Renaissance Comedy: The Italian Masters - Volume 2 9781442697386

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RENAISSANCE COMEDY THE ITALIAN MASTERS, VOLUME 2 Edited with an introduction by Donald Beecher

The six plays in this second volume of Italian Renaissance comedy in the ‘erudite’ tradition are as varied as the genre permits. The volume begins with Bibbiena’s trend-setting carnivalesque caper, The Calandria, and concludes with Bruno’s The Candlebearer, written some seventy years later, a work which still observes the requisite forms and conventions, yet bulges at the seams with raucous excess alongside serious philosophical reflection. Add to these Ruzante’s bittersweet domestic comedy, Machiavelli’s cynical social commentary, Cecchi’s tale of student adventure, and Grazzini’s anti-clerical farce, and the variations drawn from this ostensibly over-conventionalized theatre become fully manifest. The volume offers a second introductory essay in which the editor further explores the signature features of the genre, its thematic and social scope, and its influence upon the rise of the English theatre. Each play, moreover, has its own introduction, brief bibliography, and textual annotations. Arguably these six plays, together with the five in the first volume, not only represent but take the full measure of this engaging sixteenth-century Italian dramatic tradition. (The Lorenzo Da Ponte Italian Library) donald beecher is Chancellor’s Professor, Carleton University, Ottawa, and teaches in the Department of English.

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 Salvatore Cilento Honorable Dino De Poli Ambassador Gianfranco Facco Bonetti Honorable Anthony J. Scirica Advisory Board Rema 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 2

Edited with Introductions by DONALD BEECHER

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2009 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in Canada isbn 978-0-8020-9999-0 (cloth) isbn 978-0-8020-9723-1 (paper)

Printed on acid-free paper

Library and Archives of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Renaissance comedy : the Italian masters / edited with introductions by Donald Beecher. (The Da Ponte library series) isbn 978-0-8020-9292-2 (v. 1 : bound). isbn 978-0-8020-9484-1 (v. 1 : pbk.) isbn 978-0-8020-9999-0 (v. 2 : bound). isbn 978-0-8020-9723-1 (v. 2 : pbk.) 1. Italian drama (Comedy) – Translations into English. 2. Italian drama – To 1700 – Translations into English. 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: From Italy to England: The Sources, Conventions, and Influence of ‘Erudite’ Comedy donald beecher 3 The Calandria / La calandria bernardo dovizi da bibbiena 21 The Mandragola / La mandragola niccolò machiavelli 101 The Moscheta / La moscheta angelo beolco (ruzante) 163 The Horned Owl / L’assiuolo giovan maria cecchi 221 Frate Alberigo / Il frate anton francesco grazzini 289 The Candlebearer / Il candelaio giordano bruno 323

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RENAISSANCE COMEDY The Italian Masters VOLUME 2

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Introduction: From Italy to England: The Sources, Conventions, and Influence of ‘Erudite’ Comedy Donald Beecher

The six plays in this second volume of Renaissance Comedy: The Italian Masters are arranged in chronological order and cover nearly the entire period of ‘erudite’ comedy – a theatrical phenomenon the bookends of which correspond very nearly to the opening and closing years of the sixteenth century in Italy. Bibbiena’s spirited Calandria was written for Urbino’s winter festival season of 1513, while Bruno’s Candlebearer was published in Paris in 1582. Arguably, the genre began with the 1508 production of Ariosto’s The Coffer (La cassaria) and winds to a close with the late plays of Giambattista Della Porta, such as his Chiappinaria, dated to 1600. Volume 1 of this anthology begins, similarly, with Ariosto’s The Pretenders (I suppositi), first performed in 1509, and concludes with Della Porta’s The Sister (La sorella), written some time between 1591 and 1598. How to define the genre ‘erudite’ comedy, as distinct from the rival genres of the age, is a challenge in historical categorizing, for where so many criteria are involved at once, definitions will inevitably remain open to ongoing scholarly debate and investigation. To increase the challenge, many of the playwrights engaged in studied deviations from the generic norms, however those are to be defined, not merely to test the margins, but to rewrite the vanity of human wishes into a full-scale satiric vision, or inversely to enter more sensitively into human pathos and longing, or simply to go well beyond the ancients in matters of plot complexity and frenetic stage action. Because these experimental plays are among the most remarkable of the era, several of them have been anthologized here. Yet they place a particular stress on the quest for norms, given the mannerist spirit of creative play that has carried them towards their respective peripheries. So it comes about that this volume not only spans the period, but also contains plays near the margins of the ‘regu-

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lar’ theatre, from Beolco’s farcical ‘peasant’ drama to Bruno’s runaway extravaganza, each play providing an atypical view of the erudite drama as a genre of remembered forms and social perspectives. Nevertheless, even in the structural and theatrical DNA of these plays there are traces of the generic features and conventions that bind them to the ‘erudite’ or ‘regular’ comedy. All share in a received set of expectations concerning the humanist ideal of imitation, namely, that each new work will bear the minimal component of referential traits necessary to attach it to a playwrighting tradition originating in the appropriation of the essential and defining features of the Roman theatre of Plautus and Terence. Regarding the norms of the genre, had such imitation been tantamount to a literal replication of the classical plays in modern settings, along with their typical structures and designs as well as their character types and intrigue motifs, the new could be defined simply by describing the practices of the ancients in archeological and philological ways. In fact, however, variations in social representation, together with a playful manipulation of the formal conventions of the ancients, appeared from the very outset as playwrights sought to adapt the Roman world to their own times. To be sure, certain universals prevailed – in principle, the ancient social order was adaptable to the modern – yet modern conditions and mores necessitated accommodation. Student lovers now hailed from the local universities, Roman parasites became the neighbourhood gossips, slaves became personal servants, and social machinations took on the colouring of recent wit and contemporary Italian settings. Such substitutions were drawn from the variegated Italian social landscape, one that included rustics in the Paduan countryside, as well as aspirants at the papal court, Spanish soldiers returning from the wars, and rote-minded humanist schoolmasters. Such substitutions of a social kind need not challenge the formal definitions of the genre, provided, of course, that the genre inhered in such quantifiable regulations. But therein lies the challenge. The dilemma is that as the social vision of the ancients was necessarily altered, only formal matters remained by which the genre might be defined, matters that the academically minded, after mid-century, further reduced to ‘rules,’ such as those pertaining to act and scene divisions, or the unified representations of time, space, and ethos. These were indeed considerations, and rather constant markers of the genre. But they do not, in themselves, contain the spirit of the genre, which is altogether more elusive. Nevertheless there were common values and mentalities at work, including a residual awareness of the cumulative history of an emerging

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body of plays characterized by a core set of character types represented in the final hours of their critical situations, and in spaces confined to a single urban public place. Enhancing the continuity of the genre was the compulsive practice among these playwrights of borrowing their intrigue plots not only from the ancients, but from the plays of their Italian predecessors as well as from the stories of the novellieri. They were particularly drawn to those narratives featuring tricksters, schemers, and jokers who served to ‘quicken’ the action through their agencies. Even though the operative criteria of the best practitioners were balanced ambiguously between loyalty to forms and conventions and a critical subversion or adaptation of those same elements, between the search for novelty in contemporaneous materials and a calculated resistance to the rigor mortis of rule-based pedantries there remained, nevertheless, a constant negotiation of social matter, structural parts, character types, and stage conventions conditioned by a deferential state of memory. In effect, each play offers its own formula of memory and innovation, but that mind state was most saliently conditioned by three or four disciplining conventions that served to reinvent a common genre in each new play: use of the natural spoken language of the contemporary world in imitated or parodic versions fitted to realistic or hyperbolical social types; clever intrigue plots involving basic social and personal desires for status, sex, fine food, wealth, control of the family; a claustrophobic acting space; and a set of prepared reversals that serve to resolve the action according to some system of social merit or disapprobation. Insofar as these features were redolent of the preoccupations of the ancients, the plays in which they were featured continued to manifest the humanist impulse to restore and reify through the act of creation. Ultimately, the argument must return to its premise, that a meta-conscious frame of mind, conditioned by Plautus and Terence, if only remotely, would appear to be indispensable to the genesis of works in the erudite mode. A striking feature of all six plays in the present volume is the enjoyment of sexual favours in violation of the bonds of marriage, in pointed contradistinction to the romance-plot confirmation of marriage not only as a reward for endurance, but as the socially condoned institution for the full expression of erotic desire. To be sure, the many pairs of lovers do emerge, at the ends of their respective plays, to form new little societies of mutuality, in romance fashion, having overcome the obstacles blocking their unions. But there is a marked degree of playful cynicism in forming these unions in defiance of established social mores and conventions. Without marital sanction, these comedies must remain carni-

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valesque indulgences in stolen pleasures and parodies of the art form whose mythos is marriage. To complicate matters further, the married women often assumed proactive roles in cheating on their husbands, thereby creating their own alternative centres of pleasure and subversion. The cynicism of Machiavelli’s Lucrezia, abetted by her mother and her confessor, has incited a great deal of moral commentary, much of it tending towards apologies in terms of political expediency, as though the characters in this social comedy of outrageous seduction must, in fact, be allegorical embodiments of the author’s leading political principles. But Machiavellian Realpolitik cannot apply to all six of these plays, each one as cynical as the others, not only in granting so much erotic liberty, but in projecting its continuation beyond the closure of the play. For sources, one need look no further than the widely circulating and popularly consumed stories of the novella writers, many of them lustdriven intrigue plots of trickery and wheedling for illicit sex. In such collections the playwrights had mentors and models; not only were they looking for the racy plots that titillate audiences, but as entertainers they might bring to the stage what readers had in their boudoirs. Just as the learned theatre itself was a mental digest of properties and elements of an ancient art form, so the appropriation of story elements from the novella writers was an act of cognitive restructuring, memory, and inference leading to variant forms, refitted to dramatic representation. At the least, the process involves epitomization and the reassembly of narrative parts. One analogy, that of Louise George Clubb, is that all these stories together became a large cupboard of potentially recombinant narrative parts, which the imaginative mind could reassemble into novel forms limited only by the constraints of social plausibility, or at least by the marginally possible. Such plots are not born in the observation and representation of the historically real, but in the strategizing of motifs, the variations on tricks and schemes, and the adjustment of character types to serve as the enacting agents of these clever plot ‘ideas.’ In that regard the Calandria, which takes its inspiration openly from several stories in Boccaccio’s Decameron, in its turn is a source of inspiration for Machiavelli’s Mandragola, which Grazzini reworks in part in Frate Alberigo. The fuse of imitatio links these plays together as a set of variations on common thematic material, thereby carrying on, in second-generation fashion, the motivic borrowing that began with the refashioning of Plautine and Terentian episodes. Spectators in possession of a sense of the defining conventions of the genre may find additional entertainment in assessing these plays with

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regard to their remembered features, whether in the narrative episodes or in the observations of the common formal denominators. Nevertheless, while unity and concentration were prioritized in academic definitions, the plays in actual performance were often something altogether more disparate. Concerning the representation of historical time and communal space, rigorous confinements were deemed essential to the coherence and credibility of the representational world of the play. Accordingly, audiences should never be asked to stretch the two-hour time lapse of the production into an equivalent-to-reality representation lasting more than twenty-four hours, nor should they be asked to imagine a single stage setting as representing more than one historical place. For this reason, actions had to be designed for their intensive effect as real time approaches acting time, and the action must be crafted to occupy a single street or piazza before an unchanging set of houses. Debate could run high concerning the division of actions in that simple setting, whether realism is better served with alternating actions filling in the stage time as other matters mature off stage, or whether a single action was the best instrument for the representation of a continuous reality, even though stalling and time-killing scenes had to be invented to allow for the requisite business off-stage. Yet, paradoxically, while stage narrative was made to conform to the logic of representational realism, the effect of so many close encounters and near collisions was sheer artifice. Moreover, in actual performance, these plays were often interrupted after each act in order to insert unrelated spectacles of dance, music, and mime, stage machine business, and topical allegories. Machiavelli’s concentrated, single-action trickster intrigue plot, conforming perfectly to the restrictions of a single day, was nevertheless routinely embellished with elaborate entr’acte entertainments. Hence, the very audience deemed incapable of believing in multiple settings or of following dramatized plots extending beyond a single day was asked to fix the state of affairs in their memories after each act, including the excitement and emotional involvement arising from their rapt attention to the intrigue, and to retrieve the play anew after lengthy interruptions. This variety-show procedure plays out nicely with the academic interest in memory and multiple media that so intrigued the likes of Anton Francesco Doni and the members of Venice’s Pellegrina Academy at mid-century, but flies in the face of the rule-based prescriptions for the unity of experience to be gained only through a unity of time and episode. Imagine, then, the implications of staging simultaneously, at each end of the same hall, two of the plays in this volume, Machiavelli’s

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Mandragola and Cecchi’s The Owl, by alternating the acts. In effect, each play served as the entr’acte material for the other play, necessitating an elaborate act of memory and retention insofar as each play might otherwise serve to ‘contaminate’ the other. The experiment could be simulated here by alternating from text to text in the reading of them. In this way a theatrical experience could be made to approximate the logistical challenges of the emboxed narrative patterning in such romance-inspired works as Ariosto’s Orlando furioso, which sometimes goes to several layers through the interruption of stories. That audiences and readers can perform the delay or emboxed pattern exercise successfully, however, does not resolve the aesthetic principle regarding the efficacy of belief as a by-product of the unities, routinely featured in the climaxdesign of these plays. An equally intriguing question arising from these works pertains to social meaning. The instinct lies heavily upon us as conscious, moralizing, gregarious, score-keeping creatures to extrapolate cautionary or typologized meanings by inference from the lived experience of these dramatized social vignettes. Nearly any dynamic, humanly motivated episode in which the social statuses and survival prospects of the characters have been raised or lowered will serve these ends. Comedies provide perfect contexts for such thematic allegorizing, given our ability to score the conduct of communities along the subtle gradations that separate altruists and benefactors from rogues and cheaters and to register the signs and characteristics that signal the respective intentional states of the various participants. Through such processes, we take principles from events, make themes out of particulars, and teach morals to ourselves, all of which we are inclined to attribute to the work itself as a set of authorial intentions. These are slippery matters insofar as many of the fallacies of literary criticism are based on investing the particulars of fictive representations with embedded ideas, often through tenuous analogies, which in turn are attributed to the purposes of the writer. Some readers will even go so far as to make those authorial intentions an expression of the writer’s own unacknowledged subconscious. Yet, typically, human consciousness allows itself no rest until it presumes to know what stories ‘mean,’ as though all narratives possess an inferential moral seeking exemplification in the design of the fiction. But in matters such as these, the plays presented here are remarkably opaque. An inability to moralize upon them in socially edifying terms brought these works to their critical nadir in the nineteenth century, when their few redeeming traits were thought to reside only in the little strokes of contemporary

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allusion, or bits of historically revealing particularity – a local custom, or the language of the streets. But otherwise, they seemed to mean nothing at all of an exemplary nature. No one, today, would suggest that these plays are lessons in how to cheat on your spouse, how to filch money and lie through your teeth, how to roam the streets in gangs and bully the vulnerable, or how to deceive the weak-minded and gullible by playing fancifully on their legitimate or perverted desires, because such deviancies are at least partially contained in the larger economies of reward and punishment that emerge through the order of plotting and the final settling of events. But those comic orders are not forthrightly moral in upholding the acknowledged right of law-abiding societies. Their visions of the world are notoriously inverted and strikingly hard in their appraisal of human nature, while at the same time they are playfully oblivious or perversely stoic in their acceptance of the status quo. But if these plays are not about improving the mores of the world by example any more than they are about demonstrating how to be bad, then arguably they are about nothing at all, unless one breaks away from the inference and moralizing mode of cognition and epistemic orientation. Even so, that is to contravene a certain default mental habit. But where then can one turn for the ‘meanings’ of so many socially defined innuendoes following dramatized actions in which social representations and calculations of success and failure have been fore-grounded? Among the possible explanatory directions are that such plays vent subversive energy, parallel the logic of carnival, indulge in liminal possibilities or fantasy projections only for entertainment’s sake, or reveal the raw drives of human nature in the interests of satiric exposure or stoic acceptance. There are the perverse truths to expose about the vanity and self-rationalizing of human desires, the runaway ambitions, the belligerent stupidity, the mawkish sentiments, and the polarized perspectives of which rational creatures are sometimes capable. Satiric themes abound. Assessments of the secret motivations of Timoteo the priest, Lucrezia’s mother, Ligurio the trickster, and Lucrezia herself in the Mandragola have reached elaborate degrees of refinement and subtlety as studies in hypocrisy, love of the game, quiet feeding, and strategic advantage. In these matters there is little that is exemplary, but much that is revealing; meanings inhere in these anatomizations. Beolco’s vision reaches even more equivocally into the life of a protagonist compelled by needs that drive him to outbreaks of folly and desperation, verbal and physical violence, followed by self-deprecating submission largely beyond his comprehension.

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Nearly all the principal characters in these plays resort to the masks of language and social posing the better to camouflage their intentions. These gestures can be carried out for a variety of social motivations that gain or fail to gain our approbation, according to our readings of their social world. By degrees, satiric profiling of human vice and folly gives way to profiles of victimization by social institutions and abusive authority. Trickery and deception, impersonation and disguise, are tactics of fraud under more or less extenuating circumstances to gain diverse advantages, whether in the acquisition of wealth, influence, and social inclusion or the favours of the beloved. The questions are whether the conditions necessitating such ploys themselves achieve thematic singularity, and whether we approve or disapprove. Our sense of score-keeping among the sinners and the sinned against comes into play particularly when men disguise themselves as women or women as men as a means of deception, depending upon the purity of their desires. These may be acts of fraud, but the ways of the world may fully exonerate them in our minds. Often in the plays, youths were initially so disguised for the sake of their protection, girls to escape rape or bondage by the Turks, boys to escape the reprisals of political turmoil. More tellingly, they themselves assumed such disguises to increase their mobility by circumventing imposed restrictions and even more provocatively as a means to self-expression and self-exploration, whether as the self behind the disguise or more rarely as the person of the disguise. Conventionally, the natural rights implicit in the love imperative of romance trump the restrictions of the patriarchy; the genre is stillborn without that concession. But do they also trump the imperatives of nature, herself? Are these acquiescent overtures to homoerotism? Some plays, such as Della Porta’s The Sister go on to explore incest as well. How tolerant or liberationist are these plays regarding sexual mores? Some readers may find social value in these plays in precisely these terms. Cross-dressing, particularly among recent critics of the English Renaissance theatre, has become an in vogue topos, not only in theatrical but in legal, medical, and psychological terms; this is an inevitable development among critics shaped by the sexual revolution, feminism, behaviouralism, social constructivism, and a radical interpretation of the doctrine of self-fashioning – perspectives presumed apt for visitation upon former social eras. The argument holds that so insistent an employment of the cross-dressing trope entails an implicit plasticizing of gender itself – girls will not disguise themselves as boys unless they have a desire to experience what it is like to be a boy – and that art must

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reflect a corresponding malaise in the society at large. If such an argument about cross-dressing holds for the English theatre, it should hold for the theatre in which it originated, expressing an emerging anxiety in sixteenth-century Italy concerning gender orientation. A select few, but atypical, Renaissance medical treatises have been resurrected to suggest that the Renaissance norm concerning sexual orientation was that it was entirely malleable and hence the subject of great anxiety, while cross-dressing suggests, at the same time, that a vast number of people were keen to meld and mould, to explore inner othernesses and latent selves. But very largely, such arguments are merely circular and circumstantial: if it is revealed in the plays, it anatomizes the age, because in these matters the plays must be reliable mirrors of their times. Thus, in Alessandro and The Calandria, among many such plays in which women disguise themselves as men, when the awkward moment arrives in which other women show an interest in them as boys, the heroines are nevertheless lured to the trysts out of liking, curiosity, or destiny, eventuating in sympathetic feelings, surprising gropings, or sudden substitutions, as each playwright determines. But we are hard-pressed to know what these encounters intend, whether to serve as documents in gay studies, push romance plotting conventions to their dramatic brinks, titillate audiences with forbidden eroticism, or emblematically liberate the affections of females for other females. Matters to consider are that the prevailing medical traditions of the Renaissance overwhelmingly endorsed sexual essentialism, that the most adventurous of the cross-dressing plots inevitably righted the inversions into heterosexual desire and matchmaking, and that the cross-dressing plots compounded in these plays were invariably taken over from much older sources. An example from the novella tradition, the first story of the fourth night of Straparola’s Le piacevoli notti (1550) about the maiden-knight, must also by the reigning logic be said to explore a sixteenth-century preoccupation with female homoeroticism, even though it was taken from the Historia di Merlino (The Romance of Merlin). In this ancient tale, the maiden, deprived of a proper dowry by her father’s miscalculation, disguises herself as a male and eventually becomes the personal servant to the king of Bithynia, only to be accosted by an insatiably lusty queen. But there the morality trumps the titillation, for the queen is burned for her harlotries before Costanzo becomes once again Costanza and marries the king. Such motifs circulated widely, and were infinitely variable in their details and configurations – motifs to be further exploited and improved upon in each of their narrative reincarnations.

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At the same time, the disguise was merely a tool for moving individuals incognito around the community and in and out of houses functioning as sanctuaries and trysting places. It was an autolocomotive solution to a strategic problem, replacing coffers and clothes hampers, and thereby becoming a necessary convention for plots concerned with forbidden love, obstructing overseers, and accessing households managed as moral fortresses. We are invited to think that these means also expressed discontent with the social conditions of young girls, in particular, who had to become boys in order to have their fair share of mobility and freedom of choice. What we know less about is their mentality, whether they were moved by the mere expediency of their situations, getting from one house to another, or by a deep-seated malaise. Desiring women must have their agency and mobility, but were such gestures of mobility an indictment of their original condition? It doesn’t follow ipso facto. Yet ages have their idiosyncratic preoccupations, collective grievances, movements of social desire, and strategies of subversion. Moreover, a human desire for freedom and for self-determination may be deemed universal. That keeps the critical industry at work. Hence, these dimensions of social meaning deserve further critical investigation, despite the challenges of identifying among the conventions, characters, and scenarios of these plays the bedrock markers of social thought inspired by contemporary conditions. To the extent The Candlebearer actually touches upon the socially probable, beyond the exuberance of compounded language and triple plotting for their own sakes, the play is trenchantly satiric in its vision of human nature, despite the imperfect regulation of that excess in the moral ordering of the closure. Pedantry is excoriated, misplaced lust is exposed – but sometimes rewarded – stereotypes are given human substance, the bed-trick with all that is implied in substituting partners as a form of comic justice is given new exposure, all in such hyperbolical forms as to tickle our pleasure centres. We are induced to laugh at the enormities, to celebrate the wit of the makers, to imagine inverted worlds, to empathize at precious moments with the incontestably deserving, to weigh out the social quid pro quos. These are important events in the life of the imagination, which only such plays as these can engage with quite so much verve. The order of romance has meanwhile gone underground, while the order of satiric justice remains nearly stillborn, despite the satiric subjects. Most challenging of all is the degree to which these plays, at their moments of closure, dissimulate their aberrancies and inversions of morality as states of normalcy and order. What these

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plays are about can easily be captured in paraphrase, while the quality of recreational experience in imagining so many extraordinary events might be profiled, but meanings of a more axiomatic nature are more difficult to express. These plays will continue to perplex with regard to the hermeneutic stance and enterprise as a projection of the meaningoriented mind. Each of the plays contained herein is a little masterpiece, each one enjoying a critical reputation as one of the dramatic creations that marked the era. The Mandragola is without peer in terms of its status as the most celebrated play of sixteenth-century Italy. Whether that reputation inheres in the play as a theatrical creation, or as the overdetermined production of one of the acknowledged geniuses of the entire Renaissance will remain a question at the centre of its reception. Cardinal Bibbiena was a grand politico in his own right, but somehow his Calandria never became the object of allegorical accretions; even the opposite pertains, that it was the idle toy of a spare-time prankster, generated under commission, in a mind space entirely separate from his life as a political intriguer and high official at the papal court. Without doubt, the play was a trend-setter in its approach to multiple plotting, its employment of Boccaccian materials, and its use of stage beffe, a play that was widely read and imitated. Yet no play is less clear with regard to its human and cultural significance. Following these two comic monuments of the early sixteenth century are Beolco’s rustic farce built around a universal desirée in the person of Betìa whose manipulative and opportunist sexuality becomes the organizing force behind the entire action; Cecchi’s comedy of assault on a bourgeois Florentine household by two love-smitten students who find their happiness with two married women; Grazzini’s cleverly plotted anticlerical farce; and Bruno’s comedy of triplicity and infinitude, with its surfeit of language, longing, and petty larceny. All of these playwrights are masters of verbal invention and profusion, making language in all its aspects of thematic importance to the plays, with Beolco and Bruno, in their diverse ways, figuring at the pinnacle of verbal exuberance, putting translators at the cutting edge of invention and interpretation. Likewise, the characters of The Moscheta and The Candlebearer are studies in marginal minds and eccentric social ambitions at times disconnected from surrounding realities, each writer composing his own brand of absurd theatre. Coming now full circle, let it be proposed that these six plays, combined with those in the first volume, constitute the full range of variations their authors permitted to themselves in actual practice as the collective

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guardians of the idea of the learned theatre. Moreover, the measure of their allegiances and departures from their collective sense of implied norms will always be a part of the reception of their texts among the most scrutinizing of readers – that is the essential added value of the genre as an act of dynamic memory. But ultimately, let it be said that these are creations of the spirit in the dramatized interstices between the socially probable and the merely possible, wherein readers may revel in the sheer creative verve and give themselves up to the surprises best suited to induce delight and laughter. There would seem to be no more natural a finale to this introduction than a brief account of the influence of the Italian theatre upon the emerging English stage summed up as the Age of Shakespeare. We should hardly expect the English playwrights to have devised their artistry entirely from humble native traditions at the time of the Renaissance, an artistry that was characterized by the transmigration of cultures, the compulsive habits of the Tudor and Stuart translators, and the literary acquisitiveness of those who made the grand tour. Yet the question of real influence upon the native preferences and national temperaments of the English, beyond the small handful of overt transliterations from the Italian of a largely academic kind, remains one of the most perplexing. For our purposes, we may select two voices among the many to represent the respective positions, those of Daniel Orr and Louise George Clubb. Orr’s general thesis in Italian Renaissance Drama in England before 1625 is that the influence was minimal indeed. There were a few translations – arguably the first step in naturalizing foreign conventions and materials to a new cultural zone – most notably George Gascoigne’s seminal rendition of Ariosto’s I suppositi as Supposes, published in 1566. This early prototype of the Italian learned theatre made its modest mark subsequently upon the Bianca subplot of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. But as Orr points out, ‘Italian comedies were translated into English only at the rate of about one every ten years over half a century or more.’1 Stephen Gosson in his anti-theatrical and anti-Italian diatribe opines that the Italian comic theatre had been ‘ransackt to furnish the Playe houses in London.’2 But by 1582, three years after his assault, the number of translated plays amounted to no more than three or four, leaving little to be ransacked except in the challenging and relatively inaccessible Italian originals. On the assumption that such influence must be traced to the productions of the likes of George Gascoigne and John Jeffrey (Jeffere), who translated Grazzini’s La spiritata as The Bugbears in the late 1560s, Orr concludes that ‘no historian of English drama seems to feel that any of these plays was of particular importance.’3

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This leads to a second hypothesis, that by more indirect and less tangible routes the spirit, ethos, and conventions of the Italian theatre were suffused into the English playwrighting consciousness in quantities to be determined by an examination of their plays for telltale signs. This is to argue that works in the English theatre emerged as imaginative artefacts through processes similar to those that created the Italian learned drama, namely, through transformed appropriations of Plautus and Terence whereby they preserved the fixed sets and reflected similar attitudes towards stage conventions, stock characters, beffe or prank routines, and kaleidoscopic action in concentrated time sequences. For the English theatre, it is to argue that such practices could have arisen only through a direct encounter with Italian plays, conventions, and creative mentalities. In Italian Drama in Shakespeare’s Time, a study countering Orr’s, Louise George Clubb redefines influence in multiple and subtle ways through a theory of the circulation of micro motifs, plot bits, stage business, conventions, and structural and generic ideas, which she groups under the term ‘theatregrams.’ These are little cultural viruses that pass from mind to mind as ideas, structures, conceptions, praxis nostrums, all fighting for mental survival according to their usefulness and adaptability in generating new theatrical creations. Broken down into their ‘grams’ or micro parts, they may be plot notions such as a boy dressed as a bride, a lover conveyed in a coffer, or a mistress replaced by a vengeful wife in a lovers’ rendezvous (one version of the bed trick, as in Grazzini’s Frate Alberigo), or more generally the Italianate disguise plot, which was little known formerly in the English theatre. The problem is that just as the ‘erudite’ dramatists of Italy fed off the Italian novella for plot materials, the English playwrights turned to Bandello and others through the translations and Italianate reconfigurations of William Painter, Geoffrey Fenton, and Barnabe Riche, and in meeting the challenges of transforming them into stage spectacles, they arrived at their own conventions and practices. Even Cinthio, Straparola, and bits of Boccaccio had woven their way into the English cultural consciousness. But as Clubb argues, that cannot account for the sudden disguise plot à la mode, the repertory of stage tricks, parasite characters and tricksters, and the masterful handling of telescopic stage times and spaces. Either the English suddenly found all these things on their own, or they came about by osmosis, as it were, as free-floating and mobile Renaissance ideas disseminated through moments of contact and contamination – a chapter in the liquidity of ‘memes,’ to use the more recent word – in an age of intercultural exchange. In brief, just as the erudite theatre itself was

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established by a consolidation of memes constituting the essence of the genre, the English perpetuated this same process in both more diffuse and more integrated ways. To test that thesis, readers are invited to conduct their own census, and to weigh the creative redeployment of such plays as Aretino’s Marescalco in Jonson’s Epicoene, of Piccolomini’s Alessandro in Chapman’s May Day, of Plautus’s Manaechmi (admittedly Roman) upon Shakespeare’s The Comedy of Errors, of the Sienese Gl’Ingannati (or Secchi’s Gl’Inganni) upon Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (beware of Riche’s wholly adequate ‘Of Apolonius and Silla’ in his Farewell to Military Profession), of Sforza degli Oddi’s I morte vivi (and possibly Caro’s The Ragged Brothers) upon Marston’s What You Will, and of Della Porta’s The Sister upon Middleton’s No Wit, No Help Like a Woman’s. These are among the plays manifesting the clearest cases of alignment with the Italian theatre. But thereafter, the question of influence becomes once again more nuanced, more dubious. As Marvin Herrick concludes after addressing the same question at the close of his Italian Comedy in the Renaissance, ‘the results of seeking Italian analogues in the plays of other Elizabethan dramatists, such as Jonson, Chapman, Marston, Dekker, and Middleton [those just named] are similar to what is found in examining Shakespeare. The Italianate flavor is there and readily perceived even when the setting and names have been changed, but whether it comes directly or indirectly from the learned comedy or from the commedia dell’arte is seldom clear.’4 The Elizabethans were superb cultural appropriators, and they were also clever launderers of cultural funds, transforming, contemporizing, romanticizing, or satirizing what they found. And their national pride may have been the greatest smokescreen to their foreign borrowings. Think of the Italianate settings, the adoption of pastoral disguise plots, intensified stage traffic, eavesdropping and asides, tales of secret meetings between lovers through the agency of crafty servants, and credit the Italians with having been there first. Yet the conclusions to be drawn are measured and qualified. If one chooses a play carefully, such as Lyly’s Mother Bombie, with its patently Italian qualities, one can make a certain case for absorbed traits and a sensitivity to classical constraints of space and time. Even so, his play includes a far wider range of characters – dimwits, fiddlers, farmers, coachmen, and wise women – and the playwright offers a more extensive study of sentiment than is found in erudite comedy until much later in its development. There is a courtly polish, a stylishness that is new and that does not hail from Italian sources. For these reasons Hunter finds

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the alignment of Lyly with classical models one that ‘always occupies a disproportionate space in histories of English drama.’5 Lyly, as the best of examples, ultimately demonstrates dissociation. But the debate continues. Salingar concludes that Supposes was a key play for introducing the Italian aesthetics of comedy into England.6 The only plays that might rival it are the Menaechmi and Gl’Ingannati. That classical and erudite methods and ethos are taken into English practice is axiomatic to Riele’s study.7 T.W. Baldwin pronounces that even though The Comedy of Errors has no Italian sources, it is ‘probably the most fundamentally Italianate play of the English lot,’ because the intrigue is more intense than anything in Plautus or Terence.8 Wickham posits an alternative version, that it was rather the Latin plays known largely in the schools that ‘encouraged in interest in genre and in formal qualities of play construction for which there was no precedent in England.’9 R.C. Johnson, returning to the central role of Gascoigne, believes that ‘unquestionably, his plays at Gray’s Inn exerted considerable influence on the drama.’10 For Prouty, Supposes is ‘the first really well-constructed vernacular comedy that appeared on the English stage,’11 which is entirely in keeping with Clubb’s observation that Ariosto’s greatest contribution was to provide a ‘coherent structure to the genre.’12 It was Wallace’s view that I suppositi ‘may be taken as a representative of the perfect adaptation of Latin comedy to the portrayal of contemporary Italian life, and furnishes us in its English version a good example of the strongly classical influence which Italian dramatic literature was exercising on that of England.’13 This sampling will suffice to circumscribe the discussion. Ultimately, the spectre of influence comes under increasingly speculative investigation. But either the English playwrights were in contact with a made-in-Italy Zeitgeist and variously adopted or resisted it, or they were not. What they may have known of the regular theatre and its practices was represented in Philip Sidney’s Defense of Poesy. Yet the general view is that English makers found his prescriptions incompatible with their own native genius. That may represent the most forceful perspective in countermanding the Italian aesthetic insurgency. Sidney called for a theatre based on a correct and respectful adaptation of the classical genres, but in practice, his program went largely unheeded. Fundamentally, there were two ways of telling stories on the stage: a dramatization of chronological events from the beginning to the end of a social narrative through the absorption of the intervening but irrelevant segments of time, or the dramatization of the closing episodes of a social narrative, the preceding parts of which must be filled in through ex-

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position or retrospective observations. Marlowe, in Doctor Faustus, covers the lifetime of his protagonist by dramatizing the highlight episodes of his twenty-four-year bond with the devil, yet builds to a cumulative and concentrated death scene in which all former events come to bear upon the final hour of Faustus’s dramatic life. Jonson, by contrast, in Volpone and The Alchemist, manifests a greater measure of the classical sensibilities than any of his contemporaries in making brilliant use of intentionally cramped single acting spaces and highly concentrated final-hour narratives as events spin centrifugally out of control, ultimately defeating the struggle against contingency of tricksters and confidence schemers. In this, he replicates and surpasses the letter and spirit of the erudite makers, not as an exercise in dutiful imitation, but in achieving his own satiric ends with a maximum of efficiency and devastation. Jonson was always his own man and was proud to say so, but he was omnivorous in his reading and imbued with the linguistic skills that made the spirit of the Romans, and presumably the Italians as well, an inevitable part of his own understanding and practice. The practices of these playwrights represent the two modes of theatrical storytelling associated with the native and classical theatres, although Marlowe was a humanist scholar, and Jonson’s wit was born from the streets of London as well as from Horace and Aretino. The case to be made for Shakespeare is a more troublesome one, although Leo Salingar in Shakespeare and the Traditions of Comedy made great strides in ‘deinsularizing’ the talents of The Bard. But again, just how those ‘erudite’ ideas travelled, whether indirectly through his Italian narrative sources or more directly through contact with Italian theatre, will remain a point for discussion. For observers like Radcliff-Umstead, the mystery is unravelled by the availability of first-hand contact with ‘the stage techniques of the strolling Italian companies, which performed not only in London but as far north as Scotland … throughout the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods.’14 He invokes, as well, the theatrical festivals and competitions on the continent in Vienna, Paris, and Madrid, where both English and Italian actors and companies were competing together. Moreover, Giambattista Della Porta’s plays were particularly popular with the travelling companies, who performed scripted as well as improvised plays. Della Porta’s creations were likewise chosen for imitation among the university drama circles. Taken together, these avenues of contact and communication in an English theatrical milieu hungry for new materials and staging ideas begin to form something of a tide, a vogue, a repository of ‘memes’ or ‘grams’ too omnipresent for the English to have ignored. Yet the thesis remains that a native genius based

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on English, medieval, allegorical, historical, winter’s tale, disbursed, national, and moralizing kinds of storytelling prevailed in the making of the English theatre, and that for the most part all of these modes were incompatible with classical practices and the aestheticizing artifice of the ‘learned’ conventions. For the moment, however, we may opt for the view that, whether sparsely or effusively, the Italian theatre made itself felt in the dramaturgy of Renaissance England. There were a few paradigmatic translations, acknowledged Italianate narrative sources, classicizing tendencies in the universities, and the potential influence of the commedia dell’arte troupes passing through London, all of which may have provided materials for digestion into the kinds of ideas that inform the creative mind. Moreover, there was a favouring of Italianate kinds of social situations, stories of passion, intrigue, close encounters, eavesdropping and gossiping, nefarious assignations, the trickery of lovers, and the furtive accomplishment of their trysts, variously derived, that extended the expressive range of the English stage, imported social exoticism, and necessitated alternative attitudes to human conduct accompanied by the stage conventions that made their expression possible. In that regard, even as forms of social ‘otherness,’ the Italian repertory of social conduct extended the perimeters of the English imagination, adding a ‘world’ of impassioned motivation and playful cunning. Although the modelling of the English stage upon Italian theatrical conventions may not have been as direct as Sidney would have desired, the English stage achieved its own formulae for the representation of Italian social vignettes, whether of delayed romance, caricatured folly, or cunning malfeasance.

Notes 1 David Orr, 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), 52. 2 The Schoole of Abuse, Containing a pleasaunt invective against Poets, Pipers, Plaiers, Iesters and such like Caterpillers of a Commonwelth (London, 1579), D6v. 3 Orr, Italian Renaissance Drama, 106. 4 Marvin T. Herrick, Italian Comedy in the Renaissance (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1966), 225. 5 George K. Hunter, John Lyly: The Humanist as Courtier (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1962), 220.

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6 Leo Salingar, Shakespeare and the Traditions of Comedy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 87. 7 Wolfgang Riele, Shakespeare, Plautus and the Humanist Tradition (Woodbridge, U.K.: D.S. Brewer, 1990), passim. 8 Thomas W. Baldwin, On the Compositional Genetics of ‘The Comedy of Errors’ (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1965), 208. 9 Glynne Wickham, Early English Stages, 1300-1660 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1971), 19. 10 Ronald C. Johnson, George Gascoigne (New York: Twayne, 1972), 157. 11 Charles Taylor Prouty, George Gascoigne: Elizabethan Courtier, Soldier, and Poet (New York: Columbia University Press, 1942), 171. 12 Louise George Clubb, Italian Drama in Shakespeare’s Time (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), 10. 13 Malcolm William Wallace, The Birth of Hercules with an Introduction on the Influence of Plautus on the Dramatic Literature of England in the Sixteenth Century (Chicago: Scott, Foresman, 1903), 64. 14 Douglas Radcliff-Umstead, The Birth of Modern Comedy in Renaissance Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), 238.

CARDINAL BERNARDO DOVIZI (BIBBIENA)

The Calandria (La calandria)

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

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Introduction to The Calandria by Bernardo Dovizi da Bibbiena The soon-to-become Cardinal Bernardo Dovizi da Bibbiena was by no means a seasoned and professional playwright. The Calandria has so far proven to be his unique contribution to the genre, despite intimations of others. But there is little doubt that in this single assay he met the challenge of the occasion, which was to furnish for the carnival season of 1513, in the ducal city of Urbino, a lively and witty entertainment. There were high expectations, because Bibbiena was known to the court as one of the great merrymakers and pranksters of his age. His contribution was undoubtedly created at the instigation of his friend, Baldesar Castiglione, who had been named impresario of the festivities and who served as director of the play. This was the man who was concurrently writing what was to become the famed Book of the Courtier, finished and in circulation by 1516 (but first printed in 1628), a book in which Bibbiena, as one of the participants in the game, is called upon to give an account of practical joking, because he had so often perpetrated them and had as often been their butt (II. 85). Not only is he represented as knowing of instances by the dozen, but as understanding their kinds and varieties from the mild to the cruel. The Calandria is, in its way, a continuation of that essay, for at the very heart of the action is a series of potentially mean-spirited pranks, which, nevertheless, do not offend, because the intended target, Calandro, is such a booby. Bibbiena describes them as being of the kind ‘where a net is spread, as it were, and a little bait is put out, so that a man easily tricks himself.’1 The spirit of such activities is worth keeping in mind when it comes to the hermeneutics of this play, for the intentionality of trickery and its powers to become a point of view for seeing the action may well prove to be a calculated distancing that weakens any moral or social interpretations of this patently carnivalesque play. About the man there is room for only a few scattered facts. He was born in 1470 in the town near Florence that provided him with his sobriquet: Bibbiena. His life was spent as a diplomat in the service of the Medici family, particularly in the service of Cardinal Giovanni de’ Medici, for whom Bibbiena laboured assiduously to see him become pope (Leo X) following the death of Julius II – all this taking place during the very winter he was writing The Calandria. It was for these and related activities that he himself was raised to the cardinalate later in 1513, with stipends and castles to boot. In 1515 Raphael painted a striking portrait of him in his ecclesiastical regalia, which is today in the Pitti collection in Florence.

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It presents a man of diplomacy and sobriety, entirely contained within his own thoughts, revealing nothing of the merrymaker – the Bibbiena undisclosed behind his professional façade. With so many pressing matters in hand in the winter of 1513–14, the author was not at liberty to slip away to Urbino to attend the performance. But he missed a spectacular production. It took place in a large room inside the ducal palace, one of three dramatic spectacles incorporated into the general feasting, carousing, and masked balls of the season. Taken over from the Ferrara productions of Ariosto’s plays was the idea of a vast and impressively realistic backdrop representing a cityscape with palazzos, houses, and churches, all of which, for this play, represented the city of Rome. Between each of the play’s acts there were intermezzi, in typical prince-aggrandizing, court-spectacle fashion, featuring elaborate mimes and dances on allegorical, mythological, and political themes, with music, costume, and stage machinery. In a letter to Lodovico Canossa, bishop of Tricarico, Castiglione gives a description not only of the backdrop with its street scene and buildings painted according to the principles of depth perspective, but of the entr’actes, which included a kind of Morris dance with sword dancers and weapons about Jason and the golden fleece, the arrival of Venus with her Cupidons, and Neptune in a chariot drawn by sea horses. When we think of The Calandria as a complete and entire action with parts intricately arranged in causal order leading to an unpredictable denouement, we realize that these interludes must have come as an additional challenge to the play’s first audience. There is little reason to think that those spectators had any cognitive advantages over modern readers in keeping track of an imbroglio based on disguise and multiple changes of identity at a vertiginous rate on a claustrophobic stage. They too had to calibrate the changing state of affairs and the location of characters as the play unfolded and to fix these things in their memories throughout the intervening spectacles between the acts. To be sure, in a stage presentation the text is reinforced by the visual, and in that regard The Calandria may be the quintessential performance text. Words on the page have their powers to deliver complex equivalentto-reality representations to the imagination. To the dialogue of characters, readers supply all the qualifications of persons as agents and of place as necessitated by analogy with perceptual reality. They fill in, through the ‘mind’s eye,’ the critical mass necessary to the shaping of a reality. Readers come equipped with agile memories – the same ones they exercise in real life in keeping track of who said what and to which person,

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with all the attendant understanding concerning their intentional states and motivations, upon which are based impressions of trust and distrust, of sinners and the sinned against. Human nature is remarkably adept at ‘moral’ score-keeping in social encounters and at keeping abreast of the trajectories of several persons at once in overlapping narratives that can be reactivated or suspended according to the presence or absence of their agents. But as with all such competencies, the human mental architecture has its levels of saturation. Bibbiena’s play designedly toys with those levels and limits – to a point of anxiety – as it does for those in the play who come to realize that they, for different reasons, have no idea of whom they are dealing with, or even of their basic sexual orientations. In their misprisions and errors concerning identity, Bibbiena plays upon a pervasive concern that persons are to us precisely who they are in fact. Such anxieties give rise to vitalized and emotionalized attention and account for a deep-seated interest in the play and its outcome. The playwright made all this possible through the adaptation of a brilliant idea that originated with Plautus in his Menaechmi, a play about twin brothers. Bibbiena makes his duo a look-alike brother and sister, separated in their youth, who are destined to rediscover one another by the end of the action, according to the expectations of comedy. Circumstances lead them both to Rome, Santilla ahead of her brother Lidio, who follows her after hearing that she is still alive. To add to the possibilities, the author asks us to accept – and we do – that each has just cause to be dressed and named as the respective sibling, so that Lidio becomes Santilla and Santilla becomes her brother – he to court a married Roman matron twice his age and she to escape the dangers of passing through the world of Turkish captivity as an unprotected girl. This is enough of a prologue to establish the antefatto of the entire play and to set up the multiple cross-dressing, the many mistaken identities, and the comic substitutions in erotic situations to follow. Bibbiena’s game is to wring out of this device every imaginable combination and ironic permutation, both to our great delectation and our near disorientation. On one occasion both twins are present as males, and on another as females, without recognizing each other. Such ‘visions’ of the seemingly impossible, needless to say, bring consternation to the others in the play who are looking on. Bibbiena may have been thinking back to the wonderful scene in Ariosto’s The Pretenders (I suppositi) in which a true father is nearly argued out of his own identity by a pretender. Readers of The Calandria are called upon, without stage geography and costume prompts, to construct on the mind’s stage social vignettes of such volatil-

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ity that memory and understanding are sometimes brought to the brink. If epistemic lack incites high mental attention and the dissonance of contradictory circumstances demands resolution, this play generates a very particular quality of suspense. Our anxiety is not identical to Calandro’s in being confronted by two Santillas, each claiming to be the real one, or to Samia’s in confronting two Lidios at once. But much of the reader’s challenge will be orientational, an experience concurrent with the anxiety over mistaken identities within the play. With cause, the speaker of the Prologue (the shorter one written specifically for the play) advised the audience to listen carefully and to keep their ear channels open. The matter of sources is an engaging one, but the gist of it comes down to Plautus, Ariosto, and Boccaccio. In Bibbiena’s original Prologue (the shorter of the two), he acknowledges Plautus, insofar as the play was to be part of a ‘learned’ and ‘regular’ theatre that was structurally and thematically mindful of its Roman origins. Nevertheless, authors felt the need to reclaim their originality from assumptions of plagiarism. The answer was to comply, yet make light of the borrowing. As a nod to Plautus this was to be a play about twins, but so modified as to bear little further resemblance. Accuse Bibbiena of stealing from the Roman master, says the Prologue, but you will see in consulting Plautus’s works that nothing is missing. Bibbiena’s debt to Ariosto is suffused throughout his play. The Ferraran, after all, had established the generic formula that would prevail for a century, and Bibbiena’s creation is an early confirmation of the working ‘rules’: the contemporary urban social setting; the bourgeois preoccupations with love and money; the movement of lovers and would-be lovers in and out of households through ruses, tricks, and disguises; the introduction of comic pedants and parasites; the deployment of witty men- and maidservants; and so much more. Bibbiena may have drawn his pedant Polinico from Ariosto’s Cleander, or not, and he may have made Fessenio a triple agent by granting him service in Calandro’s household, much as Erostrato took service in Damon’s household to be near his Polynesta in The Pretenders. That Bibbiena was a creative borrower from the novellisti is equally incontestable. The secret was not well kept, even from the first audiences, who would have recognized in Calandro a manifestation of the silly, besotted protagonist of the Calandrino stories in the Decameron. But the list is much longer and includes models not only for some of the set speeches, but for entire episodes, such as the replacing of an expected lover with a prostitute, or the rescuing of lovers caught together by substituting the intruding male with an acceptable female while the offended

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party is off to complain to the authorities or to family members. There were hints of borrowing from the novellisti in Ariosto’s pioneering plays, but nothing to this extent. Bibbiena would set a precedent that would greatly extend the social range and contemporaneousness of many future plays through inspirations taken from the novelle. In keeping with these borrowings, the play is worth a moment’s consideration as a cupboard of movable parts. Bibbiena appeared early in the chain that constitutes the whole of the erudite theatre as an ars combinatoria. For that reason, his play was seminal to much that was to follow. Nearly every play in the present anthology bears direct or indirect witness, as though his character types, comic routines, and topical motifs floated freely out of his play and into the minds of his successors: Caro, Ruzante, Machiavelli, Piccolomini, Cecchi, Della Porta (less directly), and even Ariosto in his later plays. Arguably, Machiavelli’s Mandragola, with its compliant cuckold Messer Nicia – a man too easily put upon by a scheme to seduce his wife as engineered by a suitor of student age and his witty associate Ligurio – owes more than a little to the ninny husband Calandro and the sly servant Fessenio. Surely, too, there is a parallel to be drawn between Bibbiena’s plot, in which it is suggested that the husband will unwittingly facilitate the continuation of his wife’s infidelities after the play’s close, and Machiavelli’s mock-religious celebration of that same prospect in his play. The witty pranks played upon Caro’s Marabeo, also modelled on Calandrino, bear affinities with the machinations of Fessenio. Calandro’s inability to learn and properly repeat the words he is taught, which leads to a series of smutty double entendres, is without doubt the inspiration for the opening of the third act of Alessandro, where Querciuola attempts to teach the love-besotted Gostanzo how to speak like a locksmith. The echoes are unmistakable. Piccolomini, in the same play, replays a version of the substitute-lover alibi, based on Santilla’s rescue of her brother by standing in for him in Fulvia’s room before Calandro gets back. Brigida, in male clothes, slips into Lucillo’s room in the place of Cornelio in that same capacity. Bibbiena elaborates the role of the pedant, who would have more than cameo appearances in such future plays as Della Porta’s The Sister and Bruno’s The Candlebearer. The bed-trick played on Calandro with a prostitute, and on Fulvia with the manservant Fannio, would enjoy a long history down through Shakespeare’s All’s Well that Ends Well and beyond. A personal favourite takes place in the last story of Riche’s His Farewell to Military Profession, in which a brother in female disguise replaces his sister in marriage to an old man. He then arranges for the union to be consummated with a

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prostitute while he courts the old man’s daughter by performing a sexchange ritual on himself that the unsuspecting girl verifies to be true by placing her hand on the ostensibly miraculous new member.2 Just how this dense complex of motifs from Bibbiena’s play might have reconstituted itself in a novella-like story written in England some sixty-three years later is up for explanation, but it is clear proof in itself of the wide circulation of these motifs. While Betìa is being seduced by Tonin in Ruzante’s The Moscheta, she speaks to her husband through the door at the same time and in naughty allusions that are fully redolent of the scene in which Samia, in flagrante delicto, talks to Fessenio about keys and locks. Bibbiena introduces a charlatan necromancer who makes his return in Ariosto’s Negromante, and again in Leone de’ Sommi’s The Three Sisters in the person of Melite, to name but two. Alessandro contains a groping scene through which Lampridia discovers in hands-on fashion that the person she took for a girl was a male in disguise – an echo direct or indirect of the two groping scenes in the present play and all the foolery about hermaphrodites and sex changes. The sex-change motif would remain at the centre of a medical controversy throughout the sixteenth century and was part of a well-established literary tradition going back to The Seven Wise Masters of Rome and Huon de Bordeaux that would reappear in Orlando furioso (the story of Fiordispina and Bradamante in Book 25) and in works to follow, including the Riche story mentioned above. The list is already too long, but could be extended, merely to say that The Calandria was a seminal play that served as an archive of motifs, a cabinet of recyclable curiosities, and a cultural fuse to a playwrighting age. So, then, what is the play about? That is the hardest question of all. The idea remained strong throughout the nineteenth century that such creations were insignificant because they failed to convey, in overt fashion, social and moral themes for the improvement of humanity. Critics in the twentieth century took up the challenge of supplying those themes, but not altogether convincingly in light of the play’s disconcerting tendency to deconstruct all such emergent meanings. The play, to be sure, deals in love, desire, marriage, seduction, and infidelity, yet it does not demonstrate views about them through the action. On the one hand, there is Fulvia, an erotomaniac who throws discretion to the winds in the name of desire and gains a sinning advantage over her wayward husband simply by accusing him first and loudly. She is as determined in the end to have her lover as she is to deprive her husband of all philandering. What does that mean? On the other hand, we have the twins, who, as

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potential romance protagonists, may make affective as well as advantageous matches at the end. But the well-wishing of romance bestowed upon the lovers in their struggle against the world is entirely absent. Santilla will marry Fulvia’s son, awarded to her as a prize for Lidio’s continuing attentions, while Santilla passes to her brother the daughter of her guardian, who, from the play’s outset, was being forced upon her on the assumption that she was a male. These are pro forma, symmetrical gestures of closure, for neither represents bonding, trial, affection, and deliverance into happiness. They imply no moral force, no emotional alliances, no invested well-wishing in the presence of menacing alternatives. Meanwhile, the older couple – the occasion for all these disguisings and substitutions – may be said to represent marriage for better or for worse, insofar as the honour code of monogamy is the reason for so much hypocrisy and subterfuge on both their parts. But we do not sense that they represent the institution under duress, or that their deviant conduct is a thematic outcry for an expression of natural desire freed from social institutions and constraint. These are merely the conventional social conditions for an intrigue plot that brings out all the ploys of the three witty servants, Fessenio, Samia, and Fannio, in collaboration with an opportunistic necromancer. Equally, there is reason to doubt that the opening debate between Lidio and his moralizing tutor on the positive and negative qualities of love constitutes a thematic guide to the play. That love is sacred, ennobling, and imperative is an argument made as pure rationalization for seducing a married matron, while the case for its destructive and ignoble qualities is recited out of sheer pedantry and is consistently ridiculed through Fessenio’s asides. This set performance between two interlocutors, one of whom thereafter drops out of the play altogether, likely does bear a parodic relationship to the high-minded discussions of love in Castiglione’s conduct book for courtiers, or in Bembo’s Asolani. But the play does not seem to be a laboratory in which its polemical positions are debated through actions and their deserts. Is The Calandria perhaps about hermaphroditism, or sex changes, or gender-fashioning through cross-dressing, insofar as these phenomena enter into the comic strategizing of the protagonists and their trickster companions? These might be taken for thematic considerations if the characters themselves expressed some anxiety about their respective transformations in terms of existential alarm. But the twins seem to retain their bedrock identities throughout the play as the precondition to the many occasional and expedient acts of self-representation. Santilla

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expresses weariness over the social pressures that constrain her and may even take on a touch of melancholy, but she has no misgivings about appearing to others as a gynandromorph. Nor does she agonize over sending in her servant Fannio in her place to find a little sexual gratification for himself while maintaining the ruse. Bibbiena offers no study in the plasticity of personhood. A further means to a thematic end is to see the entire play as topsyturveydom in the pure spirit of carnival, interpreted as an occasion for licence, feasting, and sexual promiscuity, and as an escape from restricting mores and institutional control. In fact, carnival reinforces norms by having a time limit set upon its revelries, and it leads to a period of obedience and mortification. But the play may epitomize its temporary misrule as though it were a permanent state by carrying it into the world of perverted bourgeois mores. It is an attractive thesis, because Fessenio is the very spirit of opportunism and anarchy in his service to three masters and loyalty to one, while the lustful natures of the two socially established seniors create a carnival in all but name, accompanied by pranks, disguisings, and gropings aplenty. In that sense, the play may very well replicate in spirit and values the occasion for which it was written; its meaning might be said to be synonymous with the implicit meanings of the carnival tradition. But then, context alone would provide the substance of the play. Yet if social themes are indeterminate or absent, must the play be only about parody, about its own artistry, or more radically about nothing at all? The fact is that the play does unfold in social terms, but in a manner that causes very little concern for the reader – pure prudes aside. There is the matter of aesthetic distancing. The play, as a configuration of social dilemmas, commands attention even to the point of suspense. There is anticipation, curiosity, a compelling desire to know what will happen next, how plans will be carried into operation, and which centres of desire will prevail. But this suspense does not appear to be based on empathy for liked characters in perilous situations. Nor do we exercise a great deal of our own provisional planning on their behalf, even though suspense is defined by some form of computational awareness of probabilities for the future. Hence, we do appear to invest ourselves in the ending not in terms of hope, but in terms of information jags and uncompleted structures. The distinction is controversial but critical. If our attention is not ratcheted up to suspense by concern for persons, it can be ratcheted up only by interest in forms and situations, by microplotting and the intentionality of tricksters, by plot designs and their

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completions expressed as unbalanced social orders perceived at a gamelike distance – as instabilities looking for homeostasis. So is the play to be viewed more pertinently as a game in which there are rules dictated by social reality and acted out by agents who rely on wit, luck, and provisional planning in order to determine winners and losers? Possibly, for the attention arousal over social manoeuvring against expectation horizons is more clearly pitched in terms of character intuition and skills than upon moral right. Characters act out of concern for their honours and reputations, but they do not make us side with them in their sincerity. All that remains is the game of sexual gratification in which winners are those who exercise survival fitness in their sexual prowess, independent of social restraints and without any intruding cynicism, because all are reduced to play by the same amoral rules. Furthermore, if the play is seen as a series of micro-plots that make up the larger action, each one the brainworm of an intriguer who sets the little traps that draw in the intended victims by their own unwitting collaboration and in ways that advance the interests of the intriguing party, then game analogies may explain something further about the workings of the play. Tricks themselves are little plots that evoke suspense because they create their own expectation horizons against high improbabilities. Needless to say, we calibrate odds along with the trickster, allowing him to do the provisional planning on behalf of his patron. The trick is then carried out in keeping with estimates of the vulnerabilities of the intended victim, in the ever-present prospect of misfortune and contingency. These designs allow for multiple versions of the future, but from the point of view of the trickster, which we invariably adopt, so that we take a certain pleasure in seeing the provisional actualized, provided that its level of humiliation is in keeping with the status and sensibilities of the targeted individual. Castiglione underscores the point in The Book of the Courtier through a number of instances in which wit becomes unnecessarily cruel. But Calandro is a butt for all occasions and frees us to turn our attention to the tricks he falls into without any concern over matters of impropriety. Meanwhile, these micro-plots have made their contribution to bringing the twins closer to anagnorisis and peripeteia – the anticipated moments of recognition and plot reversal. But ironically, after two or three scenes in which both are on stage, each unaware of the other, the inevitable ‘discovery’ follows and the completion of the circle becomes fact only as an afterthought. Bibbiena has lost interest in the inaugural quest and turns to the final trick episode in which Santilla is sent to rescue her

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brother by assuming his place with Fulvia. There is to be no ritual celebration of the reunion of this long-separated family, no glut of good feeling over restored identities. Bibbiena nips all of these big themes in the bud, leaving only the brilliant design as a point for celebration. This is not to say that The Calandria has no social meaning, for the entire equivalent-to-reality representation has been offered in social terms. Bibbiena brings into the formula social desires, their tactics, and their outcomes, as well as all the basic anxieties about identity and character recognition in daily life. He establishes a new status quo at the end, but one in which there are only indifferent losers and winners – indifferent because we have had no cause to invest our own hopes and fears in the best and worst outcomes that confronted these characters. Rather, we have followed with intense interest a witty design through all the twists and turns of its incompletion in search of an ending. Practical jokes are like that, if everyone involved in the action agrees to laugh and be merry at the end, or at least to assume no further platforms for expressing outrage, having been placed into an appropriate position of silence. That, too, was a legacy of Bibbiena to the tradition of the learned comedy. There would be satirical and sentimental drama to follow in which both social protest and the sentiments of the heart would receive thematic prominence. But otherwise there would always be a curious resistance to high social meaning, because a spirit of formal play places more attention upon the witty maker than upon the theatre as an instrument of social legislation. This translation was based upon the edition of the play by Paolo Fassati: La calandria (Turin: Einaudi, 1963, 1978, 1991).

Notes 1 Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, translated by Charles S. Singleton (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1959) 181. 2 Barnabe Riche, ‘Of Phylotus and Emilia,’ in His Farewell to Military Profession,’ ed. Donald Beecher (Ottawa: Dovehouse, 1992), 291–314.

Bibliography Andrews, Richard. Scripts and Scenarios: The Performance of Comedy in Renaissance Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. D’Amico, Jack. ‘Drama and the Court in La Calandria.’ Theatre Journal 43 (1991): 93–106.

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Detenbeck, Laurie. ‘Women and the Management of Dramaturgy in La Calandria.’ Donna: Women in Italian Culture. Ed. Ada Testaferri. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1989: 245–52. Fontes-Baratto, Anna. ‘Les fêtes à Urbin en 1513 et la Calandria de Bernardo Dovizi da Bibbiena.’ In André Rochon et al. eds, Les Écrivains et le Pouvoir en Italie à l’Epoque de la Renaissance. Paris: Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle, 1974: 69–75. Moncallero, G.L. Il Cardinale Bernardo Dovizi da Bibbiena Umanista e Diplomatico (1470–1520). Florence: Leo Olschki, 1953. Radcliff-Umstead, Douglas. The Birth of Modern Comedy in Renaissance Italy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969. Smarr, Janet. ‘The Marriage of Plautus and Boccaccio.’ Heliotropia 1,1 (2003). http://www.heliotropia.org. Stewart, Pamela. ‘A Play on Doubles: The Calandria.’ Modern Language Studies 14, 1 (1984): 22–32. – ‘Il giuoco scenico dei “Begli Scambiamenti” nella Calandria.’ Retoricae Mimica nel Decameron e nella Commedia del Cinquecento, ‘Saggi di Lettere Italiane’ 35. Florence: Leo S. Olschki Editore, 1986.

The Calandria La calandria Dramatis Personae1 (In order of appearance) prologue argument fessenio manservant to Lidio polinico tutor to Lidio lidio a young man calandro husband of Fulvia samia maidservant to Fulvia ruffo a sorcerer santilla a young woman fannio manservant to Santilla tiresia nurse to Santilla fulvia wife of Calandro sofilla a prostitute a porter customs officers fulvia’s brothers

Prologue2 Today you will be seeing a new comedy. It’s called Calandria, and it’s written in prose, not verse; it’s modern, not ancient; and it’s in Italian, not Latin. The name Calandria comes from the character Calandro, who is a real fool, as you’ll see. In fact you might find it hard to believe that

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Nature ever created such a nitwit. But you must have seen other people who have done stupid things, or heard of them at least – Martino da Amelia, for instance, who thinks that the star Diana is his wife, and that he himself is the great Amen (the end of all things), who can turn himself whenever he pleases into a woman, or God, or a fish, or a tree.3 So don’t be surprised when you see Calandro believing nonsense and acting stupidly. The play deals with everyday life, so the author didn’t think it was appropriate to write it in verse; the characters speak in prose, without rhyme or metre. It’s not an ancient classic either, but don’t let that bother you, so long as it gives you healthy pleasure. You’ll always find more delight in what’s new and modern than in antiquities that have been in use for so long that they’re out of date. And it’s not in Latin. Lots and lots of people are going to be seeing it, not all of them educated, so to make it accessible to all, he has composed it entirely in Italian. That way, everyone will understand it in the same way, and everyone will enjoy it. And anyway, we shouldn’t consider the language God and Nature has given us to be less elegant than Latin, Greek, or Hebrew. If we were as careful and diligent in the way we use and polish and praise our language as the Greeks and the others were with theirs, it wouldn’t be at all inferior. Indeed, if you have a higher regard for someone else’s language than for your own, you’re your own worst enemy. As far as I’m concerned, my language is so dear to me that I wouldn’t trade it for as many languages as you can find. I’m sure you feel the same way, and that you’ll be happy to hear the play in your own tongue. No, I’m wrong: you’ll be listening, so it’s not your language you’ll be hearing, it’s ours. We’re the ones who’ll be talking. Now maybe some of you will claim that the author has stolen a lot from Plautus. If so, forget it. Plautus deserves to be robbed. He’s a big fool who never locks up his things. He hasn’t the slightest concern for security. And the author swears on God’s cross that he hasn’t stolen from him; (snapping his fingers) in fact, he wants to be compared with him. And to prove he’s not lying, he says that if we look in Plautus we’ll find that nothing’s missing. And if that’s the case, nothing that belongs to Plautus has been stolen from him. So let’s not accuse the author of being a thief. And please, if there’s anyone out there stubborn enough to keep it up, don’t disgrace Plautus by going to the police. Just whisper it in his ear. Ah, but here’s someone coming to tell you the plot. Now get ready to pay attention. Open up your ears.

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The Argument Demetrio, a citizen of Modon, had a son named Lidio and a daughter named Santilla. They were born at the same time, and they were so much alike in appearance and personality that if it weren’t that they dressed differently, no one could tell them apart. If you don’t believe such a thing could happen, we could give you lots of examples. It should be enough to mention Antonio and Valerio Porcari, two brothers of Rome, and the noble blood and virtue they share. They’re so alike that even now everyone in Rome takes one for the other. But to get back to the two children: when they were six years old they lost their father. The Turks captured Modon and burned it down, killing as many of its citizens as they could find. Tiresia, the twins’ nurse, and Fannio, their servant, thinking that Lidio had been killed by the Turks, saved Santilla by dressing her as a boy and calling her Lidio, her brother’s name. Santilla and her servants left Modon. Along the way they were captured and taken to Constantinople, where Perillo, a Florentine merchant, ransomed all three of them and took them with him to his home in Rome. They’ve lived here for many years now, dressing, speaking, and behaving like Romans. Today, Perillo has decided to marry his daughter to Santilla, whom, you remember, everyone calls Lidio, believing her to be a man. Meanwhile, the real Lidio had escaped from Modon with his servant Fessenio. He went to Italy – to Tuscany – where he learned the manners of the place, its language, and its ways of living. He is now seventeen, going on eighteen, and he has come to Rome. He has fallen in love with Fulvia, and she with him; he has visited her many times, dressed as a woman, and enjoyed her company. After many confusions, Lidio and Santilla will joyfully recognize each other. Now pay attention, open your eyes, and don’t take one for the other. I must warn you though, they’re both the same height, they look the same, they’re both called Lidio, and they dress, speak, and laugh the same way. They’re both living in Rome, and you will see both of them there now. Don’t imagine, though, that they were suddenly transported here from Rome by magic. This city you see here is Rome. At the height of its power it was large and spacious enough to contain many cities and towns and rivers. Now it has shrunk to the point that, as you can see, it can easily fit into your own town. That’s how the world goes.

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ACT I Scene i fessenio, alone fessenio: Have you ever noticed? No matter what plans we make, Fate always has something different in mind. Just when we were thinking of settling in Bologna, Lidio, my master, heard that his sister Santilla was alive and here in Italy. His love for her came back in one big rush – love like no brother has ever had for a sister. They were born at the same moment, so, naturally, their faces, their bearing, the way they speak, the way they behave are exactly the same, so that even in Modon, if Lidio were to dress like a girl and Santilla like a boy, not even their mother or their nurse would be able to tell which was which, let alone strangers. When the gods make two people so much alike, it’s not surprising that they love each other more than they love themselves. Lidio had thought his sister was dead, so the moment he found she was alive he started looking for her. About four months ago his search brought him to Rome, where he met this Roman woman, Fulvia, and fell madly in love with her. He had me taken on as a servant by Calandro, her husband, so that I could make the necessary amorous arrangements, which I did without wasting any time, to the lady’s great satisfaction. Fulvia had such a passionate need for him that she’d sometimes have him come to visit her in the middle of the day, dressed as a woman and calling himself Santilla. But now he’s worried that someone might find out about this great flame of theirs, so he’s pretending he doesn’t want to see her, and that he’s about to leave town. But that hasn’t worked; it’s only increased Fulvia’s passion and put her into a rage of love that leaves her without a minute’s peace. She’s convinced that she’s lost him forever, so she’s taken to visiting witches and enchantresses and sorcerers to help her get her lover back. She sometimes sends me to Lidio – and sometimes Samia, her maid, who’s in on everything – with prayers, and gifts, and even the promise that if his sister Santilla is ever found, she’ll marry her to her own son. The way she acts, it’s a miracle her husband hasn’t caught on before now – and he would have if he wasn’t such a dunce. But then I’d be blamed for the whole mess, so it’s in my own interest to look after things.

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I’m trying to do the impossible. No one has ever been able to serve two masters, and here’s me, serving three – the husband, the wife, and my real master. I never have any rest. I don’t complain about that, because if you sit around all day doing nothing you might as well be dead. I know they say a good servant will always keep himself busy, but I don’t even have the time to clean the wax out of my ears. And now, as if I needed more on my plate, I’ve got to deal with a new love affair. I really must speak to Lidio about that … Ah, here he comes. Oh, oh! He’s with Momo di Polinico, his tutor. A storm must be brewing – the dolphins have appeared!4 I’m going to stand over here and find out what they’re talking about. Scene ii polinico, lidio, and fessenio polinico: Oh, Lidio, has it come to this? I would never have thought it of you! Your pursuit of pointless love affairs is making you contemptuous of every kind of virtue. It’s that blessed Fessenio I blame for all this. fessenio: (Aside) What the … ! lidio: Don’t say that, Polinico. polinico: Come, come, Lidio. I know better than you – and certainly better than that rascal of a servant of yours. fessenio: (Aside) By the … ! I’m going … ! I’m going to … ! polinico: A prudent man will always anticipate what might go wrong. fessenio: (Aside) Here we go with one of his famous lessons. polinico: When this love affair of yours becomes common knowledge, not only will you be in grave danger, but everybody will consider you a fool. fessenio: (Aside) Pusillanimous pedagogue! polinico: Vain, trivial people are contemptible objects of ridicule – and that’s what you are, you know, because you’ve fallen in love. And you a foreigner! And whom did you fall in love with? Why, one of the noblest women in the city! Listen to what I say. Flee from this love affair and all its perils. lidio: But I am young, Polinico, and the young are in every respect subject to Love. Serious matters are best left to older people. I can desire only what Love desires. I am trying with all my heart to love

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this noble lady more than myself – and if this were to become known, I believe that many would admire me. Although it is considered unwise for a woman to fall in love with a man of higher rank, a man who loves a woman of a nobler blood is admired for it. fessenio: (Aside) Now there’s a fine answer! polinico: It’s that rogue Fessenio who puts these notions in your head to goad you on. fessenio: (Aloud) You’re the only rogue around here. polinico: I was wondering when you’d swoop in and interfere with the exercise of virtue. fessenio: Oh, well then, I won’t disturb you. polinico: There is nothing worse than seeing the life of a sensible man influenced by the words of a fool. fessenio: I’ve always given him better advice than you have. polinico: A person who behaves as badly as you could never give good advice. It’s well for you that I didn’t know you before, Fessenio – I would never have recommended you to Lidio. fessenio: You think I needed your recommendation? polinico: It’s just as I’ve always thought: it may sometimes be wrong to praise a person, but you’ll never regret censuring him. fessenio: Serves Your Vanityship right for recommending someone you didn’t know. I know this much: I’ve never been mistaken when I’ve talked about you. polinico: So you’ve spoken ill of me? fessenio: You said it yourself. polinico: Enough, I’m not going to quarrel with you. It would be like arguing with the thunder. fessenio: Ah, you admit you’re wrong about me then! polinico: No, I just don’t want to have to use something stronger than words. fessenio: And what could you do to me? In a hundred years … ! polinico: Just you wait! Just you … fessenio: Don’t goad me when I’m already breathing fire …5 polinico: Come on! Come on! … Well … with a servant? I wouldn’t … lidio: Please, Fessenio, that’s enough. fessenio: Don’t threaten me. I may be only a lowly servant, but even a fly can get angry; no hair is too small to cast a shadow; you understand what I’m saying? lidio: Quiet, Fessenio.

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polinico: I’d like to continue with Lidio, if you don’t mind. fessenio: Well, all right, for the sake of peace. polinico: Listen, Lidio. God gave us two ears, and do you know why? So that we can do a lot of listening. fessenio: And He only gave us one mouth to keep us from babbling so much. polinico: I’m not talking to you. When an evil is fresh it can be easily removed, but when it has ripened you can never get rid of it. Do as I say; set yourself free from this affair. lidio: But why? polinico: Because it will give you nothing but trouble. lidio: Why? polinico: Ah me! Don’t you understand? Along with love comes anger, hatred, hostility, discord, ruin, poverty, suspicion, anxiety – pernicious evils for mortal souls. Fly from love! Fly from it! lidio: Alas, Polinico, I cannot! polinico: Why? fessenio: Because of the evils God may inflict on you. lidio: Everything is subject to its power. There is nothing sweeter than the achievement of a lover’s desire. Without love there is no perfection, no virtue, no kindness. fessenio: It couldn’t have been said better. polinico: There is no greater vice in a servant than flattery. And you are listening to him? Listen to me, my dear Lidio! fessenio: Yes, it’s delicious stuff. polinico: Love is like a fire. Sprinkle sulphur on it, or some other noxious thing, and it will make a man ill. lidio: But sprinkle incense, aloe, and amber on the fire, and the scents that arise would resurrect the dead. fessenio: Ahah! Polinico is caught in his own noose. polinico: Lidio, return to what is worthy of praise. fessenio: Go along with the times. That’s what’s worthy of praise. polinico: It is goodness and honesty that are worthy of praise. I’m telling you, you are heading for trouble. fessenio: The prophet has spoken. polinico: Remember: a virtuous soul will not be moved by lust. fessenio: And he won’t run away out of fear either. polinico: You are quite wrong. And as you know very well, it is presumptuous to scorn the advice of a wise man. fessenio: When you call yourself wise you baptize yourself as a fool.

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You should know that there’s nothing more foolish than to try to do the impossible. polinico: It’s better to lose by telling the truth than to win by lying. fessenio: I’m telling the truth just as you do. But I’m not Mr Blame-all, like you. Just because you’ve learned a little Latin,6 you think you can lord it over the rest of us. But you’re no Solomon. Don’t you see – some things suit the old, some the young; some things are for times of danger, some for times of rest. You’re an old man, and you’re telling Lidio to live according to the way you see things now. Lidio is young. Let him do the things young men do. Adapt to the times. Go along with what Lidio wants. polinico: Ah, it is so true: the more servants a man has, the more enemies. This fellow is leading you to the gallows. Let her go, Lidio. Succumb to this evil land you will always feel remorse in your soul. There is no greater torture than to recognize the mistakes one has made. lidio: I cannot let her go, any more than the body can let go of its shadow. polinico: Perhaps it would be better for you to hate her than to leave her. fessenio: Merciful heaven! He can’t carry a calf, and he wants him to carry an ox! polinico: She’ll leave you the moment another comes along. Women are fickle. lidio: No, no! They’re not all alike. polinico: They may not look alike, but deep down they are all the same. lidio: That’s nonsense. polinico: Put them in the dark so you can’t see their faces, and there’s no difference in the world between one and the other. And believe me, never trust what a woman says until she’s dead. fessenio: See? He’s acting the way I was talking about – only more so. polinico: What? fessenio: You’re going along with the times. polinico: I am not. I’m telling Lidio the truth. fessenio: Yes, just like the moon up there. polinico: What do you mean by that? fessenio: I mean that your behaviour is in perfect keeping with the times. polinico: How?

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fessenio: You’re an enemy of women, like just about everyone else in the court. You speak ill of them, and that’s grossly unjust. lidio: Fessenio is right. What you said about women is unacceptable. All the comfort and goodness the world has to offer comes from them; without them we would be useless, clumsy, rough – no better than animals. fessenio: Why do we even need to talk about all this? Surely it’s obvious to everyone that women today are so deserving that we all try to imitate them; we strive to become women, body and soul. polinico: I refuse to answer that. fessenio: Because there’s nothing you can say against it. polinico: Remember, Lidio, to distance yourself from every temptation to sin. I urge you again, for your own good, abandon these pointless love affairs. lidio: Polinico, love allows no resistance, accepts no counsel. It will consume itself rather than withdraw in the face of another’s admonitions. Do you really imagine you can prevent me from loving her? That would be like trying to embrace a shadow, or hold the wind in a net. polinico: I find this so sad! There was a time when you were as pliable as wax, but now you seem as unyielding as the tallest oak. Have you any idea what she is like? Think it over. Depend on it: it will end badly. lidio: I don’t believe it. But even if it were to end badly, didn’t you teach me that the death of a lover is a glorious thing? polinico: That’s enough! You and this idiot can do as you please. To your regret, you will soon discover the perils of love. fessenio: Hold on, Polinico. Do you know what the effects of love are? polinico: What, fool? fessenio: It’s just like truffles: young men get a hard-on and old men fart. lidio: Ha, ha, ha! polinico: Oh, Lidio, will you laugh at him, but pay no attention to what I say? I’ll not talk to you about it any longer. I leave it up to you. I am going. (Exit) fessenio: To hell with him. Did you see the act he put on? The hypocritical clown! As if we didn’t know him! He’s got us all upset, so that I haven’t had a chance to tell you my nice bit of gossip about Calandro.

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lidio: Tell me, tell me. I need something sweet to take away the bitterness Polinico has left with us. Scene iii lidio and fessenio lidio: Come on, speak up. fessenio: Calandro, your beloved Fulvia’s husband, and my supposed master – that neutered ram whose head you have planted with goat’s horns – now that he has seen you decked out as Santilla in your women’s garb on your way to Fulvia’s, well, now he’s fallen in love with you. He has asked me to do everything in my power to obtain his beloved – you, that is. So I’ve pretended to be hard at work on the matter, giving him hope that I would bring her to him today. lidio: That’s hilarious! Ha, ha, ha! Come to think of it, he followed me for a while the other day when I left Fulvia in my woman’s garments. I didn’t realize it was because he was in love with me. We must keep this thing going. fessenio: Just leave it to me. I’ll look after it for you. I’ll remind him about the miracles I’ve already performed for him. Don’t worry, Lidio, he’ll swallow everything I feed him. All the time I make him believe the stupidest things in the world, simply because he’s such a fool.7 There are a thousand imbecilities of his I could tell you about. I won’t give you the details, but he’s such a nincompoop that if Solomon, Aristotle, or Seneca had uttered just one of his thoughts, they would have discredited the sum of their wisdom. You know what I find most ridiculous about him? He thinks he’s so handsome and attractive that every woman who sees him falls in love with him – as if there weren’t dozens in the city more handsome than he is. You know the old saying: if he ate hay he’d be an ox. He’s not much better than Martino da Amelia or Giovanni Manente. As for this love affair of his, we’ll have no trouble bringing him where we want him. lidio: Ha, ha, ha! I’ll die laughing. But wait: if he thinks I’m a woman instead of a man, what will happen when he comes to visit me? fessenio: Let me take care of that. Everything will be fine. Oh, oh, look! There he is. Go away so that he doesn’t see me with you.

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Scene iv calandro and fessenio calandro: Fessenio! fessenio: Who’s that calling me? Oh, master! calandro: Well? Tell me: what of Santilla? fessenio: What did you say? What of Santilla? calandro: Yes. fessenio: I’m not sure, but I think that a dress, a blouse, an apron, some gloves, even a pair of slippers belong to Santilla. calandro: Gloves? Slippers? What are you talking about? Are you drunk? I didn’t ask you what belongs to her, but how she is. fessenio: Oh, you want to know how she is! calandro: Yes. fessenio: Well, when I saw her a while ago she was … Wait … she sat there with her hand to her cheek. She listened closely as I talked to her about you. Her eyes were open, and her mouth too, and her tongue stuck out a little, like this. calandro: That’s the answer I was hoping for. But enough about that – so, she was quite happy to listen to you? fessenio: ‘Listen to me?’ Are you kidding? I’ve already set it up: in a few hours you’ll have what you’ve been looking for. Is there anything else you’d like me to do? calandro: Well done, my dear Fessenio. fessenio: I hope so. calandro: Good, good. Help me, Fessenio, I am feeling ill. fessenio: Oh dear, master! Do you have a fever? Let me see. calandro: No, no! A fever, you fool? I’m just saying that Santilla has hit me hard. fessenio: Did she beat you up? calandro: Oh, you’re such a blockhead … ! I’m saying that I’ve really fallen for her. fessenio: Well, you’ll soon be with her. calandro: Let’s go see her then. fessenio: There are still some problems to be dealt with. calandro: Don’t waste any time. fessenio: I won’t sleep on the job. calandro: Off with you, then. fessenio: You’ll see. I’ll be right back with the answer. Goodbye. (Exit

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calandro) Just look at our fine suitor! Ha, ha, ha! What a situation – husband and wife both pining for the same lover. Oh, oh! Something’s up. Here’s Samia, Fulvia’s maid, coming out of the house. She looks angry. And she knows what’s going on. I’ll find out from her what’s happening inside. Scene v fessenio and samia fessenio: Samia! O Samia! Samia, wait! samia: O Fessenio! fessenio: What’s happening in the house? samia: Things are not going well for my mistress. fessenio: What is it? samia: She’s a mess. fessenio: What’s bothering her? samia: Don’t make me say it. fessenio: What? samia: She’s far too … fessenio: Too what? samia: … ravenous for … fessenio: Ravenous for what? samia: … some pleasure with her Lidio. Do you understand now? fessenio: Of course! I knew that as well as you did. samia: But there’s something else, and this is something you don’t know. fessenio: What’s that? samia: She’s sending me to someone who can make Lidio do what she wants. fessenio: How? samia: By a … chantment. fessenio: A … chant? samia: Yes. fessenio: And who is the singer? samia: What do you mean, ‘singer’? I’m telling you I’m off to see someone who’ll see to it that he makes love, even if it kills him. fessenio: Who’s that? samia: Ruffo the sorcerer. He can do anything he wants. fessenio: Like what?

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samia: He has a … favilium … a … talking spirit. fessenio: You mean a ‘familiar’? samia: I don’t know how to say these words. My sole purpose is to bring him to my lady. Now goodbye. Shhh … Don’t say anything about it. fessenio: Don’t worry. Goodbye. Scene vi samia and ruffo samia: It’s still early and Ruffo hasn’t come back for supper yet. I’d better see if he’s in the piazza. Oh, what luck! I see him over there. Ruffo! Ruffo! Don’t you hear? Ruffo! ruffo: I’m looking around, but I don’t see who’s calling me. samia: Wait. ruffo: Who’s that? samia: You’ve made me sweat all over. ruffo: Well, what do you want? samia: My mistress wants you to come and see her right away. ruffo: And who’s your mistress? samia: Fulvia. ruffo: Calandro’s wife? samia: Yes, that’s her. ruffo: What does she want from me? samia: She’ll tell you. ruffo: She lives in the piazza, doesn’t she? samia: It’s just a few steps away. Let’s go. ruffo: You go ahead. I’ll follow you. (Exit Samia) I wonder if she’s one of those fools who thinks I’m a sorcerer, and that I have a familiar spirit, as many idiots say. No harm in listening to what she wants. I’ll go into her house before those two get here. Scene vii fessenio and calandro fessenio: It’s clear to me now: the gods have buffoons, just as mortals do. Love, who usually ensnares the hearts of the sensitive, has made his nest in that fool Calandro, and he’s not going to leave. It’s not very smart of Cupid to take up residence in such a blockhead. But he

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has a purpose in mind: among lovers, this fellow can be like a donkey among monkeys. And could he have put the task in better hands? He’s got his feathers stuck in the birdlime. calandro: Fessenio! Fessenio! fessenio: Who’s that calling me? O master! calandro: Have you seen Santilla? fessenio: I have. calandro: What do you think? fessenio: I think you have good taste. I’d say she is the prettiest thing in Maremma.8 Do everything you can to win her. calandro: I’ll win her if I have to walk naked and barefoot to do it. fessenio: (Aside) What fine words! Listen and learn, you lovers! calandro: If I ever win her, I’ll eat her up. fessenio: Eat her? Ooh, Calandro, have pity on her! Wild beasts may eat wild beasts, but men don’t eat women. It’s true that you can drink a woman – but not eat her. calandro: What do you mean ‘drink a woman’? fessenio: Just what I said: you can drink her. calandro: How? fessenio: You don’t know? calandro: No, not at all. fessenio: Oh, what a shame! A man like you who doesn’t know how to drink a woman! calandro: Please, show me how. fessenio: Well, then. When you kiss her, don’t you suck at her? calandro: Yes. fessenio: And don’t you suck when you drink? calandro: Yes. fessenio: Well then, if you suck a woman when you kiss her, you must be drinking her. calandro: I see what you mean! My goodness! But I’ve never drunk my Fulvia, and I’ve kissed her a thousand times. fessenio: Oh, well, you’ve never drunk her because she kissed you at the same time, and she sucked as much out of you as you sucked out of her. So you didn’t drink her, and she didn’t drink you either. calandro: I can see now that you know more than Orlando9 himself, Fessenio. That’s exactly how it’s happened: I’ve never kissed her without her kissing me back. fessenio: Well, you can see, then, that I’m telling you the truth. calandro: But tell me. I once knew a Spanish lady who was always kissing my hands. Why did she want to drink them?

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fessenio: Ah, not many know that secret! Spaniards kiss your hands not to show their love for you or to drink your hands. No, they do it to suck the rings from your fingers. calandro: O Fessenio, Fessenio, you know more secrets than women do … fessenio: (Aside) Especially your wife’s secrets. calandro: … more than architects! fessenio: Huh? Architects? calandro: That Spanish woman drank two rings of mine. I swear to God, from now on I’ll take care not to let anyone drink me. fessenio: Good idea. calandro: No woman will kiss me without my kissing her. fessenio: Careful, Calandro: if someone were to drink your nose, or your cheek, or one of your eyes, it would make you the ugliest man in the world. calandro: I’ll be very careful. Now, I must have my Santilla in my arms; please do whatever you have to. fessenio: I’ll take care of it. I’ll get it done right away. calandro: All right. But quickly! fessenio: It won’t take me long to get there. I’ll be back soon and I’ll have it all fixed up. Scene viii ruffo, alone ruffo: Never despair. Fortune often comes along when you least expect it. It was just as I thought: this woman believes that I have a familiar spirit. She’s madly in love with a young man, and when she can’t find any other remedy, she comes to me. She begs me to make him go to her during the day, dressed as a woman. She promises me a lot of money if I do what she wants. And I think I may be able to do it. Her lover is the Greek, Lidio, a friend and acquaintance of mine – we both come from the same place. Fannio, his servant, is my friend as well. So I’m hopeful that I’ll to be able to steer this thing into port. I didn’t promise her anything because I want to speak to Lidio first. Fortune will be raining into my lap if she is taken in by Lidio as she has been by me. I should get over to Perillo the Florentine merchant’s house where Lidio is staying. Not a bad time to find him, either; it’s suppertime.

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ACT II Scene i santilla, dressed as a man,10 fannio, and tiresia santilla: It’s clear as day: men are much better off than women. I know this by experience – more than most people do. Ever since the day the Turks set fire to our hometown of Modon, I’ve dressed as a man and called myself Lidio – that’s the name of my sweet brother. Since then, everyone has taken me for a man and, as luck would have it, things have gone well. If I had kept the name and dress of a woman – which is what I am – the Turks would never have sold us, and Perillo could never have ransomed us. We would have remained the pitiable slaves we were forever. I tell you, if I were indeed a man instead of a woman, we would live in continual peace and tranquility. As you know, Perillo thinks I am a man. I’ve served him faithfully, and he knows it. And he loves me so much that he wants to give me his only daughter, Virginia, to be my wife, and bequeath everything he has to her. Perillo’s nephew tells me that he wants the marriage to take place tomorrow or the day after. I need to talk about this with you, Tiresia, my nurse, and you, Fannio, my servant, and that’s why I’ve brought you out of the house. As you can imagine, I find all this very troubling. I don’t know whether … fannio: Ssh, be quiet. There’s a woman coming this way. We don’t want her to hear what we’re talking about. Ah, she looks so sad! Scene ii santilla, dressed as a man, samia, fannio, and tiresia samia: (Alone) I swear, she feels him in her bones! She told me she saw her Lidio from the window, and sent me to speak to him. There he is over there. I’ll get him. – Good day, sir. santilla: Hello. samia: Just a few words. santilla: Who are you? samia: You’re asking me who I am? santilla: Well I don’t know you, so I want to find out. samia: You’ll know soon.

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santilla: What do you want? samia: My mistress begs you to love her as much as she loves you, and to come and see her as soon as you can. santilla: I don’t understand. Who is your mistress? samia: O Lidio, you want to torture me? santilla: Rather, you’re torturing me! samia: Well, dear God! You don’t know Fulvia, then – and you don’t know me. Come, come! What do you want me to tell her? santilla: My good lady, until you tell me a little more, I can’t give you any more answers. samia: Oh, you pretend you don’t understand, do you? santilla: I don’t understand you, I don’t know you, and I have no wish to either know or understand you. Now go in peace. samia: You are being careful, of course. By the cross of God, I’ll sing your praises when I report to her. santilla: Tell her whatever you want, but get along and leave me alone. And the devil take both of you. samia: You must see her at once. (Aside) You’ll be seeing her, anyway, even if it kills you, you despicable little Greek, because she’s sent me to the sorcerer, and if the spirit says so, Fulvia will be the winner. (Exit Samia) santilla: Oh, wretched and pitiable is a woman’s fate! But it is so that I can understand and lament the misfortune of my being a woman that these torments have come upon me. fannio: Still, we should have listened to what that woman had to say. It wouldn’t have hurt. santilla: When we have a greater concern all others are driven away. But if she were to speak to me again, I would be more courteous. fannio: I know that woman. santilla: Who is she? fannio: She’s Samia, the servant of a Roman noblewoman named Fulvia. santilla: Oh, I know her too. That’s too bad! She did mention Fulvia. Scene iii santilla, dressed as a man, tiresia, fannio, and ruffo ruffo: Ahah! santilla: Who is this?

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ruffo: I’ve been looking for you for some time now. fannio: Hello, Ruffo. What’s going on? ruffo: Something good. fannio: What? ruffo: Well, I’ll tell you … santilla: Wait, Ruffo. – Listen, Tiresia. Go home and find out what our master Perillo is doing about this marriage of mine. When Fannio gets there, tell him what is happening so that he can come back and let me know. I don’t want anyone to see me today. I want to test the truth of the old saying, ‘He who has time has life.’ Go along. – All right now, Ruffo, tell us your good news. ruffo: We haven’t known each other for very long, but we’re all from the same place, after all – and I’m very fond of you. The heavens have sent us all a golden opportunity. santilla: We’re fond of you too, that goes without saying, and we always will be. What is it you want to tell us? ruffo: Well, the short version is this: Lidio, there’s a woman who’s in love with you. She wants you to be hers, just as she feels she is yours. Nothing she’s done so far has made it happen, though, so she has come to me. She’s asked me to help because I’ve become known among women, who are easily taken in by such things, as a noble practitioner of the black arts, as a crafter of spells and works of magic, as one who is versed in the arts of palmistry. They are convinced that I possess a familiar spirit that enables me to do or undo anything I want. I am quite happy to allow this to continue, because I often gain great profit from these simpletons, and sometimes they reward me with special pleasures. If you are agreeable, I will treat this lady the same way I do the others. She wants me to compel you to go to her, and, thinking that I could probably come to an understanding with you, I’ve given her some hope. If you want, then, not only will we become rich together, but you can have some pleasure with her. santilla: Ruffo, I understand that these matters can involve a lot of fraud – and I’m rather inexperienced, so I could easily be taken in. But I trust you; if you’re the one acting as the go-between, once I’ve decided to do it I’ll stick with it. Fannio and I will think about it. Tell me, who is the lady? ruffo: Her name is Fulvia, and she’s rich, noble, and beautiful. fannio: Oh, that’s the mistress of the woman who just spoke to you. santilla: Yes, that’s right.

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ruffo: What’s that? Her servant spoke to you? santilla: Yes, just now. ruffo: What did you say to her? santilla: I spoke rather rudely and got rid of her. ruffo: That may have been quite appropriate, but if we’re going to succeed, you must be more polite with her in the future. santilla: We will. fannio: Tell me, Ruffo, when should Lidio meet with her? ruffo: The sooner the better. fannio: What time? ruffo: Sometime during the day. santilla: Oh, but I would be seen! ruffo: I know, but she asked me to instruct my spirit to have you visit her as a woman. fannio: She wants your spirit to change her into a woman? But then what does she want to do with him? ruffo: I think she meant dressed as a woman, not changed into a woman. Anyway, that’s what she said. santilla: It’s a fine scheme. Don’t you think so, Fannio? fannio: It’s very good. I like it a lot. ruffo: Well, do you want to do it? santilla: We’ll let you know in a little while. ruffo: Where shall we meet? fannio: Right here. santilla: Whoever arrives first will wait for the other. ruffo: That’s fine. Goodbye. Scene iv santilla, dressed as a man, and fannio fannio: You wanted to keep out of sight today – well, heaven is providing you with a chance to do just that. If you visit this lady, Jove himself won’t be able to find you. Besides, if you find out that she’s a whore, she’ll pay money to keep you quiet. And anyway, it’s a joke. You’re a woman. She wants you to go to her looking like a woman – which is what you will do. When she tries to get what she wants, she’ll find something she doesn’t want. santilla: Shall we do it? fannio: I’m not saying no.

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santilla: All right then. You go home, find out what’s happening there, and hunt me out some clothes to dress in. I’ll be over in Franzino’s shop. When we meet Ruffo, we’ll agree to his scheme. fannio: Away you go. There’s someone coming this way. Maybe Perillo sent him to look for you. santilla: He’s not one of our household – but you’re right. Scene v fulvia and fessenio fessenio: There’s Fulvia at the door. I’ll go tell her that Lidio plans to leave town and see how she reacts. fulvia: Oh, Fessenio, I’m so glad you’re here. Tell me, what’s happened to my Lidio? fessenio: He seems different. fulvia: Oh dear! What’s the matter? Please tell me. fessenio: He’s thinking he should set off to look for his sister Santilla … fulvia: Oh, poor me! He wants to leave? fessenio: … and now he’s decided to do it. fulvia: My dear Fessenio, if you want advantages for yourself, if you love what is good for Lidio, if you care about my welfare, find him, persuade him, beg him, beseech him, force him not to leave for that reason. I will send my people all over Italy looking for her. As I have said to you before, dearest Fessenio, and as I say to you again, if she is found, I will give my only son Flaminio to her for a husband – upon my faith I will! fessenio: Is that a promise you’d like me to pass on to him? fulvia: I swear to it; I guarantee it. fessenio: He’d like that; I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear it. fulvia: If you don’t help me with him I’m done for. Beg him to save my life – after all, it belongs to him. fessenio: I’ll do what you’ve asked me to. He’s at home now, so I’ll go talk to him there. fulvia: You’ll be doing it as much for yourself as for me, my dear Fessenio. Goodbye. (Exit Fulvia) fessenio: All things considered, she’s coping pretty well. By God, it’s time I took pity on her. It’s a good thing Lidio is visiting her today – dressed as a woman, as he usually does. And he’s doing it because he

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wants it just as much as she does. But first I must do what Calandro asked me. Ah, here he is! I’ll tell him it’s all taken care of. Scene vi fessenio and calandro fessenio: Greetings, master. You’re saved – and I’m your saviour. Shake my hand. calandro: Your hand, and your feet as well. fessenio: (Aside) Would you believe the quick wit that flows from his mouth? calandro: Well, what? fessenio: What did she say? The world is yours; embrace your happiness. calandro: What are you telling me? fessenio: I am telling you that Santilla will come. She loves you, and yearns to be with you even more than you want to be with her. I told her how generous and handsome and wise you are, and ahah! Now she wants exactly what you want. The moment I mentioned your name she started blushing for love of you. Listen, you’re going to be very happy. calandro: Oh, no question about it! I can hardly wait to suck those vermilion lips, and those cheeks of wine and ricotta cheese. fessenio: Good! (Aside) Maybe he meant blood and milk. calandro: Ah, Fessenio, I will make you emperor! fessenio: (Aside) How graciously our friend accepts our gift! calandro: Now let’s go to her. fessenio: What do you mean ‘go to her’? You think she’s some kind of whore? You’ve got to take your time. calandro: How shall we go, then? fessenio: On foot. calandro: I know that, but how should we behave? fessenio: Well, you must realize that you’ll be seen if you visit her openly. To make sure you won’t be discovered and she won’t be disgraced, we’ve decided to lock you in a chest to get you there. Once they bring you into her room you can enjoy each other any way you want. calandro: You see? You said I’d be going there on foot, but now you say I won’t.

