who passes himself off as a woman and is believed by Vincenzio to be his niece, Lampridia. There is also Lucrezia, likewise from Sicily, believed to be a man and known as Fortunio; she is a page in the household of Monsignor Fieschi and is in love with Lampridia, whom she thinks to be a woman. The characters themselves will explain what they are doing and why they are in disguise. Here lives also Gostanzo Naspi, whose daughter is loved by Cornelio. There is also a captain. You will see for yourselves what will happen and how these love relations will turn out. Meanwhile, I’ll step aside to make room for Vincenzio, who is now entering the stage accompanied by a Sicilian professor of law, who is teaching at Pisa this year.

ACT I Scene i vincenzio, an old man, and messer fabrizio, a professor of law

vincenzio: In short, Messer Fabrizio, you must forgive me if I’m perhaps more importunate than I should be. Children are too great a responsibility, particularly for those who have only one son, as I do. I felt very happy when I heard you had obtained a chair at our newly reorganized University of Pisa.13 Because of our long friendship going back to when you came here to study as a boy, I have hoped that you

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would be able to help my son, not so much with your lectures as with your good advice. If only you could succeed in persuading him to give up the sort of life he’s been leading for so many months! messer fabrizio: Don’t you worry, Vincenzio. I’ll do my best to help you in this matter, and I have reason to believe I’ll succeed. Cornelio seems to me a bright young man full of common sense. There is every hope that he will improve with the passing of time. vincenzio: My boy is gifted by nature and I know I’m not too biased in his favour to judge him fairly. I could not even begin to tell you what wonderful reports I’ve had about his conduct during the two years he was at the University of Salerno.14 When he came back home, he was so hard-working, obedient, and virtuous that my heart melted with joy. But ever since he fell prey to this unfortunate love, his habits, his very features, his ways have all changed. messer fabrizio: So your son is in love. No wonder he looks so confused, dazed, pale, and lost in his daydreams. vincenzio: Oh, Messer Fabrizio, how changed he is from what he used to be! Not long ago he had no better friends than his books. He would spend most of his time studying. I can’t begin to tell you how frugal, obedient, God-fearing and loving he was. Now he is quite the opposite. He never touches a book; he is never at home day or night; he doesn’t eat, drink or sleep; he pays no attention whatsoever to what I tell him to do; he squanders every penny he can lay his hands on; he no longer cares for his family, not even for his own father; he despises God and the whole world; he loves just one woman and the servant to whom he confides his troubles. messer fabrizio: A serious problem, indeed. Personally, I thought being in love was the crowning touch to a young man’s virtues and that, even if he happened to be full of the worst faults, love was enough to raise him right up to the stars. Speaking for myself, I know that what little worth there is in me, I owe to the love I once felt for a noble and beautiful woman, one who deserved to have the whole world at her feet. vincenzio: Times have changed. The world is corrupt now, Messer Fabrizio! I remember that once love used to be pure and innocent. It didn’t affect one’s mind and was taken ever so much more lightly. If a girl I loved acknowledged my greeting but once by just a nod of her head, that was reward enough for my devotion – enough for two years of happiness. One would not have dared to expect even a single word unless it had been completely innocent. Nowadays, love has become false and shameless. Young men are no longer satisfied with the

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nods, the glances, and the words of their sweethearts. They worry and complain if they don’t possess them within four days. Love is no longer gentle, but hungry and furious. These lovers squander fortunes, stain their own reputations, waste their time, and shorten their own lives in love intrigues. Nothing else really matters to them. Alas, what a change from the past! Nor is love the only thing that has changed. Everything else in life has degenerated as well. When I was young, sons feared the whip even when they were twenty or twenty-five. Now they aren’t even twelve and they expect to do whatever they darned well please. All I can say is that the world grows worse as it gets older. messer fabrizio: We are the ones who grow old, my dear Vincenzio, and the world lags behind us, as safe and sound as ever. How laughable it seems to me that we old men should so often say: ‘In my time things were like this, in my time one did things in such-and-such a way!’ That is just an opinion which we conceive in our minds. Do you really want to know why the world appears changed to us? It’s because we ourselves have changed. We don’t look at things or listen to others the way we did when we were young. There have always been lovers, both innocent and shameless, just as there have always been and there always will be roses and other spring flowers. Women have longed and will long, have tried and will try, to meet men, and men women, in the springtime of their lives. vincenzio: The tougher is my lot, then, since I’ve got a son involved in such a shameful business that I can expect to see him ruined in no time. messer fabrizio: Who’s this girl he’s in love with? vingenzio: I haven’t been able to find out yet. messer fabrizio: May I give you some advice? Give him a wife. Nothing curbs love so much as a good marriage. I remember that when my father found one for me, I was so much in love already that I thought I’d never be able to endure the presence of any woman except the one I loved. Yet when I began to sleep with her, night after night, new affection crept over me which, by and by, drove away the old one. Feeling you are loved and having someone who coddles you at home makes a lot of difference. I say, the warmth of one’s bed is everything. Even though my wife wasn’t the best-looking in the world, custom made her look more and more attractive to me every day. vincenzio: I’ve thought of all that, but Cornelio seems to me too young to get married. Besides, I’d have liked him to continue his studies for a few more years. Yet, if I could obtain the hand of Gostanzo Naspi’s

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daughter for him, I’d be happy if Cornelio married her. Gostanzo’s a worthless fool, as you know, but he’s rich and noble, and Lucilla, his only daughter – well, she’s praised everywhere as a paragon of virtue. I’ve sounded him out on the subject as tactfully as I can, but he won’t hear of it, and so I’m extremely worried. How I envy those who have no children, like you! I’m sure they must lead a quiet life. messer fabriz1o: Ah Vincenzio, God save you from a life like mine. If you knew what really happened to me, you’d pity me. I do have children, and they are probably much worse off than your son. vincenzio: You amaze me, and all the more so since you’ve never told me anything about them. messer fabrizio: There was no reason to tell you. And besides, it’s no help to me to go back through it all. vincenzio: For our friendship’s sake, I beg you to tell me about the events in your life. messer fabrizio: As you know, I’m a Sicilian by birth. vincenzio: I knew that. messer fabrizio: In 1533 I was driven away from my city for political reasons.15 I entrusted to my brother my four-year-old daughter, Lucrezia, whom I loved with all my heart. Later, after the rising in 1537, I heard that my brother had been declared a rebel and had escaped from the city with her. Since then there has been no news. Every time I remember Lucrezia, my heart breaks with sorrow. I fear she may be dead or worse. vincenzio: I knew nothing about your misfortune and, as a true friend, I’m sincerely sorry for you. I wish there was something I could do to help. messer fabrizio: Nothing can avail in such a case. The best thing one can do is never to think about it. Let’s change the subject. Give your Cornelio a wife, Vincenzio. vincenzio: I will sound out Gostanzo on the matter once more and then make up my mind. messer fabrizio: He has shown considerable respect for me. Would you like me to find out if he can be persuaded? I see him coming this way. vincenzio: If I’m alone with him, I could give it another try on my own first. messer fabrizio: As you wish. In the meantime, there is a public debate at the university that I want to attend. (He leaves)

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Scene ii vincenzio and gostanzo, an old man vincenzio: Good morning to you, Gostanzo. Where are you going so early? gostanzo: On a fool’s errand. Such are the wishes of the one who commands me to do it. vincenzio: You’ve been quite depressed of late. You used to be so cheerful, so full of merry jokes which made all your friends laugh. Now you’ve become the very image of melancholy. What on earth has struck you all of a sudden? gostanzo: I live in anguish. Fortune could not have inflicted anything worse on me. vincenzio: Whatever can be the matter? Perhaps I may be able to help you. gostanzo: No, no, that would be impossible. Imagine the worst that could have happened to me and that’s precisely my problem. vincenzio: You’ve discovered a huge debt to pay? gostanzo: If only that were the reason! Wouldn’t that be lucky! vincenzio: You haven’t picked up ringworm? gostanzo: I’m ill, all right, but not the way you think. vincenzio: Well, tell me the truth. —Surely you haven’t fallen in love? gostanzo: O, my Vincenzio, you’ve guessed! vincenzio: Ha, ha, ha! In love eh? How is that? How can you possibly be in love? gostanzo: What are you laughing at? vincenzio: How can I help myself? A sixty-five-year-old with not a single tooth left in his mouth, Cupid’s target? May I remind you that we are neither of us in the first bloom of our youth any more? gostanzo: Don’t measure others by yourself. Even though I have a white beard, the old desires come over me as powerfully as they did in my youth. vincenzio: So that’s why I’ve seen you gallivanting about lately, all primped up in your skin-tight clothes, treading gingerly on the tips of your toes like a parrot. The old lover, bursting with youthful vigour, all neatly dressed and full of desire! What woman wouldn’t crave to jump in bed with you, longing to slobber all over you, hug and bite you at her will, certain that you couldn’t bite her back any harder? Happy she who will first enjoy your favour! Good God! You ought to be ashamed

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of yourself, you doddering old fool with one foot in the grave, wanting to place yourself in the hands of a woman who will have fun at your expense and make a fool of you, kicking you about like a ball! And who is this beauty who has left you so moonstruck? gostanzo: It’s easy for you to talk, Vincenzio. If you could just see her, I don’t know what you could do to protect yourself. Her sweet little face is so roguish and bewitching, her eyes shine like two little lamps, and her shoulders are so delicately narrow that it’s impossible to see her and survive. I’m so exhausted, so consumed and weakened, that I just can’t stand it any longer. vincenzio: Who can this beauteous nymph be? gostanzo: Do you know Captain Malagigi’s wife? She lives not far from you. vincenzio: Who? That little frog face? Now I’m laughing twice as hard! Ha, ha, ha! gostanzo: I could get mad at you for that. Isn’t she the loveliest woman in Pisa? I’d fight the devil to prove it!16 vincenzio: Well, you’re not going to fight with me, because I’m quite willing to grant you the point. But does she return your affection? gostanzo: Of course she does, but don’t you tell anyone. As far as I can tell, she’s head over heels in love with me, but we haven’t had our chance for a get-together. I never miss an opportunity to court her and send her rich presents. And do you know what? She’s always gracious enough to accept them. vincenzio: I could have told you that! I’m sure she’s much keener to accept your gifts than to have you. There aren’t many women who’ll refuse them, even from a mortal enemy. So if that’s the only sign of her love, you might as well forget it. gostanzo: As proof of her love, that’s nothing. Let me tell you about something that happened the other day, if you promise not to tell. I don’t want to look like I’m boasting. Not long ago, I was sitting on a bench waiting for her to walk down the street, and when she came along, as soon as she got close to me, she crossed over to my side. What do you think of that? v1ncenzio: Fiddlesticks! A sign of love, indeed! How do you know she didn’t do it for some other reason – not to please you, but to suit herself? If the truth be known, I bet there was a mud-puddle or some other obstacle on the other side. gostanzo: By my soul, you’re right! There was some straw which I hadn’t even thought about!

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vincenzio: Oh, there’s your great sign of love. At least you’re more important than a heap of straw! Lovers’ minds are so warped by daydreaming that they only notice what they like. They pay no attention to how things really happen. They imagine the most pleasurable things, which their ladies never even remotely intended. But let’s get back to our subject. Even if this woman were to show you that she loves you and, eventually, she were to grant you what you desire, what do you think you could do to tickle her appetite? When you are in bed with her, I see you just dozing off. gostanzo: I assure you that at certain times of the year, towards March, for instance, if I’ve had a good nap, I feel so revived that if I had a woman beside me at that moment and could stroke her a little and she could stroke me, I could probably do a better job than you think. And March is on its way. I could do not only you-know-what, which is more suited to donkeys than to people and doesn’t really please women all that much, but I could also keep her happy with a thousand caresses and blandishments. I could wheedle her, pinch her, fondle her, and do all the things women like far better than you-know-what. Believe me, that’s the truth. vincenzio: Poor frenzied, love-besotted old man! It almost looks as if you’ve never met a woman before. How many of them do you know who think such endearments worth anything at all, unless they eventually lead to ... you-know-what? A cat would never fool with a mouse if he didn’t expect to eat it in the end; foreplay has its afterplay. Women enjoy sweet words and fondling when they know that better things are coming. Otherwise they find them boring. Besides that, let me tell you something: just as the sun in March is bad because it stirs up the sap but fails to draw it forth, so old men’s caresses are annoying to women because they awaken the appetites without satisfying them. By my soul, it makes me sad to see you so carried away by this whim! Leave her alone! It’s not worthwhile pursuing something that may damage your reputation in the end. gostanzo: Enough of that! Only those who feel the way I do can really understand. But since you’re here, I’ll take the opportunity of talking to you about something that concerns you closely and that I’ve been meaning to mention for days. vincenzio: What’s that? gostanzo: As you know, we’ve been friends for forty years. For that reason, I know you’ll believe what I’m about to say is prompted by my concern for your profit and reputation. You have a niece, Lampridia,

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who is now of marriageable age. If you were to decide it’s time for her to take a husband, I could find you a match whose nobility, wealth, and other virtues would be sure to please you. vincenzio: It’s true that Bellisario, my brother, entrusted me with his daughter before he died and bequeathed her a dowry of four thousand gold ducats, but upon conditions – that I never urge her to marry and that the four thousand ducats are to be hers whether she marries or not. Because of her goodness and modesty, I love her as a daughter. Sometimes I’ve given her a hint that she ought to marry, but she invariably answers that she’d rather wait a year or two. I tell you I’ve never seen a more pious, wise, and determined woman. And because it’s her wish, I’d rather not mention the subject again for a while. gostanzo: All young girls say so out of shame, but they really want exactly the opposite. When they’re past thirteen, what can they do without a husband? Would you rather they looked for fun elsewhere and brought shame upon their parents? Do you know what my late father used to say, God rest his soul? ‘Unless you catch them when they’re young, their chastity is all undone.’ vincenzio: If you only knew this girl’s firmness of character as well as I do, you’d be amazed. I’ve never seen a woman with a more manly spirit. I don’t think there would be any point in mentioning the subject again for the time being. But since we’re talking about marriage, why is it you won’t allow Lucilla, your daughter, to marry my Cornelio? What prevents you from giving your consent? gostanzo: I’d love to say yes. But I’ve told you many times I can’t, and I’m not at liberty to tell you the reason. Rest assured that if it were possible, I’d agree. You’ll soon know why. vincenzio: If you really wanted them to marry, you’d clear the way. But at least help me to find some good wife for my Cornelio. I’ve decided he must get married. gostanzo: I’ll see what I can do to help you. I have to go now. I can’t eat until I’ve first seen my lady. (He exits) vincenzio: (Aside) Farewell, my gallant young lover. I hope you won’t be sorry too soon. I’ll go to Mass and then to Mirandola’s house early enough not to keep my friends waiting too long for dinner. (He exits)

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Scene iii lampridia, that is, aloisio in disguise, and niccoletta, chambermaid to Lampridia lampridia: (Aside) I wonder what news the Sicilian nun at St. Peter’s has received. —Hurry up, Niccoletta! Get your veil and come down! I’m waiting for you at the door. I want to go to the convent as soon as possible. niccoletta: (Inside the house) Just wait a second while I put it on. I’ll be with you in an instant. lampridia: (Aside) O Fortune, how much longer will you continue to mock me? For seven years I have led this miserable life, unknown, far from home, disguised as a woman even though I’m a man, in danger of being killed. It was not enough that my father, banished and outlawed, should have to take me with him in his wanderings, disguising me as a girl for my safety, or that, before his death in France he entrusted me to Bellisario, but you also brought about Bellisario’s death, the only person alive who knew of my past. When Bellisario brought me to Pisa, he claimed me as his own daughter born in France, keeping the secret faithfully even from his own brother Vincenzio to whom he entrusted me before his death. And yet I am always tormented by fear that my real identity may be revealed and that I may run the dangers arising from the price which was put on my head. But what’s even worse, for years now I have not heard from my dearest Lucrezia, whom I fell in love with as a child and whom I will always love so long as I live. O Lucrezia, Lucrezia, I adore you so deeply! How can I ever know whether you still love me or have forgotten me for someone else? So long as I live, whether you are alive or dead, I will never love any other woman. If I could only know that your feelings towards me have not changed, how happy I would consider myself, even in the middle of all my sorrows! —Hurry up, Niccoletta! You are such a dawdler! niccoletta: (Inside the house) I’ll be right there, Lampridia! I’m doing up my shawl. lampridia: (Aside) I’m dying to go and talk to the nuns. One of them comes from my own native city in Sicily and she’s received news about some kind of uprising which has taken place. If only that means the rebel party is now safe! This morning I’m going to inquire into the matter, but cautiously because I don’t want anyone to suspect my real identity. Isn’t it odd that Monsignor Fieschi’s courtier, the one who

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is in love with me, hasn’t walked past my house yet? His looks bear a vague resemblance to my Lucrezia, so I can’t help being partial to him. niccoletta: (Coming out of the house) Excuse me for taking so long. To tell you the truth, I also wanted to put on some make-up. After all, I’m not on the shelf yet and I take more interest in my lovers than you do in yours. lampridia: Oh, you’ve rubbed the stuff right into your skin! Now your face is all full of spots! I’ve never seen anything more revolting! Anyway, let’s hurry up. I want to go right away and talk to my cousin, Sister Rosetta. niccoletta: Well, Lampridia, what shall we do about Fortunio? Shall we let him die for your sake? What am I to tell him if I meet him? lampridia: What I’ve already told you lots of times. Tell him to mind his own business. He’s wasting his time with me. niccoletta: Yet you’ve admitted to me that you like him. lampridia: I don’t like him for what he is, but because he resembles a girl in France I used to be very fond of. nicc0letta: So will you let him despair, hang himself and die for your sake? lampridia: He won’t hang himself. How many men have you met in your life who have hanged themselves for love? niccoletta: Lampridia, you don’t know this one! I tell you there have been times when I’ve barely stopped him from throwing himself into the Arno out of sheer despair. He burns with love and he’s almost dying. He’s so inflamed by passion that he can find no rest. lampridia: Perhaps he really should throw himself into the Arno if he’s burning like that. But let him sizzle as much as he likes, I could never love him. niccoletta: A generous woman indeed! And a gentlewoman at that! Such cruelty would hardly befit a rough peasant girl, let alone a girl of noble blood such as you. In what does nobility of heart shine most brightly if not in responding to love?17 Not to mention the fact that this lover of yours, as I’m told, is of noble birth, even though he serves at another man’s court. He’s handsome, wise, discreet, and deserves to be loved by a queen. Whom would you rather love? Some miserable wretch? Some dim-witted piece of Adam’s flesh?18 lampridia: I’ll love neither this man nor any other. If I were to love someone, it wouldn’t be him. niccoletta: Why ever not? lampridia: Because he’s from another city. I understand that as soon as

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a woman gives a stranger even the slightest sign of affection, he brags about it right and left. Once he gets back home, he reveals everything. He could go around saying, ‘In Pisa I did or said this and that, with this girl and that one,’ without realizing that our reputations are at stake. niccoletta: You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s not that sort of man. lampridia: Enough of that! If you only knew ... niccoletta: All I know is that you are young and beautiful and that you shouldn’t be wasting the best years of your life without tasting the joys of love. Just try it, try it but once and I assure you that you won’t be disappointed. What’s the purpose of beauty? To waste away among the dust and cobwebs? Just make up your mind not to lose these years! Believe me, every day is worth an age. I was young too, and I played hard to get for a long time. Now am I ever sorry, and I’ll continue to be sorry for as long as I live. Shame! A lovely young woman sleep alone? Or worse have to play with herself alone? God help us! Make up your mind once and for all. Don’t hesitate! Since Fortune has made it possible for you to meet such a good-looking young man, make sure you enjoy his love! It’s not that you can’t find a chance to see him or that you’d have to ask him to climb on roofs or over walls like a cat or a squirrel, as other girls must do. Any time you wish to see him, I’ll put him in your bedroom so secretly that not even the air will know. lampridia: You’re wasting your time. A young man’s love is the last thing on my mind. niccoletta: You’re a real fool! Excuse me, but I think I know the reason. You know you’re beautiful, young, and desirable, and you behave arrogantly, forgetting that your beauty and youth will not last forever. You’ll only find out when you get to be forty or fifty, all wrinkled up, sallow-skinned, stale and rancid. Not even cats or dogs will bother to come near you. Then you’ll be sorry, but it’ll be too late. You’ll have to beg, whereas now they beg you. Poor thing! Think about what you’ll be, not about what you are. Remember that the joys one tastes in one’s youth are delightful and pleasant before, during, and after one enjoys them, because of the sweet memories of that certain day. How many middle-aged women I know, who only wish they could have a good time! Well, make hay while the sun shines! Maybe you’re afraid or ashamed, like so many fainthearted fools? But why be daunted by something that’s not frightening at all? What do you think there is to it? Lots of girls indulge. The more sanctimonious they appear the more affairs they enjoy; they simply know how to

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keep them secret. They don’t boast, like some other little fools who squander their chances or run into scandal. But with wits like yours, you can hide more important things than this. What do you think? Will you make up your mind? Will you do it? lampridia: You’re wasting your time. Here’s the convent. Go back home, do whatever you have to do there, and come back for me in an hour. (Goes into the convent ) niccoletta: Yes, yes, I’ll be back. (She exits) Scene iv cornelio, a young man, and alessandro, his friend cornelio: (Aside) Querciuola isn’t back yet. I shudder at the thought that Lucilla, cruel as usual, may have refused the gift I sent her. Yet for some days I’ve noticed something in her which has inspired me with a glimmer of hope. Oh Lord! How strange it is that I should pursue one who runs away, love one who hates me, and beg one who will not listen! I have been courting this ungrateful girl for a year already, as faithfully and loyally as can be expected from a lover, yet she grows more hard and cruel every day. She has never condescended to read my letters, accept my gifts, or do anything at all to please me. I’ve pleaded with her to hear just a few words as a last wish, yet she won’t even deign to do that. Ah women, women, how pitilessly you mock me! I’ll go and talk to my dear Alessandro and pour forth some of my sorrow, although I have no intention of following his advice. But here he is. alessandro: (Aside) What a day that lunatic Messer Domenico has picked for a debate! I’ll try to drag Cornelio to it. cornelio: Where are you off to, Alessandro? alessandro: I was coming to fetch you to go to Messer Domenico’s debate. cornelio: I’ve got other fish to fry. alessandro: My dear Cornelio, it’s beginning to be a little shameful for you to spend your life so enslaved by a woman. cornelio: It’s not your advice I want, but rather to pour out my lament to you. alessandro: As your loyal friend, I’m compelled to tell you what I think. How can my heart not break when I remember the expectations you raised in this city – back when there wasn’t a more hard-working, better behaved, and wiser young man than you. And to see you now,

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in your present condition, not caring for your family, friends, studies, reputation, property, life, or anything else any more! And for what reason? Because of a woman who, even if she were the loveliest and wisest in the whole world, would hardly deserve such sacrifice. In fact, there are at least a dozen women in this city who are better than she is. cornelio: To find fault with her is to wound me. alessandro: It’s you I’m blaming, not her, since you’re so foolish as to neglect yourself in order to follow her around to no purpose. cornelio: Perhaps it won’t be in vain forever. Can’t you see that if one day I could be lucky enough to call her mine, I’d be happier than any prince in Italy? alessandro: O the folly of young men in love! To begin with, let me tell you plainly that she’ll never be yours, precisely because you deserve her so much. You’ll court her for twenty years, and all for nothing. And in the end, someone your inferior will win her favour in less than a couple of weeks. You don’t know what women are really like. The more they see a man dying and wasting away for them, the more they turn up their noses and play hard to get. Then they’ll lavish smiles and kindnesses upon someone who’s unworthy of the dirt under your feet. O Lord, how I fear that one day you may be sorry you wasted your time seeking her favour! And when you realize it wasn’t worth it, your blood will boil with rage. But let’s suppose she deigns to show some regard for you – impossible though it is, despite your deserving – what will you have gained? Do you really think you’ll obtain her pure and sincere love? If so, you’re deceiving yourself. Love can only be repaid with love, which she’ll never grant, not even for hours, much less for months. Have you not come across cases of young men who have fallen in love with such women in this city? Just look at the wonderful results they’ve obtained! Leave her alone, my friend; abandon such foolishness and go back to your noble pursuits. cornelio: It’s easy for you to talk. But I just can’t think of a worthier achievement than to conquer the heart of a woman such as the one I love, even if it were a kingdom or an empire. Still, I forgive you, knowing you’ve never experienced the power of love, the greatest force in the universe. alessandro: On the contrary, I’ve experienced it. That’s precisely why you ought to believe me. If you only knew the things I’ve done and the time I’ve wasted, all for a woman’s sake, you’d be amazed. I’m ashamed even to think about it, and if I could go back ten or twelve years, I would do the opposite of what I did then. I could never get her

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to love me any more than I love the cook who prepares my meals. I didn’t realize it then, but I do now, in spite of myself. cornelio: Perhaps you were unlucky enough to meet a woman who didn’t deserve you, but they aren’t all like that. alessandro: I will say nothing except that I firmly believe this Lucilla to be just like my woman. She resembles her in her looks and, I fear, in her behaviour, too. cornelio: Well, love will help me. I’m in love and I neither can nor will give up loving. I beg your advice on how to achieve my goal. alessandro: You’ve urged her, cajoled her, given her gifts, served her, courted her, and all for nothing so far. I just don’t know what else you can do. How are things at the moment? cornelio: To tell you the truth, for some days I’ve perceived something unusual in her, which has led me to suppose she may be slightly more favourably inclined than she used to be. alessandro: Take care not to deceive yourself. Lovers always wear masks which make them look different from what they really are. cornelio: I’ll soon know. I’ve told Querciuola to take her another present this morning. Who knows? Perhaps she will condescend to accept it. I’m on tenterhooks. I wonder why he’s not back yet. alessandro: I don’t know what else to say. My life and all I own are at your service. Just tell me what you need. I’ll have to go now, since you’re not coming to the debate. cornelio: I can see Querciuola coming this way and he looks happier than usual. I must talk to him. Good-bye, Alessandro. alessandro: Good luck to you! (He exits) Scene v querciuola, servant to Cornelio, and cornelio querciuola: (Aside) I’ve such good news from Lucilla for my master that I almost feel as if I were about to tell him he’s been created a bishop. cornelio: Querciuola, my boy, what’s the good news that makes you look so happy? querciuola: Give me a good tip, master! I’ve a letter bearing the Pope’s seal by which you are named a bishop. cornelio: Plague on bishoprics! Tell me, what’s the news from my Lucilla?

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querciuola: Very good, excellent, the best you can expect! But I must get a good reward. cornelio: Take whatever you like from the house. I’m yours and so is everything I have in the world. But tell me, dear Querciuola! querciuola: What can I say? Lucilla is yours. She’s even more inflamed and consumed by love than you are. She took your gift and kissed it a thousand times under my very eyes. cornelio: She can’t have changed so suddenly! You are making fun of me! querciuola: What do you mean? I tell you it’s true. Her previous strange behaviour towards you was only meant to test you. cornelio: Oh happy me! Oh joyous day! What do I hear? Am I awake or dreaming? I cannot endure so much happiness! querciuola: (Pointing at his purse) Guess what I have here? cornelio: Is that a gift from her? querciuola: Much better. cornelio: What can be better than that? I know she can’t be in your purse. querciuola: Off with your cap, make a low bow! (Giving him a letter ) Here, take this. Now you’ll know what she thinks. This is a letter from her. cornelio: Oh my most fortunate life! How can my lady be sending me a letter? O Lord! I can’t untie the string! Have you got a knife? querciuola: No, I haven’t. Slowly, slowly, master! You’ve tied a knot in it now. cornelio: Now it’s open! My heart and voice both tremble at the thought of reading it. (He reads) Lucilla’s love letter to Cornelio Cornelio, my beloved, I thank God for your constancy. I put you to the test with my pretended indifference, and you have proven yourself to be a steady and worthy gentleman. If things had gone otherwise, I would have killed myself with my own hands, for I couldn’t have lived without you. Yet I couldn’t surrender myself to a vain, changeable man. I have loved you since the first day I discovered your love for me. Day by day this flame has grown, and now I must save myself from its all consuming fire. As a reward for my love, it’s enough for me that you should love me. Since you wish to talk to me and I wish to please you, I must tell you there’s

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no other way except to arrange, if you can, for my father to be busy somewhere away from home today. Then you can come to the back of my house where there’s an old empty building. With a rope-ladder you can climb up to the grating on my bedroom window. When you come, whistle the signal which Querciuola will teach you. I shall add nothing else. Be happy and love me. —O most fortunate letter, what a joy it is to kiss you again and again! Now we have to plan some trick to keep the old man, Gostanzo, away from home, all day if possible. querciuola: That’ll be easy. He’s an old fool, so it won’t be too hard to deceive him. I have proof of his stupidity. He’s in love with Brigida, the Captain’s wife. In fact, she’s in love with me, and yet I pretend to convey messages for Gostanzo so as to gain freer access to his house. I do it all for your sake. Brigida and I laugh together at the silly old dotard. I hope we’ll find some way to help you. cornelio: I’ll tell Alessandro to get the rope-ladder ready. After dinner we’ll go. Meanwhile, you take care of this matter. Plan some trick to keep Gostanzo away from home. Come at noon to let me know. (He exits) querciuola: Leave it to me, and I’ll be back shortly. (Aside) Now let me plan some foxy trick to cheat the old geezer. Something or other will come to mind. But first I have to find him. No problem there. Just go and have a look around Brigida’s house. I’ll bet he’s lurking near by. People who linger on women’s doorsteps and prate on and on about their infatuations drive me crazy! (He exits) Scene vi captain malagigi, a boastful captain, and fagiuolo, his servant captain: I wonder what on earth the Duke wants from me this morning? fagiuolo: What do you think he wants except to enjoy your company, ask about your great heroic deeds, and worm a little information out of you? captain: You’re quite right. Isn’t it amazing how these noblemen all delight in my conversation? The Marquis of Vasto,19 the Duke of Castro,20 Prince Doria,21 the Duke of Ferrara22 and whoever can get hold of me, they’re all alike. Blessed God! That dear old soul, the late elder Duke of Urbino,23 simply couldn’t live without me! Far be

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it from me to boast, but I assure you that none of the great military deeds he accomplished when he was hired by the Venetians could have been carried out without my advice. Never was there a dispute or a challenge among lords and princes in which I wasn’t consulted. How do you think Signor Cagnino’s case24 could have been so promptly solved if it hadn’t been for me? fagiuolo: Men like you are rare, indeed. I grant I’m unlettered, yet I know full well the radiance of your genius. It is spoken of everywhere. I never walk past taverns, brothels, or gambling houses without hearing someone say: ‘Captain Malagigi did this, Captain Malagigi did that.’ Everyone is struck with admiration by your wisdom. captain: Even though I’m good at counselling, don’t think I’m not brave when it comes to action. By God’s holy bones, I can tell you I don’t feel like myself if a day goes by without taking part in some bloody skirmish. I swear my sword hasn’t gone for such a long time without drinking as it has since I hired you. fagiuolo: What? Do swords drink? captain: One can tell you know nothing of war. Swords maim and kill every day and drink the blood of the slain. fagiuolo: That’s amazing! And what do they eat? captain: Mine feeds uniquely on captains’ hearts. Those of smaller folk eat the legs, backs, and arms hacked to pieces in battle. fagiuolo: Remarkable and astonishing! Mine feeds only on pieces of its own scabbard. Isn’t that curious? I’d never have imagined it. I must admit I don’t know very much about war, but I confess I relish the tales: some doughty or other set forth, arrived, killed his man or wounded him, and other mellifluous sagas, like those you find in epics and romances. But spare me from arriving in the midst of the fray, because talents differ from man to man. Some have a gift for heroic deeds, some just for hearing about them. As soon as I see the gleam of a sword, it makes me feel weak in the knees. captain: Poor miserable coward! Why on earth did you enter my service then? fagiuolo: I thought that if anyone wanted to hurt me, I’d have you there to defend me. Of course, being in the service of Captain Malagigi, no one would ever dream of bothering me. Ha, ha, ha! cartain: That was a good idea. But what are you laughing at? fagiuolo: I’m laughing at that brave deed of yours which you told me about last night, how in Venice you took advantage of a courtesan, stole her gold medal from her, cut off her nose and put it above your bedroom door as a trophy.

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captain: I’ll tell you more stories some other time. fagiuolo: It must be really wonderful to be a captain and to be as brave as you. Among other things, no one in the whole world can have as chaste a wife as yours. captain: Why should that be? fagiuolo: Can’t you see? Who would even dare to look her in the face? captain: You’re right about that. Let me tell you, if I found out that my wife was betraying me, count on my rage. Not because of her, but because of the wound to my honour – what man would dare indeed? Betrayal? I’m utterly indifferent. I’d be a fool to stake my reputation on a woman. A plague on the whole nation of them! But so long as I have this sword on the hip my honour is safe, even if I had a hundred whores for a wife. fagiuolo: Wisely said. (Aside) I like you, I really like your understanding of the whole situation, Messer Booby. captain: Let’s go this way. We’ll reach the Duke’s palace faster. fagiulo: We’re on our way.

ACT II Scene i fortunio as Lucrezia in disguise, and niccoletta fortunio: (Aside) I’ve heard that Lampridia is away from home. I wonder where she’s gone? Alas, what an unhappy life I lead! O Fortune, what a target and toy you have made of me! Others who burn with love, once they’ve overcome their ladies’ cruelty, can at last enjoy their passion. I too love with all my heart. Yet even if I succeed with my devotion in softening Lampridia’s hardened heart, what would I stand to gain? I’m a woman like her, and thus I’m cheating her. Then, when I think that by falling in love with someone else I am betraying Aloisio, my first and eternal love, my heart burns with rage against myself. Ah Fortune, Fortune! It wasn’t enough that my Aloisio was taken away from me seven years ago, a rebel declared and with his father driven from the city, and that I should never hear from him again. But you compelled me to be disguised in men’s clothes, to follow my uncle, to be seized by pirates and, after my uncle’s death, to serve here and there disguised as a man, as everyone now takes me to be. But

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what’s worse, although I could have derived some small comfort to my sorrows from the memory of my Aloisio, now, cruel Fortune, you have made me fall in love with a woman only because she vaguely resembles him. No matter whether she’s merciful or cold towards me, I shall never obtain my true wish. Well, let heaven’s will prevail. I must find out where she is. Here is her maid. niccoletta: (Aside) These silly young girls don’t realize what good times they could have until the time for them is over. fortunio: Where are you coming from, Niccoletta? Where has Lampridia gone so early? niccoletta: I just went with her to St. Peter’s convent. She goes from time to time to visit a relative of hers, the way girls will do. fortunio: So, what’s the news? Will she go on rejecting me as firmly as ever? niccoletta: She’s stubborn and pig-headed and hasn’t changed a bit. I’ve never met a woman of firmer resolve. It’s as though she weren’t a woman at all. fortunio: Perhaps you’re not doing your best to convince her. niccoletta: That’s by no means the case! I’m so willing to please you that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do. It’s not because of the presents you give me, but because I like you, that I’ve tried to help out as best I could. But don’t suppose for a minute that things are not going well because I’m short on know-how! If ever there was an expert at this sort of thing I’m second to none, not even to the procuress in the Via del Porrione.25 Don’t even mention Monna Nanna and Monna Bonda26 to me! I wish they’d both drop dead! I can get better results in an hour than they can in four years. I know all the quirks and tricks of women’s minds. They seldom escape without me getting my way, especially when they’re young. I think there were only two who ever got away, one ten years ago and now this Lampridia. And did I tell you that I got my training from Monna Raffaella?27 You know what kind of mistress she was in this art. You can even read about her in books. Never doubt I’ve done my best for you. And don’t forget, I got myself hired as a maid in this household just to give you a hand. But I can assure you, this girl is more stubborn than any I’ve ever met. fortunio: What’s the reason? Has she got another lover? niccoletta: I’ve seen no signs of that. She doesn’t talk much and she appears to have a brooding disposition. She always looks as if she had some secret worry gnawing at her heart. She heaves deep sighs and keeps to herself as much as she can.