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fessenio: Zounds! A shrewd lover! You’re right. calandro: It won’t take long, will it, Fessenio? fessenio: No, no, my dear little fool. calandro: Tell me, will the chest be big enough? fessenio: What does that matter? If you don’t fit, we’ll cut you into pieces. calandro: Into pieces? fessenio: Yes, into pieces! calandro: How? fessenio: Easily. calandro: Tell me. fessenio: You don’t know how? calandro: No, by my faith. fessenio: You’d know how if you were a sailor. You’d have seen how, when they have hundreds of people to put in a small boat, but they don’t fit, they disconnect the hands from some, and the arms or legs from others, depending on what they need. Then they pack them in layers, just like other goods. That way they don’t take up much room. calandro: And then? fessenio: Then, when you reach port, if you want your arm or your leg – or any other part – you just pick it up and put it back in its place. Sometimes it happens that one person will take another’s, either accidentally or as a joke, and put it where it feels best. It doesn’t always work out too well, though, because the part he picks up might be bigger than what he needs, or the leg will be shorter than his own, and that will make him lame, or spoil his shape. You see what I mean? calandro: Yes, of course. Hey! I’d better be careful, while I’m in the chest, that nobody exchanges my pecker for his own. fessenio: Well, you’ll be alone in there, so unless you change it yourself no one else is going to do it, that’s for sure. If you don’t fit in completely, we can disconnect your legs, the way they do at sea. You won’t be needing them, anyway, since the porters will be carrying you. calandro: Where do they disconnect you? fessenio: Wherever there’s a joint – here, here, and here. Do you want to know how? calandro: Please. fessenio: I’ll show you. It’s easy, and it won’t take long. They do it with a little spell. Now repeat what I say – but quietly, because if you shout, everything will be ruined.

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calandro: Don’t worry. fessenio: Give me your hand. Now say ‘Ambracullac.’11 calandro: Anculabrac. fessenio: No, no, that was wrong. Say ‘Ambracullac.’ calandro: Alabracuc. fessenio: That’s worse! Ambracullac. calandro: Alucambrac. fessenio: Oh, my God! Look, say it like this: Am … calandro: Am … fessenio: … bra … calandro: … bra … fessenio: … cul … calandro: … cul … fessenio: … lac … calandro: … lac … fessenio: Bu … calandro: Bu … fessenio: … fo … calandro: … fo … fessenio: … la … calandro: … la … fessenio: … ccio … calandro: … ccio … fessenio: … or … calandro: … or … fessenio: … te la … calandro: … te la … fessenio: … do. calandro: Oh! Oh! Oh! Ooh! Ooh! Oh dear! fessenio: You’d spoil anything. Damn that memory of yours! And you’re so impatient! God’s pisspot, man, didn’t I just tell you not to shout? You’ve ruined the incantation. calandro: And you’ve ruined my arm. fessenio: You know what? You’ll never be able to get disconnected now. calandro: What will I do, then? fessenio: I’ll have to get a chest big enough for all of you to fit inside. calandro: Oh, that’s good. For the love of God, go and find it so that I don’t have to be taken apart! My arm is killing me. fessenio: I’ll look after it right away.

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calandro: I’m going to the market right now, but I’ll be right back. fessenio: All right. Goodbye. (Exit Calandro) Now I’ve got to find Lidio so that we can work out the details. We’ll be laughing about it for a year. But there’s Samia at the door, muttering to herself. I don’t want to talk to her, so I’ll be on my way. Scene vii fulvia and samia samia: Isn’t it always the way! It wasn’t more than a month ago that Lidio was yearning for my mistress and wanted to be with her every single minute. Then as soon as he sees that she’s totally in love with him, he treats her like dirt. If we don’t take care of this, Fulvia is sure to do something stupid and the whole city will find out about it. Calandro’s brothers may already have gotten wind of it. Lidio, Lidio, Lidio – that’s all she cares for, all she thinks of, all she talks about. It’s true what they say: love in your bosom puts spurs in your side. I pray to heaven that all this has a happy ending. fulvia: Samia! samia: Listen to her: she’s calling me from upstairs. She must have seen Lidio from the window. I see he’s over there talking to someone, but I’m not sure who. Maybe she wants to send me back to Ruffo. fulvia: Saaamia! samia: I’m coooming! Scene viii santilla, dressed as a man, and fannio santilla: That’s what Tiresia told you? fannio: Yes. santilla: That they’re talking about my wedding as if it’s all settled? fannio: That’s it. santilla: And how is Virginia? Is she happy? fannio: She’s head over heels. santilla: And they’re getting ready for the wedding? fannio: The whole household is bustling. santilla: And they think I’m happy about it?

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fannio: They’re sure of it. santilla: Oh, wretched Santilla! What’s good for others is harmful only to me. The kindliness of Perillo and his wife towards me is like a sharp arrow, because I cannot fulfill their wishes! If only I could, it would make me happy too. Alas! If only God had given me darkness instead of light, death instead of life, a grave instead of a cradle the moment I emerged from my mother’s womb! Would that I had been fated to die the moment I was born. Oh, how endlessly blessed were you, my sweetest brother, to have been left for dead back home – or so I believe! Now what shall poor Santilla do? And that is what I must call myself from now on, no longer Lidio. Here I am, a woman, and about to become a husband. If I marry her, she will know right away that I’m a woman and not a man. Because of me, father, mother, and daughter will all be disgraced. And they could have me killed. Yet I cannot refuse to marry her. To do so would enrage them, and they would consign me to hell. If I reveal that I’m a woman, it’s myself I’ll harm. I can’t go on like this. I’m so miserable! On one side is the abyss, on the other the wolves. fannio: Don’t despair. Perhaps heaven won’t abandon you. I think you should follow your own advice and stay out of Perillo’s way today. The visit to that lady comes at just the right time. I have the clothes you need to dress as a woman. Avoid one pitfall and you avoid a thousand. santilla: I will do whatever’s necessary. But where is Ruffo? fannio: We agreed that whoever got here first would wait for the other. santilla: It’s better for him to wait for us. Let’s get out of here so that that person over there doesn’t see us. He may have been sent by Perillo to look for me, although he doesn’t look like any of the household. Scene ix calandro and fessenio fessenio: The arrangements couldn’t be neater. Lidio is dressing himself in women’s clothing, and he’ll wait for Calandro in the downstairs bedroom. He’ll act the part of an elegant young lady. Then, when the time comes to do what they’re there for, he’ll close the shutters so that it’s dark, and we’ll slip a whore into bed beside

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Calandro. The fellow is such a fool that he couldn’t tell a donkey from a nightingale. Here he comes, happy as a clam. – May the heavens be good to you, master. calandro: You too, my dear Fessenio. Is the chest ready? fessenio: Everything’s ready. And you’ll fit in without disturbing a hair, so long as we pack you properly. calandro: Good! But there’s one thing I’m not clear about. fessenio: What’s that? calandro: Will I be awake or asleep when I’m in the chest? fessenio: Well, what a clever question! What do you mean, awake or asleep? Surely you understand: if you’re on a horse you stay awake, in the street you walk, at the table you eat, on a bench you sit, in bed you sleep, and in a chest you die. calandro: What? You die? fessenio: But of course. Why? calandro: What a bitch! That’s awful! fessenio: Have you never died before? calandro: Not that I know of. fessenio: How do you know dying’s bad if you’ve never done it? calandro: But have you ever died? fessenio: Oh, thousands of times! calandro: Isn’t it very painful? fessenio: It’s just like sleeping. calandro: Do I have to die? fessenio: Yes, when you get into the chest. calandro: And who’s going to help me die? fessenio: You can die all on your own. calandro: How does a person die? fessenio: Oh, dying is easy. If you don’t know how, I’ll be glad to tell you all about it. calandro: Yes, please, tell me. fessenio: First close your eyes. You cross your hands on your chest, and then you spread your arms. You stay quiet, and you keep very still. You don’t see anything that other people do or hear anything they say. calandro: Yes, I understand. But then the question is, how do you come back to life? fessenio: That’s one of the world’s most profound secrets; very few people know it. And I would never tell it to just anyone, but rest as-

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sured that I’ll be happy to tell it to you. On your faith, my dear Calandro, you must never tell anyone in the world. calandro: I won’t tell anyone. I swear it. If you want, I won’t even tell it to myself. fessenio: Oh, I’m quite happy to let you tell yourself – but only in one ear, not the other. calandro: All right, tell me. fessenio: As you know, Calandro, the difference between a dead person and a live one is that the dead person never moves, while the live one does. Now if you do as I tell you, you will always come back to life. calandro: Go on, tell me. fessenio: First turn your face towards the sky, then spit upward. Then shake like this, with your whole body. Then open your eyes, say something, and move your arms and legs. When you’ve done that, death will go away and you will return to life. You can depend on it, Calandro, if you do this, you will never, never be dead. Now you can say that you know the best secret, not just in Maremma, but in the whole world.12 calandro: Oh, thank you. Now I’ll be able to live and die as I please. fessenio: Of course, my baboon – oops, excuse me – my master. calandro: I will do everything just as you told me. fessenio: I’m sure you will. calandro: To make certain that I’ve got it right, do you want me to try it? fessenio: Sure, it wouldn’t hurt. But do it properly. calandro: You’ll see. Watch. Here I go. fessenio: Twist your mouth. A little more. Twist harder. The other way. Now lower. Aah! Now you can die when and as you please. Oh, very good. What a fine thing it is to deal with a wise man! What a brave man! I can’t imagine anyone who could learn how to die as well as he. To all appearances, he has done an excellent job of it. If he has died that well on the inside, I can do anything I want to him and he won’t feel it. That’s how I’ll be able to tell. (Zap!) Fine. (Zap!) Very good. (Zap!) Excellent. Calandro! Hey, Calandro! Calandro! calandro: I’m dead. I’m dead. fessenio: Come back to life. Come on; come on back to life. Come on. My goodness, you do a wonderful job of dying. Now spit … upward. calandro: Oh! Oh! Uh! Oh! Uh! Uh! You shouldn’t have brought me back to life.

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fessenio: Why? calandro: I was beginning to see the world on the other side. fessenio: You’ll get a good look at it at your leisure, in the chest. calandro: I can’t wait. fessenio: Come on, now that you’re an expert in dying and coming back to life there’s no time to waste. calandro: All right. Let’s go. fessenio: No, no! We must do all this in such a way that Fulvia doesn’t realize it’s happening. You must tell her that you’re going to the country, but you’ll come to Menicuccio’s house instead. I’ll be there, and I’ll bring everything we need. calandro: Right. I’ll do that. The beast is ready. fessenio: You have it all ready? Let’s see it. calandro: Ha, ha! I meant that the mule is at the door, already saddled. fessenio: Oh! Ha, ha, ha! I thought you meant your new beast of burden. calandro: I can hardly wait to go for a ride … on that little angel of paradise. fessenio: Little angel, eh? Away you go. (Exit Calandro) Unless I’m mistaken, today’s the day for stupidity to wallow with the pigs. And now I’ve got to get my horse and ride on ahead so that I can tell our sweet little pig to get ready and wait for me. Oh, oh! I see that Calandro is already mounted. That young mule’s strength is really miraculous if it can carry an elephant as ugly as that. Scene x calandro and fulvia calandro: Fulvia! O Fulvia! fulvia: What do you want, my lord? calandro: Come to the window. fulvia: What is it? calandro: Do you want anything else? I’m going to the country to see that Flaminio doesn’t spend all his time hunting. fulvia: Fine. When will you be back? calandro: Perhaps tonight. Goodbye. fulvia: Go in peace … (Alone) … to the devil. What a charming husband my brothers foisted on me! It makes me sick just to look at him.

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ACT III Scene i fessenio, alone, carrying some clothing fessenio: Here they are, ladies and gentlemen – the spoils of love. If you want to acquire courtliness, perspicacity, and shrewdness, you should buy these clothes and wear them for a while. They belong to the charming Calandro, so clever that he fell in love with a young man, believing him to be a girl; he is so godlike that he can die and come back to life as he pleases. If you want to buy them, just hand me the money. I’m free to sell them because the man they belonged to has left this life. He gave himself to death before the chest even arrived. Ha, ha, ha! Lidio has dressed himself as a rather elegant woman and is happily awaiting her handsome lover, who, to tell you the truth, is as bashful as Bramante.13 I rode ahead to make sure I’d be here in time to meet the whore I ordered for this affair. Ah, here she comes. And there’s the porter with the chest, as well. He thinks he’s carrying some precious merchandise – he doesn’t know it’s the vilest stuff in the land. No one wants the clothes? No? Farewell then, folks. I’ll go join the castrated ram and his sow. Have a good evening. Scene ii sofilla, fessenio, porter, customs officer, and calandro sofilla: Here I am, Fessenio. Let’s go. fessenio: Let’s let our chest go first. – No, not that way, porter. Go straight on. sofilla: What’s inside? fessenio: It’s some stuff for you, sweetheart. sofilla: What kind of stuff? fessenio: Some silk and other fabrics. sofilla: Who do they belong to? fessenio: They belong to the one you’ll be wallowing around with, my pretty one. sofilla: Oh, will he give me some? fessenio: Yes, if you do what I asked you to, and do it well. sofilla: Let me take care of that.

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fessenio: Most of all remember that your name is Santilla – and remember everything else I told you as well. sofilla: I won’t miss a hair of it. fessenio: Otherwise you won’t get a penny. sofilla: I’ll do everything just the way you want it. Hey, what do those officers want with the porter? fessenio: Oh, no! Quiet! Keep still and listen. customs officer: Come on, tell us what’s inside. porter: How do I know? customs officer: Have you reported to customs? porter: Not me. customs officer: What’s inside? Hurry up, tell us. porter: I didn’t see it when it was open. customs officer: Tell us, you loafer. porter: I was told there was some silk and other stuff. customs officer: Silk? porter: Yes. customs officer: Is it locked? porter: I don’t think so. customs officer: You have to pay duty on it. Put it down. porter: What! No, sir. customs officer: Put it down, loafer! Do you want us to beat you up? fessenio: Oh no! Things are going badly. Our plan is spoiled. Everything is going sour. The whole thing has been exposed. We’re ruined. sofilla: What is it? fessenio: Our scheme is foiled. sofilla: Tell me, Fessenio, what is it? fessenio: Sofilla, you have to help me in this. sofilla: What do you want me to do? fessenio: Start crying, moaning, shouting, tearing your hair. Go on, just do it. sofilla: Why? fessenio: You’ll find out soon. sofilla: All right! Oh, oh! Ooh! Oooh! customs officer: Hey, there’s a dead man in here! fessenio: You there! What are you doing? What are you looking for? customs officer: The porter told us there were goods in here that are subject to duty, and now we find there’s a corpse. fessenio: It’s a corpse, all right.

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customs officer: Whose is it? fessenio: It’s this poor wretch’s husband. You can see how distraught she is. customs officer: Why are you carrying him around in a chest like that? fessenio: To tell you the truth, it’s to fool people. customs officer: Why? fessenio: Well, if we hadn’t, they would have chased us away. customs officer: But why? fessenio: Because he died of the plague. customs officer: The plague? Oh my God, and I touched him! fessenio: Ooh, that’s really too bad. customs officer: Where are you taking him? fessenio: We’ll find some ditch to bury him in. Or we’ll throw him, chest and all, into the river. calandro: Oh! Whoa! Whoo! What, drown me? Bloody scoundrels, not me; I’m not dead! fessenio: That scattered them all, silly fools. – Sofilla! Porter! Sofilla! Porter! – Ah, you’ll never catch them! The devil couldn’t turn them around. That’s what happens when you get involved with nutcases, so to hell with it! Scene iii calandro and fessenio calandro: Fessenio, you scoundrel, you wanted to drown me, eh? fessenio: Hey, hey, master, why are you hitting me like that? calandro: What, you ask me why, you rogue? fessenio: Yes. Why? calandro: Because you deserve it, you miserable scoundrel! fessenio: It’s sad but true: do someone a good deed and he’ll always reward you with evil. You hurt me because I saved you? calandro: What kind of saving is this? fessenio: What do you mean? I said all that so you wouldn’t be taken to the customs office. calandro: What would have happened if they’d taken me there? fessenio: What would have happened? I should have let them have you, then you’d have found out. calandro: Was there a problem?

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fessenio: Were you born yesterday? You were caught smuggling yourself. You were caught! They would have sold you off like common contraband. calandro: Bu-u-u-t … well … then you did very well, Fessenio. Forgive me. fessenio: Next time wait to see how it turns out before you get mad. If I don’t get back at you for this, well, it’s my loss. calandro: I will, I will. Who was that woman who ran away? My goodness she was ugly! fessenio: Who was she? You didn’t recognize her? calandro: No. fessenio: That was Death. She was in the chest with you. calandro: With me? fessenio: Yes, with you. calandro: What? I never saw her there. fessenio: Ha! That’s a good one! Look: you don’t see sleep while you’re sleeping, or thirst while you’re drinking, or hunger while you’re eating. And tell the truth, now, you don’t see life when you’re alive, do you? Even though it’s there all the time. calandro: Of course I don’t see it. fessenio: It’s the same with Death. You don’t see it when you die. calandro: Why did the porter run away? fessenio: He was afraid of Death. Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t see Santilla today. calandro: I’ll die if I can’t be with her. fessenio: I don’t know what you can do … unless you’re prepared to go to a little trouble. calandro: Fessenio, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be with her. I’d even go barefoot to bed! fessenio: Ha, ha! Barefoot in bed, eh? That’s too much. God wouldn’t like that. calandro: Please, tell me what to do. fessenio: All right, then. You’ll have to be a porter. You’ve changed all your clothes, and your face has changed because you’ve been dead for a while, so no one will recognize you. I’ll introduce myself as a cabinetmaker and say that I built the chest. Santilla is as wise as a sibyl, so she’ll understand right away what we’re up to. As for the two of you, just do what has to be done. calandro: Well, you’ve thought of everything! For the sake of her love I’d carry a pair of baskets, like a donkey.

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fessenio: But has he got the back for it? – All right, pick it up. Wait. Oh, dammit, you’re falling. Hold still. Do you have hold of it? calandro: Yes, yes! fessenio: Let’s go then. You go ahead. Stop at the door. I’ll follow behind you. (Exit Calandro) He looks very good as a donkey. Big idiot! While I’m bringing in the whore from the back door, Lidio will have to let himself be kissed. But if Calandro’s kisses bother Lidio, Fulvia’s will seem that much more pleasant. There’s Samia. She didn’t see Calandro. I’ll talk to her a little. And meantime the longer the beast bears the load, the heavier it will be. Scene iv fessenio and samia fessenio: Where are you coming from? samia: From the sorcerer’s. He lives down that street. She sent me to him a while ago. fessenio: What did he say? samia: He’s coming to see her soon. fessenio: Ha, ha, ha! The stories you hear! I’m going to find Lidio and do what Fulvia told me to do. samia: Is he in the house? fessenio: As far as I know. samia: How does he seem to you? fessenio: Between the two of us, not too well. But yet … samia: Enough of that. We’re in trouble. fessenio: So long. Scene v samia and fulvia samia: Well, well, isn’t everything going just fine! I’ve no good news to offer, either from Lidio or the spirit. This will be the end of the line for Fulvia. There she is at the door. fulvia: It took you long enough to get back. samia: I couldn’t find Ruffo until now. fulvia: What did he say? samia: Nothing, it seems to me. fulvia: But …

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samia: That the spirit said … Oh, what did it say … I can’t remember. fulvia: You’re a duckbrain, the devil take you. samia: Oh! Oh! Now I remember. He said that it answered argibuously. fulvia: You mean ambiguously. samia: That’s it, yes. fulvia: Nothing else? samia: That he’s going to ask it again. fulvia: Anything else? samia: He wants to do whatever he can for you, so he’ll be coming over right away to talk to you about it. fulvia: Alas! Nothing will come of it. And Lidio? samia: The way he’s acting, you might as well be a pair of old shoes. fulvia: Did you find him? samia: And I spoke to him. fulvia: Tell me, tell me. What is it? samia: Can you take it? fulvia: Oh dear, what is it? Tell me. samia: Well, he acts as if he’s never met you. fulvia: What are you telling me? samia: That’s the way he is now. fulvia: What gave you that impression? samia: The way he answered – it scared me. fulvia: Maybe he was teasing you. samia: He wouldn’t have insulted me. fulvia: Perhaps you didn’t express yourself properly. samia: Maybe you didn’t give me anything better to say. fulvia: Perhaps there was someone with him. samia: I took him aside. fulvia: Maybe you spoke too loudly. samia: Almost in his ear. fulvia: In the end, though, what did he say? samia: He sent me to Hades. fulvia: Then he doesn’t love me anymore? samia: Not only does he not love you, he hasn’t an ounce of respect for you. fulvia: That’s what you think? samia: I’m sure of it. fulvia: Oh, alas! What am I hearing? samia: Now you understand. fulvia: And did he ask you about me?

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samia: On the contrary, he said he doesn’t know who you are. fulvia: Then he has forgotten me? samia: The best you can hope for is that he doesn’t hate you. fulvia: Alas, the heavens are against me! He’s cruel and I’m miserable; there’s no doubt about that now. Ah, wretched is the lot of women! And ruinous is our devotion to our lovers. Poor me, I have loved too much! Alas, I have given so much to others that I have nothing left for myself. Please, please, heavens, make Lidio love me as I love him! Or allow me to flee from him as he flees from me. Oh cruel one, what am I asking for? To cease loving my Lidio, and to flee from him? Ah, I could never do such a thing, nor do I want to. I am going to find him myself. Why can’t I dress myself as a man for once and look for him, just as he often came to see me, dressed as a woman? It’s a reasonable thing to do. He deserves this and more. Why shouldn’t I do it? Why don’t I go? Why am I wasting my youth? There is no greater sorrow than that of a woman who has abandoned her youth in vain. She’d be foolish to think she can regain it in her old age. Where would I find another lover like this one? When would I have a better opportunity to see him than now, while he’s at home and my husband’s away in the country? Who forbids me? Who holds me back? I’m determined to do it. Now I see: Ruffo wasn’t sure he could persuade his spirit to help me. Go-betweens never work things out as well as those who are directly concerned. They don’t choose the right time; they don’t act with the same commitment as a lover does. If I go to him he will see my tears, he will hear my laments, he will hear my pleas. I will cast myself at his feet, I will pretend to die, I will throw my arms around his neck. Will he be so cruel that he won’t be moved to pity me? Words of love, if they are heard in the heart, have unimaginable power. To lovers, almost anything is possible. That is my hope and desire. I’m going to dress myself as a man. You stay by the door, Samia. Don’t let anyone stop here. I don’t want anyone to recognize me when I leave the house. I won’t be long. Scene vi samia, and fulvia, dressed as a man samia: Oh, the suffering that we poor, unhappy women endure when we become Love’s slaves! Look at Fulvia: she used to be so

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sensible, but now that she’s in love with this fellow she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She can’t have her Lidio here, so she’s dressing herself as a man so that she can visit him, without considering what the consequences would be if it were to become known. Hasn’t she had enough? She has given him her goods, her honour, and her body, and he treats her like dirt. We’re poor wretches, all of us. Here she comes already, dressed as a man. She didn’t waste any time. fulvia: Listen, I am going to see Lidio. You stay here and keep the door locked until I come back. samia: I will. – Look at her go! Scene vii fulvia, alone fulvia: There is nothing Love won’t drive a person to. Before this happened I would hardly have ventured out of my room on my own, but now love has induced me to leave the house by myself – and dressed as a man. All that was timid servitude, but this is open-hearted freedom. His house is some distance away, but I’m going straight there. I know where it is. I’ll make myself heard there – I know how to do it. There’ll only be the old lady, and maybe Fessenio, but he knows what’s going on. No one will recognize me. No one will ever know about this. And even if it does come out, it will be better to have done something and wish I hadn’t than to do nothing at all and regret it. Scene viii samia, alone samia: She’s going to give herself some pleasure. I used to scorn all that, but now I forgive her – admire her even. If you have no taste for love, you’re just a dumb animal; you don’t know how sweet the world can be. I’m certainly aware of it when I’m making love with Lusco, the steward. We’ve got the house all to ourselves, and he’s waiting in the courtyard. I’d better keep the door locked while we enjoy each other. If my mistress is going to have a good time, why shouldn’t I? I’d be crazy not to grasp my pleasure when I can, especially con-

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sidering all the trouble and bother I take to set things up for other people. Luuusco! Scene ix fessenio, alone fessenio: Hey, don’t lock up! Didn’t you hear me? Oh well, it doesn’t matter, she’ll open it for me. Now that I’ve smuggled in the whore by the other door and put Calandro to bed with her, I want to tell Fulvia the whole story. She’ll laugh fit to burst – it’s funny enough to make the dead laugh. Hey, the dead must have some fine stories to tell. I’m going to see Fulvia. Scene x fessenio, outside the door, samia, inside fessenio: (Knocks) Are you deaf? Hey! (Knocks) Open up. Hey! (Knocks) Can’t you hear? samia: Who’s knocking? fessenio: Your dear Fessenio. Open up, Samia. samia: Just a minute. fessenio: Why don’t you open up? samia: I’m just getting ready to put the key in the hole. fessenio: Well, please hurry up. samia: I can’t find the slot. fessenio: Come out. samia: Oooh, no, not yet! fessenio: Why not? samia: The slot is full. fessenio: Blow on the key. samia: I’m doing even better than that. fessenio: What? samia: I am shaking it as much as I can. fessenio: What’s holding you up? samia: Ooh! Oooh! Thank God for the handle of the spade. Now I’ve done what I had to, Fessenio. And I got the whole key greased – it’ll be easier to open now. fessenio: Open up!

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samia: I’m finished. You can hear me turning the key, can’t you? You can come on in now if you want. fessenio: Why did you lock it? samia: Fulvia told me to. fessenio: What for? samia: I guess I can tell you. She dressed herself in men’s clothes and went to see Lidio. fessenio: Samia, what are you telling me? samia: You heard straight. Now I have to keep the door locked until she gets home. Away you go. Scene xi fessenio, alone fessenio: That goes to show you: a lover as passionate as this one will do anything at all, no matter how dangerous or uncertain. She has gone to Lidio’s house, but what she doesn’t know is that her husband is there. Calandro may not be very sharp, still he can’t help but call her to account when he sees her there on her own and dressed like that. He may get so angry that he’ll tell her family. I’m going over there right away and see if I can find some way out of this. Oh, oh! What’s this? Oh, no, it’s Fulvia, and she’s dragging Calandro along as her prisoner! What the devil is going on? I’m going over there to listen; let’s see how this thing works out. Scene xii fulvia, dressed as a man, and calandro fulvia: A fine husband you are! Is that the country villa you said you were going to? So that’s where you were! You don’t have enough to do at home – you have to wander off somewhere else? Poor me. Whom do I love and trust so much as you? Now I see why you haven’t come to me these past few nights. You had plans to unload somewhere else, and, like some knight going into battle, you wanted to arrive well rested. By God, I don’t know what keeps me from ripping your eyes out. You didn’t think you could keep this a secret, did you? My God! You’re not the only one who knows what to do, you know. I

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came to find you just now all by myself, in these clothes, not trusting anyone. And I’m bringing you out just as you are and exposing your shame, you filthy dog, you ingrate! Everyone will pity me when they see the insults I have to put up with! If I were as wicked as you, do you think I’d have any trouble finding a way to enjoy myself with another man the way you do with another woman? Don’t think that I’d be rejected. I’m not that old or ugly. I have more respect for myself than for your stupidity, otherwise you can be sure I would have avenged myself on the woman I found lying beside you. Go on, get a move on. All I want in the world is to get back at the two of you. calandro: Have you finished? fulvia: Yes. calandro: I’m the one who should be angry, damn it, not you, you spiteful bitch. You snatched me out of an earthly paradise, you stole my greatest pleasure from me. You’re a tiresome bore, and you’re not worth one of her worn-out little shoes. Her caresses and her kisses are better than yours – and she gives me more of them. I like her better than soup with sweet wine. She shines more brightly than Venus in the sky. She is more splendid than the full moon. She is cleverer than Morgana the fairy.14 So you could never take her place, evil woman that you are. And if you dare hurt her, you just watch out. fulvia: All right, enough! Get in the house. Inside. Open up! Hey! Open up. Scene xiii fessenio, alone fessenio: Well, well, Fessenio, have you ever seen anything like it? Ah Love, how great is your power! What poet, what scholar, what philosopher could ever teach such cunning expedients as those you teach the followers of your flag? Every other discipline, every other doctrine lags far behind yours. What woman who was not in love would have been shrewd enough to escape a danger as great as this? I’ve never seen such cunning. There, she’s stopping by the door. I will go to her and give the poor thing hope about her Lidio. She needs to be shown a bit of pity.

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Scene xiv fulvia, dressed as a man, fessenio, and samia fulvia: Tell me, my dear Fessenio, am I unlucky or am I not? Instead of Lidio I found this beast of a husband of mine – although I did manage to save myself. fessenio: I saw everything. Get further inside so that no one will see you dressed like this. fulvia: You’re right. My passion for Lidio has blinded me; I couldn’t think. But tell me, dear Fessenio, did you find my Lidio? fessenio: Where the pain is, there the blood rushes. I’ve found him. fulvia: Yes? fessenio: Yes. fulvia: Well, Fessenio, what did he say? Tell me. fessenio: He won’t be leaving town right away. fulvia: Thank God. When can I speak to him? fessenio: Perhaps even today. When I saw you with Calandro I was on my way to see him to arrange for his visit. fulvia: Do that, my dear Fessenio. You won’t regret it. I put my life in your hands. fessenio: I’ll do everything I can to see that he comes to you. I’m on my way. Stay in peace. fulvia: In peace? I remain in strife and lamentation. Because you are going to Lidio’s, you alone are in motion for my peace. fessenio: Goodbye. fulvia: My dear Fessenio, come back quickly. fessenio: I will. (Exit Fessenio) fulvia: Ah, unhappy Fulvia! If this goes on any longer, I will surely die! Alas, what shall I do? samia: Perhaps the spirit will move him. fulvia: Please, Samia, go and see the sorcerer again – he is so late in coming. samia: Yes, I think I should, and I’ll waste no time. fulvia: Tell him about all this, and come back quickly. samia: The moment I find him.

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Scene xv samia and ruffo samia: Oh, what luck! There’s Ruffo. Thank heaven. ruffo: What are you looking for, Samia? samia: Fulvia is wasting away, wondering what you have done for her. ruffo: I think all this will bear fruit. samia: When? ruffo: I will come and tell Fulvia everything. samia: You are taking too long. ruffo: Samia, you mustn’t perform these spells in a rush. You have to bring together the stars, the words, the waters, the herbs, the stones, and many other little details – and of course, it all takes time. samia: But when you do, then … ruffo: I have some firm hopes. samia: Oh! Do you know who her lover is? ruffo: Of course not. samia: That’s him over there. ruffo: Do you know him well? samia: I spoke to him about two hours ago. ruffo: What did he tell you? samia: He was sharper than a cactus. ruffo: Go speak to him now and see if the spirit has sweetened him. samia: Should I? ruffo: By all means. samia: Then I will. ruffo: Good! Afterwards, go back to Fulvia’s by the other way. I’ll be coming soon. samia: Done. (Exit Samia) ruffo: I’ll wait here while she speaks to Lidio. Scene xvi santilla, dressed as a man, fannio, and samia fannio: Here’s Fulvia’s servant coming towards us, Lidio. Remember, her name is Samia. Speak to her kindly. santilla: That’s what I was thinking. samia: Are you still upset?

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santilla: No! My God, no. My dear Samia, forgive me. I was worried about another matter and I wasn’t myself. I don’t know what I said to you. But tell me, how is my Fulvia? samia: Sincerely, you ask? santilla: Why otherwise? samia: Seek in your heart. santilla: I can’t do that. samia: Why not? santilla: You should know that my heart is with her. samia: If you’re telling the truth, may God make your loins as healthy. (Aside) He didn’t even want to hear about her before, and now he wants me to believe that she’s his one and only love. – As if I didn’t know that you don’t love her, and you don’t want to come to her! santilla: On the contrary, my life is a wilderness when I am not with her. samia: (Aside) By the cross of God, it’s possible the spirit has done its work. – Then you will come, as usual? santilla: What do you mean ‘as usual’? samia: I mean dressed in women’s clothes. santilla: Well … yes … like the other times. samia: Oh, this will be very good news for Fulvia! I mustn’t stay here with you any longer. I’ll slip away through the back streets so I won’t be seen with you when you enter the house. Goodbye. santilla: Goodbye. Scene xvii santilla, dressed as a man, fannio, and ruffo santilla: Did you hear that, Fannio? fannio: Yes, and I noticed that ‘as usual.’ No question about it: you’re being taken for someone else. santilla: It’s true. fannio: It would be a good idea to warn Ruffo, who’s coming along over there. ruffo: Well, what do you want to do? santilla: Do you think we should let this continue? ruffo: There you are, my friend, you’re back. And you were right, Lidio, she is like the sun.

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santilla: I know her and I know where she lives. fannio: We should get some fun out of this. ruffo: And some profit too. fannio: So Ruffo, if I have all of this straight, the reason she came to you is that she tried other means that didn’t work, which leads me to think that she’s tried more than once. You never told us about that. That means somebody is taking Lidio for someone else. It happened with Fulvia’s servant earlier today. So you’d better have word from your spirit to tell Fulvia that all matters past should be kept in silence. Should news of this affair get out, it could lead to a big scandal. Be really careful. ruffo: That’s right. I’m glad you noticed, and you were wise to remind me. I’ll do that. Well, then, there’s nothing more to say. Let’s get going. I’ll go to see her while you prepare. santilla: Go ahead, and we’ll be ready when you come back. fannio: You go ahead, Lidio. I’ll follow you. (Exit Santilla) Ruffo, a word with you. ruffo: What is it? fannio: I’m going to tell you a secret that fits into our plans so well that you could never have imagined it. But remember: don’t tell anyone. ruffo: May God never answer another prayer if I ever speak about it. fannio: You’d ruin me, you know, Ruffo, and you’d lose what you might have earned from this affair. ruffo: Don’t worry. Tell me. fannio: Well, Lidio, my master, is a hermaphrodite. ruffo: What is this … merdaflowerite? fannio: Hermaphrodite, I said. My God, you’re slow! ruffo: Well, what does it mean? fannio: You don’t know? ruffo: Why do you think I’m asking? fannio: Hermaphrodites are people with both sexes. ruffo: And Lidio is one of those? fannio: Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. ruffo: He has the sex of a woman and the tool of a man? fannio: Yes, sir. ruffo: I swear on the Gospel, that Lidio of yours always seemed to me to have something of the female in his voice, and the way he behaved.

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fannio: And because of this, I wanted to let you know that when he meets Fulvia this time, he’ll be his female self. Remember, he asked you to bring him to her in the form of a woman. So when she discovers he actually is a woman, she’ll have such profound trust in your spirit that she’ll worship you. ruffo: This is one of the most beautiful schemes I’ve ever heard of. And I can tell you, the money will come in by the bucketful. fannio: Good. Is she generous? ruffo: Generous, you ask? You know the way lovers are: they close their purses with little more than the thread of a leek.15 Lovers like this lady will give away their ducats, their clothes, their livestock, any influence they can bring to bear, all their possessions – even their lives. fannio: I’m relieved. ruffo: You’re the one who’s relieved me with that beardaflowerite thing of yours. fannio: I like the fact that you can’t pronounce it – that means you couldn’t repeat it even if you wanted to. ruffo: Now go to Lidio and get dressed. I’ll go to Fulvia to tell her that she’ll get what she wants. fannio: Then I’ll deck myself out as a housemaid. ruffo: Good. Be ready when I get back. fannio: Right. I managed to find clothes for both of us. Scene xviii ruffo and samia ruffo: Things are going well so far. Heaven couldn’t have arranged it better. Samia should have arrived home by now by the back way, and Fulvia should be waiting for me. I’ll show her that the spirit will provide everything we need. I’ll say some words, and I’ll take this little effigy and perform certain gestures with it, all of which will seem to create a spell. And I will remind her that whatever has happened or will happen because of her love, or whatever things I do with her, she must speak about them with no one but her servant. I’ll waste no time; I’ll come right back out. Ah, here’s Samia at the door. samia: Come inside quickly, Ruffo. Go to Fulvia in that first-floor room. The fool Calandro is upstairs.

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Scene xix samia and fessenio samia: Where are you going, Fessenio? fessenio: To see the mistress. samia: You can’t speak to her now. fessenio: Why? samia: She’s with the sorcerer. fessenio: Come on, let me go in. samia: No you can’t. fessenio: That’s all nonsense. samia: You’re the one with the nonsense. fessenio: I am about to … oops, I almost told you! I’ll go for a walk and come back to see Fulvia later. samia: That’s fine. (Exit Samia) fessenio: If Fulvia knew what I know, she wouldn’t care about spirits. Lidio pines for her as much as she does for him, and he wants to visit her today. I want to tell her myself, because I know she’ll give me a tip. But I didn’t tell Samia. I’ve got to get out of here. If Fulvia sees me she may think I’m waiting here to meet her sorcerer. That must be him coming out of the house. Scene xx ruffo, alone ruffo: Everything’s going well. She gave me a good lot of money, so I hope I can throw away these rags and climb out of this poverty. I couldn’t have been dealt a better hand. She’s a rich woman, and from what I can see she’s more in love than she is wise. Unless I’m mistaken, she’s crazy enough to pay me even more. Well, I was due for some good luck. So you see, sometimes dreams come true. This must be that pheasant I caught in last night’s dream. I seemed to be plucking a bunch of feathers from its tail, and I put them on my hat. If Fulvia lets herself be caught – and I think she will – I’ll give her a good plucking. That should put my affairs in pretty good shape for the next while. Dammit, I’ll be able to have a good time – and I know what that will be! How lucky can you get, eh? But who’s that woman calling me? I don’t know her. Let me get closer.

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Scene xxi fannio, dressed as a woman, and ruffo ruffo: Oh, Fannio! That dress changes you. I didn’t recognize you. fannio: Pretty good, eh? ruffo: It certainly is! Go to the poor sad lady and make her happy. fannio: She won’t be happy today, that’s for sure. ruffo: No, she won’t, because Lidio will be coming to her as a woman. fannio: That’s right. Well, shall we go? ruffo: Whenever you want. Is Lidio dressed? fannio: He’s right here, waiting for me. Boy, does he look good! No one would suspect he’s not a woman. ruffo: That’s great! Fulvia is waiting for you. Go get Lidio and take him to her. I’ll stick around until I find out how this thing turns out. Oh, she’s already at the door. She wasted no time doing what I told her to. Scene xxii fessenio and fulvia fessenio: Now your passion will be fulfilled, my lady. fulvia: How is that? fessenio: Lidio is more in love with you than you are with him. I had hardly finished telling him what you told me to when he started to get ready. He’s coming. fulvia: My dear Fessenio, this news is worth more than the usual gift of a pair of stockings – you’ll certainly get a proper reward. Listen, Calandro is upstairs asking for his clothes so that he can go out – move along so that he doesn’t see you with me. How convenient for me! How happy it makes me! Everything is beginning to go right. I can hardly wait to push that ugly old bird out of the nest so that I can be free! (Exit Fulvia) fessenio: These lovers will make up for lost time, I can tell you that. And if Lidio knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep her to her word about his sister if she’s ever found. Calandro won’t be home, so they can enjoy themselves for a good long time. I can go for a walk. Oh, here’s Calandro on his way out. I’ve got to go – if he stops to talk to me, he might see Lidio coming.

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Scene xxiii calandro, lidio, dressed as a woman, and santilla, dressed as a woman calandro: This is my lucky day! I no sooner step out of the door than I see her coming towards me: my glorious sun. But oh dear, how should I greet her? Should I say ‘Good day’? But it’s not morning. ‘Good night’? It’s not late. ‘May God help you’? That’s a coachman’s greeting. Shall I say ‘My beautiful soul’? That’s not a greeting. ‘Heart of my body’? That’s what a barber would say. ‘Face of a little angel’? A grocer’s language. ‘Divine spirit’? She doesn’t drink. ‘Eyes of a thief’? No, that’s a bad choice. Oh dear, here she is already. – Soul … heart … face … spi … eye … – Oh, damn you! What a fool I am! I blew it. Oh, but it’s a good thing I cursed that one, because this is my Santilla, not that one. – Good day … I meant to say, good evening. – My goodness, I’m mistaken. She’s not the one, it’s that one. No, she’s not. Yes, she is. I’ll go over to her. No, it’s this one. This is the good one! That one. No, this one is my life. No, it’s the other one. I’ll go to her. lidio: Damn! This fool thinks I’m a woman. He’s in love with me. He’ll follow me all the way to his house. I’m going back home. I’ll change and come back to Fulvia later on. calandro: Oh dear, she’s not the one. I think it’s the one who went down the street. I’ve got to find her. santilla: Now that that blockhead can’t see us, let’s get inside as fast as we can. There’s Fulvia beckoning us. Let’s go!

ACT IV Scene i fulvia and samia fulvia: Samia! O Saaamia! samia: My laaady! fulvia: Come down quickly. samia: I’m coooming. fulvia: Hurry up, God damn you! Hurry up! samia: Here I am. What do you want?

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fulvia: Quickly, go find Ruffo the sorcerer and tell him to come here right away. samia: I’ll go upstairs and get my mantilla.16 fulvia: Your mantilla? Go as you are, you idiot! Hurry! samia: (Aside) What the devil is she so angry about? It’s as if she were possessed by a demon. Lidio should have been able to free her from it. (Exit Samia) fulvia: O deceitful spirits! Oh the folly of the human mind! O defrauded and unhappy Fulvia! It’s not just yourself you’ve hurt, but the one you love more than yourself. O wretched me, I searched, but what I found was not what I was searching for. If the spirit can’t put things right I am ready to kill myself. A voluntary death would be less bitter than a life of sorrow. But here’s Ruffo. I’ll soon know whether to hope or despair. There’s no one around. I’d better speak to him here. In the house it’s as if everything has ears – the benches, the chairs, the cabinets, the windows.17 Scene ii ruffo and fulvia ruffo: What is it, my lady? fulvia: My tears will express the passion I feel much better than my words. ruffo: What is it? Tell me. Fulvia, don’t cry. My lady, what’s the matter? fulvia: I don’t know which should anger me more, Ruffo, my ignorance, or your deceitfulness. ruffo: Oh, my lady, what are you saying? fulvia: I don’t know whether it was the will of heaven, my sin, or the wickedness of your familiar spirit, but alas, you have changed my Lidio from a man into a woman. I touched him all over, and the only thing I found unchanged was his mere appearance. It’s not so much the loss of pleasure I am bewailing, but rather the harm that has been done to him. It’s because of me that he has been deprived of what is most desirable about him. Now that you know the reason for these tears, you can understand what I want from you. ruffo: Now Fulvia, if your tears, which are clearly genuine, were evidence that I was responsible for what has happened, not only would I acknowledge it, but I would be most sorry. But given the instructions

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you gave me, I think you have only yourself to blame. I remember your asking me to send Lidio to you in the shape of a woman. So to please you, the spirit sent your lover in the body and clothes of a woman. But put an end to your weeping, because the spirit that made him a woman can turn him into a man again. fulvia: Now that I realize exactly what has happened, I feel totally restored. If you bring my Lidio back to me whole and complete, whatever I have – money, goods, anything – will be yours. ruffo: I’m sure the spirit is well disposed towards you, so be assured that your lover will soon return to you as a man. Now tell me exactly what you want, so there’ll be no more mistakes. fulvia: The first thing it must do is give him back the … knife that fits into my sheath. You understand what I mean? ruffo: Very well. fulvia: And when you send him back to me, make him a woman in dress only, not in body. ruffo: If you had said that this morning, this mistake wouldn’t have happened. But at least now you can understand the power my spirit wields. I’m glad of that. fulvia: Please free me from this misery as quickly as you can. There is no joy for me until I see him. ruffo: You’ll not only see him, but feel him with your own hands. fulvia: Will he come back to me today? ruffo: It’s late afternoon now, so he can only be with you for a short while. fulvia: It doesn’t matter whether he stays, just to see with my own eyes he’s restored. ruffo: Where there’s a fountain the thirsty will drink. fulvia: He’ll come today, then? ruffo: The spirit will see that he comes to you instantly if that is his wish. So stay at the door and look for him. fulvia: There is no need for that. Since he is coming dressed as a woman, it doesn’t matter who sees him. No one knows he’s a man. ruffo: Fine. fulvia: I wish you happiness, Ruffo. You will be poor no longer. ruffo: And you will no longer be unhappy. fulvia: When can I expect him? ruffo: The moment I get home. fulvia: I’ll have Samia follow you so that you can send word to me what the spirit says.

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ruffo: As you wish. Remember that the lover, too, will need to get frequent gifts. fulvia: Oh, don’t worry. He will have jewels and plenty of money. ruffo: Good day to you. (Exit Fulvia) Love is painted blind, and there’s good reason for that. A lover never sees the truth. This woman is blinded by love, so she thinks that if a spirit wants to, it can turn a woman into a man, as though all that was needed was to cut off a man’s tool, make a slit, and presto! – a woman! Or sew up the lower mouth, stick a prick on it, and surprise! – A man! Oh, the credulity of lovers! Ah, here come Lidio and Fannio. They’ve changed already. Scene iii santilla, dressed as a man, ruffo, and fannio ruffo: I wish you were still dressed as women. santilla: Why? ruffo: So that you could go back to her. Ha, ha! fannio: What are you snickering about? ruffo: Ha, ha, ha, ha! santilla: Come on, tell us. What’s going on? ruffo: Ha, ha, ha! Fulvia thinks the spirit changed Lidio into a woman, and now she’s begging it to turn you back into a man and send you to her. santilla: Well, what did you promise her? ruffo: I told her it would all be done right away. fannio: Well done. ruffo: When will you go back? santilla: I don’t know. ruffo: You sound rather cool. You don’t want to go back? fannio: Yes, we’ll do it. ruffo: Let’s go then. Speaking on behalf of my spirit, I told her she should give you lots of gifts, and she promised me she would. fannio: We’ll go back, don’t worry. ruffo: When? fannio: There’s something we have to take care of, then we’ll dress ourselves up again and go to her. ruffo: Don’t fail me, Lidio. I think I see her servant by the door. I don’t want her to see me with you. Goodbye. Oh Fannio, come here.

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Listen. Make sure that the flowerybeardite uses the pestle and not the mortar with Fulvia. You understand? fannio: He’ll do that. Off you go. Scene iv santilla, dressed as a man, fannio, and samia fannio: Samia’s coming out. Come over here so she doesn’t see you. santilla: She’s talking to herself. fannio: Be quiet and listen. samia: That’s what happens when you get mixed up with spirits! They’ve really fixed your Lidio. fannio: She’s talking about you. samia: They made him a woman and now they want to make him a man again. This is quite a day, what with all her misery and all my hard work. But if they can do that, everything will have turned out well. I’ll soon know. She’s sent me to find out from the sorcerer. She’s ready to give good money to her lover the moment she finds out that the thing has been fixed. fannio: You hear that about the money? santilla: Yes. fannio: So let’s get ready and go over there. santilla: Fannio, it was crazy of you to promise Ruffo that we’d go back there. How do you expect this thing to work? fannio: What? santilla: You’re asking me? You fool, as if you didn’t know I’m a woman. fannio: So what? santilla: ‘So what?’ you say? You idiot, don’t you know that if I try anything she’ll find out what I am, and I’ll be humiliated, Ruffo will lose his credit, and she’ll feel insulted. How do you expect it to be done? fannio: How? santilla: Yes, how. fannio: A man can always find a way. santilla: But she and I are women, so no way will be found. fannio: You can’t be serious. santilla: I’m deadly serious. You’re the one who’s joking. fannio: When I promised that you’d go back there, I had everything worked out.

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santilla: What do you mean? Come on, tell me. fannio: Didn’t you say that you were in a dark room with her? santilla: Yes. fannio: And it was only with her hands that she spoke to you? santilla: Yes, that’s right. fannio: Well, I’ll come along with you as I did before. santilla: Oh? To do what? fannio: I’ll be acting as your maid. santilla: Well, I know that. fannio: And I’ll be dressed like you. santilla: So? fannio: Just after you go into the room with her, pretend there’s something you forgot to tell me, and come back out. Then, you see, you’ll stay outside and I’ll take your place inside. I have no beard, and it will be dark, so she won’t know whether it’s you or me. She’ll believe you’ve returned as a man, the spirit will get its credit, money will flow, and I will have myself a good time with her. santilla: I swear, Fannio, I’ve never heard anything so ingenious. fannio: So I wasn’t making a mistake when I told Ruffo we’d go back. santilla: Apparently not. Meantime it would be a good thing to find out what’s happening back home at Perillo’s about this wedding. fannio: That’s just looking for trouble. What we want is to escape the consequences. santilla: We can’t escape them by putting them off. We’ll be in the same position tomorrow as we are today. fannio: Who knows? Sometimes when you avoid one trap you avoid a hundred. Going to Fulvia might help us, not harm us. santilla: Well, all right then. But please, for my sake, first hurry home and find out from Tiresia what’s going on. Come back quickly and we’ll go straight to Fulvia. fannio: Right. I’ll do that. Scene v santilla, dressed as a man, alone santilla: O unhappy female sex, you are in a state of subjection not just in fact, but in thought as well. Now that I have to present myself as a woman, not only do I not know if I can do it, I can’t even think about doing it. Alas, poor me, what shall I do? I look around, but I see no way to save myself; all I can see is unhappiness. But there’s

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Fulvia’s servant talking to someone. I’ll move over here until she has gone by. Scene vi fessenio and samia fessenio: So, what kind of troubles? Come on, tell me. samia: Damn! The devil’s found his way into this. fessenio: How is that? samia: The sorcerer has changed Lidio into a woman. fessenio: Ha, ha, ha, ha! samia: You’re laughing about it? fessenio: Yes, I am. samia: It’s the gospel truth. fessenio: Ha, ha, ha, ha! You’re crazy! samia: And you’re a fool. That’s what happened, whether you want to believe it or not. Fulvia touched him all over and found that he was a woman. All that was left of him was the way he looked. fessenio: Ha, ha! What is she going to do, then? samia: You won’t believe it, so I won’t tell you. fessenio: I’ll believe you, upon this cross. Tell me, what are they going to do? samia: The spirit will make him a man again. I’ve just been to the sorcerer, and he gave me this note to take to Fulvia, fessenio: Let me read it. samia: Don’t, please. Something bad might happen to you. fessenio: I want to see it, even if it means I’ll drop dead. samia: Watch what you’re doing, Fessenio. This is the devil’s work. fessenio: That doesn’t bother me. Give it to me. samia: Don’t do it, I said. At least make the sign of the cross first, Fessenio. fessenio: Please, just give it to me. samia: All right, but you must be quiet as a fish. If anyone finds out about it, we’re in trouble. fessenio: Don’t worry. Hand it over. samia: Read it out loud so I can hear it too. fessenio: ‘Ruffo to Fulvia, greetings. The spirit knew that your Lidio had turned from male to female. We had a good laugh about it. You brought the harm and the grief upon yourself. Rest assured that the spirit will soon restore the branch to your lover …’

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samia: What’s that? A branch? fessenio: Don’t you understand? He will soon have his tool back ‘… and he will be coming to you as quickly as he can. It also says that he wants you more than before, that he loves no one, cares for no one, knows no one, remembers no one, but you. Don’t say anything about it, because it would create a huge scandal. Send him money often. Do the same for the spirit, so that it will be favourably inclined to you and make me content. Therefore, live happily, and remember me, one who serves you faithfully.’ samia: Now you see it’s true: spirits know everything, and they can do anything. fessenio: I’m the most astonished man in the world. samia: I’m going to bring this good news to Fulvia right now. fessenio: Goodbye. (Exit Samia) O the power of heaven! Must I believe that an enchantment has transformed Lidio into a woman, but that he will nevertheless love and know only Fulvia? Only heaven could do that. But Samia says that Fulvia discovered it with her hands. I want to witness this miracle before he’s turned back into a man. If I find that it’s genuine I’ll worship this sorcerer. I’m off to see Lidio. He may be at home.

ACT V Scene i santilla, dressed as a man, lidio, and samia samia: A woman treats money the way the sun treats ice – she’s forever melting it down and gobbling it up. The moment Fulvia read the sorcerer’s note she gave me this purse full of ducats to take to her beloved Lidio. Oh, there he is. – Never say your lady friend doesn’t do her duty to you, Lidio. Lidio, don’t you hear? What are you waiting for? Take it, Lidio. santilla: Here I am. lidio: Give it to me. samia: Oh, how stupid of me! I made a mistake. Forgive me, sir. It’s him I wanted, not you. Goodbye. Now listen … santilla: No, it’s now that you’re making the mistake. You should be talking to me. Send him away.

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samia: That’s true. What a memory I have! I was wrong. Go with God. You come with me. lidio: What do you mean ‘Go with God’? Don’t turn away. samia: Oh!! Oh yes, you. You’re the one I want, not you. You hear? Goodbye. santilla: What? ‘Goodbye’? Don’t say that. I’m Lidio, aren’t I? samia: Of course. You are, not you. It’s you I’m looking for. You, away you go. lidio: You’re seeing things. Look at me closely. Aren’t I the one? samia: Oh, now I recognize you! You’re Lidio. It’s you I want, not you. Off you go. You, take this. santilla: ‘Take this’? What are you talking about? I’m the one, you fool, not him. samia: It’s true. I was wrong. You are right. You are wrong. You go in peace. You, take it. lidio: What are you doing, you idiot? You want him to have it, but it belongs to us. santilla: What do you mean ‘us’? Leave it with me. lidio: No, with me. santilla: Why with you? I’m Lidio, not you. lidio: Give it here. santilla: Here? No, give it to me. samia: Stop! I don’t want either of you to rob me of it. I’ll scream. Now stay put. Let me look closely and see which one of you is Lidio. Oh, God, it’s a miracle! There is no man more like himself, no snowflake more like another snowflake, no egg more like another egg, than you two are like each other. I can’t tell which one of you is Lidio. You seem to be Lidio, and you seem to be Lidio. You’re Lidio, and you’re Lidio. But I will figure it out. Tell me, is one of you in love? lidio: Yes. santilla: Yes. samia: Who? lidio: I am. santilla: I am. samia: Where is this money coming from? lidio: From her. santilla: From my beloved. samia: Oh God, it’s still not clear! Tell me, who is this beloved? lidio: Fulvia. santilla: Fulvia.

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samia: And who is her lover? lidio: I am. santilla: I am. lidio: Who, you? santilla: Yes, me. lidio: No, I am. santilla: No, I am. samia: O damnation! But just a minute, now. Which Fulvia are you talking about? lidio: Calandro’s wife. santilla: Your mistress. samia: They’re both the same. One thing is clear – either I’ve gone mad or these two are possessed by the devil. Wait. How about this? – Tell me, how were you dressed when you visited her? lidio: As a woman. santilla: As a girl. samia: This is ridiculous! It’ll drive me mad! Oh, this will clear it up. – What time did she want her lover to come? lidio: During the day. santilla: At midday. samia: The devil himself couldn’t decide. This must be some hellish scheme of that cursed spirit. I’d better go back to Fulvia with the money. Then she can give it to whichever one she pleases. You know what? I don’t know which of you I should give the money to. Fulvia will know her true lover. Whichever of you comes to see her will get it. Go in peace. lidio: This fellow’s face is more like mine than what I see in the mirror. I’ll find out who he is eventually, but fortunes like this don’t come every day, and Fulvia could change her mind, so I’d better go to her now as I usually do. That’s a fair amount of money. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. santilla: So, this is the lover I am mistaken for. Why is Fannio taking so long? If he were here, we could go back to Fulvia as he planned, and maybe we’d get that money. But I must think about my situation. Scene ii santilla, dressed as a man, fessenio, and fannio fessenio: I couldn’t find Lidio either at home or in the street.

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santilla: What shall I do? fessenio: I can’t rest until I find out whether it’s true he’s become a woman. But oh, is that him? No. Yes, it is. No, it’s not. Yes, it is. He seems very strange. santilla: Ah, fortune! fessenio: He’s talking to himself. santilla: I’m lost in a labyrinth! fessenio: What’s that? santilla: Am I to be destroyed, and so soon? fessenio: What? Destroyed? What does he mean by that? santilla: Simply because I am loved to excess … fessenio: What does that mean? santilla: … must I cast off these garments … fessenio: Oh dear! Is it some kind of plot? And his voice is sounding a lot like a woman’s. santilla: … and deprive myself of the freedom they allow? fessenio: It must be true. santilla: Will I now be seen to be a woman and no longer be treated as a man? fessenio: His mouse must have fallen into the jug!18 santilla: From now on I must call myself Santilla, not Lidio. fessenio: Oh, no! Then it is true. santilla: Cursed be my destiny! I wish I had died the day Modon was taken. fessenio: Oh mischievous heavens how can this happen? If I had not heard it from him, I wouldn’t have believed it. I’ll speak to him. – Lidio? santilla: Who is this fool? fessenio: Will Lidio recognize no one but his Fulvia? You call me a fool? As though you didn’t know me. santilla: I’ve never known you, nor do I care to know you now. fessenio: You don’t know your servant? santilla: You, my servant? fessenio: Well, if you don’t want me to be your servant, I’ll be someone else’s. santilla: Go in peace, go. I have no wish to talk to a drunkard. fessenio: I am not a drunkard. You must have lost your memory. Please don’t pretend with me, I know your troubles as well as you do. santilla: My troubles? What troubles? fessenio: An act of sorcery has turned you into a woman.

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santilla: I, a woman? fessenio: A woman, yes. santilla: You’re mistaken. fessenio: I want to make sure. santilla: You fool! What are you trying to do? fessenio: I’m going to find out. santilla: You wretch! So that’s what you’re after! fessenio: I’ll touch it with my hand even if you kill me for it. santilla: You presumptuous …! Get away! Fannio! Fannio! Ah, you’re just in time. Come here. fannio: What’s going on? santilla: This villain says that I’m a woman, and no matter what I do he tries to prove it by touching me. fannio: What insolence leads you to do that? fessenio: What imbecility makes you place yourself between me and my master? fannio: Your master? Him? fessenio: Yes, my master. Why? fannio: My good man, you’re mistaken. He was never your master, I’m certain of that. And you were never his servant. He’s my master. He has always been my master and I his servant. fessenio: You were never his servant and he was never your master. I am your servant! Yes, I am your servant and you are my master. I’m the only one telling the truth. You’re both lying. santilla: You speak so arrogantly that I’m not surprised when you behave so presumptuously. fessenio: You’ve forgotten who you are, so it’s no wonder you’ve forgotten me. fannio: Calm down. santilla: I’ve forgotten who I am? fessenio: Sir … I mean to say, madam … yes. If you recognized yourself you would recognize me. santilla: I recognize myself very well. But I have no idea who you are. fessenio: It would be more correct to say that you have found someone else, and lost yourself. santilla: Who did I find? fessenio: Now that you’ve turned into a woman, you’re possessed by your sister Santilla. You are no longer a man: you have lost yourself. You are no longer Lidio. santilla: Which Lidio?

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fessenio: Oh, you poor boy, you don’t remember anything. Please, master, don’t you remember Lidio? Lidio of Modon, son of Demetrius, brother of Santilla, pupil of Polinico, master of Fessenio, lover of Fulvia? santilla: (Aside) Do you hear that, Fannio? – It’s true, Fulvia is in my mind and my soul. fessenio: I knew it! The only thing you remember is Fulvia. The spell you are under is so powerful that you can recall nothing else. Scene iii lidio, dressed as a woman, santilla, dressed as a man, fessenio, and fannio lidio: Fessenio! Fessenio! fessenio: Who is that woman calling me? You wait here, I’ll be right back. santilla: Fannio, if I knew that my brother was alive, this would fill me with such hope as I have never known before. I would then be certain that he is the one this fellow mistook me for. fannio: You’re not sure whether he died or not? santilla: No. fannio: The man he is talking about must be our Lidio. He must be. He is alive and he is here. And I seem to recognize this fellow too. He is Fessenio. santilla: Oh, God, I’m fainting. I’ve never felt such tenderness and joy. fessenio: I am still not clear which one is Lidio – you, or that one over there. Let me take a better look at you. lidio: Are you drunk? fessenio: Yes, you’re the one – and you’re a man, as well. lidio: Right now there’s a place I want to go – and you know what it is. fessenio: Off you go. Go to Fulvia. Go ahead, you small-time peddler. Just pass over the oil and pick up the money. santilla: Well, what do you say? fessenio: If I have said or done anything to offend you, forgive me. I realize now that I mistook you for my master. santilla: Who is your master? fessenio: Lidio, from Modon. He looks so much like you that I mistook you for him.

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santilla: Oh, my Fannio, everything’s become clear! What’s your name? fessenio: Fessenio, at your service. santilla: Oh, I’m so happy! All my doubts are gone! Oh, my dear Fessenio! My dear Fessenio! You belong to me. fessenio: What do all these hugs and kisses mean? Oh, I see! You want me to be your servant, eh? I know that I said I was yours, but I was mistaken. I’m not your servant and you’re not my master. I have another master. Go find yourself another servant. santilla: You are mine and I am yours. fannio: Please, Fessenio! fessenio: What’s all this hugging and kissing? Hey, what’s going on? fannio: Let’s go over there and we’ll explain everything. This is Santilla, your master Lidio’s sister. fessenio: Our Santilla? fannio: Calm down now. Yes, that’s who she is. And I am Fannio. fessenio: Oh, my Fannio! fannio: Don’t make a scene. Restrain yourself. Take it easy. Scene iv santilla, dressed as a man, samia, fessenio, and fannio samia: Oh dear, dear, dear! Poor me! And my poor mistress! All of a sudden you’re disgraced and ruined. fessenio: What is it, Samia? samia: Oh, wretched Fulvia! fessenio: What’s going on? samia: My dear Fessenio, we are ruined. fessenio: What is it? Come on. Tell us. samia: Horrible news. fessenio: What? samia: Calandro’s brothers have found Lidio with Fulvia, and they’ve sent for Calandro and her brothers to come to the house and denounce her; and then they’ll probably kill Lidio. fessenio: Oh, God! What’s this? Oh, my unhappy master! Have they taken him away? samia: Not yet fessenio: Why didn’t he escape? samia: Fulvia thinks that the sorcerer may be able to turn him back

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into a woman before Calandro and her brothers are found and come back to the house. That way she’ll avoid disgrace and Lidio will be out of danger. If he were to flee he might save himself, but Fulvia would still be shamed. So she is sending me racing off to the sorcerer. Goodbye. fessenio: Wait a minute. What part of the house is Lidio in? samia: He and Fulvia are in a bedroom on the first floor. fessenio: This room is at the back, isn’t it – and it has a low window? samia: Yes, if he wanted to, he could leave through it. fessenio: That’s not why I’m asking. Tell me, is there anyone around who’d keep someone from getting into the room through that window? samia: Almost no one. When the noise broke out everyone ran to the bedroom door. fessenio: Samia, this thing about the sorcerer is a lot of foolishness. If you want to save your mistress, go back to the house. Get rid of anyone who may still be around – but do it politely. samia: Well, all right, I’ll do what you tell me. But you’d better make sure you don’t ruin things completely. fessenio: Don’t worry. Now go. santilla: Oh, dear Fessenio, I hope to God I have not found and lost my brother both in the same instant; that I have not been granted both life and death at once. fessenio: No time for tears right now. This situation requires a wise and speedy solution. No one sees us. You take Fannio’s clothes, and give yours to him. Come on, quickly … Here, like this! … Take this. Put it on … That’s good enough. Don’t worry. Come with me. You wait here, Fannio. Santilla, I’ll show you what you have to do. fannio: Fortune has certainly put these two – this brother and this sister – in a difficult situation. Depending on what happens, today they’ll either suffer the greatest grief or enjoy the greatest happiness they’ll ever experience. It’s good that the heavens made them alike not only in appearance but in fortune as well. Whatever happens, good or evil, their fates will be the same. Until I see the end, I can neither rejoice nor despair. There is ample cause for either fear or hope. I can only pray to God that things work out so that both Lidio and Santilla escape trouble and danger. I’ll wait over here and see what happens.

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Scene v lidio, alone lidio: I’ve just escaped from the gravest danger, and I hardly know how. A virtual prisoner, I was lamenting our unhappy fortune – Fulvia’s and mine – when someone, brought there by Fessenio, leapt into the room through the back window and immediately switched clothes with me. Fessenio sent me away without anyone seeing me and assured me that everything was going to be fine and that I should be happy. Now, instead of gravely suffering, I find myself rejoicing. Fessenio stayed behind to speak to Fulvia from the window. No harm in my staying around – I want to see how it all turns out. There’s Fulvia by the door. She looks happy! Scene vi fulvia, alone fulvia: I’ve certainly had my share of trouble today, but I thank heaven that I’ve come out of it all safely. The end of the present danger brings incredible joy. Not only have my honour and Lidio’s life been saved, but I will be able to be with him more often and more easily than before. You’d have to be an immortal to be happier than I am now. Scene vii calandro, with fulvia’s brothers calandro: I’ve brought you here to see what she has done to your honour, and to mine. Once I’ve given her a good beating you can take the she-devil home, because I don’t want this shame in my house. Look at how insolent she is – standing by the door as if she were everything good and beautiful.

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Scene viii calandro, fulvia, and fulvia’s brothers calandro: Are you here, you wicked woman? And you have the face to wait for me, knowing that you have put horns on me? I don’t know what keeps me from tearing the life out of your body. But first I want to take whoever that is in your room and kill him right before your eyes, you bitch. Then I want to pluck those eyes from your head with my bare hands. fulvia: Alas, my dear husband! What compels you to treat me as a wicked woman, which I am not, and to make yourself a cruel man, as you have never been before? calandro: Have you no shame? Do you still dare to speak? As if we didn’t know that your lover is in your room, dressed as a woman! fulvia: My brothers, this man wants me to make public what I have always kept secret. I’m referring to the insults that this boor heaps upon me all day long, and my patience in response to them. No other faithful wife is as badly treated as I am. He isn’t even ashamed to claim that I gave him horns. calandro: It’s true. Yes it is, you wicked woman! Now I want to prove it to your brothers. fulvia: Come inside, see who I have in my room, and then watch this puffed-up little maggot killing him. Hurry up. Come on inside. Scene ix lidio, alone lidio: Fessenio has told me that everything is under control, but I don’t see any sign of it. I’m worried. I didn’t see that person Fessenio made me exchange clothes with. Fessenio hasn’t come out. Calandro has threatened Fulvia, and he has gone inside the house with her. He’s a crazy fool and may hurt her. If I hear a row in the house, by God I will leap in to defend her, even if I die for her. If you have no courage you shouldn’t be a lover.

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Scene x fannio and lidio fannio: Look, Lidio – or I should say, ‘Santilla.’ Nothing has happened. Let’s make the exchange again. You take yours and give me mine back. lidio: What exchange are you talking about? fannio: Fessenio had us trade them just now. You must remember. Give me those and you take yours. lidio: Yes, I remember exchanging them, but these aren’t the ones I gave you. fannio: You don’t seem yourself. Don’t you remember making the trade? lidio: Don’t bother me. Here is Fessenio. Scene xi fessenio, alone fessenio: Oh, wonderful! They thought they’d find a young man dressed as a woman enjoying himself with Fulvia. They wanted to kill him and shame her. Then, when they found a girl instead, they all calmed down, and now they’re praising Fulvia as the most chaste woman in the world. She’s got her honour back, and that makes me very happy. Santilla is saying goodbye. Here she is, and she looks very happy too. But there is Lidio. Scene xii santilla, fessenio, lidio, and fannio santilla: Ah, Fessenio, where is my brother? fessenio: There he is, and he’s still wearing the clothes you gave him. Let’s go to him. Lidio, do you know this girl? lidio: Of course not. Who is she? fessenio: The one who took your place with Fulvia. And the one for whom you have been searching so long. lidio: Who?

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fessenio: Santilla. lidio: My sister? santilla: I am your sister and you are my brother. lidio: Are you Santilla? Ah! Now I recognize you! It is you! Oh, my dear sister, whom I sought for so long and whom for so long I hoped to find. This is the fulfilment of my wishes and the end of my suffering. santilla: Oh, my sweetest brother, I can see you and touch you. I can hardly believe it’s you. To find you alive after weeping for so long because I thought you were dead! It makes me so happy to find you here – beyond my every expectation. lidio: And you, my sister, you are dearer still to me because today you saved me. Had it not been for you, I would probably have been killed. santilla: Now my tears and my sighs will end. This is Fannio, who has always served me faithfully. lidio: Oh, my dear Fannio, I remember you well! You have served one of us, but in doing so you have obliged us both. We will see to it that you are very happy. fannio: My greatest happiness is to see you alive and with Santilla again. santilla: Why are you staring, dear Fessenio? fessenio: I’ve never seen two people look so much alike. Now I understand why so many marvellous exchanges happened today. santilla: That’s true. lidio: They are marvellous indeed, more than you know. fessenio: We’ll talk about all that at greater leisure. Fulvia knows that this is your sister, Santilla. I told her when we were in the house. She was more than pleased and expressed again her desire that Santilla marry her own son, Flaminio. santilla: Now I understand why, as she kissed me so tenderly, she said, ‘I don’t know which of us is happier, whether Lidio, who has found his sister, me, a daughter, or you, a husband.’ lidio: Then the whole matter is as good as concluded. fannio: There is something else, perhaps even more wonderful than this. lidio: What could possibly be so? fannio: As Fessenio said, you look so much alike that there is no one who would not be deceived.

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santilla: I know what you’re about to say. Perillo’s daughter is to be given to me for a wife. Explain all this to Lidio, and he can take my place. lidio: As simple as that, is it? santilla: As clear as the sun, and true as truth itself. lidio: Ah, the happiness! The clearest sky comes after the heaviest rain. It will be much better for us here than it would have been in Modon. fessenio: The more so because Italy is better than Greece and Rome greater than Modon – and two fortunes are better than one. We will all be better off. lidio: Well then, let the whole thing come to an end. fessenio: Ladies and gentlemen, the weddings will take place tomorrow. If you want to see them, you can stay where you are. Or, if you don’t want to bother waiting, you can slip away. But for now there is nothing else to be done here except to show your pleasure and say farewell. Valete et plaudite. THE END OF THE COMEDY

Notes 1 The names of Tiresia and Sofilla have been added. These names do not appear in the original list, although the characters are named in the text. Similarly, Fulvia’s brothers do not appear in the original list, although they are present on the stage in Act V, scene viii. 2 This prologue was for some time attributed to Castiglione, written in haste to replace a prologue sent by Bibbiena too late for the actor to learn it. The second and longer prologue was taken for the one intended for this play by the author. More probably, however, the first prologue is also by Bibbiena and intended for this play, while the second was perhaps written for a work now lost. It is included here merely for historical reasons and as an engaging creation in its own right. 3 Martino da Amelia is clearly a local figure well known to the audience. 4 Traditionally, the appearance of dolphins near a ship told sailors that a storm was approaching. 5 The original text has quando fuum el naso de l’orso (when a bear’s nose is smoking). 6 The original text has per quattro cuius che tu hai (the four cuius that you

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 have), a reference to his knowledge of Latin grammar. Cuius is the beginning of the declension of the Latin word for ‘which.’ The original text has lavaceci (a washer of chickpeas). From Boccaccio on, Maremma, an actual region of Tuscany, became synonymous with remote and mysterious lands where anything could happen. Orlando is the hero of two Renaissance epics, Boiardo’s Orlando Innamorato and Ariosto’s Orlando furioso. In the original text, from this point on the speech headings for the twins appear as ‘Lidio female’ for Santilla and ‘Lidio male’ for Lidio. The supposed magic words contain mildly obscene and insulting echoes, such as ambra- (amber, the coulour of feces), -cul- (ass), bufolaccio (buffalo, i.e., a stupid fellow). For Maremma, see note 8, above. Bramante is a pagan knight in the Carolingian cycle of romances. Morgana refers to Morgan le Fay, a fairy and sister of King Arthur. Her legend was carried to Italy by Norman settlers. The original text has con la fronde del porro (with the leaf of a leek). Like all respectable women, Samia would have worn something to cover her head every time she left the house. This is surely an echo of the opening lines of Ariosto’s The Pretenders. That is, his penis must have fallen off.

NICCOLÒ MACHIAVELLI

The Mandragola (La mandragola)

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

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Introduction to The Mandragola by Niccolò Machiavelli Niccolò Machiavelli, famed author of The Prince, the Discorsi, and A History of Florence, during his retirement years in the country also tried his hand at writing comedies, the most successful of which is known today as The Mandragola (derived from the mandrake plant, the roots of which were used for making drugs and potions). Dates for its composition have ranged from 1512 to a terminus of 1520, but there is reason to think that the carnival season of 1518 is the most likely occasion for its first production – this in light of a manuscript version of the play (discovered only in 1960) dated 1519 that was found among the papers of Lorenzo the Magnificent. Moreover, an allusion to the imminent invasion of the Turks (III.iii), a lesser issue before that date, is almost certain corroboration. Information about the first presentation has not come down to us, but a letter dated April 1520 tells of a forthcoming command performance in Rome commissioned by Pope Leo X, based on a prior production, for it was specified that he even wanted the same actors and scenery. The first printed edition was called Comedia di Callimaco: & di Lucretia, which, although it bears no date (or author’s name), very likely goes back to the end of the second decade. The Mandragola was twice performed for carnival in Venice in 1522 and again in Florence in a most lavish rendition in 1524, for which the great Andrea del Sarto, according to Vasari, participated in the painting of the backdrop. There was anticipation, moreover, of an elaborate presentation in Faenza in 1526, for which Machiavelli had prepared new entr’acte materials. The play likewise returned to Venice that same year for the Lenten festivities. This auspicious beginning correlates well with the play’s reputation in later years as the most successful and celebrated of all of the creations in the tradition of the Italian regular comedy. The author’s life is easily documented because he left a substantial collection of letters, many of them telling about his personal impressions of times and places. He was born in Florence in 1469, entered public life in July 1498 as the secretary of The Ten – an elected body attached to the Messeria as a kind of ministry of state, war, and foreign affairs. That was the beginning of a fourteen-year period taken up with official correspondence and delegations to neighbouring courts through which Machiavelli gained first-hand experience with the errors of diplomacy and the strategies of warfare. He learned that half-way measures were useless, that rebels had to be either pardoned or destroyed, or divided and treated both ways at once. He became an avid reader of the ancient

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Romans – a modern pragmatist with a humanist’s passion. He was sent on at least three diplomatic missions to France and one to the court of the emperor Maximilian. Always he conducted himself with intelligence and insight. But when the Medici family returned in 1512, Machiavelli, for his role on the opposing side, found himself exiled for a year to the nearby countryside. That turned out to be the beginning of an extended period of semi-seclusion, during which he read and reflected deeply on the principles pertaining to states, diplomacy, and warfare. The Prince was written in 1513 and addressed to the new Medici ‘prince,’ Lorenzo; no doubt Machiavelli was hoping for a recall. But when it didn’t come, and despite his freedom to return to the city, he kept himself in semiisolation for another decade. Nevertheless, he was consulted for his views on political reform for the city, while in 1520 he was sent to Lucca as an official negotiator and in that same year was commissioned by the University of Florence to write a history of the city. Among his leading ideas of potential pertinence to the play were his thoughts about great men and their abilities (virtù), their capacities to ride roughshod over mere civilities and customs, where the greater security and prosperity of the state was concerned, and to seize opportunity as it presented itself and thereby gain advantages over the powers of fortune. His major concerns were for the definition of the state and the place of the ruthless benefactor in establishing the conditions for republican government. But as any scholar of his works will confirm, Machiavelli’s political ideas are not easily epitomized in a few mono-dimensional axioms and dicta. The Mandragola is a ‘regular’ comedy in manifesting the classical fiveact structure and a perfect sense of the so-called unities of time and place, long before they were formulated into rules. The action is set in contemporary Florence and is purported to be a true event that had taken place precisely in 1504–5. The stage time is shorter than usual for such plays and represents a unified action that, in ‘real’ time, required no more than a single twenty-four-hour day. Fra’ Timoteo and Ligurio signal that fact by keeping close track of the time during the day as well as during the night, when all the major characters keep vigil while the lovers are in bed. The short intermezzi appearing between the acts Machiavelli himself supplied in the form of songs, perhaps keen that nothing more intrusive should break up the continuity of the play’s central action. The Mandragola is, in effect, one sustained beffa, or trick, that moves with inexorable efficiency towards a single climax and its conclusion. Callimaco, a young and handsome bachelor much like Bibbiena’s Lidio, wants to seduce a married woman – one whose husband is nearly

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as silly and gullible as Calandro. But there is a difference: unlike Fulvia, Lucrezia Calfucci is virtuous, chaste, pious, intelligent, and disinclined to socialize in ways that would make her vulnerable to petition. Machiavelli raises the ante in the logistics of courtship and seduction. But the Calfuccis are vulnerable on one point: they are a sterile couple who, nevertheless, desperately wish to have children. That fact, in the hands of a consummate trickster, generates the grounds for an elaborate practical joke that will serve both causes: Callimaco will sleep with the lady, whom he promises to treat as his beloved; and the couple will likely have their children – the gullible husband duped into thinking they will be his own. Messer Nicia is a lawyer, proud of his Latin and presumed sagacity yet, for all that, a dupe in the making. Ligurio, the resident parasite, outwits him – in fact, outwits both husband and wife – on the matter of the powers and properties of the mandrake root, which he holds up as the only means for restoring Lucrezia’s fertility (Nicia would not entertain the idea that he was at fault). To be fair to them, the plant had occupied a prominent place in pharmaceutical history and had accumulated a significant amount of folklore along the way. Potions made of this plant were thought to have aphrodisiac properties, to cure infertility, and to purge the body of unwanted humours. At the same time, because the plant has a double root somewhat resembling the human form, and because it was said to shriek when pulled, it was believed to be fatal to humans who attempted to extract it from the ground. Ligurio creates ‘clinical’ interpretations of his own, that the potion not only would restore fertility to a woman, but that it also would make her fatally toxic to the first man to have intercourse with her after taking it. It is then up to Callimaco, with his student Latin, to impersonate a physician in order to convince Messer Nicia to accept such a treatment for his wife. There are demurs to his credit when it comes to the murder of a therapeutic lover destined to draw off the toxin – some lout to be found in the streets. But with assurances that even the king of France and the French nobles employed such means (II.vi), Messer Nicia’s reticence collapses. Thereafter, he consents to become a member of the scouting party that seeks out his replacement. Once a candidate is found – none other than Callimaco, to be sure – Messer Nicia goes so far as to examine him personally and tangibly before putting him to bed with his own wife, thereby becoming one of the most notorious cuckolds in all literary history. The more difficult challenge is Lucrezia, whose honour, chastity, and wisdom stand boldly against all blandishments until her own mother and her confes-

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sor, Fra’ Timoteo, with their separate motives, join in the cause. She too comes to endorse the mandrake cure and accept as a consequence the need for clinical coitus to purge the residual toxin. But the crux of the play is when Callimaco, in her arms, pauses to win her consent before possessing her. Just how much of an epiphany that is for her is revealed only by innuendo, but at that moment she must realize both that she has been tricked, and that she is being offered a practical and sustainable alternative to her husband. For the decision she makes in light of the fait accompli, Lucrezia has been rated ever since on a scale that begins with abject moral depravity and finishes with admiration for the raw power of her principled rejection of her smug and bullying husband. On the face of it, no more cynical a plot of its kind has ever been devised, and readers may choose to look no further for the play’s meaning. A mother has turned bawd to her own daughter, and her confessor has turned pimp. A husband and wife have consented to murder for the sake of getting an heir of their own. A lover has stooped rather low to conquer. An entirely amoral prankster has sought out this rare means to seduction for the sheer reward of completing this engine of trickery. A friar has sold out his calling for money, albeit with some regret. Even Florence itself is implicated by the historicizing of the anecdote, thereby extending the satire on self-deception, if not overt depravity. Machiavelli had said in the prologue that when it came to criticism he could spit vinegar and answer tit for tat. Apparently, as early as 1504 he had written a work in imitation of the Clouds of Aristophanes, in which he had singled out several of his fellow citizens for vituperative treatment. Such is our clue that the present work is nothing less than a playfully diabolical sendup of bourgeois folly and hypocrisy, of casuistry and duplicity. Yet that reading, although undoubtedly containing some truth, is troubled by two facts. First, many of the characters, including even the mother and the friar, are granted touching characteristics that make them sympathetically human, if at times ‘all too human.’ They agonize, regret, rationalize, hope in spite of reticence, compromise, deceive themselves, and compartmentalize. Such are the ways of real persons confronted by difficult choices in which moral conformity is but one consideration among many. The circumstances of the play become extenuating when viewed in this light. Second, Machiavelli, in his political writings, had created his own anthropology, in which the factual and pragmatic must sometimes take over from the ideal. His study was to reveal those cruces in the lives of statesmen when virtù was tantamount to duplicity, when seizing the times was fortuna by another name. Insofar

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as much of this political writing was already behind him when he came to write The Mandragola, the option has proven irresistible to read this play as an embodiment of the political virtues and vices he had formerly anatomized. For, clearly, the play epitomizes characters as strategists in their world who prevail through pliancy and expediency at the cost of moral rectitude for a greater good. Favouring that argument is the deduction that a writer concurrently absorbed in the writing of an Art of War would have viewed comedy as an unbearably trivial genre unless it too could be extended into an allegory of political conduct. A paraphrase of the prologue suggests even more: that because Machiavelli’s more serious writings had been rejected or criticized, he was compelled to communicate his political philosophy under the guise of a lighter form. More literally, he says, if this matter seems too light for a man of my sobriety, please understand that I am offering this pastime to disguise my own frustration and inactivity in this enforced confinement, because no more dignified an occupation is currently available to me. One might as well write humorous things because the critics dismantle everything else. This is surely the writer in the winter of his discontent, and that he is a political writer underscores the possibility that the play typologizes those who have spitefully used him (satire still), or that it is a vehicle for allegorizing his own realpolitik philosophy. On the latter score, Benedetto Croce fired the first salvo, to be followed by many others with arguments of astonishing complexity. Such a hermeneutic rescues the integrity of the serious writer by making him a serious writer still, while turning the play into something arcane that only the close students of his political oeuvre can unlock. Arguments of this nature require a form of mapping, which is to say the superimposition of political ideas upon the social patterns of the play. This can take place in the form of emblematized actions and of emblematized characters. But in every case, they must be read as credibly imparting double meanings with a sufficient degree of alignment that intentionality can be assigned to the author. The correspondences cannot be merely accidental, systemic, or generic. Helpful to these arguments are the few telltale lines in which Machiavelli seems to be importing the terminology of his political writing, as when Sostrata states as a maxim that the wise person chooses the lesser of two evils (III.i), or when Lucrezia is reported to have said that her pragmatic, amoral choice was based on occasion interpreted as the will of heaven (V.v). In Lucrezia’s case allegorizing comes down to the epitomizing of her personal conduct in relation to the values assigned to the ideal prince. Once she finds her-

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self in bed with a worthy lover, with minimal danger to her reputation and with little to answer for in terms of conscience (thanks to the roles played by her mother and her confessor), she is confronted with an expedient choice that brings fortune to her side. She manifests the virtù of the wise prince who subordinates scruples of an indifferent kind to the greater good. In this reading, Lucrezia, although duped, marshals her wits and conquers by imposing her terms upon the future and by colonizing those who would have colonized her. Even Callimaco the seducer ends up her servitor and sperm donor. But allegory is a shifty medium, for where evidence is based on generic patterns rather than on specific references, it is the most complete fit that wins – or proof that every fit fails. Consider, then, that Lucrezia is the state, the body politic, and the republic, and Callimaco, in his crafty determination to order that state for the future, is the man of virtù. Or consider that Lucrezia is the inverted reincarnation of her namesake in Livy’s historical account, who, as a victim of rape, slew herself and thereby became an emblematic figure in the contest of forces that led to the founding of the political order in ancient Rome. But then, is it not Ligurio the trickster who should be viewed as the virtuoso of expediency and the amoral exploitation of occasion? There are new possibilities in blending the political with the medical, whereby the body of state is purged of its malignant elements, much as Lucrezia is purged of her toxins in the play. But she isn’t really polluted, of course, and as for a diseased state, the promise of the future resides in the fact that all along she is a healthy young woman and Messer Nicia is the sterile member. These configurations are limited, yet seem limitless. Messer Nicia may represent brutalized humanity, Callimaco the efficient prince, and Ligurio the principles of the prince in action. It is Ligurio, after all, who keeps the occasionally ecstatic, occasionally suicidal young lover from running amok with emotion, as the good counsellor to princes must do. Or consider a reading in more historical terms in which Lucrezia represents the Florentine state, Callimaco her rescuer in the person of Duke Lorenzo de’ Medici, and Messer Nicia the doomed Soderini – an allegory in which Machiavelli continues to seek favour from the new political dispensation. The imprecision of this mapping need not detain us here. For while all these and related readings seem to render a service in providing the play with thematic depth and hermeneutic challenges, there is also a growing sense of their arbitrariness. Those who espouse these ideas will complain of this account as an under-representation of their far more complex readings. But challenges will always linger. Would Machiavelli

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have deemed his political ideas justly served by such reduced and generalized representations? Is allegory a precise enough instrument to gather up the best of this play as a social anecdote and enrich it at the level of ‘other meaning’? Is there a way to establish the definitive allegory? Are there not social issues in the play as deeply profound and troubling as the political? And does the prologue really entail, in its apologia for the comedy in relation to Machiavelli’s marginalization, a strategy for a surreptitious political treatise? Callimaco, Ligurio, or Lucrezia, in spite of their instincts for finding their own terms of inclusive fitness in a morally perplexing world, can be only ironic shadows of the prince represented in his fullness in Machiavelli’s political discourses. Conceivably, Machiavelli, in taking some time off from his more serious writings, intended to do no more with comedy than did Bibbiena, a man equally absorbed by the political issues and duties of the time. Both may have delighted in the prospect of writing for popular audiences in a playful and inventive medium – one that was still in search of its formula and vocabulary of motifs. Bibbiena met that challenge with more trickery and foolery than one finds in Ariosto, more diversified social situations, an original design for his macro-plot, able tricksters, an outrageous seduction imbroglio, and greater mockery of the bourgeoisie. Machiavelli experimented, by contrast, with a simpler design and with more particularity in his characterizations. He modified the folly of the cuckold, seized upon the originality of the mandrake plot, modulated the social satire, extended the role of the female protagonist, and made more consequential drama out of the selection of moral options. Machiavelli, like Bibbiena, may also have turned to Boccaccio for critical ideas in the creation of his otherwise original plot. Callimaco, then living contentedly in Paris, heard of Lucrezia’s beauty only by report. Yet, in imitation of Jaufré Rudel, Count of Blaye, and his quest to find the Countess of Tripoli, he made Florence his destiny and his destination to see the lady in person. Lodovico in the Decameron (VII.7) is a probable model, for he too was living in France when he heard of the praiseworthiness of Beatrice, whose love he won after making the trip to Bologna. But more telling altogether is the story of Ricciardo and Catella, likewise from the Decameron (III.6). She, a married woman, resists his love. But her vulnerable point is jealousy of her philandering husband. Ricciardo shows her a way to revenge herself by setting up a meeting between her husband and his mistress at the baths, an assignation in which Catella is to replace the mistress and gain the high ground for berating her husband. Ricciardo, however, tricks her by taking her husband’s

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place – a double substitution. Catella finds herself in a situation similar to Lucrezia’s and is at first angry, until Ricciardo finally cajoles her into accepting her good fortune as an arrangement to be perpetuated into the future. This story, too, carries all the overtones of seduction by trickery followed by an expedient choice to accept the fait accompli, not as an actionable offence but as a greater good. These fabulae are not entirely parallel, but do share logistics on many points. In these matters, Machiavelli reveals his trenchant wit and his insight into folly and self-deception, but as a master of social comedy on serious themes he may have done even more. The Calandria amazes us with its portraits of libido and stupidity, but The Mandragola troubles us in a more lingering and challenging way, not as mere satire or an allegory pointing elsewhere, but as a stark representation of the sometimes heterodox and undisclosed strategies of human reproduction. This, after all, is a play about the raw schemes for seeking accessible, high-quality seed in relation to family dynamics and dynastic imperatives. That is much closer to the bone than anything he could have said about the prince under the guise of a carnival seduction tale. Briefly, here is why. Behind certain provisions of family law, quaint customs, jealousy, and domestic violence is the male anxiety over paternity. Women always know who their own children are; men do not. The male mind seems to come equipped with a genetic disinclination to invest in offspring who do not pass into futurity some of his own genetic coding, at least not without negotiation. Women, by contrast, are genetically endowed to seek the highest calibre of sperm in order to gain for their offspring every selective advantage in a hostile and competitive world (and to participate in the overall inclusive fitness of their race), while securing for those offspring the best and most reliable form of sustenance and protection. The men who play those roles are not always the same – in fact, statistically far less so than is currently believed. This is one of the closest and most darkly held of secrets in the collective female bosom. In very recent years, DNA testing has added a new dimension to the exposure of those lies as high, daytime television melodrama. The Mandragola confirms in its way that women do not seek liaisons frivolously, if only because of the high costs in terms of jealous husbands and unwanted offspring. But where genes prompt the female in relation to her place in reproductive history, patriarchal custom and law may be given the shorter shrift. Machiavelli disturbs the moral order by giving reason to the female who not only is encumbered with a doltish and sterile husband, but is

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willing to embrace an adaptive pleasure through the institutionalizing of a permanent state of deception with the connivance of her entire entourage. Lucrezia accepts that a lover as godfather is further security, but she had already acquiesced to the principle that the progeny of a one-night stand could be justifiably raised by a cuckolded husband. What makes us laugh about Messer Nicia also brings fear, for not only is he easily tricked into investing his resources in another man’s genetic material, but he is duped into full collaboration in bringing that state of affairs to pass. Lucrezia is not hypocrisy; she is a set of selfish genes in action in accordance with her maternal instincts otherwise subordinated to the enculturation of honour – of social and Christian morality. This play is about the victory of nature over nurture, of phylogenetic endowments in defiance of the cultural constructivists. Callimaco may enjoy the fruits of his ruse, but by the principles of evolutionary fitness, he is but a sperm bank to the future and is utterly disposable thereafter, despite his bid to be godfather to his own children. By the same opportunism that makes her a survivor in her offspring, she has also become the black widow, for she has acceded to the necessity that her substitute lover and potential father to her children must die. By the logic of the mandrake root, Lucrezia will become fertile not by its medicinal powers, but by its mystical lore sufficient to make her husband believe she has become venomous. Once she has been informed of the trick, the paradigm changes. Her story then, by inversion, relates to all those other tales of women who, by ritual magic, have made themselves poisonous to their husbands, but safely available to other men. Comedy may never get more serious than this. But there is more. The Mandragola represents the social world not only as complex and contradictory, even secretive and hypocritical, forever caught in the impasse of gendered dispositions, but also as a place in which getting on is a matter of accommodation and coexistence. How ironic is the playwright in blessing the ménage à trois at the end of the play and in suggesting that the relationship should continue into the future? Given the plays by Bibbiena and Cecchi in this collection, it is clear that Machiavelli’s cynicism is not unique. But ironically, this solution is a measure of adaptability not only for Lucrezia but for Messer Nicia as well. In his own dim way, apparently he too believes that he has gained something more than he has sacrificed. Seeing this play as a winning denouement for everyone – that all will end happily in fertility and communal mutuality, blessed by the religious order – may arouse all the moral indignation we can bring to bear on the play. Yet independent of

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Lucrezia’s secret is the dynastic fact that the Calfuccis will likely have an heir, that the child will bring happiness, and that, by the comic order of things, this is the best of all possible worlds. Ligurio is an incarnation of much of the ambiguity of this play. He is the rogue at the centre of the action; he takes over the play through his advantage as a one-time marriage broker and freeloading guest in the Calfucci household. In this regard, Machiavelli makes a significant contribution to the broadening definition and enabling of this tool character. He is the parasite only somewhat removed from his prototype in the Roman comedy, yet in his semi-professional way he assumes the dimensions of the many trickster-intriguers to follow. He is well integrated into Florentine society as a man cultivated for his company at table, his gossip, and his social services. Yet Ligurio, true to his type, has no loyalties, and is ever ready to betray his host according to his advantages – even though, as a true parasite, he is careful never to overfeed on his benefactor and so destroy him. His design, in fact, is to please both lover and patron and perpetuate a double salary well into the future. Such are his social connections. Yet as a functional character in a more archetypal sense, he is the eternal outsider: amoral, cynical, pragmatic, and hardened by experience. But the paradox of the trickster is that he is sometimes a benefactor as well as a scourge. Ligurio is a prankster, but his motives may not be those of the satirist or the devil. He has not always been viewed in this way. De Sanctis, in the nineteenth century, said of Ligurio that he was a creature ‘entirely destitute of moral sense, who would have betrayed Christ for a good tip.’ ‘He is a common cheat, and if he were only a little more witty we should laugh at him. But as it is he is only hateful and contemptible.’ But as Paul Radin has pointed out about the archetypal trickster figures of aboriginal societies, they know neither good nor evil, and hence either state is merely the accidental by-product of their agency. Laughter also appears with everything the trickster does, for in those things that reduce men to their baser instincts there is also the opportunity for redemption and escape. Trickster can enact the flight from institutions of repression or invoke the spirit of carnival. He is the phallus bearer who seduces women by trickery and is also the public benefactor, aligning him with the logistics of survival as they relate to fertility rites and the preservation of social harmony necessary to communities. Ligurio, in his own way, achieves all of these things merely in pursuing his master-trick for its own sake. His personal motivation can be understood in terms of the witty design that he lives to perpetrate and complete as

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an end in itself. But his meaning is apparent only in the archetypal class he represents and in the effects he has upon the social collectivity. His delight is in the planning and execution of the outrageous, which, at the same time, casts blame upon those who should have known better. A Messer Nicia, vain and self-confident to a fault, is essential to his ends. But Ligurio also brings into his schemes the far more astute and wideeyed friar, as well as Lucrezia’s mother. His value as a satirist is clear. Yet Ligurio’s activities also give rise to a new and fertile society at the play’s end. There is, for his legacy, a remarkable homeostasis in which a cuckolded husband, a would-be grandmother, a shrewd daughter, and an intruder lover will compound in silence, in a milieu of prosperity upon which a friar and a homeless parasite will continue to feed. Ligurio has been the genius of it all. The following translation is based on the text in Niccolò Machiavelli, Tutte le opere, ed. Mario Martelli (Florence: Sansoni Editore, 1971).

Bibliography Aquilecchia, Giovanni. ‘La favola Mandragola si chiama.’ In Collected Essays on Italian Language and Literature, Presented to Kathleen Speight, ed. Giovanni Aquilecchia, Stephen N. Cristea, and Shiela Ralphs. 73–100. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1971. Bardin, Gay. ‘Machiavelli Reads Boccaccio: Mandragola between Decameron and Corbaccio.’ Italian Quarterly 38 (Summer-Fall 2001): 5–26. Beecher, Donald, ‘Machiavell’s Mandragola and the Emerging Animateur.’ Quaderni d’italianistica 5, 2 (1984): 171–89. Ferroni, Giulio. ‘“Transformation” and “Adaptation” in Machiavelli’s Mandragola.’ in Machiavelli and the Discourse of Literature, ed. Albert Russell Ascoli and Victoria Kahn. 81–116. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993. Fido, Franco. ‘Machiavelli 1469–1969: Politica e teatro nel badalucco di messer Nicia.’ Italica 46 (1969): 359–75. Gilbert, Felix. ‘The Humanist Concept of the Prince and the Prince of Machiavelli.’ Journal of Modern History 11 (1939): 449–83. Hale, J.R. The Literary Works of Machiavelli. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1961. Machiavelli, Niccolò. Tutte le opere di Machiavelli. Ed. Mario Martelli. Florence, 1971. Martinez, Ronald L. ‘The Pharmacy of Machiavelli: Roman Lucretia in Mandragola.’ Renaissance Drama 14 (1983): 1–43.

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Radcliff-Umstead, Douglas. The Birth of Modern Comedy in Renaissance Italy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969. Raimondi, Ezio. ‘Il teatro del Machiavelli.’ Studi storici 10 (1969): 757–78. Ridolfi, Roberto. The Life of Niccolò Machiavelli. Trans. Cecil Grayson. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963. Salingar, Leo. Shakespeare and the Traditions of Comedy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974. Smarr, Janet. ‘The Marriage of Plautus and Boccaccio.’ Heliotropia 1, 1 (2003). http://www.heliotropia.org Strauss, Leo. Thoughts on Machiavelli. Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1958. Sumberg, Theodore. ‘La Mandragola: An Interpretation.’ Journal of Politics 2 (May 1961): 230–40. Vanossi, Luigi. ‘Situazione e sviluppo del teatro machiavelliano.’ In Lingua e strutture del teatro italiano del Rinascimento, ed. G. Folena. 1–108. Padua: Liviana Editrice, 1970).

The Mandragola La mandragola SONG (to be sung by nymphs and shepherds together before the comedy) Since life is brief, and many are the pains we all endure as we live and struggle, and we go along, pursuing our fancies, while the passing years are swallowed up – anyone who shuns pleasure, to live instead with pain and anguish, does not know the world’s deceits, or the evils and the strange chances by which each mortal is all but overcome. To escape this tedium we have chosen to live apart, in constant play and feasting – graceful lads and happy nymphs. We have come here now in peaceful concord, to honour this joyful celebration and this loving company. We were drawn here by the name of him who governs you, in whose eternal features all that is good is united.1 For such divine grace, for such bliss, be grateful; enjoy it, and thank the one who gave him to you.2

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Dramatis Personae3 callimaco a young Florentine merchant siro his servant messer nicia a lawyer ligurio a parasite sostrata mother of Lucrezia fra’ timoteo a friar a woman lucrezia wife of Messer Nicia (The scene is in Florence)

Prologue God bless you, ladies and gentlemen, you are very kind; and since this kindness of yours depends upon our pleasing you, please keep the noise down, because we should like you to hear about something that has just arisen here in town – you can see from the scenery that we are showing you your very own Florence (another time it will be Rome, or Pisa) – and it’ll make you laugh till you split your sides. That door on my right is the house of a doctor of law, who owes his legal expertise to his reading of Boethius.4 At that other corner you can see the Via dell’Amore (if you take a fall there you’ll never get up).

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In the church right in front of you there’s a monk; if you stick around, you’ll be able to tell from the way he dresses what kind of prior or abbot lives there. In the house on my left lives Callimaco Guadagno, a young man who has just returned from Paris. Among his other good qualities, he’s a very noble, worthy fellow; you can tell that from his courtesy and his elegant bearing. A bright young woman was much loved by him, and because of that she was deceived, as you will hear – and I’d like you to be deceived in the same way. The play is called The Mandragola;5 you’ll probably find out why as it goes along. The author is not very well known, but he’ll be happy to pay for your wine if you don’t find it funny. So: a wretched lover, a lawyer who’s not very bright, a monk with a weak conscience, a parasite who is mischief’s darling – that’s what we’ll entertain you with today. If this seems an unworthy subject, if it seems too trivial for a man who wishes to appear serious and wise, forgive him; he is trying by means of these frivolous thoughts to make his miserable life more pleasant. He doesn’t know where else to turn,

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for he has been forbidden to demonstrate his skill in other ways; he has worked hard, but has nothing to show for it. The best he can hope for is that all you’ll do is turn aside and smirk and whisper snide remarks about everything you see or hear. I’ve no doubt that the reason this happens is that in the present age we have moved away from the ancient virtues. You can see it everywhere nowadays. In fact, when an author sees how eager everyone is to censure everyone else, he won’t bother putting himself through the thousand hardships he must endure in order to create a work that won’t be blown away by the wind or swallowed up by the fog. But if there’s anyone here who thinks you can hold him down,6 or give him a scare, or put him off just by badmouthing him, I’m warning you, I’m telling you, he can give you a pretty good tongue-lashing; that’s a talent he’s had from the very beginning; he doesn’t give a damn for anyone anywhere,7 even though he himself is the servant of someone who dresses better than he does. So if you want to criticize him, go ahead and try. But let’s get back to our story – we don’t want to waste time taking too seriously the words of some fool

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who doesn’t know whether he’s alive or dead. Here comes Callimaco, and he has his servant, Siro, with him. He’ll tell the whole story. Pay attention, everyone – and don’t expect any more help.

ACT I Scene i callimaco and siro callimaco: Siro, don’t go away; I want to talk to you. siro: Here I am. callimaco: You must have been pretty surprised when I left Paris in such a rush. And now that I’ve been here for more than a month without doing anything, I guess you’re even more puzzled. siro: You’re right. callimaco: If I haven’t told you yet what I’m going to tell you now, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that when there are things you don’t want people to know, it’s better not to say them unless you have to. But now that I may need your help, I want to tell you everything. siro: I’m your servant; a servant should never ask his master about anything, or pry into what he’s up to. But when a master confides in his servant, the servant must serve him faithfully. That’s what I’ve always done, and it’s what I’ll continue to do. callimaco: Yes, I know. Now you’ve probably heard me say this a thousand times, but it won’t hurt you to hear it once more: my father and mother died when I was ten, so my tutors sent me to Paris, where I’ve spent the last twenty years. About ten years ago, after King Charles came to Italy, wars started here that brought this country to ruin,8 so I decided never to come back, but to live in Paris, where I thought it was safer. siro: Right. callimaco: After arranging to sell everything here that I owned – everything except my house – I decided to make Paris my home and stayed there very happily for another ten years.

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siro: Yes, I know. callimaco: I spent part of my time studying, part enjoying myself, part tending to my business – without letting any one of these interfere with the others. And so, as you know, I was able to live very quietly, making myself useful wherever I could, trying my best not to offend anyone. Everyone seemed to like me, bourgeois and gentry, locals and outsiders, rich and poor. siro: That’s the truth. callimaco: But Fortune seemed to think I was having too good a time, so she arranged to have a certain Cammillo Calfucci show up in Paris. siro: I think I’m beginning to guess what’s troubling you. callimaco: Like other Florentines, I often had this man as my guest, and one day we started arguing about where the most beautiful women lived, in Italy or France. I couldn’t speak about Italian women, since I’d left when I was small, but another Florentine who was there took the side of the French, while Cammillo spoke for the Italians. After many arguments on either side, Cammillo, who was beginning to lose his temper, said that even if every Italian woman turned out to be a monster, he had a relative who would restore their honour. siro: Now I see where you’re heading. callimaco: And he named Monna Lucrezia, the wife of Messer Nicia Calfucci. He had such high praise for her beauty and her character that we were all astonished. I found myself so eager to see her that I put everything else aside and set off for Italy without the slightest thought about war or peace. And when I got here, I found that Monna Lucrezia’s reputation fell far short of the truth – something that certainly doesn’t happen very often. Now, I have such a burning desire to be with her that I can’t get any rest. siro: If you had told me all this in Paris I might have been able to give you some advice, but now I don’t know what to say. callimaco: It’s not to ask your advice that I’m telling you this; I just needed to get it off my chest. And I want you to be ready to help me if I need you. siro: Of course, I’m more than ready. But do you have any reason to hope? callimaco: Oh, God, none at all … Well, hardly any. siro: Why is that? callimaco: Well, first of all, by her very nature she is in conflict with

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me: she is extremely virtuous, and she is especially opposed to love affairs; secondly, she has a very rich husband who is completely under her thumb, and although he’s not young, he’s not as old as he seems; thirdly, she has no relatives or neighbours she might go to a dance with, or to a party, or anywhere else where a young woman might have a good time. Not a single tradesman goes to her house, and all her maids and servants are afraid of her – so there’s no opportunity for bribery. siro: So what are you thinking of doing? callimaco: Things are never so desperate that you can’t find a reason to hope. And even when your hope is weak and pointless, it needn’t seem to be so if your longing to succeed is great enough. siro: Well then, what gives you hope? callimaco: Two things: the first is the naïveté of Messer Nicia. Although he is a doctor of laws, he is the greatest simpleton and the biggest fool in Florence. The other thing is that they both want children. They’re very rich, they’ve been married for six years, and they are dying to have some. There is a third thing as well: her mother used to be … well, quite something. She’s rich too. I don’t quite know how to deal with her. siro: Have you tried anything yet? callimaco: Yes, I have, just a small thing. siro: What’s that? callimaco: Well, you know Ligurio, who is always coming over to eat with me? Before he started scrounging for meals he was a marriage broker. He’s a pleasant fellow, and Messer Nicia is very friendly with him – and of course Ligurio takes advantage of that. Although Nicia doesn’t bring him home for dinner, he often lends him money. Ligurio I’ve made a friend of mine, and I’ve told him I’m in love. He has promised to help in any way he can. siro: Be careful he doesn’t trick you. These scroungers aren’t very trustworthy. callimaco: That’s true. But when something really suits you, and you’ve told a person about it, you convince yourself that he’ll sincerely try to help you. I promised him a good sum of money if it works out. If it doesn’t, all he’ll get will be a couple of meals – and I don’t like eating alone in any case. siro: What has he promised to do so far? callimaco: He’s going to convince Messer Nicia to take his wife to a health resort9 this May.

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siro: How would that help you? callimaco: Why, she might turn into an entirely different person in a place like that. They do nothing but party. I’ll go there and do everything I can to please her. There’s no extravagance I won’t try. I’ll get to know her, and her husband, and ... well, I don’t know ... something will happen, and then something else ... well, time will take care of it. siro: Not a bad idea. callimaco: When he left me this morning Ligurio said he’d discuss the matter with Messer Nicia and then come back and let me know what happened. siro: There they are, the two of them. callimaco: I’m going to move aside and be ready to speak with Ligurio the moment he leaves the lawyer. Meantime, you go inside and do your work. If I want you for anything I’ll let you know. siro: I’m off, then. Scene ii messer nicia and ligurio nicia: That was good advice you gave me. I spoke to my wife about it last night, and she said she’d give me an answer today. But to tell you the truth I’m not jumping at the chance to go. ligurio: Why not? nicia: Well, I don’t like to leave home – you know, having to bring the wife, the servant, the stuff from the house – it doesn’t feel right to me. Besides, last night I spoke to a number of doctors: one of them says go to San Filippo, another says the Porretta, and another says the Villa.10 But they’re just a bunch of buzzards. To tell you the truth, these doctors don’t know what they’re talking about. ligurio: And what you told me before, that must bother you – that you’re not used to being out of sight of the Cupola.11 nicia: No, no, you’re wrong there. In my younger days I was quite a traveller. I never missed the fair at Prato, and there isn’t a castle around here that I haven’t visited. Not only that, but I’ve been to Pisa and Livorno!12 See what I mean? ligurio: When you were in Pisa you must have seen the famous carrucola. nicia: What? Oh, you mean Mount Verrucola?13

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ligurio: Uh ... right, yes, Mount Verrucola. And at Livorno, did you see the sea? nicia: Of course! You know I did! ligurio: Is it much wider than the Arno?14 nicia: The Arno? What? It’s more than four times ... more than six ... more than seven ... what can I say? You can’t see anything but water – there’s water, water everywhere. ligurio: It seems surprising that a man who’s pissed in as many snow banks as you have would make such a big thing about visiting a health resort. nicia: What are you talking about, young fellow?15 Do you think it’s easy to turn a house upside down? But then, I want to have children so much that I’m ready to do anything. So you go talk to these doctors and see where they advise me to go. Meantime, I’ll go back to my wife. I’ll see you later. ligurio: Right. Scene iii ligurio and callimaco ligurio: I don’t think there’s a bigger fool than this fellow in the whole world. And yet look how kind Fortune has been to him! He’s rich; his wife is beautiful, wise, virtuous – fit to govern a kingdom. There’s a proverb, ‘God makes people, but people find their own matches’; still, you don’t often find a marriage that backs it up. You’ll often see a fine fellow who has chosen a dummy, while on the other hand a wise woman can end up with a fool. But something good might come of this man’s foolishness. Callimaco has something to hope for. Oh, here he is. –Callimaco, what are you doing here? callimaco: When I saw you talking with the lawyer, I thought I’d wait till you were finished, so I could find out what you’ve been able to do. ligurio: Well, you know the kind of man he is: not much common sense, and even less courage, so he’s very reluctant to leave Florence. But I managed to warm him up to the idea, and eventually he told me he’d go along with everything. I think that we can bring him round if this is really what we want to do. But I’m not sure that we’ll end up with what we’re looking for. callimaco: Why not? ligurio: Well, you know, all kinds of people go to these resorts. Some-

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one could come along who likes Monna Lucrezia as much as you do, but who’s richer than you and has more charm. We’re in danger of going to all this trouble for the sake of someone else. Or when she finds herself surrounded by a crowd of men vying for her attention she might become even more strait-laced than she is already. Or, on the other hand, she might just find herself becoming more sociable and turn to someone else instead of you. callimaco: I know. You’re right. But what can I do? Where can I turn? I’ve got to try something – something big, something dangerous, even if it causes trouble or raises a scandal. I’d rather die than live like this. If I could sleep at night, if I could eat, if I could talk, if I could take pleasure in anything at all, I’d be more patient and just wait for an opportunity. But there’s no way out. If nothing comes up to keep my hopes alive, I’ll die. So if I’m going to die anyway, there’s nothing I’d be afraid to do, no matter how stupid, or ugly, or wicked. ligurio: Don’t say that. Don’t let yourself even think things like that. callimaco: Don’t you see? That’s why I let myself think like this – so that I can keep myself under control. Look: either we follow through with sending this fellow to a health resort, or else we find some other solution. Give me some hope, even a false hope. I’ve got to feed my mind with some idea, something that might give me some peace, even just a little. ligurio: You’re right; and that’s just what I’m about to do. callimaco: And I believe you, even though I know that people like you make your living by pulling the wool over other people’s eyes. But I don’t think you could hoodwink me. If you tried something, and I could see it coming, I’d do something about it. First, I wouldn’t let you inside my house – and then you’d lose the hope of getting what I promised you for the future. ligurio: Trust me. Even if I didn’t expect to get something out of this for myself – and of course I’m hoping for that – don’t forget, I know how you feel; I want this to work just as much as you do. But let’s not talk about that right now. Messer Nicia asked me to find a doctor and ask him which resort it would be best to go to. Now I want you to do what I tell you: tell him that you’ve studied medicine in Paris and had a practice there. There’ll be no problem making him believe that, because he’s such a simpleton … and you, you’re an educated man; all you need to do is say something in Latin. callimaco: What purpose will all this serve? ligurio: It will mean we can send him anywhere we choose. But it

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will also mean that we can try out a new plan I’ve thought of. It will be quicker and more reliable than a trip to a health resort – and it’s more likely to work. callimaco: What are you saying? ligurio: I’m saying that if you’ll just be brave and trust me, it will all be over by this time tomorrow. And even if he were the kind of man who’d try to check on whether you’re a doctor or not – which he’s not – what we’re going to do won’t give him any time to do that. Even if he were to give it some careful thought, he wouldn’t have time to ruin our plans. callimaco: You’re bringing me back to life. But oh, the prospects are too rich! You’re giving me too much hope! How will you do it? ligurio: You’ll find out soon enough; I don’t need to tell you right now. We don’t have much time to do it, let alone talk about it. You go home and wait for me there. I’ll find the lawyer, and when I bring him to you, listen to what I say and act accordingly. callimaco: I will, even though I’m terrified that this hope you’re giving me is going to go up in smoke. SONG O Love, no one who has never felt your power can hope to be a true witness of what heaven values most highly. Nor will he know how one can at the same moment both live and die, how one can both pursue what is bad and flee from what is good, how one can love another more than oneself, how fear often chills the heart and hope warms it. Neither can he know how it feels to be armed with weapons that are feared as much by gods as by men.

ACT II Scene i ligurio, messer nicia, and siro ligurio: As I was telling you, I really believe that God has sent this

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man to help you fulfil your wishes. He has had a great deal of success in Paris, but don’t be surprised that he hasn’t been practising in Florence. The reason is, he’s rich, and besides, he’s just about to return to Paris. nicia: Yes, my friend, what counts now are the benefits that will come out of this. I wouldn’t want to get all tangled up in something and then find myself left in the lurch.16 ligurio: Don’t worry about that. The only thing we have to be afraid of is that he may not want to take the case. But if he does, he’ll stick with you until he’s seen the end of it. nicia: As far as he himself is concerned, I accept your word. As for what he knows, though, I’ll be able to tell you myself how well trained he is the moment I speak to him. He won’t put one over on me.17 ligurio: Yes, I know what you’re like, and that’s why I’m bringing you to him, so that you can speak with him yourself. Spend some time with him. Then, after you’ve seen how he carries himself and listened to his learning and his command of language, if you don’t find him to be a man whose lap you could lay your head on, never trust me again. nicia: In the name of the holy angels, then, let’s go. Where does he live? ligurio: Right here. That’s his door right in front of us. nicia: Fine, then; knock. ligurio: There, it’s done. siro: Who’s there? ligurio: Is Callimaco in? siro: Yes, he is. nicia: Why didn’t you ask for ‘Doctor Callimaco’? ligurio: He doesn’t care about trivialities like that. nicia: Don’t say that. Do what’s proper, and if he doesn’t like it, well, too bad.18 Scene ii callimaco, messer nicia, and ligurio callimaco: Who is asking for me? nicia: Bona dies, domine magister. callimaco: Et vobis bona, domine doctor.19 ligurio: What do you think?

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nicia: My goodness, he seems fine! ligurio: But if you want me to stick around, you’ve got to speak a language I can understand. Otherwise it’ll be as if we were in two different rooms.20 callimaco: What brings you here? nicia: That’s a good question. I am looking for a couple of things that some people might want to avoid: I’ll be making trouble for myself, and I’ll be giving it to others. My problem is, I have no children, and I would like to have some. That’s what I’ve come to trouble you about. callimaco: It’s no trouble doing a kindness for you – or for any good, honourable man like you. It’s for the opportunity to serve people like you that I’ve been working so hard for so many years in Paris. nicia: Well, thank you. And if you ever need my skills as a lawyer I’d be glad to be of service to you. But let’s get back to rem nostram.21 Is it your opinion that my wife would be more likely to become pregnant if we were to go to a health resort? I know that Ligurio here has broached this subject with you. callimaco: Yes, he has. But first, if I am to help you achieve what you want, I must know the reason for your wife’s barrenness. There can be many causes: nam cause sterilitatis sunt: aut in semine, aut in matrice, aut in instrumentis seminariis, aut in virga, aut in causa extrinseca.22 nicia: You couldn’t find a better man than this one! callimaco: On the other hand, you yourself may be the cause of her barrenness: you may be impotent. If that’s the case nothing can be done. nicia: Impotent? Me? Ha! That’s a laugh! I don’t think there’s a firmer, more vigorous man in Florence than I am. callimaco: If that’s not the cause, then, don’t worry; we will find a cure. nicia: Isn’t there any other cure than the mineral baths? I really dislike all the inconvenience, and my wife would be very reluctant to leave Florence. ligurio: Yes, there is! I’ll have to answer for Callimaco, because he is much too cautious in these matters. Didn’t you tell me that there are certain potions you can prescribe that are guaranteed to induce pregnancy? callimaco: Yes, I did, but I like to be careful when I’m with men I don’t know. I don’t want them to think I’m a charlatan.

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nicia: Don’t worry about me. Your skills astonish me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t believe you could do. ligurio: I think you should examine a urine sample. callimaco: Oh, no question about that, we can’t do without it. ligurio: Call Siro and tell him to go along home with Messer Nicia, and he can bring it back with him. We’ll wait for him inside. callimaco: Siro! (Enter Siro) Go along with him. And Messer Nicia, if you’d like to come right back with Siro, that would be fine. We’ll come up with something worthwhile. nicia: What do you mean, ‘if I’d like’? I’ll be right back. I trust you implicitly – like a Hungarian trusts his sword.23 Scene iii messer nicia and siro nicia: This master of yours is a very clever man. siro: More than you think. nicia: The king of France must think highly of him. siro: Very much so. nicia: And so ... he must like living in France. siro: I believe he does. nicia: And he’s right. Everyone here is so tight-assed. There’s no appreciation for the man who knows what he’s doing.24 If he were to stick around here, there’s not a soul who’d give him the time of day. Don’t I know it! I strained my guts to learn a bit of Latin, but I tell you, if I had to live on that, I’d be left out in the cold. siro: What do you earn in a year – a hundred ducats? nicia: Huh! Not a hundred lire, not a hundred grossi!25 People like me in this town, unless they’re rich, they won’t find a dog to bark at them. The only thing we’re good for is going to funerals and weddings, or else sitting around all day on the Proconsul’s bench watching the girls go by. But I don’t let it get me down. I don’t need anybody. I wish that some people who are even worse off than I am were more like me. But I wouldn’t want anyone to hear me say that – they’d charge me some heavy tax; it’d be worse than getting a wart on my ass and coming down with a fever. siro: Don’t worry about me. nicia: This is my place. Wait here, I’ll be right back.

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siro: Go ahead. Scene iv siro, alone siro: If every lawyer was like him we’d all go nuts.26 I’m pretty sure that crook Ligurio and my fool of a master will drag his name through the mud. To tell you the truth, that’s fine with me, so long as nobody finds out about it. Otherwise, I’m risking my life, and my master’s risking his life and everything he has. He’s already passed himself off as a medical doctor. I don’t know the scam, or how far they’re willing to go with it ... Oh, but here’s the lawyer – and he’s carrying a pisspot! You can’t help laughing at this idiot!27 Scene v messer nicia and siro nicia: (To Lucrezia, who is inside) I’ve always done things your way, but this time I want you to do it my way for a change. If I’d known you couldn’t have children, I’d have married a farm girl. (To Siro) Here, take this, Siro. (Gives him the sample) Come along with me. What a song and dance I had to go through to get this stupid wife of mine to give me a sample. It’s not as if she doesn’t want to have children. She wants them even more than I do. But the moment I ask her to do one little thing ... ah, she never stops arguing. siro: Give her time. A few kind words will always bring a woman around. nicia: Kind words? I’ve had it up to here.28 Go on, hurry. Tell the doctor and Ligurio I’m here. siro: Here they come now. Scene vi ligurio, callimaco, and messer nicia ligurio: The lawyer will be easy enough to persuade. It’s the woman who’ll be the difficult one. But we’ll find a way. callimaco: Do you have the sample?

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nicia: Siro has it; it’s in the pot. callimaco: Give it here. Uh, oh! Looks like there’s a weakness in the kidneys. nicia: It does seem a little cloudy. But she just did it. callimaco: Don’t be surprised. Nam mulieris urine sunt semper maioris glossitiei et albedinis, et minoris pulchritudinis, quam virorum. Huius autem, in cetera, causa est amplitudo canalium, mixtio eorum que ex matrice exeunt cum urinis.29 nicia: Oh! Wow! Holy shit!30 This fellow gets more impressive the more I hear from him. The way he figures these things out! callimaco: I’m afraid this woman isn’t well enough covered at night. That’s why her urine is a bit raw. nicia: She has a pretty good blanket, but every night before she comes to bed she kneels for about four hours reciting her prayers. She’s a fool to expose herself to the cold. callimaco: Well, Messer Nicia, it’s time to decide: do you trust me or don’t you? I have a sure-fire remedy; should I show it to you or not? I’m quite prepared to prescribe the treatment. Do you trust me? It’s up to you. If your wife isn’t holding a child in her arms a year from today, I’ll give you two thousand ducats. nicia: Let’s go ahead with it. I will do everything you say. I trust you more than my own confessor. callimaco: You must understand this: there is nothing more certain to make a woman pregnant than a potion made from the mandrake root. I have often experimented with it, and it has worked every time. Without it, the queen of France would be barren, and many another princess in that country. nicia: Really? callimaco: It’s just as I’ve told you. Fortune has smiled on you. I have brought along all the ingredients I need to make up the potion, and you can have it whenever you wish. nicia: When should she take it? callimaco: How about tonight after supper? The timing couldn’t be better: it’s just the right phase of the moon. nicia: That shouldn’t be much of a problem. Get it ready, and I’ll see that she takes it. callimaco: Wait, though, there’s something you should consider: the first man who lies with her after she has taken this potion will die within a week. Nothing in the world can save him.

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nicia: Bloody shit! I’m not using that kind of garbage. You’re not going to hit me with this. Boy, you’ve really knocked me for a loop! callimaco: Take it easy. There is a remedy. nicia: What? callimaco: I’ll get someone else to sleep with her. By the time he’s spent a night with her, all the mandrake’s poison will have passed over to him. After that, you can have intercourse with her without any danger. nicia: I don’t want to do this. callimaco: Why? nicia: Because I don’t want to make my wife a whore, and I don’t want to be a cuckold myself. callimaco: What are you talking about, Messer Nicia? My goodness, I guess you’re not as smart as I thought you were. The king of France has done it, and many of his lords; surely you’re not afraid of doing what they’ve done? nicia: Who do you expect me to find to do such a crazy thing? If I were to tell him about it, he wouldn’t do it; and if I didn’t tell him, I’d be screwing him, and I could be brought up before the Justices.31 I don’t want to end up there. callimaco: If that’s all that’s bothering you, leave it to me. nicia: What are you going to do? callimaco: Listen. I’ll give you the potion this evening after supper. You’ll give it to her to drink, then put her to bed right away – that’ll be at about nine o’clock.32 Then we’ll disguise ourselves – you, Ligurio, Siro, and myself – and we’ll go look around the old market and the new market; and around here as well. The first young lout we find hanging around, we’ll gag him, beat him up, and bring him back to your house and into your bedroom in the dark. Then we’ll put him to bed and tell him what to do. There shouldn’t be any problem. In the morning you can send him on his way, get your wife washed up, and then do what you like with her without any danger. nicia: I’m glad you say that this has been done by kings and princes and lords. And most of all that the Justices won’t find out! callimaco: Who would want to tell them? nicia: There’s one more difficulty, and it’s a big one. callimaco: What’s that? nicia: We’ll have to convince my wife. I don’t think she’ll ever agree to it.

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callimaco: Well, I see what you mean, but I wouldn’t want to call myself a husband if I couldn’t convince my wife to do what I wanted her to. ligurio: I’ve thought of a way to do it. nicia: What? ligurio: We’ll use her confessor. callimaco: Who will make her confessor agree to it – you? ligurio: Me, you, money, our wickedness, his. nicia: But I doubt that she’d speak to her confessor just because I told her to. ligurio: There’s a way around that too. callimaco: What? ligurio: Have her mother bring her to him. nicia: That’s right, she does trust her. ligurio: Her mother thinks the same way we do, I know it. Come on, it’s getting on, it’ll soon be evening. Callimaco, go take a walk, but make sure we find you at home a good hour before sunset and have the potion ready. Messer Nicia and I will go to her mother’s house to get her ready. I know how to handle her. Then I’ll go to the friar and tell him what we’ve arranged. callimaco: (Aside, to Ligurio) Please don’t leave me alone. ligurio: You look lovesick! callimaco: Where do you want me to go? ligurio: This way, that way ... wherever! Florence is a big town, you know! callimaco: I’m done for! SONG How happy is the man – as everyone can see – who is a born fool, and will believe anything. He is neither spurred by ambition nor driven by fear, the usual seeds of trouble and sorrow. This lawyer of yours is so frantic to have children, he’d believe that donkeys fly. That’s all he hopes for. All other desires have been consigned to oblivion.

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ACT III Scene i sostrata, messer nicia, and ligurio sostrata: They say that a wise man will make the best of a bad situation. If this is the only way she can have children, she’s got to go along with it – so long as she can do it with a clear conscience. nicia: No question about that. ligurio: You go see your daughter while Messer Nicia and I look for Fra’ Timoteo, her confessor. We’ll explain the situation to him so that you won’t have to, and we’ll see what he says. sostrata: That’s what we’ll do then. You’re off that way. I’ll go find Lucrezia. Somehow or other I’ll bring her to the friar. Scene ii messer nicia and ligurio nicia: You’re probably wondering why we have to jump through so many hoops to convince my wife, Ligurio, but it wouldn’t surprise you if you knew the whole story. ligurio: Women are always suspicious, I know that. nicia: Oh, it’s not that. She’s the sweetest person in the world, and the most manageable. But once, a neighbour told her that if she made a vow to go to early mass at the Servites’ church33 for forty days, she would get pregnant. She took the vow and went for maybe twenty mornings. But wouldn’t you know it, one of the friars – a big fellow – started hanging around her, and, well, she didn’t want to go back after that. It’s too bad when someone who should be setting an example acts like that! Don’t you think so? ligurio: Damned right! nicia: Since then she’s been as nervous as a rabbit. No sooner does someone suggest something but she comes up with a thousand objections. ligurio: After that, I’m not surprised. But what about the vow, what did she do about it? nicia: She arranged to be granted a dispensation.

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ligurio: Well that’s good. Look, do you have twenty-five ducats? I’ll need it to get on good terms with the friar right off the bat. In cases like this you have to spend a little so that he’ll hope for something more. nicia: Take it. No problem. I can make it up somewhere else. ligurio: These friars are very sly, very shrewd. That makes sense, because they know about our sins as well as their own. If you don’t know how they operate you might find yourself outfoxed; you won’t know how to lead them by the nose and get them to do what you want. So I don’t want you to say anything that might ruin the whole deal. Someone like you, you spend the day in your study; you know all about your books, but as far as everyday matters are concerned, well, you don’t know how to talk about them. (Aside) This fellow is so stupid I’m afraid he might ruin everything. nicia: Tell me what you want me to do. ligurio: Let me do the talking. Don’t say anything unless I give you a signal. nicia: All right. What kind of signal? ligurio: I’ll wink at you; or I could bite my lip ... like this! No, no, let’s do something else. When was the last time you spoke to the friar? nicia: Oh, it’s been ten years or more. ligurio: Good. I’ll tell him you’ve gone deaf. Don’t answer if he speaks to you. In fact, don’t say anything unless we speak really loudly. nicia: I won’t. ligurio: And another thing, don’t worry if you hear me say something that seems to contradict what we’ve been talking about. Everything will turn out the way we want it to. nicia: God willing. ligurio: I see the friar speaking with some woman. Let’s wait until he has sent her away. Scene iii fra’ timoteo and a woman friar: If you want to make a confession, I’m at your service. woman: Not today. There’s someone expecting me. I just wanted to take a moment to get something off my chest. Did you say those Masses for Our Lady? friar: Yes, Ma’am.

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woman: Now take this florin, and every Monday for two months say the Mass of the Dead for my husband’s soul. He was a brute, but I can’t help feeling the pull of the flesh whenever I think of him. Do you think he’s in purgatory? friar: There’s no doubt about that. woman: I’m not so sure. You know what he sometimes used to do to me. Well, you remember how I complained to you about it. I pushed him away as much as I could, but dear God, he was such a nuisance! friar: Do not doubt the greatness of God’s mercy. If a man has the will to do so, he will always be given the time to repent. woman: Do you think the Turks will be in Italy this year?34 friar: They will, if you don’t say your prayers. woman: Oh dear! God help us with all this devilry! I’m terrified of being impaled. Oh, there’s that woman in the church who has some fabric of mine. I must see her. Good day, Father. friar: Go with God. Scene iv fra’ timoteo, ligurio, and messer nicia friar: It may well be that women are the most loving creatures, but they’re the most irritating ones as well. A man can avoid the irritation by keeping them at a distance, but if he does, he’ll lose the benefits as well. If he keeps them around he’ll have the bad along with the good. That’s the way it is: you can’t have honey without attracting flies. Oh, how do you do, gentlemen? Do I not recognize Messer Nicia? ligurio: Speak up. He’s so deaf, he can hardly hear a thing. friar: You are welcome, sir. ligurio: Louder. friar: You are welcome! nicia: You too, Father. friar: What brings you here? nicia: Everything’s fine. ligurio: Talk to me, Father. If you wanted him to hear you, you’d disturb the whole piazza. friar: What do you want?

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ligurio: Messer Nicia here, and another gentleman I will tell you about later, want to distribute several hundred ducats in alms. nicia: (Aside) Holy shit! ligurio: (Aside, to Messer Nicia) Shut up, damn it; it won’t be that much. (To the friar) Don’t be surprised at anything he says, Father. His hearing is gone. Sometimes he’ll think he hears something and he’ll try to answer, but it’ll be off the point. friar: Carry on, please; let him say what he wants. ligurio: Some of the money I have with me. They have decided that you should be the one to distribute it. friar: I’d be very glad to. ligurio: Before this act of charity takes place, however, we need you to help us deal with a strange situation Messer Nicia finds himself in. The honour of his house is at stake, and you’re the only one who can help us. friar: What is it? ligurio: I don’t know if you’ve ever met Cammillo Calfucci, Messer Nicia’s nephew. friar: Yes, I have. ligurio: He had to go to France a year ago on some business. His wife had died, so he left his niece, who was of marriageable age, in the care of a convent, whose name I needn’t mention for the moment. friar: What happened? ligurio: Well, either because of the nuns’ carelessness or the girl’s stupidity, she is four months pregnant. If a prudent remedy is not found, everyone – the lawyer here, the nuns, the girl, Cammillo, and the house of Calfucci – will be disgraced. Messer Nicia feels the shame of it so deeply that he has sworn to give three hundred ducats in thanks to God, provided this story doesn’t get out. nicia: (Aside) What a bunch of … ! ligurio: (Aside, to Messer Nicia) Be quiet! (To the friar) You would be the one to distribute this money. You and the abbess are the only ones who can solve the problem. friar: How? ligurio: By persuading the abbess to give the girl a potion that will make her miscarry. friar: Ooh, I’d want to think about that. ligurio: What do you mean ‘think about it’? Look at how much good will come out of it: you’ll save the honour of the convent, the girl, and her family; you’ll give the father back a daughter; you’ll satisfy

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Messer Nicia here and many of his relatives; you’ll do three hundred ducats worth of charitable work. On the other hand, the only thing you’ll harm is a little bit of unborn flesh without a soul. And it might have been lost anyway, in any one of a thousand ways. It’s my belief that the greatest good is that which provides the greatest benefit and the most happiness for the most people. friar: So be it, in the name of God! For God and for charity, let it all be done – everything you want. Tell me the name of the convent and give me the potion. And please, give me the money so that I may begin to do some good with it. ligurio: Now you’re looking like the holy man I thought you were. Here – here’s part of the money; take it. The convent is ... Wait, there’s a woman in the church motioning to me. I’ll be right back. Don’t leave Messer Nicia alone. I just want to say a few words to her. Scene v fra’ timoteo and messer nicia friar: This girl, how old is she? nicia: I can’t believe it! friar: I said, how old is this girl? nicia: God damn him. friar: Why? nicia: Because He should. friar (Aside): I seem to be in a bit of a fix. One of them’s a fool and the other’s deaf: one runs off, the other can’t hear. But if the coins are genuine,35 I can make better use of them than they can! Ah, here’s Ligurio back again. Scene vi ligurio, fra’ timoteo, and messer nicia ligurio: (Aside, to Messer Nicia) Keep quiet, Sir. (To the friar) I have some good news, Father. friar: What is it? ligurio: That woman I spoke with told me the girl has miscarried all on her own.

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friar: Oh good, that means we can just put this money into our general funds.36 ligurio: What are you talking about? friar: I’m just saying that now you have all the more reason to make this gift. ligurio: You’ll get the money whenever you want it, but there’s something else you need to do to help Messer Nicia. friar: What is that? ligurio: Something less troublesome, with less risk of scandal; more pleasant for us, and more profitable for you. friar: What is it? Look, we understand each other; as far as I’m concerned, I feel easy enough with you that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help. ligurio: Let’s go into the church, just the two of us. I’ll tell you there. The lawyer here will be quite happy to wait. (To Messer Nicia) We’ll be right back. nicia: As the toad said to the harrow. friar: Let’s go then. Scene vii messer nicia, alone nicia: I can’t tell if it’s day or night! Am I awake or dreaming? I feel as if I’m drunk, trying to follow this gobbledegook, but I haven’t had anything to drink all day. We agree to tell the friar something, and he goes and tells him something else. Then he wants me to pretend to be deaf. I should have put wax in my ears, like the Dane,37 so that I wouldn’t have to hear the stupid things he’s saying, God knows why! Here I am, short twenty-five ducats, and not a thing has been said about my business. And now they’ve left me hanging here like an idiot.38 But here they come. If they haven’t talked about my affairs yet there’ll be hell to pay. Scene viii fra’ timoteo, ligurio, and messer nicia friar: Make sure the women come. I know what I have to do. If I have any authority at all, we’ll be able to set this marriage in order tonight.

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ligurio: Messer Nicia, Fra’ Timoteo is ready to do everything we want. We have to make sure that the women come. nicia: What a tremendous relief! Will it be a boy? ligurio: A boy. nicia: I’m getting all choked up. friar: You go into the church. I’ll wait here for the women. Stay out of the way, so they don’t see you. The moment they’ve left, I’ll tell you what they said. Scene ix fra’ timoteo, alone friar: I’m not sure which of us has swindled the other. That crook Ligurio came to me with his first story to soften me up, knowing that if I agreed to that one I’d agree more easily to this one. If I hadn’t agreed to it, he wouldn’t have told me this one, so as not to reveal what they wanted without gaining anything out of it – they would have just let the false story go. It’s true that I’ve been tricked, but on the other hand I’ll profit from this trickery. Messer Nicia and Callimaco are rich, and I have a lot to gain from each of them, for different reasons. This business must be kept secret: it’s as important for me that it not get out as it is for them. Anyway, I have no regrets. It is true that it may be difficult to convince Monna Lucrezia; she’s an intelligent woman, and virtuous too. But I’ll take advantage of her goodness to trap her. And after all, women’s brains are pretty small. When some woman turns up who can say two words in a row, everyone praises her: in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. There she is, with her fool of a mother. Her help will be crucial in leading the daughter to where I want her. Scene x sostrata and lucrezia sostrata: I’m sure you appreciate, my dear, that I’m as concerned about your honour and your well-being as anyone in the world, and that I wouldn’t advise you to do anything that wasn’t right. I’ve told you, and I tell you again, that if Fra’ Timoteo tells you it won’t be a

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burden on your conscience, you should stop worrying about it and just do it. lucrezia: I’ve always worried that Messer Nicia’s wish to have children might lead us into wickedness. That’s why I’ve always been wary and suspicious when he’s mentioned anything to me, especially after what happened ... you know, when I was going to the Servites’ church. But of all the things we’ve tried this seems the strangest: that I should have to submit my body to this abuse and then be the cause of this man’s dying for having abused me. Even if I were the last person left on earth and mankind depended on me to start again, I can’t see myself being asked to make this decision. sostrata: I can’t explain all these things, my dear. You speak to the friar, see what he tells you, then do what he advises – do what all of us who love you advise you to do. lucrezia: I’m in a fever of torment. Scene xi fra’ timoteo, lucrezia, and sostrata friar: Ah, good to see you! I know what you need to hear from me – Messer Nicia has told me all about it. Truth to tell, I’ve been at the books for more than two hours studying this case. After much research I found many things that relate to it, both particular and general. lucrezia: Are you speaking the truth or are you joking? friar: Ah, Madonna Lucrezia! Are these matters to joke about? Surely you know me better than that! lucrezia: Of course, Father. But this is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard of. friar: I can believe you, Madonna, but you mustn’t speak of it in that way. There are many things that from afar look strange, terrible, even intolerable, but when you get close to them, they turn out to be human, bearable, familiar. They say that the terror of anticipation is sometimes worse than the ill itself. That’s how it is in this case. lucrezia: May God make it so! friar: I want to come back to what I was saying before. As far as conscience goes, you must abide by this general principle: where there is a certain good and an uncertain evil, one must never abandon

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the good for fear of the evil. Here there is a certain good: you will become pregnant, you will acquire a soul for the Lord our God. The uncertain evil is that the one who lies with you after you’ve taken the potion may die. There are some, however, who do not die. Since the matter is in doubt, it is wise for Messer Nicia not to run any risk. As for the notion that the act itself is a sin – that’s a fable. A sin is an act of the mind, not the body. The sin in this case would be to offend your husband, whereas now you will be pleasing him; it would be to take pleasure in the act, whereas you will be suffering torment. Besides this, you must in all things keep the goal in view: your goal is to fill a chair in paradise, and to make your husband happy. The Bible says that the daughters of Lot, believing they were the only ones left in the world, lay with their father. Their intentions were good, so they did not sin. lucrezia: What are you trying to persuade me to do? sostrata: Let yourself be convinced, my dear. Can’t you see that a woman without children is like a woman without a home? When her husband dies, she will be left alone like an animal, abandoned by everybody. friar: Madonna, I swear on this consecrated bosom that as far as your conscience is concerned, to obey your husband in this instance is no different from eating meat on Wednesdays.39 It’s a sin that can be washed away with holy water. lucrezia: Where are you leading me, Father? friar: I am leading you to a state that will forever give you cause to thank God for me. This coming year will be much more satisfying than what you have now. sostrata: She will do what you want. I will put her to bed tonight myself. What are you afraid of, you silly fool? There are fifty women in this city who would raise their arms to heaven for this. lucrezia: All right, then; but I don’t expect to be alive tomorrow morning. friar: Have faith, my child. I will pray to God for you. I will say the prayer of the angel Raphael, so that He will be by your side.40 Go, quickly, prepare yourself for this mystery; it’s almost evening. sostrata: Goodbye, Father. lucrezia: May God and Our Lady help me so that I will not fall into evil.

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Scene xii fra’ timoteo, ligurio, and messer nicia friar: Ligurio, come here! ligurio: How did it go? friar: It went well. They’ve gone home and they’re ready to do everything that’s needed. There will be no difficulty, because her mother will be with her. She wants to put her to bed herself. nicia: Is that the truth? friar: Well, well! You have been cured of your deafness? ligurio: Saint Clement has performed this miracle.41 friar: It’s customary in such cases to dedicate an image and make a bit of noise about it so that I can make a little more profit out of you. nicia: Let’s not get into that. Will the woman make a fuss about doing what I want her to do? friar: No, she won’t. nicia: I am the happiest man in the world. friar: I believe it. You will find yourself with a beautiful baby boy,42 and too bad for those who don’t have one. ligurio: Friar, you go to your prayers. If we need anything else we will come and find you. Messer Nicia, you go to her and make sure she sticks to her decision. I will go find Doctor Callimaco, and have him send you the potion. (To Nicia) Be ready by six o’clock; we have business to attend to at nine. nicia: Right you are. Goodbye! friar: Go in peace. SONG How sweet deceit is when it is taken to its dear, imagined conclusion; anxiety disappears, and everything is sweet that once was bitter. O high, rare remedy, you show the proper path to wandering souls; with your great ability to make a person happy, you make Love rich; using nothing but your blessed advice, you defeat stones, and poisons, and spells.

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ACT IV Scene i callimaco, alone callimaco: I wish I knew what they’ve been able to do. Why hasn’t Ligurio shown up yet? It’s almost sunset. What am I saying? – It’s past sunset! I’ve been on pins and needles … and I still am. Nature always balances things out with Fortune: whenever anything good happens, something bad is sure to follow. The more I hope, the more I fear. I’m so miserable, I can’t take it anymore! How can I live with hopes and fears like these? I’m like a ship blown by two opposite winds, and I’m most afraid when I’m closest to port. Messer Nicia’s foolishness gives me hope, but Lucrezia’s good sense and firmness frightens me! Oh God, there’s nowhere for me to rest! Sometimes I try to get hold of myself and tell myself I’m being silly. I say to myself, ‘What are you doing? Have you gone crazy? Suppose you get what you want, what’ll happen then? You’ll find out you were wrong, you’ll regret all your scheming and all the trouble you’ve gone to. Don’t you realize how seldom a man enjoys the things that he wished for as much as he thought he would?’ ‘On the other hand,’ I say, ‘what’s the worst that can happen? You die and go to hell. Lots of men have died, and there are lots of good men in hell. Why be ashamed of going there? Look Fortune in the eye. Try to avoid evil, but if you can’t manage it, face it like a man. Don’t give up, like some weepy woman.’ That’s how I try to buck myself up. But it doesn’t last long, because whatever I do, I’m so obsessed with getting together with this woman at least once that I’m completely transformed, from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. My legs shake, my guts are in knots, my heart bursts out of my chest, my arms go limp, I’m tongue-tied, I can’t see, my mind whirls. If I could find Ligurio, I’d have somebody to talk to. Oh, here he comes, and he’s in a hurry. What he has to tell me will either give me a few moments of happiness, or kill me on the spot.

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Scene ii ligurio and callimaco ligurio: I’ve never been in such a hurry to find Callimaco! But it’s taken so long! If it were bad news I was bringing him I’d have found him right away. I’ve been to his house, the piazza, the market, the Spini Bank, the Loggia de’ Tornaquinci, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. These lovers can’t keep still. They must walk on quicksilver. callimaco: What am I waiting for? Why don’t I call him? He seems happy! Ligurio! Ligurio! ligurio: Oh, Callimaco! Where have you been? callimaco: What’s the news? ligurio: Good. callimaco: Really good? ligurio: Excellent. callimaco: Lucrezia, is she happy about it? ligurio: Yes. callimaco: And the friar did what he had to? ligurio: He did. callimaco: Oh, blessed friar! He’ll always be in my prayers. ligurio: Boy, that’s a good one! You think God rewards evil as well as good? That friar wants a lot more than prayers! callimaco: What does he want? ligurio: Money. callimaco: We’ll give it to him. How much have you promised him? ligurio: Three hundred ducats. callimaco: That’s fine. ligurio: The lawyer has given him twenty-five. callimaco: How did that happen? ligurio: It’s enough for you to know that he’s done it. callimaco: And Lucrezia’s mother, what did she do? ligurio: Just about everything. From the moment she found out that her daughter could enjoy a good night like this without sinning, she’s never stopped begging, ordering, and reassuring Lucrezia – so much so that she brought her to the friar, where she kept on at the girl until she consented. callimaco: Oh, God! What have I done to deserve such pleasure? I’ll die of happiness.

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ligurio: (Aside) What is it with these people? Now it’s pleasure, a while ago it was grief: one way or another this fellow wants to die! (To Callimaco) Do you have the potion ready? callimaco: Yes, I have it. ligurio: What is it you’re sending her? callimaco: A glass of mulled wine, just the thing to settle the stomach, lighten the mind ... Oh, no! No, no, no! Oh, I’m a dead man! ligurio: What is it? What’s the matter? callimaco: It’s hopeless. ligurio: What the devil’s going on? callimaco: It’s all been for nothing. I’ve painted myself into a corner.43 ligurio: How? Why don’t you tell me? Take your hands away from your mouth! callimaco: Don’t you remember? I told Messer Nicia that you, he, Siro, and I will grab some fellow and put him in bed with his wife ... ligurio: So what? callimaco: What do you mean, so what? If I’m with you I can’t be the one that you grab. And if I’m not there, he’ll figure out what’s going on. ligurio: Oh, I see; that’s right. There must be something we can do. callimaco: I don’t think so. ligurio: There has to be. callimaco: What? ligurio: I want to think about it a little. callimaco: Oh, that’s just great! I’m in real trouble if you have to take time to think about it. ligurio: Got it! callimaco: What? ligurio: The friar has helped us so far: I’ll have him do this as well. callimaco: How? ligurio: Well, you see, we’ll all be in disguise. We’ll have the friar disguise himself too. He’ll change his voice, his face, and his clothes, and I’ll tell the lawyer that he is you. He’ll believe that. callimaco: That sounds good to me. But what will I do? ligurio: Well, you’ll be wearing a cape, and when you show up at the house you’ll be carrying a lute and singing a song. callimaco: What about my face? Shouldn’t I cover it? ligurio: No. If you wore a mask, he’d be suspicious. callimaco: But he’ll recognize me.

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ligurio: No, he won’t. Look, I want you to give your face a twist ... Now open your mouth ... Make it pointed ... Grind your jaws, and close one eye ... Come on, try a little harder. callimaco: Like this? ligurio: No, no, no. callimaco: This? ligurio: Not enough. callimaco: How about this? ligurio: Ah, that’s it: remember that. And I have a nose at home I want you to wear. callimaco: All right, what will happen then? ligurio: The moment you come around the corner, there we’ll be. We’ll snatch your lute away, grab you, spin you around, bring you inside, and put you to bed. The rest you’ll have to do for yourself. callimaco: The important thing is to get there. ligurio: After that you’re on your own. And if you want to get back there – well, that will be entirely up to you. callimaco: What do you mean? ligurio: You’ll have to win her over during the night. Before you leave, tell her who you are; admit to the trickery, tell her how much you love her, show her how much you care for her, and explain to her how, with no shame at all, she can become your friend – or, with terrible shame, your enemy. There’s no way she’ll not want to go along with it; she’s not going to want this to be a one-night stand. callimaco: You really believe that? ligurio: I’m absolutely certain. But let’s not waste any more time. It’s already seven o’clock. Call Siro, send the potion to Messer Nicia, and wait for me at home. I’ll go look for the friar, have him disguise himself, and bring him here. Then we’ll get the lawyer and do what we have to. callimaco: You’re right. Off you go. Scene iii callimaco and siro callimaco: Siro! siro: Master! callimaco: Come here. siro: Here I am.

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callimaco: There’s a silver goblet in the cupboard in my room. Cover it with a cloth and bring it here. And make sure you don’t spill any along the way. siro: It’s done. (Exit) callimaco: This fellow has been with me for ten years and he’s always been a faithful servant. I’m sure I can trust him in this as well. I didn’t tell him about our scheme, but he’s figured it out, and even though it’s not right, he can see that it’s good for me, so he’s going along with it. siro: (Entering) Here it is. callimaco: Good. Now hurry to Messer Nicia’s house and tell him this is the potion his wife is to take right after supper. Tell him the sooner she eats the better, and that he should be at the corner at the time we agreed on, because we’ll be there. Hurry. siro: I’m off. callimaco: Here, listen. Wait there and come back with him if he wants you to. If he doesn’t, come back as soon as you’ve given him the potion and passed on the message. Do you understand? siro: Yes, sir. Scene iv callimaco, alone callimaco: When is Ligurio coming back with the friar? Anyone who says that waiting is hard sure knows what he’s talking about. I’m losing about ten pounds an hour thinking about where I am now, and where I might be two hours from now. I’m terrified that something will come along and ruin my plan. If this doesn’t work, it’ll be the last night of my life, because I’ll throw myself in the Arno, or I’ll hang myself, or I’ll jump out that window, or I’ll go to her door and stab myself with a knife. I’ll kill myself one way or another. But is this Ligurio? Yes, it is. There’s someone with him. He seems to be a hunchback, and he has a limp! That must be the friar in disguise. These friars! You know one, you know them all. And who is that other person joining them? Ah, it looks like Siro – so he must have delivered the message to the lawyer. Yes, it’s him. I’ll wait and arrange things with them when they get here.

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Scene v siro, ligurio, callimaco, and fra’ timoteo, all disguised siro: Who’s that with you, Ligurio? ligurio: Oh, he’s a nice fellow ... siro: Is he lame or just pretending to be? ligurio: Look, just don’t think about it, okay? siro: Boy! He’s a real tough guy to look at his face. ligurio: Will you please shut up? You’re bothering us. Where’s Callimaco? callimaco: Here I am. Glad to see you. ligurio: Callimaco, tell this fool Siro to shut up. He’s said a thousand stupid things already. callimaco: Listen, Siro. Tonight I want you to do everything Ligurio tells you. Whatever he says, do it as though it came from me. And whatever you see, or hear, or understand, keep it absolutely secret, if you value my goods, my honour, my life, and your own well-being. siro: Sure, I can do that. callimaco: Did you give the goblet to the lawyer? siro: Yes, sir. callimaco: What did he say? siro: That everything will be in order. friar: Is this Callimaco? callimaco: I’m at your service, and this I offer to you: do with me and of everything I have as you would with yourself. friar: I understand, and I believe you. And what I am doing for you I wouldn’t do for anyone else in the world. callimaco: You won’t lose by it. friar: It’s enough that you wish me well. ligurio: Let’s not stand on ceremony. Siro and I will go disguise ourselves. Callimaco, you come with us and get ready to do your business. The friar will wait for us here. We’ll come back right away and then go and meet Messer Nicia. callimaco: Right. Let’s go. friar: I’ll be waiting.

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Scene vi fra’ timoteo, alone friar: You know what they say: bad company will lead a man to the gallows – well, it’s true. Being too easygoing or too kind-hearted will get a person into trouble as often as being too wicked. God knows I never thought of hurting anyone. I kept myself in my cell, said my offices, talked to believers. Then this devil Ligurio came along and had me stick a finger into this scheme of his. Soon I was into it up to my elbow, and before I knew it, everything was inside – and I still don’t know where I’m going to end up. But I take comfort in the fact that when something is important to a lot of people, there’ll be a lot of people to take care of it. But here comes Ligurio with that servant. Scene vii fra’ timoteo, ligurio, and siro, all disguised friar: Welcome back. ligurio: How do we look? friar: Very good. ligurio: The lawyer’s not here yet. Come on. Let’s go over to his place. It’s already past eight. Let’s go. siro: Who’s that opening his door? His servant? ligurio: No, it’s him. Ha, ha, ha, ha! siro: What are you laughing at? ligurio: Who can help it? Look what he’s wearing: a skimpy little cape with a lining – and it doesn’t even cover his ass. And what the hell is that he’s wearing on his head? It looks like one of those caps that canons wear: makes them look like owls. And underneath – what’s that? A little dagger? Ha, ha, ha! What’s that he’s mumbling? Let’s move off to the side. We’re sure to hear some mean little story about his wife. Scene viii messer nicia, disguised nicia: That crazy wife of mine! What a fuss she made! She sent the maids to her mother’s and the manservant to the country house.

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Well, I’ll give her points for that. But not for the way she acted before she went to bed: ‘I don’t want to! What’ll I do? What are you making me do? Poor me! Ah, mamma mia!’ If her mother hadn’t scolded and threatened her she’d never have gone to bed. Ah, to hell with her!44 I like a woman to be a little skittish, but she goes too far. She’s driving us crazy; she’s got a brain like a cat. But then, if someone were to say, ‘Let the wisest woman in Florence be hanged,’ she would say, ‘What have I done to you?’ Now I know that she’ll be getting to where she needs to be, but before I leave the game I want to be able to say, like Madam Ghinga, ‘I’ve seen it, and I’ve touched it with my own hands.’45 Hey, I look good! You’d never recognize me! I look taller, younger, more stylish. Any woman would pay money to go to bed with me. But where are those guys? Scene ix ligurio, messer nicia, fra’ timoteo, and siro ligurio: Good evening, sir. nicia: Uh, oh! Eh! ligurio: Don’t be afraid. It’s only us. nicia: Oh, you’re all here? If I hadn’t recognized you right away I would have used this dagger on you – as well as I know how, anyway. Who are you? Ligurio? And you, Siro? And the other one is the doctor, eh? ligurio: Yes, sir. nicia: Look at him. What a great job he’s done disguising himself! It would take I-don’t-know-who to recognize him, and even he probably couldn’t do it.46 ligurio: I had him put a couple of nuts in his mouth so that no one could recognize him by his voice. nicia: You ignoramus! ligurio: What? nicia: Why didn’t you tell me that before? I’d have put a couple in my mouth as well. You know how important it is not to be recognized by your voice! ligurio: Here, put this in your mouth. nicia: What is it? ligurio: A ball of wax.

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nicia: Give it here. Ca, pu, ca, co, che, cu, cu, spu … Damn you, you son of a bitch! ligurio: Whoops, sorry, I gave you the wrong one by mistake, I didn’t realize it. nicia: Ca, ca, pu, pu … What ... what ... what was that? ligurio: It was aloe. nicia: Damn it! Spu, pu … Doctor, weren’t you going to say anything? friar: Ligurio’s upset me. nicia: My goodness! You’d never recognize your voice! ligurio: Let’s not waste any more time here. I’ll take charge, I’ll marshal the troops for today. Callimaco will be on the right horn, I’ll be on the left, and the lawyer will be between the two horns.47 Siro will bring up the rear and help out the side that’s beginning to flag. The password will be Saint Cocu. nicia: Who is Saint Cocu? ligurio: The most honoured saint in France. Let’s go, we’ll set up the ambush over here at the corner. Listen, I hear a lute. nicia: That’ll be our man. What do we do? ligurio: We need to send out a scout to find out who he is, then act accordingly. nicia: Who’ll go? ligurio: Siro, you go. You know what you have to do. Observe, examine, then come back quickly and report. siro: I’m off. nicia: We wouldn’t want to catch the wrong man.48 He may be weak, or old and sickly, and then we’d have to do this all over again tomorrow night. ligurio: Don’t worry, Siro is a good man. There, he’s back. What did you find, Siro? siro: The handsomest rascal you’ve ever seen! He’s by himself, and he’s no more than twenty-five years old. He’s dressed in a cape and playing his lute. nicia: That’s our man if you’re telling the truth. And you know what’ll happen if you’re not!49 siro: He’s just what I told you. ligurio: We’ll wait till he comes around the corner, then pounce on him. nicia: Move aside, Doctor; you’re stiff as a board. There he is. (Enter Callimaco)

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callimaco: (Singing) May the devil come to your bed / Since I cannot be there. ligurio: Stand where you are! Hand over your lute! callimaco: What’s going on? What have I done? nicia: You’ll see. Cover his head! Gag him! ligurio: Spin him around. nicia: Give him another turn! And another! Bring him into the house. friar: Messer Nicia, my head is aching. It’s killing me. I need to rest. And I’m not planning to be here tomorrow morning unless you need me. nicia: Don’t bother coming back, Doctor, we can look after everything ourselves. Scene x fra’ timoteo, alone, disguised friar: They’ve gone into the house and I’m off to the friary. And you folks in the audience – don’t get angry, but ... no one will be sleeping tonight. We’ll all be filling in the time between the acts, so there won’t be any gaps: I’ll say my office; Ligurio and Siro haven’t eaten today, so they’ll have supper; the lawyer will go from the bedroom to the living room, so that the kitchen can be cleaned. As for Callimaco and Lucrezia – well, they won’t be getting any sleep. I wouldn’t if I were them, would you? SONG O gentle night, O blessed nocturnal hours, quiet hours, companions to lovers’ wishes, so many pleasures come together in you, it is only through you that souls find bliss. You give to lovers the proper reward for their long labours. O happy hours! For you, every frozen breast will burn with love.

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ACT V Scene i fra’ timoteo, alone friar: I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, wondering what went on with Callimaco and the others. Oh, I found ways to pass the time: I said matins, I read a life of the Holy Fathers, I went into the church and lit a lamp that had gone out, I changed the veil on one of the miracle-working Madonnas. I don’t know how many times I’ve told the friars to keep Her clean! And then they wonder why devotions are declining. I remember the time when you’d find five hundred votive offerings there, and today there’s no more than twenty. It’s our own fault: we haven’t been able to keep up Her reputation. We used to have a procession there every evening after compline, and we sang lauds every Saturday. We used to make our vows there, so that people would always see new offerings, and we used to urge men and women during confessions to devote themselves to Her as well. But now we don’t do any of that. And we wonder why things are so slow! These friars of mine, they’re a bunch of pea brains! But what’s that awful racket coming from Messer Nicia’s house? My goodness, it’s them! I just got here in time. They’re bringing the fellow out. Dawn’s beginning to break – those two have certainly had lots of time to squeeze out the last drop. I want to hear what they’re saying, but I don’t want them to see me. Scene ii messer nicia, callimaco, ligurio, and siro, all disguised nicia: You grab that side, I’ll grab this, and Siro, you take his cape and hold him from behind. callimaco: Don’t hurt me! ligurio: Don’t worry, we won’t. Now make yourself scarce. nicia: Let’s not go any further. ligurio: You’re right. We’ll let go of him here. Let’s turn him around twice more so that he doesn’t know where he came from. Siro, spin him around!

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siro: There. nicia: Give him another turn. siro: There, how’s that? callimaco: My lute! ligurio: Go on, you rascal, off you go. If I hear another word out of you I’ll chop your head off. nicia: He’s run off. Now let’s go change our clothes. We’ll all have to be up and about early so that people won’t know we’ve been awake all night. ligurio: Good idea. nicia: Ligurio, Siro, go find Doctor Callimaco and tell him that everything went well. ligurio: What can we tell him? We don’t know anything. Don’t you remember? When we got inside the house we went down into the servants’ quarters for a drink. You and your mother-in-law stayed upstairs, and we didn’t see you again till just now, when you called us to get him out of the house. nicia: Oh, that’s right. Well, I have wonderful things to tell you. My wife was in bed in the dark, and Sostrata was waiting for me by the fire. I went upstairs with the fellow. Now I didn’t want anything to go wrong, so I took him into a den. There’s a lamp there, but it doesn’t give much light, so he couldn’t see my face. ligurio: Very wise. nicia: I had him take his clothes off. He squirmed a little, so I turned on him like a dog. Well, before I knew it, there he was, naked. He’s got an ugly face, with a big nose and a twisted mouth, but I’ve never seen such beautiful skin: white, soft, delicate! As for his ... other things ... well, don’t ask. ligurio: No, let’s not talk about them. But did you really need to examine him all over? nicia: You’ve got to be kidding! Once I’d started, I had to see the whole thing. And then I wanted to make sure he was healthy: if he had had the pox where would I have been?50 Huh? Explain that to me. ligurio: Yes, I see, you were right. nicia: When I saw he was healthy, I dragged him into the bedroom in the dark and put him into the bed. But I hung around for a bit to check with my own hands just how things were going. I’m not the kind of man who’d take a firefly for a lantern. ligurio: You sure have covered all the angles.

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nicia: As soon as I was satisfied that everything was moving along, I left the room, locked the door, and went to see my mother-in-law, who was sitting by the fire, and we spent the night talking. ligurio: What did you talk about? nicia: About Lucrezia and how silly she was. How much better it would have been for her if she’d agreed to this without all this coming and going. And then we talked about the baby. It was if I were holding the little sweetie in my arms already! We talked so much that before I knew it I heard five o’clock ringing. I was afraid the sun would soon be up, so I went into the room. Now what would you say if I told you I had a hard time getting that fellow out of bed? ligurio: I believe it! nicia: He must have liked what he found there, eh?51 Still, eventually he got up. Then I called you, and we brought him outside. ligurio: It all went well, then. nicia: And yet, what would you say if I told you I was sorry? ligurio: Sorry for what? nicia: Sorry for that poor young man. Sorry that he has to die so soon, that this night will have cost him so dearly. ligurio: Leave that for him to deal with. It’s not worth thinking about. nicia: You’re right. I can hardly wait to see Doctor Callimaco and congratulate him. ligurio: He’ll be out in about an hour. But it’s already full daylight. We’re going inside to change. What will you do? nicia: I think I’ll go in, too, and change into my good clothes. I’ll get my wife out of bed, have her cleaned up, and bring her to the church to be blessed. I would like you and Callimaco to be there to speak to the friar so that we can all thank him and pay him for what he has done. ligurio: You’re right. Let’s do that. Good-bye. Scene iii fra’ timoteo, alone friar: I heard all that, and I like what I heard. What a fool this lawyer is! But what I liked most of all was the last part. Since they’re coming to see me at home, I’d better not stay here any longer. I’ll wait at the church – my merchandise fetches more money there. But who is this, coming out of the house? I think it’s Ligurio, and

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that must be Callimaco with him. As I told you, I don’t want them to see me. And, if they don’t come to visit me, there will always be time for me to go to them. Scene iv callimaco and ligurio callimaco: As I told you, my dear Ligurio, it wasn’t until about midnight that I got comfortable with her. Sure, I was enjoying her, but it didn’t seem right to me. But then I told her who I really was, and how much I loved her, and how easily we could live happily, and without any shame, because her husband is so stupid. I swore to her that when God took him off our hands I would make her my wife. All this was true, but there was something else as well – she had tasted the difference between my lovemaking and Nicia’s, between the kisses of a young lover and those of an old husband. After some sighing she said, ‘Your cunning, my husband’s stupidity, my mother’s simple-mindedness, and my confessor’s wickedness have brought me to do what I would never have done on my own. I must believe, then, that heaven wanted it to be like this. I cannot refuse what heaven wants me to accept. So I take you as my lord, my master, my guide. You are my father, my defender; I want you to be, for me, all that is good. What my husband wanted for this one night I want him to have forever. So you must become his best friend.52 This morning you will come to church with us, and then to dinner. After that, you’ll be able to come and go as you please; we’ll be able to be together without suspicion any time we want.’ When I heard these words I could have died of happiness. I wanted to speak, but I could hardly say a single word. I am the happiest man in the world. Until time or death takes this happiness from me, I will be more blessed than the angels, more glorious than the saints. ligurio: I am very happy for all the good that has come to you. It has happened just as I thought it would. What shall we do now? callimaco: Let’s go to the church. She’ll be there soon with her mother and Messer Nicia, and I promised her I’d be there too. ligurio: I hear their door opening. There they come, with the lawyer tagging along behind. callimaco: Let’s go to the church. We’ll wait for them there.

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Scene v messer nicia, lucrezia, and sostrata nicia: You should behave more reverently, Lucrezia. Don’t act like a fool! lucrezia: What do you want me to do now, then? nicia: Listen to the way she answers me! Just like a rooster! sostrata: It’s not surprising. She’s a little upset. lucrezia: And what do you mean by that? nicia: I should go on ahead and speak to the friar. I’ll tell him to meet you at the church door and bring you inside for the benediction. This morning it will be as though you are reborn. lucrezia: Well, go ahead why don’t you? nicia: You are very bold this morning! Last night she looked half dead. lucrezia: Thanks to you. sostrata: Go find the friar. Ah, but you don’t need to. There he is at the church door. nicia: Ah, so he is. Scene vi fra’ timoteo, messer nicia, lucrezia, callimaco, ligurio, and sostrata friar: I’ve come out here because Callimaco and Ligurio told me that the lawyer and the ladies are on their way to the church. Ah, there they are. nicia: Bona dies, Father.53 friar: Welcome! Madonna, may God give you a beautiful baby boy! lucrezia: If God will have it so! friar: He will. nicia: Is that Ligurio and Doctor Callimaco I see inside the church? friar: Yes, sir. nicia: Call them out. friar: Come along! callimaco: Good day. nicia: Here, Doctor, take my wife’s hand. callimaco: I’d be glad to.

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nicia: Lucrezia, it’s thanks to this man that we will have a staff to support us in our old age. lucrezia: He is very dear to me. And I’d like him to act as godfather. nicia: Oh, bless you for that! And I’d like him and Ligurio to come and eat with us this morning. lucrezia: Of course. nicia: I’m going to give them the key to the room on the first floor of the loggia, so that they can come and go as they please. They have no women living with them, so they live like animals. callimaco: Thank you. I’ll accept that and use it whenever I need to. friar: Don’t forget the money for the alms. nicia: It will be sent to you today, you can be sure of that. ligurio: Doesn’t anyone remember Siro? nicia: All he needs to do is ask. Whatever I have is his. Lucrezia, how many grossi do we owe the friar for his blessing? lucrezia: I don’t remember. nicia: Come on, how much? lucrezia: Give him ten. nicia: What the ...! friar: And you, Madonna Sostrata, you seem to have taken a new lease on life.54 sostrata: Who wouldn’t be happy? friar: Let’s all go into the church, then, and give thanks. And after the service is over, off you go and have your dinner. You folks in the audience, don’t wait for us to come out. It’ll be a long service. I’ll be staying in the church, and the others will be going home by the side door. Goodbye! Valete!

Notes 1 Francesco Guicciardini (1483–1540) was governor of the Romagna region. Machiavelli sent him the text of this canzone, as well as the four intermezzi, which were added for the performance of The Mandragola that was to have taken place in Faenza for the carnival of 1526. 2 Guicciardini had been appointed by Pope Clement VII (Giulio de’ Medici, 1478–1534), pope from 1523 until his death. 3 In Italy during the Renaissance, and even later, the title dottore was given to a lawyer (doctor of law), while a physician was referred to as maestro (master). Given the modern understanding of the terms, we have decided to address

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the lawyer, Nicia, as ‘Messer Nicia,’ as it appears in the text, while Callimaco, the supposed physician, is sometimes referred to as ‘Doctor Callimaco.’ In the Italian there is a play on the name of the philosopher Boethius (480– 524), the sound of which suggests that he is a bue (an ox), which implies both impotence (an ox is a castrated bull) and stupidity. The play is named for the mandrake, the root of which was used as an aphrodisiac. Machiavelli criticizes this superstitious practice, which was often made plausible by the numerous medical treatises about the virtues and risks associated with the root. The original text has tenerlo pe’ capegli (to hold him by the hair). The original text has in ogni parte del mondo ove il sì suona (in any part of the world where Italian is spoken). Charles VIII of France (1470–98) was called to Italy in 1494 by Ludovico il Moro of Milan. He journeyed overland as far as the Kingdom of Naples, encountering little resistance, but an Italian league pushed him back at the battle of Fornovo and forced him to return to France. The original text has bagni (baths). These are all thermal baths. San Filippo, in the Val-d’Orcia, was known for its cleansing lime waters; Villa (Bagni), in the Chiana valley, and the Porretta may have had some special qualities we were not able to identify. The dome of Santa Maria del Fiore, built by Filippo Brunelleschi (1377– 1446), dominates the city of Florence. Prato is a city northeast of Florence. Livorno, or Leghorn, is an important port on the Tyrrhenian Sea south of Pisa. Ligurio is trying to catch Nicia out by playing on the sound of Mount Verruca, or Verrucola, near Pisa, where the Pisans built a fortress in 996. Later they enlarged it to defend themselves against Lucca and Florence. The Florentines destroyed it in 1431. Verruca is a generic term for a mountain in the form of a cone. There are about five of them in Tuscany. Ligurio’s word carrucola means ‘pulley.’ The Arno is the river that passes through Florence and empties into the Tyrrhenian Sea west of Pisa. The original text has Tu hai la bocca piena di latte (your mouth is full of milk); that is, ‘you are still a baby.’ The original text has non vorrei che mi mettessi in qualche leccieto, e poi mi lasciassi in sulle secche (I wouldn’t want to get myself in a grove of ilex and then find myself on dry land). The original text has a me non venderà egli vesciche (he will not sell me bladders). The reference is to pigs’ bladders, which were filled with liquid fat and hung up to dry by a fireplace. Dry pieces of provolone cheese, which

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 looked exactly like the bladders, were usually hung on the same pole. Often one was sold by mistake for the other. The original text has s’e’ l’ha per male, scingasi (if he takes it badly he can drop his pants). Latin: ‘Good day, Master.’ ‘And to you, too, Doctor.’ The original text has altrimenti noi faremo duo fuochi (otherwise we will make two fires ); that is, we will be at two different fireplaces. Latin: ‘our business.’ Latin: ‘Well then, the causes of sterility are either in the semen, or the matrix, or the instruments for seeding, or in the member, or in an external cause.’ Hungarians were, and still are, known for their swordsmanship. The original text has non ci apprezza virtù alcuna (no one appreciates virtue). A grosso is a medieval silver coin. The original text has noi faremmo a’ sassi pe’ forni (we would fight with stones in the public ovens). The original text has chi non riderebbe di questo uccellaccio? (who wouldn’t laugh at this bad bird?). The original text has Che mi ha fracido (because she’s made me wet all over). Latin: ‘Women’s urine is always thicker, whiter, and less beautiful than that of men. The cause of this, as of everything else, is the width of the channels, the mixing of the urine with what comes out of the uterus.’ The original text has potta di san Puccio! (Saint Puccio’s prepuce!). In Nicia’s speech we have a confusion (playful on Machiavelli’s part) between masculine and feminine references. ‘Puccio’ is a diminutive form of ‘Philip.’ The original text has caso da Otto (a case for the Eight). The tribunal in Florence was made up of eight justices. Traditionally, the day was divided into two parts, each consisting of twelve hours, one beginning with the sunset and the other beginning at sunrise. The length of an hour would vary through the year according to respective amounts of light and darkness in each day. Plays were normally staged at carnival time, near the beginning of February, when the approximate time of sunrise would be our 7:30 a.m., and that of sunset, 4:30 p.m. The hours were signalled by the church bells as matins (dawn), ninth hour (midmorning), noon, vespers (evening), and compline (bedtime). We will translate the times in the text according to today’s conventions of two periods of twelve equal hours beginning at midnight and noon, respectively. The Servites, or Servants of Mary, are a religious order, founded in 1240 on Monte Senario by seven pious Florentine merchants. The founders were sanctified by Pope Leo XIII in 1888. Their feast is 12 November.

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34 This line may date the play to 1518, when the fear of the Turkish invasion of Italy was so great that the Pope ordered extraordinary prayers. 35 The original text has se non sono quarteruoli (if they are not quarteruoli [brass coins that were used as false florins]). 36 The original text has questa limosina andrà alla Grascia (the alms will go to the Grascia). The Grascia was the magistrate for the excise – thus, the money would go into the public treasury. 37 He is referring to Uggieri the Dane, a hero in chivalric literature. He put pitch in his ears so as not to hear Bravieri. 38 The original text has come un zugo a piuolo (like a fritter hanging on a peg). There is also a play on the sound of the words here: ‘like a prick stuck to a cunt.’ 39 It was not until modern times that the day to refrain from eating meat was changed to Friday. 40 The friar parodies a passage from the Book of Tobias (6.14–22): the Archangel Raphael dictates to Tobias the divine precepts that will regulate his relations with the chaste Sarah, whose seven husbands died during the sexual act because of the demon Asmodeus. Of course, in the play, the one who should die (Callimaco) does not die. 41 Saint Clement (150–212) was one of the Fathers of the Greek Church. He tried to conciliate Platonism with Christianity. Here, however, it is the meaning of his name that comes into play. 42 The original text has voi vi beccherete un fanciul mastio (you will beget a male child). There is a play on the words becco (cuckold), beccare (to make someone a cuckold), and beccare (to eat, to peck, to gain, to win). 43 The original text has mi son murato in uno forno (I walled myself into an oven). 44 The original text has Che le venga la contina (May she get the chronic fever). 45 The original text has Io so che la Pasquina enterrà in Arezzo, ed innanzi che io mi parta da giuoco, io potrò dire, come mona Ghinga … (I know that Pasquina will enter Arezzo, and before I leave the game I will be able to say, like Mme Ghinga …). Pasquina is a clown figure; Arezzo is a town in Tuscany; Mona Ghinga must have been a well-known pimp. 46 The original text has non lo conoscerebbe Va-qua-tu (not even You-go-there could recognize him); that is, no one could recognize him. 47 An allusion to the legendary horns of the cuckold. 48 The original text has pigliassimo un granchio (catch a crab, i.e., make a blunder). 49 The original text has che questa broda sarebbe tutta gittata addosso a te (this soup will be thrown all over you).

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 The original text has s’egli avesse aúto le bolle (if he had the blisters). The original text has E’ gli era piaciuto l’unto! (He had enjoyed the grease!). The original text has compare (godfather, friend). Latin: ‘Good day.’ The original text has Sostrata, avete, secondo che mi pare, messo un tallo in sul vecchio (Sostrata, you seem to me to have grafted a bud onto the old tree).

ANGELO BEOLCO (RUZANTE)

The Moscheta (La moscheta)

Translation and Introduction by Antonio Franceschetti and Kenneth R. Bartlett

Revised from the edition published in the Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation Series as La Moschetta. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1993. By permission of the publisher.

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Introduction to The Moscheta by Angelo Beolco (Ruzante) Angelo Beolco (called ‘Ruzante’ after the role he performed on stage)1 was born in Padua around 1496. He was the illegitimate, and eldest, son of Giovan Francesco, a member of a family originally from Milan that had become rich through commerce and estate management. His mother was likely one of his grandmother Paola’s maids. It was his grandmother who cared for the boy when his father married Francesca Guidotti, who produced six more children between 1501 and 1521; nevertheless, Ruzante’s relations with the rest of the family remained close throughout his life. Very little about his education is known. Both his father and one of his uncles were connected with the University of Padua, and his first extant work, La pastoral (c. 1517–18),2 shows a degree of literary sophistication and reflects familiarity with traditional Italian literature, including Dante and Petrarch, as well as more contemporary authors, such as Poliziano and Sannazaro. Besides his work in the theatre, Ruzante in the course of his life was involved with the administration of his family’s country estate and other properties. This brought him into constant and close contact with the world of peasants, which would become the context of most of his plays. After sporadic appearances as an actor in the second decade of the sixteenth century, Ruzante seems to have founded a quasi-professional acting company with a group of young Paduan noblemen. They performed on several occasions after 1520 not only in their native city, but also in Venice and Ferrara. At Ferrara, Ruzante collaborated with Ludovico Ariosto, who was at the time engaged in the supervision of the theatrical entertainments for the local court, but the extensive use of the Paduan dialect in his plays limited Ruzante’s theatre to where his regional language was easily understood. It seems that Ruzante never wished to establish a national reputation by translating his plays into standard Italian or printing them. He was satisfied with his widespread fame as an actor. His plays also depend substantially on the improvisational ability of their interpreters, relying more on the performance techniques of the actors than on the text, a technique that presaged commedia dell’arte practice of later in the century. Ruzante never published any of his works; the texts that survive are found either in manuscript or in versions printed after his death. This has resulted in the survival of variants of some plays, evidenced in the different prologues of La moscheta that appear in editions subsequent to

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the first. Also, his activity as an actor-author was intense both in creating new texts for the stage and in reworking older plays. Between 1524 and 1527 he produced La Betìa; subsequently there emerged Parlamento de Ruzante che iera vegnù de campo (The Speech of Ruzante who Returned Yesterday from the Battlefield), Bilora, La moscheta, La fiorina, La piovana, La vaccaria, and L’anconitana.3 After 1535 it seems that Ruzante stopped writing new plays and limited his theatrical activity to productions of old ones. It was while planning a performance of Sperone Speroni’s Canace (his first recorded appearance in a tragic role) that Ruzante suddenly died on 17 March 1542. Padua in the sixteenth century was one of the most celebrated university cities in Europe. The studio had a reputation that spread throughout the continent and attracted large numbers of students from every country and in almost every scholarly discipline. In 1554 the Venetian podestà, Antonio Grimani, described Padua as a large, walled town containing 5,800 houses, seven gates, nineteen bastions, twenty-eight churches and a cathedral, thirty-five monasteries and four hospitals.4 Of a population of over 30,000, at least 1,500 were students, and of these, Grimani remarked that more than 100 were Venetian patricians.5 Many of the rest were from other nations. The English visitor Fynes Moryson describes this cosmopolitan world at the end of the century during his own residency as a student: ‘Gentlemen of all nations come thither in great number by reason of the famous university … some to study the civill law, others the Mathematikes, and Musike, others to ride, to practise the art of Fencing, and the exercise of dancing and activity, under the most skilful professors of their Art, drawn hither by the same reason.’6 The University of Padua had been founded in 1222. After the Venetian conquest in 1405, however, its already formidable reputation was reinforced by the Venetian closure of the two other schools in the terra firma state, at Treviso and Vicenza. Moreover, the sons of Venetian patricians by law could attend only the studio of Padua; no other school was available to them. Venice was also very broadminded about the individual beliefs of those who taught and studied there, even after the events of the Reformation. The principle of the patavina libertas was jealously guarded by the university and generally respected by the Republic and the bishop, by whose authority degrees were granted in the sixteenth century. It was true, then, that ‘the bishop behaved kindly towards the Germans and the Inquisitor acted with good will.’7 This is not to say that open rebellion against the religious or civil order of the Venetian state was tolerated at Padua, especially after the Lutheran

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revolt. Pomponazzi might well have been able to take his Aristotelianism to its logical conclusion and argue for the necessary death of the soul with the body; but, after the breach in the Church, such opinions were considered socially disruptive if pronounced publicly. Therefore, by the middle years of the century, the Signoria did prosecute heresy. Leading Italian Protestants, such as Giulio Terenziano in the 1540s and even the celebrated professor of logic at Padua, Bernardo Tomitano, were called before the Tre savi sopra l’eresia, the latter for having translated Erasmus’s paraphrase on Matthew.8 Nevertheless, there was greater freedom of individual belief and expression in Padua than in most of the other states of Italy because of the role of the university and the protection of the Venetian Republic. Moreover, the tradition of carnival at Padua and Venice permitted an even freer expression of opinion than would otherwise be permitted, even in the generally unfettered milieu of the university. Certain popular ideas, outside the common interests of the Venetian intellectual and social elite, could be expressed during the annual rites of carnival. Elements that went far beyond the academic opinions of scholars became part of the vocabulary of scurrilous or outrageous commentary on aspects of life in the Serenissima. Provided these comments remained within the bounds of carnival, they were tolerated, although Ruzante did not always obey these social strictures.9 Ruzante’s freedom of expression and indeed the popularity of his eponymous character also owed much to the political situation following the disastrous war that Venice fought against the Empire and its allies, the War of the League of Cambrai. The shattering defeat of the Venetian army at Agnadello in 1509 had led to an attempt on the part of the subject cities of the terra firma to regain their independence. Padua, led by its indigenous patriciate, including Ruzante’s uncles, followed suit and proclaimed the renewed autonomy of the state. The Venetians were able to recover their territory largely because of the unwillingness of the peasantry to rally to their aristocratic landlords. Indeed, preferring the milder and more even-handed justice of the Venetian governors, peasants in the territory of Padua joined the army of the Venetian general Andrea Gritti in his assault on the city. Gritti did succeed in recapturing Padua for Venice, and the loyalty of the peasantry was not forgotten. Nor was the treachery of the patriciate: the leaders of the revolt were executed in an exemplary manner and with no mercy. As a result, the peasant or countryman character became a popular figure in Venetian theatre. The rapacious landlords, so often vilified by

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figures such as Ruzante, were not, therefore, the Venetian nobility with villas in the Paduan contado; rather, these aristocrats were the indigenous, ancient nobility of the city itself, which had attempted to assert its former independence at the apparent moment of the disintegration of the Venetian terra firma state. Equally, the vicious depredations of the bands of soldiers of many nationalities wandering about the countryside had an effect on writers such as Beolco. The violence and thuggery of these professional soldiers, many of them mercenaries who fought only for pay and took what they could from the inhabitants when not firmly controlled, recur as a theme of social dislocation and instability, especially among those poor countrymen who were unable to defend themselves. The War of the League of Cambrai, which had brought about the defeat of Venice at Agnadello, had unleashed great numbers of these marauding soldiers into the terra firma. Their memory remained, and the violence of that terrible period was deeply etched upon the Paduan imagination. Even before the collapse of the Venetian state after Agnadello, the warfare endemic to the Italian peninsula following the French invasion of 1494 made the general economic situation in the Republic uncertain. In addition, the loss of markets in the spice trade as a consequence of the Portuguese circumnavigation of the Cape of Good Hope, the dislodging of Venetian merchants from their virtual monopoly in the trade with the Byzantine East subsequent to the Turkish victory of 1453, and the ensuing period of vigorous Ottoman expansion into the eastern Mediterranean and even Europe, all conspired to weaken the foundation of the Republic’s wealth. In times of scarcity it was the responsibility of the subject cities of the terra firma to supply grain to the città dominante. Often this resulted in extreme hardship for the local inhabitants, who could not get a fair price for their harvests. Again, it was often the peasantry of the terra firma that was called upon to rescue imperial Venice, not through military action this time but through food subsidies.10 Beolco clearly incorporated much of these difficult circumstances into his theatre. Moreover, his patrons in Padua were often local patricians, like his own family, who continued to harbour resentment against Venice for the brutal suppression of their rebellion after Agnadello. Landowners complained about the requirement to subsidize the città dominante, and certain individuals close to Ruzante and his acting company represented not the mainstream of Venetian patrician opinion, but the perspective of those excluded from power. This observation might apply most effectively to Beolco’s patron, Alvise Cornaro (1475–1566), who began supporting

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the playwright about 1520. Beolco appears to have been a member of his household and served him in several ways, including business dealings and estate management. Despite his great name, Cornaro belonged to a branch of the family that was denied noble status in the Republic. As a consequence, he was excluded from the Great Council and hence from any office of authority in the state. He chose to live, then, not in Venice but in Padua, where he became a celebrated figure, a famous expert on agricultural theory, and an early exponent of healthy living. Beolco occasionally lived in his house, a centre of Paduan cultural life at the time open to artists such as the architect Giovan Maria Falconetto – and later probably Palladio – and philosophers such as Pietro Pomponazzi, a leading figure in the history of Italian Renaissance Aristotelianism and an ornament of the University of Padua.11 The theatre of Beolco, therefore, reflects a complex mixture of attitudes and intentions, many informed by the political, economic, and social perspectives of the playwright, Ruzante. These are not the true views of the countryman, whose sly peasant or clever servant role Beolco (Ruzante) himself adopted. Rather, they are the views of a very sophisticated, well-educated Paduan particularist, often hostile to Venetian domination, although still grudgingly aware of its benefits, and protected by an entrée into the leading social and intellectual circles of the university city. Memory of the suppressed rebellion of 1509, the social impact on rural women of the soldiers disrupting social bonds, the need of poor peasants not only to be sly and mendacious but to act dishonourably and selfishly as a result, the harsh oppression of the poor by the rich, and the bitter recollection of famine and plague – these are the social and political references in La moscheta. Beolco, then, does not blame the social groups from which his characters arise; instead, he lays the responsibility where he thinks it truly belongs, that is, with the injustice, oppression, poverty, war, and fear brought about by the apparently unredeemed selfishness of human nature. This is the root cause that brings forth the faithless, self-serving, violent, cowardly, and often misogynistic character traits found in Ruzante and the other dramatis personae of La moscheta. The play, then – indeed the entire theatre of Ruzante – is very much a product of the condition not only of Venice and its subject territory of Padua, some fifteen miles away, but also of Beolco’s negative assessment of his fellow man. For his subject, Ruzante initially drew his inspiration from the rural, common life of peasants and marginal members of society. His theatre is associated mostly with the life of the country folk and the lowest

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social classes, which are portrayed sometimes with an attitude of engaged understanding and at others with a perspective of comic detachment. Ruzante depicts such characters in a variety of situations, with their frustrations and fears, particularly famine, the depredations of soldiers, and their exploitation by rich and powerful landlords. They must fight just for survival: poverty was their constant and real terror, so dishonesty and faithlessness are explained, if not justified, by their primal need of money and security in an uncertain world. Love, honour, friendship, loyalty, and all other traditional virtues that dignify men and women find only a casual place in this world. Love becomes a simple outlet for sexual urges; honour is transformed into an obstinate assertion of one’s slyness or strength at the expense of others; while friendship and loyalty must give way to individual profit and interests. Although Ruzante created a unique and personal dramatis personae and often highly original plots, his work relies as well on the traditions of ancient comedy and the contributions of other, contemporary dramatists. Tonin, for example, shares many characteristics of the miles gloriosus, particularly in pronouncing such bluster as, ‘When I’m armed and I look at myself in the mirror, my appearance frightens me.’ Tonin and Ruzante insult one another’s social status in order to avoid combat, playing upon the chivalric tradition of not fighting an opponent of lower rank. Betìa’s sexual exploits in betraying both her husband and her former lover are reminiscent of the tales of Boccaccio. There are references to other plays, such as Dovizi da Bibbiena’s La calandria, and broad comedy reflecting the carnival entertainments popular in Beolco’s Italy. Ruzante, then, has constructed a theatre that sits well in the Renaissance Italian context, one that bridges the high culture of humanist scholars and the low comedy of popular, often extremely vulgar, entertainment. La moscheta is considered by some critics to be Ruzante’s masterpiece. It is one of his five extant plays in prose, and the one perhaps most indebted to the classical comedy of Plautus, following the ancient prescriptions for time and place, if more catholic in theme and characterization. Indeed, the number of characters is limited. Only five persons appear on stage, including the anonymous woman who is in only one scene to provide information necessary for the plot.12 In comparison, there are seven characters in La fiorina, eleven in L’anconitana, fourteen in La piovana, and fifteen in La vaccaria. Furthermore, in La moscheta, these characters appear in simple, almost trivial situations: a foolish husband is unaware of being repeatedly betrayed; an unfaithful wife is tired of a lover because she is eyeing another man; a rejected lover is a friend (compare) of

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the husband and tries to get back his mistress; a soldier is a coward but feels invincible whenever he is facing somebody as cowardly as himself. Beolco has consequently created four original, vibrant characters, and the play is significant not so much for its plot as for the psychological insights into those on stage. The play begins with a prologue spoken by a peasant farmer. He is not, however, the traditional, omniscient observer who enlightens the audience about abstract principles and provides specific information concerning the play to be performed. Beolco uses him instead as a comic figure by virtue of his contradictions and his jumping from one subject to another without following a coherent line of reasoning. According to the narrator, women, as well as men, occasionally behave badly as a consequence of their natures and sexual urges, and behaving ‘naturally’ according to one’s urges is one of the central elements of Beolco’s poetics. However, whereas in his previous works and the other prologues of La moscheta ‘nature’ has a positive value, here it becomes a disruptive force, for it is identified with genital imperatives, which at times lead men and women to act against morality and reason. The obscene double entendre that Beolco usually implies with the word is less apparent in the prologue, but it appears in such phrases as ‘nature is what forces us to thrust ourselves into that hole.’13 Menato’s monologue in the very first scene establishes the background of the play. La moscheta is supposed to be a comedy, but his speech reveals a very bitter and disillusioned vision of life and love. In this ‘upside down world’ he is longing not for a lost happiness, but for satisfaction of his sexual desires. Their fulfilment, however, will not grant him peace and serenity; rather, he will suffer a different kind of torment in an ever recurring pattern: love is a cursed emotion, which has led Menato to ‘cuckold one of my compare.’ It does not improve him, or make him better within himself or in comparison with any of the other characters in the play. It is a dark and evil power that forces men and women to ignore or betray moral values otherwise worth sustaining, even to the point of breaking the close bonds with the compare or comare – bonds equivalent to kinship. Women are not spiritual creatures who transport their beloved to a condition of celestial beatitude, as contemporary NeoPlatonist and Petrarchists, such as Bembo, celebrated in their poems and treatises; women are ‘whores’ who drive men to do what they know they should not do, witches who force them to betray their interests and act in desperate ways. But men feel compelled to seek sexual gratification, if not emotional satisfaction. Moreover, in La moscheta, sex is not

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only divorced from love, but also seen as a prize to be extracted from vanquished opponents. Enjoying Betìa is a physical reward for cheating, humiliating, beating, or merely outsmarting your rivals. In a world of faithlessness, dishonour, trickery, violence, cowardice, and fear, theft is seen as a necessary means of survival. Moreover, what is stolen extends beyond the money Ruzante rejoices in having taken from Tonin or the student’s gown. The human dignity and moral foundations of the victims are also taken away, leaving them to use whatever tools they have to gain some small victory or some measure of control over their circumstances. In this contest, Betìa is a prize, and she, in an almost Darwinian way, looks to reward with her favours the strongest, cleverest, or highest on the social scale – and it is an exercise in which she takes great delight. The comedy in the opening monologue by Menato is found only in the images and the language employed. Beolco’s cultured audience would certainly have caught the absurdity of listening to conceits of the elevated emotions of lyric poets and platonic love delivered by farmers and peasants. Similarly, later in the play, Tonin speaks as a lover in the Petrarchan literary tradition, describing his heart’s flight into his beloved’s breast, the excruciating union of beauty and cruelty, reflected in bitter sighs. His language does, however, slip back into the barnyard on occasion, as his true nature is never far beneath his attempts at pretending to be something he is not, whether it is a brave soldier, polished courtly lover and chivalric hero, or merely an honest man. Moreover, when it comes to his desire, his high-minded Petrarchan pretences yield to the graphic, obscene image of being a basket in the woman’s hands, with her holding his ‘handle.’ In the dialogue with Betìa, Ruzante uses language for comic purposes as well, and pretends to be a foreigner (‘from Italy, a Neapolitan’)14 by improvising a humorous dialect in which there are many Spanish sounds and most of the verbs appear in the third-person plural, regardless of their subject: the ending -no sounds very ‘foreign’ to a speaker of the Paduan dialect, for whom the third-person plural is normally identical to the singular. Language, then, in La moscheta forms an element of identity, but, as with almost every other indicator of community or belonging, it is transgressed for insidious personal purposes. The comic effect of this scene, then, depends on the actor’s ability to make the cultured audience laugh at uncultured people trying to speak formal, literary Italian. Betìa, despite what she says later, does not recognize her husband and accepts as plausible his fabricated language, his lingua moscheta. Hence

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the title of the play, for as the prologue explains, ‘if you cut down the noise you’ll see what happens to a fine young man when he tries to talk fancy (parlar moscheto) and change the way he speaks.’ Ruzante, too, borrows expressions from the traditional repertory of love conventions. For instance, he states that Betìa does not recognize him because ‘you don’t pity those who are fond of you.’ At this point she, who has so far maintained the pretence of modesty and chastity, explains: ‘it seems to me I’ve seen you somewhere’ and ‘I’d pity a dog, I would, let alone a man.’ She responds in this way not because she wants to play along with her husband’s ruse, but because she does not want to miss the chance to acquire a promising new lover, one perhaps of higher social status. She assures him that, as a rule, she is not indifferent to whoever cares for her, and that favours might well be forthcoming. And when she sees the money, she does not hesitate any longer, not needing any further seduction by her new suitor: her only concern now is that her husband does not discover this latest infidelity. But Beolco leaves his audience in suspense, as Act II ends with the two characters leaving the stage abruptly, Ruzante running after Betìa who flees into their house. There is no need for further evidence of Betìa’s character. Act III is the longest act of the play, and the most elaborate structurally. The various scenes are no longer symmetrically organized, although monologues and dialogues continue to alternate. The plot further develops the various characters, ending, apparently, with the triumph of Tonin, who succeeds in seducing Betìa and recovering his money from Ruzante. Betìa, meanwhile, succeeds in acquiring a new lover. But Menato also prospers, assuming the role as Betìa’s husband to the further humiliation of Ruzante, who is constantly bested. He is betrayed by his wife without his knowing it (if hardly for the first time); he has lost the money he was so happy to have taken from Tonin; and, again, he is deprived of whatever dignity he had. The subsequent action, borrowed from La calandria, constitutes the climax of the play. Through a series of double entendres, often overtly obscene, Tonin describes the sexual pleasure he is having with Betìa inside his house, while Ruzante, outside, thinks that he is speaking of a mule, an ‘ass.’ There is a bitter, comic quality in the grotesque distance between the graphic reality of what is happening between Tonin and Betìa and the naïve sentimentality of Ruzante, who still believes that Betìa is the same woman who has loved him so much since childhood. Tonin is driven by revenge. Rather than killing Ruzante for cheating and

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insulting him, as he had threatened to do, it is much more pleasurable and less dangerous to cuckold and humiliate him before his very eyes without his knowing. Here again, the disjunction between reality and pretence is brutally revealed. Just as Ruzante never understood Betìa’s real character, or the sexual nature of her relations with Menato, or the dishonourable motives behind his compare’s behaviour, so he refuses to understand how he has been cruelly compromised by Tonin. In the world of the strong and clever created by Beolco’s imagination, the stupid and weak Ruzante is destined to descend into the depths of scorn and mockery. The audience does laugh at him, but the laughter is becoming increasingly bitter and melancholy. Much of this results from Ruzante’s almost complete lack of self-awareness, which parallels his inability to see the true character of others and the reality of any situation if that reality should not correspond with his shallow and immediate self-interest. His is a world of self-deception, as well as one in which it is perfectly acceptable to deceive others. Our laughter at Ruzante’s expense, then, comes from both his failure to accept himself as he is and his inability to learn from even the most humiliating experiences. As he becomes the play’s universal victim, Ruzante is thus unable to attract the audience’s sympathy because of his stupidity, cowardice, selfishness, and dishonesty. But, if there had been a moment’s recognition on his part of what he in fact was and what had happened to him as a consequence of the actions of even those he held closest – his wife and friend – the comedy could easily transform into tragedy, with the character’s self-loathing driving a very different conclusion to the action. Nevertheless, even in the play as written, there needs to be a wretched and sad ending as a consequence of the nature of the characters. There can be no redemption for Ruzante’s stupidity and cowardice (which he cannot see or acknowledge), for Betìa’s faithless and hypocritical predatory sexuality, for Menato’s selfishness and betrayal of his friend, for Tonin’s vulgarity and baseless braggadocio. No character has the selfknowledge or the moral authority, let alone the will, to improve; and there are no positive values in the world created by Beolco that might guide them to resurrect some ideal of personal trust, community, sympathy, or understanding. When Ruzante tells Menato about his wish to make peace with Tonin and his intention ‘to try to be good, and live peacefully,’ the audience neither believes nor trusts him. He is speaking out of fear of his immediate circumstances, not from conviction. He, after all, had made a similar resolution when Menato succeeded in tak-

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ing Betìa back to her home (III.viii), and Ruzante has just at that point finished lying yet again to his compare with his story about the fantastic monster. There is, then, every reason to doubt the seriousness of any claim to good intentions. Moreover, when he believes that he is in a strong position vis-à-vis Tonin, Ruzante immediately reverts to his old self. Fear is the only force that seems capable of forcing Ruzante to face reality and seek to change, but when the cause of his fear is removed, so are his virtuous resolutions. In Act V, all the threads of the plot move to resolution. Tonin and Betìa learn that it might be easy to deceive Ruzante, but not Menato, the compare who will likely again be Betìa’s regular lover, although, given Betìa’s urges, not for certain or forever. Ruzante, despite the events of the play, has learned nothing and remains deceived until the end. Betìa convinces him that Tonin wants to make peace with him, while, in fact, the soldier merely wishes to pacify Menato. Ruzante is so naïve and so happy to believe that he intimidated him sufficiently to sue for peace that he does not ask why Tonin is covered with blood in his house. Ruzante is aware of the actual events of that night: his fear, the absurd story of the monster, his being beaten, and his certain knowledge that he was not Tonin’s assailant. However, in order to assume a heroic posture before Betìa and Menato, even for a delusional moment, he fails to confront the reality of his situation. This heroic pretence has become truer, more important, and believable in his own eyes than it is in reality. Furthermore, to acknowledge reality would be to accept the evidence before him of Betìa’s infidelity and his own cowardice. Ruzante prefers to live in his world of fantasy and delusion because reality is simply too painful. Whatever he has is tied up in his wife and his compare. To admit what they have done to him, both together and individually, would destroy whatever self-esteem and agency the character enjoys. It is not much – indeed it is pathetic – but it is something. In a world turned upside down by war, poverty, harsh and unjust laws, rapacious landlords, and social stagnation, Beolco is commenting on the ability of the disenfranchised to create their own rules and indeed their own realities. Betìa and Menato seek solace in sexual pleasure at the expense of all moral and social convention. Tonin sees sex and power as rewards for his occupation of soldier: brave soldiers take what they want from peasants free from the restrictions of conscience. Ruzante is always the loser, because he lacks the equipment to change himself or his circumstances. His only refuge is trickery and delusion. There are remnants of a lost soul in Ruzante. His memories of happier times with

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Betìa reveal a character who might have developed differently had his conditions been more conducive to a normal life; but even here, this tiny element of hope introduced by Beolco is compromised by Menato’s waxing equally sentimental over his previous, adulterous relationship with Betìa. There is, then, apparently little hope for redemption, no recovery of a lost golden age. The view of humanity proposed by Beolco, then, is uniformly bleak. The misogyny, careless cruelty, selfishness, violence, deceit, and faithlessness do not result from a society disrupted by war and injustice – they result from human nature itself. The comedy is to laugh at characters who not only find themselves in absurd circumstances, but pretend to be what they are not. In this way, the title of the play and the role of language become central. Words are what we use to define, in fact create, ourselves for others. Our speech, as Petrarch noted, is the index to our souls. The moscheta, the ridiculous language that at once betrays class, education, cultivation, intent, and even meaning, is not just a comic device. It is a metaphor for the condition of Beolco’s world. Nothing can be trusted in this world, especially language, because words in La Moscheta refer to a solipsistic world that cannot be mediated by common instruments. Every character in the play is driven by selfish motives that can best be furthered at the expense of others, so that community, family, friendship, honour, and morality do not obtain in this upside down universe. Language presupposes some common values or experiences; here there are none. Language becomes, then, another vehicle for deceit and delusion rather than the medium of mutual understanding and shared principles. The present translation follows Zorzi’s edition of La moscheta in the original dialect rather than his companion translation into standard Italian. In addition, we have reduced or completely eliminated Zorzi’s stage directions whenever they are not strictly necessary for the understanding of the text. These decisions were taken on the grounds that we did not agree with some aspects of Zorzi’s translation and similarly felt that the heavily interpretive instructions owed more to Zorzi than to Beolco. One major problem presented in La moscheta is the continual use of the words compare (for a man) and comare (for a woman), neither of which has an equivalent in modern English. They indicate the form of spiritual relationship established, for example, between the witnesses at a wedding and the bride and groom for whom they stand, or between the godparents and parents of a child. The relationship implied would be

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closer than that among even the best of friends, comparable more to the closeness of relatives. For instance, a compare had free access to the couple’s house, even when the husband was not at home. Consequently, it would be misleading to use English words such as ‘buddy,’ ‘pal,’ ‘mate,’ and so on, which have a much more general meaning, or ‘cousin’ and ‘brother,’ which indicate specific relatives. We have preferred, therefore, to keep the original terms where they occur. Another issue in translating La moscheta concerns the large number of obscene words and expressions in the original. These may often sound gratuitous and offensive to the modern reader, despite the fact that modern audiences are constantly exposed to such language through books, films, and even television. Such expressions were accepted as normal by sixteenth-century audiences. Some contemporary sources make note of the restraint in this play compared with the disturbing vulgarities and obscenities in Beolco’s La Betìa. It is difficult to determine how many of these expressions had lost their original impact for his audiences and functioned merely as exclamations and personal idioms, particularly within the social class he depicted. We have tried to remain faithful to the original, rendering these terms with equivalent English words, even if they sound vulgar to the modern ear

Notes 1 The spelling with one ‘z’ reflects the sound of the Paduan dialect, whereas the double ‘z’ does not exist. As a character, Ruzante appears in all of Beolco’s plays mentioned below, with the exceptions of La Betìa, Bilora, La piovana, and La vaccaria. 2 In La pastoral most characters use standard Italian (although strongly influenced by dialect); other characters, however, do speak in dialect. In this play and in La Betìa Ruzante uses verse, while his other plays are written largely in prose. 3 It is difficult, at times impossible, to establish the exact date of the text of each play. From surviving documents we occasionally learn of performances of a play by Ruzante; sometimes the source gives the title, sometimes not. For instance, we know that a version of La moscheta was presented in Ferrara in 1529; but the various beginnings indicate that the surviving text is quite different and was transcribed at a later date. Padoan suggests approximately 1532 (‘La stagione del Ruzante,’ in La commedia rinascimentale veneta [1433–

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7

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 1565] [Vicenza: Neri Pozza, 1982], 121); Milani, on the contrary, thinks that the printed edition might reflect the first version of the play and ascribes it to 1524–5 (‘Rileggendo Ruzante: note, ipotesi e provocazioni,’ in Filologia Veneta. I. Ruzante [Padova: Editoriale Programma, 1988], 44–6). Nino Borsellino, however, prefers to follow the chronology supported by L. Zorzi in his first edition of the play (Padova: Randi, 1953) and dates L’anconitana to the years 1522–3 (‘Per Ruzante’ in Rozzi e intronati. Esperienze e forme di teatro dal ‘Decameron’ al ‘Candelaio’ [Roma: Bulzoni, 1974], 161-85). Quoted in B. Brugi, Gli scolari dello studio di Padova nel Cinquecento (Padova: Drucker, 1905), 12. Brugi, Gli scolari, 28. Fynes Moryson, An Itinerary Containing His Ten Yeeres Travell Through the Twelve Dominions of Germany, Bohmerland, Sweitzerland, Netherland, Denmark, Poland, Italy, Turky, France, England, Scotland and Ireland (Glasgow: MacLehose, 1907), 1: 156. Brugi, Gli scolari, 28. See also P.J. van Kessel, ‘The Denominational Pluriformity of the German Nations at Padua and the Problem of Intolerance in the Sixteenth Century,’ Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 75 (1984): 256–76. E. Pommier, ’La société venétienne et la réforme protestante au XVIe siècle,’ Bollettino dell’Istituto di storia della società e dello stato veneziano 1 (1959): 4. See L. Carroll, ‘Carnival Rites as Vehicles of Protest in Renaissance Venice,’ Sixteenth Century Journal 16 (1985): 498ff. See F. Lane, ‘Recent Studies on the Economic History of Venice,’ Journal of Economic History 23 (1963): 312–34; B. Pullan, ed., Crisis and Change in the Venetian Economy in the 16th and 17th Centuries (London: Methuen, 1968). For additional bibliography in Italian, see Carroll, ‘Carnival Rites,’ 493. See O. Logan, Venetian Culture and Society, 1470–1790 (London: Batsford, 1972), 104ff. A farmer appears to speak the prologue, but on the stage that function could easily be performed by any of the male actors in the play. See, for example, N.D. Dersofi, ‘Ruzante: The Paradox of Naturalité in a mondo roesso,’ Yearbook of Italian Studies 1 (1971): 142–55. From the first years of the sixteenth century, the kingdom of Naples formed part of the Spanish dominions in Italy. The reference to Italy as a foreign country for an inhabitant of the Republic of Venice is very similar to the use by the British of ‘the continent’ for the rest of Europe. ‘Italy’ usually indicated the Centre and the South of the peninsula.