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fortunio: These are all signs of love. niccoletta: That’s true, but not in her case. I don’t know any man in this city she likes. fortunio: Yet, lots of times I’ve had the impression that she doesn’t wholly dislike me. niccoletta: That’s because she says you remind her of a dear friend she had in France. fortunio: Unhappy me! What am I to do? niccoletta: Just forget about her! I can see you’re wasting your time – unless you’re up to a more persuasive approach. fortunio: What’s that? Even if I have to throw myself into the fire, I’ll do it. niccoletta: Let me explain something to you, Fortunio. There are many different kinds of women in this world. Though their natures are basically the same, yet they all have different whims and inclinations. You just have to adapt yourself to them. There are some who are forward and bold and practically take the lead with their lovers. Others delight in being chased by their wooers, giving up intangible favours bits at a time, and so string their admirers along to the point of exasperation. They get their thrills merely in having their adorers fawn over them. But the wiser ones scorn this sort of flirting. They reveal little signs of affection at appropriate moments and, when they can safely talk to their lovers, they bring the whole thing to a happy conclusion, either in their own houses or elsewhere. They want to have an affair while safeguarding their own good name, which depends not on deeds, but on what people believe. Then I know others who are exactly the opposite. Being the talk of the town is worth more than the affair itself. Would you believe they actually boast in public of their liaisons? fortunio: I don’t see what you’re leading up to. niccoletta: You’ll soon find out. But let me finish. There are still others who are shy and never seem to be able to make up their minds. Even though they’d like to make love, yet they’d never say yes if you asked them. But once you lay your hands on them, no sooner have they felt the warmth of your skin or the waft of your breath than, without ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ they do, and let you do, whatever you like. I think that’s the sort of girl Lampridia is. So, if I were you, I’d try to catch her unawares when she’s alone and get with your own hands what you haven’t been able to get by your letters or prayers. I’ll put you safely into her bedroom at a time when no one will hear even if she were to scream. But don’t think she will, oh no! That wouldn’t be like

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her. She is wise and she knows only too well that if she kicked up a row, she’d only ruin her own reputation and become the subject of gossip. Luckily for you, she usually lies down for an hour’s nap in the afternoon. You’ll be able to give it a try while she’s asleep. When she wakes up, she’ll be faced with the accomplished fact and unable to do anything about it. fortunio: Good God! What are you suggesting? I’d never do a thing like that! niccoletta: Why not? What do you think may be the consequence? Is she anything but a woman? fortunio: Suppose she were to get angry? Think of my situation then. Can I run the risk of losing everything for the little I’d have received? niccoletta: Pardon me, but one can tell you’re young. You know absolutely nothing about women. How many have you met who’d get mad over a trick like that? fortunio: Even if I wanted to, it’s too great a risk. niccoletta: If you act like that, you’ll never get anywhere with women. fortunio: My heart trembles at the mere thought. niccoletta: What a dashing courtier you are! Just do as I tell you and everything will turn out perfectly. She won’t budge. She might even pretend to go on sleeping until the whole thing is over. And even if she looks a little angry afterwards, you can be sure she’ll make peace in the end. Get ready for today; I insist you give it a chance. My master is having dinner with some friends. I’ll be waiting for you at the back door. Well? Are you going or not? fortunio: I just can’t. I’ve got my sufficient reasons. niccoletta: But why? Are you afraid your weapon isn’t strong enough for the task? fortunio: That’s not what I mean. It’s enough to say that I don’t want to do it. niccoletta: Nothing’s worse than having to deal with raw beginners. If Lampridia were dealing with a thirty- or thirty-five-year-old, he wouldn’t wait for the invitation. On the contrary, he would beg me to do for him what I’m trying to persuade you to do now. If women followed my advice, they’d never mess about with green adolescents. Most of the time they just give you a lot of trouble with little or no results at all. Well, what have you decided? Will you make up your mind? fortunio: I’m not sure. niccoletta: Do as you like. Personally, I can think of no other way.

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fortunio: Niccoletta, one last favour. Please, wait for me after dinner. If I decide to go, you’ll see me; if I don’t go, never mind. I’ll have to think about it a little longer. niccoletta: All right. I’m going to fetch Lampridia. It must be time now. (She exits) fortunio: I’ll see you later. (Aside) What will you do now, wretched Lucrezia? Will you follow this suggestion or not? If I go to see Lampridia and persuade her to do as I like, will that not be a mockery of her sex? Besides, when people find out that I’m a woman and it becomes known all over Pisa, things will be more dangerous for me here. On the other hand, it would give me great pleasure to be with her and to kiss the face and breast of such a lovely creature. After all, I’m not the first woman who has loved another. She’ll forgive me, and, if I ask her to, she’ll keep it a secret for my sake. So, nothing but pleasure can come from this meeting. I’ll catch her while she’s asleep and then I’ll reveal my identity. She can’t be so indifferent as not to be moved to pity, even though I’m a woman. I’ll go home and after dinner I’ll boldly undertake this deed. (She exits) Scene ii fagiuolo, ruzza, servant to Gostanzo, and querciuola fagiuolo: (Aside) That master of mine, Captain Fathead, is really as dumb as an ox. I wish he’d only be allowed to eat when the Duke really invites him to dinner. It was actually the servant in charge of the pantry who was waiting to talk to him. My master decided to stay there for dinner, even though he only got a very half-hearted invitation. Then he’ll go around saying that he dined at the Duke’s table. He wouldn’t let me go in for fear I might find out that it wasn’t true. It’ll be amusing to hear what he has to say. I really get a laugh out of this fool sometimes! I prompt him to say things that would drive a lunatic raving mad to hear. But here’s Ruzza so red and flushed in the face that he looks like a cardinal. ruzza: Where are you going, you ugly mug? What’s that straw-bully master of yours doing?28 fagiuolo: Oh Ruzza, if you just knew the amazing things I keep finding out about that jackass! ruzza: Tell me, where were the campaigns he served in as captain? fagiuolo: Where? They won’t be found on any maps, I can tell you that.

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I think his title was granted in secret. Lots of doctors and knights are anointed that way nowadays. ruzza: So what kind of a man is he anyway? What’s he good at? fagiuolo: If I told you that he’s best at swearing, I’d be unfair to his dishonesty, and I’d also fail to do justice to his stealing, pandering, heresy, and related qualities – just the usual to be found in great men. To tell you the truth, overlooking those I’ve forgotten, I’d say his lying and boasting are his crowning virtues. ruzza: How can you stand hanging around with him? fagiuolo: Well, for one thing, the dining is tops and the drinking is even better. And then, from time to time, I lie in bed with his wife, who is soft beyond belief, although slightly rough on her bottom. ruzza: You’re such a wicked fellow! My master would give three eyes and two teeth – if he had them – only to give her a kiss. He rants and raves about her. fagiuolo: What on earth possesses that wheezing old fossil to go chasing after women? I’ll get him what he wants for a good enough reward. Anyway, I know he’s not up to doing much damage. ruzza: I’ll tell him that. But I’ve got something else on my mind too. Why don’t we get together for a drink some time, the way we used to? Don’t you remember when we would take Pippetta29 with us, sometimes to your tavern, sometimes to mine, and have some fun with her? Of course, now that you’ve got a bit of skirt of your own, you don’t bother to share with your friends any more. Well, go on, keep her to yourself, but let me tell you something: in the long run, I don’t think women are worth as much as other animals, you know, pheasants, or a good capon. Do these get boring as we grow older? Not a chance. The more the years go by, the tastier they are. Now with women, once you’re past your prime, you’d better give them the slip.30 I don’t know if the same thing happens to you, but speaking for myself, when I’ve been with a woman for two minutes, I wish I could throw her overboard, and I’m not even thirty. fagiuolo: There’s no disputing tastes. I’m older than you, yet I could not even begin to tell you how much I enjoy being with a woman. If she’s plump, nicely rounded and luscious, I dig into her like a pig in the mud. I don’t mean to say I dislike a table piled high with good things to eat, but I don’t mind some fun in bed after dinner, the way they do it in Venice.31 Here’s Querciuola. querciuola: (Aside) How can I be so dim as not to be able to find a way to keep Gostanzo away from home today? Who are these fellows? —Ha, ha, ha! You rogues and vagabonds!

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ruzza: Querciuola, you were the only one missing from our conversation. We need your opinion about something. querciuola: So what topic is on the table? ruzza: This fool here, Fagiuolo, claims that a woman in bed is much better than a well-supplied table. querciuola: Is that what Fagiuolo says? fagiuolo: That’s right. Why? querciuola: You damned idiot! You’ve been keeping company with us for over ten years and you know less now than when you were a kid. A table and a plate full of rich food are worth a hundred women. When will you learn the basic things in life? fagiuolo: Screw you! I enjoy good food and wine as much as you do. As for women, I like them the way I like apples after dinner. querciuola: Well, enough of that. Where’s your master? fagiuolo: When I left him, he was eating in the Duke’s cellar. He sent me to get his spurs because he wants to ride to Lucca32 right away with someone whose name I can’t remember. querciuola: Are you sure? fagiuolo: Sure I’m sure, why? querciuola: Oh, nothing. I was just asking. (Aside) This could serve my purpose. fagiuolo: What did you say? querciuola: I said I’d like to find the man I’m looking for. ruzza: I have to go now. I’ve got several things to do. querciuola: Ruzza, where’s Gostanzo? ruzza: Where do you think he can be? Wandering around the walls of his lady’s house. querciuola: I’m off. Hurry up, Fagiuolo, and bring your master the spurs. fagiuolo: So long, Ruzza. (He exits) ruzza: Until later, my friends. (He exits) querciuola: (Aside) So the Captain’s going to Lucca. That gives me an idea about how to get what I’m after. Here’s Gostanzo. Fortune is smiling on me. I’ll listen to what the old fool is saying. (He steps aside) Scene iii gostanzo and querciuola gostanzo: (Aside) Little does she know I’ve managed to steal a good look at her through the window. What a delightful creature! My shop,

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my house, my vineyard, my reputation, everything I have – what are these things to me now? I’d lose them all for her. But she’s unfair to me, the little traitress! And that Querciuola is a good-for-nothing. He could do a lot more for me if he’d only put his mind to it. querciuola: (Reappearing ) So, I’m a good-for-nothing, am I? That’s what I get for trying to help you, by God! I can’t remember being a bawd for anyone else before. If you’re inclined to listen, I’ll tell you a few of the things I’ve done for you. gostanzo: Ah, Querciuola! I didn’t see you there, or I wouldn’t have been talking like that. Good-for-nothing – that was really meant as a compliment. So what is it you’ve achieved for me? Go ahead and tell me. querciuola: I’ve done things that will make you happier than the King of France. But why should I tell you? The minute you get what you want, you’ll forget all about my reward. gostanzo: You don’t know me. I’ll always remember and I won’t delay the payment. But what’s the good news? querciuola: Your Brigida is all yours for a couple of hours of fun today, if you want. She’s even keener on it than you are, but she’s afraid you’ll stand her up and make a fool of her. g0stanzo: How can she think I’d make a fool of her? I swear by all that’s holy I’d wade in mud up to my knees, or worse, for her sake. By God,33 I tell you I’m so consumed with love that I’m nearly dead! Has she really agreed to be my lover? querciuola: She’s longing to be with you as soon as possible. Luckily, the Captain is riding to Lucca today, so she thinks the best time for you to go and see her will be right after dinner. gostanzo: Hang me if I’m not there on the dot! By the plague, when I get there I want to fondle her all over! querciuola: You’ll need to do a little more than fondling. You’re just going to act like a novice. gostanzo: By my soul, I won’t. Nothing can stop me from doing you-know-what. I’m at my best just after dinner and up to anything. Oh my lovely Brigida, I know just the way I’m going to suck on that dainty, sweet little mouth of yours. O Lord! O, if only I were there already. querciuola: What are you doing? Stop acting like a hungry bloodhound! Make sure you don’t bite her nose off. gostanzo: Come on, it’s time for dinner. I’m going to stuff myself with truffles, horse-parsley, and artichokes.34 querciuola: Wait a second. I haven’t finished yet.

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gostanzo: Now what? Don’t ruin the fun. querciuola: You know what an honest upright woman your Brigida is and how mindful she is of her own reputation. She wouldn’t like anyone to see you going into her house. It’s not exactly proper, you know. gostanzo: If she’s at home and I’m left outside, how can I reach her to bite and kiss her? I’d need a snout like a pig’s. querciuola: I don’t want you to stand outside. But you have to go inside without being yourself. gostanzo: That makes no sense. How can I do that? I just can’t imagine how I’m supposed to go in, except in person. If someone else goes in for me, what fun do I get out of that? querciuola: Beg pardon, but now you’re being thick-headed. I want you to go in, and I’ve already thought of a way to get you there. gostanzo: How’s that? querciuola: There are certain kinds of people, you know, such as needles-and-pins peddlers, chimney sweeps, veil vendors, and locksmiths, who get into ladies’ houses without any suspicion at all. You should dress up like one of them. Then, as you walk past her window, I’d arrange for her to call you. Once you’re inside, you can throw away your disguise and go about your business. gostanzo: What a brilliant idea! You’re truly resourceful. I’ll dress up as a veil vendor because I think it’s the most refined of them all. querciuola: This isn’t the time to consider what’s delicate, when her reputation’s at stake. It would be dangerous for you to dress up as a veil vendor, because you wouldn’t look all that different from the way you do now. Take my advice, dress up as a locksmith. Make your face dirty, put on ragged clothes, carry a few locks and keys on your back, and walk around crying: ‘Hello ladies, who’s got broken keys and locks to mend?’ the way locksmiths do here in Pisa. If I met you dressed like that, I wouldn’t recognize you even if I knew who you were. gostanzo: I wouldn’t mind the cry, but it’s making my face dirty that annoys me. How can I kiss Brigida without making her dirty too? One has to plan every little detail, you know. querciuola: It doesn’t matter. As soon as you’re inside the house, you can wash and clean yourself up until you shine. gostanzo: Wonderful! I can’t think of a better plan! Let’s do it. Get me some locksmith’s clothes and a couple of locks and come back after dinner. But don’t come in through the front door. I don’t want anyone to see you. What would I ever do without you?

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querciuola: Happy to be of service to you. But now I’ve got an errand to run for my master, then I’ll be right back. gostanzo: In the meantime, I’ll go and sprinkle my beard with perfume and wash my face with rose water. querciuola: Ha, ha, ha! Why should you wash your face now when you’ll have to make it dirty with coal in a little while? gostanzo: You’re right. Don’t be surprised. It’s love that makes my mind wander, as usual. Off with you, but come back soon. I’m going home now. (He exits) querciuola: (Aside): This will turn out to be the greatest joke in the world yet. The one played on that crazy old man in the play by the Intronati35 will be nothing to this. I’ll go and see Brigida and make the necessary arrangements with her. Ha, ha, ha! It’s enough to make me laugh even now! (He exits) Scene iv lampridia and niccoletta lampridia: (Aside, outside the convent ) Niccoletta isn’t here yet and it must be dinnertime. O Lord, how thankful I am that the long-awaited moment has come. Now I can dress as a man or as a woman, just as I like, without fearing for my life! If all is true that the Sicilian nun has told me, those who sought to kill me are dead, the ban has been revoked, and everyone can go back home. With such a turn of events, I can reveal my true identity to Vincenzio in a day or two. niccoletta: (Coming out of the convent ) I’m so sorry. I hadn’t noticed you were leaving. lampridia: Whereabouts in the convent were you? I couldn’t find you. niccoletta: I was behind an altar telling my beads. I saw things through a crack in a wall that made me split my sides with laughter. Ha, ha, ha! These nuns are real firecrackers! lampridia: What did you see that was so funny? niccoletta: Well, there was a friar in the vestry who was trying to lay hands on a nun who was behind the grating. Whenever they wanted to kiss each other, they had to squeeze their lips through the holes. Their faces were so much like snouts, you’ve no idea how funny they looked. Eventually the abbess came along and caught them unawares, but she just grinned and passed on. lampridia: Well, let them get on with their lives. That’s none of our business.

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niccoletta: Of course, let them have their little frolic. But I’m not too shy to mention such things. I love doing them myself and take pleasure in the joys of others. lampridia: Enough of that. Is Vincenzio back for dinner? niccoletta: He’s not and he won’t be back. He’s having dinner with some friends of his and I think he’ll be there all day. lampridia: Did you meet anyone in the street? niccoletta: No one, except that poor wretch, Fortunio, who’s ready to throw his life away because of your cruelty to him. lampridia: Then he’ll just have to die. Don’t bother me with that any more. I’ve got other things on my mind this morning. Let’s go in. niccoletta: You’ll be sorry later, but you’ll have only yourself to blame. I’ll follow you. (They go into Lampridia’s house) Scene v cornelio, querciuola, furbetto, errand-boy to Cornelio, and brachetto, errand-boy to the Captain cornelio: (Aside) The rope-ladder is ready in Alessandro’s house, along with everything else I need. How much easier it would be if I could get ready at home. What a bother it is to have a father! And I’m worried that Querciuola won’t find a way to keep Gostanzo away from home for the rest of day. querciuola: (Aside) Things are turning out perfectly. Here’s my master. —Good morning, Cornelio. cornelio: Well, Querciuola, how are things going? querciuola: They couldn’t be better. I’m just back from talking to Brigida and we’ve planned the most incredible joke to keep Gostanzo out of the house. cornelio: Excellent news. So what’s the plan? querciuola: Captain Malagigi won’t be in Pisa today, so I’ve made Gostanzo believe that the Captain’s wife is willing to spend some time with him, that she’ll be waiting for him after dinner. And I’ve made him dress as a locksmith to safeguard her reputation. She’ll call him from an upstairs window and, as soon as he’s in, I’ll barricade the door from the outside. He’ll look all over the house and find no one, till Brigida locks him in her bedroom. He won’t have a clue what’s happened to him. She can get to a neighbour’s house through a loggia where she’ll stay until evening. Later we’ll unlock the doors and tell

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him that it was all because of a brother of hers who never left the house all day.36 Gostanzo thinks donkeys can fly, so he’ll swallow the whole story. cornelio: What a great trick! It’ll work like a charm. I’ll head over to Alessandro’s place right after dinner and together we’ll go to Lucilla’s. We’ll take the rope-ladder as planned. Alessandro wanted to ride to Siena to take in the frolicsome comedy which the Intronati are putting on for Carnival, but I’ve prevailed upon him to stay. querciuola: That’s true. I was there a few days ago on an errand for your father and saw them working at full speed. The Intronati are more flourishing now than ever. They’ve just moved back into their old quarters in San Giusto.37 cornelio: Where? In such a fine street as that? querciuola: Right there. Now that, by the Lord, is a lovely neighbourhood! cornelio: But what were we saying before? querciuola: Why don’t you leave from your own house? Wouldn’t that be easier for you? cornelio: I’d rather not for fear of my father. I don’t want him to find out. querciuola: Your father won’t be back till late. He’s dining out with some friends. cornelio: That’s great! I’ll ask Alessandro to come and have dinner with me and to bring along with him everything we need. Furbetto! furbetto: (Upstairs) Yes, sir? cornelio: Come downstairs! furbetto: Here I am, sir. cornelio: Run to Alessandro’s house ... Come back here! Where are you going? furbetto: I’m running to Alessandro’s house. cornelio: What are you going to do there? furbetto: I don’t know, sir. cornelio: You little devil! Tell him I’ll be expecting him for dinner, that my father is dining out, that he should bring everything we’ll need, and to come through the back door. furbetto: All right, sir. (Aside, singing ) La, la, lala, la, la lala, lala, la. cornelio: (To Querciuola) Let’s go in. (They exit ) brachetto: ‘Rain, rain, go away. Come back another day.’38 furbetto: Pooh, pooh, pooh pooh pooh, What a lovely song, boo! brachetto: All I needed was to meet you, faggoty boy!

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furbetto: That’s a nice play-gun you have. Do you want to sell it? brachetto: Yes, I do. furbetto: Take it to the market-place, then! Ha, ha! I caught you there! So Brachetto, can I try it just once, huh, please! brachetto: No, I don’t want you to. furbetto: I’ll give you a chestnut. brachetto: Is it roasted? furbetto: Roasted, it is. Here. brachetto: Give it to me. Here’s the gun. furbetto: I need some cherry-pits to shoot. brachetto: No, no! I use paper pellets. furbetto: Give me some paper, then. brachetto: Here’s a piece. furbetto: That’s too little! Give me some more. brachetto: Well then, take this. Roll it up into a small ball. Be careful not to force the action. furbetto: If I could only get a woman right between the eyes, wouldn’t that be nifty? (He shoots) Just listen to that shot! This thing works really well, so I’m not giving it back to you! (He runs away) brachetto: Where are you going? Give me back my gun! furbetto: Nothing doing! brachetto: You can’t do this to me! furbetto: (Returning the gun) So, here you are, pansy boy! brachetto: Oh no, you’ve broken the hammer inside! I’ll make you pay for this! furbetto: You scumbag! brachetto: You vermin! (He exits) cornelio: (Aside, inside the house) Listen to that noise coming through the window; Furbetto must still be here. (Appearing outside, to Furbetto) Are you still around, you little bastard? Go and do what I told you to do, right now! (Furbetto exits) Querciuola! querciuola: Yes, sir? cornelio: Arrange for Lampridia to have dinner in her own bedroom. Alessandro will be here shortly and it’s not proper that they should sit at the same table. querciuola: I’ll do as you say, but it’s a bad habit to keep girls so guarded. It fosters evil thoughts in their minds. cornelio: One has to follow the customs of the age. querciuola: Yes, but only when they’re not bad customs. The Florentines don’t even allow you to see their women, much less talk to

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them. But the first thing they do to entertain visitors in Siena is show them the women folk, even if they don’t want to be on display. Some guys cultivate strangers by pretending to have women to offer. Things go from one extreme to the other. cornelio: Well, enough on that matter. Let someone else find a solution to the problem. Here’s Furbetto back already. furbetto: I told him, sir. cornelio: What was his answer? furbetto: I don’t know. I didn’t stop to listen. cornelio: Why not? furbetto: To be back faster. But I’m almost sure he said: ‘I’ll be right there.’ cornelio: What makes you think so? furbetto: I don’t know, sir. cornelio: You’ll always be a rogue! Let’s go upstairs and check on the dinner preparations. querciuola: I’ll be heading off now. I have to make sure that Gostanzo gets ready. cornelio: See you later, then. querciuola: Don’t leave until I come back. As soon as we have Gostanzo all locked up, I’ll let you know. cornelio: I’ll be counting on you. (He exits with Furbetto) querciuola: (Aside) I think I’d better go this way.

ACT III Scene i querciuola, gostanzo in disguise, and brigida, wife to the Captain querciuola: Ha, ha, ha! I just can’t tell you how good you look! A born locksmith, I swear to God! I can hardly recognize you. You almost look like a jail-bird! gostanzo: Can it really be God’s will that I should have to visit my beloved dressed like this? querciuola: What’s the matter with you? When women appear before their lovers all besmeared with make-up, are they any the less loved for that? Is coal worse than sublimated arsenic?39 If you ask me, it’s better. Even though it makes your face a little dirty on the outside, it doesn’t

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ruin your teeth or give you foul breath. gostanzo: Come on, show me what I’m supposed to do. querciuola: First is the cry of the locksmith. You fake it with a tone of voice half hoarse: ‘Hello, ladies, who needs to have keys and broken locks repaired?’ Do it like that and not even your mother would know you: ‘Hello, ladies; who needs to have keys and broken locks repaired?’ Give it a try, and here, take these locks. gostanzo: Hello, ladies, who needs to have cocks in their broken locks repaired? querciuola: For heaven’s sake, don’t say that! You’re supposed to say keys and broken locks. gostanzo: It was a slip of the tongue. querciuola: Listen to me again: ‘Hello, ladies, who needs to have keys and broken locks repaired?’ Come on, give it a try. gostanzo: Hello, ladies, who needs to have c ... keys and broken cunts repaired? querciuola: Broken fiddlesticks! You were supposed to say locks! Haven’t you ever heard the locksmiths in Pisa crying their wares? gostanzo: I’ll say it right this time. Listen to me: —Hello, ladies, who needs to have keys and broken locks repaired?’ querciuola: At long last! Now go and walk past Brigida’s house, shouting it out loud so she’ll hear you and call you in. I’m going to leave you now; I shouldn’t be seen with you. (Aside) I’ll follow him silently and lock him up from the outside as soon as he’s in. gostanzo: Here I am in front of her house. God help me! —Hello, ladies, who wants cocks in their buttocks, who wants a prick? querciuola: (Aside) Ha, ha, ha! What a fool! brigida: Locksmith, locksmith! Could you come upstairs, please? Come through this door. gostanzo: I’m coming, madam. (Aside) She’s heard me. My legs are trembling like jelly. I can hardly talk. (He goes into the house) querciuola: (Aside) Let me fasten this door from the outside. Now I’ll go and tell Cornelio and Alessandro that they can go about their business in peace. The bird is in the cage. (He exits) gostanzo: (Upstairs) Is anyone home? Wasn’t it at this very window that I saw her? This place feels like a haunted house. Let me have a look in these rooms.

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Scene ii fortunio, alone fortunio: I feel more fear and trembling in my spirit than if I were going to my death, now that I’m to meet Lampridia. Nothing but trouble can come to me from what I’m about to do. If she rejects me, I’ll die of her cruelty and ingratitude. If she takes pity on my sorrows and surrenders to me, as many women do, what can I do to please her? Either she’ll find out that I’m a woman or she won’t. If she does, she’ll take for an insult all the love and devotion I’ve shown her, and she’ll count the minutes till she can exact her revenge. If I play coy by keeping my wings down like a cuckoo, how she’ll laugh at me, acting like a foolish dummy!40 What can be worse for a young lover than to be alone with his lady and to fail her? Ah my cruel fate! There is no way I can come out of this predicament with honour. But let God work His will. I’ll embrace her and kiss her a thousand times and, who knows, perhaps Love will not forsake his loyal servant. When I’m with her, he will take pity on me and turn me into a man for an hour. So let the plunge be taken, no matter what happens. I’ll go around the house and in through the back door, as Niccoletta told me to do. (He exits) Scene iii cornelio, alessandro and lucilla, daughter to Gostanzo cornelio: O Alessandro, I’m as happy as if I were going to marry the emperor’s daughter ... What emperor? If I were going to take possession of the kingdom of heaven I wouldn’t be as happy as I am at this moment, now that I’m going to talk with Lucilla! alessandro: It’s precisely because of our friendship that I’m so unwilling to help you. cornelio: Why do you tell me this? What’s the reason? alessandro: Because if she had continued to be cruel towards you, your love wound would no doubt have been healed. After all, ingratitude kills love; no one can endure being slighted forever. But now that she begins to offer you hope, she’ll confirm your intention of wasting what’s left of the best years of your life. Just a few words of kindness and your flame will be rekindled for two more years at the least. cornelio: What more can one expect from life than being happy? Any

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amount of kindness that she shows me, however little, will make me happier than all the studies, wealth, and honours I can think of. alessandro: You’re lost. These words are not your own. They’re dictated by a passion which dims your understanding. As soon as that’s over, you’ll be the most disenchanted man alive. You know you can’t expect any long-lasting largesse from this woman. cornelio: Why not? alessandro: Because I know her. I’ve experienced what women are like today, particularly women of this sort. The virtues, learning, and modest ways of a lover count for nothing these days. Girls now want something different. They take greater delight in gross pranks and bragging than in anything else. Just look at the kind of entertainment which is normally offered to ladies of late and compare it with the olden days. Ladies and their beaux were models of wit, wisdom, and virtue in a hundred ways. Try your fine phrase now – a witty remark – and the women fall asleep. But then, try ruffian horse-play or some saucy quip41 and they all come back to life as merrily as crickets. Not long ago, a virtuous gentlewoman asked one of these vulgarians why he resorted to such tricks and rebuked him for his unseemly ways. But his solid success with the ladies was all he needed by way of reply. So it’s the fault of the fair if they’re so little esteemed. You’re too gentle a man, so don’t expect to obtain anything that truly matters from a woman. cornelio: Please, no more advice. Let’s think about what to do next. Try to hold the bottom end of the rope-ladder away from the wall. The window is high and if the ladder is too close to the wall, I could easily fall. God save me from that, especially when I’m climbing up. I wouldn’t mind it so much coming down, but I’d rather not die before I’ve tasted the joys I’m counting on up there. alessandro: Don’t worry! This isn’t the first ladder that I’ve held or asked someone to hold for me. But think carefully about what you’ll say to her. I don’t need to warn you about all the honeyed words she’ll use on you. Just taste them well before you swallow them for fear they may contain some hidden bitterness that will poison your heart! Where are you going to hang your ladder? Perhaps from that grating? cornelio: I’d like to ask her if she’d let me hang it from the other window and give me permission to go in. Perhaps then I could talk to her so persuasively that we might come to a more momentous conclusion than mere words. Try to help me convince her. Querciuola told me that she knows we’re friends, and that you’ve come along with me.

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alessandro: I’ll stick by you. Since this matter will come to no good, we might as well try our best. cornelio: Trust me, Alessandro, if I could obtain what I wish from her, I’d go back to my studies and work like a dog. alessandro: You’ve got just the opposite on your mind. cornelio: Here’s the house. Let’s go into this back alley. Follow me, this way. (They go into the alley) alessandro: How will you signal to let her know you’re here? cornelio: Be quiet, let me do it! Pst, pst, pst, pst! Don’t move, I can hear her. lucilla: (Appearing at a window) Cornelio, my love, has anyone seen you? cornelio: No, my lady. Alessandro and I have come as secretly as possible. We have a rope-ladder with us, if you’ll allow us to use it. lucilla: Cornelio, your faithful love for me has inspired me with pity. I’ll never know why you’re so fond of me, but your gentleness has won me over. If you’ll content yourself with conversation, I willingly grant you that. But I still can’t understand why you fancy me so. cornello: Madonna, your beauty is such that it would have set ice on fire, let alone my heart. lucilla: I’m quite aware that my beauty is not great. There are thousands of women in Pisa who are prettier than I am. It’s just your courtesy that prompts you to say so. cornelio: The burning passion in my heart is your assurance that I don’t merely flatter. If it is your pleasure that I come to you, drop down a cord so that I can attach it to the ladder. lucilla: Cornelio, we can talk comfortably like this. There’s no danger of anyone walking this way. I don’t mind Alessandro being present, since you’re such good friends. cornelio: Ah my Lucilla, don’t you think that your words will be the more precious to me the closer they are uttered? lucilla: Be content with this! What does it matter whether we are close or far? You know it doesn’t befit a gentlewoman to handle rope-ladders. cornelio: Ah sweet lady, this ill agrees with the kindness of your letter! What is better for a gentlewoman than to be kind to one who loves her as much as I do? I beseech you, do not fail me! alessandro: Madonna Lucilla, you may take pity on one who is dying for you – one who won’t do anything ill suited to the greatness of your heart and your lineage, particularly since the request is so reasonable. lucilla: I can’t disappoint such a great love. Let me see if I happen to

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have a cord in my purse. Here it is. I’ll drop it down. Fasten the end of the ladder to it and I’ll pull it up. Mind you climb carefully, so that nothing happens that will cast sorrow upon the rest of my life. (She drops down one end of the cord) cornelio: I promise caution, although dying for you would be the best kind of death I could wish. (He ties the end of the cord to one end of the rope-ladder ) You can pull up the ladder now. lucilla: (She pulls it up) Let me hang it on this grating. cornelio: Lucilla, don’t do it yet! Just listen to one word. lucilla: What is it? cornelio: I beseech you not to interpret as brazenness my request for a favour which I beg from you for the love I’ve so faithfully felt and now feel and will forever feel for you, and for that beauty which shines in you, and which inflames me with such profound adoration. I beg you to grant me that we may exchange a few modest words in your bedroom, without the impediment of that grating between us. (He points to the bedroom window) Please hang the ladder from this window and let me spend half an hour with you. That’s safer, simpler, and better for me. lucilla: Your prayers could move me to greater things than this. Yet, if you think about it carefully, you’ll judge this request unsuitable. Please, being so reasonable, I know you won’t insist. cornelio: My affection for you is so pure that if there were anything in the least injurious to your honour, I’d rather die than desire it. Can our modest conversation be altered by the absence of a grating? lucilla: I know you’re not unwise. So you can understand the greatness of my risk were I to entrust myself to you without the safeguard of the grillwork. cornelio: Your words work injury to my heart. How plain my honesty should be to you; how little you value my word. For the love I bear you, your command alone is restraint absolute against all offence. A moment’s glower from your eyes would send me flying or burning. How can you think I’d cross your wishes in such an important matter? How little you know me, my beloved Lucilla! lucilla: I meant not to insult your honesty. It’s only that we often do things against our own wills, and men can’t always master their passions. cornelio: Even were I not strong enough to abstain from offense, yet I have a guide which would never let me do wrong. My love for you is too strong. It leads me in the direction of your wishes. But more, while

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your gracious consent would bring me delight, it would also prove your confidence in me and my trustworthiness.42 lucilla: A lady’s honour is her most prized possession. No wonder that we are suspicious, even of things which do not or cannot exist. cornelio: If a lady’s honour is of importance to her, how much more is it to the one who loves her. I swear to you by God in heaven, He who witnesses all our words, that among all your many virtues, it is your modesty which has inflamed my devotion. I’d rather die than destroy or conspire against it. alessandro: Madonna Lucilla, you can firmly believe the promises of such an honest lover. lucilla: If all Cornelio wants is to talk to me, what does it matter where he does it? cornelio: Ah, but for me, to know that you love me is everything, and whoever loves, trusts. lucilla: In such cases one’s hands often don’t obey one’s will. You have too much confidence in yourself. cornelio: I don’t think my spirit is so weak that it can’t resist my senses. I will not move a finger except as you wish. lucilla: Even if you feel strong enough to do that, I may not feel that way myself. Who knows if, having you beside me without any barrier, I may not do something that I may later regret, something that will forever trouble my mind? cornelio: I promise to curb both your desires and mine. I beseech you, grant me this favour. lucilla: I almost don’t know how to deny it. alessandro: You can safely grant it, madonna. Cornelio is modesty itself. lucilla: All right, I’ve decided I can trust the honesty of such a lover. But this window is not a good one for handling the ladder. Go to the uninhabited old house behind mine; there you’ll find a window much more suited to the purpose.43 (They exit ) Scene iv captain malagigi, fagiuolo, querciuola, gostanzo, and ruzza captain: I was supposed to go hunting with the Duke, but the debate that broke out among the students prevented us. Wherever there’s a university, one hears nothing but dons and students. God bless the

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battlefield! At least such petty questions never arise between soldiers. To arms, to arms! Learning be damned! As someone said: ‘Cedant arma togae! ’44 fagiuolo: I thought you’d said you were riding to Lucca with a certain gentleman. captain: Well, let me explain. I lie a lot to my friends so they don’t find out I’m the Duke’s favourite. fagiuolo: I see. You must be good at hunting, it’s so much like war. captain: I can’t be bothered chasing deer or goats. But, if it’s boars, bears, and rhinoceroses, that I enjoy, and I’m darned good at it too. fagiuolo: What are grindoferoces? Are they good to eat? captain: Ignoramus is written all over your face. Oh, if only you’d been to Venice! You’ve no idea what big-game hunting there is in that city! fagiuolo: Isn’t Venice the place with the water walls? captain: What do you mean? How do you think they would stand if they were made of water? What a fool you are! fagiuolo: That’s what I heard. captain: Someone was making a fool of you. Oh Lord! Now I remember that once I arrived there at midnight, when the city gates were already locked, and as soon as the Doge heard who I was, he came himself to open them. I couldn’t even begin to tell you what honours were lavished on me. After all, there’s a lot of difference between one man and another. fagiuolo: (Aside) Even more between a man and the kind of animal you are. captain: I beg your pardon? fagiuolo: I don’t think there’s anyone in the world like you. (They reach the Captain’s house) captain: Why is my front door locked? I wonder where my sow of a wife has gone. fagiuolo: I don’t know. She was at home a short while ago. captain: Damn the dirty slut!45 Let’s unbolt the door! fag1uolo: Let’s go in. Maybe she’s just visiting her neighbour. querciuola: (Aside) I’ll walk past the Captain’s house to see if I can find out how our worthy locksmith is doing. The door is open! I wonder who unbolted it. I hear noises inside. Uh oh, that’s the Captain’s voice! I hope to God nothing’s gone wrong. At all events, I’ll go and tell Cornelio to be on his guard. captain: (Chasing Gostanzo out of the house): You cursed scoundrel, what were you doing in there?

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gostanzo: Ouch, ouch! I wasn’t doing anything wrong! querciuola: (Aside) Poor Gostanzo, you’ll have to face the music. I’ll run and warn Cornelio. (He exits) gostanzo: Ouch, ouch! Help, help! Give me back my locks! captain: I’ll give you back this kick in the ass! gostanzo: Ouch! Merciful heaven! captain: By the Lord’s body, if you ever dare to walk down this street again I’ll break your bones. I’ll teach you not to enter people’s houses without permission! Plague on you and all locksmiths! If you weren’t such trash I’d cut off your head, but I don’t want to dirty my sword with your blood. gostanzo: I’m as worthy as anyone else, even though I’m dressed like this! captain: Do you still dare to answer? gostanzo: I don’t dare, I don’t dare! (Aside) Good thing he didn’t recognize me. Wasn’t this a filthy trick! That dastard Querciuola has duped me again. But maybe it wasn’t all his fault. Brigida did come to the window to call me. The wretched woman engineered the whole plot! No one but she could have thought of locking me up in the toilet. I nearly choked with the awful stench. It came right into my eyes. Just go and trust women! After all, they’re all the same. I’ll go home immediately, so that no one recognizes me in this get-up. I’ll be wiser next time. There’s Ruzza at the door. What will he say when he sees me in this outfit? For reputation’s sake, I’ve got to think of something. ruzza: (Aside) Let me have a good look at this codger coming along here. He looks like the master, all right, but I can’t be sure. By Jove, it’s him! Someone must have put over a good one on him. I’ll pretend I don’t know him. gostanzo: What are you doing here, Ruzza? You can see the kind of situation I’m in. ruzza: Hey you, bumpkin locksmith, get away from here! We’ve got no locks to fix! gostanzo: Just step inside with me and I’ll tell you everything. ruzza: You must be joking. Get away from here, I say! gostanzo: Can’t you recognize me? This isn’t funny. ruzza: Of course I can! gostanzo: Who am I? ruzza: A villain, that’s what you are! Go away! Gostanzo isn’t home and when he’s away I don’t allow anyone in the house. gostanzo: To tell you the honest truth, I am Gostanzo. Come in and I’ll explain everything.