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Bibliography Carroll. L.L. Language and Dialect in Ruzante and Goldoni. Ravenna: Longo, 1981. – ‘Carnival Themes in the Plays of Ruzante.’ Italian Culture 5 (1984): 55–66. – ‘Who’s on Top? Gender as Societal Power Configuration in Italian Renaissance Drama.’ Sixteenth Century Journal 20 (1989): 531–58. – Angelo Beolco (Il Ruzante). Boston: Twayne, 1990. Cope, Jackson I. Dramaturgy of the Daemonic. Studies in Antigeneric Theater from Ruzante to Grimaldi. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984. Dersofi, Nancy D. Arcadia and the Stage: An Introduction to the Dramatic Art of Angelo Beolco called Ruzante. Intro. D. Della Terza. Madrid: Porrùa Turanzas, 1978. – ‘“Il mi sono dela Talia, pulitan”: Ruzante and la questione della lingua.’ Italian Culture 8 (1990): 53–61. Fido, F. ‘An Introduction to the Theater of Angelo Beolco.’ Renaissance Drama 6 (1973): 203–18. Herrick, Marvin T. Italian Comedy in the Renaissance. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1960. Krailsheimer, A.J., ed. The Continental Renaissance, 1500–1600. Harmondsworth, U.K.: Penguin, 1971. Lea, K.M. Italian Popular Comedy. A Study in the Commedia dell’Arte, 1560–1620. With Special Reference to the English Stage. 2 vols. New York: Russell and Russell (1934), 1962. Radcliff-Umstead, Douglas. The Birth of Modern Comedy in Renaissance Italy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969.

The Moscheta La moscheta

Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance) menato Ruzante’s friend betìa Ruzante’s wife tonin a soldier from Bergamo ruzante a peasant farmer living in Padua a woman (The scene takes place in Padua before the houses of Ruzante and Betìa, Tonin, Menato, and a woman)

Prologue (Recited by a peasant farmer) There are lots of people who are always curious about other people’s business. I mean, they try to find out what their neighbours are doing and why they’re doing it, when they’d be better off minding their own business. You know I’m telling you the truth. People who meddle in other people’s affairs just don’t have enough to do; and even if they do, they don’t do it. They’re sure to have their own dirty linen, but they still want to talk about their neighbour’s. And then there are the gossips – those women who every time they see a man and a woman talking together believe right away they’re up to no good. And God knows how it’s going to come out in the end as they gossip along. They’d be a lot better off just to keep quiet. I’ve been told – and now I’m going to tell you – that there’s a woman living here (points to the house of Betìa and Ruzante) married to a good man – a really good man – from the country, but she talks to all the other men around and is mixed up with everybody. Now, I don’t believe this about her, because I think she’s a good woman. And I believe this because I’ve

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known a lot of women and I’ve never found a single one who isn’t all right. And let me finish by telling you that I believe they’re all good because they’re all formed in the same mould, and they all have the same insides. And even if there are a few who get into mischief, that’s just because of the female thing. We men are like that too. We have our masculine thing forcing us to do what we wouldn’t do otherwise, and if anybody cussed us out for something we did, we’d answer, ‘blame the masculine thing that made us do it.’ Who in hell doesn’t know that when a guy is driven by the masculine thing to fall in love, he actually falls in love? All right, he just might not be lucky enough to find some woman to fall in love with. But if his luck holds, it’s the masculine thing that forces him to thrust himself into that hole – for otherwise he’d never do it, and a whole lot of other things to boot. Tell me, in dear God’s name, who’d be such an idiot as to fall in love with one of his comari and try to cuckold one of his compare if it weren’t for that masculine business?1 And what woman is so cheap as to misbehave with her compare and try to cuckold her husband if it weren’t her own feminine business that drives her to it? Now you folks, too, you’re wise and smart. You know you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your own businesses that drove you to come here; nor would we be mixed up in this rigmarole here in Padua in a neighbourhood like this. We’re happy that you came, of course. But look, we want you to keep quiet and listen. And if you should sometimes see any of those performing in this comely … or comedy – I can’t say it properly – who don’t do it with their businesses, don’t wonder, because they’re not used to doing it; in time they’ll get the hang of it. And if they gossip about the woman who lives here in this house, and if you see her doing something you don’t like, keep quiet because I’m going to let you in on it first. And I don’t want you to think that I’m some backbiter meddling in other people’s affairs; I’ve never done such a thing, believe me. Bit if I didn’t tell it to you straight, you wouldn’t be able to follow along. And now, since it’s my job to let you in on what’s happening and to keep you quiet, shut up and listen. Here I go. Somebody is coming, the first one to come, and he’s coming for the first time, and he’s never been here before; he’ll be the first to come after me. He’ll come here cursing and complaining. But don’t think that it’s because he’s lost something. It’s because he’s in love with one of his comari.

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But, shush now! Look here. He came to live here in this house a little while ago (points to the house of Menato).2 And she, since her feminine thing couldn’t live without it, found somebody else, a soldier from Bergamo. He lives here too, in this other house (points to the house of Tonin). You’ll see amazing things! And you’ll see that she’s going to run into the soldier’s house, this faithless woman. And if you see them fight, don’t run up to separate them, because we farmers, when we’re mad, we’d fight Christ Almighty! You surely must know that when you recite the litany, you say a furia rusticorum liberamum Dominum.3 So, don’t move. Let’s have some silence, a stillness in which nobody can be heard. Because this is the first time we’ve done a play, and if you behave as I’ve told you, we’ll do more, maybe even better ones. And so in this way you’ll be pleased and so will we, and we’ll all be happy. I wanted to tell you something else, but now I forget what it was … And I can already hear that complainer coming, and he seems absolutely desperate. I’ve got to go. This could end in a fight, because he might think that I’m flirting with his comare and I don’t want to get beaten up. I’d better get out of here. I’d like to tell you first what I forgot, but I can’t remember it … Ah, now I’ve got it! I wanted to tell you to keep still and keep your seats till you see that they’ve all made up, because that will really be the end. Now, keep quiet. I bow to you and Your Excellencies. (Exit)

ACT I Scene i menato, alone menato: What a bitch of a life! Shit, I’m really unlucky. I must have been conceived while Satan was combing out his tail. I never rest or get any peace, but I suffer more torment, anger, turmoil and curses than any other man has had to endure in this whole ass backward world … It’s true, Menato, damn it, it’s true! But to tell the truth, I have only myself to blame. I shouldn’t have fallen in love with one of my comari like I did, and I shouldn’t have tried to cuckold one of my compari. Damn love, anyway, and whoever invented it, and his father and his mother, and the whore he’s just gotten into. Has love driven me to

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Padua? Made me leave my oxen, cows, mares, sheep, pigs, and sows as well in order to come here? So, come where? – after a woman. To do what, then? Nothing, because I won’t do a thing. Damn it, you know, they’ve really got power, these women; wherever they want, men will go in spite of themselves. And then they say we’ve got free will.4 We have this curse that eats away at us; we deserve the axe to the back of the neck if we let ourselves be used like this. I believe she’s bewitched me, or bedevilled me ... Bedevilled what? If I were bedevilled, I’d be as rigid as a corpse. But I’m not; I’m too much alive, and I’m burning like a furnace full of scorching fire. She’s bewitched me, just as I am. I always have a pain in my left side here, a kind of burning, a smart, a stretching, so that it feels like blacksmiths are working me over with a couple of hammers: bang bang! bang bang! While one pounds, the other’s winding up. Son of a bitch! Stop pounding! I’ve been beaten more than any wool.5 I’m just about dead. Damn it, yes, I’ll die, I’ll explode. It feels like I’m on fire. Yes, yes, yes, it’s scorching the inside of my belly. It feels like my heart is thumping – my lungs bursting, too, and all the rest. Yes, don’t you see it? Look here at the smoke coming from my mouth! Oh God, oh God, help me. Don’t poke me any more. Damn you! Don’t you see? Glass would melt in my belly, the fire’s so stoked up. But who are you talking to, you fool? Don’t you see that you’re alone here? Keep quiet, Menato, keep quiet! Stop fretting. Listen, do as I tell you. – Well, what do you want me to do? – Now, go see if you can talk to her. Perhaps, although … – What do I know? – You might come to an understanding with her. If she wants you as you were before, wouldn’t you be satisfied? One heart tells me, ‘Do it.’ But another tells me, ‘Don’t do it.’ I want to go to her, because if I were to give up hope completely and wanted to die, once I was dead, that’d be it for me in this world, so I wouldn’t even be able to be sad because I was dead. I know that. – Me too. Damn it. And if she were really … How should I say, from now on I wouldn’t trade the rest of my life for Roland’s.6 But then, if she won’t, how should I say, (spits) puh! puh! I’ll go away like a desperate man, roving around the world, even if I have to go as far as Ferrara!7 I’d better think about what I have to tell her. Just once I want to say to her, ‘You see, comare, look here. I – how should I say – I’ve never made a secret of being in love with you, and I’ll prove it more and more, if you just once – how should I say?’ I’ll find the right words! The trouble is, what if I find my compare, her husband, at home? Then what? I’ll find some excuse. ‘Wretched is that Muse who can’t find an excuse.’8 Come on, I’m going. (Moves with resolution)

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Scene ii menato, betìa betìa: (With a basket on her arm and calling her hens) Cluck, cluck, cluck! Holy Mother of God, where in the devil have those hens gone to now? They’re not in the house. Here chickie, chickie! menato: Hello there, comare. How is my compare doing? betìa: I don’t know where he went, God help me. So good-bye! menato: Well now, look at you! You live in Padua and you’ve become a great lady! You’ve become – how should I say – a woman of the town. We can’t any longer – how should I say? Damn! betìa: I am what I am. What you see is what you get. I live in Padua, but you stay in the country. menato: Sure I live there, but – how should I say – I’m forced to stay there. And, believe me, what used to smell like roses stinks to me now. Because when I wander through the open fields and I come to where you and I used to talk together, where I picked your lice for you,9 and when I come across the walnut tree where I used to peel fresh walnuts for you, Christ, I feel such a longing, such a stretching, that I melt like salt in soup. And why? Because of my love for you, goddamn it, false as you are to your compare. Damnation if I haven’t been hanging around here for more than an hour to see if I could talk to you. betìa: Now you’ve talked to me. What do you want from me? menato: Hey, what would I want? I’d want – do you know what I’d want? I’d want you to love me, and to help me, as you used to do in the old days. betìa: Why do you want me to help you?10 I don’t see anyone threatening you. menato: Well, even if you don’t see them, I can still feel them, because they’re making me feel them. Because for more than an hour now, I’ve felt like I’ve had blacksmiths beating in my belly; I feel more shattered than crushed glass. And it’s your fault, you cheat!11 betìa: All right, out with it, what do you want me to do with you, my dear compare? menato: What you should do to any of your servants, my dear comare. betìa: To put it in one word, compare, I don’t want to be crazy over you as I used to be – never again, not for the rest of my life, and not in my husband’s house!

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menato: No, I don’t blame you for that. But listen, run away with me. betìa: I’d rather be struck by lightning! There never was a woman in my family who ran away with a man. I want to be able to look people straight in the face. Go and mind your own business, because never again, compare, never again, forever! menato: Never again, eh? My compare is keeping you well satisfied? betìa: Yes, he really is. And he’d better! Because if he were to do me just so much wrong, I’d leave him and he wouldn’t enjoy me ever again. menato: Well look, comare, if you agreed to leave him, just let me know and I’ll come with a hundred men – all thugs, jailbirds – and take you away from this house. betìa: I’m not lacking places to go, if I want to, because I’ve at least a hundred admirers. And far from being chickens, they’re soldiers. menato: Never again, eh? You really mean it, dear, lovely, sweet comare ? betìa: Right. I’ll even put it in writing for you. If you want to chatter, chatter by yourself, compare! (Re-enters the house) menato: Just listen to me, comare! Listen, damn you! (Knocks on the door) Oh, comare ? – Oh, the things women get into their heads! From what she’s said, I really think she’s rejected me. She’s like a leaf blowing in the wind: ‘Never again, never again!’ What a fucking life! But many times you’d tell me – don’t you remember – that I was your little root, your satisfaction, your advice, your comfort, and I’d always be that all our lives … that you’d keep me in your heart, that when you were eating you saw me inside the bread, and when you were drinking you saw me in the cup. And now you tell me ‘never again’? Look, comare, it doesn’t make sense. Oh, comare, think about it, comare! Just my luck! I had no trouble finding her. What they say is really true: it’s easy to find a friend, but it’s hard to keep one. What the hell did I ever do to you? I’ll suffer day and night because of my love for you. Shit, if only I could at least get you out of my mind, because when I remember those eyes of yours shining like mirrors, that mouth perfumed like spices, those teeth as white as radishes … But say no more, Menato, say no more. I feel as if the world’s spinning. My blood is boiling like a tub of new wine in August. Be reasonable, Menato. Well, now, I don’t want to fall into despair. After all, she said that if my compare, Ruzante, does her the slightest wrong she’ll leave him. I’d better work on him so he’ll do something really awful and then she’ll get angry and won’t want to live with him any longer. And I’ll take her with me, and I’ll do something that’ll make her want to go back to him. And then, I’ll

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be – how shall I say – domino dominanto.12 I’d better go and see if I can spot him. Scene iii tonin, alone tonin: Well now, if it weren’t for two things – having to fight and having to take sides – a soldier’s life would be the best job in the world.13 For two reasons: if the pay was there every thirty days, and if you could stay in your quarters and enjoy it. Damn it, what a glorious life it would be! To hell with the Germans and French! But now that I’ve fallen in love with one of my neighbours and was about to get my heart’s desire, I get an order to ride to camp within eight days. Well, be patient, Tonin. Either inside the house or out, I’ll have to turn on my genius and try to make a grand gesture. I’ll march up and down in front of her door till she comes out and then I can enjoy myself a little, at least in words. If I can’t do anything else to her, I’ll tell her, ‘Donna Betìa, I’m leaving. Remember this man; his arms and his horses are at your command. And as far as the other things go, I want you to make use of me neither more nor less than if I were your husband.’ I want to be brave. I want to go and knock at the door; and, yes, I even want to go into the house, you bet. And if somebody comes and says anything to me, brave bugger that I am, I’ll beat him up, I will. Be brave Tonin! Don’t do it, Tonin, you could run into trouble, a little difficulty. But I want to go, by Jesus!14 What am I afraid of? What could possibly happen to me? Better take it easy, Tonin, because, by God, by God, there could be somebody lurking about the house who’ll suddenly jump out at you and pull off one of your arms. Then I’d have to run away with a lance at my ass! My boss, then, when he finds out, would he be mad. All right, for my boss’s sake I won’t go. I don’t want to lose a man like him … But yes, I do want to go. Bloody hell! Scene iv betìa, tonin betìa: (Opens the door at that very moment, with the same basket in her hand) Ah! You scared the life out of me; my heart stopped!

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tonin: Scared the life out of you? Stopped your heart? Mine couldn’t be so scared because I don’t have one anymore. betìa: And where did it go? tonin: It’s in your breast, my little sweet round vision of loveliness. betìa: Not me, I don’t have anybody’s heart. (In self pity) Even a lame woman can find a husband. tonin: Bloody hell! How is this possible that such a beauty could treat me so bad? I’ve seen all kinds of men and women in my time. I’ve seen oxen and cows and horses and sows and pigs and donkeys, but I’ve never fallen in love with any of them. But with you, my little sweetheart, I’m so far gone that I’m out here mooning around. My God, are you ever beautiful. You absolutely glow! betìa: Ah, I’m not even half as good looking as I used to be. I’ve lost my bloom. I can remember a time when a guy with long nails could fondle me and never leave a scratch – I was that firm! If I were like that now, I’d look a lot different to you. If only I could! Because I swear to you on a stack of Bibles,15 I looked like a bucket all polished up, my flesh was radiant. tonin: By God, I’d be so lucky if you liked me just a little. betìa: Now, who dislikes you? Not me. I don’t dislike anyone. I don’t dislike you. God knows I don’t, God knows, Signor Tonin. tonin: Really? I’d like it if a little of my love could enter your breast, my little sweet round vision of loveliness, and then you too would feel the misery, the labours, and the afflictions that pass through my mind – all because of my love. betìa: Me, I’ll tell you the truth. You’re not meant for me, mister, and I’m not meant for you. tonin: You turn me down like some idle coward, then? You send me packing, even though I’ve been a fighting man for fourteen years. betìa: Not me, I don’t mean that. I mean that you’re out of my reach. tonin: Dear Donna Betìa, we’ll be able to reach each other if we share a little hug.16 betìa: I don’t want to hug you. tonin: What do you want me to do then? betìa: Make it into soup and share it around. tonin: Now what am I supposed to do? If I was in hand-to-hand combat, or in a skirmish, I’d know what to do. I’d fight hand to hand. betìa: Well, whoever fights like that, helps himself. tonin: I’d like a favour from God that would satisfy me for a long time. betìa: And I’d like one too.

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tonin: What do you want, my beautiful little vision of loveliness? betìa: First, what do you want? tonin: No, you go ahead. betìa: You start, Signor Tonin. tonin: I’d like to be that basket of yours. Now that you’re going to feed your hens, you’d hold my handle with your hand. Now it’s your turn. What do you want? betìa: I’d like whatever I touch to turn into gold just like that!17 ruzante: (Singing offstage) ‘Once I would like to be sure that you loved me – O so sincerely …’ betìa: Get away, get away, Ruzante is coming! betìa re-enters the house; exit tonin) Scene v ruzante, alone ruzante: (Singing) ‘Darondela dan dan, diridondela, tirirela, tirirela …’ I’m feeling so damned happy! I am so happy that my shirt is riding high on my ass. I’ve made so much money that I could buy half an ox. Bloody hell, I’m one wicked guy! I’m really more like a thief. Did I ever sucker that soldier from Bergamo! He gave me some money to take to somebody, and I pretended – Christ, I can’t believe how smart I am – I pretended that someone cut my purse and stole the coins. But I’ve still got ’em per nobisse.18 Well, anyway, God knows how he got them in the first place. Damn it! I’ve already swindled him, a soldier, and because of that he gives himself such airs. Hot damn! So he’s a soldier … ! And I’ve fleeced him, because if he’s a soldier … Bloody hell, I’m a wicked guy! For sure, I, Ruzante, could swindle Roland himself, the hero of the legends. Not only that, I can keep his mouth shut if he tries to snitch on me. I bluff so well with threatened blows that I’ve scared the wads out of him. Now, who wouldn’t be afraid of someone who acts the way I do – I, Ruzante, braver than any soldier? And to think that I didn’t catch on til now. Bloody hell! That’s the point. Men are stupid, but they think they’re smart in the head bone, no matter how thick it is. I didn’t know I was as valiant as I am. But I learned how to brave it. When somebody tells you something you don’t like, you bluff. For sure, I wouldn’t be scared by Roland himself – I, Ruzante. Bloody hell! Brag as much as you like, and hit, and keep on hitting, and hit, and keep it up more

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and more, because there’s no living soul who can defend himself. And always aim for the eyes, because when you hit them and the eyes close you can hit anywhere else you want. You can hit him, thrust and parry, and upside down, and even like this, like you’re going to trip him. Damn it! When I remember how I tricked him I want to laugh like hell! But isn’t that him coming? I’d better look in a bad mood so he’ll think I’m desperate. Son of a bitch! Scene vi tonin, ruzante tonin: So, my money’s lost, right? ruzante: That’s what I was just thinking … It sure was a fine robbery. Bloody hell! For sure, he’d have fleeced you, too. He was well dressed, but he looked as scary as you do. (Points at Tonin’s body) A leg like that, a beret like that, crooked, with a sword hitting his leg, exactly like you. But yes, it was you. You played a trick on me. tonin: I did? ruzante: Well what do I know! But yes, it was you. You fit the description, with your face like a burning ember. But, listen, if it was you, don’t drive me crazy. tonin: (Aside) Should I believe him, or shouldn’t I, or should I just pretend? ruzante: Please, do you think I’d play a joke on you? Am I completely evil? May God help me, I couldn’t pull teeth from a turnip; and you think that I, me … ? Look, I couldn’t have thought of a trick like that in all my life. But, of course, you’d like me to be wicked. I’ll tell you what happened to me. I too acted like the woman who thought she was holding her purse but was only holding the purse strings. I did the same thing. Those things that should have stayed outside, I put inside. But I’ll never forget his face. tonin: Stop it! Someone a lot like you is trying to double cross me further. ruzante: My father19 doesn’t know anything about it, by God! tonin: Jesus Christ! No peasant ever … ruzante: Bloody Hell! We’re peasants because we’re not thieves.20 Don’t you talk about us peasants or you and I could end up with more holes in our skins than a sieve. tonin: I don’t want to fight with you.

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ruzante: If you don’t want to fight, don’t talk about peasants. I’d give a straight answer to anybody, even in France or Italy.21 tonin: Quit it, I don’t want to quarrel. If somebody really stole the money from you, let’s forget about it. ruzante: Sooo, you said it! Pacientiorum, as Capo said.22 And don’t talk about peasants, because, as they say, if you tease me, I’ll run, and if you step on my feet, I’ll piss in your face. tonin: Please, just forget it! ruzante: Come on, come on ... Ah, ah, ah! tonin: If it wasn’t for ... Never mind!23 Bloody hell, I’d squeeze the money out of your own eyes, you yellow chicken! (Exit) ruzante: Asshole! Didn’t you see his chin trembling? Christ, I’m really good at this job! If I got right down to it, I could blow away three or four like him! I don’t even want to go home. I want to leave – because I’ve seen a girl, and I want to take her away, by force, or, as the saying goes ...

ACT II Scene i menato, ruzante menato: Now then, what shall I tell you, compare? You know how I’ve always loved you and – how shall I say – do you understand? ruzante: Don’t I know it, compare? When you wanted to kill that guy who talked behind your comare’s back, didn’t I know that you did it because you loved me? menato: Yeah, and I wanted to kill the guy I found talking to her just now if it weren’t – I mean, I don’t really want to ruin a man because of her. You understand what I mean, compare? ruzante: No, really, compare, she’s not one of those. She’s a good girl. I don’t want to say anything about her eyes, but the rest of her is really quite nice. Besides, what do you think? We always loved each other, ever since we were little shepherds. She used to go out with the geese and I went with the pigs; we used to flirt with our eyes, because we didn’t know – how shall I say – we were so simple then. menato: You really love this wife of yours? I don’t think I could love anyone who didn’t love me. ruzante: Don’t talk about love, compare. The chairs and benches in

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my house could tell you that when I’m sitting some place, she comes right over to sit beside me. Besides, she’s not one of those stubborn women who always tries to be right. She lets herself be handled and told what to do any way I want. Do you understand, compare ? Now, what I mean is, she’s not proud. And when I go home, if I’m tired and sweaty, right away she puts an old towel around me. Compare, do you understand? If I’m in a bad mood, she says, ‘Now, what’s the matter with you?’ If I don’t want to tell her, she says, ‘Who can you share your thoughts with better than me?’ Do you understand, compare ? menato: Is she still that nice to you even now? ruzante: Actually, I don’t know when it started. I say one word, she comes back with three. How shall I say – if I give a stroke down, she wants to give three up. menato: So then it really is like I told you? You can be sure if I were you, I’d want to really find out the truth. ruzante: But how? menato: Okay, I want you to change your clothes and get dressed like a man about town, or a soldier, or a student – and make sure you speak good Italian. Now, I know you can do it, because you can always come up with things to say. ruzante: Listen, I did something not long ago. It had to do with some money. Oh, hell! It was beautiful ... menato: Now that money will really come in handy. ruzante: But how do you want me to get changed? menato: Come with me. ruzante: Let’s go, compare. menato: At least you’ll know whether she’s faithful to you, and whether you can really be proud of her. ruzante: Look here, if she’s not, I’ll make her head roll in front of her feet with this knife. She won’t even be safe behind the altar!24 menato: No, compare, I don’t want you to kill her for this. You’ll just know if your ass is in trouble.. ruzante: Let’s go; I’m dying to find out. (Exit) Scene ii tonin, alone tonin: I’ve always heard that love makes men fools, and that it causes great sorrow and great pleasure, and that it costs a lot of money, and even makes a brave man a chicken. And me – I’m a brave man. So as

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not to make my sweetheart sad, I didn’t bother to answer that treacherous little husband of hers. He said so many vicious things right to my face, as if he’d found me licking his dishes. I’m a chicken; I’m an ass; my hide is worthless, but I didn’t answer him. Now he’s the chicken; he’s the ass. If he were here now, I don’t know if I could hold myself back. But somehow I’ll make him pay for it, because I don’t want to leave it to my children to get even. He called me an ass? Well, he’s the ass and he’s the chicken. He had nothing in his hands. I could have made him pay. I could have killed him. And now that’s what’s going to happen. When I find him, I’ll get rid of him before I go off to camp. He’ll spend the rest of his life on crutches.25 (Enters the house) Scene iii menato, alone menato: God Almighty! This compare of mine really is an ass, and he thinks he’s so smart. He’s dressed in God knows what clothes to look like a student speaking his proper Italian. Holy shit! This is going to be beautiful, this thing! What a laugh! After all, he fell right into my trap. Damn! Because he is my compare ... Well then, this guy will go to his wife and I don’t believe for a minute she’ll recognize him. When he tells her that he’s going to give her some money, she’ll take it, like any other woman; and he, when he sees that, he’ll want to kill her. Then his bragging won’t do him much good, because my comare knows him, and she knows how he is. He won’t even dare to look at her sideways. He’ll brag a lot, ‘Like that, right? Bloody cunt this! Bloody cunt that!’ But she won’t be frightened or wet her knickers for crap like this. She’ll just hightail it out of there to pay him back. And then I’ll talk to her, and I’ll see to it that she’ll come away with me, because then she’ll know that I’m not scared of my compare. I’ll make him dirty his pants! Damn it! This is going to be beautiful. I wish I could stick around here and watch how he handles it. I’ll go and see if I can hear anything. Goddamn right! This is really a hoot! (Exit) Scene iv ruzante, betìa ruzante: (Alone, disguised as a student) All goddamn right! Nobody’d

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dare to say I’m not a Spaniard. I bet you that Argus himself wouldn’t recognize me – and he had a hundred eyes. I can hardly recognize myself. This’ll really be nifty, too. Hell, he’s really wicked, this compare of mine. Did he teach me a lesson or what? Now, I’ve thought of one even better than the one he taught me. It’ll be good for me but not for him. To a bad guy, you gotta be worse again by half. So I’ll do it to my compare. He made me put on this disguise. When I’ve done what I want to do – I’m going to do something to him, because I know what he says is a lie – I want him to lose his disguise, so I’ll say that the soldier, the one I quarrelled with, ran after me with a lance and almost killed me, and while I was running, it just fell off. And so it’ll be back in his pocket. Since he’s so smart, he’ll say, ‘For Christ’s sake, compare! This is a likely story.’ And I’ll say, ‘What, compare? I’m surprised at you, I am. What do you think? Would I make up a story for you, my compare?’ ‘Oh hell! I’m sorry,’ he’ll say. ‘At least, if it was mine ...’ And I’ll say, ‘I’m even sorrier, since he almost killed me.’ Well, I’ll sure put it back into his pocket. What a beauty! Now, I shouldn’t laugh. My God, when I get to the door I don’t know what I should do: go into the house right away, or wait? God’s socks! What a wimp I am, like those people who are always looking to see if their shoes have holes in them, looking for something they don’t want to find. What good would it do me? None at all! One heart tells me, ‘Do it.’ But another says, ‘Don’t do it.’ But, since I’m dressed like this, I want to try it anyway. (Approaches the door of the house and calls, altering his voice with a foreign accent) – Hey there! Who lives in this house? betìa: (Opening the door) Who’s that? ruzante: It is I, moi, who want to speak with your – Yours Ladyship. Be well. Do you know moi? betìa: So God help me, I’m sure I don’t know you. ruzante: Do you know why it seems to you that you don’t know moi? Regarde bien moi. betìa: I don’t look at men I don’t know. ruzante: Do you know it, why you know not moi? betìa: So God help me, for sure I don’t know why. ruzante: Because you not pity those with amore for you. betìa: Still, it seems to me I’ve seen you somewhere. I’d pity a dog, I would, let alone a man. ruzante: Oh God, it has been so long that I be almost dead because of you! betìa: Where are you from? I don’t think I know you.

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ruzante: I be from Italy, a Neapolitan. betìa: How come you know me? ruzante: When there was the retreat I, moi, was lodged in your house.27 If you want to be my girlfriend, moi will give some money. Regarde, I have here. (Shows the purse) betìa: Let me tell you something. I don’t speak with people I can’t look in the face. ruzante: Now, I will come into your house, into your room ... betìa: Now, if that were to get out, and my husband found out about it? Poor me! ruzante: Well, you cunt, you bloody cunt! What’s this I hear you saying? So, you’d make a cuckold out of me? You shut up! I’ll cut off my horns, that’s for bloody sure. Run where you want, you won’t be safe – not even behind the altar! I’ll lock the door shut, so nobody can take you away from me. (Betìa runs into the house. Ruzante runs after her)

ACT III Scene i ruzante, betìa ruzante: (To Betìa, who is inside the house) But why didn’t you tell me before that you’d recognized me? Look here, if I wanted to beat you up, I’d have taken it easy – you know that. Who held me back, then? You silly woman, don’t you see that I did it to test you? Maybe now ... betìa: (From inside) I’ll have myself shoved into a nunnery! ruzante: Now, keep quiet, you silly woman, now ... don’t cry. I was only kidding you. I can hardly say it, but damn me and my compare, too! I wanted to cause the poor little woman some trouble, but I almost couldn’t calm her down. Then there were all those surprising things she said ... that she recognized me all along. Do you think she’s wicked too? Hell! She was mad as hops. Damn it, I couldn’t calm her down. Bloody hell! It’s my compare’s fault and he’ll pay for it. I’ll play a wicked trick on him with this disguise. Anyway, it won’t be a sin, because it’ll be for my good. And on top of that, he nabbed me too. I’ll go see if I can find him. Betìa, I’m leaving, okay? I’d better look like I’m out of breath, like somebody’s been running after me.

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If I had a cut on one of my legs, it’d be better still. I’ll say that they did this to me. Gods almighty! I’ll play another dirty trick. I’ll go see if I can spot him and pretend that ... Bloody Hell! This is going to be good! I’ll get the disguise. (Exit) Scene ii betìa, tonin betìa: (Comes out of the house leaving the door ajar) I’ll do you the honour you deserve, you squirrel, dog, human carrion! You’ll never enjoy me again, even if you go searching door to door. (Calls at Tonin’s house) Hey, you there in the house! tonin: (From inside) Who’s that? betìa: A friend. tonin: Oh, thanks be to God! Come inside, Donna Betìa. Scene iii ruzante, menato, woman ruzante: I just saw my compare coming this way. I don’t want him to see me yet, because I want to get to the bottom of this. – Help, mercy! Help, mercy, I’m almost dead, killed! menato: Compare, compare! God’s snatch, what’s the matter with you? ruzante: There were more than a hundred of them, compare. All I could see was sky and lances. I’ve more holes in me than a sieve. Help me! Help me! menato: Who were they? ruzante: They were striking mercilessly, compare: a lance in the air and one at the waist. I’m dead, compare. Find a priest. I have to confess. menato: Don’t be afraid. Who were they? ruzante: I feel my breath draining through my wounds. menato: You’re probably not hurt at all, buddy. ruzante: Why do I feel like I’m jabbed all over? menato: Where? ruzante: Don’t touch, don’t touch! Careful, hell, don’t touch! More than a hundred of them. To hell with them! If only they’d come at me one at a time. menato: Who in God’s name were they?

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ruzante: If I’m not dead, I’m nearly there. menato: Listen, my friend, you’re not wounded anywhere. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. ruzante: Well, compare, I still feel myself at the brink of death, and if I recover, I’ll never be a man again. Now, look here, whether I’m hurt or not ... menato: You’re not hurt at all, old buddy. ruzante: Oh hell, compare! Run after them while I have my wounds tended to, fast. And look, I lost the cloak you gave me, and the hat, so pick up those clothes. But run fast, and then turn back here. Right off you’ll see the footprints and hear the racket of those guys. Quick, on the double, so he doesn’t get away, and don’t forget to grab my hat. (Menato runs off ) Bloody hell if I haven’t put the ball back in his court. What I want to do now is go and throw myself in bed next to Betìa and make her cover me nicely. Betìa! Oh Betìa! Do you hear me, you vixen? Oh Betìa! I think you’re sleeping. I’ll push the door. Oh, do you see that I’ve opened it? Where are you, then, Betìa? (Enters the house and comes out again) Oh, goddamn me for the rogue, chicken, dog, human carrion that I am! This time I’m ruined; I’m really put to shame; I’ve hit the rock bottom. Fit for the chicken coop! I’ll always be a good-for-nothing! The hell with both of us, compare, you and me, with my stupid disguise. Take that, you twitterbird! Take that, wretch! Take that, shit! Now you can collect what you’ve made out of this – nothing! Go ahead, change your clothes; go ahead, speak like a soldier, or talk in good Italian. Do some bragging! And, damn me for speaking like a grammar book! Damn him who taught me! Oh Betìa, you really did what you said you’d do; you really packed off to a nunnery. And it’s all my fault. I’ll always be a good-for-nothing. You’ve become a little barefoot nun, poor soul! Now I can sing for real, ‘Please, little nun ...’28 I’ve never known you to be a woman of such character before now. It hasn’t helped that since we were children together, the fondness has always been there. We got drunk on our mutual affection. Nothing I ever did brought you to tell me ‘God be with you, I’m going my way.’ If I only knew where to find you. Where have you gone Betìa? Tell me, sister, so at least when I die, they’ll put us in the same little grave together, since we can’t be there alive. We’ll make them write a long, long, epitaph describing how we died. If only there was somebody to tell me where she is, or which way she’s gone. woman: You’re looking for your wife, aren’t you, my good man?

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ruzante: Yes, sister, yes. woman: Well, look here, look here. ruzante: I don’t see you. woman: Here, over here. ruzante: I don’t know where you are, I really don’t. I’m stunned. Where are you? woman: Here, here, poor soul, to your right. ruzante: (Seeing her) Oh now! Where has she gone? woman: There, into that house, the soldier’s. ruzante: She’s gone over there to the soldier’s? Did you recognize her for sure? Was it her? woman: Yes, poor soul, I saw her go in there myself, a little while ago. ruzante: Oh, Holy Mother of God be praised! I may still hope to enjoy her again. I don’t even want to knock. Now, I mustn’t go in there bragging. I must appear softer than pork fat. And if he calls me a turkey, I’ll tell him he’s telling the truth. What do I care as long as I get what I want? (Calls) – Oh you there! Mister soldier! Mister brother! Do you hear me, then? Scene iv tonin, ruzante tonin: (Inside) Who’s that? ruzante: It’s me. Give me my wife. It’s me, your friend; I’ve come to get Betìa. tonin: I haven’t broken her in yet. Wait just a minute. ruzante: Hey, what are you doing to her? Just give her to me the way she is. tonin: I want to give her a rub down. I’m going to slap her flesh. ruzante: You don’t understand me. Just get closer to the door. tonin: I want to put a pack-saddle on her, but she doesn’t want to stay still. Come here, you little beast! ruzante: This fellow just doesn’t understand. – Do you hear me, Mister soldier? tonin: Damn flighty! She doesn’t want to be ridden. ruzante: He hasn’t understood me at all. He thinks I’m talking about the ass.29 tonin: What the hell? ruzante: What’s the matter?

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tonin: Her saddle has split right open. ruzante: See? I told you he didn’t understand me? He still thinks I’m talking about the ass. tonin: What do you mean I don’t understand you? I’m saddling ass; but just let me bang a nail into the saddle. It’s split right open. ruzante: Smart ass bastard! I’ll have to let him finish. I could shout like this for a thousand years and he wouldn’t understand me. – Well, are you coming, then? tonin: I can’t find the hole for the belt buckle. The hell with it. ruzante: What? What are you doing? tonin: I’ve just finished. ruzante: Have you finished, finally? How shall I say – the bride will be up the aisle by now. tonin: Let me get my breath just a little. What a tough one she is, the little beast! You’ve got to guide it in by hand. ruzante: Don’t you understand me any more, you fuckin’ blockhead? tonin: Now, I’m coming, finally. ruzante: The hell with that ass you’ve got in there! I don’t mean that ass, I mean my wife – mine! Is she there in your house? Scene v betìa, ruzante betìa: (At a window) Sure I’m here, my good fellow, sure I’m here! What do you want now? Don’t you ever figure it out that it’s all over? ruzante: Now, now, you silly woman! I know you’ve caused me a lot of trouble. betìa: Offer the knave a drink.30 Wouldn’t you say he’s deserved it? He’s smart and he knows a lot! Don’t you think he knows how to make up a nice story? You really tricked me now. Well, up yours! You’re no farther ahead! ruzante: Bloody cunt! You must be crazy. betìa: Believe me, believe me, I’ll never forget this as long as I live. Now, be off with you. ruzante: Okay, but you’re coming away with me. Let’s go home. Come on, I swear I forgive you. betìa: I don’t want your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it. ruzante: Now, then, you forgive me, because I’m asking for your forgiveness, dear wife – and because the devil is clever. Forgive me!

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betìa: Get out of here. You’re the one who farted; you enjoy the smell.31 ruzante: Forgive me, dear wife. The devil tempted me. And after all, it was my compare who told me what to do. betìa: Good for nothing lout! Shut up! Shut up! What were you trying to do? Didn’t you know what I was? If I wanted to do something wrong, you wretch, do you think I haven’t had the chance? ruzante: Oh, Betìa, sister, it was my compare who put me up to it – may the devil take him – because I’d never have thought of it on my own. ‘Do it, do it, compare, so that at least you’ll know if she’ll be faithful to you. Do it.’ That’s how the devil tempted me. Now, bloody hell, I did it just as a joke. I swear to God. And you know very well I have a taste for joking. If I thought it was going to turn out like this, do you think I’d have done it? First I’d let myself starve to death! betìa: Yes, yes, now turn it around and blame my compare, since he has broad shoulders. ruzante: I swear to God I did it just as a joke. betìa: Well, then, I’m joking too. ruzante: Come on, then. Let’s go. Let’s go home because ... Bloody hell, listen! betìa: I’ll never go into your house again. If I ever do ... Don’t make me tell you ...! ruzante: Listen, sister, I don’t think I’ve ever felt any more pain in my life. Believe me, I went around the house looking for you like a rabid dog. betìa: What did you want to prove, you damn fool? ruzante: Whether you were fond of me. betìa: And you had no idea how much I cared? Now just tell me: would anyone have been idiot enough to stay with you, as I did, knowing what a good-for-nothing you are? ruzante: Cunt! Me, good for nothing? Listen, I still know how to play a good game. betìa: Well, yes, you can do that. But when there’s something to do around the house, you can never manage to move your ass from the chair. Everything’s always left in my hands. Me here, me there, me up, me down, me under, me above. I have to direct you in everything. I have to keep the pans and the dishes clean. I have to work in the house. I have to work outside the house. And afterwards, when we’re in bed, when we should be advising each other, the way husbands and wives do, you’re sleeping like a log. Do you think if I

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hadn’t been fond of you, I’d have stayed with you for so long? Well, my good fellow? ruzante: You’re telling the truth. But you had to say it. What do I know, stupid as I am? betìa: Oh, and didn’t I mention that I’m always pushing you, always shaking you, the way you do with a fish in a frying pan? But your brain is eternally asleep, no matter what I might say or do. You seemed like a log then, and you still do. ruzante: But what do you want now; should I drop dead? I’ve never felt worse pain – and all because of my love for you. betìa: Now, if you’d behaved properly to me, the way you should have, you wouldn’t be in this situation. Do you understand? ruzante: Come on! By all the saints, by the blood of St Lazarus, I’ll make it up to you so that you’ll say I’m a good man. betìa: Go away. I don’t want to set eyes on you. Just go to the devil, so I never have to hear your name again. Besides, I’m in a place where I’ll be just fine. I mean that. I’ll have better company than I had with you. Miserable, good-for-nothing me, I’m only sorry for my honour’s sake. But that’s what you wanted and that’s what you’re going to get. ruzante: Be quiet. Be quiet. Don’t cry, you silly woman. Don’t cry. You make me want to cry, too. Don’t talk. Listen, Betìa, listen to this, at least ... (Betìa has withdrawn) Damn it to hell! Now what’ll I do? I’m going to call that damn soldier. Mister soldier! Do you hear right, my friend? Do you hear? Scene vi tonin, ruzante tonin: I hear you fine. But you aren’t singing notes that I like. ruzante: Can you put in a good word so she’ll come home? tonin: A good word, eh? You know very well what you did to me. ruzante: So, I could’ve beaten you up, too, if I’d wanted to. tonin: You took my blood when you took my purse. ruzante: What? The money? Honestly, honestly, it’s been taken from me. What do I care? If this isn’t the truth I’d tell you myself now, because I’m – how shall I say ... ? tonin: Come on, if you don’t make sure that I get my money back to the last penny, you won’t have her, because I’ll take her to camp with me. (Exit)

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ruzante: Now what’ll I do? I’ll sit here. I won’t go away, even if I go off my nut, till hell freezes over, or I’ll pop off right here. Bloody fuckin’ hell! Everything is against me! What else on earth can I do? Betìa! Oh Betìa? You’ll see – I’ll die here! Damn it! I beg you at least have me buried so my flesh – which is your flesh32 – won’t be eaten by dogs. Oh, if I just had a knife, the whole world couldn’t stop me from killing myself! Well, since I have no knife, I’ll kill myself with punches. Take that, take that, you blockhead. The hell with you! Take that, take that. I know, I’ll strangle myself with my own hands so my eyes will come out and I’ll scare everyone. I’ll eat myself. Betìa! At least come here, pay attention to this so that when I pass from this life to the other you’ll yell, ‘Jesus!’ Now where shall I start eating myself from? How about the feet, because if I start with the hands, I won’t be able to eat the rest after. Betìa, at least say a paternoster for me.33 Come on, God be with you, because I’m going to start. I’ll never be able to eat all of myself. But I’ll eat so much that I’ll pop off. And when I’ve popped off, what will you have gotten out of it? Please, throw down a little cord to me, dear Betìa, so I can hang myself, so I can stop this suffering. Scene vii menato, ruzante menato: Where the hell has that guy gone to? Damn him! Would I ever like to know how this story of my comare ended up! I’ll go see if I can spot him. Now, isn’t that him crouched down over there? Compare, oh compare! Hey, what are you doing stretched out there? ruzante: I’m doin’ ... The hell with you, you and your bright idea! menato: But why, compare ? What’s happened to you? ruzante: Your comare was upset because of what you made me do, and so, when I went looking for her, she ran away, ran right into the house of that soldier. menato: (Furious) What’re you doing now? Didn’t you make him give her back to you? Why don’t you knock on the door? ruzante: Oh yes, didn’t I knock? She just doesn’t want to come. menato: Knock, man, let me speak to her. ruzante: You go right ahead. You try speaking to her. She’s mad at you, too, since I told her who taught me that trick. menato: Bloody arse! If you’ve told her these stories, we’ll never see her again, that’s for sure.

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ruzante: What difference does it make to you if we never see her? menato: Who me? I’m just doing this for you, compare. What do I care? Have you spoken to the soldier? ruzante: Of course, I’ve spoken to him. menato: Well, what’s he saying? ruzante: He says that he doesn’t want to give her back to me, unless I give him I don’t know what money that he says is his – you know, that story that I told you? menato: I was wondering about that! These are the kinds of tricks that you’re always up to, and then you want to lay the blame on someone else. Why don’t you give him his money? You want to go on with these pranks of yours, right? I mean you keep pulling these kinds of shenanigans. ruzante: You’re rich, compare. You can give him all of that money yourself, you know? After all, she’s your comare too. menato: I’m surprised at you, compare. You’re the one who filched it, so you’re the one who has to give it back. ruzante: Compare, if you don’t help your comare, who is supposed to help her? menato: Come on, knock and make him give her back to you. It’s a great honour for you to let her stay in the soldier’s house, now isn’t it? ruzante: I’ll wait a little longer and see what he says. And if he won’t give her back to me, I’ll go to the podestà.34 They’ll give her to me for sure! menato: Yes, but shit, compare, why not let her stay there for another hour; it’s such a great honour for you! ruzante: Compare, go and make him give her to you. Make any promise you want on my account. Do it for your comare’s sake. menato: (Calling at Tonin’s house) Oh mister soldier! Do you hear me, my good man? Mister soldier! Scene viii tonin, menato, ruzante tonin: Who’s that? menato: It’s me. We’d like you to give us our woman, if it’s all right with you. tonin: Who’re you?

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menato: It’s me. I’m a compare of hers. tonin: If you give me my money, I’ll give her to you. Otherwise, you won’t have her. menato: Now, listen, my good man. Let me come in so I can talk to her. As for the money, I’ll give it to you, if nobody else will. tonin: Fine with me. But I want you to come in alone. (Exit) menato: Come on down, comare! (To Ruzante) – That’s how you do it, like this, see! And don’t lie around waiting for manna to fall from heaven, compare, the way you do. How much money was it? ruzante: Maybe twenty silver pieces. menato: I’ll have to give him at least half. ruzante: Just give him all of it, compare, and settle it. menato: It’s enough for me to give him half. That’s the way I’ll settle it. ruzante: Settle it now, dear compare. You see, I’m begging you. This has all been your fault, compare, so you settle it. If you take care of it, I’ll make a vow. Just settle it this time, and I’ll never play tricks on anybody again. I promise to live like a good fellow. Damn these schemes of mine, because I’m almost dead and mortally ruined. (Exit Menato) I’d better listen to what he says. He’ll settle it, my compare, because I know he’s fond of her, and she’s fond of him too. He’s always talking about her, and she about him: ‘My compare this, my compare that.’ Listen! Be quiet. I hear her saying, ‘Never more, never more ...’ You bloody bitch! ‘Never more,’ right? Oh the fantastic things women imagine! I’ve never known you to be a woman of character, of any character, until now. Believe me, you’re not like your mother, who ran away so many times from her husband, but every time changed her mind the minute anybody spoke a single word to her. Listen! I hear her saying, ‘Will you yourself promise?’ Sure, sure, compare. Fuckin’ cunt! Snatch of the devil – I don’t want to swear. He’s still thinking about it, and I’m not close enough to him to shove him. Go on, compare, promise. I don’t dare yell. Listen! They’re whispering together softly, my compare and my wife; I can’t hear. Danm it! Listen! ‘For your sake, compare, I’ll do what you want.’ Wow! It’s settled. I hereby take a vow to go and have dinner every year with a monk or the company of St Anthony.35 My compare’s giving him the money, because I hear him saying, ‘This stuff isn’t any good.’36 Never again! Never again will I play any tricks! This one cost me so much that I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. I hear him saying, ‘Let’s go.’ I’ll pull back so it seems like I didn’t hear them.

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Scene ix betìa, ruzante, menato, tonin betìa: I understand, compare. But it’s just because of you. ruzante: Whore, now you’re really nuts! You talk about family resemblances. You’re nothing like your mother: one word and she’d let herself be turned around, and handled, and let others do whatever they wanted to her. betìa: Do you know why? ruzante: Why? betìa: Because she had a real husband. But you, what are you good for? ruzante: You whore! I’m good for nothing, according to you. But I don’t think I’d put my tool into the hands of someone else to work with. betìa: Shut up! Quiet, in God’s name! You can thank God – and my compare for sure, too, because if it wasn’t for him, you’d have only been dreaming about me. ruzante: You, too, can really thank God and my compare, because if it wasn’t for him I’d have killed myself by now. menato: Come on, come on, no more talking. (To Tonin) God be with you, my good man. betìa: God be with you, and thank you so much for your company. If we can ever, you know ... tonin: If only I can get rid of that guy! (Points at Ruzante) Thanks so much. As you’re well aware, Madonna, all men from Bergamo are good. (Exit) menato: Where are you, compare ? ruzante: I’m here. menato: From now on, act like a man, and don’t ever let anything happen to you again, because I’ve put a lot of effort into settling this, and even more into convincing her to be satisfied. ruzante: Shit, compare! Now, don’t you realize that you’ve been the cause of this? Am I really so bad that I could have thought these things up, if you hadn’t been there? menato: Shit, compare, surely you know it wasn’t me that took the money from the soldier, now was it? Damn it, you can really talk nonsense when you get going. So shut up! Just shut up! Don’t tell any more fibs to your compare.

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ruzante: Now, damn it, compare ... menato: Now, yes, compare. Shit! Compare, don’t make me say any more. Let’s go into the house. Betìa, you go first, comare.

ACT IV Scene i tonin, alone tonin: People from Bergamo, right? Well, I’m a soldier and I’m from Bergamo, and a treacherous peasant wanted to trick me. People from Bergamo may have swollen heads, but they’ve got wits that penetrate every hole. Trick me, eh? Who in hell but a Bergamasque would’ve been such a devil; who could’ve acted as well as I did? I’ve got my money – which that peasant conned off me – and in a little while I’ll have his woman, too. Any other guy would’ve wanted to brag, to argue, to inflict wounds, stabs, thrusts, jabs, cuts, but I went away with the cheese from Piacenza.37 So I’ve got the money, and now I want to settle the matter with this Donna Betìa. But she’s got to keep her wits about her. So the first time Ruzante leaves the house, I’ll go in. And if there’s no other way, she’ll arrange for her compare to take her husband out of the house this evening. And me, I’ll go inside. She’d have been willing to stay with me at home and come to camp with me; but I don’t want to bring these hired lances under my colours.38 I’m beside myself with joy when I remember how I got my money back. (Exit) Scene ii ruzante, alone ruzante: I’ve got to do it; I can’t stand it any longer: I’m like a wild animal, so brave that I can’t hold back from starting a fight. I was conceived in arms. When my father and mother conceived me, they were wearing a cuirass and had a Spanish sword by their side. Nature must follow its wild course. I’m used to picking fights everywhere I go. So when I haven’t got anyone to fight with, I fight with myself. I want to go and find this soldier to tell him – the fucking bastard! – that the money my compare gave him is mine, and that my compare mustn’t give

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away my money, and that I want it back. ‘Oh, brother,’ he’ll say, ‘this is no way to act – it isn’t right.’ Bloody hell! I’ll eat your heart, you yellowbellied coward, you gallows bait. And I’ll thrash him again and again. (He strikes imaginary blows with a lance) He’ll get so scared that he’ll shit everywhere. He’ll give me back everything and I’ll pick it all up. Damn! It’ll be great to make money without working, just by bragging. And if my compare happens to come by, I’ll say I’m quarrelling because that soldier had me attacked by his buddies. And I’ll take away my disguise and the hat, because I don’t want to say I’m fighting for the money. What’ll I do? Go and knock at the door? Or shall I just keep walking? If I go up to knock, he could jump out without me knowing it and hit me from behind. If I stand here in front looking threatening, he could shoot me in the ribs with a crossbow. I’ll go and knock. I’m a valiant man. (Knocks on the door) Where are you, you yellow-bellied coward? Bring me my money, or I’ll make you shit it through your eyes! Come out. Come out! I want to show you that you’re not good enough for the likes of me. I want to eat your heart, and fry your guts and feed them to the dogs, and fry your liver on the grill like a sardine.39 Come out, chicken liver! Scene iii tonin, ruzante tonin: (At the window) Who’re you talking to, brother? ruzante: Who’m I talking to? You’ll find out if you come down, ’cause I’ll make your shoulders look like the wings of a beetle. tonin: Mine? What for? ruzante: Come down and I’ll tell you what for. Then you’ll find out. Remember this, you fucking bastard, that that money is mine, and I want it, even if I have to make you throw it out through your eyes! tonin: Listen, brother, you’d better check to see if you have any more for me on that account. Actually, he’s given me a plug nickel and I want him to give me another. ruzante: You bloody clod! You make fun of me, too, do you? Because if I knock down this door, I’ll come and kill you even if you’re hiding behind the altar. Believe me, you’re dead right. Lucky you’re in a stone house, because if it were made of straw, I’d tear apart the frame. You’d think I was a cannon.40 I’d come in and kill you in your own bed – you and your children, too!

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tonin: Shut up, you poor fool, because if you were to see me with my sword in my hand, you’d take to your heels in a flash. ruzante: You? You? You think you – you – could make me change my course? You wouldn’t even be able to look me in the eyes, much as you’d like to. Bloody whore! If I could get in there ... tonin: When I’m armed and I look at myself in the mirror, I frighten myself. Think what it’d do to you! Go away and God help you, poor fool. ruzante: Now, come on down, you and two of your friends, you and three buddies, you and ten, you and your wife and your kids, you and the house and everything. I won’t move from here. Bloody hell! I’m known as a terror from here to France. You scare me? You, me? Now I forgive you, because you’ve never seen an irritated and angry man. So, come on out. I just want to scrape your hide with this lance. Yes, by God, you think I’m angry? You bet! I wouldn’t even know how to start beating you. Just pick up any weapon you want, but get yourself out here. tonin: When you’re a soldier on a horse like me and you ask me to fight, then I’ll come to you. ruzante: Bloody hell! I’ve been a better soldier than you are, because I’ve been a corporal, and I’ve had ten stretchers under me. You’ve never had so many, have you? And my family’s better than yours – right? – because my ancestors never carried baskets, as you’ve done. Not only that, but I bet you don’t know where you come from or who your father is. You don’t even know that, but you want to talk about family? tonin: Shut up, you savage little beast, little chicken, baptized at a pig trough! ruzante: You called me pig? Now I’ll remember that. You won’t always be in a stone house. I’ll grind you smaller than a minced radish. I’ll make you see that this pike has a good handle and a better handler.41 tonin: Then you won’t wait for me if I come down. ruzante: I just want to offer you a bite to eat, so come with me. tonin: If you’re an honest man you won’t leave till I come. (Withdraws from the window) ruzante: Come on down, I’m not leaving. I want to thrash him so badly I’d better pull back. I really hope somebody comes between us, because I don’t want us to kill each other. I want to be brave. And, after all, you can only die once. (Tonin reappears at the window) Are you coming? You’ve come back to the window? Aren’t you coming? You can put this fight off but you can’t get out of it.

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tonin: I don’t want to stain my hands with the blood of a treacherous peasant. ruzante: Me, a peasant? Oh, fucking shit! Couldn’t I knock down this door? tonin: Watch out! If you break my door, I’ll give you a slice of St Stephen’s bread!42 ruzante: Look, porter, don’t throw stones. tonin: Look, peasant, don’t break doors. ruzante: I said, look, porter, don’t throw stones. tonin: And I said look, peasant, don’t break doors. ruzante: If you throw stones ... tonin: If you break doors ... ruzante: If I don’t run out of stones, you’ll have to jump out of there. You, a soldier? tonin: Watch out. If your stones hit me, I’ll make the lice run right out of your hair. ruzante: Okay, I don’t want to be made a fool of. I’m going to be more reasonable about this than you are. Anyway, I’d fight you if I only had you to worry about ... tonin: Are you looking at my hands? ruzante: At your hands? Me? Who could’ve stopped me from tearing you to pieces? tonin: Who’d have stopped me from hitting your head? ruzante: Remember you called me pig. tonin: You remember it, too. ruzante: I’ll remember it. Now look. Don’t come begging to me for peace or war. You know I’m so mad I wouldn’t make peace with Roland!43 tonin: Go, and God bless you. Go as the priest of Marano did.44 (Aside) I’d better keep a close watch. If he leaves his house, I’ll go in to see my woman – just what I’ve been wanting. Scene iv ruzante, menato ruzante: No peace, nothing! He called me a pig! menato: Compare, compare! Now what’s going on? What do these arms mean? ruzante: Compare, there’s no one I’d rather see here than you, really.

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menato: Well, here I am – me, Menato. ruzante: That soldier from Bergamo, is he your friend? menato: Sure, he’s my friend. ruzante: Have St Gregory’s masses said for him.45 menato: Why? Is he dead? ruzante: No. I want to kill him myself. menato: Don’t do it, damn it. Why do you want to ruin yourself in this world? ruzante: I want to fight him. He can use whatever weapons he wants. menato: Oh, compare, weapons aren’t just for anybody. ruzante: What, compare? My fear has disappeared. I’m not afraid of him, not me! menato: No, but don’t you know that accidents are just waiting to happen? The devil is subtle. And many times a coward kills a brave man. ruzante: Compare, I want to fight with him for my honour. menato: It’s better to live as a coward than to die a hero. Don’t you know that? ruzante: Compare, I want to fight. And I’m happy as hell that you’re here, because you’ll come between us. I tell you, compare, when I give three or four blows I go blind – I lose my sight – I’m like a draught horse that’s been blinded. And that’s why I want you to come between us. menato: Is it such a big dispute that it can’t be settled? ruzante: Now, the fact is, he’s the one who called in all those thugs to beat me up, the ones who stole your disguise from me. And I want to show them that they’re all cowards, one by one, two by two, three by three, ten by ten! menato: Now, compare, remember how nice it is to live round about Padua. You’ll ruin yourself hereabouts and you’ll have to hit the road. And, then, compare, remember how well we know each other. ruzante: At any rate, I want to fight now. menato: Listen, compare, you know for a fact that I’ve always given you the right advice. It’s almost night time now. Let it get dark and we’ll get some weapons, you and I, and we’ll get rid of him for sure. Let’s go home till it’s dark. ruzante: Let’s go. I’ll follow your advice. menato: Let’s go. ruzante: Dear compare, let me kick down this door! menato: Don’t do it, compare. Let’s go home. ruzante: I want to follow your advice.

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menato: Now, let’s go. ruzante: Let me kick down this door, dear compare. menato: Don’t do it, compare. Let’s go home. (Exit)

ACT V Scene i ruzante, menato, armed and with shields ruzante: Compare, I say we shouldn’t go. menato: Come on, you son of a bitch! It’s because you’re scared. ruzante: I’m not scared. But I’m thinking. If we were to meet the night watch and they nabbed us and tied our arms, the way you do ducklings’ wings, what would you say then? menato: You jerk, you’re so full of big ideas. Don’t you think we’d hear them? We’d take to our heels, wouldn’t we? ruzante: That’s true. We’re in the open, outside, right? Where in the hell do you expect me to run if I can’t see anything? It’s weird, it’s so dark. I don’t know how to go along these walls. Let’s go back, dear compare. menato: Well, I’m surprised at you, compare, I really am. Don’t be such a sissy. ruzante: I’m telling you, compare, we could hit each other without even knowing it, because I can’t see, you know. menato: Don’t worry about me, compare. Come along beside this wall. ruzante: I can’t even see you, and you expect me to see walls. I’m going to hit friends as well as enemies when I start fighting, do you understand? menato: Let me lead you like a blind man, compare. You know how they say, ‘hitting like a blind man?’46 You’d recognize me by my voice. Don’t be afraid. You jackass, I think you’re shaking with fear. Your teeth are chattering so loud you could be heard a crossbow’s shot away. ruzante: No, compare, I’m not afraid; I’m shivering with cold. (Stumbles and falls) Shit! menato: What’s the matter, compare? ruzante: Take it easy for God’s sake! I broke a nail and grazed my whole knee. Damned stones! You see? Listen to what I’m telling you. Let’s go back.

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menato: Keep against the wall, you dumb lout, if it’s not against your religion or anything. ruzante: I can’t even see you. menato: I’m over here, on this side. ruzante: Sh, sh, quiet! menato: Did you hear anything, compare? ruzante: Sh, sh, quiet! menato: Well, what now? ruzante: Sh, sh, sh! menato: What do you hear, compare? ruzante: Keep quiet. I’m hearing what sounds like a breastplate creaking. Let’s run, let’s run away, compare! menato: It isn’t true. I’m in front, aren’t I? ruzante: What if they come from behind? Do you hear what I hear? Hold your breath, compare. menato: I can’t bear anything. Unless you farted. ruzante: Now you’re joking, compare. I care less about dying than you do. I’m telling you that I smell something like gun smoke. menato: I can’t smell anything. ruzante: You must have a cold. Me, I can smell it clear as anything. Listen, compare: I told my wife to leave the door open. If it were necessary ... Did I do all right? menato: You did all right. Let’s go through this lane. Follow me. ruzante: You go ahead. menato: Compare, where are you? ruzante: I’m here. Where are you? Stay close to me. I don’t know these lanes too well. menato: (Knocks into Ruzante’s shield) Bloody hell! ruzante: What is it, compare? menato: I’ve broken my face. I’ve banged into something. ruzante: You’ve run into my shield. Can’t you see it? I have it on my head. You should be able to see it. menato: You miserable jerk! Only you would carry a shield on your head like that. ruzante: Now, compare, I don’t need you to teach me how to handle my shield. I’m carrying it on my head because we’re not out in the open. Somebody might feel like throwing a brick out of these windows and knock my brains into my mouth. You know, compare ? You don’t know everything, do you? menato: Idiot on wheels! You think you know everything. You’ve got such big ideas.

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ruzante: Well, I deal in possibilities. menato: Listen, compare, we shouldn’t stay together, now that we’ve reached this cross-road. ruzante: And where do you want me to go? I want us to stay together, the two of us, and put our asses against each other’s, you know?47 menato: I’m telling you, let me be in charge. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. You stay here. ruzante: Compare, at crossroads there must be at least two people. I know what I’m saying. menato: If you want to do it my way, do it; if you don’t, let’s go home. ruzante: I’ll do as you want, compare. Tell me and let me handle it. menato: Stay here at this corner, and if somebody comes, hit him without mercy. And I’ll be at the farmers’ oven, and top off the load.48 Don’t move, unless I come. ruzante: Now go, but be careful. If you hear me calling for help, compare, don’t just stand there. menato: Don’t worry. Scene ii betìa, menato, ruzante (Menato moves towards Ruzante’s door and tries to enter. Betìa attempts to prevent him) betìa: Don’t come in, don’t come in – am I in trouble! There’s no way I want ... menato: Damn right I’m coming in! I want this door closed. (Menato and Betìa disappear inside the house) ruzante: I’m not afraid, no sir. I’ve tried more cases than Cicero,49 and he still thinks I’m afraid. If I could just see ... I guess the moon doesn’t want to come out tonight. I’ll sneak against this wall, because I don’t want anybody to get me with a bow or a crossbow. – You know how it is, don’t you? You’re just here on your own; you’ve got to have guts. – But what could I do by myself in this darkness? If I jumped up and hit somebody, I’d hit myself in the eye. I’ll be ready to run away, so I don’t have any trouble getting out of here if I hear anything. I’ll stand with this foot in front and my shield behind my back. I’m going to throw my sword away if it causes me any trouble. Shit, I’m in real trouble. My compare always gets me into these jams, into crossroads, with the threat of ghosts and corpses and hell. I’ll say an ‘Our Father.’ Bloody me! A

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light stroke is all it takes to kill somebody. Now if anyone wanted to whack my head, or my arm, or the tip of my kneecap, and I were to fall into spasms, I could die here, no confession, no nothing. I really am a good-for-nothing, and all this because of money! To have to stay here, and get myself killed ... Do you hear something? I think I hear someone. Compare, is it you? Well, yes, the asshole probably went and met somebody who just killed him. I want to go home. Bloody hell! It’s his fault. As they say, I don’t want to die for anybody. (The shield bangs noisily against a wall) This damned shield! It makes so much noise that I’ll be heard a mile away. I’m going to throw it away! (Moving around in the dark, he finds himself in front of his house) Am I at home now? Where the hell am I? For Jesus sake! This is my door, for sure. I’ve had the luck to find it right away. Is it the one? F... I was almost going to say it! (He realizes that it is closed) Did she really leave it open as I told her? Now I’ll have to shout, and that soldier who lives over there will be able to hear me. Doesn’t it seem like bad luck is chasing after me? – Betìa! Oh, Betìa! – I don’t dare shout. – Open up, Betìa! menato: (From inside, altering his voice)51 Who’s knocking at the door? ruzante: (Aside) Hell! Now, what’s this? I’ve got the wrong door. (Louder) – Forgive me, brother, I’ve got the wrong door. (Aside) Well, now, this is the lane, I think. The hell with being blind! I really think this is my house, and this is the door knocker. (Louder) – I’m not knocking at your house, I’m knocking at my own door, brother. menato: Look, you drunkard, if I get up, I’ll make you pass your wine. ruzante: (Aside) Shit, this guy is in my house. I don’t know what to do. The hell with my compare! I’m a gonner, for sure. I’m all mixed up. I thought I came along one lane, but instead I came along another. (Louder) – Oh brother, just let me in till morning. menato: Now, whore from hell! Get me that spike! Open that door! (Opens the door and starts beating Ruzante) ruzante: I beg you, give me the gift of life, for the sake of the forgiveness of our Lord Jesus Christ! Have pity. Don’t hit me any more. I’m dead already. betìa: (Aside, to Menato): Go away, compare, and take him home. (Exit) menato: (Speaking in his own voice): God damn it! Compare, is it you? Oh compare! – Where the hell did he go? (Picks up Ruzante’s shield) What the hell is this? It’s a shield! Could it be his? Damn it to hell, what a braggart he is. You’d think he’d stay where I put him! – Hell, compare! Is it you, compare? – I wish I could find him at least. Where the hell did he go? – Oh compare!

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ruzante: Is it you, compare? menato: It is, you silly fool! You sure stayed where I put you, didn’t you! I’ve been looking for you for more than an hour. ruzante: Compare, I’ve had the worst luck that any person on earth has ever had. What I said was right. We should have stayed together at the cross-roads! menato: I’ve found a shield. Is it yours, compare ? ruzante: So it is. Bloody hell! Now, compare, when you left, I stood in the middle of the crossroads to keep watch all around me. I don’t know how, I see something glittering. It looks like fire, but it isn’t fire. I go towards it. Well, I see one foot, and then two feet, and then one leg, and then two legs, till I see half a one, and then a whole one. And then, compare, it was small and it started to get big, till it seemed unbelievably big. I couldn’t see all of it because it grew bigger and bigger. I’m telling you the truth, compare. When I saw that, I was kind of scared. And while I was deciding whether to go forward or to retreat, I felt a whirlwind on my face, like a hurricane. It was blowing, compare, so that I could hardly stand up. Before I knew it, it threw my shield on the ground and I went to run away and it kept on blowing. It kept banging me against the wall. It sounded like someone kicking a football. I’m all broken up. I’ve been trampled. I’m all crushed, all skinned. If I hadn’t remembered to cross myself with my tongue, would it have crumpled me completely?52 Well, when I crossed myself, all of a sudden it left me. Never again, compare, never again am I going to stay at a crossroad. Let’s go home, compare. Take me home, I’m out of it. Hell, I never had the runs like this, compare. If I don’t die this time, I’m going to lose my bark like a tree. Compare, I made a vow to make peace with this soldier and to ask for his forgiveness. First thing tomorrow morning, compare, I want you to see how you can settle this, because, compare, I’m sick and tired of it. I want to try to be good, and live peacefully. No more stories, no more tricks, no more nothing. I’ve done so many bad things that the first time I went to prison, I’d be quartered right away. I want to put my tail between my legs and not bump into anything again. Are we already near the house, compare? menato: We’re in front of your door right now. Scene iii betìa, menato, ruzante betìa: Oh, for the dear love of God, help me, I’m undone!

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menato: What’s the matter with you, comare? betìa: Compare, I’m ruined. ruzante: Don’t despair! betìa: Peace, compare, peace, peace, peace! menato: Who with? Who with? betìa: Peace, compare ! ruzante: Who with? betìa: Peace, brothers, peace! ruzante: What are you talking about, sister? (To Menato) Well, compare? Maybe she’s possessed? What in hell has she seen? Do you maybe think she ran into a bad patch, compare? menato: Do you think she might be bewitched? betìa: Peace, peace, peace! ruzante: But who with? betìa: I want you to promise me. ruzante: Well, I promise you. But who with? betìa: With the soldier. ruzante: Bloody hell! Where do you expect me to find him, now? betìa: He’s here in the house. He says you ran after him, and you hit him. He’s covered in blood. I’ve almost had it. Make peace, make peace! ruzante: Now be quiet, stop yelling. It’s all right with me. Well, compare? Do you think maybe that while I was running away from the monster, he thought I was running after him? And it was me who was afraid. Bloody hell! menato: Now, let’s hope you didn’t cripple him. ruzante: But how could I, if I didn’t even catch him? menato: Now, let’s go and make peace. And afterwards we’ll go to bed, because it’s time, isn’t it, compare ? ruzante: It is, compare. Let’s go.

Notes 1 As explained more fully at the end of the Introduction, Beolco makes continual use of the words compare (for a man) and comare (for a woman), terms of close relationship having no real equivalents in modern English. The bond is much closer than merely friend or pal, indicating high trust and mutuality. That someone should use the privilege of the relationship to seduce a compare’s wife underscores the level of betrayal in the play, followed by conflicting loyalties and bitterness.

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2 This is the only indication that Menato has a house next to those of Ruzante and Tonin. Menato’s house is never used by any of the characters for any purpose. 3 The litany, which should read in Latin, A furia rusticorum libera nos, domine (From the fury of the farmers free us, O Lord), is most likely the creation of Beolco. Despite the fact that the prologue is recited by a farmer, it is not surprising to find Latin or mock-Latin expressions used here and elsewhere in the play. From the time they were children, the characters would have been exposed to Latin through the Church. 4 There were widespread discussions in Beolco’s time on the issue of free will, that is, the individual’s freedom to choose between good and evil, thereby implying his personal responsibility in securing his own salvation or damnation. 5 Wool was beaten repeatedly as it was washed. 6 Roland, the nephew of the emperor Charlemagne, was the foremost hero of Renaissance chivalric literature. 7 The distance between Padua and Ferrara is quite short, fewer than 100 km. However, for a farmer not accustomed to travel, such a journey was considerable, especially since the Duchy of Ferrara was a foreign country for a citizen of the Venetian Republic. One should also remember that the play was performed in Ferrara by Ruzante and his Paduan company. 8 This is obviously a proverb. It must have been common in the regions of Padua and Ferrara, at least. It can also be found in Matteo Maria Boiardo’s Orlando Innamorato, II, xxvi, 38, 6: ‘Trista la musa che scusa non trova!’ (Wretched is the Muse who does not find an excuse!) 9 The practice of grooming by picking lice illustrates not only the habits of lovers in rural Italy in the sixteenth century, but also the degree of intimacy between Menato and Betìa. 10 ‘Help’ in traditional lovers’ language was the usual request from a man to a woman for sexual satisfaction. Betìa pretends to misunderstand and construes the comment as a request to help someone under attack. 11 The epithet is ‘zodia patarina’ (Patarine Jew) in the original. Originally referring to a medieval religious sect, ‘Patarine’ was used to refer to heretics in general and in this case to a faithless person. 12 The correct Latin is ‘Dominus dominantium’ (the Lord of lords). This expression, used for God, indicates that Menato expects to control the situation completely. 13 Tonin speaks in the dialect of Bergamo, also within the Republic of Venice. Bergamasque dialect could easily be understood by the other characters. 14 ‘Al sang do des’ in the original, that is, ‘by the blood of the Ten,’ refers to the

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Venetian Council of Ten, the feared, hated, and powerful political organ of the Republic’s government charged with the security of the state. The oath attributes to this organization almost divine power. ‘Per sti Santi de Guagnili,’ that is, ‘on these saints of the gospels,’ a confusion of the traditional oath ‘on the holy gospels.’ In the original text there is a play of words between ‘a’no si’ da me brazo,’ (you’re out of my reach) and the following ‘s’abrazem,’ (we share a little hug). The original says ‘polenta,’ a corn flour mixture – still very common in the Veneto – which replaced bread in the diets of the poor. Betìa’s expression has a sexual implication: polenta requires a great amount of stirring before it thickens and sets. The same wish is expressed by a male character in La Betìa, I.439-40. There are also memories of King Midas’s touch turning everything to gold. Incorrect Latin for pro nobis (for us), an expression that would be known from its repetition in the litany. In the original there is a play of words between Tonin’s ‘U to par’ (someone like you) and Ruzante’s answer ‘Me par’ (my father). Ruzante is implying that all soldiers are thieves, stealing from farmers. A citizen of the Venetian Republic would consider areas in central and southern Italy to be as remote as France. Literally, ‘of the patient.’ ‘Capo’ is a mistake for Cato, the Roman celebrated for his wisdom and prudence and to whom wise sayings were attributed. Tonin is clearly thinking of his interest in Betìa. The sanctuary of the altar has existed since ancient times. The sanctity of this holy place would prohibit any crime from being committed there and would protect fugitives. Tonin means that Ruzante will be crippled when he is finished with him. Argus was a mythological character with a hundred eyes who was instructed by Hera to keep Io away from Zeus. To escape him, Zeus had his son Hermes kill Argus by taking the form of a shepherd who put all of Argus’s eyes to sleep at once by playing quiet, soporific music. This remark refers to an incident during the Italian wars of the early sixteenth century. In 1513 the countryside around Padua was ravaged by the Imperial troops of Maximilian I. There was an exodus of countrymen to the fortified cities and towns to escape the depredations of the soldiers. Ruzante is pretending to have been a Spanish soldier from Maximilian’s army who had been billeted with Betìa’s family at that time. Ruzante is obviously referring to a popular song of the time, otherwise unknown.

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29 The original has ‘she-mule,’ an animal supposedly loaned by Ruzante to Tonin. This material concerning the ass appears to be a survival from earlier versions of the play, which disappeared from the printed version translated here. 30 A proverbial saying, meaning, ironically, that someone should be honoured. 31 The original is more like ‘if you made the fart, you’ll enjoy its taste.’ This vulgar proverb means, of course, that whoever is responsible for something will eventually have to face the consequences. 32 This reference is to the theological notion that man and wife are one flesh. 33 A paternoster is the Lord’s Prayer from the Latin Pater noster qui es in coelis (Our Father, Who art in heaven). 34 The Podestà was the official responsible for justice appointed by the Venetian government in every city in the Republic. 35 St Anthony is the patron saint of Padua. Very close to the house of Alvise Cornaro, Beolco’s patron, was the impressive Church of St Anthony containing his tomb. Attached to the church was a large Franciscan monastery. 36 Tonin must be suggesting that one of the coins is not good, that is, not of full value, or counterfeit. 37 A soft and mellow cheese. 38 ‘Broken lances’ in the original. This expression referred to mercenary soldiers who served on their own (free lances) rather than in organized companies under a captain. They were also considered less reliable. 39 The original reads ‘scardoa’ (Italian ‘scardola’), a cheap, small fish abundant in the Adriatic. 40 The original has ‘spingarda,’ which was either a catapult for hurling large stones against fortifications or a kind of powerful gun to be fired at a great distance. 41 The original is a play on words: ‘manego’ (handle) and ‘soramanego’ (the ability to handle any situation). Ruzante uses the phrase here as if it meant ‘second handle.’ 42 A popular saying to indicate stones. St Stephen, the first Christian martyr, was stoned to death. 43 See I.i, note 3. 44 Tonin refers here to the notorious Bortolo da Mortegliano, a priest from Marano in Friuli, who betrayed the Republic of Venice by opening the gates of his village to the Imperial army in 1513. He was sentenced to torture and death. While his body was hanging, it was stoned by the populace. 45 ‘St Gregory’s Masses’ were said for the souls of the dead. 46 Menato is referring to an expression that is still common in modern Italian: ‘dar botte da orbi’ (to hit like a blind man).

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47 Ruzante means that they should face in opposite directions in order to be ready for an attack from either the front or the rear. 48 Menato is probably indicating a place in Padua well known at the time. The expression ‘top off the load’ may refer to finishing the attack on Tonin the moment be runs in their direction. Since ovens were often associated with sexual innuendo, this passage perhaps carries an obscene connotation. 49 The Roman orator and lawyer Marcus Tullius Cicero (106–43 BC). Ruzante means that he has been involved in more fights than Cicero had trials. 50 According to popular superstition, crossroads are dangerous because they require a choice of which way to go, with the chance of choosing perhaps the wrong path, or because they are the points where good and evil may intersect. Consequently, it was common to erect in such places religious images and other good-luck symbols to protect those passing by. This also explains why Ruzante later on will create for Menato the story of the fantastic monster that supposedly attacked him there. 51 Menato speaks here the same language used by Ruzante with Betìa at the end of Act II. 52 According to Christian belief, all ghosts and demons from hell would run away at the sign of the cross.

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GIOVAN MARIA CECCHI

The Horned Owl (L’assiuolo)

Translation and Introduction by Konrad Eisenbichler

Revised from the edition published in the Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation Series as The Horned Owl. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1981. Published by permission of the Carleton Centre for Renaissance Studies.

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Introduction to The Horned Owl by Giovan Maria Cecchi When Giulio, a young Florentine, goes to Pisa to attend university, his first two months in town are not easy. Not only is he without his trusted servant Giorgetto, but he has also fallen hopelessly in love with Oretta, a young married woman who lives next door to him. Although her old, jealous husband might somehow be circumvented, such is not the case with Rinuccio, Giulio’s housemate, who himself has fallen in love with Oretta and is now hard at work trying to bed her. To make matters worse, Rinuccio has innocently confided his love and his intentions to the hapless Giulio, who, being a true friend, has promised to help his buddy win the lady (but has not told him of his own interest in her). Caught in a difficult situation, Giulio is at his wits’ end and completely unable to act, much less open a book and begin studying for his courses. Then his servant Giorgetto comes to town and, in just one evening, manages not only to extricate his master from this difficult situation, but also to give Giulio and Rinuccio the opportunity to set up clandestine love affairs with Oretta and with her sister Violante that will see the two youths happily through their university years. This, in a nutshell, is the plot to Giovan Maria Cecchi’s play The Horned Owl, composed and performed in Florence in late February or early March 1550.1 In bringing to the stage an event set in Pisa and in a university milieu, Cecchi was in part celebrating Duke Cosimo I’s fundamental role in re-launching that ancient studio after it had suffered a period of severe decline brought about by intermittent closures and temporary relocations to other cities (1494–1543). While applauding this welcome event, the play also extols the vitality and ingenuity of Florentine and Pisan youths in getting an education in more ways than one. Though books may not be foremost in the young men’s minds, the play does show how the two university students can focus their attention on matters of the heart. And although their efforts are based on illicit desire and their actions are less than honest, their gallant behaviour towards the two young women they seduce seems to counterbalance any negative implications deriving from their lust and, to put it bluntly, their deceitfulness. That is not to say, however, that the young ladies in question are without their own character flaws. Were that not the case, the two students would never have been able to realize their intentions. While praising the ingenuity and vitality of youth and providing his audience with a couple of hours of cheerful relaxation, Cecchi also sounds a more serious note by taking issue with contemporary marriage

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patterns that saw men in their thirties marry girls in their teens – a generational gap that spelled nothing but trouble. As Cecchi illustrates in his play, young women were subjected not only to the frailties and deficiencies of older spouses, but also to the temptations that afflict unhappy marriages. The lack of a positive father figure in the play (none of the characters seems to have a living father) may very well reflect another obvious consequence of these May-December marriages: older husbands often died long before their children reached adulthood. At the crucial moment when a youth left childhood behind and entered into responsible adulthood, the lack of a stable, older mentor must have been particularly severe. And although Rinuccio, for one, has a mother at home (who, one must point out, never appears on stage), she does not seem to be particularly engaged in her son’s education or even involved in his life. As for the two young women in the play, both Oretta and Violante fall under the responsibility of their male siblings, not of their father (who, one assumes, may well be long dead, given that Oretta blames her brother Uguccione for the unsuitable man she has been forced to marry). The consequences of not having a father around may well be one of the underlying, though unspoken, realities that conditions events in the play. Cecchi’s work is thus firmly grounded in contemporary events and reality. In fact, in his prologue he makes a claim for the originality of his work, saying that it is a brand new comedy, whose plot is taken not from the plays of Plautus or Terence (as was the case with so many contemporary comedies, his own included), but from an event that had recently occurred in Pisa and involved two students at the university and two local ladies. Being a re-enactment of recent ‘true’ events, The Horned Owl is supposedly free of contaminatio, namely, the practice of borrowing episodes, plots, and even entire scenes from ancient Roman or contemporary Italian literary sources in order to string them together and come up with what might then be considered a ‘new’ play. Such composite works were labelled ‘learned’ or ‘erudite’ exactly because they drew upon these traditions, or they would be called ‘regular’ because they followed or adhered to the ‘rules’ that sixteenth-century dramatists attributed to the comedies of ancient Greece and Rome. Normally speaking, Cecchi follows this ‘learned’ tradition. As early as his very first play, La dote (The Dowry, 1544) he publicly acknowledges his debt to his Roman predecessor. In the prologue he proudly affirms that this is ‘a new comedy, taken mainly from Plautus,’ and defends this seeming contradiction with a subtle discourse on the differences between

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imitation and plagiarism. Likewise, he dissociates himself from ‘certain petty thieves,’ who steal not only plots, but entire comedies from Plautus and then claim them as their own by virtue of some insignificant original fragment they have managed to weave into the play.2 Cecchi claims to have taken the plot of The Dowry from Plautus and says that he will do the same in the future because he has seen the greatest playwrights do likewise, be they modern or ancient. Terence and Plautus borrowed from the Greeks, the moderns from the Romans, and, Cecchi supposes, there may well come a time when future writers will pay the same compliment to the Italians (which, in fact, they did). At this point, Cecchi repeats Terence’s dictum that there is nothing new under the sun and so one is obliged to follow the example of previous writers. Imitation of the ancients was, we should recall, a basic characteristic of scholarship, literature, and art during the Renaissance. Cecchi’s originality in The Horned Owl is also by default, insofar as neither the Roman nor the Greek stage allowed for the representation of adultery: the family was deemed to be a sacred institution and therefore adultery was not a suitable subject to be brought on the stage for the sake of humour. Its only appearance in the Graeco-Roman comic theatre is in Plautus’s Amphitryon, where Jupiter disguises himself as Alcmena’s husband and possesses her under false pretences – but in this case it is the king of the gods, not a human being, who commits adultery knowingly and willingly. He did, after all, have a long established reputation for such behaviour. Sixteenth-century Italian theatre, on the other hand, abounds in adultery – one need mention only Machiavelli’s The Mandragola (1515– 18) or Ariosto’s La lena (1528) to prove the point. In line with this new Italian licence, the plot of The Horned Owl also revolves entirely around the theme of illicit loves that fail to respect the sanctity of marriage. Although generally free of contaminatio, The Horned Owl is not, however, free from borrowings. Its richest source is to be found close to home in Boccaccio’s Decameron (1353). In the prologue Cecchi does not acknowledge this debt, perhaps because he felt Boccaccio’s world was his own. Madonna Verdiana, for one, seems to have been extracted intact from Dec. V.10, where she first appeared, closely resembling the name and character Cecchi was later to assign to her: ‘an old beldam, that shewed as a veritable Santa Verdiana, foster-mother of vipers, who was ever to be seen going to pardonings with a parcel of pater-nosters in her hand, and talked of nothing but the lives of the holy Fathers, and the wounds of St. Francis, and was generally reputed a saint.’3 Though there are many procuresses in the classical theatre, the mixture of pretended

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saintliness and actual sinfulness present in Cecchi’s Verdiana renders her a sister figure to more recent literary antecedents, such as the old woman in Boccaccio’s novella or Alvigia in Aretino’s La cortigiana (The Courtesan, 1528). Boccaccio’s novelle also contributed incidents to the plot of The Horned Owl. When Messer Ambrogio is locked up in Madonna Anfrosina’s courtyard and left there to cool off his inappropriate sexual passions, the parallel Boccaccian episode in Dec. VIII.7 comes to mind: the student Rinieri is locked up and left to shiver all night in the lady’s courtyard while she, in turn, enjoys the warmth of her lover’s affections. The same excuse, that is, the unexpected arrival of a male relative, is used in both cases to persuade the troublesome aspirant to wait in the courtyard. When Rinuccio sneaks into bed and unknowingly makes love to the wrong woman, he has a forerunner in the Canon of Fiesole who, wishing to enjoy the embraces of a certain lady, arranged a secret rendezvous with her only to discover afterwards that he had enjoyed her servant’s favours, not the lady’s (Dec. VIII.4). Lastly, Madonna Oretta’s desire to teach her husband a lesson unwittingly leads her to satisfy her secret admirer’s pleasures – compare this with Dec. III.6, where Ricciardo manages to fulfil his sexual desires with Cattella in exactly the same manner, since she believes she is lying with her husband and will soon unmask his deceptions. Caught in flagrante delicto, Madonna Oretta still manages to make herself appear blameless and to send her husband’s accusations rebounding onto his own head. Such ingenuity was demonstrated in a very similar manner by Monna Sismonda when her husband discovered her extramarital affairs and confronted her with the evidence in front of her brothers (Dec. VII.8). There are also close ties between Cecchi and other sixteenth-century playwrights. His contemporaries were clearly aware of the similarities between The Horned Owl and Machiavelli’s The Mandragola. In I marmi (The Marble Steps, 1552), a collection of dialogues set on the steps of the Duomo in Florence, Anton Francesco Doni (ca. 1513–74) tells us that the two plays were presented in the same hall, the Sala del Papa in the Dominican convent of Santa Maria Novella, on the same evening, and that the acts of one alternated with those of the other as if each were the other’s intermezzo. Spectators, he adds, were unable to decide which of the two comedies was better. The settings were designed by two of the most popular Florentine artists of the time: Francesco (Cecchino) Salviati (1510–63) and Agnolo Bronzino (1503–72). The entire event, Doni concludes, was an enormous success.4 In fact, Doni himself was so im-

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pressed by The Horned Owl that he wrote a play, Lo stufaiolo (The Hot Baths Attendant, 1559), in which he borrowed the plot, changed the names of the characters, and sought to introduce a greater amount of morality into the events; however, he managed only to destroy the natural charm of Cecchi’s original.5 The similarities between Cecchi’s The Horned Owl and Machiavelli’s The Mandragola exist on both the external and the internal levels. In the first, one may mention the presence on the stage set of a church. Machiavelli was the first dramatist to incorporate a Christian church into the classical stage set and to use it as an integral element in the progress of a morally questionable ruse. In Machiavelli’s play the complacent Fra’ Timoteo steps out of a building where religion is equated with tidy altars, lit candles, and financial offerings, and where a virtuous wife is misled to commit adultery. Cecchi’s church is not much different, since it is here that Giorgetto and Giulio meet to discuss the progress of the attempted seduction of a married woman. And then there is Cecchi’s Madonna Verdiana, who, as a tertiary, can easily be seen as the lay representative of the religion administered by Fra’ Timoteo, a curious blend of profound venality and superficial piety. Another external element that accentuates the parallel between the two plays is Madonna Oretta’s plea to Messer Giulio to respect her and to help her to conceal her recent failing (V.i). It echoes closely Madonna Lucrezia’s pleas to Callimaco (The Mandragola, V.iv) both in content and in timing. When the honesty of a woman is undermined by her husband’s stupidity, her adviser’s turpitude, and her lover’s cunning, it must be heaven’s wish – the two women conclude – that they succumb, and so in each case the unwitting victim bends to God’s will and wholeheartedly accepts the law of force divine. On the internal level, the resemblances are more striking, since they reflect a similar outlook on social order and morality. This outlook is evident in the playwrights’ variations on classical structure and in their depiction of the society they know. For example, the standard ending for classical and learned comedy was the marriage of the adulescentes. However, as Cecchi points out in his prologue, such is not to be the case in The Horned Owl because the women pursued in his play are already married, and hence the young men’s infraction of the moral code cannot be rectified in a matrimonial finale. It is not the technical aspect of the ending, however, that is paramount in this variance from established norms. What is more important is that both playwrights eventually bring to the stage a social system congenial to marital infidelity. Extramarital encounters are allowed not only to occur, but also to continue and to

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prosper – the young men’s one-night stands acquire a permanency that, ironically, is blessed by the deceived husbands themselves. Both Cecchi and Machiavelli imply that the reasons behind such a modus vivendi stem from the irrationality of current marriage patterns. An intelligent young woman cannot be expected to be the virtuous wife of a senile old man, nor can an old husband expect to keep a young wife sexually satisfied. Furthermore, the old husband’s compulsive obsession (with either siring a child or having extramarital affairs) is a further element of irrationality that encourages the wife’s infidelity. Religion, which is intended to protect society from moral laxity, is depicted in both plays as one of the forces actually contributing to the breakdown of morality. Both Fra’ Timoteo and Madonna Verdiana act as go-betweens for illicit sexual unions and pocket financial rewards for their troubles – all the while presenting themselves as upstanding, religious persons. They become representative of a fracture between the externals and the internals of religion: while lacking the integrity of a firm moral stand, they present themselves as pious Christians by lighting candles and muttering Ave Marias. Both Madonna Oretta and Madonna Lucrezia have to confront the ingrained moral corruption of domestic and religious figures of authority (husbands, mothers, priests) and the enterprising spirit of a younger, more vital generation (the youths who seek to seduce them). In so doing they undergo a metamorphosis that expands their point of view and liberates them from imposed social restrictions. Once the principle of marital fidelity to a senile or to a disinterested husband is abandoned, the two women are free to experience the world on their own terms and become individuals in their own rights. And so they do, gaining not only in independence, but also in self-affirmation. Because of this ‘liberation’ process, there is a movement in both plays towards a new social order, a ‘new society’ as Northrop Frye calls it.6 In some ways, however, The Horned Owl and The Mandragola establish a rather disquieting new order. Love is not revealed and re-established in its rightful place, but instead is allowed to continue in its illicit and secretive manifestations. Adultery is condoned and given permanence, while marriage is scorned and dismissed. The play itself might end, but the beffa (the prank) and the irrationality that gave it reason to exist continue. Within the context of sixteenth-century Italian theatre, The Horned Owl is, then, of special interest, for it bears traces of all the major influences acting upon the learned comedy of the time. Contemporary tastes in dramaturgy are evident in the classical form given to the com-

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edy, whether with respect to the architecture, the unities, or some of the character types. The subject matter shows a degree of originality that, however, is not Cecchi’s alone, for there are strong connections with contemporary Italian comedy and narrative. Characters, incidents, and internal references recall the mercantile, enterprising world of the Decameron and of Renaissance Italy, a world that Cecchi must have known very well both as a notary and as a business man. The spirit of his age is reflected in the depiction, intentional or not, of its social mores. Cecchi’s view is very much in line with Machiavelli’s, for he, too, was a keen observer of human affairs and foibles. Not surprisingly, then, Cecchi presents us with a world in which cunning and daring can capitalize on good fortune without much consideration given to ethical or moral problems. While an image of Renaissance entrepreneurial spirit, his play is also an image of our own modern world in which self-interest and the bottom line serve as standards of behaviour and markers of success. Giovan Maria Cecchi (1518–87) came from a well-established Florentine family that, through the previous two centuries, had been active in the affairs of the Republic. Following family tradition, he embarked on a career as a notary (1542–77). He also served in several public offices, although these positions were more honorific than politically influential. Cecchi was not a part of the contemporary power elites, and this was fine for him, because he clearly preferred to be an observer rather than a participant in the political and military events of his time. He was, basically, a quiet bourgeois, devoted to the Medici family and to the merchant’s creed that places business interests above everything else.7 After his father’s assassination in 1530 and his mother’s death shortly thereafter, Cecchi found he was not only an orphan in his mid-teens, but also saddled with the responsibility of looking after his younger siblings and his meagre inheritance. By the early 1540s we find him working as a notary, a career that soon allowed him to become financially secure and enjoy enough free time to devote himself to the study of the classics and to writing plays. He married in 1553, at the age of thirty-five, and quickly sired a string of children, only three of whom seem to have reached adulthood. In about 1558 Cecchi underwent a religious conversion (of sorts) that led him to switch from writing secular comedies about lovers and sexual affairs to religious plays based on biblical or hagiographical sources. By the 1580s Cecchi was no longer working as a notary, but had entered the wool trade in partnership with three important Florentine families: the Adimari, the Segni, and the Baldesi. He died in 1587 while at his country villa in the nearby village of Gangalandi, where he

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had contributed generously to the local church and convent. His son Baccio recalls that he died peacefully after a brief bout of catarrh and was mourned by the entire village. As late as the 1630s Cecchi’s plays were still being mounted and continued to find the approbation of the Florentine public. They were often staged at Carnival time either in private homes (e.g., by Stefano Rosselli) or in religious confraternities (by the youth confraternity of the Archangel Raphael, or that of the Purification, or that of Saint Anthony of Padua and St George).8 The historian Filippo Baldinucci (1624–96) tells us that the painter Battista Naldini (ca. 1537–91) would come out of the solitude in which he lived only on very rare occasions, such as when, at Carnival time, he would have one of Cecchi’s plays performed in his house for a few select friends.9 Cecchi’s renown was such that it travelled as far as Spain. Some critics suggest that Lope de Rueda (ca. 1510–65), who in the second half of the sixteenth century gave Spain its situation comedy, shows in his Armellina that he was well acquainted with Cecchi’s Il servigiale.10 And Salvatore Di Maria has found connections between Cecchi and Molière.11 Today Cecchi is remembered for his literary production, which, though consisting mainly of works for the theatre, is nonetheless sufficiently varied to reflect the many interests and capacities of the man. As a philologist, Cecchi was an enthusiastic admirer of the Florentine language. In his Dichiarazione dei proverbi … (Explanation of the Proverbs … date unknown) he listed and explained sixty-four Florentine proverbs, some of which were later incorporated into the first Italian dictionary, the Vocabolario della Crusca (Venice, 1612).12 He was also interested in foreign lands and people. His Compendio di più ritratti delle cose della Magna, Fiandra, Spagna, e Regno di Napoli (Collection of Several Descriptions of Germany, Flanders, Spain, and the Kingdom of Naples, 1575) provides his readers with facts and figures concerning Germany, Flanders, Spain, Milan, Naples, and other possessions of the Spanish crown (Cecchi never strayed far from Florence, so all his information is drawn from other sources).13 His Ragionamenti spirituali (Spiritual Discourses, 1558) is a collection of ten sermons to be recited by young men in their religious confraternities and marks Cecchi’s change from a playwright of secular comedies to one of religious plays and interludes.14 And his Lezione o cicalamento di Maestro Bartolino (Master Bartolino’s Lesson or Chat, 1582) is a witty venture into burlesque caricature of learned discourses.15 Cecchi also composed a number of lyric poems and capitoli, most of which were published in Naples in 1866.

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Notes 1 The letter Giulio reads in III.i is dated 24 February 1549 – a date in Florentine style, which means that the actual modern reckoning would be 24 February 1550. This internal evidence thus indicates that the play was performed during Carnival 1550 and so must have been composed in the winter of 1549–50. The first published edition of the play (in Venice by Gabriel Giolito de’ Ferrari) is dated 1550 on the title page and 1551 in the colophon, which would suggest the play was published in the winter of 1550–1. 2 Cecchi clearly has someone in mind, but we do not know who this person might be. 3 Boccaccio, Decameron, translated by J.M. Rigg (London: G. Routledge, 1921), Pt 2, 63. Closely related to such stories is the motif of the bed trick, in which, typically, a wife is informed of her husband’s philandering intentions in order that she may assume the place of the mistress in bed and teach her husband a lesson. But, as in Cecchi’s play, this device is also subject to rather cynical abuse, as when an admirer of the wife promotes the arrangement so that he may take the husband’s place and seduce the woman. Cecchi had many examples among the writings of the novellisti to draw from. An amusing variant is that in which the husband, thinking he has enjoyed a causal liaison with an attractive domestic, not only sleeps with his own wife, but unwittingly panders her by offering a second bout to a visiting friend. See Poggio Bracciolini, Facetiae, trans. Edward Storer (London: Routledge, 1928) 142–3, and Les cent nouvelles nouvelles, ed. Roger Dubuis (Lyons: Presses universitaires de Lyon, 1991) 60–3. 4 Anton Francesco Doni, I marmi, ed. Ezio Chiorboli (Bari: Laterza, 1928), Vol. 1, 51. 5 The full title of Doni’s play is Lo stufaiolo o l’avaro (The Hot Baths Attendant or The Miser), and it seems that Molière drew at least some of his inspiration for his L’avare from this play. 6 Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), 163 ff. 7 Olindo Guerrini in G.M. Cecchi, Commedie (Milan: Edoardo Sonzogno, 1883), 7. 8 Konrad Eisenbichler, ‘The Religious Drama of Giovan Maria Cecchi,’ Ph.D. dissertation, University of Toronto, 1981, appendix 4, 250–1; Konrad Eisenbichler, The Boys of the Archangel Raphael: A Youth Confraternity in Florence, 1411–1785 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998), 198–234.

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9 Filippo Baldinucci, Notizie dei professori di disegno da Cimabue in qua (Florence: V. Batelli e Compagni, 1846), Vol. 3, 518. 10 Rizzi, Le commedie osservate di Giovan Maria Cecchi, 12n1. 11 Salvatore Di Maria, ‘Giovan Maria Cecchi: Another of Molière’s Sources,’ Romance Notes, 27.2 (1986): 185-90. 12 First published in Florence in 1819 and then in 1820; in Milan in 1838. 13 The work was first published with a lot of inaccuracies in Bologna in 1867 (repr. by Forni in Bologna in 1968) and in Bologna in 1887. An accurate transcription with introduction and notes has now been published by me in Archivio Storico Italiano, Vol. 15, 1:2 (1993), 449–517. 14 Ragionamenti spirituali, 1558, ed. and intro. K. Eisenbichler (Ottawa: Dovehouse, 1986). 15 First published in Florence in 1583; then again in Bologna in 1861, 1863 (facsimile repr., Bologna, 1968), and 1868; Naples in 1891.

Bibliography In the last three decades a small number of scholars have published articles on Giovan Maria Cecchi, among them Jacqueline Brunet, Bruno Ferraro, Douglas Radcliff-Umstead, and myself. Much of this writing has dealt, not with The Horned Owl, but with Cecchi’s other plays and works. For a modern listing of Cecchi’s works, see Bruno Ferraro, ‘Catalogo delle opere di G.M. Cecchi,’ Studi e problemi di critica testuale 23 (1981): 39–75. To this listing one should now add the recently rediscovered play, Atto recitabile per fare avanti che nella compagnia si dieno li panellini; see Konrad Eisenbichler, ‘Un’opera sconosciuta (e autografa) di Giovan Maria Cecchi: Atto recitabile da fare avanti che nella Compagnia si dieno li panellini benedetti,’ Studi e problemi di critica testuale 63 (Oct. 2001): 75–106, and ‘Two Unknown Italian Plays at the Beinecke Library: Giovan Maria Cecchi’s Atto recitabile per fare avanti che nella compagnia si diano li panellini and Giovanni Nardi’s Il Disperato,’ Yale University Library Gazette 74.3-4 (2000): 126–34. The text used for the translation is the authoritative 1863 Daelli edition, on which all subsequent editions have been based. I have, at the same time, kept an eye on the original 1550 edition by Giolito de’ Ferrari and on the more recent edition by Nino Borsellino in Commedie del Cinquecento, Vol. 1 (Milan: Rizzoli, 1962). Borsellino, Nino. ‘Introduzione’ and introductory note to G.M. Cecchi, L’assiuolo in Commedie del Cinquecento. Vol. 1. ix–xxxix, 123–6. Milan: Feltrinelli, 1962.

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Camerini, Eugenio. ‘Intorno alle commedie di G.M. Cecchi.’ In G.M. Cecchi, L’assiuolo. 1–38. Milan: G. Daelli, 1863. Di Maria, Salvatore. ‘Linguaggio teatrale nelle commedie di Giovan Maria Cecchi.’ Italian Quarterly 27 (1986): 5–16. Eisenbichler, Konrad. ‘Introduction’ to G.M. Cecchi, The Horned Owl (L’Assiuolo). ix–xxxiv. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1981. (Portions of that introduction have been republished in the current Introduction.) Ferraro, Bruno. ‘Giovanni Maria Cecchi, the Commedie Osservate and the Commedia Erudita in Sixteenth-Century Italy.’ Ph.D. dissertation, Flinders University of South Australia, 1974. Radcliff-Umstead, Douglas. ‘Cecchi and the Reconciliation of Theatrical Traditions.’ Comparative Drama 9 (1975): 156–75. Republished with some revisions in his monograph, Carnival Comedy and Sacred Play. The Renaissance Dramas of Giovan Maria Cecchi. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1986. Rizzi, Fortunato. Le commedie osservate di Giovan Maria Cecchi e la commedia classica del sec. XVI. Rocca S. Casciano: Licinio Cappelli, 1904. Scoti-Bertinelli, Ugo. Sullo stile delle commedie in prosa di Giovan Maria Cecchi. Saggio. Città di Castello: S. Lapi, 1906.

The Horned Owl L’assiuolo Dramatis Personae messer giulio a young student (at the University of Pisa) messer rinuccio gualandi a young student (at the University of Pisa) messer ambrogio da cascina an old man, doctor of law (lawyer) madonna oretta de’ sismondi his wife madonna violante de’ sismondi her sister giorgetto servant to Messer Giulio giannella attendant to the lawyer madonna verdiana a hypocrite agnola a maid (to Madonna Oretta) uguccione de’ sismondi brother of Madonna Oretta (The scene is set in Pisa)

Prologue Well, then, what do you have to say about the new Monsignori?1 Do you have any doubts about whether they’ll prove themselves to be as splendid and as generous as the day warrants, or rather, as the title ‘magnificent’ warrants, which they have assumed? If you’re doubting now, soon you won’t be, for the Monsignori don’t worry about lack of resources or any other trivial concerns because they want to show everyone that they’re as capable of doing as they were in taking on the title (of magnificent). They want to stage a brand new comedy, composed for the occasion by one of their group, for their pleasure and yours, too. The play is not drawn either from Terence or from Plautus, but, as you’ll hear, from something that happened recently in Pisa between some young students and gentlewomen. In fact, the event is such that,

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if I’m not mistaken, it will seem pleasant and worthy of your attention. And don’t anyone think this comedy starts because of the Sack of Rome or the Siege of Florence, or because people were displaced, or families had to flee, or because of some other such event.2 Nor does it finish with marriages, as most comedies usually do. In our comedy you will not hear anyone complain that he’s lost sons or daughters because, as I told you, no one has lost anybody. No one will be married off, because one of this group’s advantages, or rather wonderful characteristics, is that they cannot get mixed up in marriages, either their own or someone else’s. So, if you want to know what this comedy deals with, I’ll tell you: something that happened in ten hours or less, as you will hear right away if you pay attention, as one expects at such shows, and as you have given us at other comedies by this same author. And if, by chance, this play seems somewhat racier either in words or in deeds than his other ones, you must excuse him because, wanting to get away, for once, from marriages and from the discovery of long-lost children, he could do nothing about it. But that’s enough of excuses for him and for the other members of the Monsignori, for they know that with you, who are their friends and supporters, excuses are not necessary. Upon the malicious they would be wasted, because they would not want to hear them. And there’s no point in wasting our excuses on the envious, for we would be lowering ourselves far too much in taking into consideration such a vile race of people, if you can call them people. And without a doubt, those who are wise will praise them for the fact that, young as they are, they amuse themselves in honest pastimes suitable for their age. In short, let everyone say what they will: if the Monsignori are doing something, they’re doing it themselves. They ask only that you be so kind as to listen in silence to this Horned Owl of theirs until it’s finished. Once it’s done, everyone will be free to censure or to praise as he likes, because censure will not infuriate the Monsignori and praise will not go to their heads. But look! Here they come. Listen to them!

ACT I Scene i messer giulio, a student, and his servant giorgetto giulio: If my father, my mother, and all of Florence with them were to arrive in Pisa, they could not help me as much as you’ll be able to.

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giorgetto: Glad to be of use. giulio: These past two months that you’ve been away from Pisa, I tell you, I’ve been the most distressed student at the university. giorgetto: Is it because of all your new friends? Are you studying too much? Let me remind you, sir, that this is your first year. There’s no need to graduate right away, so take it easy. You have to come back for at least a second year, anyway. giulio: Take it easy you say? Good God! Let me tell you something else, but keep it to yourself, you hear? I don’t think in all these months I’ve spent four hours at my books. How’s that for taking it easy? giorgetto: Can’t say you’ve been studying too much. giulio: How can I study when I’m dying of love and can’t settle down, day or night? giorgetto: That’s quite a different lesson. And are you alone in this love or do you have company? giulio: I have company and I’m alone, more than I want to be. When I look at her I feel all alone, without a chance in the world. But when I look around, I see I have far too much company, because I’m competing with Messer Rinuccio Gualandi, our host. He’s my rival, but he doesn’t know I’m his. And what bothers me most is that he has confided in me about his love and he constantly keeps me up to date in all its developments. He even wants me to help him out. giorgetto: That’s to your advantage. You know all his moves and he doesn’t know any of yours. But how does he stand with her? Has he gone to see her? giulio: He’s taking it slowly. I don’t think he’s let her know his feelings, yet. He seems to think it’s enough for now to have made friends with the housemaid. giorgetto: And what about you? Have you spoken to her? Have you let her know your feelings? giulio: Not yet. giorgetto: You’ve been in love with her for two months and you haven’t let her know, yet? What a good-for-nothing! By God! You’re worse than that fool Ghetto Martelli!3 giulio: These things take time. giorgetto: Had I been you, she would be a month and a half along with her time. (He gestures to indicate pregnancy) giulio: What? You think she’s some loose woman who will sleep with anyone for a few coins? She’s one of the noblest ladies of Pisa.

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giorgetto: The two of you are young, and that should be enough. When it comes to making a good appearance and saying a few pretty phrases, you’re worth your weight in gold, but when it comes to real action, you aren’t worth a handful of nuts. As they say, you would sooner make a hundred men jealous than one man a cuckold. Just wait and see if I don’t get you to come out on top and win the prize. So tell me who she is. giulio: All right, but listen Giorgetto, I don’t … giorgetto: Look at that! He’s already in the negative. Hell! Haven’t you dealt with me long enough to know who I am? giulio: I know you’re trustworthy and true. Nonetheless, I just wanted to remind you, for if this got out I would be utterly ruined. giorgetto: Don’t worry about it. Just go ahead and tell me who she is. giulio: She’s the wife of a certain Messer Ambrogio da Cascina, a lawyer here in Pisa. Her maiden name was Oretta de’ Sismondi. They live here, in this house. (Pointing to a house on stage) giorgetto: So, your lady is your neighbour? giulio: Yes, and what good does that do me? giorgetto: What do you mean, what good? Don’t they say that the best loving is close to home? If nothing else, you get to see her all the time. giulio: On the contrary. For all my waiting, I get to see her about once every two weeks. giorgetto: Is she so scared of fresh air that she won’t even come to the window? giulio: She never comes to the door or to the window because the poor woman is shut inside like a prisoner by her husband, Messer Ambrogio, who is insanely jealous of her. I heard he used to go out to practice law at the Commissioner’s Court and at the Provisioner’s,4 as other lawyers do,5 but now he has stopped doing this and stays home all the time. giorgetto: He must have made his money. giulio: He’s filthy rich. giorgetto: Let him drown in his filth, and let me inherit it. giulio: There’s more. He keeps an attendant just to guard the door so that no one can go into the house. giorgetto: Oh well, if there’s an attendant, I know how to deal with him! giulio: Don’t count on it! Besides being his master’s right eye, he’s the biggest ass and idiot in the world.

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giorgetto: It’s hard to fool the vicious, but when it comes to fooling idiots, the bigger they are the easier it is. giulio: Still, you’d better count on something else and not on him. giorgetto: What do the French say? ‘L’argent fait tout.’6 Trust me, master. Seeing that she has a jealous husband and that she is in charge of maids and servants and that’s it, you can be sure that I will get you in to see her in less than a week. giulio: You clearly don’t know what you’re up against. giorgetto: You clearly don’t know me. Look! Here comes your housemate, Messer Rinuccio. giulio: And he’s with Madonna Oretta’s maid. giorgetto: Things are looking good already. Go talk to them and find out what you can and then report back to me. I’ll wait for you here inside the church. (Giorgetto enters the church) Scene ii messer rinuccio, a student, with madonna agnola, a maid, and messer giulio rinuccio: Why are you so worried? agnola: I don’t want anyone to see me with you because people would immediately assume the worst. rinuccio: The worst? We’d really be in a mess if every time people saw a young man and a woman talking together they were to jump immediately to the worst conclusions. agnola: Don’t be like that, Messer Rinuccio. There are too many evil tongues around nowadays. If my master came out and saw me with you, I’d be in trouble. rinuccio: How could that be? He never comes out of the house before nine. (Agnola has stopped walking and is not willing to enter the piazza in Messer Rinuccio’s company) Come along, I tell you! giulio: (Aside) What the devil is the matter with that woman? She doesn’t seem to want to come out into the piazza. rinuccio: So, what is all this good news you claim to be bringing me? agnola: It’s such good news that, if you’re the proper gentleman I think you are, you’ll give me a good tip for it. rinuccio: You can certainly count on me for that. agnola: God bless you.

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giulio: (Aside) She’s looking a little more confident. I think I’ll go and see them now. agnola: Oh dear! There’s someone coming. I’d better be off. (She runs back to the corner and lingers there) rinuccio: Where are you going? (Seeing Giulio) Oh, Messer Giulio! (To Agnola) Come back, listen, don’t be afraid! Messer Giulio and I are as close as brothers; you can speak freely, he knows everything about this matter. giulio: If I’m in the way I can leave. rinuccio: No, don’t. Who else could I trust in this matter but you? (To Agnola, who has returned) Go ahead and give me the good news, Agnola, and hurry up. agnola: You must understand that I’ll be telling you some very important secrets and if it ever got out that … rinuccio: After all I’ve told you, I would think you’d trust me with much bigger secrets than this. agnola: Those who care, worry. giulio: Don’t worry, Madonna Agnola, go ahead and tell us. It will all go to the grave with me. agnola: Yesterday, my lady Madonna Oretta and her sister Madonna Violante went to the convent to see a comedy. rinuccio: Is that right? I didn’t know anything about this. agnola: In fact, I was surprised not to see you following us. rinuccio: Oh God! If only I had run into you. agnola: Well, my poor fellow, you couldn’t have done much. She was closely guarded all the way there and back. rinuccio: At least we could have caught a glimpse of each other. agnola: That’s true, but to put out a fire you need water, not sulphur. rinuccio: Who was with her? agnola: That witch doctor Messer Ambrogio and Giannella, who’s as crazy as a Sienese.7 And, you know, they led her right up to the convent courtyard and they would have gone inside, if they could have. But since they couldn’t, because men aren’t allowed in, they made like the doctor’s mule and waited outside until the show was over. Then, when she came back out, they put her between the two of them and brought her back home. giulio: How damn jealous can that man be, that bastard, I should say! agnola: As chance would have it, your mother also went to see the comedy and sat next to my lady. rinuccio: God, if only I could have been in her clothes.

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agnola: You rascal! One does not do that sort of thing in a convent! giulio: There you go, already assuming the worst. agnola: I know my chickens. rinuccio: Madonna Agnola, please don’t take me for a dishonest person. giulio: Messer Rinuccio would treat your lady as if she were his wife. agnola: And you, Messer So-and-so, how would you treat her? giulio: The same or even better, if one could do better. And if it was not to her liking, I would force myself to do it all over again until she was satisfied. rinuccio: (To Agnola) Go on with your story. All this other stuff is just silly talk. agnola: So they struck up a conversation, as women do, chatting about this and that. I was sitting right behind them, paying close attention, so I could hear everything they said. rinuccio: Did they talk about me? agnola: Not much. The point of the conversation was that Madonna Anfrosina, your mother, told my lady that Messer Ambrogio is so madly in love that he’s gone insane. rinuccio: Messer Ambrogio in love? With whom? agnola: With Madonna Anfrosina, your mother. rinuccio: How can that be? agnola: Very easily, because it’s the truth. giulio: No wonder every morning and evening he spends hours on end walking back and forth between your house and his. I thought he was doing it for exercise, but all this time he was keeping an eye on the frying pan and the cat. So much for the old fool! rinuccio: (Laughing) There’s a good one! Love makes people act like children and good-for-nothings. It’s made this old tomcat go out on the prowl till he gets himself clawed up really badly. But go on with your story. agnola: And she said that to test her honesty he has repeatedly used the services of that sourpuss hypocrite, that woman who is forever going in and out of churches muttering Our Fathers and Hail Marys. giulio: Who do you mean? Madonna Verdiana?8 agnola: Yes sir, that ‘Lord-I’m-not-worthy’ hypocrite. rinuccio: Well, I’ll be! He has managed to get further with my mother, and in a much shorter span of time, than I have been with his wife in these four months I’ve been in love with her.

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giulio: We may beat these old men in strength, but they sure beat us in ingenuity. agnola: If only he had as much strength as ingenuity. If he had only a little bit of strength, he would tend to his own wife and not go looking for better pickings. Isn’t she enough to satisfy him? rinuccio: Damn it! If only everybody had as much to satisfy them. giulio: I tell you, he’s got too much of a good thing. agnola: And what about Madonna Verdiana, playing the saint so much! Do you think it’s right for her to get mixed up in this sort of business? Ferrying news between these old people who should have put an end to such games by now and start worrying about their eternal souls? And to think how she carries on all the time with special devotions to this or that saint! giulio: This is the sort of person you must watch out for. agnola: Personally, I think she’s committing a great sin. (To Rinuccio) If she were to do a little favour for a young man like you – a few words to a certain young lady – that, in my opinion, wouldn’t hurt anyone. giulio: (Interjecting) On the contrary, it would be a great benefit because it could lead to the creation of a new soul to praise and serve Almighty God. The most this couple of old people could do, instead, would be to provide a bit of profit for their go-between. agnola: (Stung by Giulio’s remark) I, for one, would prefer to die of hunger. God spare me from ever getting mixed up in such things. (Turning to Rinuccio) I tell you, for the sake of charity I would do anything to save a well brought-up young man and an unfortunate young woman from despair, but never for evil ends. giulio: Oh, it’s obvious that your intentions are beyond reproach. rinuccio: But tell us the rest of this wild talk about falling in love. agnola: Just imagine how upset my lady was when she heard this. They talked about it at length and then the two of them decided to give the old man exactly what he was looking for. And here’s how! rinuccio: This is the best story I’ve heard all year. agnola: They realized that if Madonna Oretta complained about this to old Ambrogio or to her brothers, he would immediately deny it and they, who don’t know what Messer Ambrogio is like, would never believe her and would say she was simply jealous. So, they decided that before it all came out into the open, they needed to have so much evidence on hand that Ambrogio could never deny it. rinuccio: That’s wise.

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agnola: So, for this reason they decided that Madonna Anfrosina should lead the old man on, giving him hope by letting him know that she wants to be alone with him at the earliest opportunity. giulio: A woman’s promise, right? agnola: And that sometime, when you are both out of town, she should send for him at night and put him in bed in your ground-floor room. But first she would let Madonna Oretta know about this and send her some of your clothes to disguise herself with. Then, dressed like a man, and under cover of night, Madonna Oretta would come to your house, go into the bedroom where the old man would be. Then, after she had been with him for a while, she would reveal herself to him and tell him exactly what she thought. This way, she would rid him of all his wild fancies without giving him the chance to deny it and she would avoid any confrontation between him and her brothers. She plans to embarrass and confound him all by herself, and in front of Madonna Anfrosina, who is to come running at all the noise. rinuccio: By God, it’s been a while since I last heard of a more subtle trick. giulio: It’s true, women do have one up on the devil. agnola: And so they agreed. (Spying someone offstage) Oh, I must talk to that woman. (Leaving) Good-bye. rinuccio: (Calling her back) Madonna Agnola, come back! giulio: I’ll be! She’s run away and left us standing here like two fools. She seems to be in a hurry. rinuccio: What do you think about this, Messer Giulio? Is there anything in this for me? giulio: It’s all playing right into your hands. I think this is your chance to get your way. If I were in your shoes in a certain other matter of mine, I would consider myself fortunate and soon to be satisfied. rinuccio: Well, my dear brother, tell me how you’d proceed in this situation. giulio: I’ll tell you. But first you should follow this woman and see whether she has anything else she wants to tell you in private. It looks like she might the way she scurried away. rinuccio: Really? giulio: I’m quite certain. rinuccio: Where will I find you afterwards? giulio: Here in the church. I’m going to go inside to talk to someone who’s waiting for me there. rinuccio: You’ll wait for me, right?

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giulio: You’ll find me for sure, either here in the church or at home, or around here somewhere. rinuccio: Without you, I’d be as good as dead. giulio: Go, follow her. (Rinuccio leaves) I’m off, and tell Giorgetto all about this. He’s as tricky as the devil and he just might figure out if any of this can be of use to me in the end.

ACT II Scene i messer ambrogio, old man, alone ambrogio: I just can’t get away from her. In fact, when your heart is set on something, you just keep coming back to it – no helping yourself. Since I fell in love with Madonna Anfrosina I can’t seem to settle down. I think about her day and night. If she lived far away from me instead of nearby, I’d be the most wretched man in Pisa. So come what may, I’ll keep on passing by her house hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Of course, I have to leave my own house to do it, and that means running a huge risk, because someone with a wife as beautiful as mine had better look after her himself – here in Pisa, especially, what with all these randy students around with plenty of money and no respect for anything. You don’t dare leave her to the care of servants or attendants. It’d be like letting the geese look after the lettuce. But I think I can trust Giannella. Still I’m telling you, the only way to hang on to your stuff is to look after it yourself. Scene ii madonna verdiana, hypocrite, and messer ambrogio verdiana: (Aside) Even though I have to deal with the most miserly man in all of Pisa, still I bring him such good news that he ought to buy me a drink. ambrogio: (Aside) Is that Madonna Verdiana? Looks like her. Couldn’t be … Wait a second, it is! I must admit, my eyes certainly aren’t what they used to be. verdiana: (Aside) The one good thing about it is that I don’t have to go looking all over Pisa to find him.

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ambrogio: (Aside) It must be her. She’s going towards my house. verdiana: (Aside) Oh, the door is open. What a miracle! ambrogio: Hey you, over there! What do you want? verdiana: I want to speak with … Oh, Messer Ambrogio, I was just looking for you. God grant you peace. ambrogio: You could grant me peace if you wanted to. verdiana: And I’m bringing it to you right now. What are you looking at? ambrogio: Move a little further away from the door. verdiana: You jealous man! What are you afraid of? ambrogio: Of what could be thrown back on my face. verdiana: Do you trust me so little? ambrogio: It’s difficult, but it’s the only way to live. verdiana: You want my advice? Make sure she lacks nothing, or all your caution will be worth nothing. ambrogio: In the meantime, I make sure I remove any opportunities. verdiana: Remove them? If she gets the urge, she’ll go looking for the gardener, if no one else is around. ambrogio: Let her! The gardener hasn’t been around the house for quite a while. verdiana: Don’t you keep up the garden? ambrogio: I’d have to be a lot worse off than I am to depend on the produce from the garden. verdiana: What? You think the produce from a garden like yours is not worth anything? Our friars have one that’s much worse than yours and yet they keep the entire convent and all of us lay sisters furnished with it. Besides, when they plant carrots, they grow very quickly, you know. ambrogio: I don’t care for carrots and I’m not a friar, so I don’t need these little things to entertain devout women with.9 I have to keep an eye on those who frequent my house. That’s what matters! verdiana: You have Giannella. He could do that, couldn’t he? ambrogio: Yes, he could. Giannella is more reliable than the Lord’s Prayer. Besides, I think he’s impotent. If I didn’t think so, he’d either not frequent my house or I’d castrate him. But let’s change the subject. What news do you bring me from my Madonna Anfrosina? Does that faithless woman want me to die of pique like a dog? verdiana: Messer Ambrogio, you’ve promised me time and time again, ‘At the first good news I’ll reward you, I’ll reward you.’ Now is the time, but before I give you your good news, I want to know what my reward is going to be.

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ambrogio: Don’t you trust me? verdiana: I trust everybody, but I should remind you that I’m a poor little woman and I must eke out my living from my own work and from the favours good people do me. ambrogio: Well, since you wish to know, I’ll tell you plainly. At the first good news, I’ll give you a pair of my old slippers. verdiana: A pair of your old slippers? ambrogio: What more do you want? Well then, I’ll give you these slippers I have on now. They are nearly new. Hey, don’t turn your head like that! At the second bit of good news, I’ll give you these socks, but you must see to it that I can at least speak with her. At the third, and that’s when I’ll get into bed with her, this lined cap. So, what do you say now? verdiana: I say that either you lack experience or you’re a miser. There’s not a young man at this university using my services who doesn’t give me more than double the value of what you promise me in three instalments when I bring him a little rose from his lady. And that’s nothing compared with the news I’m bringing you now. ambrogio: Madonna Verdiana, young men can always find someone who will keep them in pocket money. When I give advice, I too would like to get ten scudi10 if the other man would give them to me. But if he gives me half a scudo I take it. What you leave behind, you lose, especially in those businesses where you deal in words and services. You and I, Madonna Verdiana, must get along nicely, hand in hand, and support each other. verdiana: That’s right. According to you, I should keep on being poor and you rich. ambrogio: Oh, but you should not get rich at my expense! verdiana: That’s for sure. ambrogio: (Aside) She’s standing her ground. – Well, let’s see, what do you want me to give you, then? verdiana: First, I don’t deal in used clothing, so I don’t need your old things. I want to settle this business with cold cash. ambrogio: Then cold cash it will be. But let’s be reasonable. verdiana: For what I have done for you up to now, you’ll give me four ducats. ambrogio: Good God, Madonna Verdiana! You’re scalping me like a bad barber. Ten grossi will be enough for you.11 verdiana: Yes, ten grossi and the plague! Messer Ambrogio, I have things to do. This is a letter from Madonna Anfrosina. Good-bye. I’m taking it back to her and I will tell her of your generosity. (She begins to leave)

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ambrogio: Madonna Verdiana, come back here. (Aside) May she rot in hell. (To Madonna Verdiana) Listen, I tell you, come back here. verdiana: (Returning) Let me die without this holy habit upon me if ever again I get mixed up in your business.12 ambrogio: Come now, don’t swear. You’ll get mixed up in it again, you’ll do me this favour, and I’ll give you what I can. From now on, the first time anyone moves a legal suit against you, you come to me and I’ll give you all the legal advice you need, free of charge. verdiana: Oh, now we’re getting to the ‘free of charge’! Big help that’s going to be! If I’m going to waste my time on you, I want more than free advice for it. ambrogio: I’ll make sure you’re satisfied. Let me know the price of your next errand and let’s leave it at that. What’s past is past. verdiana: I’m not about to work at a loss now, and as for the future, let me worry about it when I get to it. This is a letter from Madonna Anfrosina, in her own hand. If you want it, I’ll give it to you for ten ducats. ambrogio: Damn! verdiana: Please, no swearing! ambrogio: I’m not swearing, but you’re killing me. I don’t earn ten ducats in six months. verdiana: If it’s not full of good news, I won’t take any money. ambrogio: (Somewhat relieved) Your first demand was enough to kill me. A letter from Calcutta or from Peru would not pay as much postage.13 But let’s do this, Madonna Verdiana – come inside with me. I don’t have my reading glasses here with me anyway, and there I will satisfy you. Besides, I see someone coming this way and I don’t want us to be interrupted. verdiana: Fine with me. (Aside) But if you want to call the tune, you’re going to have to pay the piper, you old miser. Scene iii messer rinuccio and messer giulio rinuccio: This seems like a very good plan to me, one that will work easily and without danger. giulio: There’s no doubt it will work. Where did she tell you to wait for her? rinuccio: Here. She won’t be long now.

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giulio: You’ll do better by yourself. I’ll take this opportunity to look after some business of my own. rinuccio: Remember to come back home early so that, if I need you, I won’t have to come looking for you. giulio: You can expect me home by five o’clock. rinuccio: It must be nearly four, now. giulio: That’s right, but don’t worry about me. You just talk to that woman, find the old man, and that’s all. But remember to send the servant afterwards to tell the old man to come. rinuccio: I’ll do everything, but first I’ve got to find Madonna Agnola. (Giulio exits) Scene iv messer rinuccio, alone rinuccio: Now I’m finding out how useful a true friend is. I always thought a friend would be a great help, but I never would have thought one could be this much help. Who besides Messer Giulio could have better counselled me in this matter? Who else could have set the trap so quickly and given me the means to catch this old crow of a lawyer? He certainly has a bright and keen mind. So much like a Florentine! Blessed be the hour and the minute he thought of staying at my house and I agreed to take him in. The benefit has been all mine, for his kindness and advice have revived me many times over. And this is definitely one of those times. Just look, he has even capitalized on the fact that the old man happens to be my lawyer to make sure that I catch a big fish with this little lure. In short, the more I think about it, the happier I am. Oh, here she comes. Scene v messer rinuccio and madonna agnola rinuccio: Madonna Agnola, I’m over here! agnola: I was just looking for you. Did I keep you waiting long? rinuccio: Not at all. I don’t mind waiting for you. agnola: That woman had so many things to tell me, I thought she wouldn’t finish till nightfall. rinuccio: Most women suffer from this weakness.

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agnola: Did you come up with an idea? rinuccio: I did. And if I can rely on you, everything will work out very well. agnola: Messer Rinuccio, if I didn’t think that to flaunt myself and offer you my help would be superfluous … rinuccio: That’s right! Words are superfluous between us, because I’ve already seen what you can do. But there is one thing I do deplore about you. agnola: Dear me! What? Tell me. rinuccio: This ugly old dress you’re wearing. Here, take these three ducats and see to it that I don’t see it any more because I couldn’t stand to look at you wearing it. agnola: Oh, Messer Rinuccio, you’re too kind. Thank you. I accept them to show you that I listen to you and also because I do need them. But if you had not given them to me, I would have helped you just the same. I’m not doing this for a fee, you know. rinuccio: What fee? Your fee will take another form. Anyway, if I gave you all I have in the world, it still would not be enough. agnola: I consider myself paid any time I please you. But never mind. What’s your plan? rinuccio: Here it is. I’m going to tell the old man that tonight I’m leaving town on business. Then I’ll send a letter to him that will appear to have been written by my mother informing him of my departure and saying that tonight at nine he should go to her house and enter by the back courtyard door. agnola: That’s good. rinuccio: Messer Giulio will be there, inside the door, dressed as a maid. He’ll let him in and lock him up in the courtyard. There the old man will have plenty of room to bang about and shout as much as he likes. No one will hear him because my window is the only one that opens onto that courtyard. agnola: And how long do you want him to stay there? rinuccio: You’re getting ahead of me! In the meantime, I’ll go out the front door and come to your house. At what time does your lady go to bed? agnola: About ten. But tonight, maybe even sooner, because tomorrow she goes early to the convent. rinuccio: So much the better. You say you haven’t talked to her about me yet? agnola: No sir, because, as I told you the day before yesterday, on

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several occasions, when I started to hint about lovers and things of the heart, I found her as far from them as January from roses. So, in order not to ruin anything, I didn’t dare mention your name. rinuccio: Good, then. Since you have not told her of my love for her, my plan is to tell her myself. And, if my plan works out, I’m going to see to it that she can judge me by my deeds before she can judge me by my words. agnola: God grant it! But how? rinuccio: Easy, if you’re on my side. After I’ve locked up the old man and assured myself that he can’t get out and ruin everything, I’ll come over here and keep a watch out. As soon as you see that your lady is in bed and you think she’s fallen asleep, you’ll give me a signal and open the door. I’ll come into the house as if I were the old man, go to Madonna Oretta’s bedroom and lie down beside her. Once there, I’ll play it by ear. Perhaps I’ll reveal myself to her, perhaps not. And perhaps, when it gets to be near dawn I’ll tell her that I need to research a case – he’s a lawyer, after all – and I’ll get up and come out to release Messer Ambrogio from his enclosure and he’ll go home freezing cold. agnola: My advice is not to let her know who you are, because I know that as soon as she recognizes you she’ll raise a horrible rumpus. rinuccio: That’s something I don’t want to think about until the time comes. I’ll improvise as I go, as I said, so let’s make sure I get that far. agnola: That’s the problem. It’s harder than you think. rinuccio: How so? agnola: I’ll tell you. Even if the old man goes out at night, which I don’t think he will, but let’s just suppose he will, he’s going to leave that ass Giannella in the house, and he usually sleeps right by the door. But tonight, as long as the master is out of the house, you can rest assured that he’s not going to sleep at all. rinuccio: Couldn’t I come in by some other way instead of by the front door? agnola: No sir. The master has had all the upper windows nailed tightly shut and all the street-level windows bricked up. rinuccio: Over the garden wall? agnola: That would be difficult. And even if you could, you’d end up in the garden. If you wanted to come into the house you’d still have to get past that damned Giannella. rinuccio: Could we hope to silence him with money? agnola: I think we’d have problems silencing him with a knife, even

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if we shoved it down his throat. Don’t trust him at all. It would spell ruin for you, for my lady, and for me. rinuccio: I’ll make it clear in the letter to Ambrogio that he should bring Giannella along. agnola: He won’t. rinuccio: I’ll write in such a way that he will. agnola: And if he does, he’ll lock up the front door from the outside. rinuccio: A crowbar will do the trick. Madonna Agnola, just let me know when to come in and I’ll take care of the rest. agnola: Gladly. If you want, as soon as my lady is in bed I’ll hang a towel out the window. Will you see it? There’s still light in the evening. rinuccio: Yes, I’ll see it very well. agnola: And if by chance Giannella is in the house, I’ll leave the shutters open. rinuccio: Excellent! agnola: Dear me! The door is opening. Quick, go away! rinuccio: It’s the old man and his Madonna Apollonia.14 I’ll be off. Good night and good-bye. (Exits) Scene vi messer ambrogio, madonna verdiana, and madonna agnola ambrogio: Now that I’ve paid the piper, Madonna Verdiana, you’d better see to it that I also get to dance. verdiana: You’ll dance, and how! Don’t you worry. agnola: God grant you a good evening. ambrogio: Where are you coming from at this hour? agnola: From the bridge. I went there to buy salad greens. ambrogio: Let me see, what have you got there? (He reaches for her veil) agnola: Nothing much. Hey, are you trying to rip my kerchief? ambrogio: What do you have under your hat? (He removes her hat) agnola: Now I’ve seen it all! Are you going to mess up my hair, too? ambrogio: I’d rather mess up your hair than have you mess me up, do you hear? And what’s in here? (He looks through her shopping bag) agnola: The salad greens. ambrogio: And in your pocket? verdiana: What in heaven’s name do you think she might have? ambrogio: Some letter, some present, that’s what!

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agnola: Here we go again! Well, enough of this nonsense. (She leaves and goes into the house) verdiana: You’re too mistrustful. I’ve told you once before: pray God she lacks for nothing … When the road is not sure, messages can be carried by the tongue. ambrogio: One day I’m going to cover that track, too. verdiana: How are you going to do that? ambrogio: I’ll cut off her tongue! What do you mean how am I going to do that? verdiana: I would not be your servant even if you paid me twice as much. ambrogio: And I would not have you as my servant even you paid me. But let’s forget house matters between you and me and talk about matters outside the house. See to it that these six gold scudi I’ve given you … (He sighs) Oh God, what a tidy sum! verdiana: You old miser! See if that sigh didn’t come straight from your heart. Don’t forget that besides all these services I’ll also visit the Martyr’s Shrine on your behalf.15 ambrogio: The Martyr’s Shrine, indeed. That’s what you’ve made of me. See to it that I find myself with Madonna Anfrosina while I’m still alive. verdiana: As soon as her son goes out of town. ambrogio: What if he never does? I’ll have spent all that money just to be left out in the cold. I don’t want this business to go on for too long. verdiana: It won’t, I tell you. Rest assured. (Exits) ambrogio: I t’s difficult to rest assured when I see my money decrease and my worries increase. All I know for certain is that I’ve received a letter full of promises and nothing else. The important thing is to have the goods, seeing that I’ve already had to pay Madonna Verdiana, that thief. She hit me with it so quickly I had no time to think about it, and now I’m going to feel the blow in my wallet for weeks. Scene vii messer rinuccio and messer ambrogio rinuccio: I trust Your Excellency is well. ambrogio: O bene veniatis, domine.16 May I be of assistance? rinuccio: I was coming to ascertain if my attorney had been by, and to see how my case was proceeding. ambrogio: Yes, he came by this morning, but I haven’t seen him since.

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There are many difficult points to your case and it takes a great deal of time to examine them carefully, which I’ll do quite willingly, since this pertains to you. If it were another person, I would not say the same unless I heard the cum quibus.17 rinuccio: I thank Your Excellency. And although I will never be able to repay you according to your merit, I will nevertheless try to do whatever I can. ambrogio: Oh, I have nothing to complain about from you. rinuccio: I came to talk with you because, as it happens, I must leave Pisa this very evening and go to Florence for a while with Messer Giulio, my tenant, on account of some business of his. We might stay there for one or two weeks, if my suit here allowed it. ambrogio: Feel free to do so. As you know, the civic holidays start in two days and so, as far as cases are concerned, the courts will be closed until Lent. rinuccio: That’s what I thought. Anyway, I would not have left without first letting Your Excellency know about it. ambrogio: And you did very well, because one of the things a case needs is someone to press it constantly. rinuccio: In the meantime, Your Lordship will be so kind as to study and resolve the difficulties in the matter. As part of my acknowledgement of your troubles, please do accept this scudo. ambrogio: That was not necessary. (He takes the money) Now you will have one scudo less. rinuccio: Does Your Excellency wish anything else? ambrogio: Only that you have an enjoyable Carnival in the company of the Florentine ladies. rinuccio: You can rest assured we will. (Aside) You old fish, you’ve started to bite. (Exits) ambrogio: I’m not going to complain any more. He’s given me money and the chance I was waiting for. That’s a good omen. Now we’ll see whether Madonna Anfrosina’s words are true or not, and how much I can count on her. If she carries out all that she promised in the letter, I’ll probably spend a better Carnival in Pisa than those two young rascals will in Florence. If only he had come a little earlier. Then I could have sent Madonna Verdiana to Madonna Anfrosina right away to arrange the time and the place and avoid giving her a second tip. Now, instead, I’m going to have to pay her again. Where could I find her now? She must run this errand for me! Well then, I’d better go and look for her if I want to get this done. Giannella! Giannella! Giannella!

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Scene viii giannella, attendant, and messer ambrogio giannella: Master! Master! Sir! What do you want? ambrogio: Bring me my hat and my coat, quickly. You ass, what are you looking at? (Giannella tries to remove Ambrogio’s hat and coat) What are you doing? giannella: I’m taking these into the house. ambrogio: What the devil! You want to leave me here bare-headed in my housecoat? First go for the coat, devil take you. (Giannella exits) What a fool that man is. Still, it’s better to have this one, stupid as he is, than a bright and subtle servant who could turn the tables on me. giannella: (Returns) Here you are. ambrogio: Give them to me. (Begins to change hat and coat) Now listen, Giannella. I have to go out to look after a matter of great importance to me. You must not leave the house until I get back. Go in there. (Giannella goes back into the house) Where are you going, you ass? What are you doing in there? giannella: (Comes back out) I don’t know. ambrogio: That’s because you’re an idiot! You must bolt the door shut from the inside and not open it, nor let anyone go out of the house until I get back. Do you understand? giannella: (Going back inside) Now you’ll hear the bolt. (Bolts the door) Did you hear that? ambrogio: That’s the way. Leave it like that. (Aside) Now I can go in peace. If I didn’t have this ass around the house I would really be stuck.

ACT III Scene i messer giulio and giorgetto, with a bundle of clothes in his arms giulio: And so you understand, Giorgetto – there’s no doubt that Messer Rinuccio will enjoy his love before morning and I’ll be left empty-handed. giorgetto: That’s thanks to you who gave him the means. Complain

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about yourself. He wouldn’t have been able to work things out so well on his own. If you had kept quiet, you could have gone yourself, just as he’s going now. giulio: You’re right, but that’s the way I am – if a friend asks my advice, at the cost of my life I must give him the best I have. Just my luck. You’d promised to wait for me in the church, so why the devil did you leave? If you had been there, maybe I wouldn’t have done him this favour. giorgetto: Don’t regret having done something good or having pleased a friend like him. giulio: I regret having done myself a disservice. Damn the hour and the moment I set foot in this city. And, to top it all, I barely finished telling you about it and you ran off, disappeared before my eyes, and you didn’t return till now. You could have helped me think of something. giorgetto: Listen, master, I’ve been thinking. Just answer what I ask you and that will be enough for me. Do you want Messer Rinuccio to have Madonna Oretta tonight? Yes or no? giulio: Let’s talk about something else. giorgetto: Answer me! Do you want him to have her or do you want to have her yourself? Look me in the eyes. giulio: You bastard! giorgetto: Me, bastard? From now on, if I don’t see to it that tonight you sleep with Madonna Oretta, I won’t say you can kill me on the spot or lock me up and throw away the keys – these threats don’t mean anything because they’re never carried out – but I will say you’d never have to speak to me again. giulio: Before I believe you, let’s hear how you’re going to do that. I don’t want to be hoodwinked again. giorgetto: Gladly. Here, take this letter and read it. I want you to know just how good a servant Giorgetto is. Look at the address on it. giulio: ‘To Madonna Oretta Sismondi, whom I love like a daughter, wife of Messer Ambrogio da Cascina. At her home.’ giorgetto: Doesn’t that give you, in detail, the entire family tree? And now read where it comes from. giulio: ‘Yours, like a mother, Anfrosina de’ Gualandi. At her home.’ But whose handwriting is this? Who wrote it? giorgetto: I did, said the bastard! Read it, go on and read it! Did you really think that earlier, when I left you standing there like a bump on a log I was going off to chase butterflies? (Touching his head)

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There’s more than stuffing in this pumpkin. Read the letter out loud, I want to hear it myself. I haven’t re-read it yet. giulio: ‘Since my son …’ giorgetto: Wait a minute! I want to hear it from the top, please. giulio: Well then, I’ll start all over again. ‘My dearest, you are like a daughter to me. The time has come, if you are willing, to take revenge on your good husband, just as we planned. Since my son and his friend left this very evening on horseback for Florence, I have sent word to your Messer Ambrogio that tonight at nine he must be, without fail, at my garden door. I will let him in and show him into the ground-floor room. For now, I am sending you the clothes you asked for, and I will wait for you at my front door. Be there for certain. A chance like this does not come every day. Be well. Dated on 24 February 1549. Your Anfrosina, etc., etc. And above all make sure that your maid does not see you, for the sake of your reputation.’ giorgetto: Do you understand what that ‘for the sake of your reputation’ means? giulio: No, and I don’t understand what you want to do, either. giorgetto: I understand what I want to do and that’s enough. If this little letter and these clothes end up in Madonna Oretta’s hands, you’ll see. giulio: In fact, I had noticed that bundle under your arm, but I hadn’t thought of asking you. Let me see. Hey! These are my clothes! giorgetto: So, what do you have to say about it? giulio: That you’re bent on ruining them for me. And this is the beard I bought at the perfume shop. giorgetto: She’s the one who’ll buy the beard! What more do you want but for this beard and these clothes to serve as the lure that will draw this fish away from Messer Rinuccio’s line and get it caught on yours? Give me the letter and I’ll seal it. Now go home so that no one sees you, or you might ruin the entire plan. giulio: So I’m not supposed to know your plan? giorgetto: Trust me, if you can. In the meantime, stay out of sight. Go home as I’ve told you. You know me and what I can do. giulio: I’ll do as you say, even though people would think I was insane if they ever found out that I’m letting myself be led along like this. giorgetto: The old man’s going to be led along, not you. Remember what Gradasso said: ‘Leave me the care!’18 giulio: Make sure I don’t end up being the laughing stock of the entire city of Pisa.

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giorgetto: I’ll look after your interests. (Giulio exits) Now, then, who can I trust to deliver this letter and these clothes to the right person? I’ll take them myself. I’m not well known, so I’ll be like the smugglers who carry the cabbage out in the open and keep the capon hidden underneath. I’ll carry the clothes right out in the open and I’ll say that my lady is sending them to Madonna Oretta, who is collecting them for the convent. In the meantime, I’ll keep the letter hidden until I find the right moment to give it to her. Oh, how many deceptions are carried out under the guise of lending clothes to a convent! How many Madonna Apollonias go along with them. I know that the old man is not at home because I saw him just now along the lung’Arno.19 I can go knock right away at his door and not worry about him. (Goes to the door and knocks) Scene ii giannella and giorgetto (Giannella remains inside and, throughout the scene, speaks from behind the door) giannella: Who’s there? giorgetto: Friends. Open the door, Giannella. giannella: Go to hell, you damn chicken thief! giorgetto: (Aside) By God, this chap must be the devil himself – he recognized me right away without even seeing me. Either that, or he recognized me by my smell, the way dogs do. – Hey, Giannella, come on, open the door. giannella: The pox I’ll open up for you. (Sounds can be heard inside of Giannella piling up things against the door) giorgetto: Same to you! (Aside) That’s a good one, instead of opening the door he’s barricading it. That mad idiot must think I’m going to force it open with a battering ram. – Hey, open up! The hell with you! I have some clothes here for your lady. She needs them for the play. giannella: The lady? And how are you going to get them to her? For the lady, eh? Go to hell yourself! giorgetto: (Aside) Just listen to him howl. If only he’d break his neck! Just wait and see – the old man is going to come back and this raving lunatic still won’t have let me in. I won’t be able to carry out my plan.

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(A bell sounds six o’clock) What’s that? Six o’clock! This is going to be a problem. Scene iii madonna violante, sister of Madonna Oretta, giorgetto, giannella, and two of Madonna Violante’s maids violante: (speaking to her servants) First one thing and then another, and now it’s already six o’clock and we are still out. giorgetto: (Aside) Who are those women coming this way? violante: (As above) Luckily, we are nearly there. giorgetto: (Aside) They’re coming right here. violante: (To Giorgetto) Good evening. giorgetto: Good evening, Your Ladyship. (Violante approaches the door and is about to knock) Don’t trouble yourself with knocking, madam. (She knocks) giannella: (From inside) Go to hell! If you don’t get away from this door I’m going to break your skull with a club. violante: Now we’re stuck here like flies in amber. The fool is at the door and the master is probably not home. giorgetto: That’s right, madam, he’s out. violante: We’ll be here for a while, then. (To Giannella) Giannella, open up! It’s me, Madonna Violante, Madonna Oretta’s sister! Open up, dear Giannella. giannella: Disguising your voice isn’t going to help you. (He mimics a woman’s voice and utters a series of nonsense syllables) Blah blah blah blah blah. Oh, go away, get! I’m not going to let you in. giorgetto: (Laughing) He’s so crazy he’s funny. He’s already made me wait here three hours and I have some clothes here from my lady to give to Madonna Oretta, who needs them, I think, for some nuns. violante: Oh, yes, they’re for the nuns who are putting on a play tomorrow morning. That’s why I came to stay overnight with Madonna Oretta. If you do not wish to wait, you can give them to me and I’ll pass them along to her when I get inside. I’ll make sure of it. giorgetto: I realize that, but I must also give her a certain letter my lady sends her. violante: Who is your lady? giorgetto: (Whispering) Madonna Anfrosina de’ Gualandi. violante: Who? You’re speaking too softly.

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giorgetto: (Slightly louder, but still whispering) Listen carefully, it’s Madonna Anfrosina de’ Gualandi. I have to whisper because she told me to make sure the maids don’t overhear. She’s lending her these clothes without her son knowing about it. And she has entrusted me to give her this letter in person. violante: Oh, I think I know what this is all about. You can trust me with that, too, don’t worry. You can tell your lady: ‘I gave them to Violante, her sister.’ That’s all. giorgetto: Here they are. She also told me to make sure that the old man does not see them at all, and so I’ll say the same to you. violante: Absolutely. I’m well aware that he must not see them. My good man, give these clothes to my maid. (To her maid) Take them. (To Giorgetto) Carry on with your business and give my best to your lady. giorgetto: I’ll do so gladly. She also told me to remind Madonna Oretta that she must do what the letter says, no matter what. violante: She will do everything, without a doubt. giorgetto: Does your ladyship wish anything else? violante: Go along and God be with you. (Giorgetto exits) – Well then, Giannella, you’re not going to make me stay out here all night, are you? giannella: (From inside) If you don’t get the hell out of here I’m going to brick you up inside a wall. violante: The pox on you and your master! Well, speak of the devil! Here comes that jealous old fool. Scene iv messer ambrogio, madonna violante, giannella, and two maids ambrogio: (Aside) Now I know she’s burning with love for me, just like I am for her, if not more so. No sooner had her son left than she sent me word to go there this very night. And so tonight it will be! violante: (Aside) Hurry up! Oh, just look at how slowly he walks. Oretta has been married just a few months and wants to make love.20 ambrogio: (Aside) I stopped by the druggist’s and bought myself a pinch of a special potion and a piece of nut cake to comfort and strengthen my manhood so that, when we get to jousting, the lance may be at the ready. violante: Is this the time to come back home, my dear brother-in-law?

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ambrogio: Oh, Violante, I didn’t see you. How are you? violante: I am well, and you? ambrogio: Very well. I am just coming from the barber’s. Did he do a good job? violante: He did. And he must have taken you either for a young man or a man in love. ambrogio: Why do you say that? violante: Because he has covered you in perfume. ambrogio: What can you do! This is how he fixed me up. But what brings you here? violante: I’m coming to stay overnight with Oretta and, with your permission, I’m planning to take her to the convent tomorrow morning to see a comedy the nuns are putting on. ambrogio: Comedies, comedies, comedies. I’ve grown tired of them, and of you and of your nuns. If they were in need, and they say they are, they should tend to other things and not to comedies. Is this the time to put on comedies, eh? They should leave comedies to the duke or to the Company of the Cardinals, and they should stick to spinning. violante: In God’s name, Messer Ambrogio! The poor girls are made of flesh and blood just like us and they must have some relaxation after all. What do you want them to do? ambrogio: I just told you. (Catching sight of the bundle of clothes) And what’s this? violante: Some clothes I bought for them. ambrogio: Here, let me see. Goodness! There’s even men’s coloured stockings here! And, look, breeches! And you’re taking these things to the convent? violante: What? Do you want me to take them to the madhouse? ambrogio: Just look at that, perfect for the mad and wicked. violante: That’s great! You always think the worst. ambrogio: That’s the way I think. (Turning to the door) Giannella, open up! giannella: (From inside) Bastard! Damn you! If I come out … ambrogio: Open up, you ass, it’s me, Messer Ambrogio! giannella: (From inside) Go to hell! Just how many voices can you mimic, anyway? violante: (To Ambrogio) Is he going to serve you as he served me? ambrogio: So you don’t want to open up, eh, you mad idiot? giannella: (From inside) Just hold on a minute.

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violante: Has he seen the light? giannella: (Enters on stage wielding a club and proceeds to beat Ambrogio) Take that, you bastard! ambrogio: O my God! O my God! violante: Stop! Stop! giannella: (Recognises Ambrogio and stops beating him) Oh master, forgive me. I didn’t recognize you. Are you hurt? ambrogio: What do you think? Did this do me a whole lot of good? Damn you and your temper! violante: You poor man. As if you needed more! ambrogio: Violante, go upstairs and tell Oretta to have the cook prepare those fat pigeons for dinner, if she hasn’t done so already, and to have the table set. I’ll have dinner early tonight because afterwards I must tend to something in town. violante: Fine, I understand. (To her maid) Here, give me those clothes. And now go straight home, both of you, and don’t linger along the way. Tomorrow morning come to pick me up early. (The maids exit) Do you want me to close the door? ambrogio: No, no, leave it open. (Violante exits) Scene v messer ambrogio and giannella, by the door ambrogio: Giannella! Giannella! Where the devil did you go? giannella: (Comes back out and stands by the door) Sir, sir, I went to put the club away. ambrogio: Come here, get away from the door. You look like you’ve been nailed to it. giannella: You told me not to go away from it. ambrogio: Giannella, you know that I like you and that I’ve often told you that if I die (Lowering his voice) I would help you out, on my word. And by the same token, if I live long and I’m healthy, I have it in my mind to make you a man of great worth. giannella: I could grow fat on these good promises of yours. ambrogio: And because I know that you know (and if you don’t know I’ll tell you so that you do know), that just as omni labor optat proemium, so omnis proemium praesupponit laborem …21 giannella: Messer Ambrogio, you know I haven’t gone far enough in the psalter you used to teach me to get to the part about pregnancy

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and labour. So, please tell me what you want me to do, but don’t say it in Greek or in Hebrew. It would drive me mad in no time. ambrogio: Well then, I’ll do as you wish. After all, reason does dictate that to a thick skull one should feed a thick soup. giannella: That’s better! I’d rather have a thick soup than be pregnant. ambrogio: What I meant to say is this: since you have so many good promises from me, you must still work hard for me and take some risks. giannella: Risks? For you, I’d go to the cemetery at night and work like six porters. ambrogio: And how much I care about you, what of that? giannella: Well God knows, I care about you, too. And even though tonight I gave you a beating, I did it because of my concern and also because I didn’t think it was you. ambrogio: Let’s forget what’s been done and talk about what’s to be done. Tonight I need your help, but look, you must have the heart of a lion. giannella: Do we have to beat somebody up? ambrogio: Yes and no. I’ll tell you, Giannella, but see here, make sure you don’t mention it to a soul. giannella: Don’t worry, I’ll be as dumb as a fish. ambrogio: I’ve received an invitation for tonight from a lady who lives near here. I’m to be at her house at eight o’clock, but because I suspect something, I’m going to bring you along so that, if I need you, you’ll be able to help me out. giannella: What should I help you with? ambrogio: Didn’t you hear me? Help me defend myself if I’m attacked! And because I don’t want us to be recognized, I thought we’d disguise ourselves. It’ll be easier that way. Then, with our daggers under our cloaks we’ll get to work. giannella: Do I get to work, too? ambrogio: No, you just need to know about it. giannella: Why? I had my heart set on helping you out with the work, too. ambrogio: The devil you will! No, no! You can leave this work to me. I’ll go inside her house, which is not far from here, and you’ll stay by the door ready to come to my rescue if I should call you. giannella: The trouble is, will I hear you? ambrogio: I’ll call for you loudly.

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giannella: Hell no! You’re not going to call me by name, I hope. We’d be recognized, the two of us, and thrown into jail. You’d better give me a signal. ambrogio: Good thinking. A signal, exactly, just the thing. Well then, if I need you, I’ll call out ‘Alò chià chià!’22 Or would you rather I whistled? giannella: I don’t like either of these. One hears these sounds every night in Pisa and I could easily mistake someone else for you and do something awful. ambrogio: Wait then, I’ll call out as they used to do at night in Florence back in ’32: ‘Chi es aglià?’23 giannella: What? That’s too sophisticated! Even a genius couldn’t remember that. It won’t do for me at all. Do this, instead: if you want me to come, call out three times ‘Whooo, whooo, whooo.’ ambrogio: That’s the call of an owl! giannella: What’s that to you? It’s something I’ll understand very well. What does it matter if it’s the call of an owl? ambrogio: Well then, ‘Whooo’ it will be. giannella: But, master, what will your Madonna Oretta say if she sees you going out at night? You hardly go out of the house by day. ambrogio: I thought of everything. I’ll tell her the Lord High Commissioner has sent for me to deal with a matter that must be resolved and presented to His Illustrious Excellency this very night. giannella: Yes, but will she believe you? ambrogio: I’ll say it in such a way that she will. giannella: She won’t believe you if she sees you in disguise. ambrogio: Do you have no brains at all? Do you think I’m going to go see her with my disguise on? She’s going to stay upstairs with her sister; the two of us, with the excuse of having to look at some papers, will go downstairs to the office and disguise ourselves there. giannella: And what will we put on? ambrogio: If nothing else, some old things I had done for two page boys of mine when I was sent as podestà to Forlimpopoli.24 Let’s go and have supper. It must be past seven o’clock already. giannella: We might as well fill ourselves up so that, if we must die, we’ll die with a full stomach. ambrogio: I don’t want to stuff myself too much, because I don’t want to be weighed down in case I have to do some jousting. I’d advise you to do the same. giannella: I’m never in good shape unless my skin is as taut as a drum.

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ambrogio: Let’s go so you can fill yourself up. This way, if you’re called upon to show some valour, you just might succeed. giannella: God bless this woman! If only she would do this every night.

ACT IV Scene i messer rinuccio, alone rinuccio: It’s past eight o’clock. It can’t be long now before Messer Dotard comes out of his house. I’d better stick around here until he shows up. That way I won’t make any mistakes. And if by chance he doesn’t take that insufferable Giannella with him, I’ll see to it that he doesn’t get into my house. I’m not about to shut the old man up if this other one doesn’t come out of his hole. What miseries a lover must bear! A scoundrel of an attendant whose life isn’t worth two cents can make me either very happy or else very unhappy simply by coming out of the house or not. Still, I’m hoping for the best. I can’t help but think that Fortune is going to smile upon my love, especially seeing that she has already started to help me out. She made that senile old man with a foot in the grave fall in love with my mother. You can be sure that if such an opportunity hadn’t arisen, this old man’s jealousy would have made it easier for me to fly like a bird than to find myself in the company of Madonna Oretta. What’s that? The door is opening! By God, it’s the old man in disguise. (Rinuccio hides) Scene ii messer ambrogio and giannella, in disguise, messer rinuccio, hidden ambrogio: Did you bring the dagger along, and the shield? giannella: Yes sir. Damn it, this cap is too big for my head! rinuccio: (Aside) Giannella is with him. Things are looking good. ambrogio: Bolt the door shut. rinuccio: (Aside) What the devil are they wearing? ambrogio: Did you shut it well? giannella: Yes sir. (Giannella fumbles with the weapons) Damn these daggers!

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ambrogio: Shake the bolt. Pull it towards you and make sure we aren’t making any mistake. rinuccio: (Aside) I’d better be off so he doesn’t see me and get suspicious. I think I should tell Messer Giulio that the old fool is falling right into the trap. (Exit) ambrogio: Why the devil are you shaking the door so much? giannella: To see whether it’s shut well. ambrogio: Don’t shake it any more. Do you want Agnola to come to the window and see us dressed like this? giannella: To tell you the truth, I can’t get the door shut. ambrogio: But you just said you shut it. giannella: I can’t seem to get the bolt to slide into the hole, and I can’t reach it. Maybe it’s better I stay here and guard the door. ambrogio: I’ll be damned if you stay here, you ass! Get away from there. I don’t know what keeps me from sticking this dagger right into you. giannella: Oh, I rattled it so much that it fell into place. There! It’s locked. ambrogio: Move aside, I said. I’m not going to trust anyone anymore. (He tries the lock) giannella: What else could it have been? It was the bolt sliding into the hole! (Sarcastically) You can be sure she’s got all her lovers in there, nicely lined up one after the other, ready to come and slide their bolts into her hole. ambrogio: Now that I’ve tried it out myself I can breathe more easily. Anyway, Giannella, just to make sure, it would be better if you did this: as soon as you’ve accompanied me where I want to go, and that’s not too far from here, and once I’m safely hidden inside, you come back here and make sure there’s no one around. Until I get back, your job will be to go back and forth between my lady’s door and mine. This way, you’ll be able to discover any traps either here or there. And you won’t get cold! giannella: I’m already cold. I still think it would have been better for me to bring my big coat. ambrogio: What big coat? If anything happens, just make sure you show your true colours and use your fists. giannella: And my legs, too, if need be! Leave it to me. ambrogio: Do you think anyone could recognize us? giannella: The devil himself couldn’t recognize us. I almost don’t recognize myself! If we had masks on, we’d look like clowns.

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ambrogio: Clowns or no clowns, it doesn’t matter. As long as no one recognizes us, that’s all I care about. Besides, this is Carnival time. Go ahead and see if the coast is clear. giannella: After you! You’re my master. ambrogio: You coward! You’re shaking in your boots! I can tell. giannella: I’m shaking because I’m afraid … (quickly correcting himself) because I’m cold! ambrogio: Either way, I believe you, so don’t bother trying to convince me. And to think that you’re carrying a dagger, at that! How would you feel if someone stuck it inside you? giannella: Let’s get going, please. Let’s not worry about what doesn’t matter any more. I’m freezing cold with just this little thing on. If you’re going to stand there much longer I’m going to go home and leave you to your own devices. (The bell begins to ring nine o’clock) Listen, it’s nine o’clock already. ambrogio: You couldn’t ask for better timing. Let’s go. I hear someone coming this way. giannella: It doesn’t matter who it is; we’re minding our own business. (They exit) Scene iii madonna oretta, disguised as a man, alone oretta: If anyone wants to know how miserable and unhappy a woman’s lot is, he can find it out in part just by considering how many inconveniences we women are subjected to, how many pleasures we’re deprived of, and under what cruel tyranny we must live our lives. When men take a wife, most of the time they take whoever they please. On the contrary, we must take whoever is given to us. Sometimes, and I for one can vouch for it (poor me!), we must take someone who, to say nothing of the fact that he is old enough to be our father rather than our husband, is also so rough and inhuman that one could sooner call him a beast on two legs than a man. But let’s not talk of the bad luck other women have had, and let’s speak of me, the most unlucky one of all. I find myself married to Messer Ambrogio, who could easily be my grandfather! He’s rich, yes. But this doesn’t mean I get to eat any better! Then, besides having a husband who’s old, there’s the problem of having one who’s jealous, and wrongly jealous at that! And there’s no one who is more jeal-

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ous than he is. So, because of his jealousy I’m deprived of pleasures outside the house, and because of his age of pleasures inside the house. And as if it was not enough for Fortune to saddle me with all these problems, now she has decided to make a fool of me and have even greater sport with me by making this crazy old man fall madly in love with someone else. Now he has lost all his mental faculties, as well as his physical ones. Poor Oretta! What more did you need? Stuck for life with a husband who is old, jealous, philandering and senile. And so, to bring him back to his senses, I must now scale the garden wall dressed as a man at ten o’clock at night in order to get out, go around Pisa in disguise, enter into other people’s homes and perhaps find myself labelled something I have never been, nor have any intention of being. If I didn’t think this was the best medicine to cure the madness in that old man’s head without too much scandal, I would have handled it quite differently. Did I hear a noise at Madonna Anfrosina’s door? I did! (A maid appears at the door and gestures to Oretta to come inside) Her maid is beckoning me to come in. Let’s go, then, the old crow is in the cage. (To the maid) Good evening. Has the good man arrived? (They enter the house) Scene iv giannella, alone giannella: I went with the master and saw to it he got safely to his lady’s house. And he didn’t have to fight with anyone, which I thought was a good piece of luck. I’m glad I learned two things tonight I never thought could happen: one, that the master could be in love, and the other that Madonna Anfrosina went in for … uh … this sort of thing. I thought the old man had so much available at home he never would have been bothered by temptations of the flesh. And Madonna Anfrosina, I thought she was halfway to becoming a saint! This just goes to prove that the rest of her must be pure devil. Say what you want, when there’s a cock involved you can never be sure. If you get the itch, you’ll find a way to scratch it or have it scratched for you. If only I could do the same! Instead, I’m led around Pisa at ten o’clock at night, dressed in these rags, and told to stand guard. While the master is banging on someone else’s door, I must stand guard so his own door doesn’t get ruined. And it’s not as if he didn’t deserve it!

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Scene v messer rinuccio and giannella rinuccio: (Aside) I’ve seen Messer Dotard get in, so now I must check … Why is this ugly old crow pacing back and forth around here? giannella: (Aside) Damn it! I’m dying of cold and the master is inside enjoying himself. rinuccio: (Aside) By God, it’s Giannella guarding the holy sepulchre. Just you wait. giannella: (Aside) And I’m going to be here for a while. (Rinuccio attacks him) Oh my God! Oh me! It’s not me! rinuccio: On guard, you scoundrel! giannella: Mercy! I give up! At your service! (Exits fleeing) rinuccio: He has abandoned the field and dropped his dagger. By God, the attendant is as good at arms as his master must be in bed. What’s that? Yes, it’s a towel at the window! Madonna Agnola has decked the window as if it were a feast-day. Out with the crowbar! (He pries the door open) There! I’ve opened it. The day is ours! Into the fray! The enemy is beaten! Scene vi giorgetto, alone giorgetto: While the master is doing hand-to-hand combat on the old man’s field, I’m going to stand on guard so that he’s not suddenly attacked by Messer Rinuccio coming back empty-handed from the old man’s house. He’s gone there looking for a good time, but he won’t find it, and so he’ll soon be coming back this way. He won’t like it, but he’ll have to accept it. Now my master has seen my worth. I’ve shut up Messer Dotard in the courtyard and put his wife to bed with my master. It was dark in there, so I couldn’t see much, but I did hear enough. If need be, I can vouch that he’s come to know her very well. And, you know, all it took was a few words and a lot of good deeds. Madonna Oretta will note that sleeping with Messer Giulio is not like sleeping with her old baboon, who probably keeps a calendar by his bedside and, like Messer Ricciardo da Chinzica, considers every day a day of abstinence.25 But my master, instead, has lost this calendar, and so for this

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once they’ll be able to say: ‘What a nice spread! Let’s stuff ourselves!’ Why am I saying ‘for this once?’ Is this going to be their one and only night together? I could say this to the old man: even if he were to get the devil himself to help him keep his wife faithful to him, these two young ones are going to put more horns on him than the goddess Artemis ever put on her husband Actaeon when she turned him into a stag.26 After having had a diet of meagre helpings, do you think she’ll want to go back to them, now that she has tasted plenty? Will she stand there with her hands clasped and her mouth shut? If that’s what you think, you’re a bigger fool than this old goat who’s getting horns three levels high. And all the time he’s shut up in the courtyard, hooting like an owl as best he can, like a horned owl! I nearly died laughing when I heard him singing so sweetly in the key of ‘whooo.’ And he was giving it all he had! Scene vii giannella and giorgetto giannella: (Aside) For the life of me! I’ve run so much I’m about to drop dead. giorgetto: (Aside) By God! He’s out. He must have pried the door open. giannella: (Aside) It’s going to take me months to pull myself together again. (Begins to search around on the ground) giorgetto: (Aside) Is that him? No, it’s not! What do you know, it’s crazy old Giannella. What the devil is he looking for on the ground? giannella: (Aside) Oh God, if only I could find my dagger again. giorgetto: Hey, what are you looking for over there? giannella: Oh no! Don’t beat me up! It’s not me! giorgetto: Come here, you ass. Do I look like I want to beat you up? What are you looking for? giannella: My dagger. I dropped it somewhere around here a short time ago. giorgetto: What kind of soldier are you? From the time of Bartolomeo Colleoni, a hundred years ago?27 You big chicken! You would make a good meal for a wolf, you would. giannella: I dropped it when I was attacked by more than 150 people. giorgetto: Get away from here! (Giannella misinterprets and starts to run away) Where are you running? Coward! He’s already out of sight. Messer Rinuccio is certainly taking his time coming back. Either he’s

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not in the house, or he can’t get out. But the bolt is unhinged, so he must be inside. If he’s there, let him stay there. But just to make sure that he doesn’t come out, I’ll lock him up. (Bolts the door shut from the outside) And now I’ll be off to the brothel. There’s no reason why these young scoundrels should be the only ones to enjoy Carnival time tonight. All this hustle and bustle stirred up somebody who had been asleep too long. (Exit) Scene viii giannella, alone giannella: Dagger, sheath, everything is gone. Devil take the master, his loves, and anyone who’s on his side. I’ve had a bad time of it and nearly got myself hacked to pieces. What’s that? Sounded like the signal! Oh God! It is! Wouldn’t you know it, the master needs my help just when I don’t have any weapons. What will I do? If only I had the key to the house! They’re getting louder. The poor man! (Calling out towards the source of the signal) Ask God to help you; I for one can’t do anything for you now. What’s that? Sounds like a whole troop of men running towards here. I’m going to get another beating. Scene ix messer ambrogio and giannella ambrogio: (Aside) Oy, oy, oy, oh me! Home, home. giannella: (Aside) It’s the master! Now I’m in trouble. (To Ambrogio) My dear master, what’s wrong with you? ambrogio: Oh me, Giannella. Oy, oy, oy. I’m freezing to death. giannella: What happened to you? ambrogio: The hell with everybody, men or women! Oy, oy, oy. I’m sure I’ve caught a cold. (Sneezes loudly several times) giannella: Just listen to that. You’ve caught a bad one, alright. Were you not in bed with Madonna Anfrosina? ambrogio: God damn her, that viper! In the courtyard, all night long, to catch a cold, that’s where she put me. Oy, oy, oy. With all the time in the world to hoot like an owl for you, and a dead duck too, and croak, for all the help you were. Oy, oy, oy. giannella: Eh, master, we each had our troubles tonight. I was at-

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tacked by more than 300 armed men who surrounded me and beat me up badly. I feel like a sieve. You want to know something else? I dropped your dagger in that scuffle. ambrogio: You lost it? giannella: No sir, I believe those men took it with them. ambrogio: Get away, you and the pox. Ruin doesn’t want misery. I’ve ruined and broken my dagger, too, trying to pry open the lock on the courtyard door. But it saved me. If I had not been able to click that lock I would be frozen solid by now, thanks to that snake. If I survive this, I’m going to take my revenge. If nothing else, I’ll see to it they lose that lawsuit I’m defending for them. Oy, oy, oy. giannella: That’s it! To be honest, master, I would like us to forget this business of going out at night to meet women. Let me just guard the front door, from inside the house, and keep it locked. Then you’ll see, I’ll be a raging bull, another Morgante furioso.28 ambrogio: I’ve had to learn at my own expense. (Noticing that the bolt of his front door has been tampered with) Oh my! This bolt has been tampered with! That’s it! I’m done for! This door has been opened. Men have come into the house. Oh no! giannella: How did they get in? You had the key. ambrogio: Oh no! Somebody’s been here and he had a big tool!29 Poor Ambrogio, in your old age … giannella: Maybe it’s not as bad as you think. ambrogio: When it’s a question of honour, life itself is brought into question. Giannella, stay here and lock the door from the outside so that no one can get out. (He enters into the house) giannella: Be careful nothing happens to you. (He bolts the door shut) There, this way I’m safe because no matter who comes he’s not getting out without first breaking down the door. Just look at the mess we’re in tonight, and all for wanting to be with women. Doesn’t the master have a nice one at home? At night, in the dark, they’re all the same after all. I must be strong now, I hear someone coming down the stairs. Just you wait, you scoundrel, you’ve got a surprise waiting for you. Scene x messer ambrogio and giannella ambrogio: (From inside) Giannella, open up, open up quickly. giannella: Who are you? What’s your name?

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ambrogio: (From inside) Messer Ambrogio. giannella: Easy now, I don’t believe you. Give me a sign. ambrogio: (From inside) Your dagger has been stolen. giannella: That’s not enough for me. What signal were you supposed to give me? ambrogio: (From inside) Whooo, whooo, whooo. giannella: That’s it! Now I know it’s you. (Opens the door) ambrogio: (Coming out of the house) Good heavens! What a world! Could I have heard right? Poor Ambrogio! Everything you ever feared is now smacking you right in the face. giannella: What’s the matter? ambrogio: This, to me, eh? This, to me, eh? Oy, oy, oy. (Bending over in despair) giannella: Did the cold bring back your back pains? ambrogio: What am I to do? What about my honour? giannella: Force yourself to fart a bit. ambrogio: I want her brothers to see the wonderful honour she’s doing them and me when I’m not home. Letting her lover come to the house. Is that it? giannella: Hell! One could say you’ve been made a cuckold. ambrogio: I don’t know what kept me from going in there and slitting both their throats. Lock this door up! giannella: Where’s the key? ambrogio: How should I know? Bolt it shut, if you must! Anyway, there’s someone who knows how to unlock the door. Stay here and make sure no one comes out of the house. (Starts to leave) giannella: (Aside) I’ll be damned if I stay here. I’ll end up getting another beating, just like before. (He follows Ambrogio) ambrogio: (Turning around from a distance) Get back there, I tell you. giannella: I want to come with you. ambrogio: Get back there, if you know what’s good for you. giannella: I don’t want to stay there. If I got killed, everyone would say, ‘Serves him right.’ And I’d be the one to suffer. ambrogio: Everything is falling apart around me. Damn it all! (They both exit)

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ACT V Scene i madonna oretta and messer giulio oretta: Because his insanity, my jealousy, and your cunning have led me to do what I would never have done by myself, I can say nothing more than it must have been willed to be so by the One who can dispose of us as He will. And since we must not resist His will, I do not want to oppose it. Nevertheless, I beg of you, Messer Giulio, to consider the state in which I find myself and to come to my assistance, so that I may not lose in public what you have made me lose in private. giulio: Madonna Oretta, you can consider me the most disloyal lover that ever lived if I were not prepared to lay down my life to save your honour and your life. oretta: How are we going to manage if, by chance, the old man has come back home? Look, someone is opening the window. Who is that climbing out? giulio: Stay here, I’ll go see right away. Stay hidden. oretta: God spare me from this disgrace. Scene ii messer giulio, messer rinuccio, and madonna oretta giulio: Hey, hey there. rinuccio: Hey, hey there. giulio: Good God, it’s Messer Rinuccio. Hey there! rinuccio: Who’s there? giulio: Messer Rinuccio, it’s me! rinuccio: Oh, Messer Giulio! Have you seen Madonna Oretta? giulio: I realize you risked your life waiting for her at her house. But why did you stay there so long waiting for her? rinuccio: I’ll tell you in due time. But where is she now? giulio: Near here, why? rinuccio: I must talk to her. Let’s go and look for her. giulio: Here she is. Madame, come near, it’s Messer Rinuccio. oretta: (Coming out of hiding) Oh, Messer Rinuccio, good night.

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rinuccio: And a good night to you, Madonna. Are you so disguised in order to run away from your humble servant? oretta: Messer Rinuccio, had I suspected this was all a plot hatched by you and Messer Giulio, I never would have set foot outside my house, and you would never have come in. But, with God’s will, we’re here and all has turned out for the best. But why did you climb out of the window? rinuccio: Because of your husband. He came back home and found the door unbolted, heard me in the bedroom with your sister, and, thinking that I was with you, he went back out and locked the door. I think he has gone over to your brother’s house. oretta: Oh no! I’m ruined! What am I to do? (Cries) rinuccio: Madonna Oretta, don’t cry, don’t worry, be happy instead. Let me be in your good graces because your sister and I have found a way out of this. oretta: What way out? rinuccio: Come with me and let me open the door. What a miracle it’s not bolted. Go inside and do what Madonna Violante tells you. Don’t worry. oretta: I beg you, for the love of God. giulio: Madonna, think positively. Before anyone can upset you, he will have to step over my dead body, and Messer Rinuccio’s, too. And nothing will harm us as long as we’re in your good graces. oretta: Messer Giulio, Messer Rinuccio, I think it’s impossible, but if I escape from this present misfortune with my family in peace, I’ll always be yours as I am now. rinuccio: How I love to hear that! oretta: I’m yours, and I entrust myself to you. giulio: We’re your servants and bow to your wishes. (He bows gallantly) rinuccio: Enough of that! There’ll be time for ceremonies and conversations later. In the meantime, you’d better go inside. oretta: Good night. (Exit) rinuccio: (To Oretta as she closes the door) Bolt the door from the inside. giulio: Messer Rinuccio, the time has come to risk life and limb to save this woman. rinuccio: Don’t worry, Messer Giulio, no one is going to harm a hair on her head. (Leading him towards the front door of their own house) Let’s stay here by our front door and wait for the old man. If you don’t get a good laugh out of this, tomorrow morning I’ll buy you a glass of Greek wine.

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giulio: If I didn’t know you for a wise and careful fellow, I’d laugh at you right now, seeing what our situation is and hearing what you’re saying. rinuccio: You don’t need to doubt me. giulio: You’re right, no need to doubt – the danger is certain. One doubts only when there’s uncertainty. rinuccio: Last night was my time for doubting, being led around by the nose like that! But I’m not complaining. I’ve had more good luck than good sense. Messer Giulio, while we’re on the subject, why don’t you tell me how it all came about, so that I’ll know better next time? I might not always land on my feet, you know. And I promise you right now to tell you a story afterwards that will be just as good. This way we’ll pass the time until the old man gets back. giulio: You won’t get mad at me if I tell you the truth? rinuccio: Tell me the truth and I won’t get mad. From this very moment I forgive you everything. Fair enough? giulio: Well, the truth is this: ever since I came to Pisa I’ve been in love with Madonna Oretta. I didn’t tell you because I thought that because you had confided to me your love for her, I would be doing you a disservice and damaging myself if I told you of mine. I made several attempts to see her in private, but since none of them worked out I was quite desperate. rinuccio: What do you know! The whole time I was trusting the wrong person.30 giulio: I was never as desperate as yesterday, when I saw just how easily and quickly you were about to get your way with her. rinuccio: Then why did you give me such good advice and figure out such an easy way for me to carry out my intentions? giulio: Because you asked me for advice as a friend and I would sooner help you, to my own disadvantage and against my own heart, than fail in my duties of friendship. rinuccio: I always thought you were trustworthy, but this time you win the palm for extreme loyalty. giulio: Finding myself in this difficulty, I solved the problem by turning the entire situation over to my servant Giorgetto. As you know, I confide all my secrets to him. Later on, I was standing by the garden gate, not even thinking about what I had told him. I was disguised as a maid, waiting for the old man to arrive – and he came, too, just as he had been told to do. rinuccio: I saw him arrive, myself. How did you manage to lock him up in the courtyard?

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giulio: After I led him inside and bolted the door to keep him from getting back out, I said to him: ‘Messer Ambrogio, we’re done for! Messer Rinuccio and Messer Giulio have come back and are in the house!’ When the old man heard this, he began to shake like a leaf. I tried to reassure him by saying: ‘They’re giving orders for going out again. Wait for me here. As soon as they’re gone I’ll come back for you.’ rinuccio: You said all this and he didn’t recognize you? giulio: I disguised my voice to sound like a woman’s. Besides, he doesn’t know me except for having seen me with you. I don’t think I ever spoke to him. Besides, when he arrived he was already half out of his wits with love. Then, when I told him we were home, he went completely out of his mind with fear. So I left him locked up in the courtyard. rinuccio: This story is better than Boccaccio’s tale of Messer Rinieri, who was left out all night in the snow by his mistress.31 giulio: As soon as I locked the door, Giorgetto came towards me, all smiles, and said: ‘Messer Giulio, take your clothes off right away and go into the bedroom. Madonna Oretta is waiting for you there.’ I said to him: ‘You, of all people, shouldn’t try to make me feel worse than I already do.’ But he said: ‘By God! I’ve just led her there for you. Go into the bedroom with her, but try to look like the old man. See if you can tame her with more than just sweet words.’ rinuccio: Isn’t that something? giulio: I took off the maid’s clothing I had on and went in, not sure if it was all a joke or not. No sooner was I inside than someone threw her arms around my neck. rinuccio: All this must have happened in the dark. giulio: That’s right, in the dark. After that I touched her face, which I found to be very delicate. Well, then I wanted to get right down to business, so, half dressed and half undressed, we went over to the bed. I was really confused. She spoke so softly, so as not to be recognized, that I couldn’t understand her. I wasn’t sure if it was Madonna Oretta or not. I was more inclined to think it was some other woman Giorgetto had brought me. I didn’t dare ask her: ‘Who are you?’ It could well have been Madonna Oretta, I kept telling myself, but I didn’t want to raise my voice, because I didn’t want her to know who I was either. rinuccio: Tell me the truth now, how is the merchandise, seeing that you’ve tried it out? giulio: Excellent! We can consider ourselves lucky. If we weather the present storm, there will be enough for you, too.

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rinuccio: Damn you, I tell you, I could … Well, I have nothing to complain about, either. giulio: Nor will you complain when you hear that the merchandise will be registered as mutually owned. I’ve looked after your interests, as well. As it is, if for the moment I’ve had the greater share, next time you’ll just take more and we’ll be even. rinuccio: I don’t think we will need arbitrators in this dispute. Go on with your story. giulio: After I had been with her for a while and the mortal thrusts had been dealt, thinking that I was her husband … rinuccio: Yes, as if there’s no difference between her husband’s lovemaking and yours. Believe me, Messer Giulio, the women who don’t indulge either can’t find partners, or they just don’t see the pleasure in it. giulio: Could be. Still, I think she thought I was her husband all the time, because she came out with such a scolding, saying: ‘Is this what you do, you crazy old fool, eh? In the house you pass yourself off as the pestilence incarnate just so you can go out like a knight fresh and ready. Who do you think you’ve just enjoyed yourself with, you dirty old man? See if you recognize me! Who am I? Madonna Anfrosina or Oretta? I’ve had better hounds on your tail than you ever thought. Is this the business you had with the Commissioner? Is this the man I’ve been so faithful to? I should have gone out and found my pleasure elsewhere, as you did. Do you think I couldn’t find somebody to satisfy me?’ rinuccio: What a scolding! Is that when you determined it was really her? giulio: Yes, and after I had let her vent steam for a while, still holding her tight so that she wouldn’t get out from under me … rinuccio: You couldn’t have made her leave with a stick. giulio: Actually, she did want to get away. rinuccio: She wouldn’t have been the first woman to say she wasn’t hungry and then ended up eating enough supper for seven. giulio: I don’t know what she thought, but I do know this: that when I told her who I was and how much I loved her she tried to get out, first by trying to run away from me, and then by begging me to let her leave. But I didn’t want this to be our first and last time together, so I held her back and, thinking that you would soon return, I poured out such a sermon that it converted her to love both you and me with all her heart. After this, in peace and agreement,

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we started another assault while waiting for you to get here and laugh with us about your useless trip. Among other things, while we were together, we had the heavenly pleasure of listening to the old man in the courtyard constantly hooting like an owl. I don’t know what got into him. rinuccio: Who let him out, then? giulio: I don’t know how the devil he did it, but he poked around so much he eventually jumped the lock and got out, ruining all our fun. We immediately got up, got dressed, and came here to see if I could get her back into the house before the old man came home. But I wasn’t able to, and this worries me more than anything else. rinuccio: There’s nothing to worry about, believe me. Now listen to my story. I left the house and saw the towel at the window. I opened the door with the crowbar, went up to the bedroom, opened the door the same way, took off my clothes and went to bed. giulio: And found no one there. rinuccio: Easy now. I heard: ‘Who’s there?’ Trying to imitate her husband’s voice, I said: ‘Your Messer Ambrogio.’ And I lay down beside the young woman I thought was Madonna Oretta. giulio: Who was she? rinuccio: Madonna Oretta’s sister. She told me she had come to spend the night with her sister, so as to make it easier to go to the convent tomorrow morning to see a comedy, I don’t know which. giulio: What was she doing in Oretta’s bed? rinuccio: I’ll tell you. Madonna Oretta had to come away at my mother’s bidding, or so she thought, to catch her husband in the act. Now I realize that it was at Giorgetto’s bidding, who was taking her away from me and giving her to you. They have a three-year-old boy, who is their only child and sleeps in the same bed. So, because Madonna Oretta had to leave and she didn’t want the child to be left alone, she let her sister sleep in that bed to take care of the child. giulio: She, too, must have had a good night. I think she must have needed it as much as Madonna Oretta, because her husband looks to be as worthy a knight as Messer Ambrogio. rinuccio: I have no doubt. Now, thinking her to be Madonna Oretta, I rolled over near her and started to express my intention to consummate the marriage. A bit on the shy side, she started to move away saying: ‘Please, Messer Ambrogio, don’t do that, I don’t want to.’ And so, with this ‘don’t do’ and ‘don’t want’ she ended up wanting, doing, and redoing.

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giulio: Good for you! But are you trying to tell me she thought you were Messer Ambrogio? rinuccio: Yes, she said so herself. She put up with it so that he wouldn’t realize she wasn’t Madonna Oretta. I believe this because she spoke very softly. Actually, she confessed to me that she was surprised to see the old man so virile. giulio: Where did she think Madonna Oretta was? rinuccio: She thought that, on the excuse of going to catch the old man, Madonna Oretta had gone elsewhere to enjoy Carnival time. After I had been with her for some time and thought I had tamed her enough, I told her a few gallant things, saying: ‘The love I have borne and still bear for you, Madonna Oretta, has brought me here. I’m your Rinuccio Gualandi.’ That was the gist of it. But I got the opposite reaction from yours, Messer Giulio. While your woman wanted to run away from you the moment you revealed who you were, my woman embraced me even more the moment she heard who I was. giulio: That was a much better sign. rinuccio: And embracing me tightly, she said: ‘Messer Rinuccio, for several months the fear of slander has kept me from showing you the love I have borne and still bear for you. But now that the occasion has arrived, against all my hopes and yours, I will not disadvantage myself. I am not Madonna Oretta, as you think, but Violante, her sister and your servant.’ And so on. Then, after that beautiful speech, she ended up by saying she couldn’t go on without me. giulio: What more could you ask for? rinuccio: Now you understand what prevented my return. After I discovered who she was and she discovered who I was, I found this merchandise to be to my taste and did not care to search for better. I would have stayed there till morning if the old man’s arrival hadn’t disturbed us. When he locked us up in the house I had to improvise some window-climbing skills. Ah, what’s this light I see? It’s the old man, by God, with our lady’s brother. Let’s keep quiet and hide over here so they won’t see us. (They hide) Scene iii messer ambrogio, uguccione, and giannella with a lit torch ambrogio: I disguised myself like this to catch them in the act. Then,

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after I caught my prey, I came to you. Uguccione, I want you to see with your very own eyes her deeds and the fine honour she does you and me. uguccione: I can’t say anything until I’ve seen and heard the other side of the story. ambrogio: You’ll see them both, him and her, if they haven’t already escaped. (To Giannella) Giannella, go open the door. (To Uguccione) I wouldn’t want you to do otherwise. giannella: (Finding the door locked) Master, I can’t open it. They’ve shut themselves in. ambrogio: They’ve realized I’m back. It won’t do them any good. Knock! I’ll get in if I have to climb in through the window or break down the door. Knock again, harder! Scene iv madonna agnola, servant, messer ambrogio, uguccione, and gianella agnola: (At the window) Who’s there? ambrogio: Can’t you see, you old whore? agnola: (At the window) You must be a bunch of drunkards. Go wear off your wine elsewhere, scram. ambrogio: If I get into the house I’ll give you the wine you deserve. giannella: Open up, Agnola, it’s me, Giannella! agnola: (At the window) Go entertain the girls in the brothel with your tricks and disguises. Leave decent people in peace. If the master were home, if only … ambrogio: (Looking around for a stone to throw at her) Where’s a stone around here? uguccione: (To Ambrogio) Don’t do anything foolish, she’s in the right. (To Agnola) Open up, Agnola, it’s me, Uguccione, Madonna Oretta’s brother. agnola: (At the window) Oh, Uguccione, forgive me, I didn’t recognize you. I’ll be right down. (Withdraws from the window) uguccione: (To Ambrogio) There, see how a few good words fix everything up? giannella: She’s drawing back the bolt. (To Ambrogio) This is it! (Forcing the door open with his shoulder) Inside! Inside! ambrogio: (Joining Giannella in forcing the door open) Inside! Inside!