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ruzza: Funny if you think I don’t even know my own master. You must be drunk. gostanzo: By the body of ... ! Don’t make me swear! It’s me. I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m dressed up as a locksmith for reasons I’ll explain later. Look at my face! ruzza: The more I look at you, the more you look like a blackguard to me. Gostanzo is so handsome and debonair, he looks like an angel beside you. gostanzo: It’s this coal on my face that does it! You have to believe me! I wouldn’t lie to you! ruzza: Get on your way! Go and play jokes on your friends! I’m going to stop trying to persuade you with words in a few seconds. gostanzo: Look here, Ruzza, by the body of St. Peter, I’m going to get riled! ruzza: Riled, eh? (Aside) You just encourage me in the game. —Buzz off you rascal, crook, scoundrel, villain, poltroon! Just let me get a stick! gostanzo: Wretched me, what a state I’ve come to! At least do something for me, bring me some water so that I can wash my face. You’ll see I’m Gostanzo, not one finger missing. ruzza: What would my master say if he came back and found you in the house? gostanzo: Listen, Ruzza, if he comes back while I’m here, I’ll crown you emperor. ruzza: I’ll let you in on one condition. Just as soon as Gostanzo’s back, you scram. gostanzo: That’s all right by me. Just let me in and if you find I’m any different from myself, you have permission to say I’m someone else. ruzza: Good Lord! Now I know who you are! Forgive me! Come in, come in! I hadn’t recognized you. gostanzo: Didn’t I tell you? Let’s get inside.

ACT IV Scene i gostanzo, ruzza and querciuola gostanzo: These are the hidden faults, these are the secret sins of that little sanctimonious hussy, who looked as if she would do nothing but

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pray all day!46 Damn the dirty slut!47 I swear I’ll make her regret any pleasure she’s ever had! ruzza: She must have been praying a lot lately to get her wishes so well fulfilled. gostanzo: You’re taking a serious matter far too lightly. What am I supposed to do now that my daughter’s escapade will make me look like a perfect ass? ruzza: No one will know, unless you blab about it. Don’t make matters worse for yourself than others would make them for you. gostanzo: What do you mean? ruzza: Just what I said, if you keep your mouth shut, who will ever know? And what is honour except the foolish opinion of people? And what can their opinion be, unless by revealing everything you make them change it? gostanzo: Does that mean you expect me to put up with this insult and not to take some action? ruzza: Let those whom it concerns most find their own solution and don’t you bother your head about it. gostanzo: So who could be more concerned with the matter than me, miserable old man that I am? ruzza: It concerns her husband. Have you not promised her to Messer Lonardo, who left for Rome two months ago? We’d be in a fine mess if what she’s done were to bring shame on her father, brothers, and all her family. gostanzo: You can say anything you like. You’ll never persuade me that I’m not disgraced for the rest of my life. It’ll be my fault if she’s not properly punished. ruzza: Tell me just one thing. Are you absolutely sure that your daughter’s at fault? Did you take a good look? Are you sure you didn’t mistake one thing for another? gostanzo: Of course I’m sure! I was going into my study to pick up something, and when I looked through a crack in her bedroom wall, I saw a man with her in a close embrace. The little hussy! She’ll be chastised as she deserves! Without them realizing it, I locked them up in the room, ever so quietly, and I’ve got the only key, so I know they can’t open the door from the inside. I’m going to complain to the Duke. He’ll send his guards to punish them, and I know he’ll not let me down. Such matters he takes most seriously. ruzza: Don’t do that, master! Don’t spread the news of this shame all over Pisa! If you’re wise, no one will know except you and me.

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gostanzo: It’s no use, I will go! Make sure you don’t leave the house. Don’t let anyone in and don’t tell Lucilla anything about what I know or what I’m about to do. I want them to be caught unawares, the dishonourable traitors! ruzza: Do as you wish. I’ll stay here and follow your instructions. gostanzo: I’ll get there faster if I go this way. (He exits) ruzza: (Aside) These ignoramuses who can’t take a woman’s trick in good part can kick up a hell of a row. This poor girl has at last got some pleasure in life and her father is now trying to cast shame on her by making the whole matter public. What an addle-brained idiot! querciuola: (Aside) I couldn’t warn Cornelio that Gostanzo’s left the Captain’s house. I’ll try to find out what’s happened to our eminent locksmith. Here’s Ruzza at the door. ruzza: Where are you going, Querciuola? If you only knew what’s going on! querciuola: You tell me the news. ruzza: I can’t tell you. querciuola: (Aside) God help Cornelio! —Why can’t you tell me? ruzza: Because it’s a very serious matter and I’m not allowed to tell anyone. querciuola: Have you forgotten how I am? You know I can keep a secret. ruzza: Well, I’ll tell you if you don’t spread it about, because that would spell my ruin. querciuola: Just tell me once and for all! ruzza: Here it is: through a crack in the wall of his study, Gostanzo has just seen a young man having a good time with Lucilla and he’s gone to the Duke in a fury to have them castigated. querciuola: Good God, is there no way to get the door open? ruzza: None at all. It’s a very strong door with extra heavy locks. querciuola: Well then, I’ll be on my way. ruzza: You don’t look too happy about all this. What have you got to do with the matter? querciuola: I’ve no time to kill. I really must go. ruzza: So long then. I’ll go and wait for my master upstairs. (He exits) querciuola: Poor Cornelio, his life’s at stake now! The best thing I can do is look for Vincenzio. Maybe he can solve the situation by talking either to the Duke or to Gostanzo. Here, this is the quicker way.

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Scene ii vincenzio and querciuola vincenzio: (Aside) I thought that meal was never going to end. Messer Guicciardo invited two old friends to dinner and served them a banquet fit for a dozen plenipotentiaries. O for the good old times! Even if eight or ten strangers had come to my house in those days, besides a little of the usual mutton, I’d have offered them some sausages, cheese, a couple of pears, a few chestnuts, and that would have been enough. Nowadays, even if it’s just your own sister who comes to pay you a visit, you have to serve a feast which lasts the better part of three hours – enough to ruin both your finances and your health. querciuola: (Aside) You’ve got to admit it takes a lot of courage for a young fellow to be in love. Here’s Vincenzio. Just the man I was looking for. vincenzio: (Aside) Well, one can see why our city used to be more prosperous and the citizens better off than they are now. Overeating, dressing in velvet up to their noses, sitting around all day doing nothing – such things would impoverish a kingdom in two years, let alone a city like Pisa. querciuola: Well met, Vincenzio. I bring you bad news, unless you do something quickly. vincenzio: Oh my God! What’s the matter? querciuola: Your Cornelio ... vincenzio: God help me! Is Cornelio alive? querciuola: For the moment, he’s alive and well, but you have to find a solution, and fast, to the following problem. As you probably know, he’s in love with Lucilla, Gostanzo’s daughter. vincenzio: I knew full well he was in love, but I didn’t know with whom. Go on. querciuola: This great love of theirs prompted him to take the risk of getting into her bedroom at noon with the help of a rope-ladder. They’ve just been discovered by Gostanzo. And now, unknown to the two of them, he has locked them in from the outside and has gone to inform the Duke in order to get his revenge. He can’t have reached the palace yet, because I just met Ruzza, who told me the whole story. Now you must waste no time.

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vincenzio: O Lord! I could see it coming! O Cornelio, my son, oh, oh, oh! querciuola: There’s no time to cry. You must do something quickly! vincenzio: What do you think I should do? querciuola: You must either ingratiate yourself with the Duke or else appeal to Gostanzo’s mercy. I’ve no doubt he’ll be willing to forgive Cornelio, given your ancient friendship. But you’d better find him before he gets to the Duke. vincenzio: That’s what I’ll do. Meanwhile, is there any way at all in which we could get Cornelio out of that room? querciuola: I don’t even know which room of the house he’s in, whether I can talk to him, or whether he can get out through a window, because I don’t think he can hear me from the side of the house where he got in. But even if we get him out of the room, Gostanzo will have him summoned by the Duke, because he’ll force his daughter to tell him everything. vincenzio: Getting him out would help because, if worse comes to the worst, he can always leave the city and save his life. querciuola: That’s true. I’ll try to see if there’s a way it can be done. vincenzio: Just think of something, dear Querciuola. I’ll take this corner to save time. (He exits) querciuola: Querciuola, the time has come for you to sharpen your wits. I’ve got to save his life and her reputation, both. First of all, I’ll have to get Cornelio out of that place. That’s the main thing. I’ll go around back to the old house to see if he’s in a room where he can hear me. Maybe he can still climb down using his own rope-ladder. (He exits) Scene iii messer lucrezio, a Sicilian, and messer fabrizio messer lucrezio: (Aside) It’s just as I feared. Since I haven’t heard from my nephew, Aloisio, for so many years, I must suppose that he has encountered misfortune or death. I’ve looked for him in the principal cities of France and Italy. Only recently I sought him in Rome. But now in sorrow I must return to Sicily. messer fabrizio: (Aside) Excellent work by that student in the debate this morning. Fine minds are flourishing in this new age.48 But who is this stranger coming my way? It seems I should know him, yet I’m not sure.

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messer lucrezio: (Aside) I don’t know if I can find my way back to the inn. Perhaps this gentleman can help me. —Could you please tell me the way to the Crown Inn? messer fabrizio: It’s just along here. (Aside) The more I look at him, the more I’m certain I know him. messer lucrezio: Is there a reason you look at me so intently? messer fabrizio: Well, I’m sure that I know you. Are you not Messer Lucrezio Ramaldini from Palermo? messer lucrezio: Yes, I am. Why? messer fabrizio: Because I’m from Palermo too, although you don’t recognize me. messer lucrezio: Do you happen to be Messer Fabrizio Leonzini? Why, of course you are. I was lost in thought, so don’t be surprised. Besides, we haven’t met in ages. messer fabrizio: Ah Messer Lucrezio, it’s the grey beard that confused you. messer lucrezio: How is it you happen to be here, Messer Fabrizio? messer fabrizio: I’ve been hired this year to the first chair of the morning lectures in civil law.49 But what are you doing in Pisa? messer lucrezio: I’ll tell you. As you are well aware, in 1537, while you were away, party strife led to a revolt in our city. messer fabrizio: Please don’t remind me. Messer Ludovico, my brother, had to escape as a rebel, and to protect the life of Lucrezia, my daughter, whom I had entrusted to his care, he took her with him. I haven’t heard from her since then. messer lucrezio: Of this, I’m well aware. At that same time, Francesco, a brother of mine, was also condemned as the leader of a conspiracy. The sentence included his young son, Aloisio, then seven or eight years old. My brother escaped in secret with his son, whose life he protected by dressing him up as a girl. I learned later that my brother died in France, and since then I’ve never been able to find out where Aloisio is or what’s become of him. Now, thank God, our city has returned to peaceful times, all offences have been forgiven, and everyone has had his property and freedom restored. I’ve no other children or relatives in the world except this nephew, who is to inherit all the wealth of the family. My travels have been expressly to find him, but so far my search is in vain. Now, in my despondency, I’m of a mind simply to return home. messer fabrizio: Thank God at least for the peace! So now the exiles can return home in safety? I thought I’d heard some such news from a

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Sicilian nun who is here at St. Peter’s. How long ago did this happen? messer lucrezio: Only a short time ago. messer fabrizio: My heart goes out to you over the loss of your only nephew. Yet console yourself with the thought that, if he is alive, he’ll go back by himself, no matter where he is, as soon as he hears the news about our city. messer lucrezio: That’s my hope, as well. messer fabrizio: Let’s go to the inn and get your belongings and horses. I want you to come to my house, which you must consider your own, and stay with me for a few days. I wish to talk to you about many things. messer lucrezio: I’m delighted to accept, but I wish to leave tomorrow without delay. messer fabrizio: We’ll think about that later. Come this way. Scene iv querciuola and cornelio querciuola: I wish we could find your father before he meets Gostanzo. He’s gone to try to appease him on your behalf. You lovers get yourselves into the most awful scrapes sometimes. cornelio: It was all your fault. You didn’t keep Gostanzo away from the house. querciuola: Who would have thought the Captain wasn’t going to ride to Lucca as he had declared? But tell me, how did things go with Lucilla? cornelio: Lucilla is the wisest, most chaste and honest woman I’ve ever met. There are some who won’t say yes right away. By promising her several times that I wasn’t going to do anything to offend her, I was able to get into her room. Once there, I used every possible means to persuade her to do what I wanted, but it was all in vain. querciuola: Do you mean to tell me you got nothing? Shame on you! How are you ever going to be able to face her again? cornelio: She just refused. querciuola: She shouldn’t have imposed her will on you. As for you, you couldn’t have tried hard enough. Why didn’t you use your hands? cornelio: What do you mean? God save me from such a thing! I wanted to persuade her by love, not by force. querciuola: One can tell you’re a beginner! Love itself is a force.

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Women say no in order to be conquered! cornelio: Well, that’s how things went and I don’t regret it. querciuola: So you got nothing at all, eh? cornelio: I talked her into granting me a kiss and, what matters most, she’s promised she’ll never marry anyone except me and I’ve promised the same. querciuola: But I’ve heard she’s already been pledged out to another man. cornelio: No, that’s not true. Gostanzo tried to arrange the marriage, but she never gave her consent. I’m going to ask my father to intervene. I want to marry her at all costs. If possible, I’d like to make amends for this adventure, especially considering her father’s ideas on the matter. querciuola: I’ve already thought of that and it may not prove so difficult. Gostanzo doesn’t know who the man in her bedroom was. Brigida, the Captain’s wife, is in love with me and she’ll do anything I ask her. She’s at a neighbour’s house. I’ll go there and ask her to dress up as a man. Then I’ll bring her along and call up to Lucilla to get her to hang the rope-ladder so Brigida can climb up to her room. Once the Duke’s guards find her there, she’ll confess to her undying love for Gostanzo, and how, by this little trick, she thought to get into his bed. He’s an idiot and dotes on her, so he’ll countenance this little confabulation. cornelio: I like your plan. querciuola: I’ll put it into effect right away. Give me the ladder. cornelio: Hurry up. In the meantime I’ll go and see Alessandro so that he doesn’t come to fetch me this evening as we’d agreed. (They exit ) Scene v angela, a bawd,50 and niccoletta angela: (Aside) This matter could be a real little gold mine for me if I can handle it properly. But I need some advice from someone more experienced than I am. I’ll talk to Niccoletta, my teacher, and ask her what she thinks. (She knocks on Niccoletta’s door ) niccoletta: (Appearing at a window) Who’s there? Oh Angela! What can I do for you? angela: Please, Niccoletta, will you come down for a second? I need to talk to you.

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niccoletta: Some other time. I’m busy now. angela: Just a few words, please! Don’t disappoint me! niccoletta: All right, I’m coming. angela: (Aside) If I succeed in this matter, I’ll be on easy street for a year. niccoletta: (Coming out of the house) Here I am. What’s the news? angela: Niccoletta, I’ve always considered you as a second mother. I owe all I know and all I’m worth to you. In the same way students consult their teachers for help when they hit a difficult snag, I’ve come to consult you about a very important matter. niccoletta: Tell me and hurry up. I’ve got lots to do. angela: The matter stands as follows. A wealthy canon from Pisa has come to me for help. He’s in love with Fasanella’s wife. He’s a very generous man. I expect I’ll be able to fleece him for months to come. He wants me to set him up with this woman. He’s promised to give me all the income he gets from his abbey, his parish church, his prebend – everything. So, I’ve tried to find out what kind of a woman she is. You know, according to your teachings, before embarking on such dealings one has to sound out the woman. Well, in brief, she’s the hardest, slyest, and shrewdest woman in the world. What’s worse, she’s frigid. She’s not greedy, as some other women are, so I can’t hope to dazzle her with the glitter of gold. She’s not foolish, so I can’t expect to pull the wool over her eyes. She’s not vain, so I can’t puff her up with flattery. In short, she’s totally indifferent to love and there aren’t any weak points in her character to take advantage of. I’d like your advice on how to handle this matter. niccoletta: One can tell you’re young and haven’t quite learned the art. The devil is never quite so black as he’s made to appear. This woman will give in – I know she will. Just leave it to me. But I can’t help you right now, because I’m in the worst fix I ever was in during my whole life. I’m handling a much more delicate matter than you. But here are a few start-up thoughts. First, lots of the things I taught you don’t apply nowadays. You must keep up with the times. It used to be that, if a young man wished to obtain a lady’s favour, he had to tell her he was loyal, wise, learned, and knew how to write verses which would exalt her to heaven – those were the going virtues. Now he has to make sure he doesn’t mention such things. Nowadays? He should tell her he can play foolish jokes, tell lies, and speak nonsense and the like. So be careful. And remember, women aren’t friendly towards each other any longer, but are full of envy and ill-will. Though you may see them

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kissing, hugging, and all full of smiles, if they can set scandal in motion without being detected, let the back-stabbing begin. Then there are women who feel joy in their hearts to be slighted for folly or shame. And remember to warn your patron that, if by his lady’s kindness he gains access to her house, he’s not to turn familiarity into impudence and flaunt his mastery over her, the house, or even her lap-dog. That’s what happened to Bastian Poletti – such unbearable arrogance – which cost him lady, dog, and everything. But I’ll tell you more some other time. My desire to please you has carried me a little too far already. I’ve got a very dangerous matter to deal with now. angela: What’s this special case you’re working on? niccoletta: It’s a very strange business, indeed. I got myself hired into this household to work a tryst between my mistress and a handsome young man. I decided the only way was for him to approach her alone and, to that end, I let him into her bedroom in the dark, while she was sleeping. Shortly after, the young man came back to me complaining that while kissing her, fondling her all over in her sleep, and caressing her you-know-what, he found something there which he didn’t expect – the largest you’ve ever seen. Astonished that she was not a woman at all, he came to accuse me of perfidy and deceit. His account left me flabbergasted. For years, everyone in the house took her for a woman. Cornelio will find he’s less rich than he thought, having a male cousin instead of a female one. I told him that, such being the case, he should just leave the whole thing alone, because he couldn’t have any use for a man. But he looked more hot-blooded and in love than ever and said he wanted to go back and try his luck again. That he’s queer to boot is even worse. I just want him out of here and gone. What will happen next has me worried sick. No good can come of all this for me. angela: It’s a strange event all right; you could write a play about it. So Lampridia isn’t a woman, after all? I can hardly believe it, she looks so much like one. niccoletta: That’s how the matter stands. Now off with you. I want to go back upstairs to keep an eye on them and try to overhear what’s going on. We’ll talk about your business some other time. angela: I’ll be back tomorrow. Good-bye. niccoletta: See you then. (They exit )

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Scene vi captain, fagiuolo, brigida, and querciuola captain: Where on earth can she be, that pig? She knows how many times I’ve told her that I don’t want her to go anywhere except to her neighbour’s house, and still she gads about where she pleases! fagiuolo: Only a short while ago you said you didn’t mind being a cuckold. captain: I’m willing to repeat it. I don’t give a damn. It’s just that I’m choking with rage at the thought of anyone daring to insult me, as if I were unable to take the bull by the horns and solve my own problems. I want everyone to quake with fear at the mere sight of the walls of my house. fagiuolo: Don’t worry about it, master. I believe your wife to be good and beautiful. Even if she weren’t, try to think she is, since the results will be exactly the same. It’s just as if she weren’t bad and you believed her to be so. You’d have much the same trouble as if she were really bad. So, if you think she’s good and she’s not, you’ll derive precisely the same satisfaction as if she really were.51 captain: What the dickens do you mean by all those ifs and weres? All that might apply to an ordinary man, but in the case of a captain like me, things have to be different. I tell you I don’t want my wife to be a whore, and if she is one, I won’t stand for it. brigida: (Dressed up as a man and accompanied by Querciuola on her way to Lucilla’s house) Querciuola, you’ve led me through such a maze of little alleys I hardly know where I am. querciuola: We’re quite close to where we’re going. When you meet Lucilla, remember to say what I told you. She’ll know me at once by my whistle and she’ll pull up the ladder. But here’s the Captain. Cover up your face so he won’t know you and walk faster. (They try walking past the Captain without being noticed) captain: The shortest way to her friend’s house will be St. Peter’s Street. fagiuolo: That’s right. (He notices Brigida and Querciuola) Look, Captain! See that one under the mantle? Looks like a woman to me – fat calves and waddles like a duck. Count on it, she’s certainly a woman. captain: What do you think she may be? She must be one of those street-walkers. Oh the poor fools who have to put up with such wives! They can be nothing but idiots born and bred. Shall we rob him of his whore?

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fagiuolo: What would you want her for? Isn’t one enough for you? querciuola: Come on, Brigida, hurry up this way. (They exit ) captain: Oh if you only knew how furious I am! I wish someone I hate would cross the street in front of me! I’d cut off one of his legs, break his arm, and disfigure his face from one side to the other. My sword must be wondering why I’m taking so long to draw it from the scabbard. fagiuolo: You make me tremble, Captain. I fear you may gore me too. captain: Ha, ha, ha! That’s a good one! If you only knew what kind of sword this is! It used to belong to the Marquis of Pescara.52 When he died, it was owned by the Duke of Milan. Then it belonged to Signor Cesare Fregoso.53 I stole it away from him while we were aboard the same boat, when he was taken prisoner three years ago. He was asleep, so he didn’t even notice I happened to be there. fagiuolo: If you’re interested in the ancestry of swords, I can tell you that this one belonged to Bevelacqua, the gypsy.54 After that it came into the possession of Piero, the guard. When he died, it belonged for a time to Mezzetta’s brother, who used to be a bullfighter.55 Then it came into the hands of Mercurio, from whom I bought it as scrap-iron for the price of a bauble. captain: I wouldn’t sell mine for fifty gold ducats. Just look at this blade! fagiuolo: I beg you, just leave it in the scabbard! Anyway, I’m no expert. They all look to be made of the same metal to me. We have to go around this corner to get to your friend’s house. captain: Let’s go.

ACT V Scene i gostanzo, vincenzio, querciuola, and ruzza gostanzo: I had no idea who this arrant knave was, affronting my honour and pouring on insult. And now you tell me the man I locked into that room is your son? It pains me to think you have no more consideration for our friendship than this. Ah Vincenzio, this isn’t the way you treat someone you esteem! vincenzio: My dear Gostanzo, lads will be lads. They refuse to be guided as one would like. Besides, I knew nothing of the matter. That he

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was in love, yes, and I’ve often taken him to task for it. But this is the first news of your daughter. So there’s been no intent to injure on my part. Consider his youth! Forgive him! At least have pity on me for friendship’s sake! gostanzo: Whether it’s from you or from him, the insult comes from your family, and as such I acknowledge it. If I don’t revenge myself with my own hands, then let him appear before the Duke and be punished as he deserves – just as I’ve been promised. vincenzio: Ah Gostanzo, have pity on a poor old man! If anything were to happen to my son, my own life would be worth nothing to me! gostanzo: These are serious matters, Vincenzio. When one’s honour is at stake, neither friends nor relatives – no one else counts. I’m entitled to my revenge and I’ll have it. vincenzio: What will you gain, even if you had my son executed? Not even that will wipe out this shame you feel; on the contrary, you’ll only spread the news and draw more attention to yourself. gostanzo: Anything you may say is in vain. vincenzio: This is patently spiteful. You don’t understand what a father’s love means. Yet you have a child of your own. gostanzo: Just because I know what it means to be a father, I’m all the more enraged by this insult. vincenzio: The least you could do is to let Cornelio and Lucilla get married, since they love each other so much! As far as nobility of birth is concerned, there’s absolutely no reason to reject him, and as for money, how many suitors will you find as rich as Cornelio? gostanzo: I’ve already told you many times that it can’t be done. Think of some other solution. vincenzio: Oh God! What reason could you have to refuse kinship with me? gostanzo: To cut a long story short, even though I’ve never told you before, Lucilla is engaged to Messer Lonardo Lanfranchi, who will be back from Rome for the wedding ceremony shortly. vincenzio: Woe is me! Poor unfortunate old man! What can I do then? Ah Gostanzo, Gostanzo, how much more lenient I’d be if this had happened to you! Don’t deny me this favour! Remember he’s young and doesn’t know any better! gostanzo: There’s no point in trying to excuse him. He’s a presumptuous, impudent, treacherous scoundrel! vincenzio: I’m willing to admit he’s wronged you and even that he deserves to die a thousand deaths. Yet, for pity’s sake and because

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of our friendship, I beg you to spare him, even though he may not deserve it. gostanzo: Vincenzio, don’t insist any more. I’ve made up my mind. I think the guards must have come to get him already, because I told them to use the back door. Just leave me alone and mind your own business. vincenzio: (Crying ) Oh, oh, oh! Gostanzo, I entreat you on my knees, I beseech you, for the love of God, don’t bring my family to utter ruin. querciuola: (Aside) Things couldn’t have gone any better. She’s agile, that Brigida – climbed right into Lucilla’s bedroom. gostanzo: Stand up, Vincenzio! There’s no point in your entreaties! I’ve already told you it’s a waste of time. querciuola: (Aside) Here’s my master, begging Gostanzo to forgive his son. This will be good news. —What’s the matter, Vincenzio? Why are you crying? vincenzio: Ah Querciuola! I’m too miserable for words! Gostanzo, in his cruelty, has had my only son Cornelio imprisoned, and wants to have him tried and executed. querciuola: What do you mean? I just left Cornelio. He’s on his way. gostanzo: On his way where? querciuola: To Alessandro’s house. gostanzo: How long ago was that? querciuola: Just now, a few minutes ago. vincenzio: Oh lucky me, if that’s true! gostanzo: How can that be possible? I locked him up in the room and handed over the key to the officer who was supposed to arrest him and march him off to jail. querciuola: Be that as it may, Cornelio is in Alessandro’s house now. I can call him, if you like. gostanzo: What was it you told me, Vincenzio? You’re the one who told me about Cornelio being in my house. I was in such a rage I just locked the door and never bothered looking to find out who was there. vincenzio: All I know is that someone told me you were going to the Duke’s palace to lay a charge against some young man, and the person who told me was sure it could be no one but my son. Out of my love for Cornelio, I believed him. gostanzo: Let’s clarify this matter. Ruzza, Ruzza! ruzza: I was coming to talk to you, sir. I’ve got to tell you about a joke – the best one I’ve ever heard. gostanzo: Has the officer come yet?

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ruzza: Yes, sir. gostanzo: Who’s the scoundrel in the room with my daughter? ruzza: I was coming to that. The officer thinks you’ve played a joke on him and he’s pretty irate. gostanzo: Why? ruzza: Because in that room there was only Brigida, dressed up as a man. When she saw the guards coming into the room, she burst out laughing and whispered in my ear that she had come on a special mission to slip into your bedroom tonight, alone – she’s so in love with you. Come on and have a look; you’ll die laughing! gostanzo: I don’t believe a word of all this. She wouldn’t have made a fool of me today the way she did. ruzza: Women will play these little tricks whenever they get a chance. You just have to feel sorry for them; that’s the way they are! gostanzo: Why am I always so cursed? By the devil, if I’d seen her jumping into my bed tonight, I’d have laid hold of her without a second thought for the world. vincenzio: Thanks be to God, we didn’t do the insulting. gostanzo: It was you who laid the accusations against yourself, Vincenzio. As I’ve already told you, I knew absolutely nothing about it. querciuola: (Aside) There’s a laugh for you! The whole thing has ended well. gostanzo: What did the officer say? ruzza: He left grumbling. Why not come home and say hello to Brigida? She was just getting ready to leave. gostanzo: Why does she want to leave? She’s changed her mind just like that? ruzza: Women’s whims! You should know how erratic their brains are apt to be. Actually, she thought the Captain was going to Lucca today and that he wouldn’t be back till tomorrow. But up in the room where she was, she heard he’d been seen walking down the street just minutes ago, so she wants to get herself back home. Another day, when she’s got the time free, she’ll return to complete her mission. gostanzo: Ah, cruel little traitress! Let’s go. I want to kiss her before she gets away. But where should I plant it? On her nose, of course. Oh what a lovely little nose! I’m leaving, Vincenzio. Forgive me if I was slightly unfriendly for a moment, but it was your fault. The gravity of this matter compelled me. vincenzio: It doesn’t matter. Thank God things have turned out well for us both.

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ruzza: Gostanzo, you have a letter forwarded to you by your bank. gostanzo: From where? ruzza: From Rome. gostanzo: We’ll be going inside then. (Gostanzo and Ruffa exit ) vincenzio: I want to have a talk with Cornelio. querciuola: Things have gone well, Vincenzio. That fool, Gostanzo, is so gullible he’d believe the moon is made of green cheese. vincenzio: I tell you, I was quite upset for a time and my mind isn’t at peace yet. I’m afraid this sort of thing may happen again and again. Cornelio will have his own way. He hasn’t got a jot of consideration left for his own father, much less for anyone else in the world. querciuola: Don’t invent ills before they happen. This danger he’s run will make him more careful in the future. After all, experience is the best teacher. —Ah, here’s Cornelio. Scene ii cornelio, vincenzio, and querciuola cornelio: (Aside) It’s easy for Alessandro to talk. To advise others about things in which one’s own feelings aren’t involved makes no sense at all. I’ve risked a terrible danger, but I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again if I had the chance. vincenzio: Will you continue to do as you like, Cornelio? Come to your senses, boy, and free your mind from this love folly. Can’t you see your life has been in danger today? cornelio: Oh father, I didn’t see you there. If ever you were smitten at my age, you’d pity me. You’d know we can’t always behave the way we’d like. vincenzio: Would to God you could only love the way I did! I wouldn’t have dared to squeeze one of my lady’s fingers, let alone get into her room with a rope-ladder! How did you escape? cornelio: I climbed down from the same window by the same ropeladder. I tell you, father, even though I admit to spending all my time in courting, at least I’m after a woman who’s the loveliest, chastest, and wisest that ever lived. vincenzio: What do you mean? She allowed you to climb into her bedroom when she was all alone. What proof of chastity was that? cornelio: She did it out of devotion to me. But her love is so pure that, no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t talk her into doing the

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slightest thing injurious to her honour. I’m astonished, and I’d be very happy if she could be my wife. To tell you the truth, seeing such modesty and such devotion to me, I’ve practically promised to marry her if you’ll give your consent. vincenzio: First of all, she’s engaged to another, so there’s no point even in thinking about it. Secondly, the insult I received from Gostanzo, gloating over the prospects of torturing you, makes the idea impossible. He intended to have you executed. cornelio: As for her being engaged, she hasn’t given her consent to anything. There have just been promises on Gostanzo’s part, to which she’ll pay no attention. As for the insult, I beg you to overlook it for my sake. If I do marry her, you’ll see how my life will change. vincenzio: Absolutely not! I honestly can’t forgive such an outrage! cornelio: I beg you, father, don’t disappoint me! vincenzio: You’ve never heard it said that you shouldn’t marry the woman you love? Such unions aren’t happy for long, as daily examples declare. cornelio: That may hold for others least like us. But when love is so magnanimous, refined, and rare, such examples no longer hold. vincenzio: Well, I’ll give it some thought. Go home now. As soon as I’m finished taking some money out of the bank, I’ll be back. (He exits) cornelio: I’ll see you later, father. (Aside) If only she becomes my wife I’d be the happiest man on earth! I must go and ask Messer Girolamo, our next-door neighbour, for help in persuading my father to forgive the offence, and then home. (He exits) Scene iii captain, fagiuolo, brachetto, ruzza, brigida, gostanzo; fracassa and picca, mute characters captain: I can’t find that woman anywhere! By the god of war, I want to give her a sound thrashing! fagiuolo: How are you going to do that, unless you find her? captain: Hell’s bells! I wish I could be lucky enough never to find her again! fagiuolo: She must have gone to vespers somewhere. captain: That’s not her habit. Besides, she knows I don’t want her to gad about, the wretched slut! fagiuolo: Here’s your errand-boy, Captain. Perhaps he’ll know something about her.

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brachetto: (Aside) Hairy at the bottom, hairy at the bottom.56 captain: Brachetto, come here! brachetto: Here I am, sir. I didn’t see you. captain: Where’s Brigida gone today? Why isn’t she at home? brachetto: A short while ago she was at her friend Piera’s house, and a man I don’t know came and asked her to disguise herself as a man in order to go to Ruzza’s house, where she was supposed to be locked up57 in a certain room. That’s most of what he said. I couldn’t catch the rest. captain: What on earth does that mean? By my life, why is my sword not performing its duty? What else do you know about it? What else were they talking about? brachetto: I was in the drawing room with Monna Piera’s boys, so while I could hear all this, they didn’t see me there. captain: Run to Fracassa’s and Picca’s houses and tell them to get their weapons ready and to come to Gostanzo Naspi’s house with me! brachetto: I will, sir. (He exits) captain: Fagiuolo, in this predicament we must fight with our own hands. Let’s go to this Ruzza’s house and revenge ourselves like true gallants. fagiuolo: Wait for the others, sir! They’ll be more useful to you than I could be. I don’t know much about war and I might do more harm than good. captain: What’s the matter with you, you villainous coward. You’re not going to leave me in the lurch, are you? fagiuolo: I think I’m going to. I didn’t get a job with you in order to fight. I’d rather be a chimney sweep, a latrine cleaner, a beggar, whatever is worst in the world. What folly it is to be a soldier! God save me from it, war is absurd! It was invented when men were giants and their flesh was as hard as iron. Haven’t you read the story of Morgante?58 Now men die as easily as flies. I don’t like fighting and I’ve never liked it, nor has my father, my grandfather, or any other member of my family. captain: You bloody coward! fagiuolo: I don’t care. captain: Take your courage in both hands. I want you to come. fagiuolo: If you need courage in massive measure, I’m not the man you need, believe me. I know how I feel inside. captain: Then why on earth do you carry that sword? fagiuolo: That’s a good question; I wish I could answer it. Whatever the

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reason, I can always pass it to you if necessary. You’d be better off with two swords in your hands than I’d be with one. captain: Well, show up anyway, whether you like it or not. Come here, I’ll teach you a couple of masterly strokes so that you can’t possibly miss. First of all, make sure your enemy doesn’t get you when he tries to hit you. Second, try to get him when you want to hit him. Come here, unsheathe your sword! fagiuolo: Please don’t, Captain! If I see it naked, it’ll make me shake for a week! captain: I know you can use it. (Fagiuolo draws out his sword) Hold it in your hand like this. First of all, stand on your guard! fagiuolo: I’d much rather sit at ease with a glass of wine in my hand. captain: You’re a real idiot, you rascal! fagiuolo: You’re right, I’m an idiot. I don’t know a thing about fighting. captain: I’m telling you to take up a defensive attitude! fagiuolo: (He strikes a defensive pose) Like this? captain: No, you nincompoop! Hold it like this! fagiuolo: Oh hell! Do you expect me to turn the point towards myself? captain: As soon as the enemy moves to approach you, lower your arm and turn it this way. fagiuolo: This way? (He moves his arm and strikes the Captain) captain: Ouch, ouch! Can’t you see my knee? fagiuolo: Didn’t I tell you I’d be doing more harm than good? You’d better try to cope as best you can without me. captain: No, you’re coming anyway! Hold your arm like this and let’s go! fagiuolo: (Trembling ) Brrrrrrrrrrrr! captain: You’re trembling with fear, you milksop! Here we are at Ruzza’s house. I can see his master at the door. Hold yourself in readiness! gostanzo: (Aside) My little turncoat took to her heels. So who are those armed men coming this way? captain: Where’s Ruzza, the wretched poltroon? gostanzo: What do you want from him? captain: I want to scoop his heart out with this sword! Where is that sow, Brigida? gostanzo: Captain, you presume too much to come to my house without an ounce of respect. captain: With respect or without! You don’t know me, eh? By the body of ...

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gostanzo: All right! Even though I’m old, I’ll show you what I can do! Let me go in. (He goes in shouting ) Ruzza, Ruzza! Come downstairs with some weapons! captain: What shall we do Fagiuolo? Shall we follow him in? fagiuolo: You go in and I’ll wait for you outside. captain: It’ll be better if I stay outside too. It’ll give them a fighting chance. gostanzo: (Comes out again carrying a sword) What are you mumbling, you arrogant fool? How dare you insult people in their own houses without any consideration at all? captain: Sir, I don’t wish to insult you, but ... ruzza: What do you mean? Step back or I’ll pierce you through with my sword! captain: We’ll meet again some other time! (He runs away) fagiuolo: (Aside) That’s good! I like that! Plague on him for a bravo – he runs away with the worst of them! Bloody craven! No point in my staying around; I’ve got a neck of my own! (He exits) gostanzo: (To Ruzza) Did you see how that coward made tracks? All these bullies are the same. He must have heard something about Brigida. Let’s go in. (They exit ) captain: I should be reasonably safe here. I’ve never run away before. This time I did it to avoid a tumult in the city. Where’s Fagiuolo gone? He must have run in another direction. brigida: (Aside) If Brachetto told the Captain what he said he did, I’d better think up a good explanation. Lord, why can’t I think of some trick? No reason I should fall behind those ladies who handle their love affairs with all the wisdom of Solomon and the bravery of Orlando. Here’s the Captain; I’ll go and meet him. —Welcome, my lord Captain! I thought you were in Lucca. captain: You scamping liar! How dare you even talk to me? brigida: Captain, you do me wrong! What have I done to you? captain: What do you mean, you slut? Where have you been today? brigida: I spent the day with Monna Piera. I didn’t want to sit at home all alone, since I thought you were going to be in Lucca. captain: And you have the impudence of lying to me like this? Who was the locksmith I found mured up in your bedroom today? brigida: What on earth do you mean? A locksmith mured up in my room? God help me! I only know that after dinner I checked to make sure that all the doors were barred and I bolted the front door. Then I went to see Monna Piera, thinking Brachetto and Fagiuolo were with you. Who is this locksmith you’re talking about?