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agnola: (From inside, as she is caught in Ambrogio and Giannella’s onslaught) What now! What’s going on? uguccione: (Restraining Giannella) Get away from here, you fool. Stay there with this torch and don’t move. (To Ambrogio) You, sir, stay there and don’t do anything violent. (To Agnola, who has bolted the door shut again) Agnola, open up, open up, don’t worry. agnola: (Coming out) What drunkards! Just look at them. uguccione: Good evening. Where is Oretta? agnola: Upstairs, sewing. (She locks the door behind her) ambrogio: She must be using a rather big needle. uguccione: (To Ambrogio) Oh, keep quiet, if you can. (To Agnola) Let me speak to her. agnola: Messer Uguccione, you must understand. When the master is away, he doesn’t allow us to let anyone in. giannella: Here’s the master. agnola: What master? This is some prankster. ambrogio: Who in heaven’s name do you think you’re looking at? agnola: I’m not going to argue with wine. ambrogio: I’m going to have to break this door down. uguccione: Calm down, you are too rough! You give orders for your servants not to let anyone in and then you think it strange when they obey them. Scene v madonna oretta, messer ambrogio, and uguccione oretta: (At the window) Who is down there? Oh, it’s you brother. Welcome. ambrogio: There she is, Uguccione, the respectable woman. oretta: (At the window) Who is that clown? ambrogio: You really took me for a clown, didn’t you, and gave me the dunce’s cap, you wretch. Where’s the boyfriend you had in the bedroom with you just a little while ago? oretta: (At the window) Oh, is that you, Messer Ambrogio, my dear husband? Thank God, tonight my brother will see just who he’s married me off to. The boyfriend is upstairs, in the house. Come, Fabio, let’s go downstairs. (She withdraws from the window)

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Scene vi madonna oretta, madonna violante dressed as a man, messer ambrogio, uguccione, and giannella oretta: (Coming out of the house) Come Fabio. (To Ambrogio) Here he is. Is this the man? violante: (Dressed in male attire) What’s the matter, you crazy old fool? ambrogio: You’re the matter, may you go to hell, you wicked young scoundrel! What are you doing in my house? violante: Ah, my gallant lover, just the same thing you wanted to do in the house of Madonna Anfrosina de’ Gualandi, all decked out in your crazy outfit! giannella: (Aside) What the devil! It’s all coming out in the open. ambrogio: (To Violante) I won’t have anything to do with you. (To Uguccione) I turn to you, Uguccione. Look here, wasn’t I right? Here’s your sister’s lover. Isn’t she quite shameless, flaunting him like this in front of us? Look and see for yourself the type of woman she is. oretta: My dear brother, since he’s showing you who I am, I’ll show you who he is. This valiant man, at his age and in his position, should be a mirror of virtue for all of Pisa. Instead, he goes and falls in love here and there and stays out all night dressed up like that. I could no longer put up with his antics, so tonight, knowing he was to go to a lady’s house, I sent for this lover of mine. I arranged it so that when he returned home he would hear me in the bedroom with him and then, mad with rage, he’d come running to you of his own accord dressed up like this, in the outfit he wears on his foolish escapades. I wanted you to see with your own eyes because I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you. Now you see how he treats me. And now I’ll show you who this lover of mine really is. (To Violante) Here, give me your beard. (Back to Uguccione) See whether you recognize our sister. (To Ambrogio) Do you see, now, who my lover is, you learned doctor of laws? giannella: By God, it’s Madonna Violante! uguccione: Messer Ambrogio, things look quite different from what you were telling me. You’re the malefactor meriting the punishment. You should be ashamed of yourself, you doting old fool. ambrogio: I know I heard the bed creak and a lot of heavy breathing. violante: It took a lot of effort to set everything up to fool you like this. If my sister had listened to me, I would have chastised you in

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quite a different way. (To Uguccione) My dear brother, now it’s your turn to make sure that our poor unfortunate sister is no longer tormented by this slobbering old man. ambrogio: (Pointing to Giannella) This man here is a reliable witness. oretta: Fine with me, let him be a witness. (To Giannella) Now, Giannella, tell me: did you see anyone come into the house? giannella: Not me, I didn’t, Madonna, not at all. oretta: Do you not stand here, day and night, guarding the door? giannella: Why, yes, Madonna, I do, and I wouldn’t let anyone come in. ambrogio: Didn’t I come back and find the door unbolted? Didn’t I go upstairs and find someone in the bedroom with her? giannella: Master, I think the door was the way you left it. Remember how you wouldn’t let me shut it? And I didn’t see anyone in the house. violante: And if you heard anything, you heard me. What am I? Some sort of beast? ambrogio: So, then, everyone is against me. What’s going on here? oretta: (To Ambrogio) Calm down. (To Giannella) Now, Giannella, tell me: did you go tonight, dressed up like this to accompany my husband to some lady’s house? giannella: (To Ambrogio) Master, should I tell her? I really don’t want to lie because it’s a sin. (To Oretta) Yes sir, I mean, yes Madonna. And we were badly dealt with, too. I was beaten up and he was shut up all night in a courtyard, outside. violante: God bless her! She gave him what he deserved. What do you think about this, Uguccione? Who has the right to complain and raise his temper? Him or this unfortunate woman? (Oretta begins to cry) Yes, cry, let it out, you poor thing. The first girl who wants to marry an old man should be strung up by the neck. Old men are like the gardener’s dog: it never eats the lettuce nor lets anyone else eat it. uguccione: I am so mad I can hardly speak. Why … you old loaf … if I get my … (Steps threateningly towards Ambrogio) oretta: (Stepping between the two men) Please, Uguccione, forgive him, for my sake. violante: No, not at all. (To Uguccione) Fix him, once and for all. That will teach him to slander respectable women. uguccione: (To Oretta) Get your clothes and things right away and come with me. (The women go inside)

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ambrogio: My dear brother-in-law … uguccione: Get away from me, you scoundrel. Scene vii messer rinuccio, messer giulio, uguccione, messer ambrogio, and giannella rinuccio: (Aside to Messer Giulio) It’s time for us to help the old man out. (Stepping out from their hiding place) Good evening Messer Uguccione; what is going on here? uguccione: Messer Rinuccio, (To Giulio) Messer. (To Rinuccio) Nothing much. (To Ambrogio) Go inside, you. ambrogio: My dear Messer Rinuccio … rinuccio: (To Uguccione) Who is this fellow in costume? (To Ambrogio) Is that you, Messer Ambrogio? ambrogio: I wish it weren’t. giulio: A man of your position, dressed up like this? That’s quite something. ambrogio: The Devil blinded me. Messer Rinuccio, for the love of God, I need your help with my brother-in-law. Because of a silly mistake I made, he now wants to see me dead. rinuccio: Messer Uguccione, one should not hold a grudge against a relative. uguccione: This scoundrel has the gall to ask others to help him out? rinuccio: He can count on me for that and much more. (To Ambrogio and Giannella) Go in the house, the two of you. It’s not proper for you to be out, dressed like this, at this hour, and especially not here in Pisa. (To Ambrogio and Uguccione) If you wish, I will listen to what you have to say and see to it that whoever is in the wrong fixes everything and that past insults are forgotten. From now on, live in peace as family members should. giannella: A good education is such a wonderful thing! uguccione: You can count on me, as long as he treats what is mine as he ought to. rinuccio: It’s his duty to do so. Please, go inside. (Uguccione enters the house) ambrogio: Oh, my son, God bless you! You are a godsend. I’m completely in your hands. giulio: (Aside) That’s it! We’ve got him.

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rinuccio: Go inside, and don’t worry. I’ll see to it that everyone will be completely satisfied and happy. (Ambrogio enters the house) You come inside, too, Messer Giulio. (Enters the house) giulio: Gladly. (Seeing Giorgetto) Here comes Giorgetto. (To Giannella) Giannella, you can go in and put out the torch. giannella: I was waiting to follow you and light your way. giulio: No, no, thank you. You can go in and look after your things. Leave the door open for me and that will be enough. (Giannella enters the house) Scene viii giorgetto and messer giulio giorgetto: (Aside) That was him, after all. What was he doing there with a torch? giulio: Giorgetto, you’re the best in the world! If I wanted to reward you according to your merit … giorgetto: No need for compliments, master. Working for you is enough reward for me. So, how did things work out? giulio: Thanks to you, I got all I ever wanted, and more. I, myself, couldn’t have wished for half the things I received. But come with me, now, to Messer Ambrogio’s house. Messer Rinuccio is already there. You’ll see and hear what bliss he and I have found. giorgetto: Is it all right to go into the old man’s house? giulio: Perfectly, totally all right. giorgetto: And Giannella? And the door bolt? giulio: Everything is off. The old man is like the farmer who lost his bulls and, instead of closing the barn door, left it wide open. See for yourself. Messer Rinuccio is now busy arbitrating between Madonna Oretta, her husband, and her brother. If all goes well, I’ll be their witness. giorgetto: What’s their argument? giulio: Whatever their argument, this will be the settlement: Messer Ambrogio must no longer be jealous of his wife, he must remove the bolt from the front door and Giannella from the entrance. He must swear that he has the most faithful wife in all of Pisa, and he must allow her to go and stay wherever she pleases without spying on her. But it will be enough if he just lets Madonna Agnola look after her. giorgetto: Anything else? giulio: He must ask Uguccione, Madonna Oretta, and her sister

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Violante for forgiveness. Messer Rinuccio and I will serve as godparents for the first child the old man will have, which, if I’m not wrong, will be in exactly nine months. giorgetto: You’ll be godparents the Roman way, eh?32 I’ve heard enough. By God, if Pisa had enough donkeys like Ambrogio she could use their fat to make better candles than those they make in Arezzo. 33 giulio: You’ve heard nothing yet. Come into the house, if you really want to have a good laugh. (Enters the house) giorgetto: Let’s go. (To the audience) Well, friends, you can tell any old man who wants to take a young wife that he should seek Messer Ambrogio’s advice. This way, if he makes the first mistake by taking her, he won’t make the second one by being jealous of her. In the end, it will all turn out the same and the poor man will end up with the same problem. (He gestures to indicate horns) If you liked our comedy, show us your pleasure and thank Love, who makes us do these sorts of things at night in the dark. THE END Notes

1 La Brigata dei Monsignori e dei Fantastichi, to which Giovan Maria Cecchi belonged, was the name of the group presenting the play. It seems that The Horned Owl marked a comeback for the Monsignori, who had been idle for a period. During Carnival time, companies such as this one often presented plays that on occasion were written by one of their number. 2 Catastrophic events, such as natural disasters, or man-made calamities, such as wars, raids, sieges and sacks, were often crucial elements of the antefactum of sixteenth-century comedies. During the course of the play characters would discover that they were somehow related to one another – and fathers would find long-lost children, twins long separated would be reunited, and so forth. The Sack of Rome (1527) or the Siege of Florence (1529–30), both carried out by Spanish-German imperial troops, were often used as catalysts for the action of a comedy, as were also any of the innumerable Turkish raids on Italian coastal towns or seafaring vessels. 3 The reference is obscure. 4 In the Florentine judicial system, the Commissioner’s Court oversaw civil matters, while the Provisioner’s Court was in charge of economic matters.

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5 Because Messer Ambrogio has a doctorate in law, throughout the play he is referred to as ‘dottore.’ In English, however, this title is not used for lawyers, so in translating it I have used a variety of other words, as appropriate to the situation: ‘lawyer,’ ‘husband,’ and so on. The reader should keep in mind that in the play the title ‘dottore’ is often used for comic and derisory effect, much as it would be in the commedia dell’arte that became the rage in the second half of the sixteenth century. 6 ‘Money does everything’ or, as we would say today, ‘money opens every door.’ Giorgetto’s original ‘Argiens fa il tott’ is a humorous mix of French and Italian. 7 As early as Dante (Purg. XIII.151) and as late as today, the Florentines consider the Sienese crazy. 8 The name and the characterization are drawn from Boccaccio, Decameron, V.10. 9 The preceding passage was a series of sexual double entendres levelled against friars and nuns. 10 The Florentine scudo or ducat, which would have been standard currency in Pisa at that time, was a gold coin worth seven lire. It was the highest denomination available and was generally used for large business transactions. 11 A grosso was a silver coin used for small, everyday transactions. 12 Verdiana is wearing the habit of a tertiary, that is, of a lay sister of a religious order (probably Franciscan, Dominican, or Augustinian). 13 At the time, the recipient of a letter was expected to tip the letter carrier, so Ambrogio sees it as ‘postage.’ 14 Madonna Apollonia is a proverbial name for bawds. 15 On a saint’s feast day, the devout visit the shrine or the church of that saint in order to offer their devotions. Madonna Verdiana has apparently reached an agreement with Messer Ambrogio whereby she is to perform such devotions on his behalf. 16 ‘Welcome.’ Messer Ambrogio is making a show of his formal education by greeting the university student in Latin, the language of all academic discourse and research at the time. 17 The tip or fee. 18 Ariosto, Orlando furioso, XXVII, 66. Gradasso, the impetuous king of Sericane, insisted that Ruggiero should step back and let him fight against Mandricardo, king of Tartary. 19 The street along the bank of the Arno River. 20 The statement is somewhat confusing; it contradicts the presence of a three-year-old son (see V.ii) and paints Oretta as a sex-hungry wife. Perhaps

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Violante is simply using hyperbole (a few months equalling a few years) and expressing Oretta’s wish that her husband might be more sexually interested in her. Just as ‘every labour deserves a reward,’ so ‘every reward presupposes a labour.’ The call seems to be a series of nonsense syllables, though it does seem to recall the French ‘Hallo! Qui est là?’ A corruption of the Spanish ‘Quien es allà’ (Who goes there?). The phrase must have been very common in Florence and its subject towns after the Imperial Spanish troops that captured the city in 1530 stayed behind to support the newly re-established Medici rulers. Some editions of the play give the date as ’23, but I prefer to follow Nino Borsellino’s correction to ’32 on the grounds that it makes much more sense historically (on 1 May 1532 Emperor Charles V appointed Alessandro de’ Medici (1510–37) duke of Florence with right of male primogeniture and gave him his own illegitimate daughter, Margaret of Austria (1522–86), as wife (because of her youth, they were not married till 1536). The political alliance between Florence and Spain was thus reconfirmed and reinforced by a marriage connection between the Medici and the Spanish Hapsburgs. In medieval and Renaissance Italy, the podestà served as chief of police and dispenser of justice. Because of the sensitive nature of local politics, the position was generally filled by an outsider. Forlimpopoli is a small town located northeast of Florence, on the other side of the Apennines, in the lowlands of the Romagna, halfway between Forlì and Cesena, and 25 km from the Adriatic. In the sixteenth century it was a papal fief in the hands of the Zampeschi family. Ricciardo da Chinzica is a character from Boccaccio, Decameron, II.10. More interested in boys than in his wife, Ricciardo kept a calendar that registered every day as a feast-day and, therefore, on the excuse of respecting the sanctity of the day, was able to avoid having sex with his wife. One version of the Actaeon myth says that he was changed into a stag by the goddess Artemis for boasting that he wished to marry her (hence Giorgetto’s use of the term ‘husband’). The more common account has him suffer the same fate for having seen the goddess bathing nude. Horns are a traditional symbol of the cuckolded husband. Bartolomeo Colleoni was a famous condottiere (a freelance captain with his own troops) of the fifteenth century. A magnificent bronze equestrian statue by Andrea Verrocchio, made in the 1480s, stands to this day in Venice in the Campo dei Santi Giovanni e Paolo. In his confusion and ignorance, Giannella blends together Morgante, the

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 giant in Luigi Pulci’s epic poem of the same name, and Orlando from Ariosto’s Orlando furioso. The original Italian reads: ‘Somebody has been here and he has had too much key.’ Ambrogio’s comment thus answers Giannella’s question about the key, but also puns on the Italian vulgar term for intercourse, chiavare (to key). The original reads: ‘I was as trusting as Giorgio Scala’; the reference is obscure. Rinieri was a student who, in love with a widow, was left outside all night in the snow to cool his passion for her (Decameron, VIII.7). A similar tale is told by Giovanni Francesco Straparola in his Delectable Nights (Piacevoli notti), II, 1 about Filenio Sisterna, a student of Bologna. He proposes love to three married women who, after comparing notes, invite him, one by one, into their houses only to deceive him. The third has him drugged and then deposited into the street in his nightshirt, where he nearly freezes. The phrase ‘alla Romanesca’ may signify here an anticlerical jibe by suggesting that to sire a child illegitimately and then serve as its godparent is a fairly common practice among the high number of unmarried males living in Rome (most of them in the clergy or in orders). It is also a reference to the arrangements made at the end of Machiavelli’s The Mandragola. The city of Arezzo was famous for its high-quality candles.

ANTON FRANCESCO GRAZZINI (IL LASCA)

Frate Alberigo (Il frate)

Translation and Introduction by Bruno Ferraro

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Introduction to Frate Alberigo by Anton Francesco Grazzini Antonfrancesco Grazzini was born in the Via delle Caldaie in the Santo Spirito quarter of Florence on 22 March 1503. His father, Grazzino d’Antonio, was a notary. There is very scanty information about Grazzini’s education and professional occupation – some critics argue that he was trained as a pharmacist. According to Ciasca,1 the shop with which he was associated existed and was known by the name ‘Moro’ until the end of the nineteenth-century.2 Like another notary, his contemporary Giovanni Maria Cecchi, both the father’s practice and his own would have given him the chance to observe closely the behaviour and attitudes of his fellow citizens and to hear the richly flavoured popular expressions that he would reproduce in his works. Without any doubt, it is Grazzini’s fiorentinità that stands out, a man who, like Cecchi, boasted never to have travelled beyond sight of the cupola of the cathedral. Grazzini stresses continuously his adherence to the city he loved and described in detail on many an occasion. In several of his plays and short stories his characters move about the city as if they had maps in their hands, for they describe their movements both for the pleasure of the spectators and for the pleasures of the author’s own imagination. Insofar as we have no evidence of any formal schooling or training, we can deduce only that Grazzini was a self-taught man, and that his insights into the world of letters came from his association with a number of literati of the times and, at quite an early stage in his life, through membership in the Academy of the Umidi (the future Accademia Fiorentina), of which he was a founding member on 1 November 1540. He was particularly friendly with the leader of the Academy, Giovanni Mazzuoli, familiarly called Stradino after his birthplace, Strada. In keeping with the custom, he too chose for himself a name that was associated with water and dampness (umidi): Il lasca, ‘The Roach’ – which is a small fish.3 The Academy organized literary discussions and readings, and, despite his rather dissenting attitude and disinclination to comply with the many rules set by the members, it is through the Academy that Grazzini became involved in the literary debates of the time. He was particularly militant in the querelle regarding the Tuscan language; the ensuing battle saw Grazzini pitted against Pierfrancesco Giambullari. The latter had put forward in 1546 a theory about the origin of the Florentine language, namely, that it was derived not from Latin but from a Hebrew or Chaldean language once spoken in the region of Aram, and that it had been brought to Italy by the Etruscans. Giambullari and his followers were thus

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called Aramei, and they became synonymous with pedantic and conservative attitudes. Grazzini’s love for his language made him very protective of it; he saw the Aramei’s theory as a demeaning attack on the origin of the language and its present linguistic format. His attitudes and beliefs set him on a collision course with the Aramei that led eventually to his expulsion from the Academy in 1547; he was reinstated only in 1566. By then the Academy, known as the Florentine Academy, had come more directly under the control of the Medici family.4 It was during this period of twenty years – away from the direct influence of the academicians – that Grazzini came of age as a playwright, poet, and novelliere.5 He also promoted his love for the Florentine language and its literary potential by editing two volumes of Berni’s poetry (the first of which appeared in 1548, published by Giunti of Florence) and a collection of Burchiello’s poetry, published in 1552. To the latter work he added, in the name of Burchiello, a poem of his own through which he celebrates this character as the living embodiment of true Florentine spirit and wit, a spirit that was communicated through the language as well as the representation of typically Florentine customs and mannerisms. To those same ends, Grazzini also edited of a series of carnival songs (canti carnascialeschi), a popular genre that had been revived at the end of the fifteenth century under the rule of Lorenzo the Magnificent. Grazzini’s main concern was to preserve – through any genre – the colloquialism and colour of the Florentine language. It is no wonder then that, when the Accademia della Crusca was set up in 1582 and their first dictionary was published in 1612, a number of expressions and idioms were extracted from Grazzini’s works (an honour also accorded to the works of Cecchi).6 Because of his linguistic intransigence and rebellious spirit, the sale of Grazzini’s editions of Burchiello’s and Berni’s poetry was halted by the Academy at the instigation of the duke in 1559. Grazzini had no recourse but to compromise in order to free his editions from the embargo and to be reinstated in the Academy. No wonder he remained bitter towards all forms of censorship and authority and went about deriding their representatives through characters and themes in his plays and short stories as well as other more satirical and vitriolic compositions. It is in his large collection of Rime 7 that one can find the clearest traces of Grazzini’s character and literary attitudes, for he was not otherwise prone to make public declarations concerning his moral and poetic values. Nevertheless, there are certain telltale inconsistencies between what he formulates as attacks on traditions and conventions (e.g., in the prologues to his plays)8 and what he then adopts wholeheartedly within the body of the text. Grazzini did not condemn any particular human vice

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and never set himself up as a moral castigator, since he himself indulged in what he considered the good things in life: sex (he was well acquainted with the courtesans of his time and did not disdain homosexual relations) and good dining, for he was a gourmet and enjoyed a rather sedentary life, which allowed him to live until the ripe old age of eighty-one. Given this long life (Cecchi lived a fair span as well: 1518–87),9 Grazzini experienced some of the most significant events of the sixteenth century, documenting the passage of time in his usual sardonic and lighthearted manner, more colourfully than any chronicler or historian could have done. He died on 18 February 1584 and was buried in the church of San Piero Maggiore. The first of his plays to be performed was the farce, Il frate, staged by the newly founded Accademia degli Umidi at Epiphany in 1540–1.10 It was followed at ten-year intervals by La gelosia (1550–1) and La spiritata (1560–1). Il frate is based on a short story that Grazzini had completed in 1539, the year before the farce was performed.11 According to Bertone,12 this ‘long’ short story – which was not included in the Cene, and thus only a manuscript version survives – features Bartolomeo Avveduti as the protagonist. He is an old man married to the beautiful and young Ginevra, yet he covets other women; Ruberto, a young man in love with Ginevra, hatches a plan with the help of a few friends to conquer the woman and thereby mock Bartolomeo. The plot of the short story is much more complex than that of the farce and can be divided into two parts: Ruberto’s ‘serious’ love affair and Bartolomeo’s farcical attempt to conquer the courtesan Lucrezia, which leads in turn to his being cuckolded. The structure of the short story and the division of the plot is such that it could have been easily translated into a three-act farce; certainly, one can assume that in the year before the performance of Il frate, Lasca had already recognized the strengths of the theatre, particularly in its immediacy of action and the impact of its sometimes racy language – such as they are manifest in his own writing. We can assume – as is the case with all the early collections of short stories – that the tales comprising his Cene were composed over a period of time before being gathered within a narrative framing device in imitation of Boccaccio’s Decameron. That frame was not a catastrophic historical moment, however, like the Florentine plague of 1348 featured by his predecessor,13 despite the fact that he had witnessed the even more horrendous plague of 1527, which could have provided a fitting framework. As time progressed, Lasca – without abandoning his comic and farcical instincts – inserted into the short stories further references to his times; it suffices here to remember the tenth short story of the third supper in which

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both Burchiello (the representative of Florentine wit) and Lorenzo de’ Medici (in this case the symbol of power, both literary and political) make appearances.14 Given the diversity of his social allusions, abetted perhaps by the loss of some of his works, no consistent social vision emerges from his plays. Il frate is the only farce that has been preserved in its entirety; of the other farce that he wrote, La Monica, only the prologue has survived. Until 1769 Il frate was considered to be the work of Niccolò Machiavelli and was published in the edition of his plays with the title Commedia senza titolo.15 Only in the 1772 London edition of Machiavelli’s works was the farce given its correct title. Nevertheless, the original Commedia senza titolo reappeared as late as 1902 in Florence in the Sonzogno edition. While it was Giovanni Grazzini who cleared up the misunderstanding regarding Machiavelli, it was Arlia, who in 1886 definitely assigned the authorship of the farce to Lasca (although given the emphasis on the Florentine language, especially in the dialogues, the name of Francesco D’Ambra had also been put forward as the author). We know that Grazzini compiled a list of his own works in 1566 in which Il frate was included, even though it was not published in the only collection of his plays, namely, the 1582 Venetian edition containing La gelosia, La spiritata, La strega, La sibilla, La pinzochera, and I parentadi. Worth noting is that his last play, L’arzigogolo, is also missing. The 1582 edition will reappear further along in our discussion. We can only guess why Il frate was not published; Lasca, who was aware of the similarity of his play to Machiavelli’s (he even draws our attention to this in the prologue), would not have wanted to invite a comparison with his highly regarded compatriot. In the prologue, the Cazzuola company’s 1520 performance of The Mandragola is brought to memory. Admittedly, Grazzini’s farce is more streamlined: the plot and its resolution are less complex; there is an emphasis on action for its own sake; and the psyches and motivations of the characters are lightly sketched, in contrast to Machiavelli’s play, particularly in the scenes involving Fra’ Timoteo (III.ix; IV.vi; V.i). When Grazzini declares his intention of publishing his six plays, one can sense that he is aware of the need for contacts and financial means in order to carry out his project; hence, forty-two years would pass before the actual publication came about. Nevertheless, the spirit of organization that had gone into the writing of the plays and the satisfaction that he derived from them can still be sensed in the letter accompanying La strega:

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I have given birth to six daughters, that is, I have written six plays: of these two have been performed in Florence with great public success and accolades; the first, La gelosia, during the carnival of 1550, in the Pope’s suite; the second, La spiritata, was performed in the private residence of the illustrious Bernardetto de’ Medici during a banquet in honour of the very illustrious and magnificent Don Francesco, prince of Florence and Siena, and in the presence of his majesty, the Duke of Tuscany. Since I still have to provide for four of their sisters, which I have not been able to have performed as I had intended with the same honour as the other two, I have decided to print them in the hope that not all who had placed faith in me have grown old or are dead. Therefore, here you have, my beloved readers, La strega, which is the first to be printed after La gelosia and La spiritata, although it has never been performed. In the meantime, I’ll revise and correct La pinzochera and La medaglia or La sibilla. The last one is I parentadi. Once they are printed, they can be read and performed by anyone who wishes, as well as reprinted at will. Since I have done my duty and provided for them, I will not have to worry about them any longer.

From internal information given in the above letter, together with other documents at our disposal, we can conclude that Lasca did not deem Il frate worthy of inclusion in the 1582 edition; likewise, another farce, which is known by the title of La giostra, was never published as such but was ‘translated’ into L’arzigogolo, in keeping with Grazzini’s principles for the composition of comedy, and published for the first time in 1750.16 This is the complete picture of Lasca’s dramatic production, to which can be added another non-theatrical piece that testifies to his great interest in the theatre and its techniques. On the occasion of Francesco de’ Medici’s wedding with Joan of Austria on 31 December 1565, Francesco D’Ambra’s La cofanaria was performed with elaborate intermedi and apparatuses designed by G.B. Cini; their first description bore the title Descrizione dell’apparato e degli intermedi, with the addition of Descrizione dell’entrata di Giovanna d’Austria in 1566. But in the same year, there is added to D’Ambra’s text of La cofanaria a version of these intermedi signed by Lasca; this is rather significant, since he had repeatedly criticized as outdated the use of intermedi and other similar theatrical techniques. However, such a description testifies to his familiarity with the subject matter to which he objects. Lasca’s resentment of old forms and conventions will appear throughout the prologues of his plays, beginning as early as 1550 with the publication of La gelosia, and continuing in 1560 with La spiritata. In the prologue to La gelosia Lasca attacks those who are too faithful to the imitation of classical theatre and structure

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their plays around such techniques as ‘agnition’ (the discovery of the true identity of one of the protagonists which leads to the final dénouement of the play), but then contradicts himself by inserting four such ‘discoveries’ in I parentadi. In the prologue to La strega he maintains that, since Florence is neither Rome nor Athens, there should not be slaves or pirates intervening in the action of the play.

Notes 1 R. Ciasca, L’Arte dei medici e speziali nella storia e nel commercio fiorentino dal secolo XII al XV (Florence: Olschki, 1927), 323 (quoted in Rodini, Antonfrancesco Grazzini, 195n4). 2 The attribution of this profession to the playwright is disputed by Plaisance in ‘Espace et politique,’ 113. 3 According to Rodini (Antonfrancesco Grazzini, 197n22), Grazzini had used the name Lasca as early as 1536 in a letter to Bernardo Guasconi. When, forty years later, he became a founding member of the Accademia della Crusca, he retained the name. At this time, Grazzini also had a device depicting a roach snapping at a butterfly. 4 For greater insight into the Medici policy vis-à-vis the academies, see M. Plaisance, ‘Une première affirmation,’ 361–438. 5 His short stories, thirty in number (but only twenty-one in reality, since only the tenth story of the third supper survives), were collected into three Cene (‘Suppers’) and written – by Lasca’s own admission – in imitation of Boccaccio’s Decameron; in the original design ten ‘short’ short stories for the first supper were to be followed by ten of medium length for the second and, finally, ten ‘long’ short stories for the third supper. 6 It is no coincidence , therefore, that the most thorough studies of Cecchi’s language also refer to Lasca and Aretino; see U. Scoti-Bertinelli, Sullo stile delle commedie in prosa di G.M. Cecchi (Città del Castello: Lapi, 1906). 7 A.F. Grazzini, Rime, edited by C. Verzone (Firenze: Sansoni, 1882). 8 Rodini (Antonfrancesco Grazzini, 211n16), states: ‘It may be that Grazzini had ambivalent feelings about the necessity of the prologue. In an interesting discussion between the “Prologo” and “Argomento” which precedes the comedy, La Strega, Grazzini indicates that for plot summary it is almost worthless because it is usually the function of the early scenes of the play. The Prologo, on the other hand, points out that it provides a means by which the author can speak directly to the audience. Grazzini was probably reluctant to forgo the opportunity of speaking with his audience for, as

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Gentile points out, he is to be credited with introducing a double prologue, one addressed to the men, the other to the women in his audience (“Delle commedie di Anton Francesco Grazzini,” 58).’ 9 For further information on G.M. Cecchi see my introduction to L’Andazzo, i–xlviii, and to The Slave Girl, i–lii. 10 We learn from Plaisance (‘Espace et politique,’ 59n13) that Cosimo made sure that every year, on the occasion of the Carnival, a play was performed in the Palazzo della Signoria, in addition to those performed within the Academy and in private households. 11 Rodini, Antonfrancesco Grazzini, 212n3, states: ‘In fact, Giovanni Villani has claimed that the plot of Il Frate is actually drawn from an historical event which was well known to Grazzini’s contemporaries.’ See Vittorio Fabiani, Gente di chiesa nella commedia del Cinquecento, 2nd ed. (Florence, 1905), 52. 12 G. Bertone, ‘Strutture narrative e strutture teatrali nelle Cene del Lasca,’ 70–1. In this short story – as he will do on many other occasions – Lasca creates humour through punning and wordplay: Bartolomeo’ s surname is Avveduti, which means ‘alert, awake, wise,’ although the old man is anything but that. 13 This is the concept put forward by Giorgio Barberi Squarotti, ‘Struttura e tecnica delle novelle del Grazzini,’ Giornale storico della letteratura italiana 128 (1961): 497–521. 14 This is the story translated, with an introduction, by D.H. Lawrence as The Story of Doctor Manente. 15 Giovanni Grazzini, in his fundamental 1953 edition of Lasca’s theatre (607–11), traces the vicissitudes that led a great number of scholars and archivists to attribute Lasca’s farce to Machiavelli; it is his discovery of two manuscripts in the Biblioteca Marciana of Venice that has cleared the misunderstanding and restored the farce to its rightful author. The text of Il Frate for this, its first translation, is the one finalized by Grazzini in his edition (525–54). 16 For a discussion of the genesis of this play, see Grazzini’s edition, 599–606.

Bibliography Arlia, C. ‘Una farsa del Lasca attribuita a Machiavelli.’ Bibliofilo (1886). Barberi Squarotti, G. ‘Struttura e tecnica delle novelle del Grazzini.’ Giornale storico della letteratura italiana 128 (1961): 497–521. Bertone, G. ‘Strutture narrative e strutture teatrali nelle Cene del Lasca.’ Studi di filologia e letteratura (1978): 59–104.

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Borlenghi, A. ‘Introduzione.’ Commedie del Cinquecento. Milan: Mondadori, 1959. Borsellino, N. ‘Introduzione.’ Commedie del Cinquecento. Milan: Feltrinelli, 1962. Cochrane, E. Florence in the Forgotten Centuries (1527–1800). Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973. Davico Bonino, G. ‘Introduzione.’ Opere di Anton Francesco Grazzini. Torino: UTET, 1974. Ferraro, B.G.R. ‘Form, Reform and Counter-Reformation in G.M.Cecchi’s commedie osservate.’ Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance 47.2 (1985): 321–41. – Trans. L’Andazzo. Edited by G.M. Cecchi. In Testi e Documenti di letteratura e di lingua. Rome: Salerno, 1989. – Trans. The Slave Girl. Translated by G.M. Cecchi. Carleton Renaissance Plays in Translation Series. Ottawa: Dovehouse Editions, 1996. Fubini, M. ‘Antonfrancesco Grazzini,’ Dizionario letterario Bompiani delle opere e dei personaggi. Milan: Bompiani, 1947-1950, ad vocem. Gentile, G. ‘Delle commedie di Anton Francesco Grazzini, detto il Lasca.’ Annali della R. Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa: Filosofia e Filologia 12 (1897). Grazzini, Anton Francesco. La Strega. Ed. M. Plaisance. Abbeville: Paillart, 1976. Grazzini, G. ‘Antonfrancesco Grazzini.’ Enciclopedia dello spettacolo. Ed. S. D’Amico. Rome: Casa Editrice ‘Le Maschere,’ 1954–65; 1959: Vol. 6, advocem. – ‘L’Occhiolino del Lasca.’ Nuova Antologia 479 (1960). – ‘Perché il teatro del Lasca va letto.’ Cultura moderna 7 (1953). – Scritti scelti in prosa e in poesia di A.F. Grazzini. Ed. R. Fornaciari.Florence: Sansoni, 1912. – Teatro di Antonfrancesco Grazzini detto il Lasca. Bari: Laterza, 1953. Greco, A. ‘Alla ricerca del Lasca.’ Rinascita 5.25 (1942). Lawrence, D.H. The Story of Doctor Manente, Being the Tenth and Last Story from the ‘Suppers.’ Translated and introduction by G. Grazzini. Florence: G. Orili, 1929. Plaisance, M. ‘Censure et castration dans la dernière comédie de Lasca.’ In Culture et Marginalités. Paris: Klincksieck, 1973. – ‘Espace et politique dans les comédies florentines des années 1539–1551.’ In Espace et idéologie et société au XVIe siècle. Grenoble: Presses Universitaires de Grenoble, 1975. – ‘Evolution du thème de la beffa dans le théâtre de Lasca.’ Revue des études italiennes, 4 (1965). – ‘Les personnages victimes dans le théâtre d’Anton Francesco Grazzini.’ Revue d’Histoire du Théâtre 2 (1972). – ‘Une première affirmation de la politique culturelle de Côme Ier: la transformation de l’Académie des Humidi en Académie Florentine (1540–1542).’ In Les écrivains et le pouvoir en Italie è l’époque de la Renaissance (Première série).

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Centre de Recherche sur la Renaissance italienne. Paris: Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle, 1973. Porcelli, B. ‘Le commedie e le novelle del Lasca.’ Ausonia, 19.6 (1964). – ‘Le commedie e le novelle del Lasca.’ Ausonia, 20.1 (1965). Rodini, R.J. Antonfrancesco Grazzini. Poet, Dramatist, and Novelliere, 1503–1584. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970.

Frate Alberigo Il frate

Dramatis Personae amerigo old master caterina his young wife margherita their maid alfonso their compare1 frate alberigo their friend

Prologue Noble spectators, prologues were initially added to plays, not so much because they needed them, but for the convenience of the playwright and for those who, with no inconsiderable amount of labour and effort, had them performed. They were only used for justification by the author or by the owner of the household in which the play was being performed. Tonight is one of those occasions, as requested by the author and your hosts. Those who have invited you to this house, the home of the lovely, kind, and generous Maria da Prato,2 have also thought, besides regaling you with excellent food and exquisite wines, to offer you some entertainment, music, and pleasant games for the care and comfort of both body and soul. All this they have done in your honour to divert and please you. To be sure, when it comes to eating and drinking, everyone can do that at home. But with the Feast of the Epiphany upon us tonight – an occasion when the young folk join together for dining and jovial fellowship – they thought to devise this entertainment, especially for the refined literati among you.3 So if by chance this trifle fails to meet with your satisfaction, we ask your forgiveness, in consideration of the short notice given the author, the inconvenience of the locale for the actors, and a thousand other reasons. The author, besides, begs your indulgence in matters of style, without giving you all the extenuating details. In any case, he is not one who thrives on public praise, nor does he take umbrage to criticism.

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But you may notice that the expected comic style is not strictly observed. This is particularly noticeable in the appearance of a man of the cloth onstage. But do not marvel overmuch at this not-so-grave sin. After all, other playwrights have committed the same. You’ll recall the Cazzuola company’s performance of The Mandragola,4 in which a certain Servite friar, Timoteo, appears onstage and uses his ‘holiness’ to bring about the pregnancy of Messer Nicia’s wife. Moreover, in the play called Prestigiatore,5 performed in the Antenori Palace, Fra’ Bonino comes out with his pastoral staff. In the Aridosia,6 not only do we see a priest charming ghosts, but we also hear nuns talking at the gate of the monastery. Still, these many examples are not the real grounds of our author’s apology. All the plays that have been seen and performed in our Tuscan language from the time of Ariosto to the present day, right down to those performed during the wedding ceremonies of our great and illustrious Cosimo’ de Medici, Duke of Florence,7 – all those plays are like statutes and depositions made by women, for they haven’t an ounce of truth in them and are devoid of all authority. The more compelling point is that farces are not like comedies, and because our author’s creation is a farce, it should not look otherwise. Comedies are written in five acts, while farces are organized and structured in three. The two are simply not the same. This is equally true of the sometimes incredible situations represented on stage. So I’m begging you not to judge our author by your conventional notions of style. As for his comedies, perhaps within six months you’ll be able to see them not only performed, I might say, but also in print, where they will have no need of friends or patrons. Then you’ll see for yourselves whether this author intends or not to follow the rules for writing comedies, despite the fact that he’s not one to wear himself out in the study of letters. That’s because he gives no credence to the idea that writing comedy can be learned from old books, or philosophy, or the seven liberal arts.8 The best authors must have judgment, natural instinct, inventiveness, a knack for structuring the action, and organizing the dialogue. They need human experience, knowledge of the practice of poets, and especially knowledge of the first and most celebrated of the comic playwrights – only these can reveal the correct and successful way for writing comedies. Writers simply remain clumsy or they rise up to find the approbation of the people, for universal judgment is seldom wrong. But let’s move on now. All you need to know is that the following story actually took place during the siege of Florence.9 Do not concern yourselves with the exact names of the characters, because the author, being a very discreet person, would never tell you whether they were the

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real ones or not. The play we’ll deliver as it came to us, but I can tell you that if the author had had just another week, he would have composed something to your greater honour and of an entirely different nature. Argument of the Farce In this play, you’ll meet Amerigo, a man very well on in years, but married to Monna Caterina who is young and beautiful. Amerigo is in love with his comare, a close family friend and wife of his friend Alfonso.10 With the help of the maid, he thinks he’s going to bed her, but instead he finds himself with his own wife, who pours shame and scorn upon him. As the two of them come out of the house, quarrelling, Frate Alberigo arrives and makes peace between them, since he, passionately in love with Amerigo’s wife, Caterina, has already managed to seduce her, and in a most deceitful fashion with the collusion of this same maid. Yet, under the sanctimonious veil of charity, he will become this couple’s friend and a regular visitor to their household.

ACT I Scene i margherita, alone margherita: Was ever a woman more unlucky than I am? One of them coaxes and urges me on, while the other pleads and demands; one makes promises, the other offers gifts. And because I can’t say ‘no’ to anyone, I keep both of their dreams alive. My master’s in love with his comare and takes me for his go-between, his procuress. So to endear myself to him, I make him believe she loves him and would do anything for him if only she had the time free. He’s such a simpleton that he swallows it all as gospel. But to tell you the truth, for fear of his wife, my mistress, I’ve never dared deliver any of his messages. The other one is Frate Alberigo, who’s in love with my mistress. He thinks I’m promoting his cause too, but I’ve never uttered a word of it to her. I just fib and lie to keep up their hopes, but I’ve done nothing for either campaign. Speak of the devil, here’s the old man! He just bored me to death at home with a long speech about his love, and now he comes out here to annoy me with more of the same.

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Scene ii amerigo, margherita amerigo: (Aside) Where’s she gone to now? Ah, is that her over there? – Margherita! Are you deaf? margherita: Sir, did you call for me? amerigo: Tell me, where are you going right now? margherita: Only to the market to buy some cabbage and onions for dinner. amerigo: Well, forget about dinner. Forget about onions. Right now, I want you to carry out the orders I just gave you. I’ve brought my feelings out into the open, and you tell me she feels the same way about me. So why don’t you help us both and put an end to my pain? margherita: What pain, where? amerigo: No, not that way! margherita: Do you have a temperature? amerigo: You fool, you know exactly what I’m talking about. margherita: I do? amerigo: About the woman who has slain me. margherita: Well, if you’re dead, you’re beyond help! amerigo: I’m not saying I’m dead as in not breathing, but as lovers are dead who have lost their wills and no longer control their lives. margherita: Master, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. amerigo: I’m a real fool to talk philosophy with the servant class! What I mean is that I need your help. Just once I want to enjoy what you’ve promised me many times. margherita: Master, I’ll forget about these beets and leeks and do my best for you. I’ll go to her house right now and campaign for your cause amerigo: Do that! I’m begging you. And make sure to tell her all my virtues, how kind I am, exactly as I told you at home just now. Tell her that I’m ready to leave my wife, no matter how young and beautiful she is. Offer her money, jewellery, clothes anything she wants, just let me know. But above all, if you cherish your life and my protection, make sure my wife doesn’t get a whiff of this. margherita: Don’t worry. Leave it to me. amerigo: I’ve got some business to attend to at the market. I’ll come back as soon as I can. In the meantime, go to her, speak to her, then find me and let me know what she says.

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margherita: I’ll do it. But first I’ll go home, drop off this basket, pick up my clogs, and grab a heavy shawl so I won’t get wet if it rains. amerigo: All right, but go, go quickly! In the meantime I’ll be in the market square. margherita: Then, adieu. (Alone) Now, what should I do? Brother! Life is so difficult! Scene iii caterina, margherita caterina: Margherita! Margherita, can’t you hear me? margherita: (Aside) Oh yes, that’s my mistress calling me. caterina: Margherita, are you deaf? margherita: Oh, Mistress, you’re looking for me? caterina: Come up here, please. margherita: What do you want? caterina: What’s this I’ve just heard? What’s all this talk about with my husband? Is it really love that’s got him all worked up? Isn’t he ashamed of himself, the decrepit old fool – falling in love with our comare? And you little ruffian, you even promised to help him and, from what I’ve heard, you’ve already started. Is this how you repay me for all my kindness and generosity? margherita: Oh Mistress, forgive me! caterina: Women like you are good for nothing. margherita: He started all this with me two months ago, I can tell you that. But in all that time, I’ve done nothing for him – nothing at all, out of my devotion to you. caterina: Aie, you little weasel. Didn’t I hear you talking about this when you thought I couldn’t hear you? margherita: I only spoke that way to keep him happy, and I’m telling you there’s not a bit of truth in anything I said. caterina: No truth? margherita: None whatsoever. caterina: So you feed him these lies as if he were a complete fool? Well, what can I say but that he’s worse than a fool!11 What misfortune to have been given away by my uncles to this brainless old codger who dares fall in love with our comare. So tell me, what have you promised him? margherita: To go talk to her and put in a good word.

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caterina: And if I hadn’t interrupted you, what did you intend to do? margherita: Nothing. I’d have pretended to go and then I’d have sold him some lie. caterina: Poor old sod. No wonder, during all this time, his nightly pestering, caressing, and molesting have dropped to nil. For God’s sake, such men would have us women buried at birth! So, should a young thing like me do without lovers while the old goat goes looking for greener pastures? I dare say not. Now that things have proceeded this far, I’m going to look around for a little satisfaction of my own. margherita: Ah, my Mistress, you’re entirely in your rights. You’re still young, fresh, and beautiful. You should do what you can right now so that later in life you won’t regret these lost opportunities. caterina: What do you suggest I do? Go on the streets and sell myself? margherita: Oh, my sweet Mistress, if you only knew what I know … caterina: What do you know? Out with it! margherita: No, no, I can’t. I wouldn’t want you to get upset with me. I’ve kept this hidden from you now for several months for fear of making you angry. caterina: Speak up quickly because I’m dying to find out. What’s this all about? margherita: A young man is pining for you, and he’s the best-looking one around here. caterina: Good news! But do you know this for sure? margherita: For certain, I tell you. caterina: And when did all this start? margherita: Oh, a long time ago. caterina: Why haven’t you told me before? margherita: I hesitated because I was afraid. To me, you’re as pure as Saint Elizabeth, the kinswoman of our Lord and Saviour.12 caterina: Don’t you know that women adore being told they’re loved and cherished? Especially women like me? And that sometimes the disdain and anger we show on the outside disguises our deepest desires? But come inside the house, quickly. I don’t want anybody to come by. I want to hear what you have to say about this matter at our leisure. Who can this person be? What has he told you, and what have you told him? margherita: Let’s go in. I’ll make you a very happy woman, Mistress, and you’ll derive great pleasure if you do what I suggest. caterina: Come on then, I’m eager as can be.

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ACT II Scene i caterina, margherita caterina: Truthfully, I had hoped to win someone better. margherita: But why not this one? caterina: Because I’ve never fancied priests. And I’m afraid that if I meddle with them, I’ll lose my faith. margherita: Faith indeed! Who do you want to meddle with? Some young man who tells everyone he meets? You know that’s what happens. And then you’ll be on everybody’s lips. caterina: I’d be very careful about the person I chose. margherita: They’re all the same and they’d take you for a ride. You have to watch out even for the ones who brag about the things they haven’t done. Imagine what they’d say once they made a little progress. With priests, at least you’re safe, because they’re good at keeping secrets. caterina: You’re absolutely right about that. Still, I can’t stomach their gamey smell, not to mention other things. I feel sick just at the thought of it. margherita: There, there, don’t upset yourself. Ah, friars! There’s no better lot for looking after women. Is your nose what you use for pleasure? (Sighs) Ah, just to remember that dear old priest of mine, his feelings for me – such a friend. What a difference there was between him and my husband! caterina: What happened? margherita: He died of the plague, but let’s not think about that anymore. Just try it out once and then you’ll see. caterina: You’re actually making me feel eager to do this. Go find him, and tell him that he’s got to dissuade my husband from being in love with our comare. If he can do that, he can to do with me what he pleases. margherita: Now you’re making sense, Mistress; this is your wise and cautious self back again. caterina: Make sure now that he doesn’t think this suggestion is coming from me. Just tell him that I’ll repay him for his favour … margherita: Yes, you’re totally right. I don’t think there’s anyone in the whole world more clever and wise than you are.

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caterina: Go, hurry. Find him quickly and tell him everything. margherita: Leave it to me, Mistress, and may God be with you. caterina: Well, I’m going home now. I’ll wait for you there. Come straight back and tell me what happens. margherita: That I will. (Alone) Oh well, look where things have got to without her becoming in the least suspicious. I know I’m going to screw this crafty old priest out of a lot of money. Just leave it to me; I’ll work on him. Ah, by chance here he comes! – Frate Alberigo, you look like you’re about to explode. Where are you going? What are you so heated up about? Scene ii frate alberigo, margherita frate alberigo: I’ve just been to visit one of the sick. But tell me, how is your Mistress, the lady of my heart? margherita: Oh, if you just knew. She’s desperate beyond measure. frate alberigo: What’s the matter? margherita: Oh, a thousand troubles. frate alberigo: What sort of troubles? Just say it right out. You’re keeping me on tenterhooks. margherita: Her husband has fallen in love with the comare. frate alberigo: What! With the comare? margherita: Didn’t you know? Yes, he’s fallen in love with Alfonso’s wife. frate alberigo: Ha, ha! Oh, what a foolish old man. He neglects a woman of the finest grain to go after chaff like that!13 I’m sure she’ll find a way to pay him back in triplicate. Go and tell her that I’m ready to do anything to help her. She can rely on me. margherita: Well, she’s in your hands. frate alberigo: If God only willed it so! Are you telling the truth? margherita: I swear I never spoke with more candour. frate alberigo: What does she want me to do? margherita: She needs your help. frate alberigo: In what? margherita: To help convince her husband to walk away from this love of his. frate alberigo: Now I understand everything. But if I help her, what do I get in return?

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margherita: If you succeed, I’ve been entrusted to offer you anything that you might desire – within reason. frate alberigo: Leave it to me. Go back to her, comfort her. Tell her that before the day is out I’ll have done so much for her that she’ll have reason to praise me forever. margherita: I’ll tell her exactly that. frate alberigo: Off you go, then. margherita: Only with your blessing, Father. frate alberigo: Go in the name of the Lord. (Alone) If I read this situation correctly, I’ve made real progress in my affairs today, because Alfonso, the husband of Amerigo’s beloved, is a very good friend of mine. And speaking of the devil, here he comes! Damn, I haven’t had a chance to think about this business yet! Well, I’ll follow my instincts; I’ll make it work somehow. I must pass him my greetings. – Bless you, dear Alfonso. Scene iii alfonso, frate alberigo alfonso: Oh, Frate Alberigo, how are things with you? frate alberigo: Well, very well. alfonso: Where are you going all by yourself? frate alberigo: I was actually looking for someone to do me a favour, but I haven’t found him. alfonso: If I can be of any help, you know you can rely on me. frate alberigo: Maybe you’re just the right person. Tell me, is your wife at home by chance? alfonso: No Padre, the day before yesterday she went to her mother’s house – it’s close by – and she’ll be staying there for several days. frate alberigo: And you? alfonso: I’m staying there with her. frate alberigo: And what about your house? alfonso: It’s empty. frate alberigo: Oh, what a happy coincidence. alfonso: My house is at your disposal, and myself as well, if I can do anything for you. frate alberigo: I’ll tell you what it’s all about. A sister of mine has come with her mother-in-law from Fegghine14 to stay for a few days with one of our relatives, the weaver. They come every year. But now

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that he’s moved and has a lodger who shares in the rent, he can’t put them up anymore. So they’ve come to me. But as you know, I can’t keep women in the convent; it’s strictly forbidden. So I’d ask you whether they could stay at your place for a day or two? alfonso: Yes, of course, for as long as you like. I’m only sorry that all the servants will be away too. But if you prefer, I’ll send back the maid. frate alberigo: No, no, it’s not necessary. alfonso: How will you manage? There’s not even bread in the house. frate alberigo: We’ll bring our own. alfonso: But oil, salt, wine, wood, and lots of other things are there in abundance. frate alberigo: Thank you with all my heart. But the accommodation is all I need, because I’ll send them everything else they require from the convent. alfonso: I’m a man of few words, so here’s a key. frate alberigo: I accept it. And I’ll repay you whenever I can. It will only be for one or two days at most. alfonso: As long as you like, even for a week, since I’ve no reason to go home. Take and use whatever you find there. The beds are ready. Just make yourselves comfortable. frate alberigo: Thank you again. I won’t hold you any longer from your errands. alfonso: Goodbye. frate alberigo: Go in the name of God. (Alone) It looks like Lady Luck is smiling on me now. My plan might just succeed. What a great help this friendship has turned out to be. Oh, here’s the maid coming back. Scene iv margherita, frate alberigo margherita: Oh Padre, have you thought of a solution for my mistress? frate alberigo: Of course, as long as she does everything I say. margherita: With alacrity; no hesitations about that. frate alberigo: Go and call her; I’d chat with her here on the doorstep to show her what to do. margherita: I’ll go right now. frate alberigo: (Alone) Good Fortune is truly on my side this time,

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and if I manage to complete this little scenario, I’ll be the happiest man in the world. Scene v margherita, frate alberigo, caterina margherita: Padre, Padre! frate alberigo: Who’s calling me? margherita: It is me, Padre. Come over here; my mistress has arrived. frate alberigo: Oh, Madonna Caterina. I’ve heard your sad story and I’m sorry about your distress. caterina: What did you expect? This world is full of deceit. frate alberigo: In these matters one must be patient and rely upon God. Always, we must try to avoid evil and pursue the good. In this case, the evil to shun is your husband’s love for the comare. Good will follow, if only you find the right remedy for all of this. And if you rely upon my wisdom, believe me, this will easily come to pass. caterina: Oh Padre, if only it were possible. I long for this as much as you do. frate alberigo: You must have faith in me. caterina: Padre, we should step inside the house so we don’t start any gossip out here. margherita: My mistress is right. frate alberigo: Let’s go in. margherita: Please, after you. – May God’s will be done. Scene vi amerigo, alone amerigo: Oh, if I could just meet with my comare today. How true that saying is about bad company leading you to the gallows. At the request of my friends, I’ve done this morning what I haven’t done in two years. What a great dinner that was, with lots of wine too – I can hardly move. One thing certain is that I’m not hungry, but I’m going home for dinner, anyway. I have to find out if the maid has any news for me; I’m dying to talk to her. I’d better knock first; she must have come back by now … (Tock tock) Oh dear! (Tock tock) … Good Lord, are they all dead inside?

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Scene vii margherita, amerigo margherita: Oh Master, how good to see you. amerigo: When did you come back? margherita: Just now. amerigo: What news have you got for me? margherita: It’s good. amerigo: May God so wish. margherita: More than good news. I’ve disposed her so well towards you that she’ll do whatever you want! amerigo: Oh what a lucky man I am. Tell me, tell me everything! margherita: Listen, Madonna Caterina is upstairs getting ready because she wants me to go with her to Madonna Vaggia’s house, where she’s been invited for dinner. She’s asked me to tell you not to wait for her. amerigo: What are you talking about? margherita: I wouldn’t want her to call me and interrupt our conversation. amerigo: What do you plan to do? margherita: Please go to Santa Croce and wait for me there. Once I’ve accompanied my mistress, I’ll come and tell you everything. amerigo: So you found a solution? I’ll go there right now. Hurry as fast as you can! margherita: As soon as I can manage it, I’ll come to you. amerigo: Well, don’t forget. margherita: Leave it to me. – You can come out now, Mistress, he’s gone. Let’s be grateful to the Archangel Tobias for this.15 Scene viii caterina, margherita, frate alberigo caterina: Margherita, come inside. frate alberigo: Go quickly. margherita: Yes, yes, I’m here. caterina: Oh Padre, please don’t forget about our matter. frate alberigo: Don’t worry. (Aside) It’s true what they say about women: they’re all brainless, gullible, moody, and a lot more to boot.

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But I should have no trouble getting the better of this silly one! I should go now, so I get there before they do. Quickly, because I hear voices; quickly, so they don’t see me. Scene ix caterina, margherita caterina: Let’s go, I’ve been waiting for this feast for a long time. margherita: Mistress, don’t forget what you promised the Padre. caterina: I remember better than you, but I’m worried that he hasn’t mentioned anything about it yet. margherita: In the name of God, he knows what to do, once he’s completed the task you assigned him. caterina: Let’s hope so. And don’t forget what I’ve asked you to do and what we’ve been planning. margherita: Not to fear. Just you do your part. caterina: No more chatter; let’s turn here and take the short cut. margherita: I’m with you, Mistress.

ACT III Scene i margherita, alone margherita: Ah, so that’s how it is! Whoever would have thought? Friars. They have more vices than the devil himself. Just look how wickedly he has brought her to satisfy his desires! He told us in the house that he had found an excellent way to free my mistress and to make her husband desist from his love for the comare. Here was the plan. We were to go to Alfonso’s with a key to the house, which he had somehow or other obtained. There, Madonna Caterina was to get into the bed where the comare usually sleeps. We agreed that I was to tell Amerigo that the day had come for him to be happy with the comare because Alfonso had gone out of town and wouldn’t be back before nightfall. We were sure that the old man would believe me, that he’d go there without a second thought, and that instead of being received by his comare, his wife would be waiting for him in bed with the win-

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dow closed and the room all dark.16 And then, once he’d taken his pleasure of her, she’d tell him who she really was, bawl him out royally with insults aplenty, and by and by haul him into the street with it. The Padre told us to leave the rest to him. So my mistress and I set out for Alfonso’s, opened the front door, and walked in. First we went into the front room, then into the bedroom. We didn’t see anybody at all. My mistress quickly got undressed and, without thinking twice, put herself in bed and asked me to leave the window half open so that her husband would be able to make out the bed. I was to leave the door ajar, go fetch the old man, and put the plan into action. I carried out her orders and left; but I was only halfway down the stairs when I ran into the Padre all happy and full of glee. I was so little expecting him that he scared the life out of me, and I almost let out a yell. But he shut me up at once with a handful of coins and told me that the day had come for fulfilling his long-standing dream, that I should leave and stay away for at least an hour looking for my master, so that he could take his pleasure with her at least a couple of times. I pretended to leave, but lingered to see how things would end and find out what my mistress thought of her new adventure. When I thought the Padre was in the bedroom I slipped into the front room and tiptoed to the bedroom door. It didn’t close properly, so through the crack I saw the good old friar already out of his cassock and heading towards the bed. My mistress never uttered a word. On the contrary, she was as pleased as a piglet having its back scratched, and a little while later I heard groans and moans like cats in heat at midnight. That’s when I left, feeling quite flushed. After half an hour I went to look for Amerigo in Santa Croce, where he was waiting for me, and I told him what to do. He felt that all his Christmases had come at once and set out without delay. He must be there by now. Good Heavens, what would happen if he found the priest going hard at it with his wife? What would happen? Ah, but I’m silly to worry about that. These priests are masters in such situations. Well, I’d better go home now. I’m faint with hunger and need to eat. Scene ii frate alberigo, alone frate alberigo: I was barely able to get back into my cassock. Had he arrived just a few minutes earlier, he would have caught me thrashing the corn. Thank God I’ve managed to get out of there through an ante-chamber, and then onto the balcony and down to the court-

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yard by way of the back stairs. By that route I got back to the front door and out of there. But dear simple Caterina, she was in an even greater rush, poor thing! Uh oh, who’s coming here? What does he want now? – Where are you going Alfonso? Scene iii frate alberigo, alfonso alfonso: Oh Padre, I was looking for you to show you where I had left the key for the cellar so you could get some wine; I forgot to do so before. frate alberigo: I’m grateful to you and I thank you, but really it wasn’t needed. alfonso: How then? Your guests haven’t arrived yet? frate alberigo: Oh yes, but they brought their own wine and there was enough for dinner. alfonso: Well, if you need more for this evening the key is on the side of the sink in the dining room next to the flask with the Medici coat of arms on it.17 frate alberigo: I’m greatly indebted to you. When will I ever be able to repay you for such courtesy? alfonso: Oh, this is nothing compared to what I am prepared to do for you. But no more chatter. I must leave you now because I haven’t yet dined, and I don’t want to keep people waiting. frate alberigo: Then go! I mustn’t be the cause of keeping folk from their dinner. alfonso: You’re quite right. Farewell. frate alberigo: I’m eternally indebted to you. (Aside) That was a close one. What if he had arrived earlier or I hadn’t run into him? Where was I? A curse on keys and cellars. Thanks be to God, so far, so good. Scene iv margherita, frate alberigo margherita: (Aside) Oh, here comes the Padre. frate alberigo: (Aside) I hope this matter will have a happy outcome. margherita: I should call him. – Padre! frate alberigo: Who’s calling me? – Oh, Margherita.

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margherita: How did it go, Father? Let’s hear it. frate alberigo: You really are the best! By Jove you’re such a discreet person that I can confide in you. In fact, I trust you completely, and maybe a little too much. margherita: Why? Haven’t I done what I was told? frate alberigo: Yes, but you sent Amerigo too early and I almost got caught. Still, things ended up well enough. margherita: Merciful Heavens! I waited quite a while before going to fetch him at Santa Croce. I even started a rosary, but I was only halfway through it when he saw me. I told him what to do and showed him the key. Once he recognized it as the one to Alfonso’s house, he believed everything I told him. frate alberigo: Now that you mention the key, you don’t know what happened to me. margherita: No, what? frate alberigo: The most stupid thing in the world. As you know, I left the key to the comare’s house with you. But going there ahead of you, I found the front door locked and only then realized my mistake. margherita: Well, how did you get in? frate alberigo: My lucky day, because I found among this bunch of keys one that opened the front door. margherita: Lucky, for sure. By now the old master must be in his wife’s arms. Pretty soon we should be hearing the big commotion. But tell me, how did it go? What do you think of my mistress? frate alberigo: Oh, she’s the best and most discreet woman in Florence. margherita: I’m glad you think that. So she has satisfied you, then? frate alberigo: I’ve proposed a way she can meet her needs in the future as well. margherita: And yours too. frate alberigo: Right you are. Her profit is also my profit. margherita: I am very happy, Padre, that everything has gone according to plan. frate alberigo: Thanks to you. Scene v caterina, amerigo, margherita, frate alberigo caterina: (To Amerigo) So, you dirty old codger, this is how you go chasing after women … ?

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margherita: Just listen to them, over there. frate alberigo: Come, let’s get away before they see us. caterina: … and on top of that, with the comare. Just go bury yourself! frate alberigo: (To Margherita) Better go home now. I’ll just duck around the corner and then come back and surprise them. caterina: (To Amerigo) Come back here. I’ve finally caught you redhanded. amerigo: You she-devil – a pox on you. caterina: What! You thought I was asleep? amerigo: I wish you were asleep forever. caterina: How energetic you were! So this is the reason why you couldn’t stand me lately. amerigo: You’re a nasty piece of work. You’ll always be spiteful and envious. caterina: Eh, I almost swore at you. But God willing, you’ll get what you deserve. amerigo: Would you look at this. She’s even getting angry! caterina: I certainly am. Don’t you think I have every right to be? amerigo: Let me speak. And I thought I was going to have the best day of my life. Instead I’ve endured the worst. caterina: And you have the gall to say so! amerigo: Of course I’m saying it! caterina: What a man! And to think of the way you approached the bed, full of vigour and ready to do battle. But only in words, because when it came to the nitty-gritty, I needed to give you a hand. That brought the desired effect, O boy, and twice over! amerigo: Look where I’ve ended up, and what she’s telling me, and what she’s done to me. caterina: You haven’t seen or heard anything yet. Wait till I let the comare’s husband know about this, and my uncles, and then you’ll really see the finale. amerigo: Oh my sweet wife, do you want to destroy me – disgrace me utterly? caterina: Well my husband, do you want to make me suffer and live in desperation? There’s no woman more faithful on this earth and none more ill treated than I am. amerigo: How did you manage to catch me out? Just tell me that. caterina: By God, that Margherita is in for a real chastisement. amerigo: I’m asking you again. How the hell did you find me out? Are you a witch, or what? Do you enlist the help of devils? caterina: I was just about to tell you what I am.

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Scene vi frate alberigo, caterina, amerigo frate alberigo: (Aside) I’d better break in and see if I can reconcile them. amerigo: Without black magic I can’t see how you discovered me. caterina: Phua! Damn your eyes. Do you really think this of me? frate alberigo: What’s going on here? What’s all this commotion? Have you gone mad? amerigo: Oh Padre, you can see she’s out of control. caterina: And I haven’t said what you are! frate alberigo: Come on Amerigo, let’s use some discretion and a few brains in these matters. amerigo: Well, Frate Alberigo, she’s so crabby and spiteful that she’d test the patience of the angels. caterina: Ah, ha ha! If it weren’t for my respect of the cloth, I’d tell you exactly what he did to me. amerigo: And I’ll tell you what she’s done to me! frate alberigo: What’s this all about? caterina: I’m going to tell all, just to give him what he deserves. amerigo: Once you’ve let it all out, then what happens? caterina: That’ll be enough, just telling my relatives, and yours too. frate alberigo: Don’t let your anger get the better of you. caterina: I can’t hold myself back. Just imagine. He’s in love with our comare! frate alberigo: What! With Alfonso’s wife? caterina: Yes, and listen … amerigo: Sure, why don’t you tell him? What can you do to me now? caterina: … this fine gentleman has taken matters so far that today he thought he’d crown his little scheme with success. But I’m too shrewd for that –I’ve got my ways too you know – and I found him out. So I made him come to me thinking he was going to have it off with the comare. And that’s where we are at this very moment. amerigo: Hell in a hand-basket. Have I sinned against the Holy Ghost? Now you know, Padre. Am I the first one? frate alberigo: What on earth? If this gets around, you’ll be scorned forever. caterina: I want my uncles to know about this. frate alberigo: Don’t say things you’ll surely regret. amerigo: What? What?

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frate alberigo: Oh come on, Amerigo. You should give up these capers. They may be fit for the young, but not for old codgers like you. Just pause for a moment, Madonna Caterina, for the sake of your good name. You should both forget this matter, which would only bring shame upon your house. I want you to join in friendship and union even more than you were before. caterina: As you wish Padre, but on this condition, that I never hear the comare mentioned again. frate alberigo: Of course. You know, Amerigo, that to sin is human, to repent is angelic, but to persevere is diabolic. To carry on like this would be to live in mortal sin. So for the love of God, for me, for the honour of your family, and for your own benefit, give up this love affair of yours and look after your wife, who is honest and upright, and who loves you more than anything in the world. caterina: Only God knows how much I love him, this ungrateful wretch, and how faithful I am to him. frate alberigo: Don’t cry, Madonna Caterina. Beyond all doubt, Amerigo, you can boast of having the wisest and most chaste young wife in the whole of Florence – what do I say – in the whole world! amerigo: I thank God. But you know, Father, that we sometimes are frail. I do confess that I am a sinner, and that I will rejoice in the penance you’ll impose, seeking only to forget and to look after my household better in the future. frate alberigo: I don’t think any of that matters, and it certainly won’t help us out now. So I want you to promise me something, both of you. caterina: Whatever you say. amerigo: As long as it is possible. frate alberigo: I want you never to mention this situation again. Pretend it has never happened and go on living as before. Are you happy with this? caterina: Very happy. amerigo: Yes, as am I. But with this proviso, that she doesn’t say anything to Margherita. frate alberigo: All right. Well then, do you promise? caterina: Yes, Padre, of course, as long as this unpleasant situation stops. frate alberigo: By forgiving each other, I hope that you’ll now live in peace. amerigo: You are blessed, my Padre, because if it wasn’t for your holiness, I would be in deep trouble.

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caterina: Quite right, my lord, and you would deserve it too! amerigo: From now on, because your wisdom and goodness have placed me in your debt, I want you to become a regular visitor to our household, just as you are to Alfonso’s. caterina: Absolutely! amerigo: And I also want you to be my confessor. caterina: And mine too! amerigo: What do you say? What do you think of this? frate alberigo: Very well. For the sake of God’s love and my duty, I’m prepared to do all in my power to bring your souls to salvation. caterina: May God reward you for this, Padre. This very day I would like you to come to dinner. amerigo: Of course. Come and have a drink with us first. caterina: It’s so late, it must be past the brothers’ dinner time. If you haven’t eaten, Frate, please come and join us now. frate alberigo: I’ve been so busy this morning and away from the convent that I haven’t had a bite. amerigo: Well, then come with us. caterina: You are most welcome. frate alberigo: I couldn’t very well refuse after such courteous invitations. Let’s go! amerigo: Well then, follow me! caterina: May the Lord be praised. frate alberigo: And his Mother too. And you, dear spectators, do not bother waiting for us to come out, because after dinner I have decided to give them a little sermon, showing them through reason and examples, and the authority of miracles, how important charity is for the salvation of the soul, confirming, with the Apostle Paul, that he who has not charity, has nothing. Therefore, if you wish to follow my advice, you’ll take your leave right away, and may God be with you all. Farewell.

Notes 1 The words compare and comare (mentioned in the Argument of the play) have been kept in the Italian form. While they can be translated into English respectively as ‘godfather’ and ‘godmother,’ they have, for Italians, more intense connotations. Compare and comare signify important relationships in the extended family, tantamount to blood kinship. Hence, to covet one’s comare or compare is considered a very sinful desire, unless, of course,

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 you read about such longings in Boccaccio’s short stories (e.g., Decameron VII.10), written very much with tongue in cheek. The following Italian names have also been retained: monna (an abbreviated form of Madonna, used to refer to respectable ladies) and frate, Alberigo’s title (meaning friar, monk, or brother – the member of a monastic or conventual order). Maria da Prato was a famous courtesan of the time; it was in her house that this farce was performed for the first time on the eve of 6 January 1540–1. Epiphany, or the Feast of the Three Kings (Twelfth Night), falls on 6 January. Grazzini wants to draw attention to the fact that it is a season for feasting, plays, and topsy-turvy activities, a time for playing practical jokes, and therefore a moment of licentiousness. The Mandragola is Machiavelli’s famous play, a translation of which is included in this volume. Grazzini refers to the performance by the Cassuola company of actors in 1520. Concerning the play entitled Prestigiatore, the identity of the author remains unknown. The play was performed all’antinoro, which, according to Borsellino, can be either the canto Antinoro, that is, the corner of the Antinori Palace, or the Antinori Palace proper. Insofar as plays were usually performed in private houses, I have opted for the latter. The reference to the pastoral, a ceremonial staff carried by the prelate, no doubt implies a double entendre. Aridosia is a play written by Lorenzino dei Medici and performed in 1536. Such allusions indicate Grazzini’s interest in and knowledge of the theatrical scene in Florence in former years (see the Introduction). The wedding between Cosimo dei Medici and Eleanor of Toledo took place in 1539. During the celebrations, Antonio Landi’s Il commodo was performed, a play famous for its intermezzi, which had been prepared by G.V. Stozzi. The seven liberal arts were the seven principal subjects taught in schools and universities since the Middle Ages. They were divided into two groups: the first called the trivium, namely grammar, rhetoric, and dialectics; the second called the quadrivium, consisting of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music. Florence was besieged by the army of Charles V in 1529–30. Comare indicates a relationship nearly as close as blood kinship, or the order of very best friend or godmother. The Italian word is kept because there are no exact equivalents in English, being either far too specific or too casual, such as ‘godmother,’ ‘gossip,’ or ‘coz.’ For a male member of the family to have sexual designs upon her therefore comes close to incest. Her counterpart is a compare, or very close and trusted male friend or godfather. These

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relationships signal bonds of social intimacy, trust, and mutual help. See also the use of these titles in relation to Ruzante’s Moscheta in this volume. Caterina refers to her husband as a fool/simpleton with the words allocco and barbagianni, which translate as types of owl, thus carrying connotations of foolishness. However, there is a third kind, assiuolo, which means horned owl, signifying the cuckold’s horns. Cecchi’s play bearing the name L’assiuolo (1545) appears in the present volume and features the same allusions. In The Mandragola, when Messer Nicia, Fra’ Timoteo, Ligurio, and Callimaco form their night brigade, they adopt, ironically, the password ‘San Cuccù’ to communicate among themselves. Thus, built into Grazzini’s passage is the foolishness of these two types of owl, together with allusions to the cuckold that the old-man protagonist of the play is soon to become. The reference to The Mandragola is further evidence of its importance for early audiences – an importance that subsequent literary history has confirmed. The reference to Saint Elizabeth (Elisabetta) underscores the ostensible sanctity and chastity of Monna Caterina. Elizabeth is the mother of John the Baptist, cousin or kinswoman of the Virgin Mary (Luke 5:60), who was often featured in paintings with the Virgin, when Jesus and John were still infants and playmates. In the original, two terms pertaining to the cultivation of wheat differentiate the appetizing Monna Caterina and the not so appetizing comare: calvello and saggina. The former is associated with a good quality of wheat, the latter with broomcorn. Fegghine is the modern Figline Valdarno. The Archangel Tobias would appear to be a conflation of personages in the story of Tobiah, who, acting on advice given to him by the Archangel Raphael, healed his father, also Tobiah, of his blindness by using fish bile. In a painting by Pollaiuolo, Raphael and Tobiah walk arm in arm. As did many other sixteenth-century playwrights, Grazzini derived this theme from Boccaccio’s Decameron III.6. The original is l’arme delle Palle, because the Medici coat of arms featured pill-shaped spheres or balls. Medici partisans thus were called Palleschi.

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GIORDANO BRUNO

The Candlebearer (Il candelaio)

Translated by Gino Moliterno Introduction by Donald Beecher

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

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Introduction to The Candlebearer by Giordano Bruno Giordano Bruno’s Il candelaio or The Candlebearer may be thought of as the culminating contribution to the tradition of the regular or ‘erudite’ drama, even though, chronologically, it was not the last written. From the inception of the genre there had been a mannerist impulsion to stylize characters, compound plots, interlace sources, and extend references to include current affairs, particularly those meriting ridicule. Clearly, however, this is a balancing act; for stylizing, compounding, and referencing entail incrementally demanding levels of computational thinking on the part of readers, no matter how carefully they are coached in seeking out the philosophical innuendoes embedded in the representation of characters and social events. Some of these assignments are not particularly difficult. In Bruno’s play, we can easily allow that a stage pedant, immersed in Latin culture reduced to its most trivial dimensions, can stand for the pedant schoolteacher as a stereotype, and by extension for the imbalances in humanist pedagogy and the excesses of humanist culture everywhere. We are good at attaching types to their categories. Bruno elaborates copiously (and no doubt compellingly for many of his first readers) on this stock complaint in the figure of Manfurio – a character who is comically excessive in his manner because he epitomizes the excesses of his discipline. But in perhaps too many other aspects, the play features such copia, or abundance, as its leading feature. There had been triple plots as early as Caro in the 1540s, but none possessing the integrated complexity of The Candlebearer, and there had been allusions to philosophical systems as early as Machiavelli, but nothing as challenging as what may be buried in the emblematic patterns of this play. Bruno clearly recognized this potential for multiplication in the genre and made it his challenge to take that potential to its limits. But what sets those limits? Quite possibly it is the patience of the reader. One could imagine a play even more complex and demanding than this one – more plots, more characters, more architectonics, more satiric themes, more inventive and stylized language, more allegorical overtones – but one could not imagine why a writer hoping for a readership would take that risk. That is why, in historical terms, Bruno’s play is the ne plus ultra of the genre. It is a brilliant, runaway exploitation of the conventions and ‘rules’ pertaining to comedy in perfect keeping with his genius, and for that reason alone is worth the close attention and intellectual effort required to absorb it. Comedy, after all, has always been an art form of excess, of comic routines and elaborate jokes, of situational irony and improbable

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coincidence, of cognitively fortified attention. But the excess of this play builds to a near surfeit of invention in making its bid for our admiration, laughter, and pleasure. In this, the play manifests one natural direction implicit in the mannerist enterprise of renewing the traditions of art through the playful modification of conventions. For Della Porta it was a flirtation with compound genres and the mixed ethos of tragedy with comedy, while for Bruno it was the superimposition of actions by which the play becomes a ‘memory theatre’ based on its own parts. Both writers placed stress upon the traditional definitions of the genre. Such a compounding of materials is entirely in keeping with the workings of Bruno’s mind generally, for in all of his intellectual endeavours – and there were many – there was a preoccupation with things infinitely divisible and individual as they pertain to the definitions, correspondences, and occult forces that make all things one and unified. Such thoughts were at the centre of his crusade as a philosopher. The play, by analogy, is a single design that contains infinite variety. The playwright in effect becomes the technician of oneness who, by the power of his genius, draws the maximum of diversity into the circle of a single peripeteia and final stasis. In that sense, the making of plays had always been an exercise in aesthetic philosophy, albeit one rather more plastic than the commentators on Aristotle and Donatus might allow. If genius is the capacity to draw ever more diversified parts into architectonic unity, the The Candlebearer is an argument for its author’s supremacy. But the particular challenge of this play, much as in the case of The Mandragola, is the degree to which the work is allegorized philosophy and the extent to which that consideration should enter into a comprehensive reading of the text. Adding to the challenge in Bruno’s case is that he may have been a bit of a bluffer, boasting of deep associations incorporated by innuendo but difficult to work out in detail. Bruno was born in 1548 in Nola, near Naples, where, at the age of seventeen he joined the Dominican monastery of San Domenico Maggiore. He was ordained in 1572. Not long thereafter, however, he was in trouble for his heretical ideas and by 1576 had fled to avoid trial. Yet his escape turned out to be merely a delay of several years, for by 1592 the Inquisition had him firmly in custody, and by 1600, after years of interrogation and possible torture, their exasperation with him led to a public execution by burning in Rome’s Campo de’ fiori. During the intervening twenty-two years Bruno travelled from centre to centre in Europe in search of patrons, publishers, and university employment. He was briefly in Rome and cities in the north of Italy, but Geneva was his first major

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stop. Unable to resist taunting the local authorities, he soon found himself imprisoned. Toulouse followed, and then Paris, where in 1581 he published On the Shadows of Ideas (De umbris idearum), the first of several treatises dealing with the arts of memory, cosmology, and hermeticism – all of them timely but potentially controversial. This book is the one thought to have the closest affinities with the play. It was in the following year, in Paris, during a moment of favour with Henry III, that Bruno wrote and published The Candlebearer. These were heady years for him, engaged as he was in his most innovative and provocative philosophical writing. Bruno was sent to England under French protection, met Elizabeth I and Sir Philip Sidney, lectured at Oxford, made himself controversial as usual, created enemies, returned to Paris, joined in more controversy, made more enemies, and by 1585 looked to Germany for greener pastures. For him Europe was shrinking. There were posts and dismissals in Marburg, Wittenberg, Prague, Helmstadt, Frankfurt, and Zurich. Always he was publishing – some thirty distinct works in total. And then came an invitation to return to Italy to serve as tutor in the Mocenigo family in Venice; that was the fatal error, for the appointment did not work out, and to rid themselves of him, the family turned him over to the Inquisition. His life has been the subject of several biographical studies, a feature film, and even of an espionage mystery, on the assumption that France had sent him to London as a spy. The reason for so much attention? Bruno’s life is easily retold as that of a forward-looking, philosopher-hero who withstood the bigotry and intransigence of monolithic and tyrannical institutions – a martyr to intellectual freedom. Italian university students lionized him as early as the 1880s, when a statue was erected in his honour in the Campo where he died. Modern scholars have maintained the crusade, but during the Bruno conference at UCLA in 2000 marking the 400th anniversary of his death, the accolades were more muted. Bruno’s philosophy was not particularly scientific and modern, and it was overtly cantankerous. He had options without losing much that constituted ‘truth’ and went out of his way to bait the authorities. There is also wisdom in temperance and reason. The point matters, because The Candlebearer also has a good deal about it that is cocky, belligerent, and provocative from its title through to the end. What would have prompted Bruno to write such a play, in Paris, in 1582? There are no answers. Hard evidence of a royal commission is lacking, there are no indications of early performances or readings, and there is no certainty that the play was ever intended for stage production. He dedicated the work to a Lady Morgana rather than to a known digni-

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tary such as Henry III, who had granted him so much favour. All efforts to identify her as a historical person have been in vain, but whether fact or fiction, a relationship to her in terms of erotic desire and competition with her husband becomes the pretext for a lot of pregnant talk about candles and candlebearers. In this respect, the play itself becomes a phallus, for reasons other than the usual Freudian projections. This ‘candle’ came to him as a cosmic vision, which he, in turn, offers to her as a vicarious sexual gesture in competition with the candle of her fleshand-blood husband. In that sense, the play is almost an act of revenge, as though the text itself had talismanic powers to curse and enchant. Such associations link the play to the magic powers of the mnemo-technician outlined in Shadows, making the work an extraction of his philosophical exercises and bearing the same intellectual potency. In the play there is another candlebearer, Bonifacio, who, despite being married, is recklessly in love with a courtesan and bent upon commanding her sexual attentions by resorting to necromancy. Bruno thereby invites a reading by analogy linking the Morgana-husband-author affair to the triangle within the play involving Bonifacio’s wife, Carubina, and Gianbernardo the painter, who seduces her as a result of her husband’s amorous philandering. The act, on the part of the painter, is justified as a form of revenge and thereby carries out the wishful thinking of Bruno towards Morgana. The question remains whether Bruno has written himself into the play more thoroughly as philosopher and satirist through the character of Gianbernardo. As for the candles and their bearers, innuendoes abound; Bruno has left the ‘sign’ as open as the title of the play itself. In some bizarre sense, Bruno’s creativity and masculinity are one, the play is potent, erotic energy is in full circulation, and associations are free. The excessiveness of the play is in evidence even before the action begins, for instead of a prologue or even two, there are (in addition to the dedication to Lady Morgana), a profuse section on the argument and ordering of the play, a verbose ‘antiprologue,’ an equally prolix ‘proprologue,’ and finally a comic dismissal by the Janitor. Bruno runs through the entire action scene by scene, thereby setting up a design structure, an exhaustive list of prompts, all of which are to be actualized in the play to follow. The scenario is complete and more than equal to those upon which the commedia dell’arte improvisations were based. Before the play opens, the entire action is lodged in the reader’s memory as a schema, one that replays itself in the equivalent-to-reality representations to follow. That Bruno inscribes the play so fully before presenting it clearly

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meant something to him in terms of preliminary phantasms recalled in performance, as though the play itself were remembered. So much excess in the prologue makes the play its own déjà vu. Formerly, through such meta-theatrical appendages, spectators had been provided merely with a few hints about the setting, the principal characters, and their relationships to others in the cast. But Bruno, in the spirit of not wanting us to miss a thing, has virtually guaranteed our anxiety about missing everything. That tactic, too, was a familiar one. Bruno positioned himself as the knowing one in everything he wrote, and styled as ‘asses’ those who failed to understand him or complained of his esotericism. In his dedication to Lady Morgana, he talks about the play as a vehicle for shedding further light on his book about memory, On the Shadows of Ideas, carping, at the same time, that the work had frightened the beasts and left the asses gasping far behind. There is little wonder that he designed the play to invite and exclude at once – and that he lost so many friends. Clearly important for Bruno is that the play have a triple action built around three ‘topical’ characters. They are Bonifacio the lover, Bartolomeo the would-be alchemist, and Manfurio the pedant. The first is satirically targeted as the insipid amoroso, besotted by blind erotic passion to the point of worshipping a prostitute who does nothing but scheme against him with her con artist associates to bilk him of all she can. The second epitomizes sordid acquisitiveness, for his pseudoscience is but a means to lure his two ladies: gold and silver. The art of alchemy represents both inflated learning and misplaced greed, as it does in Jonson’s The Alchemist, written some twenty-eight years later. For both of these characters, the playwright arranges punishment in the form of seduction (candlebearing) for their respective wives, Carubina and Marta. In this crime and punishment economy, Bruno creates a harsh quid pro quo in which sex, goods, and learning are exchanged by the ‘laws’ of poetic justice. The third character is Manfurio, who, for his distracted learning, is fleeced of his goods and clothes and, to avoid prison, is subjected to whipping on his hands and buttocks. The irony of the whipper schoolmaster himself now whipped is self-evident. And, of course, as he is a pederast, the candle business remains in the formula. To all of this, Bruno adds the false nightwatchmen made up of gang members in disguise doing the duty of the comic magistrate by abusing everyone they can. They are also important structurally as unifying agents insofar as the characters from all three plots pass through their hands at one time or another. In this way Bruno meets the challenge of combining three relatively independent actions, showing off his design

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skills, while compounding his satiric themes, and providing the variety and intensity that comes about by filling the stage with rapid encounters and near collisions. Yet in making triplicity into unity, Bruno takes another more problematic step. Despite the distinctness of his three protagonists, ‘the insipid one (Bonifacio the lover) lacks neither sordidness nor pomposity, the sordid one (Bartolomeo the alchemist) is equally insipid and pompous, and the pompous one (Manfurio the schoolmaster) is no less insipid and sordid than he is pompous.’ Once again, Bruno tends to perplex, for while we can imagine that a character possessed of a dominant humour is not lacking in other humours, we are hard-pressed to make distinctions when all of the characters have the same triplicate humours in equal measure. Insipid, pompous, and sordid are not synonyms and therefore must appear as subsets in the action. Or is he merely taken with the idea of reifying his philosophical mysteries in this additional way? There are, likewise, the humanist precepts of the ars combinatoria and of the coincidentia oppositorum that may come to bear on the ‘idea’ of the play. Such works are combinatory by nature insofar as they are built up from moveable parts taken over from former playwrights and novellisti, and insofar as character types repeat themselves: lovers, bawds, braggart soldiers, necromancers, pedants, and parasites. By the same token, mnemonic techniques are combinatory. In his Shadows of Ideas, Bruno features a system of five wheels, to which he attached 150 striking images, 30 on each wheel. The sun, symbol of divine intellect, was at the centre. Among the ‘shadows’ were 36 Egyptian decan demons drawn from Agrippa, 49 images of planets – icons really, featuring stags’ heads, dragons, and snakes – 36 from the horoscope, as well as talismanic images of Ficinian inspiration. Such images could be reduced to their phantasmal essences to be combined and recombined. Through the correspondences that link them, Bruno permits himself to speak of occult forces to be harnessed by the soul in its spiritual quest. By mentally revolving the wheels, the practitioner performs remarkable feats not only of memory but of invention. Bruno, as stated above, produced these two works in proximity, suggesting that the play was also inspired by mnemonic devices and cosmological and occult images. Perhaps we are to understand that the play itself is a ‘theatre’ of images, of loci or places designed to enhance memory – things striking in their own rights to which the mnemo-technician might attach ideas and themes, thereby enhancing their recall. That the play contains both an alchemist and a magician chimes well with the fact that in Bruno’s time, many of the treatises on memory

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drew upon the imagery of hermeticism, alchemy, and astrology, thereby adding occult significances to their operations. By the sixteenth century, the practitioner of the arts sought not only to retain vast portions of knowledge, but to advance the understanding of the correspondences by which all things are linked together. If Bruno sees real parallels between the two works, then The Candlebearer, realized in the mind, must amount to a structure of recombinant parts: of signs, words, and images apt for mental remodelling. The play, in implanting and reinforcing itself in the imagination, may be seeking to transform its parts into shadows of ideas. But what ideas? Rhetoricians might walk through their memory structures revisiting the loci, signs, and inscriptions to which they had attached the points of their discourse. Philosophers might recombine the images decorating their Llulian memory spaces in order to build systems of correspondences. But readers of plays are confronted by self-referencing social events invested with causation and anticipation. There may be many potential plays in the materials of one play, but readers do not normally rewrite plots as they go. They represent to themselves as an equivalent-to-reality what the author inscribes as a series of unique events and circumstances. To join in the Platonic world of things and shadows, the text must be imagined in the liquid state of its conception and creation, or it must be visited as an ‘edifice’ of actions reduced to their emblematic equivalents. But that is merely an elaborate way of asking readers to recall what they have read as social themes and critiques. For Bruno, in any case, by a fetch of analogy, the play has become a work of combinations, a system of interwoven correspondences, an instrument of illumination, a theatre of memory. Much the same may be said for the coincidence of opposites in the play. On the title page the inscription ‘in tristitia hilaris: in hilaritate tristis’ subtitles the work as a conflation of opposite emotions – a complete paradox on the face of it insofar as such emotions can rarely inhere simultaneously. In short, an organism that is unable to distinguish between happiness and sorrow (which are circumstance-specific responses) is ill equipped for survival. Members of communities rely upon these emotions as ‘truth signals’ of the mind states of others. Nevertheless, the dictum is a challenge to the social imagination to envision those special acts that merit both pity and scorn, such as the wilful follies of those who should know better. We may find that philosophically we may laugh over the antics of humankind, but weep over their general condition. Significantly, however, the weeping that comes with empathetic loss is excluded; we cannot laugh simultaneously at the harm received by

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those we care for. That tells us something about the play: there are no characters meriting our well-wishing in the face of imminent danger or devaluation. The criminal gang abuses others to our sardonic glee – an intolerable situation if our pity were on the side of their victims. Readers are thereby left to ponder how laughter in sorrow may be folded into the cathartic design of the play. This dyad of Heraclitus/Democritus can take on meaning only if it is given some manner of philosophical gloss. And indeed it can, for Bruno seized upon this figure from a good source. In Pantagruel, Rabelais recounted how Ponocrates and Eudemon burst out laughing so hard that the tears rolled down their cheeks, and in that fashion they became a living tableau of ‘Democritus heraclitizing and Heraclitus democratizing.’ In the Shadows of Ideas, Diana is likewise a Janus-faced creature. Ever in search of paradoxes, synchronicities, correspondences, Bruno again makes claims that theatre plays and the houses of memory are laden with similar meanings. Ideal readers are keen to follow his hint, but may fail him in bringing their reading experience to a perfect state of limbic confusion in which the amygdaloid nucleus double reads the social stimuli and sends the confused message to the hypothalamus to incite both laughter and crying at once, both signalling the same thing. But it is possible, and to that extent represents a very precise reading of the play. The Candlebearer thereby raises the same hermeneutic crux that readers face with The Mandragola: can such acknowledged geniuses (or eccentrics) indulge in the writing of comedy without designing their works as allegorical treatises on more serious matters? The case for Bruno differs to the extent that his allusions to his mnemonic writings are relatively open and declared. With Machiavelli, the detected clues may be selfdeception on the part of the reader, while with Bruno they may be selfdeception on the part of the writer. Bruno, in dedicating his Shadows to the king of France, confessed to its esotericism, with assurances that the king alone had the acumen equal to its demands. Therein lay an invitation to put on the emperor’s new clothes, for what king would avow his own ignorance under such flattering circumstances? It is a testimonial, at the same time, to Bruno’s rather sophomoric self-advertisement as a man of incredible intellectual powers in a world of pygmies. Perhaps Bruno believed that his universe was not only infinite, but infinitely complex, and that he was among the elect few to have mastered its hidden principles. Likewise, he may have believed that his play was a full-scale tool of memory and perception of the most profound kind, largely because, by the powers of analogical thinking, he willed it to be so. We

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hope it was not merely to get the upper hand on his readers by telling riddles without answers. While there may be limits to our acquiescence to this ‘knight of the infinite’ (Couliano) in his runaway enthusiasm for analogies and correspondences, we may endorse him as an accomplished syncretist in matters of compound plotting and as a satirist with a mission against shallow learning and the detritus of humanism in keeping with the Bruno who was on the attack in the Spaccio delle bestia trionfante and in La cena de le ceneri. In the beatings, robbings, and cuckoldings of this play there is a rough justice that is equal to the author’s ‘infinite’ anger. To that end, hyperbole is pressed into full service. The greater the infractions against taste and judgment, the greater are the punishments. Copia for Bruno was a source of pleasure, the measure of a fruitful mind, and for him the essence of the satiric genre that swells toward explosion. Through the superimposition of excesses in erotic desire, cupidity, false learning, and related motifs, the play achieves a whole greater than its parts, for it becomes a theatre of the world of vanity and a cultural stable cleansing. In this regard, Bruno worked with brio in pushing the genre to its ultimate capacities. The full range of his scatological intent is difficult to evaluate and constitutes yet another dimension of his search for excess. The ‘candlebearer’ is he who brings illumination, but it is also the implement that holds the candle, both anterior and posterior receptacles. Abundance is everywhere, the mark of a fertile and playful brain and the evidence of a moral order in disarray. Bruno is happy to contain so much diversity as a relation of opposites, as simultaneous laughter and weeping. Through it all, he maintains the bedrock unities of time and setting, the overtones of Boccaccian narratives, the adaptation of stage types, and an integration of plot motifs from three parallel stories that keep the stage filled with action on a continuous basis. He may have had the margins in sight, but his intuitive grasp of the genre was efficient and complete. Yet the play is in a class of its own as an artefact derived from the realm of the twelve signs and the fixed firmament, the operations of the dizzy brain of the magus, to be sent in turn by appointment to his lady’s fundament. Such is the coincidentia suppositorum he makes of the entire play, leaving some readers more reticent/eager than ever to be placed among the ‘asses gasping far behind.’ This translation is based on a comparative consultation of three modern editions of Bruno’s Candelaio, those edited by Bàrbari Squarotti (Turin: Einaudi, 1964, 1967, 1975), by G.D. Bonino, in La commedia del

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Cinquecento II, Vol. 3 (Turin: Einaudi, 1978), and by A. Guzzo, with an introduction by A. Riccardi and notes by R. Amerio (Milan: Mondadori, 1994).

Bibliography Barr, A. ‘Passion, Extension, and Excision: Imagistic and Structural Patterns in Giordano Bruno’s Candelaio.’ Texas Studies in Literature and Language 13 (1971): 351–63. Gatti, H. The Renaissance Drama of Knowledge: Giordano Bruno in England. London: Routledge, 1989. Maiorino, G. ‘The Breaking of the Circle: Giordano Bruno and the Poetics of Immeasurable Abundance.’ Journal of the History of Ideas 38 (1977): 317–27. Moliterno, Gino. ‘The Candlebearer at the Wake: Bruno’s Candelaio in Joyce’s Book of the Dark.’ Comparative Literature Studies 3 (1993): 269–94. Namer, E. The Cosmology of Giordano Bruno. Trans. R.E.W. Maddison. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1973. 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. Paterson, Annibel M. The Infinite Worlds of Giordano Bruno. Springfield, Il.: C.C. Thomas, 1970. Singer, D.W. Giordano Bruno: His Life and Thought. New York: Greenwood Press, 1950; 1968. Yates, Francis A. Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964; 1977.

The Candlebearer Il candelaio A Comedy by Bruno of Nola Academician of No Academy; also known as The Annoyed In tristitia hilaris; in hilaritate tristis

Printed by Guglielmo Giuliano at the sign of l’Amicitia Paris, 1582

Dramatis Personae bonifacio Neapolitan gentleman and ‘candlebearer’ carubina his wife bartolomeo gentleman and dabbler in alchemy marta his wife manfurio a schoolteacher and pedant gianbernardo a painter vittoria a courtesan lucia Bonifacio’s servant and go-between ascanio Bonifacio’s servant mochione Bartolomeo’s servant scaramuré a professed magician cencio an alchemist-charlatan consalvo an apothecary ottaviano a Neapolitan gentleman

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sanguino a rogue and gang-leader; doubles as ‘Captain Palma’ barra, marca, corcovizzo members of Sanguino’s gang (The action takes place in Naples)

The Book To Those who Drink from the Caballine Fount1 All ye who suck like babes at the breast Of the Muses and slurp their rich pottage with glee, Turn your hearts to my plight and your ears to my plea, And hearken, I entreat you, to my modest request. I ask, beg and plead for a laud or encomium, A motto, a hymn, a brief line I implore To hide my behind or to send well before My happy return to my pa and my mum. Alas my desire for sartorial elegance Is bound to be thwarted and like Bia,2 I know, I’ll go naked and flagrant in doing my penance. My prick and my anus to my lady I’ll show, Like good father Adam when still in his manse Covered only in innocence unshod he did go. Yet these rags as I beg at my back I do hear The swift hooves of posses of critics draw near. To Lady Morgana B. His Ever-Honoured Lady And I, to whom shall I dedicate my Candelaio? To whom, oh great destiny, would you have me offer my sprightly paranymph, my fine chorus leader? To whom shall I address what has, through Sirius’s celestial influx, during these most sweltering hours and most searing so-called dog days, been made to rain down into my brain by the fixed stars, been showered upon me by the fair fireflies of the firmament, been instilled into my mind by the decans of the twelve signs, and blown into my inner ear by the seven wandering lights? Towards whom has it turned? I ask. Whom does it face? On whom has it set its sights? On His Holiness? No.

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On His Imperial Majesty? No. On His Serenity? No. On His Highness, Most Illustrious and Most Reverend Lordship? No. No. No. By my faith, it will be no prince or cardinal, king, emperor or pope that shall take this candle from my hand in this most solemn offertory. It is yours by right so it comes to you; and you shall either place it in your cabinet or stick it into your candleholder, oh my superlatively learned, wise, beautiful, and generous Lady Morgana: for you, tiller of the field of my soul, after having broken up its hard clods and refined its style – so that the dust clouds raised up by the wind of levity should not offend the eyes of this or that person – with divine water flowing from the fount of your spirit did give my intellect to drink. And so, in those times when we could still touch hands I offered you, first, my Gay Thoughts and later The Trunk of Living Water. Now that a great chaos, all too envious of my well-being, has descended between you, who bask in the bosom of Abraham, and me, who desperately burns and blazes without any hope of that succour with which you were wont to cool my tongue, with true pledges and this present gift I mean to prove to you that this same chaos cannot, for all its spite, obstruct my love; and so here then is the candle that is proffered to you by this Candlebearer, which I send to you from this foreign land in which I find myself and where it may serve to throw light on certain Shadows of Ideas,3 which in truth seem to frighten the beasts and, like Dantean devils,4 leave the asses gasping far behind; and where you are, in our homeland, it may serve to bring me into the minds of many and to show them that it’s all far from over. Greet on my behalf that other candlebearer of flesh and blood of whom it is said that Regnum Dei non possidebunt;5 and tell him not to overly rejoice at the rumour that my memory has been trampled under pigs’ feet and battered by the kicks of donkeys because already the donkeys’ ears have been cropped and the pigs, one of these Decembers, will be paying me their dues. And let him not feel too secure in that saying: Abiit in regionem longinquam, he lives in a distant country, because should the heavens ever allow me effectively to say Surgam et ibo, this fattened calf shall undoubtedly be part of our feast.6 In the meantime may he live and graze and take care to grow even fatter than he is now; because, for my own part, I hope to recover lard where I’ve lost the grass, if not under one guise then under another, if not in one then in another life. Remember, Lady, what I believe I need not teach you: Time takes all and gives all; everything changes, nothing is annulled; one only does not change, one only is eternal and endures eternally one, similar, and the same. With this philosophy my spirit swells and my intellect is magnified.

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Thus, at whatever point I may be in this night of waiting, if change is real, I who am in the night await the day and those who are in the day await the night: everythingthat is, is either here or there, either near or far, either now or future, either early or late. Rejoice, then, and if you can, keep well and love those who love you. Argument and Ordering of the Play There are three principal matters woven together in the present comedy: the love of Bonifacio, the alchemy of Bartolomeo, and the pedantry of Manfurio. However, for a distinct understanding of these subjects, a reasoned explanation of their ordering, and evidence of the artifice of this text, we shall present first, of himself, the insipid lover, second the sordid miser, third the pompous pedant; of which the insipid one lacks neither sordidness nor pomposity, the sordid one is equally insipid and pompous, and the pompous one is no less insipid and sordid than he is pompous. bonifacio, then, in Act I, scene i, in love with the lady Vittoria and realizing that she will never reciprocate his love – the reason being that she likes her lads rich and generous and he is neither young nor openhanded – entrusts all his hopes for achieving his amorous aims to the vanities of superstitious magic, and to this end sends his servant to find Scaramuré, who has been described to him as an accomplished magician. I.ii: Having sent off Ascanio, he talks to himself, attempting to bring to mind all the virtues of that art. I.iii: He is joined by Bartolomeo, who, with only half a trick, gets him to bring up his secret and then demonstrates how different is the object of his own love. I.iv: Having overheard this conversation from the side, Sanguino, arch-rogue and gang leader, and Pollula, a young fellow studying under Manfurio, discuss the matter, and Sanguino, especially, is keen to set a trap for Bonifacio. I.vi: Lucia, a procuress, appears, holding the tiny present that Bonifacio is sending to Vittoria. Lucia carefully looks it over and decides to subtract her ten per cent, only narrowly escaping his catching her in the act. I.vii: Bonifacio comes on, all flushed with pride at a certain spanking-new poem that he has just composed in honour and glory of his lady, in which reverie he is discovered (I.viii) by Gianbernardo, the painter, to whom he would have demonstrated his newly acquired poetic furore if he hadn’t become distracted by the thought of his portrait and by the conundrum with which Gianbernardo leaves him. In I.ix he continues to ponder the

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puzzle but remains perplexed; he understands, more or less, the term ‘candlebearer,’ but he can’t quite grasp what ‘aurificer’ might mean.7 Deep in this thought, he sees Ascanio return with the magician, who bamboozles him with a lot of words and leaves him hopeful of being able to grab all he wants. In Act II, scene iii, Vittoria and Lucia are shown caught up in the hope of squeezing oil from this cork and blood from this stone in thinking that, by sowing seeds of hope in Bonifacio’s vegetable patch, they will be able to lay up a rich harvest in their own barn; but the little fools were only duping themselves in thinking that love could have so dulled his brain that his mind’s eye would lose sight of the proverb that you’ll hear him repeat at the beginning of the sixth scene of Act IV. Now alone (II.iv), Vittoria builds some lovely castles in the air based on nothing more than the presumption that the heat of love can melt metals and make them flow, and that Cupid’s hammer could strike enough coin upon the anvil of Bonifacio’s heart that when she is no longer able to practise her own profession she will not need to take up that of Lucia; for, as the saying goes: ‘Having grown old, Venus was reduced to pandering.’ II.v: While she grazes on those light breezes that swell the stomach but give no nourishment, she is joined by Sanguino, who, given what he has heard from Bonifacio’s own mouth, has begun to hatch a fine little scheme of his own, and he takes her off elsewhere to discuss how to put it into action. In Act III, scene ii, Bonifacio comes on with Lucia, who is trying his patience by picking at his purse; now, while he’s chewing over this mess like a mouthful of toffee, manna falls on his plate, that is, he gets a chance to be rid of her for the time being because of the important matters he must discuss with the other two who arrive. They turn out to be (III.iii) Ascanio and Scaramuré, and he rehearses with them his part in some magic ritual; he pays the magician part of his fee and goes off. Scaramuré remains, ridiculing Bonifacio’s folly; when Lucia returns (III.v), expecting to find Bonifacio waiting for her, Scaramuré confirms that her hopes have been in vain and her efforts futile. So off they go to make their plan clear to Vittoria, the magician hoping that, with some playacting on her part, he may scrape more out of Bonifacio. III.ix: Sanguino and Scaramuré come on, apparently having stitched something up with Vittoria and Gianbernardo: together with another pair of stalwarts from Sanguino’s gang, they intend to pull off some scheme disguised as captain and officers of the Watch, a plan that, in III.xiii, they mull over with glee.

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In Act IV, scene I, Vittoria comes out annoyed with the long wait; she talks about Bonifacio’s miserly love and his vain hopes and shows herself most willing to join the false captain, the officers of the Watch, and Gianbernardo in doing him a good bit of mischief. Meanwhile Lucia arrives (IV.ii), appearing to have neither lost time nor laboured in vain; she explains how she has informed Bonifacio’s wife, Carubina, and given her instructions. Bartolomeo joins them (IV.iii), but the women leave, offended and in a huff. Bartolomeo remains (IV.iv), talking about his own affairs when lo! Bonifacio arrives (IV.v), and they banter for a while, each making fun of the other. Meanwhile, Lucia, never one to dawdle, finds Bonifacio (IV.vi), who, being rid of Bartolomeo, is only too eager to believe the latest news she brings, which is that, at the very least, Vittoria will give him her all, and that he must therefore go and screw her this very night in order to save her from pining to death. All of which he willingly believes is the result of the magic spell and so promptly agrees to dress up as Gianbernardo. Lucia goes off with Vittoria’s clothes to disguise Carubina; Bonifacio remains (IV.vii), happy as a lark at the effect he thinks the spell is having; soon after (IV.viii), he trades insults for a while with Marta, Bartolomeo’s wife, and then goes off, in all likelihood to the mask shop to make himself up like a Saint Peacock.8 In IV.xii we have Carubina disguised and well instructed by Lucia. She recounts all the fine caresses and blandishments that this pseudo-Vittoria will offer her alchemical lover and then walks off towards Vittoria’s house. Lucia remains (IV.xiii) and is about to go and search for Gianbernardo when he, as attentive to his own affairs as Lucia is to those of others, makes a timely entrance (IV.xiv). They rehearse their plan and where and when to put whom; then Lucia goes to find Bonifacio and Gianbernardo goes to arrange other things. In Act V, scene i we have Bonifacio dressed up as Gianbernardo, exuding love from his arse and from every other orifice of his body, and after a brief talk with Lucia he goes off with her to the chamber of his desires. All the while Gianbernardo stiffens his own staff by thinking of Carubina, and waits an eternity, playing guard, while Sanguino plies his trade and Bonifacio gets his just deserts; finally (V.ix) out comes a very confused Bonifacio with a still outraged Carubina, who, to their mutual surprise, find themselves faced with another bone to chew and knot to untie, that is, they come face to face with Gianbernardo. A barrage of words ensues and they’re about to come to blows when (V.x) Sanguino arrives disguised as Captain Palma, with his companions dressed as officers of the Watch. In the name of the law and in response to Gianber-

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nardo’s complaint, they arrest and confine Bonifacio to a nearby house, under pretence of having to despatch other matters before transferring him to the main prison of Vicaria. Thus (V.xi), Carubina remains in the clutches of Gianbernardo, who, as is the wont of all ardent lovers – Love lessens the timidity of men and gods alike – tries, with all the subtleties of Epicurean philosophy, to separate Carubina, unused as she is to eating from more than one plate, from all the scruples she might have had. Who, one might well think, was more inclined to be conquered than to conquer, which is why she agrees to go and discuss the matter further in a more private place. In the midst of all this, Scaramuré, with his stomach acting as a watch for his brain, arrives on the scene pretending to be searching for Bonifacio (V.xiv). He finds Sanguino and his lads (V.xv) and begs permission to speak to Bonifacio. Having gained it with some spurious arguments (V.xvi), he tries (V.xvii) to convince Bonifacio that the spell had gone wrong because of his own faulty actions; but for the time being all he wants is to negotiate Bonifacio’s release, which he attempts to do (V.xviii) by offering the captain a little something on the side. But he receives such a sharp rebuff from him, a real expert at the game, that both Bonifacio and Scaramuré end up on their knees, desperately begging the captain for grace and mercy until he finally relents. Which he does only on condition that Scaramuré will bring both the wife, Carubina, and Gianbernardo to withdraw the charge. This agreement is negotiated after many apparent difficulties, but eventually Bonifacio (V.xxiii), after having, on his knees, begged forgiveness from his wife and Gianbernardo, having thanked Sanguino and Scaramuré, having greased the palm of the Captain and his officers, is finally set free by the grace of the Lord God and Our Lady. After his departure (V.xxiv), Sanguino and Ascanio attempt to draw some lesson from his case. Consider, then, yourselves, how his falling in love with Vittoria prepared the way for his being cuckolded, and just when he thought he had reached his prize, he himself was, in fact, being cuckolded; all of which is truly imaged in the figure of Actaeon, who, in hunting was but searching for his own horns and, just when he thought he could enjoy his Diana, himself became a stag. Hardly surprising then, that this fellow, too, should be dismembered and ripped to shreds by these thieving hounds. bartolomeo appears in Act I, scene iii, where he makes fun of Bonifacio’s infatuation and concludes that the only proper love is for two other ladies, that is, for gold and silver; and he leaves, in all likelihood to go and practise the alchemy that he’s studying under Cencio’s tutorship.

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The said Cencio (I.xi) is unmasked as a cheat by Gianbernardo and then (I.xii) shows himself to be, in fact, a complete fraud. Bartolomeo’s wife, Marta, comes on (I.xiii) to talk about her husband’s work and (I.xiv) is joined by Sanguino, who makes fun of them both. In Act II, scene v, in a conversation with Lucia, Barra shows us some of the profits that Bartolomeo is earning, namely, that while he is attending to alchemical labours, his wife, Marta, lathers and labours in other ways. In Act III, scene i, Bartolomeo expatiates on the nobility of his newfound profession, and he adduces many reasons as to why there can be no greater study or learning than that of de minerabilibus9 and so, reminded of his task, he hurries away. In Act IV Bartolomeo awaits the return of the servant he has sent for the pulvis Christi and, in scene iv, he meditates on the motto onus leve10 by likening gold to feathers. His wife, in IV.viii, in a conversation with Bonifacio, shows what a respectable matron she is and proves that she is far more of an expert in the art of jousting than her husband is in the art of alchemy; and, in IV.ix, she explains how this is not surprising, since she was initiated into the game at the age of twelve. Giving further impressive proof of her expertise in the art of the mount, she makes a teary and pitiful digression into those studies that have distracted her husband from better labours; she also explains with what diligence she solicited the gods to restore her husband to his earlier condition. She soon begins to see an answer to her prayers when all the alchemical experiments are brought to naught by the fact that the only pulvis Christi to be had is that which Bartolomeo has to make for himself, which means that he would have to spend five gold guineas to make five guineas of gold. In order to learn more, he goes off with his servant Mochione to find Consalvo. In Act V, scene ii, Consalvo comes on with Bartolomeo, who has been accusing him of being a willing accomplice in Cencio’s swindle. And as they go from words to blows, they are joined (V.iii) by Sanguino and company, disguised as captain and officers of the Watch, who, under the pretence of leading them to prison, tie their hands behind their backs and, after taking them to a very remote spot, bind them hand to hand and back to back. And so, as one sees from the speeches in scenes iv, v, vi, vii, and viii, they were thus relieved of both purses and clothes. Then, in scene xii, after having walked some way together in the hope of meeting someone to untie them, they finally come to the place that Gianbernardo and Carubina are just leaving in order to go elsewhere; in trying to reach them, Consalvo, by quickening his step, trips Bartolomeo and is thus himself pulled down, and that is how they

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remain until Scaramuré arrives (V.xiii), unties them, and sends them home by separate ways. manfurio, in Act I, scene v, begins to effuse grandiloquently and so is quickly recognized by Sanguino as a sheep for shearing, which is to say that the gang decides to fleece him for all he is worth. In Act II, scene I, he is mocked by Ottaviano who at first pretends to marvel at his wonderful speeches and then shows scant appreciation of his poems just to see how he reacts first to praise and then to criticism. When Ottaviano leaves, Manfurio hands his pupil, Pollula, a love letter to be given to Bonifacio, who had commissioned it. In scene vii the letter is read and considered by Pollula and Barra. In Act III, scene vi, Manfurio unsheathes a poem against Ottaviano in revenge for the scant esteem he showed for his poetry, and while he is discussing these verses with Pollula, he is joined by Gianbernardo (III.vii), with whom he argues until he exhausts all patience. He returns in scene xi, together with Corcovizzo, who manages to steal money out of his very hands. Then, as he weeps and wails over it (III.xii), he is succoured by Barra and Marca who, in scene xiii, are joined by Sanguino. By building up his hopes that the thief can be found and the money recovered, they persuade him to exchange clothes and lead him off somewhere. In Act IV, scene xi, he reappears as badly dressed as before, all aggrieved that the second gang of rogues has made off with his precious academic cap and gown by leaving him alone to wait outside while they entered the house and then escaped through the back entrance; now dressed as he is, he is too ashamed to make his way home. Waiting for darkness, he retires into a corner until scene xv, when he takes the centre stage again, walking to and fro and talking about the things he has seen and heard. While he does this, Sanguino, Marca, and the others return dressed as the Watch (IV. xvi), and, as he tries to draw away, they arrest him on this and other charges and imprison him in a house nearby. In the penultimate scene of Act V, he is allowed to choose between three things if he wants to avoid going to prison: either to leave the captain and the officers a hefty tip, or to receive ten strokes on his hand, or to accept fifty lashes on his bare bottom. Prepared to do anything in order to avoid going to prison, he chooses the ten strokes on the hand but at the third stroke says, ‘I’d rather the fifty lashes on the buttocks.’ Having received plenty of these but, for one reason or another, losing track of their number, he ends up receiving both strokes and lashes, paying all the money left in his purse and even handing over the cloak that does

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not belong to him. After all this, and reduced to naked misery like a poor common wretch, in the last scene he composes and recites the Plaudite. Antiprologue Oh, yessir; well thought out, well noted, well arranged. But hadn’t I predicted that this comedy would not eventuate tonight? That slut who was meant to play the parts of Vittoria and Carubina has I know not what sort of woman’s trouble. The actor who is supposed to do Bonifacio is so drunk that he hasn’t seen heaven or earth since midday and, as if he had nothing to do, refuses to get out of bed, but says: ‘Leave me alone, leave me alone, because in three and a half days and seven nights with four or two oarsman I’ll be among moths and bats: heave-ho, heave-ho.’ As for me, I’ve been assigned the prologue and I swear to you that it’s so hellishly complicated that it’s been four days that I’ve sweated over it, day and night, but not all the combined trumpets and drums of those whorish Muses of Helicon have been able to make the least scrap of it stick in my memory. Oh sure, do the prologue; play the lifesaver at this shipwreck, pull ashore this derelict, smashed-up, broken-down, holeridden hulk that seems to have been forcibly hauled up with hooks and grappling irons from the most abysmal of depths. It lets in water like a sieve, it’s never been caulked, and it expects to venture out onto the high seas? Leave the safe haven of this little port? Abandon the pier of silence? Our author, were you to see him, you’d say looks like a real lost soul; forever in contemplation of the punishments of hell, he looks as though he’s already been put through the wringer; a fellow who laughs just to be like everyone else; most of the time you would see him annoyed, restless, out of wits, never happy, cantankerous as an old fellow of eighty, doleful as a dog who’s been fed on onions and beaten a thousand times. By the blood of … let me not say it, he and all these other philosophers, poets and pedants! Why their greatest enemies are wealth and riches, which, in their turn, for fear of being torn apart, quartered, and dissipated by being continually mentally anatomized, flee them as if they were a hundred thousand devils, and go off to find those who will keep and look after them. So much so that I, from having always served such miserable wretches, have starved and starved, so that were I to vomit, I could bring up nothing but my own spirit; had I the strength to shit, I could shit nothing but my own soul, like a hanged man. In conclusion: I’m off to become a monk and whoever wants a prologue can do it himself.

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Proprologue Where is that scoundrel, that good-for-nothing-but-a-beating who is supposed to do the prologue? Ladies and gentlemen, our comedy will be without a prologue; and it doesn’t matter because it’s not necessary: the theme, subject, and its method, arrangement, and other details will, I assure you, emerge in due order and in due order will be put before your eyes, which is much better than if that order were to be narrated to you. This comedy is a sort of tapestry that is designed and woven at the same time; let those who are able to understand it, understand, and those who would like to comprehend it, comprehend. But for all this, I’ll not fail to inform you that you must imagine yourselves to be in the most royal city of Naples, near the district of Nilo. This house that you see set up here will, tonight, serve the ends of certain rascals, rogues, and thieves – be careful yourselves that they don’t relieve you of some of your own possessions. Here tonight these knaves will spread their net, and a pity on those who come to be caught in it. This is the way to the candlebearer’s house, I mean Bonifacio and his wife, Carubina, and to the house of Bartolomeo; this other way leads to the houses of Vittoria, Gianbernardo, the painter, and Scaramuré, the necromancer. Around these parts, although I’ve no idea why, quite often there wanders a most solemn pedant called Manfurio. I’m sure you will see them all, together with the procuress Lucia, whose tasks will keep her coming and going; you’ll see Pollula, for the most part in the company of his Magister – he is, after all, an obliging student, ready for service, day or night – and you’ll see Ascanio, Bonifacio’s page, similarly ready for service in the light or in the dark. Mochione, Bartolomeo’s apprentice, is neither hot nor cold, neither flesh nor fowl; in Sanguino, Barra, Marca, and Corcovizzo you’ll be able to contemplate some of the skills involved in the profession of thievery; through Cencio you will come to know the forms of alchemical fraud; and just to pass the time, there will also appear before you Consalvo, the apothecary, Marta, wife of Bartolomeo, and the very amusing Signor Ottaviano. Consider well who comes and goes, what is done, what is said, how to understand what there is to understand, for certainly, in contemplating these human actions and speeches in the spirit of a Heraclitus or a Democritus, you are sure to have great occasion to either laugh or cry. Here, then, before your eyes, are futile beginnings, feeble plots, vain thoughts, frivolous hopes, bursting breasts, heartstrings laid bare, false assumptions, alienated wits, poetic furores, clouded senses, distortions of

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fantasy, lost intellectual pilgrimages, unbridled faiths, absurd anxieties, dubious studies, untimely sowings, and the glorious fruits of madness. In a lover you will behold sighs, tears, yawns, tremours, dreams, erections, and a heart roasted in the fire of love; thinkings, abstractions, angers, melancholies, envies, quarrels, and a waning of hope for what is most desired. Here you will find the soul beset by shackles, cords, chains, captivity, prisons, and further: eternal suffering, martyrdom, and death; and in the privy of his heart, bolts, darts, arrows, fires, flames, ardours, jealousies, suspicions, spites, retreats, rages, abandonments, sores, wounds, laments, bellows, pincers, anvils, and hammers; the quivered archer, blind and naked; and then the object of love: an oh-my-heart, my goodness, my life, my sweet wound and death, god, divinity, hillock, retreat, hope, fountain, spirit, north star, and a beauteous sun that never sets on the soul’s horizon; and to the meeting then: cruel heart, unyielding column, hard stone, breast of diamond; and cruel hand holding the keys to my heart, and my enemy, my sweet warrior, only target of all my thoughts and only my loves are wondrous but not those of others. You will see in one of these women: celestial glances, fiery sighs, watery thoughts, earthly desires, and aerial fuckings – with all due respect for chaste ears – she being one who can take it without staining the sheets red. You will see her assailed by a lover armed with a longing that warms, a desire that cooks, a charity that kindles, a love that inflames, a lust that blazes, and a voracity that sparks and flashes to high heaven. You will see further – to allay your fears of a universal deluge – the bow of love which is like the sun’s rainbow, not visible to those beneath it but only to those who are at a distance, for all lovers see the folly of others’ infatuation yet none see their own. You will see another of these women, a prioress of those whose only regret is not having sinned more in the green days of their youth, now groaning like the ass that carries the wine but drinks only water; but what am I saying! She’s an angel, an ambassadress, secretary, counsellor, referee, reporter, seller, weaver, factotum, go-between, and guide; a merchant and secondhand dealer in hearts who buys and sells them by weight, size, and market value, who ravels and unravels, brings joy and loss, wounds and heals, discomforts and recomforts, when she brings you either good news or bad, when she brings you hens, plump or lean: she’s advocate, intercessor, cloak, remedy, hope, mediatrix, road, and portal, she who aims Cupid’s bow, bearer of the arrow of the god of love, knot that ties, gum that glues, nail that couples, horizon that conjoins the hemispheres. All of which is accomplished through the agency of: false parchments, huge lies, sighs on purpose, tears on de-

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mand, laments for the occasion, sobs so cold they freeze to death, macho leg-pulls, enlightened jokes, famished flattery, vulpine excuses, lupine accusations, oaths so thin they’re starving to death, praise those present, blame those absent, serve all and love no one, whet their appetite with rich foods and then serve them none. You will also see the haughtiness and majesty of a man (using the term loosely): one who gives such kisses as would turn the stomach of a hen or a pig, one who would reinstate the ancient Latin tongue, an emulator of Demosthenes, one who resuscitates Tullius for you from the murkiest depths, singer of the deeds of the great heroes of old. Here present before you is an acumen that will make your eyes water, your hair curl, set your teeth on edge, make you fart, stand, cough, and sneeze; here is one who composes books worthy of republication, attracting annotators, commentators, compositors, methodicals, adders-on, scholiasts, translators, interpreters, abridgers, the latest disputators, publicists with a brand new grammar, a new dictionary, a lexicon, a varia lectio, an authority on authors, genuine and authorized himself, with Greek, Hebrew, Latin, Italian, Spanish, and French epigrams in fronte libri.11 So one and all and all and one are all consecrated to immortality, as the benefactors of this and future centuries, which are obliged to dedicate statues and colossi to them in the Mediterranean seas, in the great Ocean and in other uninhabitable places of the earth. The lux perpetua comes to take off its beret to him and with profound reverence the saecula saeculorum bows down before him; his fame must perforce echo from one pole to the other, and deafen with cries, clamour, and noise both the North and South winds, across the Indian Ocean and the Mauritian Sea. What a lovely arrangement – I think I can see pearls and jewels set in gold – to have some Latin in a passage of Italian, some Greek in a passage of Latin; and never to let a page go by without adding some little saying, a brief line of verse or some wayward and eccentric conceit! Why they restore my very life when, either in speaking or in writing, by hook or by crook, they drag in a shred of Plato or Demosthenes in the original Greek to gloss a line of Homer or Hesiod. How easy it is to see upon whose head exclusively Saturn has pissed down his wisdom and the nine handmaids of Pallas have unloaded their verbal cornucopia,12 so it is most fitting that they should parade their prosopopeia with grave steps, erect body, unmoving head and eyes in an attitude of modest and yet proud circumspection. You will see one who masticates dogmas, reeks opinions, spits out aphorisms, pisses authorities, belches arcane learning, sweats banal and bizarre lines, and sows the ambrosia and nectar of judgments,

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which need to be tasted by a Ganymede before being raised as a toast to a fulgurating Jove.13 You will see a synonymic, epithetic, appository and suppository pubercola,14 janitor to Minerva, majordomo to Pallas, trumpet of Mercury, patriarch of the Muses, and heir to Apollo’s throne; there I was about to say drone.15 And you will see, in great confusion, schemes of thieves, stratagems of swindlers, undertakings of scoundrels, and, moreover, sweet aversions, bitter pleasures, mad resolves, fallen faiths, limp hopes, and little charity; great and shrewd judgment regarding the affairs of others and lack of insights regarding one’s own; virile women, effeminate men; words that are mouthed but not the least bit meant; the truest believer also the most deceived; and universally the love of money. All of which produces quartan fevers, spiritual cankers, weightless thoughts, silliness beyond measure, laureate lunacies, magisterial blunders, and slips of the tongue to twist your neck into knots; and more: desire that drags, knowledge that nudges, action that reaps, and diligence, the mother of all success. In conclusion, you will see nothing that’s certain, but lots of action, plenty of defects, little that’s pretty, and nothing of any worth. I seem to hear the characters approach. Farewell. Janitor Before I speak, I should excuse myself. I imagine that if not all, then at least the majority of you will be saying to me: ‘A pox rot your nose off! Since when are comedies introduced by janitors?’ And I’ll reply to you: a plague on you all! Before there were comedies, who had ever seen one? And whoever saw you before you existed? And don’t you think that a subject, like the one presented to you tonight, rightly deserves a very particular introduction? An eccentric baboon, a natural dickhead, amoral fuckwit, a tropological beast, an anagogical ass like this one I would think worthy of a field-marshal if not of a janitor! Do you want me to tell you who he is? Do you want to know? Do you want me to explain? He is – I’ll whisper it to you – the candlebearer. Do you want me to show him to you? Do you want to see him? Here he is! Give way! Make room! Get back there if you don’t want to be gored by horns that have frightened better men than you into fleeing the country.

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ACT I Scene i bonifacio and ascanio bonifacio: Go, find him this very instant and make sure you bring him back here. Go, do it, and return quickly. ascanio: I’ll try hard to do it both quickly and well, but it’s better to take a little more time than to make a mess of it. In the words of Cato, ‘A thing well done is done quickly enough.’ bonifacio: God be praised; here I was thinking I had a mere servant and instead I find I have a top servant, a majordomo, a governor, a doctor, and a counsellor; and people say that I’m a poor gentleman! I’m telling you, by that blessed ass’s tail that the Genoese worship at Castello,16 do it quickly whether you like it or not, and take care not to enter his house, do you hear? Call him to the window and tell him what I’ve told you. Understood? ascanio: Yes, sir; I’m going. Scene ii bonifacio, alone bonifacio: Art, Bonifacio, may remedy nature’s deficiency. So, since nothing I can do will make this traitress love me, or even look at me with a bit of pretended affection, who knows, perhaps what the words of Bonifacio, the love of Bonifacio, the sight of Bonifacio in lovelorn spasms have been unable to do, may be done by the forces of this occult philosophy. They say that the art of magic is of such power that against nature itself it can make rivers flow upstream, make the sea be still, the mountains bellow, the depths thunder, the sun go out, the moon fall down, the stars disappear, the day turn dark, and night turn into day. As the Academician of No Academy put it, in that lost poem with an odious title: The billowing seas are stilled and laid to rest, The swirling streams are pushed back in their track, The moon no longer moves from east to west, Night turns to day and daylight all turns black.

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All else may be doubted save the last statement regarding the effect of love, for we see proof of it around us every day – to say nothing of the marvellous things one hears about the skill of this Scaramuré. Aha! I see one of those who would steal your cow and then donate the horns to charity for the love of God. Let’s see if he brings any good news. Scene iii bonifacio and bartolomeo talk; pollula and sanguino listen to them in hiding bartolomeo: Oh cruel love, since your reign is so tyrannical and so violent, how can it so long endure? Why do you allow what I most value and worship to escape me? Why is she not to me bound as I to her so tightly am? Can such a thing be imagined? And yet it is all too true. What sort of shackle is this that firmly chains one to the other and yet leaves the other as free as the roving wind? bonifacio: So I’m not alone in my pain! (Cries) Boo hoo hoo! bartolomeo: What’s the matter, my dear Bonifacio? Are your tears for my suffering? bonifacio: Rather more for my own martyrdom. I can see all too clearly that you are distraught, your complexion has changed, I have just heard your lamentations, I understand your affliction and, as a fellow-victim of a similar and perhaps worse passion, I do sympathize with you. Many days have I seen you go distracted and lost in thought, bewildered and withdrawn – just as I imagine others see me – with tearful eyes, sighing loudly from the heart. ‘What the devil!’ I would say, ‘he has lost no relative, no near-relation or benefactor; he has no lawsuits before the courts; he has all his needs, he is suffering no threats, all his affairs go well; I know his sins don’t weigh too heavily on his conscience; and yet here he is crying and weeping, his brain apparently in cimbalis male sonantibus.17 He must therefore be in love and either a phlegmatic or a choleric or a sanguine or a melancholic humour – I’ve no idea which is the venereal one – must have

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overcome his brain. Now, hearing you pronounce these sweet words, I conclude with ever more certainty that your stomach is indeed full of that poisoned apple. bartolomeo: Ah me, ’tis true for I am most cruelly captivated by her glances. But I’m surprised by you, Master Bonifacio, more than myself because I’m two or three years younger and married to an old hunchback eight years my senior, while you have a very beautiful wife who is only twenty-five and one could hardly find a prettier one in all of Naples. And yet you’ve fallen in love? bonifacio: From the words I’ve just heard you utter I know that you’re all too well acquainted with the confusion and contrariness of the reign of love. If you want to know the progress, or rather the lack of progress, of my suit, I beg you listen. bartolomeo: Tell me, Bonifacio, for after all we’re not like the beasts that copulate merely as an act of reproduction – which is why they are limited to certain times and places, like asses, for example, whose backs are warmed by the sun, most particularly in May, and which therefore generate in warm and temperate climates and not in cold ones like the areas around the pole – we can do it at any time or place. bonifacio: I lived the first forty-two years of my earthly life without being sullied by women; then, reaching the age when the first grey hairs appear and when desire normally begins to wane … bartolomeo: It ceases in some, in others it changes. bonifacio: … when it begins to wane, like the heat in autumn, it was then that I fell in love with Carubina. She seemed to me the most beauteous of beauties; she warmed me and inflamed me such that I became mere kindling to her fire. But now, having been with her day after day, and that first flame being extinguished, the embers of my heart have remained prone to outbreaks of new fires … bartolomeo: A fiercer fire would have left you ashes not embers; had I been in your wife’s place I would have made certain of that. bonifacio: Let me finish my story and then say what you will. bartolomeo: Continue with your fine simile, then. bonifacio: So, since in my heart the flame had been reduced to embers, this April the fire was easily rekindled. bartolomeo: This was the season in which Petrarch fell in love, and it’s the time when asses too begin to raise their tails. bonifacio: What’s that you say? bartolomeo: I said that this was the season when Petrarch fell in love, and it’s also the time when our souls begin to raise themselves in

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contemplation; for while in winter the soul contracts with the cold and in summer it evaporates in the heat, in the quiet, moderate temperature of spring it is much more disposed to contemplation, since the tranquillity of the body leaves it free to pursue its proper functions. bonifacio: Enough of this nonsense; let’s get back to where we were. So, while strolling through Posilippo, I was so profoundly pierced by the arrows of her glances, so burned by the radiance of her eyes, so enslaved by her chains that, alas … bartolomeo: This beast they call Love usually pounces on those who have nothing to do and little to think about; you did say you were strolling? bonifacio: Now let me know the goal of your desires, since you’ve allowed me tell you mine. I think you must be able to gain some relief from your pains by talking to others who suffer the same malaise, if loving can indeed be called a malaise. bartolomeo: Nominative: Lady De Silva torments me, Lady Goldera steals my heart.18 bonifacio: May God visit a pox on you and on both of them as well. bartolomeo: Genitive: I belong to Lady De Silva; my thoughts all belong to Lady Goldera. bonifacio: May a canker rot Bartolomeo, Goldera, and De Silva. bartolomeo: Dative: to Lady De Silva I bring my love, to Lady Goldera I aspire; to both Lady De Silva and Lady Goldera I commend myself. bonifacio: I’d like to know what the devil has got into him. bartolomeo: Vocative: Oh Lady De Silva why do you abandon me? Oh Lady Goldera why do you flee from me? bonifacio: May they flee so far as to reduce you to penury. The devil take you; you’ve merely come to mock me. bartolomeo: And may you stay with the god who has stolen your brain, if ever you had it. I’m off to serve my mistresses. bonifacio: Look, look at the cunning and ease with which this fool made me tell what I should rather have told fifty others instead! I do wonder if this passion has not already presented me with the first fruits of madness. Now, by the devil, I want to go home and send off Lucia. I see certain scoundrels over there laughing; I suspect they too have overheard this godforsaken conversation. Love and anger can scarce be hidden.

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Scene iv sanguino and pollula sanguino: (Laughs) Ha ha ha ha. May he get that and more, the stupid cow, dumb ass, brainless sheep, beast with bone from ear to ear. It certainly took no torture to get that confession out of him! Ha ha ha; and what about that other fop? You see with what blather he managed to have him blurt out that he’s in love, and with whom, where, how, and why! pallula: You can be sure that when he says the office of Our Lady he has no need to invoke ‘Domine, labia mea aperies.’ sanguino: What does that mean, ‘Domino lampia mem periens?’ pallula: ‘Lord, open my lips so that I may speak.’ What I’m saying is that anyone so willing to tell his secrets to all and sundry doesn’t need to say that prayer. sanguino: True, but you see that, in the end, he did regret having told him. So no harm will come to him for it, because you know that the Scriptures say somewhere: ‘He who sins and makes amends shall be salvaged.’ pallula: Oh no! Here’s the master. Now we’re going to be here all day, may the devil break his neck for him! Scene v manfurio, pollula, and sanguino manfurio: Bene repperiaris bonae, melioris, optimaeque indolis, adolescentule: quomodo tecum agitur? Ut vales?19 pallula: Bene. manfurio: Gaudeo sane gratulorque satis, si vales bene est, ego quidem valeo.20 – Ah, that Ciceronian elegance that one finds insinuated even in his familial missives! pallula: Is there anything else, domine Magister? I’m off to do something else with Sanguino and can’t loiter about here with you. manfurio: Oh, dictates imparted in vain, which in my glorious Minervan academy, having extradited them from my Mars-like acumen, I had you inscribe with dark ink on candid pages attramento intincto exarare! discarded, I say, in cassum cum sit,21 since in the proper time and locality, eorum servata ratione,22 you know not how to use them.

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While your preceptor with that Latinate idiom most celebrated apud omnes, etiam barbaras, nationes23 interpellates you, you, etiam dum persistendo24 in the commercio bestiis similitudinario25 of the ignorant plebeians, abdicaris a theatro literarum,26 giving me a response composed of locutions that you in your cot absorbed vel, ut melius dicam, suscepti,27 from your wet nurse. Tell me, oh simpleton, when will you de-adolescenticize yourself ? sanguino: Master, with this infernal way of talking in grammouldian, with all these catacombries and smellegant latrinaries, you infect the air and make yourself a laughing-stock. manfurio: Yes, oh brain-deficient and inurbane one, but only if this megalocosmos world-machine were by your similar compacted and infarcted. sanguino: What’s all this about a dunnybane meccanocosmos? Speak to me in a language I understand and I’ll reply to you. manfurio: Go with ill-fortune then, to your perdition and to hell. The Muses do disdain to suffer the pigsty of your company, vel haram colloquii vestri. What, oh Pollula, is your judgment on this blockhead? Pollula, by apposition ‘fruit of my eruditions,’ receptacle of my learned seed, be unperturbed by the words I have just spoken because through them, by their agency, with them (all causative expressions as you can see) – I wanted to impart to you the language in which lepidissime eloquentissimeque28 we phrase our objurgations, which you then, at a later time – should the heaven-dwellers extend to you what they have already conceded to us – may in turn imitate for the disciples that you eruditize. pallula: True, but one should utter them at the right time and on the proper occasion. manfurio: The cause of my excandescentia was your saying: ‘I can’t loiter about here with you.’ Debuisses dicere, or – to put it more elegantly, making the infinitive precede the subjunctive – dicere debuisses: ‘Excellentia tua, eruditione tua, non datur, non conceditur mihi cum tuis dulcissimis musis ocium.’29 And then that ‘with you,’ vel ethruscius ‘vosco,’30 in Latin is neither respectful nor civilized when addressed to your pedagogical superiors. sanguino: You see, you see how the world goes: you two have made your peace and I’ve been left out like a dog in the rain. By your grace, domine Magister, let us also remain friends because, although I’m not fit to be at the end of your rod, that is, be your disciple, perhaps I can be of service to you in some other way.

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manfurio: Nil mihi vobiscum.31 sanguino: Et with spirits too. manfurio: Ha, ha, ha; how, oh Pollula, have you come to adjoin yourself to this ugly beast? sanguino: Ugly or not, I’m at your honour’s service, most noble lord. manfurio: This creature seems more amenable to being trained and less savage than he displayed himself to be at first, given that he now addresses most urbane and appropriate epithets to me. pallula: Sed a principio videbatur tibi homo nequam.32 manfurio: Eliminate that ‘nequam’; although it is used in the Holy Scriptures, it is in no way dictio ciceroniana. ‘Tu vivendo bonos, scribendo sequare peritos’33 says the Ninivite, Giovanni Despauterio, followed in this by my preceptor Aloisio Antonio Sidecino Sarmento Salano, successor to Lucio Giovanni Scoppa,34 ex voluntade heredis. Dicas igitur: ‘non aequum,’ prima dictionis litera diphtongata, ad differentiam of the quadrupede substantia animata sensitiva, quae diphtongum non admittit in principio.’35 sanguino: Most learned Maester, we’re forced to beg your leave because we soon need to meet with Gianbernardo, the painter. Adieu. manfurio: Go, then, with all the fine fowls of fortune. But who is this that with calatho in brachiis36 comes obvia37 to me? She is a muliercula, quod est per ethimologiam ‘mollis Hercules,’ opposite iuxta se posita:38 the frail sex, unstable, fragile and inconstant, the very opposite of Hercules. Oh what a wonderful etymological derivation, just this instant deprompted by the Mars of my genius. Now then propriam versus domum39 I shall direct my steps because I want to record it maioribus literis40 in my propriarum elucubrationum libro.41 As Apelles used to say: ‘Nulla dies sine linea,’ let no day go by without a line. Scene vi lucia, alone lucia: Dear me but I’m tired; let me rest up here a while. Far be it from me to curse the whole of last night, but I did spend most of it on my feet standing guard and feeding off the smell of roast and the steam of cabbage stew. Poor me, I’m like a piece of straw in a tub of lard: lean in the midst of plenty. Now, Lucia, let’s think of other things. And since there’s no one around here to see, I want to have a good look at what Bonifacio is sending to Vittoria: well, here is some

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pan di Spagna, slices of candied sugar and some of those wonderful cakes made by the nuns of Saint Bastiano! Further down there are all sorts of other sweets and at the bottom there’s a love letter and, by my faith, it’s a poem, no less. Goodness, he’s become a poet now! Well, let’s read it. Wounded hast thou my heart, oh gentle Lady, And my soul’s afflicted as from a malady, Suffering the blows of love’s cruel tyranny, My complexion’s wan and pale as you can see. As others to their beloved do courtesy, So in your honour I authored this eulogy. Could I do more to show my constancy, I would bow down before your effigy. Consumed by the splendour of your seignory, Bonifacio burns to death except some remedy Arrives from you to revive his faculty. Sleep, food and drink, oh Lady I do but flee Friends and relations are now but naught to me And in thoughts of you lies all my ecstasy.

Oh a fine conclusion and fine conceits, every bit as subtle as he is himself. For myself, I’m no expert at poetry but if I had to make some judgment about this I would say two things: first, that the lines are rather longer than usual; second, that they’re modelled on tolling bells and braying asses, which always return to the same note. But I want to go off and find a more suitable spot where I can withdraw my ten per cent commission from this. After all, I too deserve a share of the fruits of his folly. Scene vii bonifacio, alone bonifacio: Great indeed is the power of love! From where else, oh Muses, could such inspiration and genius for composing poetry come to me, since I’ve never been taught such things? Where has there been such a sonnet before, with every line, from the first to the last, ending in the same rhyme? You can read Petrarch from cover to

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cover, you can scour all of Ariosto, but you’ll never find anything to match it. Oh traitress, traitress, my sweet enemy, by now you must have read and plumbed its profundity and unless your soul is more savage than a tiger’s, I’m sure you’ll never underestimate your Bonifacio again. But here is Gianbernardo. Scene viii gianbernardo and bonifacio gianbernardo: A good day and a good year to you, Bonifacio.42 Done any good deeds today? bonifacio: What are you saying? Why, today I did something which I’ve never done before in my entire life! gianbernardo: Oh, extraordinary, indeed! Why, is it possible that what was done today might have been done yesterday or another day, by either you or anyone else? Or can you for your entire life forever do what you once did? In fact, what you did yesterday you will never do again; and I never before painted the portrait I did today, nor will I ever be able to do it again; what I can do, however, is paint another. bonifacio: Now let’s leave all this sophistry aside; you’ve reminded me of the portrait. Have you seen the one that I’ve had done of me? gianbernardo: I’ve looked at it more than once. bonifacio: How do you judge it? gianbernardo: It’s good; it resembles you more than me. bonifacio: Be that as it may, I want another one by your hand. gianbernardo: Do you want to offer it to some lady friend in memory of you? bonifacio: Enough; there are too many other things going through my mind. gianbernardo: It’s a good sign when things go through the mind; take care that your mind itself doesn’t start going through things, because it could get caught up in something and your brain, at night, would be waiting up in vain for it to return for dinner; and then it would have to be like the poor housewife out at night, searching for her intellect with a lantern in her hand. As for the portrait, I’ll do it as soon as I can. bonifacio: Yes, but on your life, make me handsome. gianbernardo: Don’t demand so much if you want to be obeyed; if

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you want me to make you look handsome, that’s one thing; if you want me to paint your portrait, that’s another. bonifacio: All jokes aside, try to do a good job of it and I’ll come to sit for it at your place. gianbernardo: Come whenever you please and don’t doubt that, for my part, I’ll turn out something good; you too should put your mind to doing good because … bonifacio: Because? What do you mean ‘because … ’? gianbernardo: Mend your old ways. bonifacio: What? What the devil do you mean? gianbernardo: From a candlebearer you’re becoming an aurificer.43 bonifacio: What candlebearer? What aurificer? gianbernardo: Enough now, I must take my leave. bonifacio: May God grant you what you wish. gianbernardo: And may he give you what you lack.44 Scene ix bonifacio, alone bonifacio: ‘From candlebearer to aurificer’; it really is all very strange! Everywhere I look people seem to be making fun of me; like now, what the devil did he mean by ‘aurificer’? I suppose an aurificer is someone who works with gold and surely there’s nothing wrong with the goldsmith’s trade; its only drawback is having to stick your hands in the urine in which they often have to immerse their gold, silver, and other precious metals. But perhaps such riddles will become clearer in time. Ah, now I think I can see Ascanio and Scaramuré. Scene x scaramuré, bonifacio, and ascanio scaramuré: Well met, Master Bonifacio. bonifacio: You’re most welcome, Master Scaramuré, hope of my lovelorn life. scaramuré: Signum affecti animi.45 bonifacio: My dear sir, if you cannot cure my illness then I’m dead for certain. scaramuré: So, as I see, you’re in love.

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bonifacio: That’s it exactly; I need tell you nothing more. scaramuré: I can deduce from your physique, from the numbers in your name and in those of your relatives and progenitors that the rising sign at your birth was ‘Venus retrograda in signo masculino; et hoc fortasse in Geminibus vigesimo septimo gradu,’46 which portends certain change and conversion at the age of forty-six, which is your present age. bonifacio: In point of fact, I don’t really remember when I was born; however, from what I hear others say, I’m about forty-five or so. scaramuré: The months, days, and hours I shall be able to compute more precisely with my compass when I shall have calculated the relation between the latitude of the major fingernail at the lifeline and the distance from the summit of the annular to that terminal point at the centre of the hand that is designated as the field of Mars; but for the moment it’s enough to have looked at things generally in cosmic terms. Tell me, when you were struck with love for the woman you were looking at, where was she standing? To your right or your left? bonifacio: To my left. scaramuré: Arduo opere nanciscenda.47 Towards the Equator or the North, the orient or the occident, or in some direction between these? bonifacio: Towards the Equator. scaramuré: Oportet advocare septentrionales.48 Enough, enough. For the moment we need nothing else; I intend to deal with your case by using natural magic, reserving the intricacies of the more profound art for weightier occasions. bonifacio: As long as you help me to achieve my goal, do as you please. scaramuré: Don’t worry yourself about it; leave it in my hands. Tell me, did it occur by fascination? bonifacio: How do you mean ‘by fascination’? I don’t understand. scaramuré: Idest, by having looked at her, she too having looked at you. bonifacio: Well, then, yes; yes sir. By fascination. scaramuré: Fascination occurs through the power of a thin and transparent exhalation, created by heat generated in the heart by the purest parts of the blood, and takes the form of rays that, sent out through open eyes with strong imaginary force, come to wound the thing looked at, touch the heart, and thus afflict the body and spirit

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of the other, either with love or hate or envy or melancholy or any other similar emotion.49 Amorous fascination comes about when, with very frequent, or, if casual, with intense gaze, an eye meets with another eye, and reciprocally a visual ray meets with another visual ray, and light accopulates with light. Then spirit is bound to spirit; the stronger light engages the weaker one, and, as sparkles, they flow through the eyes and penetrate the internal spirit, which is rooted in the heart; and it is thus that they ignite the fires of love. For this reason, if one wants to avoid being fascinated, one must exercise maximum caution and guard one’s eyes, which, especially as far as love matters are concerned, are the very windows of the soul, from which the saying ‘Averte, averte oculos tuos.’50 This, for the moment, should be enough; we’ll meet again at greater leisure to discuss the things we’ll need. bonifacio: Sir, if you succeed in bringing all this to fruition, you will not find me ungrateful. scaramuré: Master Bonifacio, I want you to understand one thing: my primary concern is to be of service to you and then I am certain that if you’re not grateful in return, you should have been. bonifacio: Command me, sir, because I have great affection for you and the greatest confidence in your skills. ascanio: Well, then, until we meet again. Adieu. bonifacio: Let’s be off because I can see the most noisome of men ever produced by nature approaching and I want at all costs to avoid speaking to him. I shall come to you later, Master Scaramuré. scaramuré: Come, for I shall be waiting. Adieu. Scene xi cencio and gianbernardo cencio: That’s how this work needs to be conducted, according to the doctrine of Hermes and of Geber. The underlying matter of all metals is Mercury; lead belongs to Saturn, tin to Jupiter, iron to Mars, gold to the Sun, bronze to Venus, silver to the Moon. Quicksilver is linked especially to Mercury, though it is to be found in all the other metals; this is why he is called the messenger of the gods, being male with male and female with female. Hermes Trismegistus called the sky the father of all metals and the earth their mother, and he declared that the mother can fall pregnant in the mountains or in the

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valleys, in the countryside or in the sea, or in abysses and caverns; the meaning of which enigma I’ve already explained to you. In the womb of the earth, the matter of all metals is just this, together with sulphur, says the most learned Avicenna in his Epistle to Hazez; to which opinion I would add that of Hermes, who would have it that the metals are constituted by all the elements together; and, following Albertus the Great, I call ridiculous the sentence attributed to Democritus by the alchemists, namely, that lime and lye – by which they mean acquaforte – is the underlying matter of all the metals. Nor can I approve in any way Gilgile’s declaration, in his book De’ secreti, where he would have it that ‘metallorum materiam esse cinerem infusum,’51 because he had observed that ‘cinis liquatur in vitrum et congelatur frigido’;52 an error perspicaciously corrected by the divine Albertus …53 gianbernardo: These infernal arguments don’t interest me in the least. I would prefer to see the gold already made and you dressed better than you are at present. I think that, quite clearly, if you knew how to make gold, you wouldn’t be selling the formula but using it to make the gold; and, instead of making gold for others in order to show them how it’s done, you would make it for yourself and so have no need to sell your secret. cencio: You’ve interrupted my train of thought. You think you’re the only one with a clear mind and that you’ve brought up the greatest objection. Yet, in all the precautions that Bartolomeo has taken with me, he has shown himself to be even more canny than you. But he knows that I was ambushed and robbed as I came from Airola through the wood of Cancello. gianbernardo: I think he knows it more from what you’ve been telling him than from me. cencio: Which is why, having no more means to buy the medicinal herbs and the minerals required for the operation, I have done as you know. gianbernardo: You should have offered your services as your own guarantee, saying, ‘Master, I’ll make gold to spare for both you and for me,’ and then he and many others would certainly have come to your aid, and the gold that you are now trying to get from their purses you would have been extracting from your furnace to your greater honour and reputation. cencio: I preferred to do it this way. In any case, when I’m dead, what will I care if the whole world knows how to make gold? What will it matter to me if the whole world will be full of gold?

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gianbernardo: I much doubt that silver and tin will ever be worth more than gold. cencio: You should know, in the first place, that Master Bartolomeo himself had in his hands the formula for both the procedure and the ingredients necessary; he would send his lad to the apothecary for the necessary ingredients and he was present at everything that was done; he insisted on doing it all himself and from me he wanted nothing more than directions, for me to say to him: ‘Do it in this way, do it in that way, don’t do this, do that, now add this, now remove that,’ so that, in the end, it was with the greatest happiness that he found the purest and most certified gold at the bottom of the glass cucurbit which had been moulded luto sapientiae, with the clay of wisdom … gianbernardo: It’s more likely to have been mud mixed from the sweat of whores on their way to Piedigrotta.54 cencio: And so, completely reassured, he paid me the six hundred scudi we had agreed upon for the secret I had promised. gianbernardo: Listen, you’ve both done one thing, now do another and bring the wheel full circle. cencio: What would you have us to do? gianbernardo: Having six hundred scudi less, he is now as poor as you were then and you, having six hundred scudi more are now in the wealthy condition he used to be; so, since you’ve both exchanged your fortunes, exchange also your caps and gowns because, in the end, it’s not proper that he should go about in those clothes and you in these. cencio: Oh, you’re always making fun! gianbernardo: Yes, yes, I’m making fun and the first time I’ll see you both together I’ll say: ‘Here, Cencio, this is your cloak. Bartolomeo, here, this is your cloak.’ But seriously, as a true gentleman, tell me the truth: haven’t you played the same caper on this fellow as Gigio did with Perrotino? cencio: What caper was that? gianbernardo: You don’t know the story? Then I can tell you. This fellow hollowed out a piece of wood, put some gold inside, then burnt it on the outside to make it look like an ordinary coal; then at the right time, with a very able hand, he took it from his pocket, picked up two other coals lying near the furnace, and dropped the prepared coal with them into the furnace, from which, of course, as the coals burnt to ash, flecks of gold dropped through the lower grate.55

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cencio: Oh, God help me! Never could I have imagined such an outrage. What! Me deceive? And Master Bartolomeo allowing himself to be deceived? Now I’m sure that someone has recounted this story to him because, the first time we tried things out, not only wouldn’t he allow me to touch a thing but he also insisted that I sit six paces away from the furnace dictating the steps of the process to him; and the second time he insisted on being alone and guiding himself from my formula, in my total absence. So, after having tried out the process twice with little material and therefore little expense, he has now decided to go all the way and, as I said to you, wants to sow in large measures so as to reap a great harvest. gianbernardo: What! Has he increased the measures? cencio: So much so that in this first attempt he’s as likely to make five hundred scudi as fifty lira. gianbernardo: I think it’s more likely to be fifty lira than five hundred scudi. Now truly you have prophesied better than Caiaphas did. Well then, let’s await the birth to see whether it’s male or female. Good day to you. cencio: Goodbye, goodbye. It’s already something that you still believe the articles of faith. Scene xii cencio, alone cencio: In truth, if Bartolomeo had the brains of this fellow, and if everyone here were as wary as he is, I would have spread my net out quite in vain. But now is the time to hold fast, because the bird is already inside and I’m not like one of those who get the bird to the net only to let it fly from their hands. I shall never count these scudi mine until I’m out of the Kingdom of Naples. I’ve already engaged a seat on the coach and I’m off to take it up. I’ve not the least intention of picking up my other baggage. When the landlord opens the suitcase I’ve left with him, he’ll discover that it’s full of stones and the container is worth more than its contents. I’m sure it won’t take him long to understand. And I mustn’t stay around here long enough for Bartolomeo to send for more pulvis Christi. I think I can see his wife approaching. I don’t want her to see me all dressed for travel like this.

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Scene xiii marta, alone marta: I think that Satanass, Ballzeebuck and all those other phantoms are going to invite him to become one of them because such an expert with fire would be perfect for frying and roasting the souls of the damned. My husband’s face is like someone who has been thirty years digging coal at the Mountain of Scarvaita, on the other side of Mount Cicala. No fish is more at home in water than he is getting thoroughly smoked next to those burning coals of his and then – I don’t want to curse him but – he comes to me with those burning, red eyes looking like Lucifer himself. In truth, there’s no task so heavy that love will not only lighten but make it pleasurable. Now here’s a fellow who, since having got into his head the hope of creating the philosopher’s stone, has found eating a chore, lying in bed tiring, and the night seems to him never-ending, just like a child dying to wear his new clothes. Everything else bores him, all time spent on other things is wasted, and his only paradise is his furnace. Coals are his gems and precious stones, retorts are his angels, tied together from one burner to the next with glass noses this way and iron alambics that way, some big, some little, and some in between. And how he jumps, and he dances and he sings, that poor wretch, that he reminds me of that proverb about the ass.56 A short while ago, in order to see what he was up to, I put my eye to a crack in the door and I saw him seated upon a chair like a university professor with one leg stretched out here and another there, admiring the beams of the ceiling and, after nodding his head three times he said to them: ‘You, you I shall festoon with stars made of the purest gold.’ Then he murmured I don’t know what, looking down at the trunks and turning towards the caskets. ‘By my faith,’ I said, ‘He thinks all these will soon be filled with gold doubloons.’ Oh, here’s Sanguino. Scene xiv sanguino and marta sanguino: (Singing) Sweee-per, sweee-per, anyone want a chimney sweeeper? Anyone want their pots fixed? Their chandeliers, crocks, or cauldrons fixed?57

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marta: What’s the occasion, Sanguino? What’s the news? That you’ve become mad or that you’ve taken up outdoor singing? Which one is it? sanguino: I don’t know; one or the other. Don’t you know? marta: I know only what you tell me. sanguino: I’m servant, disciple, and companion to your husband, who must be either a chimney sweeper or a mender of pots, a fixer of kettles or a welder of frying pans. If you don’t believe me look at his face and observe his hands. What the devil is he working at? Or are you hanging him up to smoke like a sausage or a good piece of mutton? marta: Poor me, alas; because of him people will point to me in the street and everyone will talk about me. You understand, Sanguino? Tell him these things, not me. sanguino: They say Our Lord healed all sorts of other infirmities, but he stayed well away from the mad. marta: So, be on your way, because I certainly don’t want to get too close to you, madman. sanguino: Go on then, my dear madam, snuggle up to him, but watch where you put your tongue, because the whole meal will taste of smoke.

ACT II Scene i ottaviano, manfurio, and pollula ottaviano: Master, what is thy name? manfurio: Mamphurius. ottaviano: What is thy profession? manfurio: I am a magister artium, doctor of the liberal arts, moderato of pueriles, of those with tiny nails, of smooth-cheeked ones, of youngsters, of adolescents, of those who being yet but shoots may be made to grow, be bent and led in every direction, who have infant voices suitable to soprano, irrisorum denticulorum, succiplenularum carnium, recentis naturae, nullius rugae, lactei halitus, roseorum labellulorum, lingulae blandulae, mellitae simplicitatis, in flore, non in semine degentium, claros habentium ocellos, puellis adiaphoron.58

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ottaviano: Oh gentle, refined, most eloquent Master, most gallant majordomo and cupbearer of the Muses … manfurio: Ah, lovely apposition. ottaviano: … patriarch of the Apollinesque chorus … manfurio: Melius diceretur59 Apollonian. ottaviano: … trumpet of Phoebus, allow me to kiss you on the left cheek, for I cannot consider myself worthy to kiss that sweetest mouth … manfurio: Neither for ambrosia nor for nectar do I envy Jove. ottaviano: … that mouth, I say, that exhales such varied, beautiful sentences and such unheard-of phrases. manfurio: Addam et plura: in ipso aetatis limine, ipsis in vitae primordiis, in ipsis negociorum huius mundialis seu cosmicae architecturae rudimentis, ex ipso vestibulo, in ipso aetatis vere, ut qui adnupturiant, ne in apiis quidem.60 ottaviano: O Master, fount of the Muses, do not drown me in such sweet words lest I confess my own inadequacy; speak no more, I implore you, for you do put me upon the rack. manfurio: I shall be silent then, for the humble may feel oppressed by majesty, as befell that silly woman whom Ovid mentions in the Metamorphoses, whose thread of life the niggardly Fates did truncate even as she beheld the fulgurating Jove in all his majesty.61 ottaviano: By your grace, I beseech thee, by that god Mercury, who has rained such eloquence upon you … manfurio: Cogor morem gerere.62 ottaviano: Have pity on me and launch no more of these arrows at me for you do make me swoon. manfurio: Admiration leads him to ecstasy. Tacebo igitur de iis hactenus, nil addam, muti pisces, tantum effatus, vox faucibus haesit.63 ottaviano: Master Manfurio, most delightful river of eloquence, oh most serene sea of knowledge … manfurio: Serenitas is more properly referred to air; for the sea one should use tranquillitas. ottaviano: … do you have about you, perhaps, one of your fine compositions, because I’m most desirous to have a copy of your learned writings. manfurio: I believe, sir, that in toto vitae curriculo,64 were one to scour all sorts of diverse and various pages, there could never be found verses of such kalisymmetry, that is, so finely tuned, as those that I am about to show you, here and now, externalized.

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ottaviano: What is the substance of your verses? manfurio: Litterae, syllabae, dictio et oratio, partes propinquae et remotae.65 ottaviano: I’m asking what is the subject and the theme. manfurio: You mean: de quo agitur? materia de qua? circa quam?66 It is the gulosity, omnivorousness, and edacity of that pantophagous Sanguino – living effigy of Philoxenus qui collum gruis exoptabat,67 – and of his other peers, partners, supporters, similars, and collaterals. ottaviano: May it please you to read them to me. manfurio: Lubentissime.68 One should hide nothing from the learned. Here now I explico papirum propriis elaboratum et lineatum digitis.69 But first I would remind you that the Sulmonian Ovid – Sulmo mihi patria est70 – in his book Methamorphoseon octavo, described the wild Calydonian boar with a multitude of epithets and my description of this domestic pig is meant as an imitation.71 ottaviano: By your grace, read it quickly. manfurio: Fiat. Qui cito dat, bis dat. Exordium ab admirantis affectu.72 O dirty pig, debased, disuseful, that have but fatuous grunts and rueful, with which you hope your food to get, your throat quadrupled by the fat of sleazy, slimy pottage that a sluttish keeper throws your way. To make yourself e’en more obese in this foul pigsty you take up lease; No other goal have you but pasture, No movement or exercise of any nature; The bed into which each night you tuck is a layer of shit, piss, scum, and muck. Post haec:3 Foreign to naught that’s self-indulgent, Lord of Lard you rise refulgent, Stomach that dwarfs the Pleiades’ well, Denizen of slime where you love to dwell, Gaping maw, salacious sloucher, Covetous Harpy, Tityos’ vulture, Expanse unsated, like vulva or fire, Jaws outstretched and putrid mire, Foe to heaven and bound to earth,

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What is your opinion of these verses? Are you well enough educated to appreciate their metre? ottaviano: Certainly, coming from someone of your profession, they’re not without considerable interest. manfurio: Sine conditione et absolute,74 these lines, fruits gathered from the finest trees ever grown on Mount Helicon, irrigated from the Parnassian fount, warmed by the blond Apollo and cultivated by the sacred Muses deserve much close scrutiny and meditation. And what do you think of this fine oration? Does it not provoke you to even greater admiration than before? ottaviano: A most beautiful and subtle conceit. But tell me, I beg you, did you spend much time on the composition of these verses? manfurio: No. ottaviano: Did you expend much labour on them? manfurio: Minime.75 ottaviano: Did you spend much thought and care? manfurio: Nequaquam.76 ottaviano: Did you write and rewrite them? manfurio: Haud quaquam.77 ottaviano: Did you correct them? manfurio: Minime gentium,78 absolutely no need. ottaviano: Did you surreptitiously borrow, not to say steal, them from some other writer? manfurio: Certainly not! Absit verbo invidia, Dii avertant, ne faxint ista Superi.79 You are too inquisitive about my learning, but you must know that I have drunk profusely from the caballine fount, and I have imbibed more than a little liquor from her de cerebro nata Iovis,80 I mean the chaste Minerva, to whom Wisdom is attributed. And let me say that I would have been in no way less happy to have been asked to recite all the affirmative particles. They have not abandoned my memory: Sic, ita, etiam, sane, profecto, palam, verum, certe, procul dubio, maxime, cui dubium?, utique, quidni?, mehercle, aedepol, mediusfidius, et caetera.81 ottaviano: By your grace, in place of that et caetera give me another negation. manfurio: This cacocephaton, that is to say ‘depraved elocution,’ will

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not pass through my lips because factae enumerationis clausulae non est adponenda unitas.82 ottaviano: Of all these affirmative particles, which one do you prefer above the others? manfurio: That utique is particularly dear to me; it has the elegance of the lingua aethrusca, vel tuscia,83 and as such is deeply inscribed in my mind, having the elegance of the most profound of idioms. ottaviano: Which of the negatives is your favourite? manfurio: That nequaquam is close to my heart and gives me much satisfaction. ottaviano: You question me, now. manfurio: Tell me, Signor Ottaviano, did our verses please you? ottaviano: Nequaquam. manfurio: How do you mean, nequaquam? Are they not optimi? ottaviano: Nequaquam. manfurio: Two negations affirm; you must mean to say that they were good. ottaviano: Nequaquam? manfurio: Do you jest? ottaviano: Nequaquam. manfurio: So you mean it in all seriousness? ottaviano: Utique.84 manfurio: So then, you have a poor estimation of my Mars and my Minerva? ottaviano: Utique. manfurio: You are an enemy and you envy me: to begin with, you admired nostra dicendi copia,85 now, ipso lectionis progressu,86 your admiration has metaphorized to envy? ottaviano: Nequaquam: How envy? How enemy? Did you not tell me that you liked these terms? manfurio: You’re joking then, and you are saying it exercitationis gratia?87 ottaviano: Nequaquam. manfurio: Tell me then, without simulatione and subterfuge: do you judge my verses to be gross, crass, and crude? ottaviano: Utique. manfurio: This is what you really believe? ottaviano: Utique, sane, certe, equidem, utique, utique.88 manfurio: I no longer wish to speak with you. ottaviano: If you cannot bear to listen to the words that you like, what would happen if I began to use words you disliked? Goodbye.

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Scene ii manfurio and pollula manfurio: Vade, vade. Adesdum,89 Pollula, have you considered carefully the qualities of this man who, this very moment, has absented himself from us? pallula: This fellow in the beginning was mocking you in one way; then, at the end, he was giving you cheek in another way. manfurio: Don’t you think all of this derives from the envy that the inept nurse against us others – or, to say it better, alii, since difference is denoted by aliud – who are erudite? pallula: I believe everything you say, since you are my teacher and I would like to please you. manfurio: Enough now; let’s leave all this aside. I want to go this very minute to unleash the Muses against this Ottaviano; and after having him listen to the porcine epithets directed against someone else, I want him to hear some addressed to himself, inept judge that he is of other people’s learning. Here now, I give you an amatory epistle written for Master Bonifacio, who, in order to gratify his beloved, asked me to compose this letter of incitement. Go now, and discreetly hand it to him from me, and tell him that I am implicated in other things having to do with my literary pursuits. Ego quoque hinc pedem referam,90 because I see two women approaching, of whom it is said: ‘Longe fac a me!’91 pallula: Salve, Domine Praeceptor. manfurio: No, no! In wishing a good journey one should use the form ‘vale.’ Scene iii vittoria and lucia vittoria: His inordinate stupidity has made me fall in love with him; his brutishness makes me think that I cannot lose in having him as a lover and, since his name is Bonifacio, he should come to some good. lucia: This fellow is not one of those madman whose brain is too dry but rather one of those whose brain is too moist, which explains why he needs to give vent to the sweet, thick humour rather than the one that is thin, fastidious, choleric, and bizarre.

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vittoria: Go now and thank him on my behalf, and tell him that I cannot get enough of reading his letter and that in the little time you’ve been with me, ten times have you seen me remove and then replace it in my breast; feed him as much nonsense as you like, but convince him that I love him greatly. lucia: In the words of Gradasso, ‘Leave it in my hands.’92 Would that I could lead the king or the emperor the way that I can manipulate him. Stay well. vittoria: Go, my dear Lucia, and act according to your own sense of prudence. Scene iv vittoria, alone vittoria: Love is depicted as a young child for two reasons: one, because it is inappropriate to the old, the other, because it brings out the light and less serious emotions in men and makes them like children. Yet this fellow’s amorousness fits neither of these two. I don’t say it suits him, since such games hardly become his age, but it cannot have taken away his intellect because no one can lose what they never had. Yet I should be less concerned with him and turn my thoughts more to my own affairs. I note that, just as among virgins some are deemed foolish and others prudent, so also with the rest of us who feed on the finest fruit the world brings forth: the foolish ones are those who become enamoured with the passing pleasures of love without a thought for their old age, which approaches rapidly. No one sees it or hears it approach, but it pushes friends aside and presents itself soon enough. As age wrinkles the face, men lock up their purses. Age depletes the humours internally and wears out love externally; the closer old age gets, the further away men move. Which is why it’s just as well to prepare oneself in good time. Whoever waits on time, loses time. I may wait for time but time will not wait for me. We should use others when they’re interested and seem to have some need of us. Seize the prey as it’s following you and don’t wait until it turns to flee. Whoever cannot hold a bird in a cage has no chance of catching one on the wing. Although this fellow has little brain and less brawn, he has, however, a healthy purse. The first is his problem alone, the second can do me no harm, so it is with the third that we need to deal. The wise live for the mad and the mad for the wise. If

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all were gentlemen, none would be called gentlemen; so, if all were wise, they would not appear wise and if all were mad, no one would be thought so. The world is fine the way it is. Now let’s get back to business. – Portia, it’s only right that a woman who is beautiful when young should try to become wise in her old age. What is there in winter but what we gathered during the summer? So, then, let’s make sure we give this bird’s wings a good clipping. Here is Sanguino. Scene v sanguino and vittoria sanguino: I kiss these most beauteous knees and feet, my most sweet mistress Portia, sweeter and tastier than sugar, cinnamon, and ginger together. Oh my dear, were we not in this public piazza, not even the chains of Saint Leonard93 could prevent me from planting a kiss on those lips that make me die. vittoria: What news do you bring, Sanguino? sanguino: Master Bonifacio recommends himself to you; and I also entrust him to you, just as a good father entrusts his child to the teacher, which is to say, if he doesn’t know his lesson, punish him well, and if you need help to hold him still while you beat him, just call on my services. vittoria: Ha, ha, ha; what do you mean by all this? sanguino: You don’t understand? You don’t know what I’m trying to say? Are you really that innocent, you? vittoria: I’m not evil-minded like you. sanguino: If you’re not evil-minded like me, you’re evil-minded in lots of other ways; and if you’re not as sharp as I am, you’re sharp enough. Now, let’s drop all this banter and get down to business. There was a time when the lion and the ass were friends.94 As they travelled together on pilgrimage it became necessary, when they came to rivers, for each to take a turn in carrying the other: that is to say that one time the ass would carry the lion on his back and the next time the lion would carry the ass on his back. Needing to get to Rome, then, they reached the Garigliano and, there being neither boat nor bridge for them to use, the ass took the lion on its back. As they swam to the other shore, the lion, fearful of falling in, dug his claws more and more deeply into the ass’s skin so that, in the end, the poor animal was shredded to the bone. And the poor wretch,

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like one experienced in patience, bore it as well as he could, without uttering a sound, except that when they were safely out of the water, he shook his back a little, rolled over in the hot sand a few times and then continued on. Eight days later, as they were returning, it was the duty of the lion to carry the ass, who, finding himself on top and not wanting to fall into the water, with his teeth gripped the lion by the nape, and this not being enough to steady him, he stuck his instrument – or how can we call it, his … well, you know – let’s say, to keep it clean, in the hole, under the tail, where there is no fur. The lion felt more pain than a woman in labour and so shouted: ‘Hey there, hey there, oh, oh, oh dear me! Hey there, you traitor!’ Whereupon the ass replied with a stern face and a serious voice: ‘Patience my brother, you see that I have no other claw to grab with but this.’ And so the lion had no choice but to suffer and endure until the crossing was over. – To wit, Omnio rero vecissitudo este 95 and no one is so much of an ass that they would refuse to seize the opportunity if chance should provide it. A few days ago Master Bonifacio took umbrage at something I had done and today, when I thought that he had forgotten the incident, he repaid me worse than the ass did the lion; but I don’t want the matter to rest here. vittoria: What did he do to you? What do you intend to do to him? sanguino: I’ll tell you. Oh, I see people approaching; let’s retire and discuss this at more leisure. vittoria: Well said; let’s go inside, for I want to hear more from you. sanguino: Indeed. Let us go. Scene vi lucia and barra lucia: Sneeze of crow, foot of oyster, and egg of leopard! barra: Ha, ha, ha. Her husband was inside stoking the furnace and sweating away, and I was doing the same with her in the front room. lucia: What’s your work, then? barra: I play the gypsy game, in-and-out, but if you let me recount the whole story to you as it happened, I’m sure you’ll get a laugh. lucia: Yes, please, give me a laugh, because I could certainly do with one. barra: This old chinless wonder, when asked if she wanted to do me that favour, answered me: ‘No, no, no, no …’

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lucia: You scoundrel! So you go about corrupting defenceless little women and bringing shame on their families? barra: What the devil has got into your head? Who’s talking about such things? Is there only one sort of favour that women can do for men? lucia: Go on then. barra: If she had said just once ‘no,’ I would have said nothing more, leaving the whole matter there, like that; but because she said it more than a dozen times, ‘no, no no; no, really, no; no, oh no, oh no, not that, not that, nay, no.’ ‘Fuck!’ I said to myself, ‘she really wants it; by the soles of my old cork slippers, this trip is going to take us across a river for sure.’ Then, I started again, or rather I took up the sermon where I had left off, saying something like, ‘Oh golden face and diamond eyes, you want to make me die, don’t you?’ lucia: And then he says that he didn’t mean it that way! barra: Lucia, you will make me abjure the faith! Can’t you imagine more than one way in which women can make men die? lucia: Go on, then. What did she reply to this? barra: Well, she said: ‘Go away, go away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, you evil man.’ If she had said once, ‘Go away,’ I might have doubted the certainty that all those ‘no, nos’ had given me. But because, having to draw breath twice, she said it more than fifteen times, ‘away, away,’ and I’ve heard Master Manfurio say that two negations affirm, and three even more, as we can tell from experience, ‘well, then,’ said I to myself, ‘this one wants to do the three-legged dance, so if I put one of my legs between her two, she’ll be able to really jig.’ lucia: Now I have you. barra: You’ve got the plague that the good Lord should send you! Forgive me if that sounds offensive, but you insist on interpreting everything I say in the worst possible way. lucia: Ha, ha, ha. Go on and I’ll be silent to the very end. So what did you say to her? barra: So I, puckering my lips, started saying things to her of this sort: ‘So, dear heart, you want me to die? And why do you want me to die, just because I love you? What would you do, then, to someone who hated you, oh my life? Here is the knife. Kill me with your own hand for at least then I will die content.’ lucia: Ha, ho, ha. And she?

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barra: She: ‘Rogue, double-dealer, seducer, adulterer. I’ll tell my father confessor that you have bewitched me. But you, in spite of all your speeches, you shall never succeed in getting my consent, nor with all your strength shall you be able to force me to give in. Were you to try it, I would show you. Do you think, just because you’re a man, that you’re stronger than I am? Treacherous dog, had I a dagger now I would certainly kill you, because there are no witnesses and no one around to see us.’ I didn’t need San Sparagorio’s giant head in order to understand; and even if my head had been as empty as a drum, I would have caught on; after all if you bang a drum it starts to make a sound. lucia: Well, then, what sound did you make? barra: Let’s go inside and I’ll give you a demonstration. lucia: Tell me here, because it’s dark inside and I wouldn’t see. barra: No, let’s go inside; we only need to rub ourselves together a little in order to light this candle that I always carry around with me in my pocket for all such occasions. lucia: May it catch Saint Anthony’s fire.96 barra: You should fear flood more than fire. lucia: Leave off all this banter and tell me – what did she do, this brave unyielding woman? How did she resist you? barra: Oh my! All her strength went to her behind. I thought I was seeing Alcionio’s mule, which, if the bridle had been put around its arse, would have galloped a hundred miles in a day.97 This brings to mind the story of that other woman who had been needling Don Nicola and to whom Don Nicola said: ‘If you needle me another time I’ll let you have it,’ and she: ‘Here, I needle you again; now what will you do? What do you think you’ll do now, Don Nicola? Who is less a man than you? There you are, I’ve needled you again; what will you do now? My dear Don Nicola, you couldn’t move so much as a pebble without my consent.’ Now tell me, Lucia, poor Don Nicola hadn’t had any in days, so what was he to do? Well, good old Don Nicola rose to the occasion with such fury that he burst a vein. lucia: Ha ha? What a lad you are! I have to be off. I’ve loitered here far too long listening to your nonsense and I need to take Master Bonifacio his answer. barra: Yes, do be off, because I need to speak with this young man who’s approaching.

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Scene vii pollula and barra pallula: Good day to you, Master Barra. barra: Well met, dear heart. Where have you been? Where are you going? pallula: I’m looking for Master Bonifacio in order to deliver this piece of paper. barra: What is it? Can we have a look? pallula: It’s not something I can keep hidden from you. It’s an amatory epistle that he commissioned from Master Manfurio and that he intends to send to some lady or other with whom he’s fallen in love. barra: Ha, ha, ha, it’s for Vittoria! Let’s see what it says. pallula: Here, you read it. barra: Bonifacius Luccus D. Vittoriae Blancae S.P.D.98 ‘When rutilant Phoebus shakes in the Orient his radiant locks, he appears less beautiful in this higher hemisphere than does your exhilarant aspect to my concupiscence, among all the others pulcherrima Lady Vittoria …’ What did I tell you? Hadn’t I guessed it? pallula: Read on. barra: ‘… whereupon it should be no marvel, nor should there be anyone who, arching the eyebrows or wrinkling with a frown the brow – nemo scilicet miretur, nemini dubium sit …’ 99 What the devil of a way is this to speak to a woman? She won’t understand a word of all this grammatical talk, ha, ha ha … pallula: But please read on. barra: ‘ … nemini dubium sit, if the archered youth, with that very bow whose power to wound had already been felt by the oft-transformed great monarch, Jove – Divum pater atque hominum rex100 – has lodged in the deepest recesses of my heart his sharpest arrowpoint and with it therein indelibly sculpted your most gentle name. Yet upon the stygian waves – according to the sacred covenant with the sky-dwellers … ‘To hell with this foolish pedant and his indecipherable words; what does this great fool hope to communicate with this letter? Bonifacio would like to pass himself off as a scholar but she won’t believe that it’s his work. Apart from the fact that what is in this letter seems to me to be only learned idiocy. Listen, I’ve read all too much of it, I don’t want to see it again. If this fellow has no better door-knocker than this feeble letter, his chances of scoring this week are nil.

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pallula: That’s what I think; women want round letters. barra: Namely, silver coins with the king’s portrait. Let’s walk on a little, because I want to talk to you further; you can finish this errand later. pallula: Let’s go.

ACT III Scene i bartolomeo, alone bartolomeo: I wonder who was the great bone-headed leader of the pack that managed to drag the whole herd along with him like this? When philosophers discuss the essence of things they usually begin with that old division: in verbis, in herbis et in lapidibus.101 May Saint Lazarus visit them with his disease and with everything I would not wish on myself! Why don’t they mention metals before these three? Metals, especially gold and silver, are the very foundation of everything. It’s they, they alone that bring us words, herbs, stones, linen, wool, silk, fruit, wheat, wine, oil. Everything else desirable upon the earth also comes from these metals; these I would regard as so necessary that without them none of the others can be gained or held. This is why gold is said to be the substance of the sun and silver that of the moon, for take these two planets away from the heavens and what remains of the generative power of Nature? Where is the light of the universe? Take these two metals away from the earth and what happens to the possibility of having or owning any of those other things? So how much better would it have been if that first brute had taught the rabble this one essence of all things instead of teaching them the other three without this one! Unless it was done intentionally so that not everyone could know and possess what I know and possess! The magic power of herbs, words, and gems is maintained only by certain senseless and empty-headed philosophers who, abandoned by God, Nature, and Fortune, are to be seen dying from hunger and bleating without a lira in their purse; and merely to temper the poison of their envy towards those who have money, they curse gold and silver and those who possess them. And yet, when you look for them, you discover them like stray dogs around the tables of the

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rich; for in truth they are dogs that know no other way of procuring their bread than by barking. Where? At the tables of the wealthy, of course; of those cretins I say that for a few garbled words from these fellows, accompanied by arched eyebrows, stunned eyes, and an air of miracle, allow themselves to be relieved of bread from their larders and coins from their purses, which truly confirms in the others a belief in the power of words: ‘in verbis sunt virtutes.’102 But they would be waiting a long time indeed if they expected to fool me with their nonsense, since all I give to those who offer me words are more words in return. Now let beasts seek out herbs, madmen stones, and mountebanks words, but I care for nothing but that which gives value to everything else. Money contains all these others, and whoever lacks money lacks not only stones and herbs and words but also air, earth, water, fire, and life itself. Money gives earthly life, and even eternal life, if one knows how to buy it by giving to charity, which also needs to be done with discretion and good management if one wants to avoid becoming destitute oneself – which is why the wise man says to do good deeds but with caution: ‘Si bene feceris, vide cui.’103 Anyway, there’s no wealth to be made from all this theory; I’ve just heard that a royal decree is going to alter the currency exchange rate; I must be quick to change the three carlins that I have before the decree is published; meanwhile, my lad should be back with the pulvis Christi. Scene ii bonifacio, bartolomeo, and lucia bonifacio: Hey, there, Master Bartolomeo, a few words with you. Where are you off to in such a hurry? Running from me, eh? bartolomeo: Adieu, adieu, Master Can’t-Think-Too-Much; I’ve many better things to do than to chatter about your love life. bonifacio: Ha, ha, ha, go, then, to that other woman of yours, the one you’re pining to death for. lucia: What’s all this banter about? Does he know that you’re in love? bonifacio: He knows the plague that God should send him; it’s because he sees me talking with you. Now, let’s get back to our own affair. What says my most sweet lady, Vittoria? lucia: Poor Vittoria; she’s in such straits that she has had to pawn a diamond and her matchless emerald. bonifacio: By the devil, what misfortune!

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lucia: I think she would be most grateful if you were able to get them back for her. It would come to no more than 10 scudi. bonifacio: Enough, enough. I will do it, I will. lucia: The sooner the better. bonifacio: Forgive me, Lucia, but goodbye; I can’t give you any firm answer just now. Here comes a friend with whom I need to discuss some important things. Adieu, adieu. lucia: Adieu. Scene iii ascanio, scaramuré, and bonifacio ascanio: Oh, here is my master, Bonifacio. Master, here we are with the most excellent and learned Master Scaramuré. bonifacio: Welcome. Have preparations been made? Is there nothing else to be done now? scaramuré: What do you mean nothing? Here is the pure wax statue made in her name; here are the five needles that you need to prick into the five parts of the body. This particular one, longer than the others, you need to thrust into the left breast. Take care not to thrust it in too deeply or you will kill the patient. bonifacio: I’ll take special care. scaramuré: Here, I put it into your hands; from now on no one else must hold it but you. You, Ascanio, be discreet; make sure no one else knows about this matter. bonifacio: I have no doubts about him; we do more secret things than this together. scaramuré: Good. You must, then, have Ascanio prepare a fire with either pine or olive or laurel wood, though, if possible, it would be better to use all three. After you have exorcised and enchanted the wood by burning incense, you must throw it on the flame with your right hand, saying three times, ‘Aurum thus.’104 Then you must fumigate with incense this image here, which you must take in hand while saying three times, ‘Sine quo nihil’;105 you must then yawn three times with your eyes shut and then, little by little, turning towards the heat of the fire with this image – be most careful that it doesn’t melt; otherwise the patient will die … bonifacio: I’ll be very careful. scaramuré: … you must move it back and forth three times say-

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ing three times as you do it: ‘Zalarath, Zhalaphar nectere vincula: Caphure,Mirion, Sarcha Vittoriae,’106 as you see written down on this paper. Then, placing yourself at the opposite side of the fire, facing the West, you must do the same thing that I’ve just said, saying softly, softly, ‘Felapthon disamis festino barocco daraphti. Celantes dabitis fapesmo frises omorum.’107 Having done and said all this, allow the fire to go out by itself and place the figure in a secret place; and make sure the place is not dirty, but rather, noble and fragrant. bonifacio: I will do it to the letter. scaramuré: Yes, but we must remember that I spent 5 scudi for the things that were needed to make the statue. bonifacio: Oh, all right, I’ll pay them. You’ve spent too much. scaramuré: And you must remember that my work needs to be paid as well. bonifacio: Here, take this for the moment; if this whole thing works, you’ll get a good deal more. scaramuré: I must be patient, then, but Master Bonifacio, you should keep in mind that the carriage won’t travel far if you don’t oil it well. bonifacio: I don’t understand. scaramuré: I mean that you need to grease the palm aplenty; don’t you know? bonifacio: In the devil’s name, I was resorting to a magic spell in order not to spend so much money! Now spells and money! scaramuré: Don’t delay. Go quickly to do what I’ve ordered you, because Venus is in the last degree of Pisces. Don’t delay even half an hour because she would then have been in Aries for a full thirty minutes. bonifacio: Adieu, then. Let’s go, Ascanio. A plague on Venus and … scaramuré: Hurry. See you anon. Warm regards. Scene iv scaramuré, alone scaramuré: I’ve already performed a miracle in extricating scudi from the hands of this louse. With such people you always need to extract your own fee by inflating the cost of the materials needed to make the secret image. You see how he wouldn’t have given me more than a scudo or two for my own pains, putting off the rest of the payment till the feast of Saint Mary of the Chains, which is to say, a week after the Last Judgment Day.

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Scene v lucia and scaramuré lucia: Where the devil has he gone? Am I being gulled by a gull? I was hoping he would make up his mind. scaramuré: Oh good day, Lucia, where are you going? lucia: I’m looking for Master Bonifacio, whom I just now left here with you. I thought he would wait for me here. scaramuré: What do you want from him? lucia: Speaking to you as a friend, I can tell you that Signora Vittoria is asking him for some money. scaramuré: Ah ha, I know, I know. At this very moment he should be giving her a great deal of heat and incense, but, as regards money, he’s given me some in order not to give her any. lucia: How the devil could this be? scaramuré: Signora Vittoria’s price is too high, so he, by spending no more than a dozen scudi or so, hopes to bind her to him, hands and feet. lucia: Tell me, what is the plan? scaramuré: Let’s go together to find Signora Vittoria; we’ll discuss it with her and weave a nice scheme together, something that will keep this fool in my debt as well as provide us all with a fine spectacle. lucia: That’s well said, especially the part about not staying here. I can see people approaching. scaramuré: It’s the Magister. Let’s get away from here. Scene vi manfurio, scaramuré, and pollula manfurio: Adesdum,108 a few words with you, domine Scaramuré. scaramuré: Consider them already said and goodbye until another time when I’m less busy. manfurio: Oh a fine retort! Now, dear Pollula, you are going to be amazed ut eo redeat unde egressa est oratio.109 pollula: Would you like me to read them? manfurio: Minime, because not being able to scan the lines properly and not declaiming them with the vigour that they demand, you would degrade their majesty and lessen their grandeur. As Demosthenes, prince of Greek orators, once said, ‘The principal skill of the

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orator is in the pronunciation.’ Now, listen, arrige aures, Pamphile, prick up your ears: O crude and crass barbarian, of Minerva’s gift bereft, Obfuscated house of ignorance in which there’s nothing left; No lessons learnt, no dogmas deep, no learning’s there for thee, Black hole of a brain from which Pallas and all the Muses flee. Blank intelligence unencumbered by any imagination, Laureate of levity, your own fibfabrication. Truncated speeches and grunted sounds that let out not a spark, A mind that like a half-blind owl only takes flight after dark. A useless space, a cause long lost, why don’t you hie thee hither And heed the parable of the Lord: a barren tree should wither. Inept in judgment, dull in wit, perturbed in every sense, Existing in perpetual dark in mental flatulence. Long-eared ass, braying loud, of knowledge all forlorn, Your dabblement in literature’s a cross that must be borne. You will not heed Pythagoras but eat broad beans aplenty, Your art of farts is great among the learned congnoscenti. Your breath exudes no sweet rhetoric but garlic smell and reeks, Who dines with you will carry the sign for weeks and weeks and weeks. In your old age you still display your nursling insecurity, You’ve gone from cradle to senescence without passing through maturity. Childish and defective thought, fantasy all adither, Attention span of forty winks and then it starts to slither; Unlettered and undisciplined, unblinded by the light, Unvisited by Martial virtue and nescient by right; Crudely nurtured, beastly bred, no Parnassian spring for thee, But Lethean waters engendering a mental vagrancy. Irrational and uncultured, wild savage and a pest You’re like a beast of burden but much dumber than the rest. Devoid of every light of Reason and sired by Ignorance You exist to merely test our mettle and try our tolerance.

Did you ever hear such decads? Other writers adopt the four-line, six-line, or eight-line stanza but my ten is the perfect number, idest, videlicet, scilicet, nempe, ut pote, ut puta,110 according to Pythagoras and Plato. But who is this who precipitates towards us? pallula: It’s Gianbernardo, the painter.

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Scene vii manfurio, gianbernardo, and pollula manfurio: Bene veniat ille,111 whose name is no less worthy of being declared by the trumpet of Fame than those of Zeuxis, Phidias, Timagoras, Polignotus, and Apelles.112 gianbernardo: I understood nothing of all that except the ‘apples’ at the end. It must be several bottles of apple juice, probably fermented, that gives you the gift of many tongues. If I had had dinner, I could give you a good burp in reply. manfurio: Wine exhilarates and bread makes one strong. Bacchus et alma Ceres, vestro si munere tellus Chaoniam pingui glandem mutavit arista,113

wrote Publius Virgilius Maro, the great Mantuan poet, in book the first of his Georgics, towards the beginning, making more poetico,114 the invocation, in this clearly imitating Hesiod, the Attic poet and seer. gianbernardo: Do you know, domine Magister …? manfurio: Which is ‘magis ter,’ three times great: Pauci, quos aequus amavit Iuppiter, aut ardens evexit in aethera virtus.115

gianbernardo: What I’m trying to say is this: I would like to know from you the meaning of the term ‘pedant.’ manfurio: Lubentissime116 would I tell it to you, teach it to you, declare it to you, expose it to you, direct it to you, reveal it to you, insinuate it to you, et – particula coniunctiva in ultima dictione apposita117 – shell it for you; sicut, ut, velut, veluti, quemadmodum nucem ovidianam meis coram discipulis – quo melius nucleum eius edere possint – enucleavi.118 ‘Pedant’ means practically ‘pede ante’ insofar as he has a forwardgoing step, with which to push ahead the pubescent students: vel per strictionem arctioremque aethymologiam: ‘PE, perfectos, DAN, dans, TE, thesauros.119 What do you think of these two explanations? gianbernardo: They are good, but I like neither one nor the other, nor do they seem to the point. manfurio: To say this is legitimate for you alia meliore in medium prolata, that is, only when you have put forward another more acceptable account.

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gianbernardo: Here it is, then: PE, pederast, DAN, dangerous and TE, terrible. manfurio: Said Cato the Elder: ‘Nil mentire, et nihil temere credideris.’120 gianbernardo: Hoc est, id est, whoever says the contrary lies in his throat. manfurio: Vade, vade: Go away. Contra verbosos, verbis contendere noli. Verbosos contra, noli contendere verbis. Verbis verbosos noli contendere contra.121

gianbernardo: I would give every pedant over to the devil himself. I leave you in the company of a legion of those angels with the burnt faces. manfurio: By all means take them with you as your own closest associates! Where are you, Pollula? Pollula, what do you say? Do you see what nefarious, abominable, turbulent, and portentous times we live in? I find myself in a baneful century, devoid of all values, except the pretentions of pride.122

But let us propel ourselves towards our domicile, since I want so much to exercise you in those adverbs of place, motu de loco, ad locum et per locum: ad, apud, ante, adversum vel adversus, cis, citra, contra, erga, infra, in retro, ante, coram, a tergo, intus et extra. pallula: I know them all and have them off by heart. manfurio: This lesson must be repeated saepius and re-evoked in memory; repetition pleases. Gutta cavat lapidem non bis, sed saepe cadendo: Sic homo fit sapiens bis non, sed saepe legendo.123

pallula: Your Excandescence should go first and I’ll follow on behind. manfurio: That’s proper behaviour in foro et in platea:124 when we’re in privatis aedibus125 this urbanity, custom, and ceremony are unnecessary.

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Scene viii barra and marca marca: Can you see Master Manfurio leaving? barra: Let the devil take him! Let’s stop here so that you can continue the story. marca: Well, then, last night at Cerriglio’s inn,126 after we had eaten our fill and having nothing better to do, we sent the innkeeper off after things like cloves, pumpkin seeds, quince jelly, and other bagatelles just to pass the time. When we had run out of things to ask for, one of us feigned a fit. The host came running with some vinegar, but I said: ‘Aren’t you ashamed, you mean, little man! Go on, get some rose water, some orange brandy and maybe a sweet Riesling or two.’ The host spat out a few curses and then began to shout at us: ‘In the devil’s name, are you dukes or marquises? You put on the airs of the last of the big spenders, but I’m not even sure how you’re to pay the bill; and, in any case, we don’t stock that sort of thing at an inn.’ ‘Blackguard, robber, scoundrel,’ said I, ‘do you think you’re dealing with your peers? You are a cuckold and a shameless fool.’ ‘You lie by a thousand throats,’ says he. So, all together, in defence of our honour, we stood up from the table, each one snatching a skewer, those large ones about ten palms long … barra: A good way to start. marca: … which still had meat stuck on it. The innkeeper runs to get a pike and two of his servants appear with a couple of rusty swords. Although there were six of us and our skewers were longer than his pike, we also grabbed some warming trays to use as shields. barra: A wise move. marca: A few of us used bronze pots over our heads as helmets. barra: It must have been your lucky stars that inspired you to such a noble use of kitchenware. marca: So, well armed and covering ourselves, we started backing out, down the stairs and towards the entrance, all the time pretending we were about to attack. barra: ‘The best way to fight,’ Cesare of Siena use to say, ‘is one step forwards and two steps back; one step forwards and two steps back.’127 marca: The innkeeper, seeing we were obviously the stronger party

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but acting defensively, instead of congratulating himself on his own courage, quickly became suspicious … barra: Who wouldn’t have, at this point? marca: … so much so that, having thrown his pike onto the ground, he commanded his servants to withdraw, saying he wanted no reprisals … barra: A soul fit for canonization. marca: … and turning to us, he said: ‘Gentlemen, dear sirs, forgive me, I honestly have no wish to offend you! By your grace, pay me what you owe and go you with God.’ barra: He should have also ordered you to do some penance for the absolution. marca: ‘You want to murder us, you traitor,’ said I; and so saying, we stepped outside the door. So then the desperate host, having understood that we weren’t about to accept his courtesy and devotion, picked up his pike again, calling out for help from his servants and his wife and children. What a din! The innkeeper shouting: ‘Pay me, pay me’; others screaming: ‘Stop thieves! Stop thieves! Ah, you treacherous knaves!’ Nevertheless, no one was mad enough to run after us because the night gave us a clear advantage over everyone else. Nevertheless, in order to avoid hostile disdain, idest of the host, we fled to a room in the Carmelite quarter, where we calculated that with the money we had saved from our little caper we could live for several days to come. barra: Playing a joke on an innkeeper is the same as offering a sacrifice to Our Lord; robbing a landlord is an act of charity; beating him soundly counts as enough penance to release a soul from Purgatory! – But tell me, were you able to find out what happened at the inn after you left? marca: Quite a crowd gathered, some amused by it all and some offended, some crying and some laughing, this person offering advice and that one receiving hope, people with different faces speaking in this or that tongue. It was like seeing a comedy and tragedy together, with some people celebrating and others in mourning. Anyone who has ever wanted to see the world in miniature should have been there then. barra: Certainly sounds like a good night out. But I myself, though I’m no good with words, was travelling from Nola to Pomigliano the other day all by my lonesome self, without any company at all, and

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after having eaten well but being little disposed to part with any cash, I said to mine host: ‘Master host, I’d like to play a game.’ ‘What sort of game,’ he asked, ‘should we play? I have here some tarot cards.’ I replied: ‘I can never win at that cursed game because I have such a rotten memory.’ He said: ‘I have ordinary cards.’ I replied: ‘The pack is probably marked so that you can recognize the cards. Do you have a new pack which hasn’t been opened?’ He answered ‘no.’ ‘Well, then, let’s think of another game.’ ‘I’ve got dominos, you know?’ ‘I’ve no idea how to play those.’ ‘You know, I’ve got a chess set.’ ‘Chess would make me abjure Christ himself.’ At that point he blew his top: ‘what the devil do you want to play? You suggest something.’ I said: ‘I’d like to play a ball game, you know, like cricket or golf.’ He replied: ‘What do you mean a ball game; do you see any bats and balls here? Do you see any space in which to play?’ I said: ‘What about darts?’ ‘That’s a game for porters, yokels and pig farmers.’ ‘Five dice?’ ‘What the devil is five dice? I’ve never heard of this game. If you want to play dice it has to be three dice.’ I told him that I never had any luck with three dice. ‘In the name of fifty thousand devils,’ he said, ‘if you want to play, propose a game that we both know and can play.’ I said to him: ‘Let’s play spin the top.’ ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you’re pulling my leg; this is a child’s game; haven’t you any shame?’ ‘Oh, come on,’ I said, ‘let’s play chasings.’ ‘Now that’s definitely not on,’ he said. But I said: ‘You’ll play, nevertheless, by the Virgin’s blood!’ ‘If you want to do the right thing,’ he said, ‘pay me and then be off with the grace of God; and if you don’t want to go with the grace of God, then go with the prior of the devils!’ I said, ‘I bet you a pig’s trotter to a sow’s ear that you’ll play.’ ‘I bet I won’t’ he says. ‘Bet you will,’ say I. ‘I’ve never played and never will.’ ‘You’ll play now.’ ‘And if I don’t want to?’ ‘You’ll want to.’ So in the end, then, I began to pay him with my heels, that is, to run away; and, do you know, that sow that had just said that he didn’t want to play, who had sworn that he wouldn’t play, wouldn’t play, well … he played! He played and two of his henchmen also played, and they were so good at it that, after chasing me some distance, they finally caught up to me … with their voices. After that, I swear to you by the huge wound of Saint Rocco,128 I heard nothing more of them, and they saw nothing more of me. marca: I can see Sanguino and Master Scaramuré arriving.