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captain: Tell me how that locksmith happened to be incarcerated in our house! brigida: Oh, oh! He must have been a thief who broke into the house through some window, knowing there was no one at home! Which room did you find him in? captain: The one with the shutters. brigida: Those are low windows. It must be just as I said. Poor me! He must have stolen my necklace! captain: I refuse to believe your lies! You’re making a fool of me. I’ve also heard from Brachetto that you’ve been somewhere disguised as a man. brigida: What a miserable life I lead! What do you mean? You’re wrong, my dear Captain, to have so little faith in me! I’d rather be burnt at the stake than cast the slightest shame on you! But I think I know what you mean, because a man I don’t know came to Monna Piera’s house while I was there, with a request from Gostanzo Naspi to let him use her clothes to dress himself up as a woman. She’d have liked me to lend him my clothes, but I refused. captain: No, no, no, no! Brachetto says you dressed up as a man! brigida: I wonder that you’re so willing to believe the tales of a boy eight or nine years old! He must have mistaken one thing for another, because I’m telling you the truth. But if you’re going to blame me and make me miserable, go ahead. I still love you anyway, and I can put up with it patiently. captain: Brachetto, come downstairs! —What did you tell me about Brigida being disguised as a man? brachetto: I was playing and I couldn’t understand everything, but I thought I could overhear something about dressing up and going to Gostanzo’s house. brigida: Did you understand I was going to be dressed up as a man? Make sure you get things right, you scatterbrain! brachetto: Either you were supposed to be dressed up as a man or someone else was going to be dressed up as a woman. All I know is that someone was supposed to be in disguise. brigida: I told you that was what happened! Ah Captain, I hope you’ll not doubt my word any more now! captain: By the body of Rodomont!59 I’d have shown you what I think about disguises if the story had been true! brigida: Please, let’s get home and check if that locksmith has stolen anything. What about my necklace, or perhaps my yellow sleeves? (They exit )

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Scene iv gostanzo, vincenzio, cornelio, fortunio, and querciuola gostanzo: (Aside) Since this is the way things have gone with our fair and gentle Messer Lonardo, I’d better reconsider a family alliance with Vincenzio. I’ll go and talk to him. vincenzio: (Aside) Next time I talk to Gostanzo, I want him to explain to me more clearly how matters stand with Messer Lonardo. Ah, here he is. —Where are you going, Gostanzo? gostanzo: I was coming to see you to talk about something important. You know how many times you’ve asked me to let your son marry Lucilla. I’ve always said no because I thought she was promised to Messer Lonardo. He left for Rome, but was supposed to be back by now to marry her. Now I receive a letter from him saying that he’s become a bishop and doesn’t need a wife any more, the doublefaced bastard. So, if you still want her, I’ll give you my daughter for a daughter-in-law. vincenzio: Gostanzo, I’ll not persist in my resentment. I forgive you everything and I thank you for the offer. I’m willing to accept it. I know Cornelio will be happy. Come into my house. We’ll talk to him and make the necessary arrangements for the wedding. gostanzo: You go in. I’ve an errand to do, and I’ll be with you in an hour. But before I go, here’s my hand in mutual trust. vincenzio: And mine – in mutual trust. You go ahead; I’ll be waiting for you at home without fail. gostanzo: Until later. (He exits) vincenzio: (Aside) By my soul, this is a stroke of good luck! Besides her dowry, this will bring us quite a bit of extra money. I’ll go and talk to Cornelio about it. But here he is, looking quite worried. I wonder what’s the matter. cornelio: (Aside) So, my slut of a sister has no respect for our family honour! By the sun in heaven, I’ll settle the score myself! But first, where’s father? vincenzio: (Aside) God help me today! What sudden misfortune has struck? —Where are you going, Cornelio? What’s the news? cornelio: Oh father, I didn’t see you, my fury makes me blind. There’s a scandal brewing in our household and we have to find something to do about it. vincenzio: More woe! What is it now? Get it out fast!

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cornelio: That impudent wench, Lampridia ... vincenzio: What has she done? Let’s hear it and may God help me! cornelio: I found her in her bedroom with a young courtier – the one who serves Monsignor Fieschi. vincenzio: Ah treacherous whore! So this is what lurks behind that pious little face of hers! What have you done about it? Has the intruder gotten away? cornelio: No, sir. I made no noise. I just shut the bedroom door softly from the outside, because I wanted to consult with you before doing anything. So tell me, what’s to be done? vincenzio: Go into the room and, between you and Querciuola, grab that fellow and bring him here. I want to question him separately to find out if she’s been taken advantage of. cornelio: All right, that’s what we’ll do. vincenzio: (Aside) You just can’t trust these sanctimonious hypocrites! To think that I’ve always taken her for sensible, modest, and Godfearing. This proves a forced, unnatural behaviour can seldom continue for long. Things go better for more happy-go-lucky people. They know what to do in really important situations. They don’t get so carried away with scruples, afraid to spit in church now and again. Bigots, hypocrites, sectarians, one must always be on one’s guard against them. Try to sign a contract, arrange a barter, a sale, or some such thing with them. If you’re not careful, you’ll see what happens! Here’s the young man now. I want to ask him a few questions to see if what he says will agree with what she’ll say later. —Come here, you wretched, miserable dog! fortunio: Sir, my mistake didn’t arise from villainy or treacherousness, but from too much boldness prompted by excessive love. I was deeply enamoured of your daughter, or rather niece, and, being unable to obtain any sign of favour from her, I reached the extreme decision of testing her feelings. Without her knowing anything about it, I got into her room. She’s not guilty of a thing. All the impudence was on my part alone. I did it in order to survive; it’s natural in a man to do anything to avoid dying. vincenzio: A man is entitled to seek help and survival only so long as he doesn’t inflict shame or harm on others. For this reason, you’ll not get away unpunished, unless I change my mind. fortunio: You can do whatever you like with me, but I tell you no shame or harm can come to you from what I’ve done, as you know only too well.

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vincenzio: What am I supposed to know? I can’t understand you. This isn’t the way to appease me. fortunio: Enough of that. I know you understand me. I was caught in the trap. That, in itself, should make you forgive me. vincenzio: I don’t know what you’re talking about! What I do know is that I’ll revenge myself for this dirty trick. fortunio: You must know that this sham of a niece is a male, just like you. So now, what shame may derive from my rashness? vincenzio: What senseless lunacy is this? I think you’re mad! fortunio: This is no lunacy. I tell you that Lampridia, who lives in your house, and whom I love deeply, is a man, not a woman. This is the truth and you can test it. You know very well how matters stand. I’m certain you’re in on the whole thing and now you’re just pretending. vincenzio: I don’t know, and I never knew. I don’t believe you! cornelio: Father, this would be strange indeed. querciuola: So why don’t we just try to find out more about it? vincenzio: Cornelio, ask her to come here. This is odd beyond credence; it simply can’t be true. fortunio: You’ll see. I don’t know what else to say. cornelio: Now we’ll find out. Just wait here while I get Lampridia. (He exits) Scene v messer fabrizio, messer lucrezio, vincenzio, lampridia, and fortunio messer fabrizio: Messer Lucrezio, if you’d only seen this city twenty-five or thirty years ago when I was a student here, it would have looked quite different to you from the way it does now. But I hope you’ll soon see it begin to regain its ancient greatness. messer lucrezio: This city pleases me, not so much for its location, although it’s excellent, as on account of its antiquity. I like that very much. vincenzio: (Aside) Who are those two people coming this way? One is Messer Fabrizio. I don’t know the other one; he looks like a stranger. —Where are you going, Messer Fabrizio? messer fabrizio: Oh Vincenzio, I was showing this gentleman the city; he’s one of my countrymen. But what’s the matter with you? You look like a bundle of nerves.

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vincenzio: Well, listen to what’s happened to me. I don’t mind if you know. It’s been discovered that Lampridia, whom I’ve always considered a daughter, turned out to be a man. I just can’t imagine how the whole thing started. She’s been in our house for years and no one ever found out. I tell you, I’m flabbergasted. messer fabrizio: That’s strange. Are you sure it isn’t a joke? fortunio: I assure you it isn’t. vincenzio: We’ll soon find out. She’s coming downstairs. Stay with me, will you, if you’re not too busy. messer fabrizio: With pleasure. I’m sure my friend won’t mind staying either. messer lucrezio: Never mind me. Just stay as long as you like, Messer Fabrizio. vincenzio: Now we’ll clarify the whole situation. Come here, Lampridia! Why is this fellow telling us you’re a man? I can’t understand it. lampridia: Vincenzio, my honoured father, I won’t refuse to reveal my true identity in the presence of you all for two reasons. The first is that I’m spurred by necessity. Because of this man’s trick, I’ve been discovered in my sleep without realizing it. The other reason is that this morning, at St. Peter’s convent, I heard news that will make it unnecessary for me to live in hiding any longer. I’m indeed a man and I’m not your brother’s child, as you’ve always thought. vincenzio: Alas! Then I’ve been deceived! lampridia: I beg you to let me finish what I have to say. You’ll find there’s been no deceit. messer fabrizio: Let him speak, Vincenzio. vincenzio: Go on. lampridia: I’m the son of a Sicilian gentleman. Seven years ago, when he was already old, he was declared a rebel and banished from his country. He escaped secretly taking me with him, and he had me disguise myself as a woman in order to make it safer for me to hide. He took me to France and, before he died, he entrusted me to Bellisario, who was a great friend of his, informing him of everything and begging him never to reveal my identity to anyone so long as things in my country were unfavourable to my family. As you know, Bellisario later returned to Pisa, passing me off as his daughter born in France. He left it up to me to reveal who I was, as soon as I thought the danger was over. So, if to protect my safety I didn’t tell you what your own brother had kept secret, you shouldn’t consider it an insult. I beg you not to do it.

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vincenzio: Absolutely extraordinary! fortunio: (Aside) Oh wonderful fortune! I had a feeling his was the face of my beloved Aloisio. This man is certainly Aloisio, but I won’t tell him yet just who I am. I want to find out if he remembers me. messer lucrezio: Messer Fabrizio, something tells me this is the man I’ve been looking for. What a stroke of good luck if this were true! I want to ask him a few questions. messer fabrizio: Ask him. I sense he’s telling the truth. messer lucrezio: Which city in Sicily did you come from? lampridia: My native city was Palermo. messer lucrezio: Palermo? Good Heavens! And do you remember your father’s name or the name of anyone else in your family? What is your own name? lampridia: My name is Aloisio and my father’s name was Messer Francesco. I can’t remember anyone else. I had an uncle, but he traveled a great deal at the time, so I never knew him. His name was Lucrezio. fortunio: (Aside) Oh me, happier than anyone else in the world! messer lucrezio: My dearest nephew, I’m Lucrezio, and I’ve come here for no other reason than to look for you and to bring you back to your city, which is now at peace. Your life is no longer in danger. lampridia: Are you Messer Lucrezio? What a joy to embrace you! All at once I’ve found you and you’ve brought me such good news about my city, even though I’d already heard about it this morning! messer fabrizio: Vincenzio, this is a marvelous coincidence that they should have found each other again by mere chance. vincenzio: You’ve no idea how happy I feel. When, all of a sudden, I heard that Bellisario had come back from France with a child that age, without my having heard anything about it, I couldn’t help wondering. fortunio: (Aside) My mind is in too much of a turmoil. I can no longer be silent. —Tell me, Aloisio, were you married when you left home? messer lucrezio: How can you expect him to have been married? He was hardly seven years old at the time. lampridia: Please, don’t remind me! The memory is enough to destroy my present joy. Alas, alas! (He sighs) messer fabrizio: That was a deep sigh. fortunio: Why are you so upset? For the sake of my love, even though it means nothing to you, please tell me the reason. lampridia: Even though it gives me great sorrow to think about it, I won’t be discourteous. I’ve already secretly chosen as my future wife

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a girl nearly my age, who loved me as much as I loved her, and I will continue to love her as long as I live. For that reason, I may never marry unless I can find her again. But alas! I fear she may be dead, or that some terrible misfortune may have befallen her! messer fabrizio: Alas, Vincenzio! I feel the sting of my old sorrow. You remember our discussion this morning. fortunio: I beg you. What was her name? lampridia: Lucrezia, the loveliest girl I’ve ever met. Her forehead and eyes resembled yours a great deal. fortunio: As well they may. Oh my sweet Aloisio! It is only fair that you should be mine, since I’ve so ardently desired you already. I’m your Lucrezia, a woman, not a man, as I’ve been taken for till now. lampridia: I need no other proof except your eyes. I recognize you now. How lucky I am! I can see this is the face I used to love so deeply. messer fabrizio: (Aside) Oh heavens, what do I hear? Lucky me if that’s true! I won’t believe it unless I’m better informed about this matter. —If what you say is true, why are you in those clothes? fortunio: I will tell you. My father had already been turned out of his own home some time before that same ill-fated rebellion in our city. When that happened, for his own safety and mine, my uncle was forced to flee, taking me with him. In order to diminish the dangers which might arise from my presence, he disguised me as a man and called me Fortunio. We were attacked by Moorish ships and taken prisoner, and shortly after that my uncle died. I was given as a page to Cardinal Cesarino,60 and upon the latter’s death I became a courtier in the household of Monsignor Fieschi, where I’ve been all this time, known by the name Fortunio and taken for a man. messer fabrizio: Oh God! What was your uncle’s name? fortunio: His name was Messer Lodovico. messer fabrizio: Everything fits together perfectly. Oh Lucrezia, my daughter, I’m Fabrizio, your father! I’ve wept for you and wished you were here with me and looked for you all over the world! Oh, oh, oh! I can’t restrain my joyful tears!61 fortunio: Oh my father! How great is our felicity today! Father, I beg you, since I’ve had the joy of finding Aloisio again, Aloisio whom I loved so purely, that you may grant me permission to marry him, seeing that in my heart I’ve always felt he ought to be my husband. messer fabrizio: If he’s willing, nothing could make me happier. lampridia: How could I not be willing, when I was ready to live without a wife, thinking that my Lucrezia might be dead or lost?

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fortunio: With my father’s leave, I embrace you, Aloisio, as my husband. lampridia: And I take you as my wife, my sweet Lucrezia. vincenzio: I stand here amazed to see what a fortunate coincidence has brought them all together again. lampridia: I could perceive something in your eyes, Lucrezia, and I didn’t quite know what it was. vincenzio: Let’s all go in. You’ll be able to talk at greater length about the events in your lives during so many years, and Cornelio will share in your joy. messer fabrizio: With pleasure. But it’s only fair we should all go to my house. vincenzio: May we go into mine for a moment, first? Then we’ll be at liberty. messer fabrizio: Then let’s all go in. vincenzio: After you. (They exit ) querciuola: (To the public ) Most worthy spectators, nothing else will take place on this stage. The weddings of Lampridia and Fortunio and of Cornelio will take place inside. If some of you ladies wish to come, we’ll find bridegrooms for you, too. If you don’t, you can offer us signs of your joy right where you are. Notes 1 A sacrifice (sacrificio) was a symbolic ceremony, chiefly meant to tease the ladies of Siena, during which the Intronati vowed to reject love and to devote their minds solely to the pursuit of learning. We know of one such ceremony held during Carnival, 1531. On that occasion, each of the Intronati threw into the flames an object relating to love, for instance, a lock of a lady’s hair, some sonnets written by a lady, a white flower, a container full of face powder, a mirror, a handkerchief drenched with tears, and so on. Piccolomini is recorded as having thrown away a ring. After the ashes had been dispersed, a madrigal was sung exhorting the ladies not to be ungrateful towards their admirers. 2 Veglie in the original text. They were social gatherings at which many different games were played. The Sienese veglie are fully described in Girolamo Bargagli’s Dialogo de’ giuochi che nelle vegghie sanesi si usano di fare, published in Lucca in 1572. 3 The original reads salamonissimi, a jocular superlative of Salomone or Salamone, that is, King Solomon, famous for his wisdom.

366 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 4 The church of Santo Spirito, which stands not far from Porta Pispini, one of the medieval gates of the city, was begun around 1498 and is the principal Dominican church in Siena. It is quite possible that Piccolomini’s attack on religious hypocrisy may relate to the presence in Siena of a group of religious zealots, the giovannelli, from the name of their founder, the Roman nobleman Giovanni Battista Cafarelli. Among the aims of the giovannelli was that of extirpating whatever did not appear to follow religious orthodoxy. In 1542, just two years before L’Alessandro was written, they played a major role in having Aonio Paleario tried for heresy. See V. Marchetti, Gruppi ereticali senesi del Cinquecento (Florence, 1975), 45–9; S. Caponetto, Aonio Paleario (1503–70) e la Riforma protestante in Toscana (Turin, 1979), 59–70. 5 The original reads la regola del cordone e della correggia, an allusion to the monastic orders. 6 Cardenalesse in the original, an untranslatable feminine form of cardinale. 7 The Fieschi are an ancient Genoese family. The prelate mentioned here may be Giacomo Fieschi, bishop of Savona during the pontificate of Paul III, whose name appears on a contract signed on October 12, 1545. 8 A possible allusion to the plays of Angelo Beolco, called Ruzzante. The characters in his plays are mainly northern Italian peasants. 9 Pietro Aretino (1492–1556) was well known for his pungent wit. He came to be feared and was sometimes alluded to as the scourge of princes. His works contain a brilliant satire of Renaissance society. Piccolomini’s allusion to him in this preface serves to point out the extent to which Piccolomini’s plays, in which romantic love and tearful elements are emphasized, differ from Aretino’s. 10 Anicius Manlius Torquatus Severinus Boethius (c. 475–525 A.D.) belonged to a noble Roman family. He became secretary to King Theodoric, but was falsely accused of treason and sentenced to death. His best-known work is De consolatione philosophiae, written during his imprisonment. Boethius constitutes a link between ancient culture and the Middle Ages. He began translating the works of Aristotle and Plato into Latin, his ultimate purpose being that of showing agreement between the two philosophers. His Latin translations of some of Aristotle’s works were of the utmost importance in conveying classical thought to the Christian world. Because it does not appear that he translated any work on rhetoric, his efforts being concentrated on logic, it may be that Piccolomini is alluding to some work among the many extant ones wrongly attributed to Boethius. 11 The humanists, following Cicero’s definition of comedy known through Donatus, described plays as imitatio vitae, speculum consuetudinis and imago

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12

13

14

15

16 17

18 19

veritatis. The allusion, a few lines above, to other ways of making love evidently refers to the presence of a homosexual theme in L’Alessandro. The opening performance of Terence’s Hecyra was ruined by the rival attraction of a rope-dancer and two boxers, and the second one was equally unsuccessful because of a rumour that a gladiatorial fight was going to take place in the vicinity of the theatre. Pisa was first occupied by Florence in 1406. When Charles VIII invaded Italy in 1494, the city regained her independence until 1509. From then on, Pisa was mostly under Florentine rule. Pisa University had long been a centre of learning attended by students from neighbouring Tuscan cities. Among others, Lorenzo the Magnificent’s son Giovanni, the future Leo X, studied there. Cosimo I reopened it and reorganized it in 1543. The origins of this medical school are lost in the mists of time. Perhaps it was founded in the ninth century by the Benedictines. For centuries it was one of the most important centres for the diffusion of Greek and Islamic learning. Dissection appears to have been practised at Salerno at a very early stage. In the thirteenth century a collection of the teachings of the school in Latin hexameters, the Flos sanitatis or Regimen sanitatis salernitanum, began to circulate and became very popular. The school survived until 1811. At the time mentioned in the play, Sicily was under Spanish domination and ruled by viceroys. The Sicilians, on the whole, accepted Spanish rule without too much protest. Yet the behaviour of the Spanish troops, especially when they became mutinous because they were left unpaid, constituted a source of problems. With specific regard to Palermo, an expanding city with no adequate administrative system, the situation was rendered worse by the fiscal corruption and the exorbitant privileges of Spain in relation to the wheat trade. No less than five popular uprisings are recorded in Palermo between 1512 and 1560. In 1544 the viceroy wrote that Sicily was to be avoided like the plague because of its dangerous internal situation. See D. Mack Smith, History of Sicily. Medieval Sicily (800–1713) (New York, 1968), 105–208. The original reads col trenta diavoli, with the thirty devils. It was a tenet of amour courtois that the noble heart would never fail to respond to pure love. It is ironic that the argument should be used by an unromantic procuress to persuade Lampridia. The original reads qualche pezzo di carne senza occhi, some piece of flesh without eyes. Alfonso d’Avalos, Marquis of Vasto (1502–46), a general in the Imperial army, became Marquis of Pescara in 1525 on the death of his cousin

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20 21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28 29 30

31

Ferdinand, Vittoria Colonna’s husband. He was appointed governor of Milan in 1538. Pier Luigi Farnese, Paul III’s son, was born in 1503 and created Duke of Castro by his own father. He was assassinated in 1547. Probably Andrea Doria (1466–1560), member of an ancient Genoese family, who became the absolute ruler of Genoa in 1528 and helped Charles V to capture Tunis from the pirate Barbarossa in 1535. Probably Duke Ercole II d’Este (1508–59), who married Renée, daughter of Louis XII of France. He was a patron of the arts, in accordance with family tradition. Francesco Maria I della Rovere (1490–1538), son of Sixtus IV’s nephew, Giovanni della Rovere. In 1523 he succeeded Teodoro Trivulzio as commander of the Venetian troops. He was granted Venetian citizenship in 1524. An allusion to the controversy between Cesare Fregoso and Cagnino Gonzaga, both officers in the French army. Fregoso declared that Gonzaga had slandered him when writing to a third party and, on January 2, 1537, he challenged Gonzaga to a duel without previously obtaining permission from his general. Gonzaga accepted the challenge. Yet the duel was never fought and the controversy dragged on for several years. Opinions on this matter were sought from such eminent jurists as Alciato and Socino. Via del Porrione is already mentioned as Via del Parione (the origins of the name are obscure) in Sienese documents written in the thirteenth century. It now leads to Piazza del Campo, although it had already been in use for a considerable time before the square was built. Nanna is one of the characters in Aretino’s Ragionamenti, a lady of pleasure who takes a lively part in witty conversations (ragionamenti). Bonda, or Bionda, is mentioned as a bawd by Panzana, a servant, in Piccolomini’s play L’amor costante, Act I, sc. iii. Raffaella is the name of the protagonist of the dialogue entitled La Raffaella, written by Piccolomini in 1538. In it Margherita, a young wife, is persuaded to accept the attentions of a lover by Raffaella, a procuress. In the original squarta ricotte, ricotta-cheese cutter. A popular diminutive of Pippa, that is, Filippa. The original reads come tu hai passato l’anta, dalle del tordo, a probable allusion to the lack of sexual interest in a man who is past his prime. The expression, however, is obscure. The expression cena a la veneziana appears to refer to an invitation to dinner followed by lovemaking. Venice, just like Rome, abounded in famous courtesans at the time.

Piccolomini: Alessandro 369 32 An ancient Tuscan city, not distant from Siena. In the sixteenth century it became a centre for the diffusion of Protestantism in central Italy. 33 In the original al corpo di San Burano, one of the many expletives not to be translated literally. 34 All these plants were considered aphrodisiacs at the time. 35 The remark refers to Gherardo, one of the protagonists of the Intronati’s play Gl’ Ingannati. Gherardo, though an old man, wants to marry Lelia, a young girl. Lelia is in love with Flamminio and she disguises herself as a page to become the latter’s servant. The situation was imitated by Shakespeare in Twelfth Night. 36 The excuse is the same as the one given by the maid to Rinieri, the scholar, when he is vainly waiting in the widow’s courtyard in Decameron VIII.7. 37 San Giusto is a small square at one end of Via del Porrione, between the contrade of the Tower and of the Unicorn. Overlooking the square there is a palace with large rooms, which was redecorated in the eighteenth century but already existed in 1500, in which the Intronati probably held their meetings. The Intronati’s play I Prigioni, which is an adaptation of Plautus’s Captivi, takes place in Piazza San Giusto. See L. Kosuta, ‘L’Académie Siennoise: une académie oubliée du XVIe siècle,’ Bullettino Senese di Storia Patria, 7 (1981), 132. 38 In the original Sole sole vienne, / che’l dice’l Creatore, / Il Creatore il dice, / San Pier la be ’. The verses belong to an extremely ancient popular rhyme, several versions of which exist in various parts of Italy. 39 Arsenic was used as an ingredient in the composition of some cosmetics. In Piccolomini’s above mentioned dialogue, Raffaella advises Margherita against using such cosmetics, suggesting distilled water instead. 40 The original reads poco manco ch’uom di pasta, a man’s figure made of stucco. The expression derives from Lodovico Ariosto’s Orlando furioso, XXV, line 31, where it is equally applied to an amorous situation. 41 The original reads gittale qualche guazzino nel mostaccio. The word guazzino means a scoundrel, from the name of a criminal beheaded in Tuscany. 42 The repetition is intentional. The original reads se voi avete fede ne la mia fede. Piccolomini was probably mocking the high-flown language of courtly love. 43 We have to assume the existence of a passage between the two houses. 44 Cicero’s famous saying (‘Let arms yield to eloquence’) is delightfully misapplied by Malagigi. 45 In the original, al corpo de la puttana nostra, a sacrilegious exclamation. 46 The original reads vestir bambocci, to dress dolls. 47 In the original, al corpo d’Anticristo, by the body of Antchrist. 48 Another allusion to the cultural revival of Pisa fostered by Cosimo I.

370 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 49 A distinction was made at Italian universities between ordinary lectures, dealing with the more essential law texts, and extraordinary lectures, dealing with the less essential texts. The former were held in the morning, whereas the latter took place in the afternoon. The ordinary books for civil law at Bologna in the late Middle Ages, for instance, comprised the first part of the Pandects, known as Digestum Vetus, and the Code. The extraordinary books were the two remaining parts of the Pandects, together with some smaller texts. Thus, the ordinary lectures were the first and most important ones of the day. 50 Angela is described as a pollastriera in the original, from the expression portare i polli, to bring the chickens, current in the sixteenth century to describe acting as a go-between in a love affair. 51 Fagiuolo’s reasoning is a fine example of the comic use of ethical relativism, a fairly prevalent trend of thought at the time. 52 This may be either the Marquis of Vasto mentioned above (see note 19) or his cousin. 53 Cesare Fregoso, a Genoese nobleman educated in France, was sent in 1538 on a diplomatic mission to Venice by Francis I in the company of Antonio Rincón, a Spanish diplomat whose ultimate destination was Constantinople. In July 1541 the two envoys decided to travel by boat along the Po, in spite of the fact that they had been advised not to do it. On the evening of July 2 they were both murdered by armed men sent by Alfonso d’Avalos, then governor of Milan. 54 Bevilacqua was a swordsman who became famous especially in Rome and Florence towards the end of the fifteenth century. He often got paid to fight duels on behalf of someone else. He was also notorious for his love of debauchery. He is mentioned by Aretino in Act II, sc. i, of La Cortigiana and in the Ragionamento della Nanna e della Antonia. 55 Bullfights were not uncommon in Italy at this time, as a result of Spanish influence. Some were held in Rome in the Carnivals of 1513 and 1519. Bullfights also formed part of the celebrations in honour of Charles V during his visit to Naples in 1535–6. There is evidence that some also took place in other Italian cities, including Siena. 56 The original reads Pelo pelo in basso. Nothing appears to be known about this probably obscene verse. 57 It is not possible to render the pun between the two meanings of chiavare, to lock up and to have sexual intercourse. 58 An allusion to Luigi Pulci’s mock epic poem about the adventures of the giant, Morgante.

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59 The original reads Al corpo di Rodomonte, an allusion to the boastful pagan hero in Ariosto’s Orlando furioso. 60 Cardinal Alessandro Cesarini, who died in 1542, was created a cardinal in 1517 by Leo X. He became famous for the protection he accorded to literary artists. 61 The artificially contrived recognitions involving a lot of sentiment and tear-shedding show how close L’Alessandro really is to the comédie larmoyante, which flourished at the end of the century.

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GIAMBATTISTA DELLA PORTA

The Sister (La sorella)

Translated by Bruno Ferraro and Donald Beecher Introduction by Donald Beecher

Published originally in the Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation Series. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 2000. By permission of the publisher.

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Introduction to The Sister by Giambattista Della Porta Giambattista Della Porta was a Neapolitan born and raised, the second of three sons, all of whom would distinguish themselves in academic circles. Giambattista, however, was destined to outshine the others as one of the most innovative intellectuals of the second half of the sixteenth century. His birthdate is approximate, fixed at 1535, and the exact circumstances of his education can only be guessed at. Clearly, he was both brilliant and nurtured. His work on natural magic and physiognomy would gain for him not only renown, but the attention of the Inquisition, to which he was obliged to give numerous accounts of himself. But he had a genius for accommodating the times that was not shared by Giordano Bruno. Della Porta spoke of his plays as ‘the playful creations of his less serious study’ or as the ‘trifles of his youth,’ although this is largely the pose of an academic, for he took his plays seriously and was still writing them in his sixties and early seventies. They were, in fact, numerous, amounting to some thirty or more, and they were exceedingly well crafted. He may have pretended to a kind of insouciance concerning his plays, but in the prologue to I due fratelli rivali (The Two Rival Brothers) he offers his own ‘teach-in’ to an imaginary group of academics, law-school graduates, and intellectuals, whom, for their pedantic approach to the theatrical arts, he takes to task by lumping them all together in the character of Ignoramus. There was something complex on his mind that he had to tell them, but he had only the vocabulary of the ancients to describe it. Pay attention to plot, he says, ‘whether it be new, arousing wonder, pleasing and well-proportioned,’ for plot is the ‘soul’ of comedy (just as Aristotle had said it was of tragedy). Such plots, moreover, are marked by two critical features, anagnorisis and peripeteia, by which he means those critical moments of discovery and reversal that form the dynamics of every well-turned action. Again, these were the Aristotelian terms at the centre of debate concerning plot in the treatises on the theatrical arts. Della Porta had adopted these two concepts as the quintessence of his ‘erudite’ artistry. Knowing how to handle them, he lectures Ignoramus, is a matter not of slavish rules but of timing and proportion. Yet the words somehow fall short. He means, to be sure, the rising and falling of fortunes, the recovery of lost identities, the discovery of buried truths, for better or for worse, that force to a halt the contest of wills between contending parties. But Della Porta meant something more. Not only must such moments be carefully planned from the outset of the action, with secrets held in abeyance. More to the point, they are the reversals of

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fortune that incite emotions in both the characters and the audience – the ‘cathartic’ purpose behind the story-telling. Della Porta comes back to the matter in the prologue to The Sister, still trying to clarify not only the essence of good design, but the source of wonder, the maraviglia, which characterizes the greatest plays and the most ingenious minds among the makers. The Sister, in this spirit, is yet another study in the shaping of the dramatic experience through the crafted plot whereby audiences are transported into shades of despair and elation by dint of the empathy they are brought to invest in the characters. In such statements as these, we know that Della Porta took the art of the theatre as seriously as any of his academic pursuits. That he had been a translator of Plautus is confirmed by the intricate borrowing of motifs from the ancient plays. He is as mindful of the balance that constitutes the erudite formula as Ariosto had been some seven decades earlier. Homage to classical Rome was de rigueur, and Della Porta followed precedent in many things. He imposed the standard limitations on the handling of narrative time and focalized space. Invariably, he was conscious of the controlled use of the single or the double plot. He followed suit in placing the action in contemporary Naples. But Della Porta wanted to explore extreme emotions and high sentiment, arguably beyond anything that had been formerly attempted in comedy. The lovers in The Sister are therefore subjected to the most tormenting and seemingly insurmountable obstacles, accompanied by meditations upon adversity, misfortune, and death. In principle, this was nothing new. Beginning, for our purposes, with Caro and Piccolomini, there had been experimentation in the matter of romance entailing scenes of devotion, pathos, and complaint mixed with servant-class realism, and stage farce. But there was a difference. Della Porta had knowledge of the mid-century experiments of Giraldi Cinthio, who allowed that even proper tragedy could have happy endings – his so-called tragedia de fin lieto. Della Porta had been to Venice in 1580 in the service of Luigi d’Este, for whom he had already written comedies in Rome. On that trip, he stopped over in Ferrara, where he met both Tasso and Guarini. The mixed-genre play, whether in the tragedies of Cinthio or the pastorals of the two Ferrarans, became part of his creative consciousness. Thus, even as Della Porta sought to regularize his plays in the image of the ancients, he was also intent on examining the darker themes and wilder passions associated with tragedy before springing his mechanisms of deliverance. The chiaroscuro of despair and hopelessness might be said to make the final escape into joy altogether brighter. But there are two considerations: genre and memory.

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Della Porta was still writing comedies that, in retrospect, might better be classed as works of a mixed genre, in part because the social conditions in which the despair was framed may linger in the memory and cloud the comic closure. The issue most likely to persist in memory is incest. Attilio has been on a mission abroad to rescue his mother and sister from the Turks. In Venice love interferes, and the money destined to ransom them is used to buy the freedom of an indentured girl whose terms for departure are nothing less than marriage. Attilio’s betrayal of his mother and sister is compounded by the deception he then perpetrates on his father upon his return. We are asked to believe, as one of the conditions of this imaginative plot, that Pardo accepts Sophia, not as Attilio’s new wife, but as his own daughter Cleria. In the event that the thought occurs, spectators are likewise requested to grant the necessary amnesia to Cleria concerning her own childhood identity. Admittedly, such an arrangement, with all the capers to follow, is the brainworm of the comic grazioso, Trinca. But Attilio must bear the brunt of the consequences. Pardo, meanwhile, witnesses the most disturbing demonstrations of affection between brother and ‘sister,’ their kissing and simulated mounting, and determines to get the girl married off as soon as possible. Trasimaco, the stock braggart soldier, is brought into the action as Pardo’s choice of a husband for her, while for Attilio, he chooses the charming girl next door, Sulpizia. That should take care of the situation – except, of course, that Cleria is married, and Sulpizia is in love with Attilio’s bosom friend, Erotico. Trinca is called upon again to find a solution. What, then, but to feign the marriages desired by the old man, entailing that by day they are paired in one fashion, whereas by night they seek their proper spouses, at least until the old man dies. This is situation comedy at its best in the making, but the plot does not advance so far. News arrives that the poor mother, falsely reported as dead, is alive and soon to make her return. The inevitable discovery follows that ‘Cleria’ is no less than the real Cleria, and that hence the unsuspecting Attilio has married his sister. This is ‘comic’ anagnorisis and peripeteia with a difference! And despite the horror of it all, which Attilio fully recognizes, he cannot stop loving her with all the devotion of a protagonist in a Greek romance. Whatever else the play holds in store, at this pass the audience must contemplate with Attilio the magnitude of his offence against nature and society. And one could well wonder, thereafter, whether there is any counter-turn sufficient to rescue the genre from so much pathos and despair. Richard McCabe, in his Incest, Drama and Nature’s Law 1550–1700,

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takes as axiomatic that such motifs do not arise by accident in the drama, but reflect contemporary issues and anxieties, particularly in light of the fact that incest was a topic of current debate among theologians and reformers, philosophers and jurists.1 Accordingly, if the topic is raised in the theatre, contextual matters pertaining to natural and divine law must follow. Even Attilio tries to reckon up all the ways in which he had violated the accepted configurations of kinship, culminating in a pastiche of lines from Seneca’s Oedipus. But there are distinctions to be made between an extreme dramatic situation and an essay on incest, for if Della Porta is raising the issue thematically, what is his point? Is he attempting to gain sympathy for the liberalization of mores, or for representing incest as a form of ideal love between those of greatest natural affinity? What is incest as topos in the play? There are some compelling considerations. First – and this will spoil the surprise – Orgio, the old man next door, father to Sulpizia, knows perfectly well that the girl in his charge, named Sulpizia, really is his neighbour Pardo’s daughter, and so does her nurse, Balia. So how can Orgio connive at the potential incest when a marriage is proposed between the real brother and sister – that is, when Pardo proposes that Attilio marry the girl named Sulpizia? But this is to make issue out of a circumstantial arrangement that Della Porta breezes past in the interests of his plot. Pardo had been motivated by potential shame should the smooching and foreplay between Attilio and Cleria become public knowledge. Ironically, the old man had always felt a certain affinity for the girl next door, and had thought that a marriage would be a nice way to welcome her into the family! His bungling was potentially even greater than Attilio’s. One crux in the matter is that of ignorance versus a wilful commission of error. The mother was content to consider the situation a bygone so long as the two of them behaved properly thereafter, given the innocence of their meeting. But is that the only difference between comedy and tragedy? It was nature that had incited these two, and nature that had overpowered Attilio’s ability to relinquish her after the truth was revealed. The fact of incest remains, and Della Porta must confront his boundaries. Once into the literature on the question, one finds only confusion. Plato had no better explanation for the incest ‘law’ than tradition. The Athenian in Book VIII of the Laws (835b–842a) simply pronounces axiomatically that there were unwritten rules proscribing relationships within certain degrees of consanguinity. Their force lies in the fact that violations are infamous, and that no one has ever claimed to the contrary. Even children, without prompting, recognize the taboo. All the writers

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of plays have upheld the law, whether they wrote of Thyestes or Oedipus or Macareus (Laws 838). Saint Augustine in The City of God (XV.16–17), although he sought a qualified assessment in allowing that incest was not always and universally disallowed (even the Bible had exceptions), urged hopefully that the authority of custom alone would deter something so ‘abominable.’ Behind the Christian tradition was Leviticus, chapter 18, where such acts are codified in detail. Divine and human law, together with long-established custom, could not be wrong. Nevertheless, in the Middle Ages and Renaissance there were many negotiations concerning aristocrats who had married close kin for reasons of dynastic continuity and for which dispensations had been sought and granted. Jurists and theologians continued to debate the force of natural and divine law, including those philosophers who praised the incestuous bond between siblings as idyllic. But that Della Porta intended a liberalization of opinion concerning incest by seeking pity for its victims is highly dubious, particularly in light of the close scrutiny by the Church to which his writings had been subjected. The ‘affect’ of the tragic, in any case, depends upon the frisson or ‘shiver’ constituted by the horror of the unnatural. Della Porta was imitating the generic design of Sophocles’ Oedipus tyrannus because Aristotle had praised the work for its intense handling of peripety and agnition. These are the dramatic moments in which all that has seemed real is given a new construction, with all the attendant adjustments to be made in feeling and empathy. Such a play must continue to be read as a confirmation of ancient taboos, for in that response alone are there grounds for the desired cathartic emotions. As a play written in relation to other plays, it follows Speroni’s Canace e Macareo, in which the author had sought the grounds for tragedy by making pitiable his incestuous brother and sister. Their case was particularly lamentable because their passion was a punishment visited on them by the gods for the sins of former generations. Because Venus herself was a force of nature, she might overrule the laws of men. Macareus, like Attilio, continued to long for the beloved, even following her death. Naturally, there were detractors. After all, Canace and Macareus, unlike the protagonists of the present play, appreciated fully their consanguinity. Unlike Macareus, Attilio does not claim that his love was altogether finer and more natural for the fact that they had shared one womb together. Della Porta has modified the formula by just that much, and therein lies the test. Attilio must be at tragic odds with himself, feeling so much horror and so much erotic attraction. But what feelings does this play arouse in the spectator? Is the surrounding horseplay of a pedant and a braggart soldier guaran-

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tee enough that Della Porta’s incest is a mere theatrical tease? Perhaps. But McCabe is right to the extent that the play has forced upon our imaginations and feelings the phenomenon of tabooed love, together with the question of tolerance for an act deemed an abomination to nature.2 At the same time, Della Porta had found the formula for a new kind of serious comedy, one that he would not call tragicomedy, but that, for its serious middle section, resembles increasingly both the formally declared tragicomedies and even the tragedies with happy endings. The tortured byways of genre criticism that preoccupied the theorists of that age are too complex to be detailed here, but in brief, there was an intense debate between those who favoured mixed genres and those who, like Castelvetro in his Art of Poetry, would not allow for any such contamination of ‘pure’ comedy and tragedy.3 We would be hard pressed, in fact, to place Della Porta in either school, for in practice he sought to push comedy very far in the direction of the serious or weeping comedy, yet always spoke of the genre as comedy uncompromised. Now, however, minds were divided. For some, ethos alone was no longer determinant, while for others the fortune and happy status of characters at the play’s end were no longer a surety of comedy. There had been a shift in tastes in the second half of the century, to which the playwrights had rallied. Romance had taught that suffering and endurance, physical and mental torture, were the only preludes to true happiness for lovers. But genre classifications were under stress, and The Sister was entirely symptomatic of that contention. Adding to the perplexity was an incapacity to define the terms of multiple plotting. Caro had stated not only that his play consisted of a triple action, but that each action was characterized by its own humour. By simple extrapolation, each plot was determined by action and ethos, so that when a complex action passed through contrasting moods, owing to the multiple reversals of fortune, it became a double plot. Such a definition would be alien to those nurtured on the Shakespearean double plot, in which a second action involving separate characters, by its correspondences, independently echoes the main plot. Aristotle, who favoured single plots, suggested that a double action occurs in those (lesser) works wherein the deserving characters are rewarded and the perverse are punished. The double plot features a bifurcated denouement in which jubilee and justice are recognized simultaneously because the fortunes of some are raised while the fortunes of others are lowered. But that definition from the Poetics actually caused more trouble than it resolved.4 Among these options, The Sister finds little place, for arguably the play consists of a single action with its own interludes of farcical talk, interludes that, taken

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together, barely constitute an independent dramatic action. By dint of the double peripeteia, however, the play offers to become a double plot in its movement from a tragic to a comic ethos. Yet Della Porta would not concur, and that may be the end of the argument. Paradoxically, a further solution may emerge, not in the structure or ethos of the romance intrigue, but in the global configuration of the play. Trasimaco and Gulone, braggart soldier and glutton parasite, respectively, may have roles peripheral to the main action, but they are omnipresent and give a full measure of bluff and blarney. In tragedy, they are the ‘comic relief,’ as we were all taught to believe. But in a play that ends in comedy, they are the emblematic foreshadowing of the denouement. Or can we know? Does their presence not serve as a gauge that comedy must prevail? Della Porta’s employment of the formula, in any case, is in a direct line with the Sienese writers who embellished their main actions with the lazzi or tricks and practical jokes made standard fare by the commedia dell’arte, mixed in with modern make-overs of the ancient comic masks: the braggart captain, the gluttonous parasite, the garrulous nurse, and the confident lackey. Because of their presence, such plays advance a double field of pleasure, the one fixed on the longterm telos of romance – the art form of escape – and the other fixed on the absurd effects of pomposity and fatuousness. Tradition had allowed the one quality of action to become embedded in the other without apparent conflict. There was unity enough if such characters played bit roles in the surrounding action. It is important that these characters were true to their insensitive selves no matter how dark the crises for the lovers, and therein lies the aesthetic formula. The Sister holds the promise of comedy at all phases in the action, because these characters impose themselves upon our sensibilities. Trasimaco has near ancestors in the plays of contemporaries, but even closer antecedents in Della Porta’s own plays. In Olimpia (ca. 1580), Trasilago goes courting in bombastic terms and finds himself in a duel of words with Mastico the parasite. Even closer to The Sister is his Trappolaria, in which Dragoleone fails in his own love pursuits, but is courted by the parasite’s wife. Gulone’s desire to have the neck of a crane to prolong the enjoyment of his food may come from Bruno’s Candlebearer (1582), although the motif goes back to the ancient Greek poet Philoxenus. His fixation on the pleasures of the table is a monomania of Gargantuan proportions, to be outdone only by his own imagination. The type, based on ancient models, made his entry onto the Italian stage with Ariosto’s Pasiphilo in The Pretenders. But again, Della Porta provides his own con-

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text, for Leccardo in his Fratelli rivali is Gulone’s closest relative. In Trinca one sees the grazioso figure at his best, the light-hearted comic servant who engages in banter, serves while proclaiming his independence and indifference, and overreaches himself in a hopeless effort to control the mounting contingencies. Pardo, as the comic old man and miser, ultimately becomes an ambiguous figure because of his sentimental and sincere love for his lost wife. He emerges at the end neither blamed nor redeemed, but as the indignant parent of an exploited daughter and the elder in a family that is, at long last, reunited around him. Finally, there is the nurse, Balia, who likewise comes first to the stage in erudite comedy in Ariosto’s The Pretenders. She can be bawdy, a go-between, the bearer of news, an idle gossip, sometimes laughably manageable, and other times dangerous. In The Sister she shows a downright bad streak once she decides to revenge herself against a thankless master. Dating The Sister has proved relatively inconclusive, but sometime around 1590 seems about right. The play was not mentioned among Della Porta’s unpublished works in the preface of Penelope, which he published in 1591, thereby suggesting that it was written later. But the allusion to Queen Elizabeth of England and relations with Spain suggests an earlier date, closer to the time of the Spanish Armada’s arrival in England (1588). Louise George Clubb in Della Porta, Dramatist places the play between Trappolaria, with which it shares the highest incidences of structural and motivic features, and I due fratelli rivali.5 It was first published in 1604. By 1610 twelve of his comedies and one tragicomedy were in print, and another seventeen unpublished plays are listed, including three tragedies. It is tempting for us to examine his works for their covert rebellion against the megalithic Church and its restrictive dictates. But because the Inquisition had encouraged Della Porta to abandon his work on magic and astrology to return to his comedies, it is worth considering that The Sister is actually an exemplary Counter-Reformation play. It is funny, devious, exaggerated, but contained, and ultimately moral and redemptive in its confirmation of the values of the Christian social order. The issue was not that society no longer tolerated buffoonery or jokes about food and sex, but that under the influence of a more fundamentalist Catholicism, there was less tolerance for works that flouted Providence and the sacraments, or that denigrated marriage and the family. In this play, there is depravity and loss, but ultimately incest is averted and there is reconciliation and a new beginning. Attilio’s values of loyalty and devotion, in the long term, prove a valuable preparation for a solid, if hard-won, marriage. In 1558 Pope Sixtus V prohibited women from engaging in any form of acting. Be-

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ginning in 1565, Carlo Borromeo, bishop of Milan, attempted to banish all forms of acting in that city. In 1572 Pope Gregory XIII outlawed acting in private houses. But the demand for theatricals did not die out, and regulations were everywhere circumvented. The Church did not succeed in its attempt to eradicate theatre, but it did influence the ethical centres of many plays. There were no more attacks on the clergy, no more comic priests. But more important, Providence returns as the master plotter, as it does in this play. Or, in Attilio’s words, ‘From such monstrous and unnatural affection has sprung this happy union. If God allows times of misery, He does so to double the measure of ensuing pleasure – just as He has for us’ (V.vi). Della Porta showed no signs of declining energy in his final years. He had projects to the end, including the publication of his plays. In former times he had been interested in optics and had produced a treatise on the telescope. That he was the actual inventor of the instrument is supported by Kepler, although Galileo is given the credit today. The end came in 1615 to a man some eighty years of age who was known throughout Italy for his work as a philosopher and a scientist. Most of those treatises still attract the interest of specialists, but they are weighed down by ancient and scholastic learning. His plays, the toys of his leisure hours – or so he was minded to style them – are meanwhile returning to scholarly attention and, for their imaginative appeal, may gain wider audiences for this remarkably versatile ‘Renaissance’ man. Notes 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), passim. 2 Conceivably, Della Porta had come to his formula through intervening works on the topic of incest, each one searching out its own solution to this peculiar nexus of empathy and horror that is inevitably aroused by innocent violations of the taboo. In 1564 Girolamo Razzi wrote a play, significantly called La Balia, the name of Sulpizia’s nurse. In this play, she is the central designer of the action, dealing with the social life of her mistress by setting up assignations in darkened bedrooms. In this way, again, identities are lost, and through her mismanagement the heroine is introduced into a tragically incestuous relationship with her half-brother. This bed-trick comedy likewise comes to a serious and morally compromising impasse. Razzi shows the way of escape through a second reversal, one that cancels the supposed kinship between the two, namely, the exchange of children while still in their nursery years.

384 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 3 Lodovico Castelvetro, Castelvetro on the Art of Poetry, ed. Andrew Bongiorno (Binghamton, N.Y.: Medieval & Renaissance Texts & Studies, 1984), passim. 4 What Aristotle says, more precisely, is that ‘the double plot, such we find in the Odyssey, where, at the end, the good are rewarded and the bad punished, is thought by some to be the best.’ On Poetry and Style, trans. G.M.A. Grube (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1958), 25. 5 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965), 300.

The Sister (La sorella)

Dramatis Personae attilio a young man trinca his servant balia Sulpizia’s nurse erotico a young man cleria a young woman pardo an old man gulone a parasite trasimaco a captain pedolitro an old man turco his son constanza an old woman sulpizia a young woman orgio an old man (The scene is set in Nola)

To Don Francesco Blanco1 I know how closely Messer Giovanbattista della Porta is attached to your Worship and how highly he regards you. He is in the habit of addressing you as ‘The Great Francesco’ and as ‘The Alexander the Great of Our Times.’ I am also aware of the care that your Worship has taken in planning the performance of this play called The Sister and in organizing a sumptuous production of it. You are in a position to protect me from the author, who will not be pleased by my intention to print this play without

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his permission, for he has opposed it, not wanting the sports of his youth to come to light in his old age. Yet he cannot be all that displeased. Word has it, from a number of people who have heard it directly from him, that the play follows the same principles of peripety and agnition that Sophocles used in his Oedipus tyrannos – a play greatly praised by Aristotle and one used as a model for tragedy.2 It irked the author that some modern thinkers, who would have been incapable of imitating it, would say that the success of the play was due only to the story itself and not to Sophocles’ intelligence. Please, Your Worship, accept this play in the spirit with which I am dedicating it to you; in the same vein I shall attempt to print the Furious Woman, the Turkish Girl, and the Astrologer.3 All of these plays by the same author are circulating in versions unfaithful to their originals and full of mistakes, about which the author is doing nothing at all.4 I humbly kiss Your Worship’s hand, From Naples the 12th day of April, 1604. Your Worship’s Servant, Lucretio Nucci.

ACT I Scene i attilio, a young man, and trinca, his servant attilio: And he told you that my father, Pardo, had me married to Sulpizia? trinca: He told me that your father, Pardo, had you married to Sulpizia. attilio: And Cleria to the captain? trinca: And Cleria to the captain. attilio: And that the wedding would take place tomorrow night? trinca: And that the wedding would take place tomorrow night. attilio: And that you thought this was being said in earnest? trinca: And that I thought this was being said in earnest. attilio: You answer me with my very own words, and so dryly that you leave me with a thousand questions. In things relating to love and other matters of importance you must relate even the minutest details, for one small action, one little word, could point the way to a remedy.

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trinca: I just report things the way I hear them – no more no less. So don’t go asking for more, because for today, there’s nothing more for you to know. attilio: If you knew the extent of my suffering, you’d tell me everything. trinca: It’s precisely because I know how much these words make you suffer that I’m avoiding the matter. attilio: Although I suffer, yet there is some pleasure in pain. It’s from following your advice that I’m in so much grief, and for that you deserve a thrashing to make you share in my misery. trinca: What a misfortune it is to be the servant of young lovers. Never do they choose moderation; everything is in excess. When they’re in trouble, they attack you with vehemence, begging for help and advice without giving you time to think. For such involvement the gallows are always threatening. Then if by good fortune the situation comes around, they forget all advice and think only of their pleasure. But when trickery fails and danger looms, they threaten beatings as if you were the cause of their dilemma. attilio: I have expressed my feelings to you in the matter. trinca: You know only too well that trying to obtain pleasure from illicit love affairs and nurturing dishonest desires can only engender monsters of infamy and disaster; such things cannot be achieved except through deceit and wickedness, and these are always discovered in the end, placing you in even greater jeopardy. I do these things for you only because of your entreaties. attilio: Well, quite in spite of my entreaties, you should not have agreed to help me. trinca: That isn’t what you were saying at the time: if you didn’t have your Cleria, you wanted to kill yourself, to disappear from the face of the earth. On your knees you kept on begging me, and now you forget all that. It’s thanks to my cunning that you find yourself in your present seat of power.5 attilio: In the seat of defeat, you should say, since I’m beleaguered on every side. trinca: My condolences. attilio: Seriously, what shall we do to remedy the situation? trinca: Your problems are no longer mine, because I’m on the verge of resigning. attilio: Look for a cure; I know you can find one. trinca: Don’t take me for a doctor; I never went to medical school in Padua.6

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attilio: If you wait too long the sickness will kill me. trinca: What you need is a general purge. attilio: Either you be my physician or I’ll be yours and prescribe twenty blows for your nose, and thirty blasts to your arse. trinca: Oh no, not that. attilio: You can make miracles with a couple of words. trinca: Miracles with words? I’m no necromancer. attilio: I’ve never seen anyone more prone to anger than you. I jest about a little spanking and you take it right to heart. My scolding was nothing but joking. Why would I want to anger you, my best of friends? trinca: In honest enterprises I’m obliged to help, but not in wicked ones. attilio: Isn’t it an honest action to save Cleria’s honour and life, and mine too? If my father has his way I’ll kill myself. trinca: That’s what you were saying earlier; I won’t fall for that line again. attilio: How promptly you served me in times past. Now I’m in even more desperate need for you to put all your skills and knowledge to work. trinca: The grateful and benevolent master is bountiful with his servants. attilio: Help me and I’ll bestow upon you a pair of stockings. trinca: Or maybe a pair of sockings? You rely too much on me. You think that by just saying ‘help me’ that I always can? ‘Easier said than done’ as the proverb goes; scheming is easy – making them work is another matter. First you take me for an imbecile and then you think I can do miracles. attilio: You have been trained in an excellent ‘school.’ trinca: Well, given your low opinion of me, I’ll show you how wicked I can be. attillio: Think of something, I’m begging you, as fast as you can. trinca: These things can’t be rushed if you want to succeed; consultation is the word, not haste. attilio: Consultation produces nothing. trinca: And I say that there is no one better than your friend Erotico for getting you out of this mess. attilio: Erotico? He used to be my closest friend, but now we’re enemies. Love can transform the mind, and hatred begotten by love is the fiercest kind. trinca: He can help if you tell him the truth, but unless you do ...

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attilio: Let’s go and find him, for though I detest these means, Love forces me to resort to such duplicities. trinca: Let’s go. Scene ii balia7 and erotico balia: (Aside) Ah, how short-lived are love’s pleasures and how late they come. Poor little girl, you need a Turk’s heart8 not to die of pain. Where shall I find Erotico, the support of our lives? erotico: (Aside) Start the day badly and everything else goes wrong. balia: There he is. —Messer Erotico! erotico: Oh my dear Balia! Luck is changing now that I meet you, the keeper of my love secrets. You are the dawn announcing my beloved sun. What news do you have of my sweet Sulpizia? balia: Bad, the worst you can think of. erotico: Tell me quickly then what it’s all about. balia: I’m sorry to have to give you such news. erotico: Make no beginnings unless you intend to tell me everything. balia: Sulpizia is married. erotico: To whom? balia: To Attilio. erotico: Wicked fate! What news could possibly be worse? balia: That her uncle Orgio wants to celebrate the wedding tonight. No time for counsel, no hope for a remedy. erotico: You said you had a piece of bad news and now you give me two. balia: Ill fortune doesn’t keep tally. erotico: Is there something more? balia: I’m afraid so. erotico: Please, no more. balia: I must tell you, so that we can search for a remedy. erotico: Oh wretched me! balia: Her uncle has discovered that I have been the go-between in this love affair and has forbidden me to leave the house or ever to talk to you again. He has made all manner of threats to me. erotico: This is the end of all our hopes. We can’t even consult or arrange for times to meet. How is Sulpizia? What does she say? balia: Her love is stronger and more determined than ever. Women may be reluctant at the outset, but when love plants itself and grows in

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the heart, it cannot be plucked out. This is what happens when new shoots grow: she cannot live without you. erotico: Then she must go on living. She must know of the strength of my feelings for her, that my love is as rooted as hers, and that our thoughts are bent upon a common cause. balia: Whoever loves lives in fear, and always fears the worst. erotico: What can she fear? Our love began when we were young, grew from mutual feelings, and has so endured that no evil intruders can ever come between us. If in love’s journey an obstacle is met, we must have faith in our power to overcome. The more bitter the trials cast by fate, the sweeter the love that surmounts them. balia: This storm of tropes will soon blow over, but there is another that blows even harder. Sulpizia burns with a double flame of love and of jealousy, for she has heard of Pardo’s plans to marry you to Cleria, whose beauty may entrance you. erotico: May I be struck blind if I waver in my devotion to the beauty of my beloved Sulpizia. balia: She would remind you that if her beauty is not equal to Cleria’s, the fault is yours. If her eyes have lost their sparkle and are circled by dark rims, it’s her tears for you and loss of sleep that are the cause. If she looks pale and lifeless, and if death has started to display its traces on her face, it’s because of the pain and torment you have given and the poison you have brought. If Fortuna intended her some consolation it should be a second heart, for she has need of two in her breast to endure all the suffering that’s coming her way. erotico: Oh Balia, how your words pierce my thoughts! I can never tell you how much I am governed by the goodness, the beauty, and the honest demeanor of my beloved. Because I am directed by the powers of love, what she desires I must also desire. balia: Though Cleria may surpass her in outward beauty, she is no match for her spiritual beauty. For this reason I tell you these things: her love for you has doubled, even though your love has not diminished, even though you have not despised her. Do not add to her bitter disappointments: she has endured enough already. Her constant love has mitigated your shortcomings, your disdain, your humours. She is like the Arabian phoenix, eternally reborn from her ashes more beautiful and more enamoured. Compare such beauty as this with Cleria’s dull and artificial allurements. While now her face shows signs of your cruelties, her soul displays the glory of her faith and the triumph of her perseverance.

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erotico: Balia, your words have so distressed me that I shall never again find peace. I swear upon her life – the dearest thing I know – that in the majesty of her face glows a divine light that moves me to great heights and incites the eyes of my intellect to contemplate the unparalleled glory of her soul. Such beauty I employ like eye-glasses to elevate myself to the greatest level of contemplation, to the highest good, to that incomparable celestiality, to that fountain from which all beauty springs. Therefore, I beg her – for all the love she bears me – not to entertain such thoughts. I suffer because I cannot open my heart to her, for then she would see in it her image, radiant as if reflected in a well-polished mirror. My heart is so enthralled by her image that it cannot behold another, for there is no room for another to inhabit. What other woman was ever so agreeable in times of good fortune, or as steadfast in times of bad? Who was ever so ready to accommodate me? Who was ever present in my heart when we were apart? In what other heart can more generous and noble thoughts be found? Oh what a woman of heroic and incomparable virtue! In revisiting all her attributes I find myself even more persuaded of my veneration for her. balia: Because you must marry Cleria, Sulpizia begs of you – as a recompense for her devotion and a sign of your consideration – to be accepted into your service as a maidservant. If she cannot become your wife, she would at least be able to witness your happiness and behold the object of her love. In servant’s attire she can demonstrate to you the humility with which she will continue in your service. Accept her as your slave, for in whatever form you entertain her she will be happy and all chores which you impose will be sweet. erotico: Tell her that if there is no other remedy, I shall enter her house and take my revenge upon that heinous and barbarian uncle of hers, and after having assuaged my revenge I shall take my own life. balia: I beg of you not to do anything so foolish. erotico: My judgment and valour could be lacking in many things, but not when my love is involved. balia: Take care, for she is at the window gazing at you and trying to catch your eye; if you wish to make her happy, wave to her and send her a kiss. erotico: With all my heart. balia: Can’t you see that she is there behind the shutters returning your kiss? What should I say to her on your behalf? erotico: Tell her to write the following words in her heart: that my love for her grows as the days go by, just as her beauty and honourable

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deeds continue to grow. Tell her that my love for her will never wane, and that I cannot linger here but must run to find a cure for this wretched situation. balia: She is unhappy because you have not been here to visit her recently. erotico: Tell her that I spend my entire days and more just thinking about her. balia: How is this possible if you are never here? erotico: My memory of her and the picture that my imagination has painted of her in my heart are more alive than my own soul. In this fashion we speak each to the other and constantly bewail our suffering. balia: Try, at least, to come to her. erotico: If not in person, I shall come in spirit and thereby ennoble my visitation. balia: Farewell. Scene iii erotico, attilio, and trinca attilio: Finally we have found him. erotico: (Aside) There is no more faith in this world – no one is to be trusted. Nowadays faith is used to deceive. My goal is to cheat and betray others because they do nothing but cheat and betray me. attilio: He’s talking to himself. trinca: That’s what happens to people who are in the same fix you’re in. erotico: (Aside) I want to go to some deserted island never to be deceived again. Sulpizia – another man’s wife. trinca: Is that all he can talk about? attilio: When love invades a heart it drives out all other thoughts because it seeks to rule alone. erotico: (Aside) Raging jealousy and grief are driving me to revenge. May God almighty allow me to carry it out. trinca: We’d better break in here. attilio: Messer Erotico, good morning. erotico: (Aside) He who does me evil speaks me fair. I’d better talk to him, for if I cannot persuade him to leave her, I can perhaps postpone events for a couple of days. —May God bless you, Messer Attilio. attilio: So how are things with you?

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erotico: So wretched that words fail me in my suffering. attilio: What can bring so much grief? erotico: Breach of faith and treason to friendship, for I have been betrayed and assassinated by one I took for the most loyal of friends. attilio: He must be the most treacherous man in the world. erotico: So I must think. attilio: Then tell me, I pray you, who is this traitor, this assassin to friendship, so that I may avenge you? erotico: He is a great friend of yours. attilio: Altogether more reason to tell me, so that I may be on my guard against him. erotico: You would be wise to do so because it is your duty. attilio: What is his name? erotico: Attilio. For you are the one who betrays and assassinates me; you do me the greatest injury. attilio: You do me wrong to think so, for I am the epitome of loyalty in friendship. You are beside yourself and you have my pity. erotico: In the name of that perfect and pure friendship that we once shared, I beg you to be courteous towards me. For justice and love ... attilio: But your complaint against me I do not understand; either your meaning is not clear or I’m slow of wit. erotico: ... do not marry Sulpizia. attilio: My dear Erotico, who has been telling you such things? erotico: The whole town is talking about it. I want you to know that Sulpizia is mine and mine alone; we have sworn to marry and our love has already been consummated. Therefore, you will never possess her as your legal wife, and you will never be rid of jealousy. attilio: Do you think that I want to take your Sulpizia as my wife? erotico: And what is more, even if a man is a good for nothing, desperation will turn him into a warrior. At least delay the event so that I will not have to behold such a tormenting spectacle, and I will disappear from the face of the earth so that you may live without suspicion of me. attilio: Trust me as you would trust yourself, for I cherish you as I cherish myself. I am quite happy that you should marry Sulpizia. I give her up to you and relinquish all interest in her. erotico: Neither is she a person to be relinquished, nor do I believe you. attilio: If you don’t want to believe the truth then believe falsehood. erotico: What then do you think I believe? attilio: Anything but the truth.

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erotico: May it please God that matters are as you say! attilio: God so be pleased. erotico: I fear your duplicity, the false promises that will make it easier for you to deprive me of what you seek. attilio: We have many woes in common, I think, and I would do nothing to increase your distress. Therefore, let me explain to you everything so that you’ll understand that if you’re in the right, I certainly am not in the wrong. trinca: If you don’t hold your peace, Messer Erotico, and, Master, if you don’t get on with your tale, we’ll be here the entire day, and we can’t afford to lose the time. erotico: I will keep silent, and would willingly purchase another set of ears, the better to hear you. attilio: You should know that while my father, Pardo, was the head steward in the service of Queen Bona9 of Poland, he sent for his wife, Constanza, and his very young daughter, Cleria, to keep him company there. Because I was already a young man, I accompanied him from the start, but the others were still in Nola. They set sail from Bari but were lost at sea in a storm. Despite many letters and inquiries to friends in various parts of the world, we had no news of them. Our grief increased with the passage of time and the loss of all hope. Then we received the news of a shipwreck, and my father drowned in a sea of tears and wallowed in the memory of their sad disappearance. Later we learned that they had been kidnapped by the Turks and taken to Constantinople. Then after two more years I heard that Constanza was kept as a slave in a pasha’s palace – sold to him for a meager price because of her old age – while Cleria was in the service of a sanjak10 outside the city. My father, Pardo, convinced me to undertake the journey; he gave me three hundred scudi as ransom money and other scudi for travel expenses. Also I had letters of introduction to the dignitaries of Venice asking them to look after me there and to put me on a voyage to Constantinople. When I reached Venice I resided in the house of Pandolfo the Neapolitan, who looks after everyone from his city passing through Venice. At the dinner hour we all sat down at the table and a young girl by the name of Sofia came out to serve us. When she turned her eyes on me I felt a flame in my heart that permeated and consumed me. I felt my veins dessicated by fire, so I asked for something to drink both to alleviate my thirst and to behold at closer quarters the divine beauty of the girl. But the wine took a contrary effect, for Love had mixed in both poison and fire, intoxicating and

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slaying me at once. Suspended between life and death, I knew neither what I was eating or drinking, nor what feelings these were. I felt as though in a dream in which the food I consumed was her beauty. By the time the table was cleared I was totally enraptured and in this state sought my bed in hopes of rest. Diseases of the soul I equated with those of the body, hoping to assuage them with sleep. But my slumber was worse than the repast because such diseases are by day mitigated by the conversation of friends, while in the peace of the night the pangs of love take control. Only towards dawn did I fall into a fitful sleep in which I dreamed that Sofia came near to speak to me. I told her of my suffering, I embraced and kissed her, although I was but hugging myself and the sheets around me. And then everything became but the images and phantasma of the beloved. When morning came, Trinca woke me, cutting short my pleasure, and urged me on my way. erotico: And so you arose and set forth to ransom your mother and sister. attilio: What mother? What sister? What journey? I came to hate this quest, and I felt it just as strongly when my memory roamed back over past events. I feigned sickness and Pandolfo agreed that I might rest a few days in his household. On every possible occasion I tried to conquer the chaste heart of this girl, but procured only my own suffering and humiliation. Whenever she passed near me I tried to touch her – attempts made more sweet by her disdainful modesty, for in such modesty is the very life and essence of beauty. At last she showed signs of affection, but with such display of her maidenly honesty that I knew she could be possessed in no other way than by marriage. Her actions and behaviour were so pure and guileless that I could contemplate no form of violent persuasion. Such propriety betrayed a noble birth, for though she was a slave, she displayed all the dignity of a higher station. So it was that I found myself the servant’s servant and the slave’s slave. In the end, I paid the two hundred ducati that Pandolfo had paid for her and I freed the girl who had imprisoned my heart. But though I freed her from bondage, she remained bound to me in spirit, for I married her and I possessed her beauty. trinca: If you are going to relate all the details, we’ll be here all day. You’d better summarize. attilio: On Trinca’s advice I wrote to my father from Venice pretending that I was in Constantinople, saying that Constanza was dead

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and that I had ransomed Cleria for two hundred ducati, and that I was on my way back to Nola with her. Thus I brought my beloved Sofia home and presented her as my sister, and so we have lived happily until the present time. Now, my dear Erotico, you will understand why I’ve no desire to take your Sulpizia to wife, for I would not exchange my Sofia for a queen. erotico: Never has a tale of adventure brought me greater pleasure in the hearing, for it saves me from a sea of trouble. How, then, can we help each other? attilio: I have given you an account of the story; the rest is up to Trinca. trinca: Listen to my plan, Messer Erotico, and tell me whether it will work. And no interruptions until I’m finished. Pardo wants to marry Cleria to the Captain because he does not want to provide her with a dowry. Gulone, the parasite, is negotiating the wedding. We’ll propose you to Pardo for the same arrangement, and because you are the better party, I think that we’ll win the day. Then we’ll say that Attilio wants to marry Sulpizia because the old man so wishes and that he wants to conclude the wedding by tomorrow night. We’ll say that you all intend to live together because you have known each other for many years, either in your house or in his. In the daytime Sulpizia will be Attilio’s wife and Cleria will be Erotico’s, but from the waist up. At nighttime Sulpizia will be Erotico’s wife and Cleria will be Attilio’s, now from the waist down. We have to resort to this pretence only as long as the old man is alive, and that might not be for much longer. erotico: But if I’m married to Cleria, how can I enjoy the company of Sulpizia? And if Attilio marries Sulpizia, how will he have pleasure with his Cleria? trinca: Your impatience merely gives you trouble and interrupts me. If you had listened to me, as I said you should do earlier, you’d have the message by now. We’ll find a friend, dress him as a priest, pass him off as one, and then ask him to marry you. When the old man dies you can remarry legally. erotico: Ha, ha, ha! What better comedy could there be to make us laugh? attilio: This is one comedy we will never forget. My heart, burdened with desperation, is starting to beat with hope. erotico: As is mine, which was almost dead with anguish. The enjoyment of my Sulpizia seems closer than ever. attilio: And mine with Cleria. trinca: And the gallows or the galleys for me if ever we’re discovered.

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attilio: May love and good fortune be on our side. erotico: This expedient is so clever that it solves all present problems and forestalls all those that might come. attilio: Let’s hope you are right, for mishaps can always happen. erotico: When Love is the impresario, his powers know no bounds. Let us trust in him, for he has defeated all the gods and can easily vanquish fortune. attilio: Love has conquered all except Fortuna. erotico: Let’s not be disheartened by possible setbacks. trinca: The time for counsel is over. The decision has been made: let’s carry out our plan. Haste is of the essence because time is running out. Delay has been our bane in the past. Let’s move double time, for he who acts fast acts best. attilio: We are at your command. trinca: Because old men are obstinate lunatics, Attilio, you must indulge your father. Stubbornness is won over by acquiescence rather than by arrogance. You must pretend to desire Sulpizia, for just as avarice is camouflaged by generosity, so you must deceive him by a show of your compliance. And you, Erotico, when the old man tries to give you Cleria, you must make a show of wanting her. erotico: I can play the part flawlessly, you can be sure. trinca: Well, in showing your willingness, don’t overdo it. attilio: What’s to be done with the parasite? Even if he doesn’t pose a serious threat he could cause delays. erotico: And what about the Captain? trinca: Leave him to me. I’ll stir up such discord among him, the parasite, and the master that I’ll confuse matters thoroughly and undo the effect of all their planning. erotico: Because I can’t reward you now as you deserve, Trinca, at least hear my confession: that you’re granting to me my life, my honour, and all that I cherish in the world, with the promise that in times to come I’ll show you my appreciation. attilio: It is indeed so, Trinca, that your help in this affair will keep you in good graces and bring you a handsome reward from someone who can recognize the benefits received. trinca: Make sure you keep your word. Now be off with you both, because I have to find the Master and get this ruse under way. erotico: Then I take my leave, farewell. attilio: And soon I’ll go home. Love has tossed me about in such a way that I have lost all sense of direction, but, like the needle of a compass,

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I automatically point to north. Despite my troubles and afflictions, I feel drawn by love to the place where the light of my star is shining. Scene iv cleria, attilio, and trinca cleria: Attilio, my love, stop there. A long time I have been waiting here at the window to warn you that had you delayed your coming you would not have found your Cleria at home. attilio: Never despair, thou treasure of mine eye. cleria: What other misery can be compared to mine? I feel such pangs in my heart that I’m at the verge of death, nor can I see how my tormented soul can remain in this tortured body. attilio: Cease to suffer, beloved one, dearer to me than the light of my eyes. cleria: Ill Fortune has followed me from the day of my birth: I was kidnapped by the Turks, taken away from my parents, made the servant of barbarians, and sold as a slave. I thought that by now the Fickle Goddess had changed her mind in compensation for my past miseries. I had thought that in becoming your slave, the tide of my life had altered for the better. But again I feel her willing my ruin. So much suspicion has embittered by life and deprived me of all hope of happiness. Why do I go on living? I was born to be wretched! attilio: I fell in love the moment I set eyes on you. Know, too, that I am unhappy to be away from you, for we were meant to be together. How can I live without the vital spirits I take from the celestial beam of your eyes? Sight of you alone brings vitality and rebirth. I am still yours, long to be yours, and must be so even if you should refuse, for in being destined for you, all the king’s men cannot bring us asunder. I would not take the whole world in exchange, for you are the only goodness I seek in life. cleria: Oh my beloved, my sweetheart, you diminish your merits to increase mine, though I know that I have none. Your words are dictated by a goodness that far exceeds my merits. The praises which you bestow upon me, like rays of sun falling upon a mirror, are reflected back upon you with an even greater intensity. If indeed I have any worth it is in those things that you have bestowed upon me. I feel comfort in your words. Should we not take counsel together, in the name of the love you bear me, and consider whether it is not better to run

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from this place and lose ourselves in the wide world? I will follow wherever you lead, through desolate places or faraway countries. As I have accompanied you in good times I will cling to you in calamity. My will is unconquerable, come what may. No wall, no earth or sky will stop me from following you. All places are home, all trouble sweet, all perils without fear when I am with you. There are no risks not worth running for love. attilio: Going so far, my love, would only jeopardize all that we have here. In coming from Venice I felt as though we were travelling by night in a glass boat in constant risk of shattering on the rocks. cleria: If your father has his way, this evening brings our end, followed by an eternal night, one from which I will never emerge to see the sun. Let us do as other shipwrecked victims and avoid our death by clinging to whatever flotsam comes within grasp. attilio: I thought that by bringing you to my house I could provide us a harbour safe from all storms. cleria: Wretched harbour where all our hopes are drowning, where rapacious pirates deprive us of all our precious treasures. Here is no safe port. attilio: Be calm, my beloved, in hopes that some good will come to pass. Let not your tears be an omen of what is to follow. Cease to weep, if only for my sake, because one of your tears makes torrents of blood gush from my heart. trinca: When do we end all this talking? cleria: For you, sweet, I will try to master my grief, though only a heart of stone could not feel in these straits. My unhappiness I will conceal, for your happiness is more important than venting my suffering. attilio: Be of good cheer, for time brings promise of remedy, while strength and courage are a boon in times of adversity. trinca: Why all these words? Here comes your father. attilio: Hold him off for a while. trinca: Sure, sure, while you two just go on chatting. cleria: Come upstairs to comfort me. attilio: Please don’t hold me back while we search out a solution to our ills. cleria: But how? attilio: I have no time to explain. cleria: Forgive me, for the pleasure of our encounter makes me forget your instructions. trinca: Your father is so close he can see you. Go on upstairs. Now that

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things are discussed, you can work out the details with her. Embed her in the dilemma and give her some hands on instruction. Scene v pardo, an old man, and trinca pardo: Trinca, where’s Attilio? trinca: At home. I think he has his hands full right now. pardo: I am very unhappy with him. By me, he doesn’t do anything right. He’s not the same as he used to be. From that blessed, or should I say cursed, day when he got back from Constantinople with his sister, he brought the cause of his ruination. How I rue the day. His thoughts turn to nothing but idleness. In the past he got up before dawn, went to mass, then to university, then came back home and sat down to his studies. When dinner time came, he could barely tear himself away from his books. We used to say prayers to the Virgin Mary. He was diligent, obedient, and devout. Now he spends the whole day in bed, pulling himself out for lunchtime. He never goes out, never thinks of his studies, he’s insolent, ill-mannered, disrespectful towards me. No more thoughts of church, no more prayers, no more of those good manners he learned as a child. trinca: Well, Master, bad company brings bad behaviour. That’s what going to Turkey will do, where people don’t go to church or pray. Turks are bad Christians; they neither rise early nor stay at their books. Those who do are called Catamalechs11 and are held in lowest regard. pardo: He just spends the live long day chatting and laughing with his sister, and when I show up, they fall to whispering in each others’ ears. From their actions and gestures it’s obvious they’re making fun of me. They speak in jargon, ridiculing me, and they think I don’t notice. trinca: What you call jargon is Turkish – a language they use because she doesn’t understand Italian all that well. They’re just reminiscing about life in Constantinople in their half language. pardo: Well if you want the truth, I think he’s too permissive with her: they kiss, give each other little love bites, they fondle and wrestle with each other all day long, one on top of the other as if they’re having it off. trinca: But they’re siblings, so naturally they’re very attached. The Muslim laws prescribe loving care to be exercised between brothers and sisters, so we’ll have to ‘de-Muslimize’ them a little at a time. Your

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daughter has a happy nature, prone to jesting, especially now that she’s freed from Turkish slavery and at last at ease in the house of her father and brother. In Turkish this form of affection is called ‘tubalch.’ pardo: Well, a little affection is one thing; I can encourage that. But beyond a certain limit of honesty and propriety it turns into concupiscent scandal. I’ve lost some of my love for them, the way they’re carrying on, and if ever I’ve had any regrets it’s that I sent him to Turkey to ransom her. This is a devilish situation. To find this daughter I’ve lost a lot of money, my daughter, my children – and myself for the pain they give me. trinca: In Turkey there is a custom ... pardo: Turkey, Turkey, damn your Turkey. With this word you justify every manner of wickedness. I know you for a rascal; the more you try to acquit them, the more I condemn them. Even if there are Turkish customs, we’re among Christians now and we have to live like them. trinca: You’d have solved all your problems if you had married her off. pardo: I haven’t found the right man. trinca: You’re one of those fathers who’d rather die first than bless a marriage because you’re never satisfied. pardo: Well, then, I’ve decided to marry Attilio to Sulpizia, and he’d better do exactly as I say out of his duty to me as his father. He should appreciate the reasonableness of the request in light of all he owes me. Love and obedience go together like blood sisters. trinca: Not only duty, but courtesy and love will bring him to do it. pardo: Let this be so, and he’ll have my esteem again. I’ll marry Cleria to the Captain and rid myself of the trouble of having women in the house. An agreement was concluded last night, and I want the ceremony to take place this evening. And I want you to use your cunning in this matter – at least not to use it against me. I don’t have the time and patience to ward off your endless stock of pranks. You know darned well that I have my Saint Birch and my Doctor Hickory12 ready to lay on your back should your knavery require it. You’re to convince them not to be stubborn, to come to an agreement, which is something I haven’t managed so far. trinca: He has nothing against Sulpizia. I’ve already offered her on your behalf, and he’s so keen to have her he can’t wait until tonight. Cleria may take a little more time. pardo: You want her to grow old at home and miss finding a match? Better to rid the house of women than of the plague. She’ll make her fortune marrying the Captain.

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trinca: A very fine fortune indeed. pardo: So what is he missing? trinca: A mere stripling; let him ripen a bit more.13 pardo: He’s pushing forty. trinca: Forty aches and pains you mean. That man is pushing sixty. How else do you explain those white hairs? Just a signal to younger men to fill in where the old boy fails. He’s like a lame donkey. He falls down while he walks, and it takes both hands to hoist him up and stand him in the street. He brags about being a colonel and a general in countless armies, but now he hasn’t a follower to his name. pardo: It’s true there’s little strength in his situation. trinca: In more than his situation: he’ll never rise again.14 pardo: He’s a man well endowed. trinca: Not in money, not in brains, only in years. He smells of failure. He loses money by the day, eating up a family fortune at the gaming tables. He’d never make it through the consummation. He’s all boasting and bluster, but he lives on dew like the cicadas. He pretends to banquet in style but when he’s a cuckold, he’ll probably try to feed himself off your daughter. He’ll resort to beating her to make her do his bidding, and she’ll be reduced to eating blows instead of bread. pardo: He is a gentleman ... trinca: ... Who hails from Cape Stag with more horns on his head than hair. He plays the bagpipes15 and his concerts are heard all over Nola. pardo: The parasite has kept me informed. He is in love with my daughter. Why are you laughing? trinca: I’m not laughing because he is in love, but who wants to fall in love with him? That knave, that dregs of humanity, don’t listen to him. He’d have Gulone round up customers for his wife. Not only that, he’s been spreading rumours around town, saying that you’re a scrooge, that you drink wine that has gone bad, and that before its done you start another bottle equally bad, and that when he comes to dinner at your place you keep him waiting till noon, and that when its all over he rises from the table more hungry than when he sat down. He says you invite him to a diet, to a wake, to do penance rather than lunch. pardo: The rascal! And to think how he stuffs such huge chunks of meat in his mouth that he can’t even chew, how he crams himself till he looks like an open sewer. This isn’t eating, it’s gulping. When he takes in wine he quaffs it, and in his stomach he swills it. We have barely started eating and he’s already cleaned off his trencher. You would think that he’s never seen food in his life before, that he was begotten

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by hunger, that he fathered the flood and that he is kin to famine. One charge of food in his mouth would feed the whole family for a week. trinca: These things he says, and other things too. pardo: What other things? trinca: I’m ashamed to repeat them. pardo: Come on, out with them before I get mad. trinca: He says you’re afflicted with gastritis, and that you itch so much you’re always after someone to scratch you. pardo: He lies through his teeth. trinca: He claims to have heard this from dozens of people. pardo: He lies through his ears. trinca: And that he knows you by your smell. pardo: He lies through his nose. trinca: He swears to the truth of it all. pardo: He lies through his brain. Don’t you see his mendacities? trinca: He tells lies; this is why he is such a villain. What’s worse, people believe him, because they see him so welcome in your household they assume he knows all your secrets. pardo: Vengeance will be mine. trinca: Gulone is a real cancer: the more you feed him the more he grows and rots away. pardo: So what’s the best cure? trinca: Just what they use for syphilis: a forty-day diet of bread and water; he’ll be reduced to bare bones by hunger and thirst. When the fodder stops, he’ll move on to other pastures. But to get back to our situation. It is a crime to marry such a worthy daughter to such a scoundrel, to such a thoroughly nasty character. pardo: But he’ll take her without a dowry, which is really something these days. I have ransomed her from the Turks, and if I were also to pay for her dowry, it would be like paying the ransom a second time. trinca: Her dainty manners are worth ten ransoms. Ah, here’s Erotico. He’s noble, well mannered, and better heeled too, and he’ll take her on the same terms. pardo: If she were your daughter, what would you do? trinca: If I were you? pardo: Pretend that you are, and give me your advice. trinca: I wouldn’t think of advising you, but if I’m pretending to be you, I would think this man here is too good to be refused. pardo: I’ll do as you say, for I’ve never gone wrong in following your advice. But I must be certain of something else: that both weddings take place tonight.

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trinca: As you wish. pardo: Tell my son to get ready. I will alert Orgio, Sulpizia’s uncle. Tell Erotico to come by and see me and we will organize everything. When people agree on something, there’s no point in delay; you never know what impediments can arise. trinca: Your commands are as good as done.

ACT II Scene i gulone, parasite, alone gulone: Nothing but big words from these sages. When I hear that nature has been a benevolent mother, I say let all philosophers perish and their whole breed with them who say so. Whenever I try to think things through, they always come out wrong. I figure that if nature made us the way we are, she’s our greatest enemy. What’s the use of having two eyes, two ears, two arms, two feet, two shoulders, but only one mouth when we owe our lives to it, not to the eyes and ears. What good are thirty feet of guts when it’s a whole day’s work to digest food, process and then get rid of it? What’s the good of a gullet too narrow to savour the taste of food? With such a little pipe you can’t swallow fast enough before hunger comes over you as if you hadn’t touched a bite. We should have a gullet a mile long so that food takes a whole day to reach the stomach, and the guts should be very short, I say, a passage wide open from mouth to arse to expel in a jiffy what’s just taken in. And why this huge corpus with arms, legs, and head and such a diminutive stomach? Don’t we deserve a capacious pouch to stuff with as much food as we want? How frustrating to find oneself in front of a table piled with all manner of food and wine and have no stomach to store it. It makes me so enraged and desperate that I could slit my own bread-basket with a knife to go on stuffing it non-stop. Or at least a slit in the belly with buttons to open and close like a shirt; in times of surfeit or pain we could open it, take a peek in, and then shut it up again. It’s the oxen, the goats, and the birds that nature has been kind to, for they’re equipped with a pouch under the throat where they keep their food, ruminating and feeding on it all night long. Why can’t humans have such a pouch? How often the food we scour up in the

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dining room we have to belt down in haste, which we could then bring back up in leisure and taste it again in peace. Why shouldn’t Gulone have gotten plumbing that’s short and wide so that when the system is full I could drop behind and then fill up before? Why couldn’t I have been designed with a wolf’s hunger, a frog’s mouth, a toad’s stomach, a crane’s neck, a shark’s teeth, a snake’s forked tongue, an ostrich’s stomach, a horse’s thirst, a dormouse’s slumber, and a cow’s capacity to shit? Scene ii trasimaco the Captain and gulone trasimaco: If I don’t kill you, I’m no longer a follower of Mars. I’ve been looking for you in all the inns thinking that you might have been pawned and that I would have to buy you back. gulone: You interrupted my thoughts on nature. trasimaco: Nature’s your enemy certain, for she’s graced you with nothing at all. gulone: Simpleton that I am, I can’t comprehend her greatness, depth, or magnificence. trasimaco: You were born with your head screwed on backwards, so your whole life is back to front. Your deeds are banal and unnatural – may you hang from the gallows by the throat! gulone: You may hang me from wherever you like so long as it’s not by the throat; I want that in one piece for myself. trasimaco: Tell me, have you spoken to Pardo? gulone: To be sure I have. trasimaco: Have you told him that I am Rodomonte,16 an Alexander the Great of our times? Are you going to answer, you knave? gulone: My words can’t exit through a burning throat. trasimaco: You’re lying through your gullet, so watch it. gulone: I say, I can’t put words together when my throat is dry. trasimaco: Well, in short, have you settled the wedding? gulone: Without a drop to drink, without moisture for my palate and tongue to restore my forces, I’ll surely faint away. trasimaco: Can’t you just answer yes or no? gulone: Hunger so oppresses me that I see him riding in the air; my stomach is so empty that it is rubbing against my back. Listen to the noise it makes.

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trasimaco: What are you, a horse? Their bellies rumble when they’re not fed. Can you hear me? gulone: My guts are making so much noise I can’t hear a thing. trasimaco: Didn’t you promise me last night that you’d let me know the results of the marriage negotiations? gulone: Yes, I did promise. But on my way to your place I ran into a friend who took me home with him and plied me with so much good heavy wine that my bowels and head were full of fumes. I couldn’t find my way back and had to sleep there. trasimaco: This is a cock and bull story. The craven, like you, fail to keep their promises; true? gulone: Yes, but the craving,17 like me, fail to come home when there’s bounty in other places. trasimaco: Still, this is not the conduct of a gentleman. gulone: A gentleman I’ve never been, nor would I be for fear of dying of hunger. I’m a thief, a liar, a rascal, a knave, and this is how I live to the full. trasimaco: Is this how you treat your friends? gulone: Prince Tripe is my only friend, the very best I have; my worst enemy is an empty stomach. trasimaco: Is food your only talk? gulone: And yours love and women? There is no difference between my beloved and yours: I love suckling pigs and you love cows. We both love meat: you have it rare and I have it well done, and I can tell you that my love is as much superior to yours as cooked meat is to raw. Mine is flavoured and tasty; raw meat stinks and rots. While you are making love to this or that female and give vent to your unbridled desires, I do the same with a well-laid table, and like the eager lover I attack chunks of veal and gulp down fat thrushes. While I keep them tight between my teeth the gravy drips down both sides of my mouth. I kiss glasses and bottles full of brilliant and sparkling wines. Such meetings are savoury and thus I gratify the voracious appetite of my stomach. While I entertain myself with these dainties, I covet the suckling pigs on the spit, taking in all those delicious aromas. trasimaco: The energy of your attack at the banquet table is the equal of my courage and ardour in the arena. gulone: In that you are right. Heartily I brandish my weapons and come to blows at the board, driven by my glorious appetite and my fiery entrails.

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trasimaco: All right, let’s stop all this talk about food or we’ll be here all day. Have you finalized the arrangements for the wedding? gulone: Everyone thinks that weddings can be whipped together in no time. You’ve got some hopes! And anyway, the sooner you have her to wife, the sooner you’ll get tired of her and start to regret your decision. trasimaco: When it comes to getting things done, you’re just lazy. gulone: That’s as you see it, but I see it otherwise. You can never be fast enough for someone who’s waiting for things to be done. He says that if you’re prepared to take her without a dowry, you can have her straightaway. trasimaco: Thank you for the good news. gulone: Do I take this thanks as my reward? Do you think that your gratitude will look after my hunger and thirst? This is an insult to my innards. trasimaco: You are insulting my generosity. You know that where there is need I’m all largesse. Bring me back the final reply and then be my guest for lunch. I’ll get things organized and arrange something for your paunch. gulone: And I’ll organize my appetite. trasimaco: Do you want any wine? gulone: Lots of it. trasimaco: Greek wine? gulone: Of course. trasimaco: I’ll wait for you to bring back the good news. gulone: With very good news. Now let me knock: toc toc. Scene iii trinca and gulone trinca: Volpino, take that wood upstairs. gulone: (Aside) This doesn’t look very promising. Firewood for cooking the banquet. Pardo promised to invite me, but to hell with it all now. trinca: (To Volpino) Don’t forget the cords. gulone: (Aside) Harpsichord, lute chord, and there’s going to be discord too. Be damned if this isn’t all a bad omen. trinca: (To Volpino) And remember the fifty unripened loquats. gulone: (Aside) An after-dinner delight, loquat, but doesn’t it mean ‘a sound thrashing’? —Here comes Trinca.

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trinca: So how are things, Gulone? gulone: Fine. trinca: This doesn’t sound like you. gulone: A very dear friend of yours is coming to see you. trinca: No dear friends for me; I’m broke, so send me cheap ones. What brings you here at this time of day? gulone: Don’t you know my habits? trinca: Can’t say as I remember them. gulone: I’m in big trouble, the worst I’ve ever known. trinca: Fill me in if it isn’t a state secret. gulone: My hunger is killing me, so I’ve come to share some good cheer with your master. trinca: You’re like a horse bogged in a swamp. Too bad my master is in a snit with you. gulone: An unsportsmanlike reply. Now that I’ve done all the arranging for his daughter’s marriage, he pretends to get angry to avoid paying me. Is this how one shows gratitude? Go talk to him on my behalf; I need a good drink. trinca: You’ll drink all right after he has you thrown into the river. gulone: So what’s his beef with me? trinca: He made some inquiries about the Captain and found out that you’ve been fibbing to him. If he had taken your word and agreed to the wedding, he would have been drowning his daughter. You shouldn’t have deceived him like this. gulone: I only tricked him as he has tricked me. trinca: You should know that the Master keeps up appearances with his bluff and puff. And what’s worse, you bad mouthed him to the Captain. gulone: May I starve for a month if this is true. trinca: Swear on this donkey’s ear.18 gulone: I never took you for an ass till you showed me your ear, so now I’ll just treat you like one. trinca: Here you are at his table enjoying consommés, tossed salads, elaborate terrines, cakes of all sorts, and minced meat, and you told the Captain they were all mangled in the kitchen. gulone: But how can I not say it, Trinca, when things are badly prepared, cooked and served? You know as well as I that a well-appointed table is as essential to good eating as the cooking. When I don’t see pies, whole sides of veal, boars’ heads alongside the succulent and tender salami, imagine my disappointment. What is worse than cold

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cakes and marrows and fats all frozen? And broths without bacon or spices? Or roasts all dried out, then rolled up in horrible sauces? Worst of all is the wine that is undrinkable whether sweet, robust, or spicy. You would need twice a Gulone’s appetite to get such things down. True, I’ve complained of this, but not for lack of food. trinca: You know that you have always been at the head of the table and everything has come before you. You used to make the portions and give what you liked to the others. And how many times have you left the table with a face redder than a cooked prawn? gulone: All this is true. trinca: So why do you say otherwise when you’re dining elsewhere? And when you eat with us, why do you malign everyone else? gulone: Is this why he is upset with me? trinca: The Captain has told the Master all sorts of other things about you, worse than you’d say of a hangman. gulone: So what are the Captain’s grutches with me – may the whore who spawned him be damned? trinca: He says that when you go home he’s going to have you beaten. gulone: To hell with him and his ilk. (Aside) These are the sticks I mentioned before and the vision of a thrashing. trinca: Yes, and my Master has also promised to have your hide tanned. gulone: A beating more or a beating less will not make that much difference. trinca: And that he’ll have your face disfigured and your head smashed in. gulone: Let him do whatever he wants, I’ll always consider him my friend and will not abandon his table. trinca: And that he’ll have you tied up and thrown into the basement. gulone: (Aside) Such are the ropes I took for the strings of the harpsichord. trinca: And that you’d have ten enemas a day to keep your bowels in order, and that he’d hang you upside down until you vomit out all you have eaten here. Then he’ll put you on two slices of bread and a glass of water per diem. gulone: Pox on him! If he catches me he can do his worst by me: break my head, thrash me soundly, blind me in one eye and disfigure me – such are things that must be endured. But an empty stomach never, this would be unbearable. trinca: He has called in Mr. Mazzafrusto and Mr. Sgraffagnino to be on the alert; they’ll jump you the minute you walk in.

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gulone: Mazzafrusto and Sgraffagnino on the alert?19 No beatings and scratchings for me. Farewell, good-bye. trinca: Wait, just one word more ... gulone: I don’t listen to words. trinca: ... of importance. gulone: What? trinca: Come here. The Master is waiting for you at the table with a plate of extra-large macaroni, so big you can hardly get them into your mouth. gulone: Your words have made me sick to my stomach; if I don’t get away from here to restore myself, I don’t know what will become of me. trinca: (Aside) Just look at the way he is running, the lazy bugger. He runs as if he had Mazzafrusto and Sgraffagnino on his heels to put him on a diet. Now I’ll work the same ploy on the Captain. I’ll spread so much mayhem between them that they’ll come to blows and end up smashing in each others’ heads. I’ll go and find the young Master and let him know everything I’ve done for him. Scene iv balia, erotico, and pardo balia: (Aside) Sulpizia is out of her wits for jealousy over Cleria. She has sent me to find out from Erotico if anything new has come up. erotico: Oh, my good Balia. Tell Sulpizia that we are engaged in something right now that may solve all our problems. balia: Let me have the details – anything that will ease her pain. erotico: No more for now. Soon she will come to know everything and I shall be the one to inform her. Now be on your way, and quickly. balia: Why do you dismiss me so rudely? erotico: For a good reason that you’ll learn later on. Come now, be off with you; keep some distance between us. balia: All right I’m going, but what is the blazing hurry? erotico: (Aside) The sooner she goes the better. I can see Pardo on his way over, probably wanting to talk about the wedding. I wouldn’t want him to see me talking to this old woman and think I’m involved in some amorous affair. balia: (Aside) Erotico bundling me off like that fires my suspicions. There comes Pardo towards him; surely something’s up.

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pardo: (Aside) There’s Erotico on his way over, and a fine looking gentleman he is. I must greet him like a son. erotico: May God grant you the best of health, my father and master, for such is my love and respect for you. Let me kiss your hands. (He takes off his hat and attempts to kiss Pardo’s hands.) pardo: No, I cannot permit this. Why do you insist? erotico: I feel that it is my duty. pardo: Behave as you normally would if you consider yourself my son. erotico: By standing on ceremony with me, I would think that you do not wish to treat me as a beloved son. pardo: Put your hat on again. erotico: It was to show my respect, but if you wish me covered, I obey as a sign of good manners. pardo: This is becoming of you: noble, well mannered, and valiant. erotico: Too many compliments for someone like me. But I remain all the more obliged to you for all my undeserving. pardo: I think that my servant Trinca and my son Attilio have already told you how keen I am to welcome you into my family. erotico: My wish to serve you is so great and strong that I hardly know how to show you. balia: (Aside) Here’s a fine string of words; let’s see what comes of all this. pardo: As for giving you Cleria in marriage ... erotico: I am hardly deserving of her for her many fine qualities, but I accept her as my wife out of the devotion I have for her and my desire to serve her. balia: (Aside) Alas, they are talking about marrying him to Cleria! pardo: And I trust they have reported to you that I won’t be giving her a dowry. erotico: Her many endowments are dowry enough. I shall consider myself extremely rich to have received such a treasure, and hence I could not refuse her. pardo: I am being candid with you; let’s have no misunderstandings after the wedding is settled. erotico: Rather it is I who should repay you for giving me your Cleria in marriage, and to show you my faith, I herewith refuse even the least sum. balia: (Aside) They are talking of Cleria’s wedding and he is saying that he doesn’t want any dowry. They seem to have reached an agreement.

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pardo: I trust that you’ve seen Cleria and that you’re satisfied with her beauty? erotico: I have seen her indeed, and I like her – I have never liked any woman so much in my life. She deserves a husband more worthy than I, just as she merits nature’s endowments, her beauty of body and soul. pardo: I must ask, for I know that for a time you courted our neighbour Sulpizia. I hope not to see you return to her after marrying my daughter. I know how difficult it is to forget one’s first love. erotico: If you have seen me passing her door a few times, it was not out of love for Sulpizia, but only to kill the time. I swear to you that I never cared for her. balia: (Aside) My God, what do I hear? You would never believe such words could leave the mouth of a man who was saying the opposite only moments ago. pardo: I hope your feelings match your words. erotico: May my tongue and heart be torn out if I am not telling the truth. balia: (Aside) Your tongue is making up lies and oaths to deceive a poor innocent girl. pardo: Pardon me for insisting, but I want to make sure that you’re not taking my daughter on the rebound to spite your former love. I have but one daughter. Giving her a husband who loves another will bring happiness to no one. So let me ask you in all sincerity. erotico: You are my master to command me rather than ask. pardo: One must not command men of your standing. erotico: I feel honoured by your commands; to serve you is my pleasure. If ever I loved Sulpizia, may God erase any feeling for her. I have no more intention of loving her in the future than I have had in the past, for I have always hated and mocked her. I have loved your Cleria from the very first day I laid eyes on her. Only the respect and friendship I hold for Attilio has prevented me from revealing it. I did not wish to offend him by my presumption. But now that it is you who have offered her to me, I open my heart to reveal my innermost feelings. balia: (Aside) What a lying forked tongue! May it be torn out roots and all. His love for Cleria is stated, confirmed, and sworn. pardo: I can rest assured, then, that you have no love for Sulpizia? erotico: Mention her name no more, my father, or I shall be driven to oaths. balia: (Aside) Oh, poor Sulpizia – unloved, derided, and insulted. pardo: I have no other reservations about the wedding. I didn’t want to

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settle it with my son until I could clarify things with you. I was always afraid of Sulpizia. erotico: May Sulpizia be damned! balia: (Aside) May you be damned and those who begot you! erotico: May she die. balia: (Aside) May you drop dead. erotico: May she be quartered. balia: (Aside) May you be torn in pieces. pardo: Now that I have been reassured, give me your hand in pledge of this union. erotico: I hereby willingly give my hand. pardo: I hereby shake it and kiss it as a pledge of our future family relationship. All that is required is that you come with the priest and marry her. We shall dine informally, not like those ignorant fools who consume half the dowry on the nuptial banquet. erotico: I would feel happier if I could marry her this moment. pardo: In the meantime, let’s go to the tailors for our suits. erotico: Let’s go wherever you wish. Scene v balia, alone balia: What a nasty world we live in, so full of lies and deceits. Who can live in it and feel secure? What wicked times, full of cruelty and unfathomable atrocities! O, Erotico, fickle and unfaithful man. O, Sulpizia, so sincere and good, but so naive and foolish. Where is the faithfulness he has promised with so many oaths and that you have matched with constant and loyal love? May all those tongues which have accused women of inconstancy be silenced for ever. All women hearken to me. Go trusting the young men of today, those just of age, full of promises and lavish with their words – they love and stop loving in a trice. They are like hawks, ever seeking new prey. Even the bird in their claws they let fall in pursuit of another flying by. Now I understand why Erotico hastened me away, saying he was occupied with matters of closest concern to her. Poor Sulpizia! Life will go on for you, shut away in your room, crying your eyes out for the simplicity that let you believe such a man. You will be wounded for life by his infamy and you will never recover. Can two eyes suffice to shed tears enough for this tragedy? She will hold me responsible for all this and

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will turn against me. She will complain of me and curse me who has advised and listened for so long. Who wouldn’t have been deceived by all his tears, his sighs, his heroic vows to endure months and years, summer heat and cold nights, the winter rain and thunder? I haven’t the heart to tell her, for I know she’ll scream, faint, grow hysterical or possessed. Please God, help us, for only you are able. Scene vi trasimaco and trinca trasimaco: When I need Gulone most, I can never find him ... trinca: (Aside) I have been looking for the Master in the streets, but he must be in his room. I can see the Captain coming, always gesticulating in his usual bombastic fashion. Just the person I wanted! I think my plan is going to succeed because everything is falling into place. trasimaco: ... to ask him if the wedding has been settled. trinca: (Aside) He doesn’t have to ask him; I can tell him the wedding is definitely off. trasimaco: If by his arrangements this wedding is celebrated, he’ll have my friendship and Pardo’s. trinca: (Aside) I’ll raise so much ruckus between the lot of them that they’ll never be friends again. trasimaco: And I shall possess a most beautiful maid. trinca: (Aside) This dainty damsel’s not for you. trasimaco: I think she will take to me when she finds out how I’ve sought her. trinca: (Aside) I wouldn’t count on that, since someone’s been there with her before you. trasimaco: Ah, there’s the servant from her household; I’ll ask him. trinca: (Aside) I’ll pretend I don’t know him to dupe him even more. trasimaco: Tell me, young man, is Gulone at your place? trinca: Possibly. My Master loves it when Gulone trashes the reputations of others. trasimaco: Tell me, does he ever recount the glorious deeds of a certain captain? trinca: What captain might that be? trasimaco: The one called Fracasso. Just the other day he was surrounded by a band of louts and rake-hells out to assassinate him,

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but he threw himself into the middle of them, and in a fit of rage, with blows, lunges and thrusts, he broke their ranks, knocked them about and routed them. trinca: I heard of a certain captain attacked by a few roisterers who ran away from them to save his neck. trasimaco: And did you hear how this captain was stopped by the police the other night, how they tried to confiscate his weapons, and how he cut them up into slivery bits? trinca: I remember hearing about a captain who got himself thwacked up well by a sturdy stick. trasimaco: I am reminding you of some of his finest skills. trinca: Yes, of his musical skills. trasimaco: What do you mean ‘musical’? trinca: By his singing when he was thrashed; he’s been practising this all of his life. trasimaco: We’re not talking about the same captain. trinca: I’m talking about a certain Sconquasso, or Fracasso, or Babuasso20 who has given himself this name to scare people. My captain sports a mug of a face covered by a spiky beard and a pair of whiskers. He has an ugly complexion and talks with big words. trasimaco: (Aside) I’m going to let my wrath explode; I’ll make an example of him to show the whole wide world. He can’t be saved from my hands, not even by the heavens with all the lightning and thunder of the sky. I doubt I can control myself much longer. trinca: This person isn’t a friend of yours by chance? trasimaco: Proceed. I’ve never heard of him. trinca: I wouldn’t want you angry with me. trasimaco: God help you if my anger rises, for then you’re as good as a dead man. trinca: I ask because you have the looks of a captain. trasimaco: I am one, indeed, in looks and in fact. trinca: (Aside) If I don’t start laughing I’ll burst. trasimaco: What do you find so funny? trinca: Nothing. trasimaco: You’re not one of those lunatics who merely laughs at nothing. Speak up, I say, and satisfy my curiosity. trinca: It’s not secrecy that’s holding me back, but I’d ask you not to repeat this to anyone. This will stop him from telling me other stupidities.21

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trasimaco: Let the wrath of Mars relieve me of my powers to rid a city of its inhabitants, to vanquish and rout armies, if ever I repeat it. I beg forgiveness for my curiosity. trinca: Well, Gulone gives this captain many titles, like venerable ass – so big a one as to seem like six – and a liar in whose body the truth has turned to rust. He says no wind of ambition has ever blown that has not swollen his head, and that in the court of sloth, where the world’s laziest are made known, he would come in first. His laziness could infect the laziest of the world. He fights with his tongue, not his sword ... trasimaco: Very well. trinca: ... and he says that his family coat of arms is a sham, that his father was a Jew and his mother a washerwoman, his grandmother a whore, his uncle a hangman, and he a pimp. He dyes his beard to look younger. Between his legs he has a pouch as big as a pumpkin. He’s infested with syphilis. He boasts that the king of France wants him for a companion, that he is salaried by King Philip, and covered in gifts from the Great Turk, while in reality he is dying of hunger. trasimaco: Why are we speaking so ill of such a wretched person? Pox on his tongue. trinca: Gulone says that when he invites someone to dinner he offers nothing but inflated bladders, that his stinginess and indigence is such that whoever dines with him, starves. trasimaco: So how can he talk so much? trinca: He talks for six loudmouths. trasimaco: Gulone should not befriend him. trinca: He follows him around just to hear his tall tales and make sport of his deeds. My Master is now so convinced of all these things that no one will ever get them out of his head. trasimaco: It’s such an ample story, with so much to offer. trinca: It’s more than what you’ve bargained for. trasimaco: If I can repay you for your trouble, just ask and you shall receive. trinca: It’s the least I could have done for someone to whom I am so indebted. trasimaco: Peace be with you, my good informer. trinca: And peace with you, Captain, and my good listener.

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ACT III Scene i pedolitro, an old man pedolitro: (Aside) Thank God I have come to the end of my journey, back home in Nola at last. Lord, the perils I have met, the suffering, the fatigue, the expense! The food has been wretched, the drink even worse, sleeping on the ground, attacked by innkeepers, thieves, even the carriage drivers. How uncomfortable things are away from home; you have to experience it to believe it. How I yearned to reclaim my only son from the Turks, but I wouldn’t attempt it again for the world, not for my children, not for my father, not even for myself. When I thought the end was in sight, there was still more to come. I can feel it all in my poor legs. And now that I see my home I can hardly believe it. Am I still alive, or is it my ghost arriving? And who might that be? It looks like my old friend Pardo. I need to talk to him. —Well, well, Messer Pardo, don’t you know me? I’m your old friend Pedolitro. Scene ii pardo and pedolitro accompanied by his son pardo: You’ve aged so much I hardly recognized you. And what’s this Turkish get-up all about? Have you been sick? In prison? You look just awful – lean and pale. pedolitro: Nothing but bad eating, bad drinking, and worrying myself sick. pardo: And what about your clothes? pedolitro: All consumed in Turkey. pardo: They ate your clothes in Turkey? pedolitro: Nah, I had to flog them off for food. But am I ever glad to see you happier and haler than you were when I left. pardo: So where are you coming from? pedolitro: From Constantinople. I’ve been to ransom my son who was kidnapped by the Turks when he was just a child. pardo: (Addressing Turco) Welcome back, my boy. pedolitro: I’ll have to answer for him because he can’t speak a word of Italian. ‘I’m happy to see you too.’

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pardo: I’m delighted to see you returned safe and sound. pedolitro: You’ll be even happier when you hear the good news I’ve brought. pardo: The Turks are not planning to wage war on our shores in the spring? pedolitro: I mean really good news for you personally. pardo: Well twice welcome home, since you have such good news for me. pedolitro: Your wife, Constanza, sends her regards. pardo: From where? From the other world? pedolitro: What other world? This is the only one I know, and I’ve never been out of it. pardo: Why are you reminding me of my losses and suffering? Now that she’s dead, I wish I were too, a hundred times over. ‘Dear Constanza, it’s all my fault you are gone. Here I am still alive and you enslaved.22 Slavery that I myself deserve.’ pedolitro: You carry on weeping as though she were dead, but I assure you she’s alive. pardo: Alive? pedolitro: Why would you think otherwise? Unless she passed over in the two months since I saw her last, she’s as alive and as well as ever. pardo: You’re not just jesting with me? pedolitro: On the contrary, I think you’re having me on. Who told you that she was dead? pardo: Attilio and his servant Trinca. I sent them to Constantinople to ransom her and my daughter, Cleria. They came back a few months ago with my girl, but Constanza’s been gone four years. Had she been alive, she’d be released and here in Nola today. pedolitro: Well, I tell you she’s among the living and well. It’s of your daughter we have no news – whether she’s alive or dead – for she disappeared ten years ago. Rumour has it she’s deceased, poisoned by some sanjack she worked for to assuage a jealous wife. Yours almost died of a broken heart on hearing the news. pardo: Strange, very strange, because Cleria is here in the house. What I have just told you was reported by my son and his servant. pedolitro: And I’m saying it’s not the truth, because I knew your wife here in Nola, before the kidnapping, and I’ve been seeing her in Constantinople over the last four years while arranging to ransom my boy. And I must say that I’ve never heard of your son and his servant showing up in the city during all that time.

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pardo: Maybe Constantinople’s not like Nola, where everyone knows everyone else’s business. pedolitro: Constantinople is big, all right, bigger than Naples. But every Sunday all the Christians congregate at the Church of the Hagia Sophia to exchange news and advice on their ventures in bonds of mutual aid. pardo: The more you talk, the less I believe you. pedolitro: What reason do I have to lie? Don’t take my word for it, just look at this letter she has sent you. Do you recognize the handwriting? pardo: (Aside) It’s hers, by God, and I feel the ache in my heart. Just like when she disappeared. ‘Would to God that you are alive; I would go in person to redeem you. And if I couldn’t I would join in all your suffering. There’s been no joy in life since you’ve been gone.’ – I have loved her no less in death than when she was alive. pedolitro: Read it! See what she says. You’ll find out that your son and servant have lied to you, while I’ve been telling the truth. pardo: She says that she wrote me letter upon letter without ever a reply. No ransom money was ever sent that could have gained her freedom. But now she’s ready to make her way back as best she possibly can. pedolitro: So do you believe me now? pardo: So that you’ll see I’m not lying to you, I want you to talk to my daughter. (Shouting towards the house ) Hello, in there. Tell Cleria to come here immediately; it’s urgent. pedolitro: Ask her to come down. I’m not worried about anything, and you’ll not learn anything else than what I’ve already told you, that Constanza is living, and that Cleria has disappeared from sight. Scene iii cleria, pardo and pedolitro cleria: Father, you have sent for me? pardo: This gentleman has come from Turkey. cleria: (Aside) This is it! He’s come to reveal who I am and uncover all the lies we’ve been telling. pardo: He says that Constanza is alive. cleria: (Aside) What should I say? What should I deny? I have no idea what to do. I wish Trinca were here! pardo: (To Pedolitro) You ask her. cleria: (Aside) I’d better keep my wits about me. —God willing that my mother Constanza were alive! How do you know this?

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pedolitro: I’ve seen her with my very own eyes in Constantinople. She laments that during all these years, her husband has not sent the money to pay her ransom. She doesn’t know whether her daughter, Cleria, is alive or dead, but she believes that she is dead. cleria: These are impossible things you say, and wrong on every count. I know for a fact that mother is gone, not alive as you say, and know that I, contrary to what you say, am very much alive. pedolitro: I’ve no cause to prevaricate about this – it’s not my nature. I pride myself on my veracity. cleria: He says Cleria is dead, but here I am the living proof. pedolitro: And I say that you aren’t Cleria. Do you know who I am? cleria: Certainly not. pedolitro: You don’t recognize me? Take another look. cleria: The more I look, the more I’m sure I’ve never laid eyes on you. pedolitro: So why are you avoiding my eyes? Are you blushing? Growing pale? cleria: Because this is all very strange that I hear. pedolitro: And I’m telling you that I’ve known you in Pandolfo’s house – the Neapolitan in Venice who puts up all the travellers from this region. cleria: Who is this Pandolfo? What house? The more you say, the less I understand. pedolitro: Am I speaking in Arab or Tartar? You are pretending to be absent-minded to avoid the truth. cleria: Why all this malice to make me believe your lies? pedolitro: Didn’t you look after me for two months at Pandolfo’s when I was sick there two years ago? cleria: Oh, my God, what am I hearing? pedolitro: I’m saying that you are Sofia. Do you understand? cleria: No, I don’t understand. I’m not this Sofia, and I’m not going to answer anymore. pedolitro: I would rather anger you with the truth than tell lies to others, and I’m saying you are Pandolfo’s servant Sofia. pardo: No wonder you’re mistaken, because you keep calling her Sofia instead of Cleria; you’re denying the truth that’s staring you in the face. pedolitro: Not at all. She’s lying and denying who she is, and she’s downright brazen about it. cleria: On the contrary, you cast aspersions on me by taking me for the servant of an innkeeper.

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pedolitro: Aren’t you then Sofia? My poor girl, why are you deceiving yourself? cleria: Thank God I’m not this Sofia, for then I’d be a servant rather than a gentleman’s daughter. pedolitro: And do you still believe what she says? pardo: Completely. pedolitro: What makes you take her side rather than mine? pardo: The word of my son and his servant. pedolitro: You’re mistaken, for they are most certainly deceiving you. pardo: So who is this girl? pedolitro: What I told you at the start. pardo: She is not Cleria? cleria: (Aside) I wish you had broken your neck on the way back. pedolitro: I don’t know why you’re making signs at me; what are you trying to say? cleria: Me, making signs? You must be crazy. pardo: Come now, let’s not make things worse: Cleria, you go back upstairs. You, Pedolitro, because you are practically a stranger in town, come and take a meal with me. pedolitro: I’ve already eaten. I want to go and find out news about my family. pardo: You and your son are welcome to rest at the house before going to look for your relatives. pedolitro: Please, do not hold us up longer. pardo: At least leave the boy with us while you’re on your search. If you find your kin alive you can fetch him later, or he can stay on with us for a while. pedolitro: This offer I accept; my son will stay with you while I’m gone. pardo: (Aside) This is a most upsetting turn of events. The handwriting is my wife’s, so why have they told me she’s dead? He claims to have met Cleria at an innkeeper’s house and that she is called Sofia. Why would he insist if it weren’t true? I noticed that she was blushing and going pale by turns, that she was lost for words and confused in her answers, and I took note of her attempts to signal to him. And what’s more suspicious is that Trinca is involved in all of this, the worst rascal there is for cunning, a master of trickery and worthy the gallows. He’s a great source of embarrassment, not to mention the five hundred scudi I’ve lost.23 But here they come, and they’re looking pleased. I’ve got to see how they’re going to get out of this whole affair.

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Scene iv trinca, attilio, pardo, and turco trinca: Master, your son is about to get married and he wants you to hurry things along. attilio: Erotico, too, and he’s ready when you are. pardo: So then, who told you that my wife, Constanza, was dead and that my daughter Cleria was alive? When were you ever in Constantinople? Well, why aren’t you answering? If you don’t speak right out, it’s because you’re thinking up some excuse. trinca: What, are you saying that I never went to Constantinople? pardo: Neither you nor my son. trinca: I just don’t know how you can say this. attilio: (Aside) Good God, the song is up. pardo: What do you say to this, eh? trinca: Who told you this story? attilio: (Aside) How will you get out of this one, Trinca? pardo: Pedolitro, a citizen of our city, has just returned from Constantinople, where he went four years ago to ransom his son. He brought me a letter in Constanza’s handwriting in which she expresses her longing to return, with word that she hasn’t had news of Cleria for a number of years. attilio: (Aside) Just our luck this man had to come back from Turkey this very moment. pardo: He says that the girl in the house is Sofia, the servant of an innkeeper in Venice. I brought them face to face and he stands by his word. attilio: (Aside) Trinca looks crestfallen. That’s it. There’s no way out. trinca: What I told you, Master, is as true as the love I have for you; if you find me lying, slap me in jail. pardo: I don’t need your permission to send you right there. trinca: (To Turco) Come here. How come your father has told such a lie? Answer me. You see, he’s totally lost for words. pardo: No use speaking to him. He doesn’t know any Italian. trinca: Then I’ll talk to him in Turkish. You won’t get away with this. (To Turco) Cabrasciam ogniboraf, enbusaim Constantinopla?24 attilio: (Aside) Excellent Trinca, my very clever Trinca. turco: Ben belmen ne sensulers. [I don’t know what you’re saying.] pardo: What is he saying?

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trinca: That his father never went to Constantinople. pardo: So where did he go to ransom him? trinca: Carigar camboco maio ossasando. turco: Ben sem belmen. [I don’t know you.] trinca: He says they’ve been in Negroponte.25 pardo: That’s a lot of miles from Constantinople. Ask him the route they took to get back to Italy. trinca: Ossasando nequet, nequet poter levar cosir Italia. turco: Sachina busumbasce agrirse. [ ... headache.] trinca: He says they came by sea and didn’t pass Venice. pardo: My God, what strange ideas people have! What made him tell me such a great lie? That he’d been to Venice? That he was bringing back a letter by my wife? What kind of a world is this? trinca: The world should be the way you want it, or else the present one should be changed. They forged your wife’s handwriting to play a joke on you. pardo: He must have been drunk; he looked pretty red in the face. trinca: Now you’ve guessed it. Let me ask some more questions. (To Turco) Siati cacus naincon catalai nulai. turco: Vare hec. [Leave me alone.] trinca: He said ‘marfus,’ which means drunk. Not long ago, on the way to Nola, the old man went into an inn, drank a lot, and then kept on falling on the road – he could barely stand up. attilio: (Aside) Oh my divine Trinca! What a well-spun tale. pardo: How could he have said all that in just two words? trinca: In Turkish, with just two words you can say several things. pardo: So then, Pedolitro wanted to play a joke. When he gets back, I’ll let him know what I think of him from now on. Go find Erotico, and fetch Orgio, Sulpizia’s uncle. Tell him to get things ready for tonight. Scene v pedolitro, pardo, and turco pedolitro: (Aside) One of my near cousins is still alive. That’s where I’ll take my son. (To Pardo) Many thanks, Messer Pardo, for your kind offer. pardo: Since you’ve acted in this way, Pedolitro, I think I’m entitled to ask a few questions. Was it in Turkey you learned how to make fun of your friends?

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pedolitro: Such a thing is not fitting, neither here nor in Turkey. pardo: Then why have you led me to believe that you were in Constantinople, that you had seen my wife, Constanza, and that my daughter, Cleria, whom you call Sofia, was a servant in some lodging house in Venice? pedolitro: Because it’s the truth. pardo: How could you have seen her in Venice if you have never been there? pedolitro: I was sick there during two months, confined against my will. pardo: If you have been to Negroponte and returned to Naples by sea, how could you have been in Venice? pedolitro: Me in Negroponte? When? Who told you these fibs, bigger than the ones before? pardo: Your son. pedolitro: How could he tell you these things; he doesn’t speak Italian. pardo: My servant, Trinca, spoke to him in Turkish. He learned the language when he was in Constantinople. pedolitro: Is this what my son said? pardo: Even more – that you had been drinking in several inns, that you got sloshed and didn’t even know where you were. pedolitro: Let me cross myself. (To Turco) Ierusalas adhuc moluc acoce ras marisco, viscelei havvi havute carbulah?26 turco: Ercercheter biradam suledi, ben belmen ne sulodii. [Some man spoke to me but I don’t know what he said.] pedolitro: True enough, he says, some man tried to talk to him, but that he couldn’t understand a word he was saying. (To Turco) Chomis purce sulemes? [ ... does not say.] pardo: Why was he answering then? pedolitro: (To Turco) Accian sembilir belmes mic sulemes? [Didn’t you understand anything that was said?] turco: Acciam ben cioch soler ben sen belmen sen cioch soler. [I said repeatedly that I didn’t understand, but he kept on talking.] pedolitro: He says that he kept on saying he didn’t understand, but your servant kept on talking. (To Turco) Aman herl cheret marfus, soler ben men coman me sulemes. turco: Aman herl cheret marfus, soler ben men coman me sulemes. pedolitro: That he kept on repeating the word ‘marfus’ but had no idea what he meant. I take it that your Trinca is a pretty big rogue, a fibber and an old fox.

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pardo: You’re saying he’s a liar? pedolitro: I’m saying he’s a big liar. pardo: You are getting even more offensive. pedolitro: I’m saying that he’s a gigantic liar; he’s ragging you to pieces. pardo: I don’t know why I want to get to the bottom of this matter, so if you have any esteem for me, I ask you to tell me if you told the truth. pedolitro: This is the truth, and I’d go to any lengths to prove it if necessary. Farewell. I’m going to see my cousin. pardo: And farewell to you, since you are free to go. pedolitro: (To Turco) Ghidelum auglancic. [Let’s go, young fellow.] turco: Ghidelum baba. [Let’s go, father.] pardo: (Alone) If there were a competition to find the dullest, dumbest, clumsy, silliest old man in the whole world, I’d win, now that I see how I’ve been duped by that rascal Trinca and by my own son. I’m just naive. I’ve known all along that his words were full of lies aimed at taking me in, but I fell for them every time. Still, I’m not so dumb as not to have my revenge, for then I’d be the fool he takes me for. He bamboozled me, made me fork out three hundred scudi, but he’ll get the drubbing he deserves.27 I’m ashamed of myself, irate, indignant, but I suspect the whole ruse was to further one of my son’s love affairs. Here comes this pain of a Captain. I don’t know what this oaf wants out of me, but I’ll get away by this side street. Scene vi trasimaco and pardo trasimaco: Hold up there my good man. You are the father of the girl who will ensure me an illustrious offspring. pardo: Forgive me, but I’m busy. trasimaco: You should know that I’m more taken by your daughter’s flashing eyes and lightning looks than by the fire of cannon and artillery upon the bulwarks. I – a conqueror of cities, castles and fields – am conquered by her beauty. Hence I lay down my frightening and ferocious ways to ask for her hand so that the world may be enrichened by my offspring, a breed of gods and goddesses of war, of Orlandos and Rodomontes. How fortunate is she, the happiest in all the world, and you as well, to gain the prestige that comes with knowing me. pardo: I have no time for small talk.

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trasimaco: Halt, in the name of Mars. Even his royal majesty the King of Spain and the Great Turk seek my conversation, and you don’t bother to listen? pardo: Be brief. trasimaco: That knave Gulone, there isn’t a word of truth in anything he has said about me. pardo: He told me you were a great captain, rich and honest. trasimaco: If he were my equal, I’d challenge him to a duel. Nearly fifty combats I have fought in the arena, wearing but half a cape. pardo: These things are of no concern to me. trasimaco: I’m through and through a true-blooded knight. Just search into my pedigree and there you find knights of the orders of Malta, St. Stephen, St. James, and Calarava.28 pardo: (Aside) They’re all alike, these braggarts.29 trasimaco: When he dined with me I feasted him as I would my troops with mountains of bread, quarters of oxen, goats galore, wine by the barrel. His fare at my place is rarely seen in the houses of the rich. pardo: Fine, fine. trasimaco: You should know in what esteem I am held by princes the world over. My coats, trousers, and suitcases are full of their letters. Here is one sent by the Great Turk: ‘To the most illustrious and courageous knight, Captain Trasimaco de Sconquassi, my dearest friend and general of my people.’ Here is one sent by King Philip: ‘To the most venerable and wonderful Captain Sconquasso de Sconquassi de Sconquassamenti, my lieutenant and general of my armies.’ Here is one from the King of France: ‘To my most beloved colonel and master who has taught me warfare.’ Here is another sent by the Venetians and by other republics which I will not read out. I do not tell lies, but cherish only the truth. pardo: You cherish it so much that you never share it, nor could it be extracted from your mouth with a pair of pliers. trasimaco: You must not believe the opinions of rogues. If you would know more, go to Persia and ask of me there, for I fought with them against the Turks. Go to Mongolia and ask of the Great Khan. Go to Japan and ask of the King Quabacondono.30 Go to the Indies, to Mexico, to Temistitan and address your question to the chiefs of Abenemuchei, Anacancon, Aguelbana, Comogro, Ciapaton, Totonoga, Caracura and others. Then you will know who I am. pardo: Straightaway I’ll be leaving for all of these places, and once I have all the information, we will talk of the wedding. Good-bye.

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trasimaco: (Aside) At least you have been polite. If it weren’t for your old age, you wouldn’t slip through my hands. I’m going to look after your daughter. Queens have begged for me. The Great Turk was to have given me the hand of a daughter if I had agreed to govern in Greece. The Prince of Transylvania would have wed me to one of his sisters had I accepted to govern his country. Queen Elizabeth of England wanted me for her husband as protection against Philip II. You are lucky you have gone, for now that my blood is boiling over, I would not have restrained myself for an old nincompoop like you. If you didn’t want to become senile, you shouldn’t have gotten so old. Scene vii trinca and trasimaco trinca: (Aside) Here comes the Captain. Cursed is the creature that owes more to the donkey than to the horse. A lazier being has never eaten bread. I’ll match him up against the parasite by swelling his head with the bellows of vanity. trasimaco: Stop, I pray you. While it’s true that delay in revenge breeds greater rancour, I’m brimming with anger now and ready to vent the full furore of my rage. Because you have related to me his insults, I want you to witness the punishment I’m about to hand out to that good-for-nothing Gulone. trinca: If I were you, I wouldn’t provoke such hostilities, for you’ll find him hard to deal with. trasimaco: Hell’s bells, you’re wishing me ill. So much courage blazes within that the world can barely contain it. Like an oven I burn and I seek a thousand worlds to make space for my rage. Poor Alexander the Great could conquer only one!31 trinca: Keep your voice down, I urge you, in case he’s around and hears you. trasimaco: A pox on that whore of Fortune who makes me listen to you. Why should I lower my voice? What man alive can make me afraid? Let me shout till he hears me: Gulone, Gulone, Gulone, you stupid jerk! trinca: He’s not the least bit accommodating. He could show up mad and pick a fight. trasimaco: I’ll kick him around. I’ll blow him up. Call him, call him for me.

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trinca: At your peril I’ll deliver your message, but I’m warning you, you’ll end up the worse for wear. First, weigh up your strength and calculate your chances. trasimaco: When I’m mad or insulted, I’m fierce, I’m more furious than all the furies of hell. When I beam the wrath of my eyes, they incinerate with their lightening. Mars himself is no match for me. I was born in an iron mine and fed on steel. My only desire is to break down, swallow, and expel both men and their horses covered with metal and bronze. trinca: When Gulone’s hungry he’s courageous; he appears like half an Orlando. trasimaco: Him? Courageous? O Mars, who can beat me for courage? I make courage itself shake with fever. If any one else had said this, I would have squashed his head like a chestnut. When he sees this mighty body, these shoulders of Atlas,32 these mighty legs, these powerful arms brandishing my swiper of noses, my dicer of arms, my slasher of legs, you’ll see what he does. By the scars on my face you should know me. trinca: How brave was the man who sliced you up? trasimaco: I mean to say that I never run, I never turn my back. trinca: Neither did he run nor turn his back who decorated your face. trasimaco: Keep your distance, I say, because when I have weapons in hand I’m all drive and fire, uncontrolled rage, so possessed and blinded with fury that I don’t distinguish friends or relatives. I kill everything in sight, and the clanging of my sword is heard for miles around. trinca: Well, look who’s coming, and look at his funny walk. trasimaco: He has the gait of an animal. trinca: (Aside) Today’s been reserved for laughter. This will be some duel, knowing how lazy they both are. – Let me get out of the way. trasimaco: A wise move. (To Gulone) Welcome, you sack of bones. Scene viii gulone, trasimaco, and trinca gulone: Well if it isn’t the picture of Sloth. trasimaco: Your bad luck has brought you into my sight, and now I’m obliged to kill you. gulone: You’re obliged to kill lice as you usually do.

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trinca: Captain, are you going to fight with Gulone? trasimaco: You bet I am. trinca: Gulone, do you want to grapple with the Captain? gulone: Willingly. trinca: Then behave yourselves like gentlemen and let the combat begin. trasimaco: It is not befitting of one of my stature to lower myself to the likes of him. He is unworthy of the greatness of my courage! What’s more, no princes or knights are here to witness the duel – no one here to clap and cheer my most famous victory. He being no professional soldier, reason and nobility harness my rage. He must come to know that the nobility of heart by which I live till I die has spared him the wrath of my arms. trinca: O, my valiant Captain. Is this how you dodge the occasions for fame? Isn’t this cowardice to lose such a rare moment of danger? trasimaco: (To Gulone) Come here. Is it true that you have spoken ill of me? If so, I shall tear you to pieces, I shall destroy you. gulone: It is true. trasimaco: Ah, then because you have confessed the truth, I am bound to forgive. But woe to you if you had told me a lie, for lying is what I hate the most. gulone: I shall speak ill of you again. trasimaco: Just post yourself further off so I can’t hear you, and then I needn’t react. gulone: But I want you to hear me. trasimaco: You provoke and offend me too openly. I won’t put up with this, by Jove. gulone: Remember your challenge to me; I’m always ready to take you on. trasimaco: By the thunder-clapping Jupiter, what audacity is this? You will turn me into a snake, a man-eater, a monster like Procrustes, a killer like Nero.33 I shall smite you down with a scratch. I shall smash your jaws and teeth and so end your days at the table forever. gulone: I shall rip out your tongue and so end your lying forever. trasimaco: I shall cut your arms into small pieces and so keep them from moving food to your mouth. gulone: And I shall crack open your cranium and so empty it of such absurd ideas. trasimaco: And I’ll twist your neck and so help the knave who will strangle you, and spare the bakeries whose bread you so regularly devour.

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gulone: Now there’s a finical lout and a precious pugilist. trasimaco: And there’s a precious ingurgitist;34 you’ll tell other tales when you see me towering over you. gulone: You are among the insane. trasimaco: With this sword in my hand ... gulone: With a spit, you would say, since you are better fitted to kitchen patrol. trasimaco: I would cut you to ribbons. gulone: Your talk is all piffle. trasimaco: What do you know about powder and kindling? gulone: Only that you know far more about swindling.35 trasimaco: Of cannons and culverins I know all the arts. gulone: You’re only at home with the sound of your farts. trasimaco: Just look at the knave courting death in his words. Back, you sluggard, back. gulone: You have beaten a retreat before I’ve given you cause. You’re like those turkeys that swell their gullets, redden their crests, spread their wings and beat them, huffing and puffing to blow up wind as if to do something remarkable, then prematurely withdraw. Halt, you scum. (Lunges at Trasimaco and overpowers him) trasimaco: This is a coward’s maneuver. Is this how you deal with men of my rank, to baffle with bluster and attack on the sly? Let’s see you fight like a gentleman. gulone: A gentleman I never was, so I’ll fight the way I know how. Kneel down and pray to God for your soul. trasimaco: What? Are you going to kill me? gulone: You have read my mind. trasimaco: If I were a fortune teller, I wouldn’t have been here to end my life. Grant me but one last wish: just let me live two more hours. gulone: Why only two more hours? trasimaco: I want to eat the banquet I had prepared for you. Then you can kill me and I’ll die happy. gulone: And what is it you had prepared? trasimaco: A suckling pig with a lovely crust. When you chew on it you can feel it crackle between your teeth and melt in your mouth. A pie of oysters boiled in their broth – their ideal condiment to which I have added spices that will send you into an ecstasy. A pan of warblers with bacon and ham and tender tips of zucchini – the smell alone would rouse the dead. A lombardy cake with fine cherry wine that kisses, bites, and fillips at once.

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gulone: You’re a traitor to tickle the tip of my liver to make me die with this banquet of yours. To envision it now is a pleasure. What would it be like to savour it all for a fact. Your timing is particularly flawless, for my stomach is emptier than a deflated bladder and my lungs are burning with thirst. You set this food on me like hawkers and falconers bring out their birds. And for your own hunger, here I brought you some ‘loquats.’36 Eat them in rememberance of me. Here, take, though they’re not very ripe, so we’ll see how you digest them. (He beats up the Captain) trasimaco: Bare-faced rogue! Footmen, cavalrymen, centurions, where are you? Take this, parry this! Pages, stable boys! When will you have had enough? gulone: I’m so exhausted I’m going to let you go. Scene ix trasimaco and trinca trasimaco: My friend, are they gone? trinca: Yes, the coast is clear. trasimaco: No one has stayed behind? trinca: No one. trasimaco: Please take a good look around. trinca: Why all these questions? There’s nobody here at all. trasimaco: Do you think these are questions? Can’t you see all the bruises and bumps? I’m heavy laden with them. trinca: Like mighty Atlas, you have borne this load on your shoulders. But where was all your valour? It has blown away like the fog before the wind. trasimaco: Such is my bastard luck. Orlando fought only one man at a time, while I had to fend off a hundred assassins! trinca: There was only one. trasimaco: There were more than a hundred, and all of them heavily armed. trinca: No weapons, only a stick. trasimaco: There were more than a hundred, I tell you. trinca: Only one, I’m telling you, with a pox on it. trasimaco: A hundred poxes on you, I say. trinca: Who knows better than I do, who was here all the time and took in everything with these very eyes?

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trasimaco: Who knows better than I who has suffered the bruises on my arms, my neck, my shoulders. They were bearing down from all directions, as if they were descending from the sky. trinca: Only one. trasimaco: What? I felt more lumber on me than there is in an entire forest. Wherever I turned I saw wood and sky, as if all the sticks in the world had congregated on my back. trinca: Only one, I repeat. trasimaco: Even one hundred armed Briareus37 couldn’t have done so much damage, with blows raining down on my shoulders like battery fire. trinca: One, and one alone. trasimaco: Why didn’t you tell me so? You’re not very wise. trinca: I thought you had some war strategy, some stroke of cunning known only to captains with your fame. trasimaco: I don’t waste time on cunning moves or strategy. I like to settle things just like that. trinca: I thought you were tiring him out the better to jump him and strangle him. trasimaco: How ignoble to slay those who are tired. Ruses do not befit a man of my reputation. But if he was alone, why didn’t you intervene and warn me? trinca: God save me had I dared. You forewarned that when you are irate, you kill friends and enemies alike. trasimaco: What you say is true, but all the same, since he was alone, you should have warned me. trinca: Your shoulders behaved like Orlando; they resisted very well. Ten donkeys and ten mules couldn’t have taken so much punishment. Without much decorum you have defended the high reputation of your family. trasimaco: I am used to such fights as these; this is not the first. But here I am, safe and sound, and still among the living. I no longer feel my pains, more injured by the fact that he was alone. trinca: If you want your revenge, you can go track him down. trasimaco: Revenge calls for time and occasion. Never rush into these things. I feel less indignant now that he has run away. I’m inclined to forgive, for to conquer all is to conquer myself as well. As I am alive, so let him live. Farewell. trinca: Farewell. (Aside) Never in my life have I seen a truer portrait of sloth.

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ACT IV Scene i constanza, an old woman alone constanza: Thanks be to God, my help in time of trouble. Who would believe that my Turkish master, after being his slave for twenty years, on account of my old age, would grant me my freedom, and that I would be put aboard a ship for Venice, along with other Christians, and from there sent on to Nola? O my country, this beloved soil! O air, dearer to me than all others in the world! If only Fortune now grants that I find my husband, Pardo, and my son, Attilio, alive, I would forgive her for these twenty years of enslavement and the loss of my daughter, Cleria. I would forget all my past turmoils and seek nothing more from life. Here’s a young man coming along; I must ask him. Scene ii trinca, attilio, and constanza trinca: The threat of the big storm is over and the wind has died down. That miserable old geezer from Nola who just got back from Constantinople nearly destroyed our master plan. attilio: I was so flustered and confused that I gave up in desperation. You saved the day with that inspiration for talking in Turkish. trinca: A lie in time is worth a pot of gold. constanza: Gentlemen, can you tell me if Master Pardo Mastrillo is still alive? attilio: He’s alive and well. trinca: (Aside) May he be dead and buried. constanza: And what about his son, Attilio? attilio: He’s among the living as well. constanza: God has granted me joy and consolation just to know they’re both alive. attilio: Who might you be that you are so happy for their health? constanza: Someone Pardo and Attilio would be happy to know is still alive, just as I delight in their well-being. attilio: I pray you, tell us who you are. constanza: It’s no doubt immaterial to you.

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attilio: Or perhaps the contrary, because I am this Attilio. constanza: And I am Constanza, your mother, just back from Constantinople, longing to see you more than I yearned for my own freedom. trinca: (Aside) Here’s another one who’s going to mess up our plans. attilio: (Aside) Good God, there’s no happiness in the world without its opposite; if I gain a mother, I lose a wife. trinca: (Aside) We weathered the first storm, but Lady Luck will have her way this time. attilio: (Aside) Misfortune comes riding in haste; good fortune brings up the rear. trinca: (Aside) Her presence should kill our designs; we’ve met all the former obstacles, but this one’s insurmountable. attilio: (Aside) I’ve prayed for nothing more than to see my mother again, but now that she’s here, I wish I were dead, for now I must lose Cleria, never again to see my beloved. —You are truly Constanza? constanza: I’m that unhappy woman who for these past twenty years has been slave to the Turks. attilio: Mother, how much happier I would have been to see you if you had arrived at a more opportune moment. constanza: My son, I can’t understand your meaning. attilio: Simply that if you had returned at any other time I would have been most delighted to see you. constanza: I thought that good fortune had directed me home to my city, but now I see that I am repulsed by a contrary wind. I thought my arrival was long awaited, but already I’m an unwanted presence. Tell me, dear son, how my presence here can be such a dilemma for you. attilio: It’s not possible, mother, without upsetting you. Please come into the house, as befits you, after the discomforts of such a long trip and after so many years of slavery in the hands of those barbarians. You should rest, even though with your rest you bring me unrest because your arrival signals my departure. You have been freed to make me a slave; you regain your country and I lose mine and all that I ever loved. Never could I have imagined that your homecoming would have brought me so much despair. constanza: My son, the shackles of slavery never hurt me as much as your suffering. By your love for me, I beg you: tell me the cause of all this commotion. Though I am an old woman, poor and frail, I shall go back to Naples and spend the rest of my life as a nameless beggar rather than bring you misery. In times of misfortune a noble spirit can

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shine with dignity and high sentiment, but I have been enslaved for too many years to rise to that level. attilio: Dear mother, I have offended you and of this I am truly ashamed. constanza: A mother’s love is stronger than any injury her child can inflict – such wounds are but mild abrasions. Why don’t you speak? Show me your thoughts and I will prove this love to you. attilio: Mother, if you promise to forgive me and help me to a remedy – just so we don’t make the situation worse – I’ll explain everything. constanza: By the great love I have for you, my son, I swear that I would joyfully spend the remainder of my days in serving you. If I didn’t try to aid my son, who then would I help? attilio: Because you request it, I will tell you everything. Father sent me with three hundred scudi to ransom you in Constantinople. I went to Venice to board a ship directed to those shores, and there I fell in love with a most beautiful girl. I spent the money to ransom her. I married her. Then I came back to Nola and told father that you were dead and that I had ransomed my sister. As Cleria, she was welcomed into the household. I did it to bring him what little joy I could in the few remaining years of his life. If you come home now and say that she is not Cleria, he will die of a broken heart. He will disinherit me and drive me out of the house. constanza: And if I said that she was my daughter, Cleria, would you be happy? attilio: Very much so. constanza: Then out of my love for you, I promise that I’ll say exactly this. I’ll accept her as my daughter and daughter-in-law for as long as I live. Don’t you know that mothers will do all they can to fulfil their children’s desires and smooth their relationships with their fathers? attilio: If you do this, mother, I’ll be more indebted to you than I am for my own birth. This girl is my life, and by restoring her to me, it is life that you give once again. trinca: Whenever you see her, you must be careful to treat her as though she were your very own daughter Cleria. When she’ll ask you things you’ll have to answer only when you know what to say. constanza: I’m not so foolish that I can’t carry out this pretense. If ever I’m in doubt, I won’t rely on him (pointing to Trinca), but on my love for a son. I think I’ll know what to say, and there’ll be no need to repeat it to me.

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attilio: Trinca, please go upstairs and ask father to come down. Tell him that his long-awaited wife is here, and warn Cleria of our plans. trinca: With pleasure. attilio: Now, mother, let me welcome you as I should have done when we first met. I want to embrace you and kiss you. Mother, sweeter than all mothers. You gave me birth. You merit my honour. You have given me life twofold. What will I ever be able to do in this life to repay my debt to you? constanza: What you ask of me is nothing at all, my son. My wish in returning was merely to be of service to you all, so this I’ll carry out with the best of good will. attilio: Here comes father. Scene iii pardo, constanza, and attilio pardo: O Constanza, my dearest one, is it really you? Can I believe my own eyes? Is this a dream? Am I merely imagining what I desire? You are really my wife; I have compared your appearance with the image I have engraved in my heart. constanza: O my husband, my dear husband. I had lost all hope of seeing you again. I can hardly believe that I’m seeing and hugging you. pardo: O my dear wife, how much I regretted having sent for you when I was in Poland, putting my pleasure before your safety and comfort. constanza: Having you now in my arms is all that I want in this world. pardo: That’s just as I feel. Without you I was a sorrowing corpse without a soul. How happy I am that you’re alive. How much I cried when I thought that you were dead. You know that I sent our son to Turkey with the ransom money, and he returned with the report of your death. May God add years to my life in which to serve you, for it was all my fault that you were captured by those Huns. constanza: It is enough that you will love me in the years to come as you have loved me in the past, that you love me as much as I love you. In this, all suffering from years gone by will be forgotten. pardo: My beloved wife, I feel I’m going to faint with a surfeit of joy. constanza: I can’t hold back my tears. pardo: And there’s another reason for joy; you can soon see your daughter, Cleria. constanza: God only knows how eager I am to see her.

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pardo: Attilio, go and ask your sister to come down. attilio: With alacrity. pardo: How is it that you travel all alone? constanza: The whole story is a long one, my dear husband, how I suffered at the hands of those barbarians and how distressing was the long journey home. pardo: Here is your daughter, Cleria. —Look how their emotions overwhelm them; they are almost fainting. How great is the love between a mother and her children! What is this? O Cleria, Cleria, O Constanza, regain your senses! Scene iv cleria, constanza, pardo, and attilio cleria: O mother, my dear mother! constanza: O daughter, my daughter! pardo: Look, son, how they love one another – they can’t stop embracing. Look at their tears of happiness mixed with sorrow. Come now, no more kisses and tears. Don’t spoil such a happy moment with all this crying. attilio: Father, they can’t utter a single word. constanza: Can it be true, my daughter, that I’m beholding you after so many years? cleria: O mother, I had lost all hopes of ever seeing you again. constanza: How light was the load of slavery when you were with me, how easy our discomforts and ill luck. But after you were taken away my suffering doubled. Even small pleasures were to me wearisome and unwanted. cleria: Think of my desperation when I was separated from you, mother, for I knew no one else in the world but you. constanza: My dear daughter, how did you ever get back to your father’s house? cleria: After they tore me from you, I was bought by a sanjack, and being all grown up, he took a fancy to me. His wife became jealous, so when he left on business for the Sultan, she entrusted me to a servant with orders to sell me as a slave. When my brother saw me in Constantinople, he ransomed me and brought me home with him. constanza: In all this may God be praised. pardo: Come into the house and rest, my dear, for it will take too long

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to tell each other all that has happened. There will be time for these stories. Attilio, help your mother, and I shall help your sister. attilio: Here I am. Scene v trinca, constanza, and attilio trinca: We haven’t lost hope, Mistress, because your acting exceeded all promises. It’s true that a mother’s love surpasses everything. What affectionate tears I saw pouring from your eyes! What warm embraces! What intense outbursts of motherly love! Out of devotion to you, your favours to my Master, and my respect for you, I would kneel and kiss your feet. If the deceit had been uncovered, we would have found ourselves in deep trouble. attilio: I confess it, your acting was so natural that it could not be detected. Who would have thought that the girl before you wasn’t the real Cleria, or that you weren’t her mother. O dear mother, beloved mother, let me kiss your hands. How can I ever thank you for such devotion? constanza: You must not belabour this debt, my son, because I wasn’t pretending. The young girl you brought to me is the real Cleria, your sister, the very one who was kidnapped with me by the Turks. attilio: Alas, what are you saying? constanza: What my conscience forces me to say. attilio: Cleria is my sister? constanza: As much your sister as I am your mother: conceived by the same sperm, borne for nine months, and given birth to by me. attilio: O how cruel fate can be! O unhappy times! I am miserable and in need of great compassion! What penance can there be to wash away this sin? Shall I then be the husband and brother of my sister, the father of my nephews, and uncle of my children? Shall I be your and my father’s son-in-law? constanza: My son, ignorance makes your sin less punishable than it otherwise would have been, but in the future you must be careful never to pass the limits of decorum when you are with her. You must love her with a pure and sincere love. If you touch her, touch her as your sister. If you embrace her, it must be as your sister. To do otherwise is to commit the most heinous of sins. attilio: O mother, how can this be? When I remember the first sweet

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manifestations of her beauty, the pleasures of her conversation, her fetching charms and gracefulness, how can I quell my renewed passion each time I see her? constanza: Because such sight of her will ignite your passion, little by little you must learn to avoid these glances. You must avoid talking to her, because words lead to desire. Never find yourself alone with her and thus be tempted to reproachable deeds. You must bear the struggle with patience to resist these instincts, for the longer she is out of your sight, the more she will flee your mind. attilio: How, alas, can my feelings be changed merely by changing location? If distance separates two lovers, it strengthens the bond in their hearts. It is easy to speak of these things but difficult to carry them out. constanza: Put aside all sensual and sinful thoughts; keep them in check with reason. attilio: When love takes complete possession, only a madman can think that reason has power. constanza: Look for another wife; find a more beautiful lover. attilio: Love is not subject to exchanges. O Cleria, in one fell moment I have gained and lost you. I cannot keep you and I cannot renounce you. I gain a sister and lose a bride. She gains a brother but loses her beloved. How our feelings have been overturned! O father, you can no longer complain that I deceived and lied, for you gave me money to ransom my sister and mother, and this I have done, bringing her safely back home. Of me, you have had your desire. I have only myself to blame, for only I deceived myself. constanza: At least some good has come of all this, my son. attilio: It was not the sight of her beauty that made the blood course through my veins when I first saw her, but that she was my sister, borne by the same mother. What a fool I was not to have realized this. O mother, your arrival has brought me both happiness and sorrow, for this day restores me to you, but takes me away from you too. This is the first and last day that you will see me, for now I must leave this house, this life, this world. constanza: Why will you not go on living here at home? attilio: O what a cruel thought! How can I live? Do you want me to linger with this feeling of perpetual death? Where there is no life, a sudden end is welcome. Death is a sweet harbour for those who suffer; accessible to all, it welcomes everyone. You would really want me to stay? My home was dear to me for her who dwelt within. Now I must

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seek eternal exile, for such a house must become an inferno of perpetual fire. O my God, what unbearable pain I feel. Can there be any suffering like unto this suffering? My life can barely sustain itself. I lose you, my Cleria, yet no one takes you from me. You remain in my house and no one drives me out, and yet it is necessary for me to depart. Because of our closeness we must be entirely apart. Such taboos and interdictions must be obeyed, though so against my wishes. Man’s laws and conventions are set against me. O mother, what sorrowful news you have given. How happy would I be never to have been born. Better that you had never given me birth, or that you had killed me in the cradle. My debt to you for birth is cancelled by this bitter word that takes away life and soul. Mother, may you cherish this newly won daughter, and may you allow your son to wander the earth to put me as far from this sister as possible. constanza: Woe upon me! I thought to bring only happiness to my household, but I am the carrier and dispenser of cruelties. I thought that having survived enslavement and the brutality of the Turks I would live in quiet repose at home for the balance of my life. Better had I remained in the hands of infidels than to have perpetrated so cruel a tragedy. Alas, there is no constancy or contentment in this world! O my son, I only meant happiness for you, and not this sorrow. trinca: Mistress, you should go upstairs and not keep your husband waiting. He is the companion of your happiest and saddest moments. Scene vi erotica, attilio, and trinca erotico: Attilio, my friend, what troubles you? Why so gloomy, so changed in appearance? Do you utter no words? Is the pain so very great? attilio: The greatest a man can endure. Fate makes impossible things come true, but always to my misery. erotico: Please, give me your reasons for this. attilio: No, leave me to my misery. I’m destined to live it through because my tragedy wills it so. Do not inquire further. erotico: Better to speak to me, for there is no problem without its remedy. attilio: For mine there is no possible cure. I call upon those who with medications seek to avoid death to come and exchange it for my life,

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for the more I invoke death to remedy my ills, the more it eludes me. Cursed be the hour I was born, cursed was he who placed me in my cradle, and cursed was she who gave me the milk I drank. erotico: Why so downtrodden, my friend; be as you have been in the past. Be driven by your reason rather than by your pain. What can it be? Has it been discovered that you deceived your father and took his money? attilio: On the contrary, it has now been proven that he was not deceived at all and that the money was spent for the very purpose it was given. erotico: Is it that your Cleria has been taken away and you can see her no more? attilio: She is at home never to leave, and I die for seeing too much of her. erotico: You are forbidden, then, from talking and being with her? attilio: Ah no, I can talk and be with her without constraint, but like a new Tantalus,38 who must remain hungry amid the fruits which hang above and thirsty though surrounded by water. erotico: Has it been discovered that she is not your sister? attilio: To the contrary, it is precisely because she has been found to be my sister. erotico: Then wherein lies your complaint? They have believed all that you have so diligently fabricated. attilio: That she is my very sister has ruined all my plans, and yours as well. erotico: I’m afraid that you still leave me in the dark. In a few words you hint at much. attilio: Such is my suffering that paralysis grips my heart and and silence holds my tongue. erotico: Explain this to me, Trinca. trinca: His mother, Constanza, has just returned from Turkey and has confirmed that Cleria is his flesh and blood sister. erotico: Cleria his sister? O monstrous event! What an unheard of case! attilio: What wicked love! What sin have I committed that I should fall in love with my own sister? O Cleria – that I had never laid eyes on you, or that after seeing you I had never liked you, had never loved with such passionate love. I’m certain I’ll go mad, for I know not who I have been, who I am, or who I shall be. I am full of choler, wrath, and despair. The earth will surely open to swallow me. How have I endured? I am hated of men and of God. There can be no more wretched creature on this earth.

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erotico: You touch me to the quick with your pitiful case, and it is my duty as a friend, according to all the laws of friendship, to advise and help you in such adversity. But I confess that your misery exceeds all my capacities to help. What do you think to do now? attilio: Die, so that everything will end with me. Everything except death fills me with dread. I will weep and sigh until I have exhaled my last breath and poured out of my eyes the remains of my life. erotico: Try to control all this fiery passion. attilio: The more you try to rein in love, the more intense it grows. erotico: Time will lessen the pain. attilio: Time will not erase from my heart the image of her beauty so imprinted there, nor will it cancel the memory of past joys. What are these memories if not the cause of unending suffering? erotico: By looking at the beauty of other women you will forget hers. attilio: Where will I find that celestial air that I see in her divine face? Where will I hear those soothing words as though sounding from the mouth of an oracle? Where will I find such majesty of motion to admire? Where will I encounter again the treasures of her beauty? erotico: With patience anything is possible. attilio: Patience is the remedy of the weak. erotico: Turn necessity into resolution and you will survive. What do you have in mind to do? attilio: Many things churn in my mind, but only one is feasible – to leave here and roam the world. erotico: Where will you go? attilio: Where there is no road, no fellow humans, only the sun, the snow, and storms. erotico: Who will keep you company? attilio: Disdain, confusion, fears, griefs, groans, sighs, and desperate thoughts. erotico: What will you take with you to alleviate the perils of the journey? attilio: Anguish, bitterness, death. erotico: What will you live on? attilio: I’ll feed on death. erotico: My good friend, do not sink into all this suffering. By the bond of friendship that unites us, I must not let you go. attilio: Farewell, my dear friend. When you think on my miserable story, have pity on me. At least I have secured Sulpizia for you. Be happy, Trinca, and may God assign you to a more fortunate master.

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I grieve not to be able to reward you more generously for all your faithful services. Never was there a more deserving servant than you. Have pity on me, and know that were it possible to repay another after death, then my gratitude to you would be eternal. erotico: But have you thought about Cleria, my dear brother, how you may be putting an end to her life when she hears of the reason for your departure? Do you know what will pass through her mind? Will she let you know? If my entreaties are to no avail, then in the name of Cleria whom you have loved for so long, agree to spend just one night at my house. Let us talk this through and see what there is to be done. This is not too much to ask. Let Trinca return to your house to find out what Cleria is doing and saying. Meanwhile, I’ll keep you company. attilio: This very name ‘Cleria’ that once gave me life now brings me death. For the love of me, never let her be mentioned again. What love united, our fate now severs. My only hope is to find her again in death. I must go alone, for I am alone in my suffering, and alone I would wander the world. No longer destroy me with your pity. Alas, how I long to depart, but my strength is sapped by this unbearable pain. When you go home, Trinca, tell her that her brother has gone to die. Let her cry over my demise, for I can think of nothing dearer than her tears shed on my grave. trinca: So much suffering and hell-bent determination has driven him out of his wits, Erotico. Lovers are deaf to advice, so we’ll have to get him into your place by force. In the meantime I’ll run back home. erotico: Forgive me, brother Attilio, if I drag you by force into the house. attilio: Alas! Who is dragging me? Where am I? My friend, why don’t you help me? Scene vii pardo and gulone pardo: (Aside) All I needed was to meet up with this glutton. gulone: (Aside) Here is this old Charon,39 this haunter of graveyards. I can’t seem to avoid him. —Messer Pardo, may God grant you a blissful day. pardo: May God make you suffer in hell. gulone: Your anger with me is apparent. pardo: Get out of my sight. I have the urge to knock in your teeth.

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gulone: My teeth never moved offence against you. pardo: But your tongue has. pardo: My tongue has always sung your praises. pardo: Praises in your mouth are insults to gentlemen. gulone: My tongue never insulted anyone. pardo: The tongues of snakes are less forked than yours, for it stings and poisons. So be gone, you rogue. gulone: Say what you will of me for I am your servant. I would rather die than forgo the pleasures of your table today, and I plan to be there no matter what you utter. pardo: I say again, you’re a rogue. gulone: And I’m telling you, you’re a gentleman. We each have told a lie. pardo: Make sure you never get near my table again. gulone: Hell, do you think that I can’t eat properly unless I’m served on a white tablecloth adorned with leafy branches and flowers, or with napkins shaped like towers? It is the good wine and quality meats that count. pardo: You never went without them in my house. gulone: How right you are, for you fed me on the meat of those donkeys that transport stones to the factories, full of diseases and sores. If by chance a poor chicken landed on your table, bereft of head, feet, and wings, and the entrails and giblets too, that you dump into your salads, it looked like it had been through the wars.40 What you need are nice fat chickens and whole turkeys served up in the German style, the serving dishes all full and the guests eating to their hearts’ content. pardo: What a way to behave! In keeping with all your cohorts. You stuff yourself, and guzzle down the wine, and then go around saying you’ve been starved. gulone: All I ever got were cold soups and warm wine. I always got up from the table hungrier than when I sat down. pardo: I’m sorry you think this is how you’ve been treated, but I can assure you it’s the last time you come to my place. gulone: That’s all an old croaker like you can offer – advice? I don’t need your advice, nor do I ever follow it. pardo: If you don’t remove yourself, I’ll call for someone to break your bones. gulone: How about Mazzafrusto and Sgraffagnino? See if they can catch me. pardo: I’m going inside to get rid of this pest. gulone: And to spite you, I’m going to banquet with one of your friends.

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Scene viii sulpizia and erotico sulpizia: (Aside) Here is the man who has destroyed my peace. How dare he lift his eyes to my window? erotico: (Aside) If I am not tricked by my imagination, the warm ray of my sun has struck me; indeed, it is she. I long to greet her. —My good wishes I gladly give, my lady, and good they truly are, for all my good wishes and expectations come from you. May God bring you happiness and contentment as he has brought you beauty and grace – the greatest of any woman in the universe. sulpizia: Well, may God make you as unhappy and wretched as you have made me. erotico: Alas, what do I hear? Are you the person I know? Have I changed? What are these awful words? sulpizia: The ones dictated by suffering, born in righteous disdain, and justified by your unfaithfulness. erotico: How is it that a mouth of pearls and gold can utter such leaden words? I pray you, say you’re jesting, that you don’t speak in earnest. Such words as these are a slash across my throat. sulpizia: Out of my sight, you dog. erotico: O my heart, if you drive me away, where shall I go? How can I depart if your beauty has bound me to you with strong ties and the light in your eyes is so dear to me that, like a butterfly, I fly towards you and die in such a beautiful fire? sulpizia: All my kindness towards you does not merit such behaviour. erotico: Your many kindnesses I do confess, which I could never deserve, though your generosity has allowed me to accept them. sulpizia: You deceive young innocent girls with these mellifluous words. You get from them what you want and then abandon them. You’re like the cunning fox who’s only after our skins. Have you come back to offend me even further? erotico: Generous lady, how have I ever offended you? Tell me how I have done so, and I will confess my guilt and undergo any penance, and then you will be led to see that I have never done you wrong. sulpizia: Tell me, traitor, how I ever offended you? Was it by loving you more than was expected of me? How long have I been my own enemy in order to devote myself to you? I placed myself entirely under your command and paid for your love with my honour. In the end, for my

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reward, you abandoned all shame, justice, and honesty, betraying my love and your word, leaving me a scorned, mocked, and jilted bride. erotico: How have I ever scorned you? When have I desired to do other than serve you, honour you, and devote my life to the safeguarding of your honour? Even if I do not deserve you, I have done my best with the forces at my disposal. Is it possible, O bitter nourishment of my life, that your frozen heart is not moved by my sighs and by the passionate tears I have shed? Aren’t my tears sufficient proof of my faithfulness? Haven’t the many manifestations of my love convinced you of its strength? What iniquitous destiny has disturbed the serentity of our hearts and the assurances of our souls for such a long time now joined together? Where is the faith we vowed between ourselves? sulpizia: May your lying and disloyal heart be ripped up, for it harbours but deceits and betrayals. May your dishonest and deceiving tongue be torn out for all it has said to mislead. How could I expect to find faith in a heart where it never existed? erotico: My lady and my queen, say all you will to insult me. But this is hardly what I hoped for from your gentle and noble heart. In the name of all justice and fairness, you are obliged to speak with candour. sulpizia: My indignation has removed my veil of blindness. Knowing your betrayal, I would have you killed, and myself as well, consoled in death in knowing that you are dead. I shall tell the world what an assassin you are, so that your name will live on in infamy even after you die. I will ensure that you reap no benefits from this new love of yours, and that the whole world knows of your treachery. Spu, Spu! (She spits on him and starts to leave) erotico: No tiger is so ferocious, no wild beast so cruel as a beautiful woman; she is to be avoided as one shuns a savage creature. You want to have me killed? Well halt there, my lady, for if you have retained a trace of our love, I want you to witness this final gesture of my infinite devotion, for before your very eyes I will take my life with this sword. Because you are my earthly idol, I would deliver myself to you as a sacrifice. (Sulpizia departs; Erotico is alone) Wretched me, what disdain is this? A scorned woman is worse than a tiger. No doubt some false informer has made her think me disloyal and discourteous. How volatile women are. The moon changes but once a month, but they change fifty times a day. The moon loses its light, they their wits. They are like children who neither know what they want nor remain steadfast in what they do. They are ever changing like the wind. He who takes in too much wind gives birth to air. They are forever seeking novelty. It is

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their habit to displease and torment those who have given the greatest proofs of love and honour. Never satisfied to rule our bodies, they would also be the despots of our souls, seeking our reverence as though they were idols or goddesses. And when the devil, invoked by woman, made man sin, he commanded that man should adore woman as well as the devil. They never let us alone unless they are assured of our adoration. A curse on the pleasures of love, for even our enjoyment is mixed with the fear that it will be short-lived. Let it be said that when a little bounty in love is felt, it is a sure sign that its end is near. Lady Fortuna, herself a very woman, is ever unsteady and changeful. Tonight I was hoping to marry, but our story has a new ending. She is so upset with me that she will never make peace again. At least if I could find Balia, I could learn just what I’ve done to enrage her. Here she comes.—Balia, welcome to you. Scene ix balia and erotico balia: I’ll refrain from cursing you, but I’m amazed that your shame does not make you shun me. erotico: Why do you say this to me? balia: Why shouldn’t I? erotico: Are you serious? balia: Do you think that one jokes about these matters? erotico: (Aside) They have joined in league against me. – Can’t I find out the reason for all this resentment? The moment I open my mouth, they both leap on me without giving me a chance to express my views. balia: Such favours as we have done for you should have bound you to us forever. But no, you miserable, nasty, ungrateful creature who has forgotten everything. erotico: Is it possible that women take everything the wrong way, and then refuse to hear reason except as it suits their purposes? balia: Spoken like a typical man. After you take you fill, you abandon women, smear their reputations, and leave them to others to make examples of their ruined lives. erotico: Please hear me out. balia: The time is past for fine words or tears. Both are the means to deceive poor innocent girls. Love has turned into hatred and crying has augmented the resentment.

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erotico: Can’t you just stay your anger for a few minutes to hear me out? balia: I am so angry right now that I am sorry to be a woman, for if I were a man I would tear out your guts. But unless you get out of my sight – woman or no woman – I will gouge out your eyes and bite off your nose and bloody these fingernails, you thankless, miscreant dog. erotico: Either you have gone crazy or you are dreaming. What have I done to you to deserve such insults, or this unwillingness to tell me what has happened? balia: (Aside) I can no longer bear this man’s insolence and illmannered questioning. erotico: (Aside) I’d better go to Attilio’s to avoid further complications. balia: (Aside) Wretched me! I see Orgio coming, and he’s seen me talking to Erotico. Scene x orgio and balia orgio: Hail, my good woman. balia: Of course I’m a good woman, and if you don’t believe it, I’ll swear it to you. orgio: I’ve caught you in the act – you can’t deny it. You confirm what I have suspected all along. balia: What, just because you have seen me talking to a young man? orgio: Were you talking about matters of state, astrology, or philosophy? balia: Isn’t it allowed to talk about other matters? orgio: Nurses with marriagable girls in their charge do not set good examples of themselves by talking to young men. There was never a whore who did not have her mother or her wet nurse for a procuress. balia: You have nothing to complain of from me, have you, Master? orgio: If you had thought of me as your master rather than as an oaf you would not have treated me the way you have. balia: What are you complaining about? orgio: Who was the messenger between Sulpizia and that young man? And who brought their love affair to the state it’s in now? balia: Are you calling your niece a whore and me a procuress? orgio: With a teacher like you she couldn’t have learned otherwise. balia: Is this how you repay me for thirty years of service?

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orgio: Is this the way you repay me for thirty years of caring for you and respecting you as one of the household? Why did you have to go and shame my niece? balia: Never has your household been more honoured and better served than during my stay. orgio: I’m sorry to be here in the middle of the street where the neighbours can hear our business, or I’d knock your teeth out and pull the few hairs on your head that syphilis hasn’t taken already. We’ll settle this at home when you least expect it. balia: If this is what you think of me, I’ll not darken your doors again. orgio: You’ll darken them whether you like it or not. balia: Will you force me to? orgio: Yes, I’ll drag you by the hair. (He drags her away) balia: Alas, alas, help, help! orgio: It takes real men, not donkeys, to control these animals.

ACT V Scene i balia, alone balia: Is this any way to treat me? With insults and atrocities? The moment you make a little mistake, bingo, you’re out of the house! No one takes stock of all the good work you’ve done over the years. Not only do you get dressed down but you’re beaten up. Is a drubbing my reward for thirty years of service? If old ladies are the root of all evil, then throw the old girl out, kill her off, draw and quarter her. But I won’t take this lying down; I’ll have my revenge with these two hands, or however I can, and then the old stinkard will be sorry. I’ll go straight to Pardo’s house and fill him in on a bit of news that will cost this master of mine thousands of scudi. Making him part with his money will wound him more than yanking out his heart, lungs, and liver. Do you think my assassin feels one shred of remorse? Do you think he is on his way to soothe and calm me? Well such is the esteem in which he holds me. So why do I waste any time feeling sorry for myself? I’m going to knock on Pardo’s door. Toc, toc.

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Scene ii pardo and balia pardo: What news, Balia? balia: I’m here to do you the best deed possible. pardo: Then I’m entirely at your disposal. balia: I beg you, in the name of ancient friendship, as a neighbour and venerable man, listen carefully to what I must say. pardo: I’m happy for this occasion to please you, Balia, and accord to you all the time for conversing you need, just as good neighbours should. balia: Orgio holds a deep secret which I’ve come to reveal. So meanly he’s been treating me that I see no reason to keep it secret any longer. pardo: Misfortune can follow those who come between others who once were good friends, for sometimes, when the anger wanes, they reconcile and make the intermediaries their scapegoats. balia: He has beaten me so badly that reconciliation is out of the question. I’ll never set foot in that house again. pardo: A little ill-treatment in anger won’t kill you. balia: After thirty years of service, Orgio repays me with this ingratitude? pardo: What are you about to reveal to me? balia: I’ve come to tell you that Cleria, who was taken away from you by the Turks and who cost you a huge ransom, is not your daughter at all, but rather she is Sulpizia, Filogono’s daughter, and that Sulpizia, who is in our house, is really your daughter, Cleria. pardo: What are you saying? How do you know this? balia: I’m saying this because no one knows it better than I do. When Cleria was born you sent her to your poor neighbour Filogono to be nursed by his wife. But instead she nursed her own Sulpizia, who is now in your house, and gave your Cleria to me to nurse as though she were Sulpizia. pardo: But why all this deceit? balia: Because in those days you were very rich, as you are today, and he was very poor. They gave you their own daughter so that one day she would marry some rich and noble party, while your own daughter would end up in a far poorer match, all with the hope that once you were dead, they would reveal the parentage of their richly matched daughter, compel her to take them in and share with them all the benefits. Here is the simple reason.

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pardo: Could a more diabolical plot ever have been hatched? balia: But you have been avenged, for death deprived them both of all their hopes. Once they came into money on their own, they wanted to reveal to you the deceit in order to take their daughter back, but she was kidnapped by the Turks. Then they cried long and bitterly over this punishment meted out by God for the sin they had committed, and they died, both of them, of desperation and broken hearts. Filogono left all his possessions to his brother, Orgio, on the condition that if Sulpizia should return – this girl whom you call Cleria – she should receive a dowry of ten thousand ducats. But if not, then their Cleria, the girl you take for Sulpizia, should receive two thousand ducats to help her get established and the remainder would go to his brother, Orgio. Now, should it be discovered that your daughter, Cleria, is actually Filogono’s daughter, this knave will be forced to give her a dowry of ten thousand ducats. This is how I will get him and take my deserved revenge. pardo: What assurance do I have that your Sulpizia is actually my Cleria? balia: Sulpizia has red hair, just like you, and blue eyes like yours, and a face the exact shape as yours. And if you recall she has a red mark on her left arm, like a wine stain. pardo: My God, I do recall this red mark; I can see it before my very eyes. It’s true, I’ve never seen such a mark on Cleria. And I must add that whenever I saw Sulpizia I felt some powerful attraction to her, a kind of magnetic pull, and I could never understand why. It was an affinity bound up with nature. Because of this unaccountable affection for her, I kept after Orgio to give her in marriage to Attilio, even without a dowry. Good Lord, the sin I was about to commit. Orgio never allowed the match, and now I see the reason. Ever since my son brought your Sulpizia into the house there’s never been a moment’s peace, nor do I hold her in any favour. What a bungling old fool I am! Do you know who drew up Filogono’s will? balia: The notary who lives not far from you. pardo: I know him well. If you do not wish to return to your house you may stay in mine for as long as you like. You can discuss this with my wife, Constanza, who has returned from Turkey this very day, compare the evidence and make the arrangements. I will go to the notary’s and examine Filogono’s will. If what you say is true, as I’m certain it is, you will have a handsome reward. balia: I seek no reward. My heart has been heavy over this whole affair, and now I have my revenge against that cussed old ox.

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Scene iii orgio, alone orgio: Anger is a man’s worst adviser, making him do things he can’t undo. A mind in turmoil is the father of many an unruly act. The rage that came over me so quickly homed in on her error and not on my debt to her. For a peccadillo I’ve belittled her thirty years of service. So I’m the author of my own misery. I’ve seen Balia in long discussion with Pardo, and now I’m sure the secret is out about my daughter – Balia was the only one privy to it. Too bad for my brother who told her this, intending to keep it quiet. Matters so deep should be uttered in the presence of no one. People can’t even keep their own secrets much less expect others to keep them. He kept me in the dark, his own brother, but trusted the nurse. I only learned of it when he made his will. Can there be any doubt this chatterbox has revealed all? There goes Pardo in the direction of the notary’s house. With what difficulty the truth is hidden and with what ease it is discovered. The moment you hide it, it pops into the light. I can see him now coming at me with shouts, threats, and insults, demanding his daughter and taking mine. And what’s worse, I’ll have to fork over a dowry of ten thousand ducats. What a fool I was to have tied into Balia, prone as I am in my old age to fits of anger and stubbornness. I see Pardo in my mind’s eye coming around any moment now shouting ‘Give me back my Cleria and take your Sulpizia.’ And here he is for real on his way over. May God assist me. Scene iv pardo and orgio pardo: Hold on there, Orgio, I have to talk to you. orgio: (Aside) This conversation will cost me plenty; he wants his daughter back. pardo: I know we’re both long in the tooth and don’t have much time left to live; we’ve already got one foot in the grave. orgio: (Aside) Here’s the prologue to the sermon. —This is true. pardo: And once we’re dead we’ll have to make an account to God for our actions and give back our material possessions. Our sins can never be forgiven unless things stolen are first returned.

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orgio: (Aside) When it’s time to collect one becomes a preacher, but when it’s time to pay one becomes a devil. pardo: There is a remedy while we’re still alive, but when we’re dead our chances are over. Once something is yours, it is difficult to part with, but wicked are those who expect of their heirs to return what they have wrongfully inherited. orgio: We’ve spent enough time with preliminaries; just get to the point. pardo: Your brother, blessed be his memory ... orgio: (Aside) Cursed be his memory. pardo: ... swapped my daughter for his. orgio: Listen here ... pardo: Please, you listen to me and don’t interrupt, or you’ll obstruct the truth and take this lie to your grave. Let’s avoid quarrels, clashes of opinion, and litigation. There is no point in hiding what is obvious to everyone. I have seen the will and what he leaves to his daughter. This is the way things are. orgio: I know that ... pardo: May God forgive us. When my daughter was kidnapped by the Turks I sent my son to ransom her in Constantinople, and the cost was more than five hundred ducats, not to mention all the other trouble and expenses.41 So take away your Sulpizia and give me back my Cleria. orgio: If only I could defend myself from these insults, offer some plausible excuse, but I can’t. I have to admit, my brother was in the wrong. pardo: Don’t make this long-winded. I’m not asking for the impossible. I just want my daughter. orgio: Well, don’t raise your voice and get all worked up. Take your daughter, but not my honour. I can give you back my daughter, but you can’t return my honour. Take her whenever you want; no one will stop you. pardo: Praise be for blessings, and let’s thank God we discovered this before their marriage, and that it has been settled between the two of us without everyone getting involved. We’ll remain friends as we’ve always been, so let’s go to your place or mine to make the exchange. orgio: I’m ready when you are. pardo: Come to my house. First we’ll have lunch and then we’ll discuss our business. orgio: I have prior commitments and cannot accept, but I’ll be there in spirit.

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pardo: I insist you come in person. We’ll send for Sulpizia to come by the back door because I’m dying to see her. Please, do as I say. orgio: Very well. Scene v erotico and attilio erotico: (Aside) Just look at this! Here I am comforting him when I’m the one in need of comfort. —Hold up, I’ve decided to accompany you in misfortune and share in your labours. Since our destinies have brought us together, so we should depart. attilio: With so dear a companion my misfortune would become a blessing – therefore, I must go alone and be forever desperate. erotico: Despair is a form of self-betrayal, and in this you betray me too. Let us talk all this over. attilio: My spirit is in such a state of confusion that there is no place where I can find consolation. erotico: Listen to me. attilio: I have no time. erotico: I’ll let you go in a moment. attilio: All right, but please be short. erotico: What an extraordinary and wretched affair this is, but if we proceed with care, we can temper the consequences. attilio: And now, have you come to an end? erotico: Don’t truncate the time you have granted me. attilio: The time you’re taking is more than I promised. I hate this world, this light, this sun so much that I would be a thousand feet undergound so as not to see it. erotico: All right, as you wish. But wouldn’t it be better to wait for Trinca to see what news he has of Cleria? What she is doing, saying, hoping? attilio: She is as sad as I am. Her suffering weighs me down more than my own, which I’m trying to raze from my mind. erotico: And I linger in despair, not knowing the cause of Sulpizia’s anger. attilio: I leave this house without hope of ever seeing it again. Once it was the haven of all my joy and consolation. I pray God the woman within will be as happy as I am disconsolate.

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erotico: Attilio, you have wept in my presence; I believe there are no men in the world more desperate than we. But here comes Trinca in the best of spirits. Let’s wait to see the reason. Scene vi trinca, erotico, and attilio trinca: (Aside) My God, where will I find Master Attilio and Erotico to give them the joyous news? erotico: (To Attilio) He’s looking for us to give us some good news. attilio: No news is good unless Cleria becomes my wife, but impossible as this is, no news can ever be good. trinca: (Aside) Where shall I go? To Erotico’s house or to the main square? I suspect they’ve been driven away in despair. erotico: Trinca, come over here. trinca: I’m happiness up to the brim and I have to pour it out. Have I ever great news for you. attilio: I have lost all hope. erotico: Hope is not lost while you still have life. trinca: Console him, Messer Erotico. erotico: How can I comfort him when I find none for myself? attilio: The happiness you speak of is like the oil left in the lantern that is about to go out. trinca: He who disposes all things, in His mysterious ways, has removed the impediments to your happiness; you who were dead have now been resuscitated. erotico: Though I cannot believe this is true, Trinca, it gives me joy to imagine it so. trinca: I promise that I’m going to make the pair of you happy. erotico: You promise too much. attilio: (Aside) Fortune, who has betrayed me, is flattering me with new hope, and I would be a believer. He says that he will make me happy, which I know to be impossible, and yet I would acquiesce. trinca: Chin up, Master, your real sister has been found. attilio: That is the cause of my woes. The very word ‘sister’ makes me shudder all over. trinca: And you will have the wife you desired. attilio: These are contrary terms: find my true sister and grant me the wife I desire. Trinca, do not make sport at my expense.

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trinca: There you are wrong. You shall have your Sulpizia and Erotico his Cleria. attilio: Now you mock us both. trinca: I’m telling the truth to you both. You must know that by some portentous event, something has happened to counteract all your besetting woes. attilio: Then be quick in the summary of events. trinca: Orgio, having seen Balia talking to Erotico, gave her a nasty beating. erotico: What kind of news is this? Certainly bad for me. trinca: But this was the cause of all your happiness. Balia went to Pardo and revealed to him that when Constanza gave birth to Cleria and passed her to Filogono’s wife to be nursed, this woman swapped the girls around giving her Sulpizia to Constanza and keeping the real Cleria. Constanza has identified some distinctive birth marks and confirms the whole report. Pardo went to Orgio and by threatening him got to the bottom of things. Constanza has persuaded Pardo to bring back Sulpizia, Filogono’s daughter, which is to say your Cleria, and to give her to you in marriage with the dowry of ten thousand ducats that her father left to her if ever she were found. What God has ordained we must not put asunder. The will of God is the course of man. attilio: Ah me, I can hardly hold all this happiness; I feel that I’m about to faint. Because it cannot be held I must let it escape. trinca: Like the ebb and flow of the sea, your fortune has gone out and come back. After this series of quirks and reversals, you have been restored to life. attilio: O mother, dear mother, threefold mother – because you have given me life these three times over. O the power and destiny of fate! What a marvellous and miraculous event, that from a wife she has become my sister, and from my sister she has become my wife. What has Cleria been doing during all this? trinca: She was crying her eyes out because she couldn’t be your wife, although just to be loved by you, she was happy to be your sister and even your humble slave. attilio: So Sulpizia is actually my sister, Cleria? My dear Erotico, because you have been my dear companion in misfortune, you must remain so in our moment of triumph. I can think of no better way to earn you affection than by giving you Cleria as wife, for she is your match in beauty, age, and nobility of heart.

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erotico: You have always taken up half of my heart, and now it is entirely yours and my body as well. By giving me Sulpizia42 you are giving me my life; today I am alive only because of you. trinca: You don’t need to pledge her to him because she is his already. Once it was discovered that she was your sister, Balia so pleaded with Constanza and Pardo that they gave their consent. I reminded my master of the appointment he made for today, and he agreed to the marriage. erotico: My God, this is good news! attilio: You deserve more than a pair of stockings and a coat for this. erotico: I too want to reward you and have you share in our joy, so much happiness you have given to me. trinca: So there is satisfaction all around? attilio: Satisfaction beyond compare. My feelings are so surfeited by the sudden sweetness of the news that I can’t yet taste all my happiness. If joy doesn’t kill me now, it never will. What is my mother doing? trinca: She is in ecstasy for having brought you this happiness after bringing you so much suffering. She has asked me to double the wedding, the festivities, the banquet, and the dancing. attilio: From such monstrous and unnatural affection has sprung this happy union. If God allows times of misery, He does so to double the measure of ensuing pleasure – just as He has for us. erotico: Fortunately you had not wandered off in despair, for you would have missed all this elation. attilio: You did well to restrain me. trinca: We got through this time with more luck than logic. Sulpizia has already been sent for to come by the garden door. They’re waiting for you so the weddings can proceed. I’m sent to call you and to fetch the priest, the real one this time. erotico: Then let’s go in; we shouldn’t make them wait for us. attilio: My brother, I’m with you. trinca: To all of you in the audience: these characters will not appear again, because now that they are close to their wives, no pulleys in the world could ever drag them away. A woman’s attraction is stronger than the traction of ten pairs of oxen. Farewell. And even if all your expectations have not been met by this comedy, give us your applause anyway to show your appreciation.

458 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 Notes 1 The letter to Don Francesco Blanco is published by Sirri (Vol. III, 543); besides this dedicatory letter to the 1607 (Venetian) edition, he reviews the variants of both early editions as well as those in Spampanato’s edition as a basis for the preparation of his own authoritative version of the text. 2 This is a reference to the famous passage in The Poetics, where Aristotle speaks of reversal (peripeteia) and recognition (anagnorisis) and the relationship between them in the organization of the tragic action, followed by his illustration from Oedipus (1452a–1452b). This was one of the most widely discussed topics in Renaissance treatises on the ‘poetics’ of comedy and tragedy and the prospects of joining them through a contaminatio of procedures and ethos. Della Porta wanted to reveal his study and his loyalties in having it said by rumour that his practices in these matters were entirely Aristotelian and ‘correct.’ 3 La sorella was first pubished in 1604 in Naples. La turca came first to print in 1606 as well as L’astrologo, both published in Venice, together with the second edition of La sorella in 1607, but La furiosa had to wait until 1609, when it was published in Naples. 4 This play was not alone in escaping Della Porta’s control and in finding its way into circulation against the author’s will – many such did so, often in incomplete or uncorrected versions. These texts were in turn adapted, used for performances, and even published, as in the present case. 5 The original punning has to do with riding: Trinca says he has placed Attilio on horseback, a position of strength, while Attilio says he feels he is riding a donkey. 6 One of the greatest medical schools of the age, an international centre of study, particularly famous for its anatomists and pharmaceutical botanists. 7 Throughout the play the nurse is called by this name, rather than by her Christian name. 8 In the sixteenth century the Turks were not only the literal but also the proverbial enemies of the Italians; their reputation for cruelty was legendary throughout Europe, or so they were styled. 9 Bona Sforza was the daughter of Gian Galeazzo Sforza, Duke of Milan, and of Isabella of Aragon. She married Sigismond I of Poland in 1518 and was influential in the establishment of a large Italian community in Poland. 10 A sanjak was an administrative division within the Turkish Empire. The word is often misused for sanjakbeg, as here, for the governor of a sanjak. 11 Presumably a fabricated ‘Turkishism’ or possibly a portmanteau word combining catamite and lechery.

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12 Pardo alludes to a beating by mentioning San Mazzeo, mazza meaning ‘club,’ and medico di casa Querciolo, quercia meaning ‘an oak tree.’ 13 Trinca’s dislike for the character comes through in his ironic barbs and jibes. 14 In the original, Trinca plays on the word s’inchina meaning ‘to accept’ or ‘to adapt,’ but now in a way suggesting ‘to bend, to lower oneself,’ in order to impugn the Captain’s virility. 15 The bagpipes and concerts are linked to cornetti meaning ‘horns,’ and hence to the proverbial horns of the cuckold. The allusion is to the Captain. 16 A Moorish warrior who figures in Ludovico Ariosto’s Orlando furioso; his name became synonymous with the braggart soldier. 17 In the original the wordplay here was on infame meaning ‘infamous’ and Gulone’s aver fame, ‘to be hungry.’ 18 Trinca’s way of saying figuratively that he doesn’t believe him. 19 The names of the thugs contain the words frusta, meaning ‘whip,’ and graffiare meaning, ‘to scratch.’ 20 Trinca uses names that rhyme with fracasso meaning ‘ado,’ to indicate that the Captain makes a lot of noise, but that in reality he does not achieve anything. Babuasso means ‘foolish,’ and Sconquasso suggests breaking and running, a rout, thereby completing the triumvirate of cowards and braggarts. 21 Trinca is pretending that Gulone has been spreading stories about a certain captain, and now he refuses to identify his source for fear of getting Gulone into trouble and then of losing him as a contact for further information. 22 Pardo’s use of the present tense about his wife’s enslavement would appear to contradict his previous statement about her death. 23 The sum here contradicts the three hundred scudi mentioned in Act I.iii and Act IV.ii. Pardo or the author has had a lapse of memory or, more likely, Pardo is exaggerating the figures. 24 Trinca is speaking gibberish, of course, which Della Porta must have amused himself in making up. But the responses by Turco really are a form of Turkish, although they are not readily translatable in all cases, because even the recognizably Turkish parts are transcriptions of how the words would have sounded and are not actual Turkish script. Those words we have been able to decipher through the help of a Turkish colleague; our translation is in brackets. 25 Also known as Eubea, a small rocky island off the Aegean coast. 26 We must assume that the words exchanged between father and son are intelligible to them both.

460 Renaissance Comedy: Volume 1 27 This passage is built around untranslatable card game images. Pardo plays on scudi and danari, ‘money,’ and calls himself the ‘king of diamonds,’ in reference to one who has been mocked, and Trinca the ‘king of clubs,’ alluding to the good beating he has in store for him. 28 Another edition reads ‘Calatrava,’ a Spanish stronghold in New Castile. 29 Pardo makes an obscure remark here in relation to the previous names that is uncomplimentary to the Captain. 30 This and all the names to follow are fictitious. 31 Legend has it that Alexander the Great lamented that there was but one world for him to conquer; Trasimaco wishes that he had a thousand. 32 The Titan Atlas was believed to support the weight of the world on his back. 33 Trasimaco here creates a string of made-up verbs: inserpentire from serpente, ‘snake,’ antropofagare from antropofago, ‘man-eater,’ improcrustire from Procrustes, the legendary thief who used to stretch or shrink his victims in order to fit them into his bed, and inneronire from Nero. 34 In the original the rhyme was made on lancia and pancia; namely one who fights with a lance and the stomach. 35 In these four lines the combatants have fallen to wordplay: frappare, ‘to cut to pieces,’ frappe, ‘trifles,’ batterie, ‘cannon fire’ and baratterie, ‘to barter.’ 36 In Italian the word for loquat, nespole, also means a ‘thrashing,’ as Gulone knows well. See III.ii. 37 Trasimaco alludes to a mythological giant with fifty heads and one hundred arms. 38 Tantalus, of ancient Greek lore, was condemned to be tied to a tree in the middle of a lake. When he was driven by hunger, the wind would blow the fruit-laden branches of the tree beyond his reach, and when he sought to drink, the water would recede. See Homer’s Odyssey, XI.582–92. 39 Charon was the ferryman, in Greek mythology, who carried the dead over the River Styx to Hades; he is depicted as a squalid old man. 40 Gulone stresses the miniscule amount of flesh left on the fowl by saying that it looked as if it had survived the rout after the battle of Ravenna in 1512, when the army of Louis XII defeated the Holy Alliance. 41 Pardo comes back to this sum as opposed to the three hundred ducats mentioned in other contexts; perhaps this represents the total cost of the trip including the ransom money. 42 The girl he has always known and loved as Sulpizia, despite the new identity she has been given by events.