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Scene ix sanguino, barra, marca, and scaramuré sanguino: The very people I was looking for! We’ve got a nice little something organized for this evening that should bring us a tidy profit or, at the very least, a bit of amusement. I’m going to dress up as Captain Palma; you and Corcovizzo will pretend to be officers of the Watch; we’ll station ourselves around here, because this evening we’re hoping to trap Master Bonifacio, either when he goes in or when he comes out of Signora Vittoria’s house, thus pleasing Signora Vittoria and making a bit of profit for ourselves. barra: And having a lot of fun. marca: Yes, by faith, and perhaps some other good opportunity might come our way. barra: There’s going to be some action right enough! scaramuré: As far as Master Bonifacio is concerned, I myself will turn up, as if by chance, and pretend to sort it out by urging him to put a little something in your way in return for letting him go and not dragging him off to Vicaria prison. sanguino: That’s not the worst plan in the world. Come as soon as possible then, because we’ll coast around for a bit and then wait for you at Signora Vittoria’s house. barra: Go in good time. Scene x barra and marca barra: By the blood of Our … getting dressed up as cops is certainly one of the best ways to pull off a scheme at night; there will be three or four of us holding the cops’ emblem, that is, clubs in hand, and when we’ll see our chance, we’ll take it. marca: Ah, by Saint Quintino! Here, right on time, is Corcovizzo. barra: But who is he bringing with him? marca: It seems to be Master Manfurio. barra: It’s him all right. Quick, let’s move away from here a little, because Corcovizzo is signalling to us and I think he’s about to play a trick on him. marca: Let’s hide behind here where we can’t be seen.

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Scene xi corcovizzo and manfurio corcovizzo: You do know that he’s in love? manfurio: Oh yes, of course; his solicitations pass through my hands. I composed an amatory epistle for him, which he must use as his own in order to gain the esteem and admiration of his beloved. corcovizzo: Now yesterday, he, as though he were a sprightly lad of twenty-five, went to order a pair of Spanish Moroccan boots from Master Luca, to be ready today so that he could prance around the city. Having overheard him, the thief was waiting when Master Bonifacio came to try them on. Now, seeing Bonifacio emerge from Nilo and coming towards the shop, the scoundrel very discreetly began walking next to him and, wearing no cloak, he entered the shop with him. The shoemaker, having seen the fellow come in with Bonifacio, assumed that he was Bonifacio’s servant, and since he was without a cloak and had his sleeves rolled up, Bonifacio assumed he was one of the workers in the shop. So, when it came time for poor old Bonifacio to try on the boots, he all too willingly, and without the least hesitation, allowed the fellow to take his cloak, beautifully bordered with velvet and with gold buttons. Having draped the cloak over both his arms like a good personal valet or like a servant trying to earn a tip, while Master Luca was occupied with his business and Master Bonifacio was bending down trying on the boots, the impudent fellow, with a great deal of nerve, kept pretending to look at the ceiling or moved around slightly here and there, looking out the shop window to see the comings and goings, but then, when he saw his chance, he hopped out of the shop and was gone. So what case the cloak? Why, in the ablative. manfurio: Ha, ha, ha; dativus a dando, ablativus ab auferendo.129 If you had studied and weren’t such an oaf, you could be quite a clever chap. I’m convinced that your ascendant is in Minerva. corcovizzo: To come back to our story: Master Bonifacio, having been served and having had his back brushed by Master Luca, flapped his hands about and asked for his cloak. Master Luca replied to him: ‘Your servant is holding it. Hey there, where are you? He seems to have stepped out to keep watch …’ ‘No need for all this courtesy and obeisance,’ said Master Bonifacio, ‘you may as well admit that he is one of your workers.’ ‘By Our Lady of Mount Car-

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mel, I’ve never set eyes on him before,’ said Master Luca. And so, yes and no, it was this way, no it was that way; you can just imagine what a pretty sight it was to see: Master Bonifacio, with his spanking new boots on, letting himself be robbed of his cloak. No, but really, life is getting impossible these days with so many layabouts, thieves, and bag snatchers around! manfurio: An unhappy condition, indeed, and full of misery, to live in this land of Campania, which astrologically comes subest Mercurio, who is called both god and patron of thieves. Therefore, my friend, look well to your purse. corcovizzo: For myself, I carry all my money with me under my arm, here. See? manfurio: And I carry my moneybag neither on my back nor on my side but over my groin, or rather under my member because that’s the best way to fool thieves. corcovizzo: Domino Magister, I can well see how very wise you are and how you have studied to great profit. manfurio: This has not escaped my patron, whose children ego erudio, idest extra ruditatem facio, vel e ruditate eruo.130 He has asked me to go and discriminate with regards to the appropriateness of the structure and the quality of material of their clothes and to outlay the appropriate sum, the which, as a good economist – Oeconomia meaning the good management of the house’s finances – I store in this leather and velvet pouch. corcovizzo: Oh praise be to God, sir, excellent master! I’ve learnt much from you about life and how to live it. Do me one more favour, I beg you: help me out by saving me a trip to the money-changers to exchange six doubloons. If you have scudi or any other currency, I can let you have them. It’ll save me the walk and you’ll make a bit of profit on the side. manfurio: I don’t do it lucri causa,131 remembering the biblical saying: ‘Nihil inde sperando,’ ‘lend but not for profit,’ but rather I do it out of human goodness and kindness; not to mention, in any case, that I’ll also be able to travel lighter. Here, I’ll count them out: three and two are five; seven and four are eleven; five and four are nine, that adds up to twenty ducats plus here are five gold francs. We don’t need to subtract anything for the fee. (Corcovizzo takes the money and runs off )

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Scene xii manfurio, barra, and marca manfurio: Hey there, here, here, help, help! Hold him, hold him! After the abductor, the plunderer, the swindler, amputator of pouches, depredator of purses. Hold him. He’s trying to take away my gold francs together with my silver ones. barra: What, what has he done to you? manfurio: Why did you let him go? barra: The poor fellow kept telling us: ‘My master wants to beat me, and I, I am innocent!’ So we let him go, giving you an opportunity to allow your anger to cool now in order to punish him better and at all your leisure at home. marca: Yes, Master, one really must forgive servants once in a while and not always be so severe with them. manfurio: But he’s not my servant or a familiar; he’s a thief who has just stolen ten scudi from under my nose. barra: By the Immaculate Virgin, why didn’t you yell out, ‘the crook, the crook,’ instead of all that strange, confounded language? manfurio: This idiom that you’ve just brought up is neither of Latin nor of Etruscan derivation, and so people in my position do not like to use it. barra: Why didn’t you shout, ‘Stop thief?’ manfurio: A thief can be any sort of middle-of-the-road robber or highwayman, a thief of the open road. This fellow, however, has robbed me furtively and underhandedly, so I have appropriately called him a swindler because he has deceived me while pretending to be an honest gentleman. Oh my poor scudi! barra: Now you see how far you’ve got with all your fine literary language and not wanting to use the common tongue! What with all your latrin and your truscan, we thought you were talking to him rather than to us. manfurio: Oh swindler, food worthy of vultures! marca: Tell us, why didn’t you run after him? manfurio: Would you really expect a serious academic and litterateur like myself to besmirch the dignity of the toga I wear by accelerating my step along a public thoroughfare? People like myself are guided by that adage – if one can properly call it an adage – ‘Festina lente’ itemand illud: ‘Gradatim, paulatim, pedetentim.’ 132

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barra: You are so right, learned Doctor, to be always concerned with your honour and the majestic appearance of your movements. manfurio: Oh swindler whose bones I would like to see on a rack attritioned. Oh me, he has taken every last penny, has he not? Now what will my Maecenas say? I shall have to reply to him, using the authority of Aristotle, prince of the peripatetics, who says in the second book of the Physics and elsewhere: ‘Casus est eorum quae eveniunt in minori parte, et praeter intentionem.’133 barra: I’m sure that will pacify him. manfurio: Oh unjust administrators of justice; if you earned your pay, the streets would not swarm with such a rabble of evildoers. Did he really take every last one? Oh most wicked, wicked man! Scene xiii sanguino, barra, manfurio, and marca sanguino: Hey there, good men and true, why was that fellow running away? What was that scoundrel up to? barra: You are welcome indeed, Master. We are in the depths of anguish; we had that robber – or I don’t know how Doctor Manfurio wants us to call him – in our very hands and because we are not experts in literature, he managed to run off like the devil. sanguino: I don’t know what you’re going on about. I’m asking you why he was running away? manfurio: He depredated ten scudi from me. sanguino: How the devil do you predate scudi? marca: It’s clear to see that you’ve never been to school. sanguino: I had no sooner learnt the alphabet than my father apprenticed me to Captain Mancino. manfurio: Veniamus ad rem;134 he stole ten scudi from me. sanguino: Stole? Stole? What! From you, Domine? From your very self, Domine Magister? I kiss your hand; don’t you recognize me? manfurio: I did see you a few hours ago when you were with my disciple, Pollula. sanguino: The very same, Domino Magister. Know that I am your servant and would do anything to please you; and for now, you should know that your scudi have been recovered. manfurio: Dii velint, faxint ista Superi, O utinam!135 barra: Oh, if you could do this favour for this gentleman, you would

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never have done a better and more noble deed; and he shall not hesitate to reward you generously and I myself, for my part, will give you a scudo. sanguino: They are recovered, I tell you. manfurio: Do you have them? sanguino: No, but it’s as though the Lord Magister had them back in his own hands. barra: Do you know the man? sanguino: I do. barra: Do you know where he lives? sanguino: I know. manfurio: O Superi, O Caelicoli, Diique, Deaeque omnes!136 marca: We’re in the saddle then. barra: It behoves us to aid this gentleman for all the love we bear the literary arts and all their practitioners. manfurio: Me vobis commendo: I do commend myself to your courtesy. marca: Have no doubts, Master. sanguino: Let’s all go together, because we will undoubtedly find him. I know for certain this scoundrel’s hideout; there’s no doubt at all about our being able to catch him. He won’t be able to deny the theft because, although he didn’t see me coming, I certainly saw him running away. marca: And we saw him running away from the Master here. manfurio: Vos fidelissimi testes.137 sanguino: Nothing testy about it; either he’ll give us the money or we’ll hand him over to the Law. manfurio: Ita, ita, nil melius,138 you are so right. sanguino: Master, it’s important that you be present. manfurio: Optime. Urget praesentia Turni.139 sanguino: However, if the four of us go together, it might happen that, either because that whore with whom he lives is in on the deal or because he may see us first through some crack in the door, when we knock they won’t let us in and he will escape or hide somewhere else; but they don’t know you, so I’m certain I can get him to speak to me, even if I have to engage him in small talk. But it would be better, in fact quite necessary, that you change your outfit and appear in shorter clothes. You there, fellow, if it please you, tell me your name. barra: Coppino at your service, sir. sanguino: You, Coppino, must do this service for me and for the Magister, who will be able to reward you amply.

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manfurio: Me tibi offero.140 sanguino: Lend him your cloak and you, cover yourself with his toga; being shorter, you’ll look different. And just to mix things up even better, Magister, give your hat to this other companion, and you take his cap; and now let’s go. manfurio: Nisi urgente necessitate, nefas esset habitum proprium dimittere;141 however, nonetheless, since it seems all for the best, in imitation of Patroclus who changed his clothes when he pretended to be Achilles, and of Coroebus, who appeared in the clothes of Androgeos, and of great Jupiter himself – poetarum testimonio142 – who at times lay aside his own sublime form and changed himself into so many other forms in order to achieve his ends, I shall not refuse and I shall place my academic toga on the line, optimo mihi proposito fine,143 in order to bring punishment upon the head of this abominable criminal. barra: But Master, though I ask nothing for my own self, do remember to reward the courtesy of these gentlemen. manfurio: To you in common, I assign one-third of the money recovered. sanguino: May your great generosity be praised. barra: Now then, let’s go, let’s go. manfurio: Eamus dextro Hercule.144 sanguino and marca: Let’s go.

ACT IV Scene i vittoria, alone vittoria: All this interminable waiting is draining my life away.145 If it gets too late, there’ll be nothing to be done this time, and I don’t know whether such a golden opportunity will ever present itself again for rewarding this ugly muttonhead with fruits worthy of his love. Here I am thinking that I’ll be able to earn a dowry for myself from this fellow’s infatuation when I hear that he’s trying to cast a spell on me by using a wax model. But how could even the united forces of hell together with all the powers of the spirits of sea and sky ever make me love such an unworthy subject? The god of love

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himself, beautiful as he is, were he however poor or – what comes to the same thing – niggardly, would die of cold and the whole world would be frozen with him. Certainly that word poor, or niggardly, is a miserable and shamefaced epithet, which makes the beautiful appear ugly, the noble ignoble, the wise ignorant, and the strong impotent. Among us, who is higher than regents, monarchs and emperors? And yet they, too, if they didn’t possess de quibus,146 if they didn’t spread around de quibus, would be like old statues on broken altars whom no one would revere. One cannot deny the difference between reverence for the divine and reverence for humans. We adore sculptures and images and we honour the divine name in writing, directing our attention to the living God. But we also adore and honour other gods that piss and shit, directing our intentions and our dutiful devotion to their images and statues so that, through these, they will reward the virtuous, elevate the worthy, defend the oppressed, enlarge their borders, take care of their own, and strike fear into the forces of their rivals. The king, then, or the flesh and blood emperor, will be worth nothing without his statues. So what can we make of Bonifacio, who, as though there were no other men on earth, thinks he should be loved for his beautiful eyes? You see where madness can lead? Tonight he’ll see what cash can do; tonight I hope he will see the effect of his incantation. But this other hag, what is she doing instead of being here already? Ha, finally I see her! Scene ii lucia and vittoria lucia: You’re here already, my Lady? vittoria: I could hardly contain myself with all this waiting. Can’t you see that we risk losing the advantage that we have tonight with the presence of these men? Did you speak to Bonifacio’s wife? lucia: I’ve told her the whole truth and a few other things besides, so that she’s all fire and flame to straighten her husband out in this matter. In fact, she thought of something that appeals to me as well and that is that you lend her your dress and cloak for two purposes: so that she won’t be recognized coming and going from your house and also so that when he embraces her in the dark, he’ll think he has the very proof that it is Vittoria, except for her face which, when outside

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in the street, she will take care to cover, as you always do; and in the room we’ll make sure that there is no light until they’ve done it at least once.147 vittoria: Good, but she will have to greet him and to answer his questions and it will be very difficult for him not to recognize her voice. lucia: Oh, that problem is the easiest to solve. I will tell him to speak in whispers because the walls are very thin and the neighbours are listening to all that is being said in there. vittoria: A good plan: she will pretend that she fears being overheard by neighbours and others in the house. But who is it that comes? lucia: It’s Master Bartolomeo. Scene iii vittoria, bartolomeo, and lucia vittoria: Where are you going, Master Bartolomeo? bartolomeo: I’m going to the devil. lucia: You’re more likely to find him than the Angel Gabriel. bartolomeo: Madam go-between and matchmaker, it’s understandable that the angels stay away from earth and the devils favour it with their presence, because the earth is full of people like you. vittoria: It doesn’t take much to get you going, does it? Being near fire so much has dried you out so that you’re easily overcome with rage and quick to give offence without being at all provoked. bartolomeo: I wasn’t referring to you, Signora Vittoria, because I have every respect and esteem in your regard. vittoria: What do you mean you weren’t referring to me? Do you think that the offensive comments you make to her don’t also come to taint my person. Let’s go, Lucia. bartolomeo: Please be calm, signora. My quarrel is with Lucia, who, the more she sees I’m cross, the more she baits me. lucia: Yessir, yessir; in all of Naples there is no worse tongue than yours. Would that someone might cut it short for you, this instrument of quarrel and discord. bartolomeo: You mean in contrast to yours, instrument of harmony, peace and unity? (The women leave)

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Scene iv bartolomeo, alone bartolomeo: That a pestilence might devour the world’s whores and all their procurers. They’d be waiting a long time indeed if they expected to see any of my income penetrate their royal portals; as far as I’m concerned, the spiders can cover all their entrances with webs. They say that gold is the heaviest of all the metals, and yet nothing makes a man feel so lithe, lighthearted, and free as this metal does. Not every weight and every thing that is added to a load makes the load heavier, for there’s a weight that is so light that the more of it there is, the sprightlier and more pliable the load becomes. Man, without gold or silver, is like a bird without feathers; whoever wants to catch him can catch him, whoever wants to eat him can eat him. Yet, if he has those, he can fly, and the more he has, the further he can fly and the higher he can climb. Master Bonifacio, after having milked both his back and his purse, shall feel even heavier and attract even more spite from his enemies. But here he is himself, that bright young paranymph in love. He’s not wearing his beautiful cloak any more; god bless the nimble hands that relieved him of it! Now he’s following a scent. Scene v bartolomeo and bonifacio bartolomeo: Hurry, hurry on, Master Bonifacio. A little while ago I saw your heart and soul pass by here. I swear to you that in seeing her I immediately remembered your love for her, so I considered her more carefully and found her so beautiful that my main vein swelled to almost burst my breeches. bonifacio: All right, Master Bartolomeo, you can taunt me all you like. I am lovelorn, I am chained. Your passion is for nouns and mine is for adjectives, you resort to your alchemy and I to mine, you to your fire and I to mine. bartolomeo: I to the fire of Vulcan and you to Cupid’s flame. bonifacio: We’ll see which one of us will have the greatest success. bartolomeo: Vulcan is a reasonable man, discreet and well mannered; this other is an unreasoning child, a promiscuous lecher who brings

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dishonour to some, harm to others, and more often than not he brings them both things together. bonifacio: May your success be as good as your advice. bartolomeo: And may you receive the succour of the mother of all madmen. bonifacio: You must mean Fate. Master Bartolomeo, I’ll tell you something: when things go well, everyone thinks they know the cause; if perchance I manage my affairs with all the fury of a wild boar but they go well, everyone will say this fellow speaks well, he’s known how to take the initiative in this and that and he has done it well. On the contrary, if I’ve thought out all my business ventures with even more thought and philosophy than all those bearded Greek and Egyptian rascals put together and if, through misfortune, things don’t go as planned, everyone will call me a blockhead. If the thing goes well: ‘Who’s responsible? Who’s responsible? The Great Council of Paris.’ If it goes badly: ‘Who’s responsible? Who’s responsible? The impatience of the French.’ Or still: ‘How, how was this achieved? Clever Spanish diplomacy.’ ‘How did it come to this? The usual Spanish procrastination.’ ‘Who conquered and administers such wonderful territories in Istria, Dalmatia, Greece, the Adriatic Sea, and Cisalpine Gaul? Who adorns Italy, Europe and the entire world with a freethinking, freedom-loving republic? The wise Venetian Council.’ ‘Who lost Cyprus to the Turks: who lost it? The stupidity of those Magnificences, the avarice of those Pantaloons.’ So, a judgment is regarded as correct and is praised only when fate is good and grants success. bartolomeo: In other words you mean to say, ‘You don’t need brains if God sends you good luck?’ I can see Lucia coming so I’ll leave her to you. I’ve sent my lad to Cansalvo the apothecary to bring back a certain powder and he seems to be taking his time returning. I must go there myself. bonifacio: Go, then, because I need to talk to her about other things than those you might think. Scene vi bonifacio and lucia bonifacio: (To himself ) First of all she’ll ask me for money; I’m sure that will be her introduction; and my reply will be: prick in port then

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money in hand; that’s as much as I want any woman to know of me. (To her) Welcome, Lucia. What news are you bringing? lucia: Oh, my dear Master Bonifacio, I haven’t even the time to greet you because we need to bring help immediately to this poor suffering woman. bonifacio: One needs good premises to draw good conclusions. Now this pain in the purse … lucia: She is dying … bonifacio: ‘When she’s dead we’ll have her buried,’ as one holy father used to say. lucia: I’m trying to tell you that Signora Vittoria is dying for you, you heartless man. You could give her life itself but what do you offer her? While you fritter away the time in distractions, she is dissolving in a flood of sighs and tears, so much so that if you saw her now you would not recognize her and you would find her less beautiful than before. I don’t know whether compassion for her plight can move you more than your tepid love. bonifacio: What is it? Is she in need of money? lucia: Money? Money? What do you mean money? A pox on all the money in the world! If you want money from her, she’ll happily give it to you. bonifacio: Now this I don’t … ha ha ha … this I really can’t believe, ha ha ha. lucia: So you don’t believe it, you, cruel, pitiless brute. (Cries) Hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo. bonifacio: You’re crying? lucia: I’m crying because of your cruelty and that woman’s unhappiness. Oh poor me, oh silly me, what’s come over me now? Never did I hear or see more intense love burn in the breast of a woman. Until today she liked you well enough, hoo hoo hoo, but in the last few hours I don’t know what fantasy has taken hold of her for she says little else but, ‘My Master Bonifacio, dear heart, depths of my soul, my fire, my love, my flame, my passion!’ I swear to you that I’ve known her for fifteen years, ever since she was a child, and I’ve always seen her the same: cold, cold in matters of love. Now, were you to come and look, you would see her on the bed with her face in a pillow that she hugs with both arms saying (I feel both pity and embarrassment in repeating it): ‘Ah, my Master Bonifacio, what keeps you from me? Ah, cruel Fate, how much he wanted me before and you refused me

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to him; I’m certain that, now that I burn in desire for him, you will not let him come. Oh, my poor wounded heart!’ bonifacio: Is this possible? Can it really be that she is saying these things? Can such things come to pass? lucia: You, you, Bonifacio, you’ll make me do something I’ve never done before in my life; you’ll make me renounce … hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo. My poor Signora Vittoria, what misfortune has come upon you, into what cruel hands have you fallen! Hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo. Now, only now do I see that you never did love her and that in all of Naples there is no man as false as you … hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo, oh woe, desolation! What help can I possibly bring you, my poor thing? bonifacio: Oh I believe you, I believe you, my dear Lucia; don’t cry. It’s not that I didn’t believe what you were saying but I was surprised. What new heavenly influence is this that favours me so, that she, who formerly, in spite of all my intense love, always replied to my entreaties with a cruelty greater than her beauty, has now changed and her diamond heart has softened. lucia: Changed? Changed? If I had not held her back, she would have been here in your house. I said to her: ‘This is great folly, you will only displease him. And what will his wife say? And what will everyone who sees you say?’ Everyone will say, ‘What is this change? She has become mad.’ ‘And,’ I said to her, ‘don’t you know that he loves you? Have you forgotten how he has treated you to this day? You must be blind and out of mind not to believe that he will count himself blessed when he will hear me tell him that you want him to come to you …’ bonifacio: Who could doubt it. You’ve said the gospel truth. lucia: … Then, that suffering soul – as if she had forgotten all the signs of love that you have made and that I tried to show her – said: ‘Is it possible, oh heavens, heavens cruel only towards me, is it possible that he may come to me since it is not permitted that I seek him out?’ bonifacio: (Cries) Hoo hoo hoo hoo; she doubts my love then, the love of my life? lucia: You know that the greater the desire, the weaker becomes the hope of achieving it; and perhaps the great novelty of the change which she feels in herself makes her suspect that you, for your part, may also have changed your feelings. Whoever sees one miracle will easily believe in another. bonifacio: More likely that hares begin to chase whales, that devils

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make the sign of the cross, that a man from Brescia might show some courtesy, that Satan himself might say a Pater and an Ave Maria for the souls in Purgatory, than that I be without love for my beloved and desired Signora Vittoria. So then, let’s leave words aside and you tell me where you are going loaded down like that. lucia: I thought I would do two chores at the same time, so I was returning these drapes to one of the neighbours on the way to your house, but I’ve had the good luck of meeting you here. What decision shall we take? As soon as I have run this little errand, I need to hurry back, quickly, quickly, to comfort that poor silly girl and to tell her that I’ve seen and spoken with you and that you will soon be coming to her. bonifacio: You can certainly promise it to her and tell her that this is the happiest day of my life, for I shall be permitted to kiss that most beautiful of faces, which I adore and which holds the keys to this afflicted heart. lucia: She’s the one with the afflicted heart. You must not fail to go to her this evening, since she will not eat, nor sleep, nor rest, but prefers to die if she can’t see you immediately. Give her no more cause for sorrow, I beg you – if you have any pity in your heart at all – for I’m seeing her consumed before my very eyes like a burning candle. bonifacio: I go this very minute to attend to some business, and then either we’ll meet or I’ll come and find you. lucia: You know what business you must attend to? For both her honour and yours, you must protect yourself from the suspicion of busybodies who might see you go in or come out of her house. You know that, until midnight, all the neighbours are at the window, watching everyone who comes and goes. You should disguise yourself, therefore, with a big cloak, like the one that Gianbernardo wears, because everyone is used to seeing him enter the house without suspicion. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea, in case someone might look more closely at you, to also wear a false black beard like his, and so, in this guise, we can go there together and I can let you into her room. In this way Signora Vittoria will be more than satisfied because she will understand that you love not only her but also her reputation. bonifacio: You’ve thought it all out very well. Physically I’m more or less the same size as Gianbernardo. I won’t need to search for a cloak like his because I’m quite sure I have one to hand. So now, hurrying on, I’ll go to Pellegrino, the mask maker, and ask him to make me a false beard to complete the disguise.

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lucia: Go, then, I beg you, and hurry. Goodbye for now, for I need to take this load from my back. bonifacio: We’ll meet again soon. Scene vii bonifacio, alone bonifacio: From what she has just told me, I think I must have moved the image too close to the fire; I probably heated it almost to melting point. Just see how the poor woman comes to be tormented by love; by my faith, I could hardly contain my tears. And may God give Master Scaramuré good days all his life, for I now know through experience that he is truly a gentleman – had he not warned me by saying, ‘Be careful that it doesn’t melt,’ I would have committed such folly that I can’t even bring myself to think about it without shivering. Who would count magic among the vain sciences now? Scene viii marta and bonifacio marta: Here’s that half-donkey that I could wish were a whole donkey, so that at least he might serve some purpose. Good evening, Master Good-Face.148 bonifacio: Well come, dear Madonna Marta. Since your husband is a philosopher, you must be a philosophess, so it’s not at all surprising that you should split hairs about words. But what do you mean to say with that ‘Good Face?’ I’m as true a friend behind your back as I am before your eyes? You do wrong to mock me so. marta: How’s your purse? bonifacio: When it has no money in it, it’s like your husband’s empty brain. marta: I meant the ‘purse’ beneath your money-bag. bonifacio: Much thanks for your concern. You go about like a doctor looking for illness. If you had any remedies I might explain my malady to you, but since you’re just a beggar with nothing to offer, I suggest you go to Santa Maria della Nuova to beg a bowl of soup. marta: Are you saying that I’m only fit for friars, Master Dick? bonifacio: I’ll say more; you’re fit for burial because once a woman is

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over thirty-five, she should go in peace, that is, to Purgatory, to pray to God for the living. marta: If anyone should be saying this, it should be we women to you husbands. bonifacio: The Good Lord ordered things differently because he made women for the service of men and not men for the women; and women were made for that service in particular and when they’re no longer good at it they should present themselves to the devil because no one else will want them. No one lights candles on a ruined altar and you don’t empty your moneybag into a brokendown drawer. marta: Aren’t you ashamed, a man of your age, to be heard talking in this way? Little girls for little boys and young women for young men; old men need to content themselves with more mature women. bonifacio: And if they still need to mature, one could hang them up above a fireplace to cure and smoke them. Isn’t that what the doctors prescribed for our patriarch David and, more recently, for one of our Holy Fathers, who died saying, ‘No more kisses; teats, teats,’ but he got too hot and, since he should have been giving instead of receiving, it’s little wonder that …149 marta: He sprinkled too much pepper on his sausage. bonifacio: To conclude, my dear lady, an old tomcat needs a tender young mouse. marta: If you apply this to old men, why shouldn’t you apply it to old women as well? bonifacio: Because women were made for men and not men for women. marta: That’s where it’s all wrong, because you men are both judge and jury; and silly those of us who … bonifacio: … allow themselves to suffer? marta: I’m not saying that; but there should be some just exchange and even some punishment when necessary. bonifacio: You mean women should punish other men and men other women? marta: Hi hi hi hi hi. bonifacio: Ha ha ha ha ha ha. marta: And your wife? How do you treat her? I’m sure you let her die of thirst. She is still young and beautiful, but alas, no matter how fine the food, if there’s no variation, one loses one’s appetite, to the point that one begins to gnaw a lot worse things; isn’t that true?

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bonifacio: Don’t you know it’s true? Isn’t that what you’re saying? Or are you talking merely to hear the sound of your own voice? Now let’s leave all this joking aside, my dear Madonna Marta. I know that you know a lot of secret recipes and I want you to help me to victory. I’ve wagered something with my wife that tonight I’ll be able to trot at least four times. Tell me, pray, the name of some drug or potion that will keep me upright on my steed. marta: Ingredients: kidney water, backbone oil, cream of rod, and manna of bollocks; rub as long as necessary and mix into a potion. Then you should take up this position, that is, stand high in your stirrups so that as you gallop away, the saddlebow won’t break your arse in two. bonifacio: By Saint Frigonious, you’re an experienced teacher. I must leave you in order to attend to some business. Adieu, you’ve been a lot of help. marta: Adieu. Should you meet that smoke-bag of a husband of mine, tell him that I’ve been looking for him because we need to talk about something important. Scene ix marta, alone marta: ‘Nez coupé n’a faute de lunettes,’ as my old friend John of Brittany used to say – may he be blessed for putting the French tongue in my mouth before the age of twelve and a half years! What he meant to say was that, although he had less money than the King of France, the King of France was poorer than he. The more one has, the more one has to think and take care of, and in the end one cannot enjoy it. The Prince of Conca looks after his kingdom but collects less than one and a half scudi a day; the King of France can hardly look after his kingdom by spending as much as ten thousand scudi a day. So, think. Who of these two is the richer and who must be the happier: he who earns very little or he who spends a great deal? After the rout at Pavia I heard say that the King of France was in need of more than eight million gold coins; but when did the Prince of Conca ever need more than twenty or twenty-five scudi? And what could possibly happen to make him need any more? Now you see which of these two princes is the least needy. Silly wretch that I am; I say it, I know it, I experience it. I was much happier when this dolt of a husband had

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less money to spend than I am now. Then we used to play at straddling the neck, hugging the bear, spearing the bearded clam, parting the fig, putting mousey in hole, doing the three legged hop, pulling the leg, riding the hump, all in a romp, four bumps, four grinds, three holes, and a little socket. In these and other similar devotions we would pass all the night and part of the day. Now, with all the scudi to spare that my husband inherited from Pucciolo – a curse on his soul even if he is in the bosom of Abraham – his head is always full of thoughts, worries, schemes, fear of failure, suspicions of being robbed, anxiety about being cheated by this person, murdered by that person; and he comes and goes, trots around, talks, pours this in, pours that out, grinds, melts and bellows twenty-four hours a day. So much so that, today, I had Barra to thank. Otherwise there would have been no rain even after seven months. Yesterday I had a Mass said for Saint Elias, begging him to break the drought, and this morning I spent another five pence on a mass for Saint Joachim and Saint Anne, who are supposed to be miraculous for getting husbands and wives back together. If the priest hasn’t fouled up, I’m hoping my prayers will be answered even though I see only bad signs; for today, instead of leaving his burners and coming to my room, he has been out of the house longer than usual, so that now I need to go out to look for him. Still, prayers are sometimes answered, just when you least expect it. Oh, I think I hear him now! Scene x bartolomeo, marta, and mochione bartolomeo: Oh me, poor, sorry, unfortunate wretch that I am! marta: Oh alas! Why all this whimpering? bartolomeo: Oh me, yes, that must be it; so I’ve lost much more than labour and sleep! Tell me, my little lazybones, is that exactly what he said to you? Take care you tell me the truth. mochione: ‘Yes sir,’ in the end he says to me, ‘I don’t have any of this powder and I don’t know if it can be found elsewhere,’ and he says it was given to him by Master Cencio and so he doesn’t even know what this pulvis Christi is made of. bartolomeo: Oh Bartolomeo, you’re well and truly beaten. marta: Jesus, Holy Mary of Piedigrotta, Virgin Mary of the Rosary, Our Lady of the Mount, Saint Maria Appareta, Our Advocate of Scafata.

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Praised be, praised be, may all evil flee from me. By Saint Cosmo and Saint Julian may all yon evil fly away. Cursed spirits and wicked wiles, stay from me a thousand miles. Bartolomeo, my dear, what’s wrong? bartolomeo: And you’re here too, in this evil hour? The devil take you home because I need to go and decide whether I shall hang myself or not. Let’s go, Mochione, we need to find this fellow; did you leave him in his shop? mochione: Yes sir. This is the shortest way there. marta: Poor, wretched me; I’ll go home and wait for news. Damnation! I’ve played all my cards and got nowhere! Now I don’t even have the heart to put what I think into words. Oh Mother Mary, Queen of Heaven, save us all from wrack and ruin. Giesu auto et transi per medio milloro mibatte150 and left them all to their own vices. This fellow coming up so quietly behind me can be only an informer or a thief. I’d better hurry home. Scene xi manfurio, alone manfurio: In the Erasmian adagians, I mean in the Adagians of Erasmus – I’m hallucinating – I mean in the Erasmian Adages, there’s one, among others, that says: ‘A toga ad pallium.’151 Fulfilling itself today in me ipso, that is in my very self, makes this a black day nigro signandus lapillo. O caelum, O terras, O maria Neptuni!152 After my money had been snatched from my hand by one foul swindler, under the pretext of wanting to be of some service, three others presented themselves to me. They non inquam dexteritate sed sinisteritate quadam, I say with sinister rather than dexterous hands, leaving my dorsum covered by only a threadbare cloak, and proque capitis operculo153 an old, used beret, which towards the middle of its centre, by virtue of the density of past perspiration, seemed waxed vel tarred vel skinned, that is, made of skin, to wit, leather, have subtracted both my cap and academic gown from my person. Proh deum atque hominum fidem,154 here I am, fallen a patella ad prunas.155 They persuaded me by saying: ‘Come with us, we’ll help to you find the thief.’ So with them I, in bona fide, went until we reached what one would easily deduce to be a bawdy house, which they entered, having me wait in the atrium, downstairs, saying to me: ‘It’s best that we enter first to warn him. Otherwise it will look as though we want to confound him ex abrupto

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with your presence, so wait here and soon one of us will come to call you to discriminate with the least excandescentia possible, quod ad restitutionem attinet.156 Now, having waited deambulando for a considerable interval and having prepared all the arguments with which I was going to confront this fellow, tandem, no one having called me, I ascended by certain stairs and knocked on the door of the first cubicle, from which they answered that I should go elsewhere because there wasn’t, nor had there ever been, anyone else there but the owners. Venturing further, I knocked on the door of another room in the same house and was answered by the voice of an old woman who invited me to enter and inspect certain minime contemnendae iuvenculae.157 Replying to her that I had other things crowding my cranium, and having gone as far as possible, I found myself outside the house, which had another entrance on a different street. It was then as a necessary consequence that I concluded it is likely, perhaps, that I have been by chance deceived also by these others, since it’s the case that domus ista duplici constat exitu et ingressu.158 And so returning once again inside, I loitered somewhat and asked if there were any other rooms where these fellows could have congregated. They replied to me in forma conclusionis: ‘My friend, if they entered through that door, they exited from this one; if they entered through this door, they exited from that one.’ Tunc statim,159 fearing to be served with more of the same advice, I absented myself forthwith, and heeding the Pythagorean adage about the necessity for tranquillity while trying to remedy an unfortunate situation, I avoided the main streets in favour of the less populated side lanes, trying, as soon as possible, to reach my own house. So that, quandoquidem, now, with the frequency of all these goings and comings, I fear doing harm to my reputation by encountering anyone who might recognize me in this most indecent outfit. I would do well in istum angulum160 to retreat, for I see a pair of females now approach. Scene xii carubina and lucia carubina: In the name of Saint Raccasella! lucia: Our advocate. carubina: Do you think I resemble Signora Vittoria in my gestures and looks?

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lucia: I swear to you by the fifteen mysteries of the Rosary, which I’ve just finished saying, that I myself now feel that I’m with her. Even your voice and your words are very similar. You would still do well to speak only sotto voce and in whispers, and you should exhort him to do likewise, saying that you fear you’ll be overheard by people in the next room and by the neighbours, whose ears are always glued to the walls. And if he touches your face, yours is just as soft, smooth, and full as Signora Vittoria’s, if not more. carubina: You must bring no light into the room until I give you the sign, because I want to convict this felon in both word and deed. lucia: Apart from the fact that it would be nice to give the poor brute some pleasure before tormenting him. Have him shoot his load at least once to see how he manages it. carubina: Oh, as far as that’s concerned, I want to do it more for your amusement than for his. I’m going to pretend to be totally inflamed by passion and, as such, I’ll crush him in a bear hug, bite his cheeks, chew his lips in my teeth, so that he’ll be forced to scream for you and give you a good show. Then I’ll say: ‘Oh my heart, my life, not so loud, we’ll be overheard. Forgive me, dear heart, this excess of passion …’ lucia: He’ll think it’s been brought on by the power of the magic spell. carubina: ‘… but I am melting for you, I would suck the marrow from you.’ lucia: A viper’s love. carubina: Oh, this won’t be enough. I’ll then get him to give me his tongue, and I mean to clamp it so firmly in my teeth that he won’t be able to retrieve it as he wants, but I’ll keep it there until he has let out at least three or four squeals. lucia: Ha ha ha hi hi hi ha. I’ll be able to tell Signora Vittoria: ‘That’s his tongue.’ So he’ll be able to scream but not speak; this is fairly harsh treatment, enough to send all his passion rushing out through his arsehole. carubina: Then I’ll say: ‘My dear, beautiful one, my sweet wound, the soul of my heart, forgive me this excess! I love too much, I am too much in heat, all this has made me lose control of my faculties.’ lucia: By Saint Apollonia,161 you’ve got some good tricks up your sleeve. He’ll think to himself: ‘What sort of canine love is this?’ carubina: Having done these two things, I’ll then make him believe that I’m going to allow him once up the royal road before we get into

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bed. I’ll get into a coital position and as soon as he has pulled out his thing, I’ll bring it close to the attolite porta, but before he reaches the introibi Re gloria,162 I want to grab his testicles and rod with both hands and say to him: ‘Oh my goodness, my desired one, only hope of this soul in flames, I would rather lose my hands than take my hands away from this,’ and so saying, I want to squeeze so hard and to wring him the way one wrings out washing. I’m sure that, in the circumstances, his own hands will not be enough to defend himself. lucia: Hi hi hi ha ha. Certainly, that sort of pain would sap the strength of Hercules himself, not to mention the fact that, in any case, you’re stronger than your husband in every way. carubina: Well then, rest assured that he will scream a lot and the cries shall be heard even at his home; and it will be worse for him if he doesn’t scream well because I’ll squeeze and wring all the harder. When he gets to the third sort of screams, the more solemn ones, you and the other people in the house should run in with lamps so that, in front of everybody, our real identities will come to light by the grace of Saint Lucy. As for what will happen next, we’ll see then. lucia: Everything has been well planned. Go, then, to Vittoria’s house; walk as we agreed and keep your face covered with your cloak. If you meet him along the way, he won’t speak to you because it’s not proper to do so in the street; bow deeply to him and when you are a little way further, let out a burning sigh and begin walking towards our door, which you will find open. In the meantime I’ll finish another chore; then I’ll go look for him and I’ll bring him to the house. Look after yourself. Adieu. carubina: Adieu, we’ll see each other soon. Scene xiii lucia, alone lucia: The old proverb says it well: ‘If you want Lent to seem short, have all your debts fall due at Easter.’ I’ve been so concerned with all these eggs that are going to hatch tonight, that the whole day seems to have gone by in an hour. Everything is going well. The only thing left to do is to remind Master Gianbernardo to be on time and to have the others be on time as well. Everyone needs to paddle in time when there’s more than one person in the boat. Speak of the devil, I think he’s coming now!

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Scene xiv lucia and gianbernardo lucia: Well then, you’ve arrived just in time. gianbernardo: What have you done, my dear Lucia? lucia: Everything. Master Bonifacio has gone to disguise himself and to put on a beard like yours. His wife has just departed, dressed as Signora Vittoria. Sanguino is dressed as Captain Palma with a long, white beard and Marca, Floro,163 Barra, and Corcovizzo are dressed as officers of the Watch. gianbernardo: I’ve seen them just now and spoken to them. I’ve left them nearby in a wool shop. I’m going to stay on the alert and not let this delicious morsel escape my lips. You’ve said nothing about my intentions to Madonna Carubina? lucia: Liberamus domino.164 Do you think I’m that careless? gianbernardo: You’ve done well; I want to reward you with a kiss. (Kisses her) lucia: Many thanks! But I need something else. gianbernardo: This is only a token, my dear Lucia. It’s impossible to find a better go-between than you. lucia: If you knew how much effort I made in trying to convince Master Bonifacio about the new-found love of Signora Vittoria and to persuade him to dress up like that, and also to get Carubina to do what she’s doing, you would really be astonished. gianbernardo: I’m sure you could manage much more important matters than these. Now I should go, because it’s past the time for planning. And if Bonifacio were to come along now and see us together, it might put a fly in the ointment. Goodbye. lucia: Go, then; you prepare yourself and the others, and I’ll look after him. Scene xv manfurio, alone manfurio: Since these others have finally absented themselves, I want to stretch my legs a little along this narrow lane. I saw two females talking to each other and then one of them remained to confabulate with that painter. The young one must be some lupa, unde derivatur

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lupanar;165 the older one is, without doubt, a pander. That sort of colloquy shows all the signs of clandestine amours. I would thus estimate the painter also to be a fornicator. Therefore, sequitur conclusio.166 I see a throng approach; I shall again retire myself. Scene xvi sanguino, dressed as captain palma, marca, barra, and corcovizzo, dressed as officers, manfurio sanguino: Without doubt this fellow here, running off to conceal himself, is some poor soul that needs to be taken to Purgatory; for certain he has a guilty conscience. Arrest him. barra: Hey, there; stop in the name of the Law! Who goes there? manfurio: Mamphurius artium magister. Non sum a malefactor; not thief, nor fornicator, non testis iniquus: alterius nuptam, nec rem cupiens alienam.167 sanguino: What are these hours that you’re reciting, compline or matins? marca: The Seventh Psalm or the defunctory officio? sanguino: What is your status? This fellow is surely on his way to being a cleric. manfurio: Sum gymnasiarcha.168 sanguino: What does ass-in-arca mean? Quickly, tie him up and take him to prison. corcovizzo: Give me your hands, Master Lost Sheep. Come with us; we want to offer you shelter for the night; you’ll sleep in the king’s palace. manfurio: Domini, I’m a schoolmaster, who in the last few hours has had his money stolen and his clothes abducted. sanguino: Then why do you run from the Watch? You are a thief and an enemy of justice. (Beats him) Take that and that and that! manfurio: Please don’t beat me; I was fleeing so as to avoid being seen in this outfit, which is not properly mine. sanguino: Hey there, men, don’t you recognize this thief? Haven’t you noticed that the cloak he’s wearing is the same one that was stolen from Tiburolo at Customs? corcovizzo: Pardon me, Captain, but I think you’re mistaken. That cloak had yellow braid around the collar. sanguino: Can’t you see it? Are you blind? Isn’t this braid? Isn’t it yellow?

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corcovizzo: By Saint Clout,169 it’s true. marca: By the body of Our … this fellow is a serious felon. (Beats him) Take that and that and that. manfurio: Oh me, why are you hitting me? I’ve already explained that it was given to me in place of my academic gown by some scheming swindlers and, ut more vestro loquar,170 robbers. sanguino: For the moment, all we know is that you are a fugitive and that this cloak is stolen property. After you’re safe in prison we’ll see who the real culprit is. manfurio: Take me to the home of my patron, near the Virgin’s quarter, and I’ll be able to prove that I’m no evildoer. sanguino: We don’t arrest people so as to take them to their homes, not us. (Beats him) Take that and that. Now off with you to Vicaria prison, where you’ll be able to try out your story on others, rather than just cops. manfurio: Oh me, is this the way you treat erudite teachers? Must you afficere171 me with such improprieties? marca: Speak in Italian, speak in a Christian tongue, by your own devil, so that we can understand you. barra: He is speaking in a Christian tongue because he’s speaking as they do at Mass. marca: I’m beginning to suspect this is some monk in disguise. corcovizzo: I think so, too. Domine abbas, volimus comedere fabbas. barra: Et si fabba non habbemo, quit comederemo?172 manfurio: Non sum homo ecclesiasticus. I am not a priest. I am not a priest! sanguino: You see his tonsure? He wears the form of the host on his head. manfurio: I am balding. Hoc est calvitium. barra: For this ‘vitium’ you will do penance, you excommunicant. (Beats him) Take that and that. manfurio: I said ‘calvitium,’ baldness, quasi calvae vitium, that is, ‘vice of the cranium.’ And don’t beat me or I shall lodge a complaint. Is this the way to treat men of knowledge and erudition? sanguino: You’ve been lying. You don’t look like a teacher at all. manfurio: I shall recite a hundred lines of the poet Virgil for you, aut per capita173 the entire Aeneid. The first book, according to some, begins: ‘Ille ego qui quondam’; according to others who believe those verses to be an interpolation by Varo, it begins: ‘Arma virumque cano’; the second: ‘Conticuere omnes’; the third: ‘Postquam res Asiae’;

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the fourth: ‘At regina gravi’; the fifth: ‘Tu quoque littoribus nostris’; the sixth: ‘Concticuere omnes.’ sanguino: You’re not going to fool us with a few Latin phrases memorized for the occasion. You’re an ignoramus; if you were educated, you wouldn’t be a thief. manfurio: Bring some learned person here, then, and I will dispute with him. sanguino: ‘Cennera nomino quotta sunt?’174 manfurio: This is an examination question for absolute beginners, novices, inepts et primis attingentium labellis175 to whom one needs to declare that masculeum idest masculine, foemineum is feminine, neutrum is that which is neither one nor the other, commune that which is one and the other … barra: What? Male and female? manfurio: … epicoenum, that which doesn’t distinguish between one sex and the other. sanguino: Which of these are you? Are you perhaps epicene? manfurio: ‘Quae non distinguunt sexum, dicas epicoena.’176 sanguino: Tell me, if you’re a magister, what is the first thing that you teach infants? manfurio: That line that is in the Grammar of Despautères: ‘Omne viro soli quod convenit, esto virile.’177 sanguino: Explain. manfurio: Omne: idest totum, quidquid, quidlibet, quodcumque universum; quod convenit: quadrat, congruit, adest; viro soli: soli, duntaxat, tantummodo, solummodo viro, vel fertur a viro; esto: idest sit, vel dicatur, vel habeatur; virile: q.e.d. what pertains only to men, is ‘virile.’ sanguino: Look at the sort of things these people try to teach little children nowadays: that which only men have and which women don’t have, hoc est, ideste, is called virile, the virile member! barra: Oh a fine lesson, by faith! manfurio: Nego, nego. I’m not saying what you think. I’m saying: see what comes of talking to uneducated people! – I’m talking about the gender that appertains to males. sanguino: (Beats him) Take that and that. This is women’s talk, you miscreant. manfurio: What you’re thinking of belongs to males, proprie et ut pars;178 and to females ut portio, et attributive vel applicative.179 sanguino: Quick, quick, put him in this room and later we’ll take him to Vicaria. He wants to show us he’s a learned man and yet all he’s shown us has been his expertise in buggery.

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manfurio: O me miserum! verba nihil prosunt. O diem infaustum atque noctem!180

ACT V Scene i bonifacio and lucia bonifacio: Ho ho ho ho ho. lucia: And so, my dear Master Gianbernardo … bonifacio: Do remember that I’m Bonifacio, ho ho ho ho ho. lucia: I swear that I keep forgetting that I’m with you; you’ve made yourself up so well that it seems you’re Gianbernardo in all but name. bonifacio: Ho ho ho ho. Actually it would be just as well for you to call me that, because if anyone overheard you, hee hee hee hee hee hee, it would be best if they heard you address me so, hi, hi, hi, hi, hi. lucia: You’re trembling. What’s the matter? bonifacio: Nothing, hee hee hee hee. Be warned now, Lucia, that if anyone, thinking that I’m Gianbernardo, ho ho ho ho, should want to talk to me, you must reply for me, hi hi hi hi hi, for I will have to pretend to be in a rage, and shall take no notice, hee hee hee; – you tell them to leave me alone, ho ho ho ho ho, because I’m out of my mind due to certain things that have happened, ho ho ho ho. lucia: That’s a good idea; I’ll not slip up. bonifacio: Ho. Ho. Ho. Ho. Ho. Ho. lucia: I’d like to know why you’re trembling. Tell me, are you trembling because of the cold or because of fear? What is the matter? bonifacio: My dear Lucia, I’m suffering, ho ho ho, the tremours of love, thinking that, at any moment now, I will be conjoined with the object of my desire, hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee. lucia: Oh yes, yes, I now understand these tremors; it’s the trembling of someone who finds himself with something which he has long desired. You’re acting as though you were already with her because she’s not far away now. bonifacio: Oh, ho ho ho ho, my dear Signora Vittoria, ha ha ha ha, comfort of mine, that breast of diamond that makes me suffer so, hee hee hee hee hee.

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lucia: You are her comfort and she is yours. I swear by that saint who gave away half his cloak for the love of God, that truly you would make a diamond soft, so sweet is your nature. Today you seem more handsome to me than ever. I don’t know if this is an effect of love or of something else. bonifacio: Ho ho ho ho ho. Let’s go quickly because I can’t hold it in any longer, ha ha ha ha. lucia: Don’t spill it on the ground if you don’t want to draw down the wrath of God upon your head, ha ha ha; you make me laugh. If you lose this lot by frigging you can make some more. bonifacio: That’s true; but, ha ha ha ha ha ha … lucia: Away, then. Scene ii bartolomeo, consalvo, and mochione bartolomeo: You traitor, you thief, you assassin! So, you have neither the pulvis Christi nor the pulvis of the devil? Oh me, alas, oh me reviled, undone. You’ll pay for this. consalvo: You’d do better to be silent, you poor silly man, or everyone will think you’re mad; you’ll be the laughing-stock of all Naples and even children will amuse themselves by re-enacting your misfortune; that’s all you’ll get. bartolomeo: Is that how you expect to silence me? consalvo: If you don’t want to remain silent, then shout until your lungs burst. What did you expect me to know about this business of yours? A month ago your man Cencio came to me and asked me whether I had lead oxide, aluminium, quicksilver, red sulphur, copper, ammoniac, and other ordinary supplies; I answered yes. And he added, ‘Well then, I’d like you to be my supplier while I carry out a certain task. Keep here with you this powder which is called pulvis Christi, and let me have as much of it as I send for, from time to time. Also keep with you this casket, which has all the things I hold dear in the world.’ bartolomeo: Has he collected these things? consalvo: No, so be quiet, because if he does come to collect them, he won’t leave my house as he plans to do. bartolomeo: You would be right if it weren’t for the fact that he has already left by coach. Mochione, what have you just heard?

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mochione: Everyone is saying that he has just left on the coach. consalvo: Well, what was I supposed to do? You should have known him better because he worked in your house and lived there with you for over a fortnight; I certainly had no idea of where he has lodged since then. You yourself from time to time would send now for this, now for that; and, as far as the pulvis Christi is concerned, the measure you requested the first time was half of what I had and you requested the same amount the second time which meant it was all gone. Today when you sent for a quantity ten times what I had been given in the first place, I was surprised and so I sent word back to you that the alchemist Cencio hadn’t left any more. bartolomeo: I’m quite sure that you and he have put it up me. consalvo: If you’re claiming that I’m to blame, you’re a great liar, you brainless idiot! He didn’t need any help to fool you! What did you expect me to know about your business; it’s been years since we last talked. You sent for supplies from my shop and I supplied what I had. bartolomeo: Oh me, this pulvis of the devil was low-grade gold, powdered and mixed with some other God-knows-what to disguise it! I thought it felt much heavier than other powders. That’s where the gold threads came from. Oh, cursed be the day I first set eyes on him! I’m going to hang myself. consalvo: Go on then and be quick about it. bartolomeo: I’ll hang myself after I’ve had you hanged, you treacherous knave. consalvo: You lie through your throat a thousand times! Do your worst, but I’ll not pay you a lira. Go, madman, poor crazy madman, go look for your pulvis Christi. bartolomeo: Oh me, what am I to do? How am I to recover my money? consalvo: Do as he has done, if you can manage to find someone with as small a brain and as open a purse as yours. bartolomeo: Worm, that would be your style and that of people like you. consalvo: Wait a moment then, because I’d like to beat the madness or the wine out of you, through the nose; take that, and that, you miserly penny-pincher. (Beats him) bartolomeo: This as well, eh? You shamefaced cuckold, take that! (Beats him) consalvo: Take a few more of these; just what you need. (Beats him)

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bartolomeo: Hey, hey, oh me! Traitor, murderer! Help, help. mochione: Help! Someone, help! Help! He’s beating my master to death! consalvo: Let me help to chase some of this madness from your brain. (Continues to beat him) bartolomeo: Oh, for the love of God. I’m being murdered. Help! Help! Scene iii sanguino as Captain Palma, corcovizzo, barra, and marca as officers, bartolomeo, consalvo, mochione sanguino: Halt, there! This is the Watch. What’s all this noise? bartolomeo: This killer has destroyed my goods and now he’s trying to destroy my person, as you can see. sanguino: Tie them together and take them to prison. consalvo: Captain, sir, this man imputes to me things that are completely alien to the conduct of the decent person that people know me to be. sanguino: Let’s go to Vicaria, so that justice can take its course. barra: Come on, walk, quickly; it’s getting late. sanguino: Tie them tightly so they can’t escape. corcovizzo: If they escape, blame me. sanguino: Make that rope tight. Come on, let’s go. bartolomeo: Oh poor me! Now this as well! Mochione, go to Marta and tell her to come for me at Vicaria prison early in the morning. mochione: I go. sanguino: March, come on; quickly, damn you! Scene iv mochione, alone mochione: As one ‘so-and-so begot so-and-so’ leads to another and another to another and another to yet another, and as one ex tribu et millia signati 181 derives by a certain thread from another, and just as one cherry leads inexorably to another cherry, so it is for the most

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part with trials and tribulations: that is, one follows hard on the other. And it’s a universal proverb that calamities never come alone. My master’s first misfortune was to have met Cencio; the second one was to lose six hundred scudi; the third was all the money that he spent to buy the alambics, the burners, the coal, and other things connected with this folly; fourth, he has wasted a great deal of time; fifth, all the work; sixth, he has quarrelled and will continue to quarrel with this apothecary; seventh, he has received a dozen good blows from the fellow; eighth, he has gone to prison; ninth, there’ll be some other mishap before he is released from prison and he’ll lose more time and money; lastly, he’ll become a laughing stock because of this pulvis Christi business. I think I can see Master Gianbernardo. He must have heard something about all this. I want to hear what he’s murmuring to himself. Scene v gianbernardo and mochione gianbernardo: I fear these renegades, with all their tomfoolery, are probably going to be distracted by some other scheme and if they bring anything off, it won’t be our main business. They’re certain to botch it up. Hey, there, handsome lad! mochione: At your service, Master Gianbernardo. gianbernardo: Have you seen any people hereabouts? mochione: I’ve seen far too many, by the devil. gianbernardo: Who were they? mochione: The captain of the Watch and three of his guards, who took my master to prison together with Consalvo, the apothecary. They came upon the two of them here, punching each other, so they tied them fast and led them straight to Vicaria prison. gianbernardo: Who is your master? mochione: Master Bartolomeo. gianbernardo: So Master Bartolomeo has gone to prison? What a tragedy! Son, tell me something else: why was he fighting with Consalvo? mochione: Sir, I don’t know. You must pardon me sir because I’m in a hurry to get home. gianbernardo: Well, then, go with God.

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Scene vi gianbernardo, alone gianbernardo: A trick here and a trick there, this conman Sanguino is going to get caught up carrying out some swindle with these other scoundrels; in the meantime Bonifacio and his wife will exit from the house of Signora Vittoria and I won’t be able to do a thing. A bad journey to them, then. As they come out of the house I should try to delay them in the hope that the others may finish whatever swindle they’re carrying out and … Ave Maria, this purse is mine, Ave Maria, this cloak is mine. God grant that these people I see approaching may be them. Scene vii sanguino, barra, marca, and corcovizzo sanguino: Ha ha ha. His situation is like that of Cola Perillo, who felt ill but didn’t know in which part of his body it was. The doctor would touch his chest and ask: ‘Do you have pain here?’ ‘No.’ Then he touched his back: ‘Do you have pain here?’ ‘No.’ Then the kidneys: ‘Do you have pain here?’ ‘No.’ Then he touched his stomach: ‘Do you have pain here?’ ‘No.’ Then his abdomen: ‘Do you have pain here?’ ‘No.’ Then his balls: ‘Do these hurt?’ ‘No.’ The doctor then said: ‘Could it be in this leg?’ ‘No sir.’ ‘Well, by your grace, then look and see if it’s not the other one?’ barra: Ha ha ha. sanguino: In the same way, these poor men, finding themselves in our hands, felt ill but didn’t know exactly where the pain was. corcovizzo: When Master Bartolomeo felt my hands on his purse he said: ‘If you’re all officers of the Watch and I’m a prisoner going to Vicaria, then you’re all cardinals and I’m the pope. Take it, take it, and a lot of good may it do you because I’m going to get it all back from this partner of mine.’ ‘Sure, sure,’ said the other one, ‘it’s always someone else who has to pay.’ sanguino: And the other one, what did he say when you took away his money bag? corcovizzo: ‘Ha ha ha. By the body of Our Lady, the sentence has

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already been passed on us. We’ve already been to Vicaria and been dealt with. By the grace of Saint Leonardo – to whom I want to dedicate a Mass and an iron collar – we’ve committed the sin and our purses must pay the penance.’ sanguino: And what did you reply to him? Didn’t you say anything? corcovizzo: ‘We,’ I said to him, ‘forgive you for this time and won’t be taking you to prison; and, to ensure that you won’t hurt each other, we’ll leave you here, tied up, so that you won’t to able to punch each other without a third person present. And because it wouldn’t be fair that, in doing you this favour, I would have lost labour, time, and a metre and a half of rope, I’ll have to pay myself; and since there’s no light here, I’ll take it all to a place where I can see and then I’ll bring back the change.’ Scene viii gianbernardo, comes out from hiding gianbernardo: Ha, ha, ha, what have you been doing? sanguino: We’ve just punished two villains. gianbernardo: Enforce Justice and God will help you. sanguino: We’ll be like that pope – I don’t remember whether it was Pope Hadrian – who sold benefits more willingly to those who had cash than to those who had faith and so he spent all his time with scales in his hands weighing up his gold coins. We’ll do the same and see how much each of us can make. gianbernardo: How did you leave the prisoners? sanguino: Securely tied so that they can’t come to blows while there are only two of them. gianbernardo: Hey, hey, hide, hide, because I think Master Bonifacio is coming. sanguino: Hey there, Barra, Marca, Corcovizzo, back, back; we’ll let Master Gianbernardo speak with them first. gianbernardo: Go and I’ll wait for them to pass by here. Scene ix bonifacio, carubina, and gianbernardo bonifacio: That pimp Lucia and that whorebitch mistress of hers are

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responsible for all this. They have meant to mock and swindle me; never, ever, again will I trust any woman. Were the Virgin to come back to earth – there, I was a hair’s breadth away from some serious blasphemy. carubina: Leave out all the excuses, you wretch, because I know you and I know women! Who is this tall, dark gent approaching us? bonifacio: Probably the devil of another tangle; I think that pimp Lucia has probably woven three or four together. gianbernardo: Either I am me or he is me. bonifacio: Here’s a bigger and worse demon, didn’t I say it? gianbernardo: Hey, there, fair gentleman. bonifacio: This really is all I needed! gianbernardo: Hey there, Master Black-Beard, tell me, who of the two of us is me, you or me? You’re not answering? bonifacio: You’re you and I’m me. gianbernardo: What do you mean I’m me. Thief, haven’t you robbed me of my person, and in this guise and under my appearance committed all sorts of crimes? How do you come to be here? What are you doing with Signora Vittoria? carubina: I’m his wife, Master Gianbernardo, and I’m dressed like this because of a favour that a lady has done me so that I might catch this scoundrel. gianbernardo: So you, you’re Madonna Carubina. But how does he come to be Gianbernardo? carubina: I don’t know. Let him explain, since he’s old enough and knows how to talk. bonifacio: Well, I changed my clothes in order to seduce my wife. carubina: You’re lying, you traitor! Are you still denying it, in my presence? gianbernardo: Rogue, is this how you betray your wife whom I know to be a most honourable woman? bonifacio: Please, Master Gianbernardo, let’s not descend to insults; leave me to straighten things out with my wife. gianbernardo: What, you knave! Do you think I’m going to let you slip through my hands like this? I want a full explanation of this getup and I want to know why you’re abusing my appearance. In this guise you may have committed all sorts of ribaldry, which, if I’m not careful, will be attributed to me. bonifacio: I beg you, forgive me; I haven’t done any wrong except with respect to my wife and the only ones to know anything about

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it are Signora Vittoria and her servants, who discovered that it was me. carubina: Do it for my sake, Master Gianbernardo; don’t take this matter any further. gianbernardo: Forgive me, Madonna, but it is impossible for me to let this thing pass so lightly. I don’t know what he has done, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to forgive him. bonifacio: Let’s go, Carubina, let’s go. gianbernardo: Stop, stop, you swindler, you’re not going to get away from me. bonifacio: Let me go, I pray you, if you don’t want me to resort to teeth and fists. carubina: My Master Gianbernardo, I beg you upon my honour. gianbernardo: Madam, your honour is intact because you can have done no harm; but I still want to know what wrong this man has done both to you and to me. bonifacio: You’re not going to keep me here. gianbernardo: I won’t let you get away. Scene x sanguino, barra, marca, corcovizzo, gianbernardo, carubina, and bonifacio sanguino: Stop, there, stop there, in the name of the Law. What’s all this noise? bonifacio: (Aside) Oh, more trouble! (To them) Welcome sirs. You see that I’ve discovered this man dressed as me walking with my wife. There’s some impropriety going on here and I would like to lay charges against him. gianbernardo: You’re lying, you scoundrel, and I’ll prove you’re a fraud by the very clothes that you’re wearing. sanguino: What the devil! It’s a couple of twins having a quarrel. barra: These three, with the woman included, will be two in one flesh. marca: I think they must be trying to decide who is who in order to be the husband of the woman. sanguino: There must be some sort of caper going on here. Take them to jail; take them all. gianbernardo: Sir, he’s the only one you need to take to prison, not me.

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sanguino: Off with you, you blackguard, away. You will be the first. gianbernardo: By your grace, Captain Palma, don’t do me this wrong because I’m a respected person. I’m Gianbernardo, the painter, a gentleman. corcovizzo: Captain, sir, you see there’s not a jot of difference between them. carubina: Captain Palma – truth must out – this person in disguise is my husband, Master Bonifacio; this other one is Gianbernardo. This is the truth and it can’t be hidden. gianbernardo: And as confirmation, see if that is his real beard. bonifacio: I confess that it’s a false beard, but I put it on for a certain reason that concerns only my wife and myself. corcovizzo: Here’s this good man’s beard in my hands. sanguino: Tell me, good man, is this your beard? barra: Yes, sir, it is; after all, he bought it. sanguino: Now we know that he’s the impostor; therefore, take him and the woman to prison. And you, Master Gianbernardo, I order you on behalf of the High Court of Vicaria to appear before the magistrate at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to supply information on this matter, under penalty of 150 scudi. gianbernardo: I will not fail to do so, Captain Palma. Your Lordship can imagine that no one desires this more than myself, since I’m the injured party. And I want to lay charges for all the crimes that this person may have committed in this outfit. sanguino: Justice shall be done. carubina: And I, poor miserable wretch, must I suffer dishonour and prison simply because I wanted to catch my feebleminded husband at his tricks! gianbernardo: Captain, sir, I will stand surety and guarantor for this woman, whom I know to be most honourable in spite of being married to him, and who cannot be involved in all this. sanguino: You should be grateful that we haven’t arrested you. Wasn’t she found together with her husband? gianbernardo: Yes sir. sanguino: Well, then, she’ll come with him. carubina: But I didn’t know. I went looking for him and caught him out and now I was coming back from Signora Vittoria’s house, reprimanding him for this misdeed. If you’d like to ask around, you’ll find no one would accuse me of anything. Let’s go ask Signora Vittoria and the others of her household.

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gianbernardo: I assure you sir that there can be no wrongdoing on the part of Madonna, and if anything is discovered, I bind myself to being responsible for it in every way. All I want, and all I ask for, is that he, and only he, go to prison; I ask nothing else from Madonna Carubina and so I beg you again to let her go. sanguino: It seems as though there is no real charge against her. I release her into your custody on the proviso that you – what is your name? carubina: Carubina, at your service, sir. sanguino: … you, Madonna Carubina, are commanded by the High Court of Vicaria, to present yourself before the magistrate by nine o’clock tomorrow morning in order to supply information about this matter, under penalty of a fine of sixty scudi. carubina: I will be most obedient, according to my duty. bonifacio: You will discover, Master Gianbernardo, that I have not done you any of the wrong you suspect. gianbernardo: We’ll see. sanguino: Now then, no more delay; let’s go. Careful that he doesn’t escape. Put him together with that schoolmaster and then we’ll take them to court together. bonifacio: Please, tie me; do this last favour for my wife and Master Gianbernardo. sanguino: Make sure he can’t get away. Let’s go. Good night. gianbernardo: Good night and best wishes to your Lordship, Captain sir, and your company. Scene xi gianbernardo and carubina gianbernardo: You see, my good Lady, what a disservice this wretch does to your divine beauty? Wouldn’t it seem just to you to pay him back in the same coin? carubina: If he fails to behave honourably, I shouldn’t do likewise. gianbernardo: You would be behaving honourably, my heart, if you did what any person on earth of any judgment and sentiment would do. I want you to know, my love, that these gentlemen who are holding him are not the Law but certain friends of mine, who will do with him as we ask. For the moment he’ll remain there and, in the meantime, while they pretend to attend to other matters before tak-

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ing him to Vicaria prison, they’ll be visited by a certain Master Scaramuré, who’ll pretend to negotiate your husband’s freedom through having him humiliate himself before us, since we are the offended party, and giving these gentlemen something for their trouble – not because they care about such things, but merely to make it look more believable. Your Ladyship will lose nothing at all by it. carubina: I can now see that you are all too clever and you have woven this whole web. Many things now become clearer to me. gianbernardo: Love of my life, I am such as would throw myself into a thousand chasms to serve you. Now that my fortune and good luck – which may the gods lead you to confirm – have permitted me to be so close to you as I am, I beg you, for all the fervent love that I have, and have always had, for you to have pity on this soul that has been so profoundly and intensely wounded by your divine eyes. I’m the one who loves you, I’m the one who adores you, and if the heavens had blessed me with what they gave to this silly, unappreciative fool, there would never have been a spark of love in my heart, as there is not now, for anyone else but you. carubina: Dear me, what are these things that I see and hear? What am I being led to do? gianbernardo: I beg you, my sweet goddess, if ever you experienced the flames of love – which always find a place in the most noble and generous of human hearts – do not take umbrage at what I say and do not believe for a single moment, nay never allow it to even enter your mind, that I seek what I seek from you with any lack of respect for your honour, for which I would shed all my blood a thousand times over, but rather to calm this intense passion that consumes me and that I can’t believe anything else but death can diminish. carubina: Dear me, Master Gianbernardo, I have a soft heart! I could easily believe what you say even though the flattery of lovers is proverbial. So, I would like to see you consoled but, for my part, it’s not possible without betraying my honour. gianbernardo: Life of my life, I believe you know well what honour is and also what dishonour is. Honour is nothing more than a certain esteem or reputation, which is why honour remains intact as long as one’s esteem and reputation remain unchanged. Honour is the good opinion that others have of us. While this lasts, honour lasts. And it’s not what we are and what we do that makes us honourable or dishonourable, but rather the opinions and the esteem of others. carubina: Even admitted that this is the case among men, what would

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you say about the angels and the saints who see everything and judge accordingly? gianbernardo: They don’t want to be seen any more than they are seen; they don’t want to be feared any more than they make themselves feared; they don’t want to be known any more than they give themselves to be known. carubina: I don’t understand what you mean to say by this. I’m unable either to approve these words or to disprove them, but they have a certain taint of impiety about them. gianbernardo: Let’s end our dispute, hope of my soul. Let it not be, I beg you, that such beauty has been conferred on you in vain by the heavens, which, being generous and liberal towards you in grace and features, have yet been miserly in not uniting you to a man who can appreciate them, for they have been cruel to me in making me swoon over them and thus each day die a thousand deaths. Now, my life, you should take more care that you do not kill me rather than worry in any way that your honour could suffer even the slightest diminution. I shall freely kill myself – should the pain not kill me first – if, after having had you here, as I have, so close and near, cruel Fortune were to deprive me of what is dearer to me than life itself. Life of this afflicted soul, it is not possible that your honour can be compromised in any way were you to deign to give me life; but if you are cruel to me, then I must necessarily die. carubina: By your grace, let’s go somewhere more private and not discuss such things here. gianbernardo: Let’s go, my sweet, for there are people coming. Scene xii consalvo and bartolomeo, bound together, hands behind their backs consalvo: Walk, goddamn you, you foolish cuckold; let’s reach those people so they can untie us. bartolomeo: A canker take you, blockhead, father of fools. You’ve made me fall. consalvo: Dear me, my leg. bartolomeo: I wish I had broken your neck. There now, we’ve fallen. Now get up – now. consalvo: Let’s get up.

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bartolomeo: Just to spite you, I’m not going to move from here all night, you dumb ox. consalvo: Let’s get up. May you never get up again, neither now nor ever! bartolomeo: Now sleep, since you’re lying down. You see, you poltroon, how much I have suffered and continue to suffer on your account? consalvo: And you’ll continue to suffer. bartolomeo: You peasant cuckold. (Bites him) consalvo: You’re biting now, are you? I swear by Saint Cuckoofat that if you want to play at biting, I’ll rip your nose from your face and wrench your ears from your head. Scene xiii scaramuré, consalvo, and bartolomeo scaramuré: I’d like to know just who these men are who argue while lying down. consalvo: Let’s get up, pig; it will be even more embarrassing if they find us like this. bartolomeo: You seem to think that the greatest calamity is to be embarrassed! The beams don’t bother you but the motes do.182 consalvo: If my hands were free, I would make you squeal for help in all sorts of novel ways! Don’t you want to get up? bartolomeo: I told you I want to remain here like this for the whole night. scaramuré: Ha ha ha, these two have been tied together with their hands behind them; one wants to get up and the other doesn’t. One of the two seems to be Master Bartolomeo in everything including the voice, but that’s impossible because I can see that it’s a couple of troublemakers in their shirtsleeves. Hey, there, you two drunkards. What’s the matter? What are you doing over there, like that? consalvo: Oh, Master, gentleman, sir, I beg you, come and untie us. Oh, Master Scaramuré, it’s you! bartolomeo: I beg you, leave us as we are. scaramuré: Well, Master Bartolomeo and Master Consalvo, I couldn’t have believed it was really you. What strange thing is this? Two intelligent men in this state! And you continue to insult each other in this way. Have you gone mad?

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bartolomeo: Worse, you will think, when you hear that I’ve hanged myself. Please, do not untie us. scaramuré: Leave it, leave it to me. How did all this come about? consalvo: I had words with him and we came to blows. Certain scoundrels dressed up as the nightwatch came running at the noise and tied us up as though taking us to Vicaria. When we reached Maiella, they changed us around and tied us, hands behind our backs and bum to bum as you see us. First they took our purses and went off; then, remembering something, two of them returned and took our mantles and our berets and they sliced our shirts open with a razor. Then we wandered about and argued until I saw a man and a woman hereabouts; I was trying to hurry in order to call out to them for help but as I tried to pull this good fellow along … bartolomeo: Oh and you’re a fine beast of burden, a good buffalo. scaramuré: You do wrong to insult each other like this. consalvo: … as I tried to pull, he fell like an overloaded donkey and he brought me down with him; and then, out of spite, he wouldn’t get up. scaramuré: Get up now, because I’ve untied you. Too much spleen makes a man mad and furious. Come on, I want to know no more about your business because it’s already dark. Don’t start beating each other again because the first one to move will have two against him. You, Master Consalvo, take that road and you, Master Bartolomeo, take this one. bartolomeo: Yes, yes. This night will pass but I’ll see this friend again tomorrow. consalvo: Hope to see you in a hundred years. Good night to you, Master Scaramuré. scaramuré: Adieu, off with you. bartolomeo: Adieu. Oh wretched Bartolomeo, when you’ve closed the noose around your neck, you’ll finally be free not to endure further disasters. Scene xiv scaramuré, alone scaramuré: This devil Sanguino is as well known as a counterfeit coin, but he nevertheless manages to impersonate Captain Palma almost better than Captain Palma could impersonate himself. Just look at

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how he plays with these poor brutes. Now, while Gianbernardo negotiates from his side, I want to make sure that this good fellow not only has no complaints about me, but that he will consider himself forever in my debt. Here’s the door of the Academy of Thieves. (Knocks) Scene xv corcovizzo, scaramuré, sanguino, and bonifacio corcovizzo: Who goes there? Who’s there? scaramuré: It’s Scaramuré, at your service. corcovizzo: Scaramuré who? Sounds like a gypsy name. What do you want? Who are you? scaramuré: I wanted a word with Captain Palma. corcovizzo: He’s busy. If you wait a moment I’ll see whether he wants to listen to you. scaramuré: (Aside) Ha ha ha; these fellows are certainly expert in their art. The art of thievery, after all, has its own language and rules, just like any art. sanguino: Hey, there! Who is it? scaramuré: A friend. sanguino: Whether friend or relative or in-law or neighbour, you can come tomorrow to Vicaria. scaramuré: By your grace, please hear me out, because it’s important that I speak to you tonight. sanguino: Who are you? scaramuré: I’m Scaramuré. sanguino: I don’t know you; in any case, what is it you want? scaramuré: I’d like to implore your help for something important. sanguino: Wait, then, because in an hour or so I’m taking some prisoners to Vicaria and you can talk to me along the way. scaramuré: I implore you, if it’s at all possible, come closer so that I can tell you some very important things that you won’t regret knowing. sanguino: You’re a real pest. Wait and I’ll come down. scaramuré: (Aside) Ha ha ha; the others are just novices and students; he is a teacher and an expert. I think that … Oh, I see Master Bonifacio at the window. bonifacio: Hello, Master Scaramuré; can you see where I am? You know what I mean.

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scaramuré: Say no more, no more; this is what brought me here. sanguino: Get away from that window, by God, you presumptuous pig. Who gave you permission to go to the window and talk? bonifacio: Captain, may your Lordship forgive me; I’ll go back. scaramuré: Ha, ha, ha, ha. You are real devils! I’ve just untied Master Bartolomeo and Consalvo, who couldn’t get up and were biting and sniping and calling each other names. sanguino: Ha ha ha; and if you knew about the other things we’ve been doing with Master Bonifacio and the pedant, you would laugh twice as much. scaramuré: Your comedy is certainly funny, but for these fellows it must be a bitter tragedy. sanguino: To conclude, we want to let the pedant go after we’ve managed to clean him out of those other scudi that are left in his moneybag. Now, talk to Bonifacio and have him come to terms with us. scaramuré: First I’ll make certain excuses to him. Then I’ll get him to send me to Master Gianbernardo to beg his forgiveness; and I’ll get both Gianbernardo and Carubina to come here, so that he can beg forgiveness of them; and then all of us together will implore you to let him free; and I think he’ll agree to anything in order not to be taken to Vicaria. sanguino: Come on, then, let’s waste no more time. I’ll have him come down with his hands still tied and I’ll give you a chance to speak to him in private. scaramuré: Do it; I’m waiting. Scene xvi sanguino, barra, marca, bonifacio, and scaramuré sanguino: Hey there, Coppino, be on the alert and don’t let this one get away. barra: Have no fears, sir. sanguino: And you, Panzuottolo, keep an eye out on the other side. marca: Will do. sanguino: Move aside a bit; let this man talk with the other one in comfort. You there, sir – I don’t remember your name. scaramuré: Scaramuré, at your service, sir. sanguino: … you, Master Scaramuré, you can talk to this fellow here in this private corner.

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scaramuré: I thank your Lordship infinite times. sanguino: Once is enough for me. scaramuré: What was your Lordship saying? sanguino: Enough, enough. Scene xvii scaramuré and bonifacio scaramuré: Master Bonifacio, come closer. bonifacio: (Cries) Boo hoo hoo; poor, wretched me, what a confusion today! You see what fruits I reap from my passion and from your advice, Master Scaramuré. scaramuré: Oh, I renounce … You make me want to offend one of the greatest saints in heaven. bonifacio: Who? Saint Christopher, boo hoo hoo. scaramuré: I don’t mean the biggest physically, I mean one of the highest, one of the spiritual barons. But perhaps the litany of saints that I recited immediately after I first found out about this business is enough, though instead of saying, ‘Ora pro nobis,’183 I sent them all such a curse – with the exception of Saint Leonard whose grace we need at the moment – that if, for every sin I’m condemned to seven years in Purgatory, just the sins I’ve committed in the last two hours would require the day of the Last Judgment to be delayed for at least ten thousand years. bonifacio: You do wrong to blaspheme. scaramuré: What else would you have me do, given the damage and dishonour done to you, the offence I seem to have caused you and the fact that, if this thing goes on, we could be ruined, both of us? bonifacio: How did you come to know of it? scaramuré: How did Apollonius, Merlin, and Malaggigi gain knowledge of distant things?184 bonifacio: I understand. May it please the heavens that with this art you’ll be able to free me from these fellows. scaramuré: Leave it to me because I’ve come to do nothing else but this. But first tell me what’s happened to you. Do you think that without my magical arts I could have prevailed on this fellow to let me speak to you like this, in secret, and to have them merely supervise us from a distance? You know that they don’t do this sort of thing even for those they know and regard as friends.

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bonifacio: I certainly was surprised to see it. scaramuré: I proceeded with humility, prayer, spells and one scudo. But before we come to other things, tell me, I beg you, what happened to you. bonifacio: What would you have me say to you? Here I am, poor wretch, made so by your remedies and formulas! Here are the results of my passion for that whore; here, too, above all, the fruits of the maliciousness of that pimp, Lucia, who made me believe things that not even the patriarch of the Council of Devils could have made me believe. I’m going to spend twenty-five scudi to have her face marked. scaramuré: Take care because it was not her fault, nor the fault of Signora Vittoria, nor mine – I think you probably blame me most of all, even if you don’t want to say it – but perhaps it was yours. bonifacio: By your grace, I’d like to see you persuade me of this. scaramuré: Are you sure that what you gave me, when I asked you for hair to put on the head of the image, was that of Signora Vittoria? bonifacio: I’m certain of the canker that’s devouring my slut of a fortune. The hair was my wife’s – may she share a thousand years of misfortune with the man who gave her to me and the one who first brought word of her, and that defrocked priest who married us – I nimbly collected it after she had combed it on Saturday night. scaramuré: Ah, you see how I am managing to uncover the truth about this business? bonifacio: From whom? scaramuré: From those who know and can tell it to me. Did I ask for your wife’s hair, did I? bonifacio: No sir, but you did ask me for the hair of a woman. scaramuré: I asked you, in the devil’s name, for the woman’s hair, not for any woman’s hair in general. Did you think I was going to make a doll for a little girl? bonifacio: Well, what difference is there, according to you, between a woman’s hair and the woman’s hair? scaramuré: The difference even infants can see when they first begin to exercise their reason. Weren’t we going to make the image in her name? bonifacio: To tell the truth, I can’t possibly have that capacity that you have. Sometimes you think that someone has understood what you have explained because you understand it clearly yourself, but it’s not always so. scaramuré: Now, you see the damn cause of all the confusion con-

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cerning the effect of the spell? The wax had been chosen and dedicated in the name of Vittoria; the image was made in her name; the hair, however, was from your wife and from this has derived all the confusion.185 Consider your wife in Vittoria’s house. Your wife was drawn there, though the one in love was Vittoria. Your wife with Vittoria’s clothes, Vittoria without her clothes. Your wife in the place of Vittoria, in Vittoria’s house, in Vittoria’s bed, in Vittoria’s clothes. Only Vittoria yearned and burned for you and it was only she who was to have been conjoined with you. Now Vittoria, Lucia, and your wife are all extremely surprised. Lucia can remember taking Vittoria’s clothes to your wife but she doesn’t remember how nor what impelled her to do it. Signora Vittoria is extremely astonished at how you, dressed as Gianbernardo, with your wife, dressed in her clothes, both came to be in her bed; and how, at that time of the night, the doors you and your wife passed through, guided by a stunned Lucia, were all mysteriously open while she herself was occupied with all the lads and serving girls in the other room which she was unable to leave until a certain time. You’ll see that your wife, too, is still dumbfounded and can’t explain the reason why she dressed in those clothes nor why she went to that place. bonifacio: This is much too complicated a web. scaramuré: Everything that has caused this confusion will become clearer to you after we’ve emerged from all these intrigues. bonifacio: I’m amazed, but I’m still in doubt about one thing. If my wife was drawn to Vittoria’s house under the influence of the spell that acted on her and not on Vittoria, why, when she was supposed to be burning with love for me, did she beat me worse than a mangy dog? scaramuré: Haven’t I just told you that your wife, by virtue of the fact that we had used her hair, was merely drawn to that place, but that she couldn’t have been yearning for you because the wax had not been selected, formed, elevated and warmed in her name. bonifacio: Now my mind’s at rest. I had not understood before. scaramuré: Enough, now, we’ve talked too long about this business. Let’s see if we can slip something to these fellows to let you get away; they can pretend that you’ve escaped or think up something else, then everything else can be easily accommodated. bonifacio: I have no more than eight scudi on me. but I’ll promise them more, if it’s absolutely necessary. scaramuré: They won’t trust you to pay up once you’re out of their hands.

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bonifacio: I’ll also leave them my cloak and the rings from my fingers. And I think if you talked to them they would do it for even less because for one scudo these people would renounce Christ and his mother and even his grandmother. scaramuré: You don’t know Captain Palma. Scene xviii sanguino, scaramuré, bonifacio, and barra sanguino: I’d like to know when you’re going to be through with all this talking. Are we supposed to wait for you here all night? scaramuré: May your Lordship pardon us if we’ve given you so much trouble and made you wait so long. Now, since you have shown us so much favour, we beg you to listen to another word or two. sanguino: Not another word, no more; it’s time to go to Vicaria prison. Tomorrow we can talk at leisure. Let’s go, let’s go there, Panzuottolo, Coppino. bonifacio: Oh, God help me, and glorious Saint Leonard too. scaramuré: Do us this favour, for the love of God, Captain. bonifacio: And I beg it of you for Christ’s Holy Cross. sanguino: All right, then, I’ve put up with so much, I can put up with a bit more. scaramuré: My Lord, the little thing that we wanted to say to you is this: this poor gentleman’s mix-up can gain nothing for your Lordship, but he and I will become your eternal servants and slaves if, after accepting a small offer, you grant him liberty and allow him to leave. sanguino: I well imagined that you had come for this reason, in order to subvert the course of justice. I’m astonished at your temerity, oh man of little conscience, in hoping to take out of my hands a prisoner as important as this man may turn out to be! Didn’t I say as much to my men? By agreeing to listen to you I purposely provided you with an opportunity in order to punish you for your misdeed and make you an example to others; and so as to drive the point home, we’ll be taking you to prison with him, hand in hand. Hey, there, Coppino. barra: Sir, your orders? sanguino: Bring something to tie up this good gentleman. scaramuré: Please, Signor Palma, may your Lordship listen to me first.

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bonifacio: (Kneeling) My Lord, for the love of God, all the angelic hosts, the Immaculate Virgin, and the entire celestial court, I beg you. sanguino: Stand up because I don’t want to be adored; I’m neither the King of Spain nor the Grand Turk. bonifacio: I beg you, have mercy on me and don’t be angry; and remember that we are all sinners and all need the forgiveness of God, who promises as much mercy to us as we ourselves will show to others. sanguino: (Aside) A fool like this fellow would be a preacher if he had studied. (Aloud) Misdeeds must be punished, don’t you know? bonifacio: If all misdeeds were punished, in what would mercy consist? sanguino: Go with the devil; I have other things to do than to dispute with you. scaramuré: Be silent, Master Bonifacio, let me do the talking. Signor Palma, God would never have allowed that I should have attempted this with an idea of perverting justice or dishonouring your Lordship who is well known in all Naples for his scrupulous adherence to the very letter of the law. sanguino: Let’s leave aside all the adulation. It’s not I who can exercise leniency or severity, justice or injustice, but my superiors. You know that my task is simply that of arresting malefactors – or presumed malefactors – and putting them in prison. I can’t become involved any further than that. bonifacio: Oh dear, poor me. scaramuré: My Lord, if your Lordship will listen to me, I’m sure you will grant my request. sanguino: I don’t easily get angry or lose my temper, but your arguments had better be as good as your boasts if you want to sleep in your own bed tonight. bonifacio: Oh God help me. scaramuré: Your Lordship knows that Italy is not like certain foreign countries where – be it on account of their coolness, be it out of the excessive zeal of those poor souls or the sordid avarice of those who administer justice – those who go to visit courtesans are punished. Here, as in Naples, Rome, and Venice, cities which for their nobility are regarded as the fount and mirror of the whole world, not only are whores and courtesans permitted … sanguino: I seem to understand that this fellow is praising these three cities for being whorehouses full of prostitutes; this is some paradox!

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scaramuré: I beg you to listen to me. Not only, I say, are they permitted according to the civil and municipal regulations but brothels have been instituted on a par with convents for nuns. sanguino: Ha ha ha ha. Now this is fine comparison! This fellow is going to consider whoredom as one of the four hundred Major or the four Minor Orders and for the occasion will also have to appoint an abbess. scaramuré: By your grace, hear me out. Here in Naples we have the Piazzetta, the Cetrangolo, the Quarter of Saint Anthony and a neighbourhood near Holy Mary of Carmine. In Rome, because they were all dispersed, in 1569 His Holiness ordered that all be brought under one roof, under penalty of the whip, and he set aside a particular neighbourhood for them, which was locked shut at night; which he did not so much for his portion of the registration fee which also came into his coffers, but more so that they could be distinguished from honest women and would not contaminate them. I need say nothing about Venice, where due to the magnanimity and liberality of the most illustrious Republic – say what one will about certain prime citizens who would allow themselves to be castrated for a few coins, to tell the truth – there prostitutes are even exempt from taxation and not subject to certain laws, even though such a multitude of them – the greater and more illustrious the city, the greater the number of prostitutes – paying even a pittance of tax would net the city in just a year or two another treasure to match the one it already has. Certainly if the Venetian Senate were willing to lower itself to what the others do, it would enrich itself considerably; but because it is written that ‘in sudore vultui ti,’186 not ‘in sudore of the poor whores,’ they avoid doing it. Apart from the fact that they show a great deal of respect for the aforesaid whores, as is attested by a certain ordinance just promulgated and carrying heavy penalties for anyone, noble or ignoble, and of whatever rank or station, who injures or offends them with insults, and this is something which has never been done for any other sort of women. sanguino: (Aside) Ha ha ha, I’ve never met a better sophist than this fellow. (Aloud) I think you’re drawing a very long bow indeed and it seems to me that you’re mocking both myself and this poor man who’s awaiting the result of your oration or legend or chronicle – I don’t know what the devil it is. But come to your conclusion soon and I’ll put up with you a little more.

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bonifacio: I beg you, talk about my case. What have we to do with Venice, Rome and Naples? scaramuré: I conclude, sir, by saying that it is in these three cities that one finds the true greatness of Italy because the greatest of the lesser cities of Italy is by far inferior to even the least of these. bonifacio: Oh me, I need to shit! sanguino: Ha, ha, hold on my good man, let’s see where all this is leading. scaramuré: The conclusion is that the whores of Naples, Venice and Rome, ideste of all Italy, are permitted, in fact, encouraged, and have their statutes, their regulations, their levies and, furthermore, their privileges. sanguino: You should say: what privileges! scaramuré: And so, consequently, no one is prevented from going to courtesans and they are not prosecuted by law … sanguino: I’m beginning to understand the fellow. bonifacio: I also. Glory and praise to Our Lady of Loreto, he’s finally getting to my case. scaramuré: … and this is not all, for the Law also abstains from proceeding against, arresting, or prosecuting even those who seduce honourable women; because our princes consider it barbaric that one should take the horns that some gentleman – someone who is esteemed and of good reputation – has in his heart and to publicly nail them to his forehead. So even in very notorious instances, there is normally no prosecution except in cases where the offended party – almost always from the lower classes – is shameless enough to press charges. As for the dishonoured parties, the Law would do them great wrong and injury if it didn’t weigh the punishment meted out to the person giving the horns against the disgrace brought upon the other party by making his shame public and known to the eyes of the whole world – so that one would suffer more at the hands of so-called justice than from the actions of the perpetrator. And even if the whole world already knew, the act of justice makes the horns even more solemn and glorious. So everyman capable of reasoning will appreciate how this dissimulation of justice avoids greater evils. For a shamed and cuckolded man – if one can use such terms when the man’s reputation hasn’t been soiled publicly – either because he may fear giving himself away or perhaps not placing much importance on horns which nobody sees – and which, in fact, are nothing – may

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abstain from exacting that vengeance that he feels the whole world expects of him when the fact is known to everybody. In Italy, then, and in other non-barbaric countries, where horns are held dear, the custom is not only to tolerate and disguise such excesses but even actively to hide them. Which means that, to a certain extent, one should praise those who permit brothels because this avoids greater evils that might occur in our parts … sanguino: Conclude quickly, I order you. bonifacio: Oh me, I’m dying from thirst. I’m going to have a fit. scaramuré: Finally, I would say to your Lordship that Bonifacio’s intemperance was caused by a woman who, be she an honourable lady or a whore, should not be the reason that he, an esteemed and noble gentleman … bonifacio: I think I’m a gentleman from the district of Saint Paul. scaramuré: … should be seen to go to prison, and so on, for this might cause others to also be greatly reviled. Since your Lordship is a person of discretion, I think this is probably enough for you to have understood the whole case. sanguino: If all of this has come about because of women, then I’m most unhappy that this fellow should have ended up in my care and I excuse myself before God and the world because it has never been my intention to compromise the honour of any living person. But I want you to know, and he and the entire present company can bear witness, that it is not in my power to resolve this matter. He has been put into my hands by Gianbernardo, the painter, whom he was impersonating with a false beard, and whom he still impersonates with his hooded cloak; the beard is here in the keeping of my men and if you want to see how well it looks on him, come tomorrow at nine o’clock to Vicaria and you will laugh when we match them up together with their beards. bonifacio: Oh poor me, oh, for the love of God, help me! sanguino: Now, that poor, decent gentleman has pressed charges because this fellow may have committed, or pretended to commit, all sorts of excesses in his guise, and it is possible that sometime in the future, some party, injured by this fellow’s doings, may bring charges against him. bonifacio: Your Lordship, on this there need be no doubts. sanguino: My good man, I’m not the one with the doubts. Do understand, you and everyone else here, that I am not holding him and

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taking him to Vicaria for my great pleasure, but because he must give an account of himself. And the other fellow is quite enraged and is due to come tomorrow morning to press charges against him. Furthermore, his wife is also laying a complaint and Master Gianbernardo and the woman could make a lot of trouble for me. scaramuré: You don’t need to worry about the woman. sanguino: On the contrary, she is the one that worries me the most. Such women quite often destroy their husband’s life and reputation out of jealousy. Now then, gentlemen, you see how little I can do for him; I can have pity on him but I cannot help him. scaramuré: Captain, your Lordship speaks like an angel. bonifacio: Like an evangelist; one couldn’t find a better term; like a saint. sanguino: Now, then, let’s go. Panzuottolo, bring that Magister down here and let’s be off. scaramuré: Captain, sir, I’ve got something further to say to you. sanguino: What’s that, then? scaramuré: I undertake – if you would do us the grace of waiting a quarter or half an hour – to reconcile Master Gianbernardo and Master Bonifacio. bonifacio: Oh, might it please God that he could do this! sanguino: You’re pulling my leg. This is impossible. scaramuré: On the contrary, it’s necessary. When Gianbernardo understands what has happened, I’m sure that he’ll drop the whole thing. I’m such a close friend that I shall go to his house now and, if he’s asleep, I’ll wake him and have him get up and come here in order to make peace; but, Master Bonifacio, it’s necessary that you beg his pardon and that you give him satisfaction by words and acts of humility because he could, in all legitimacy, feel greatly insulted by what you’ve done. bonifacio: So be it. I shall kiss his feet, be his friend, and feel eternally in his debt if he forgives me this misdeed and not expose me to shame; and not only towards him (Cries) boo hoo hoo, but also towards your Lordship, Captain, sir, boo hoo hoo. sanguino: Get up and don’t kiss my feet, at least not until I become pope. bonifacio: I shall be ever so grateful to your Lordship if you will help me in this matter and give us a little time to make this accord. And you, Master Scaramuré, I beg you from the depths of my heart and

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soul to do your utmost to resolve this matter and my life shall be forever in your keeping. scaramuré: I’m most confident that, at the very least, I will be able to bring him here under some pretext or other, and once he is here, we will be able to do everything, what with your humility, the intercession of the Captain – if he were to be so kind – and my own arguments, so that the matter will go no further; but it will also be necessary that you repay the Captain in some way for his benevolence. sanguino: Oh, as for myself, I have no interest in such things, but you will have to make some gesture for the men of my company, if for nothing else than to keep their mouths shut. Furthermore, this is not enough; I want to see him reconciled with his wife and beg forgiveness from her as from the other fellow. And when I see both of them happy and satisfied, I’ll take the matter no further because I also cannot fail to have some compassion for this poor Master Bonifacio. bonifacio: My Lord, here I am, at your service in both body and soul; as regards your men, I say here are my rings for these fellows, everything that is in this purse and this confounded cloak, which I want, in every way, to get rid of. sanguino: Enough, enough; you’re making plans without the host, as they say. This will all come to nothing if your wife and Gianbernardo are not satisfied. bonifacio: I’m hoping that they will be satisfied. Go, I beg you, Master Scaramuré. scaramuré: I’ll bring him here under some other pretext that won’t fail to interest him. I’m sure that your wife will not fail to come on her honour. sanguino: Go and act quickly, then, if you want us to wait for you. scaramuré: My Lord, neither one nor the other lives very far from here. I shall return as soon as possible. sanguino: Make sure they decide either yes or no; and don’t make me wait in vain. scaramuré: Your Lordship need not have any doubts. bonifacio: Oh glorious Saint Leonard, help me. sanguino: Let’s go, back inside; we’ll wait there a while.

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Scene xix gianbernardo and ascanio gianbernardo: So much so that, to return to our discussion, it is common opinion that things have been so ordered that in Nature nothing is lacking and nothing is superfluous. Oysters have no feet because no matter where on earth they find themselves, they have everything they need for their sustenance, which is only water and the heat of the sun, whose power penetrates to the very depths of the sea. Moles have no eyes because they live underground and need nothing but earth, which they cannot lose. Whatever lacks the capacity is not provided with the tools. ascanio: That is certain. I’ve heard it said that a certain critic of the works of Jove by the name of Momo – because it’s absolutely necessary that there be some of these characters who speak freely: first, because princes and judges need to be made aware of mistakes which they’ll never recognize when surrounded only by their vile adulators and sycophants; secondly, so that they will discriminate between doing one thing rather than another; thirdly, because beauty and virtue, when they have contraries, appear even more beautiful, manifest and clear and come to be confirmed and reinforced – this critic of Jove, then … gianbernardo: Not a member of the first order of gods in the heavens because those in this second category have shorter arms but usually much longer tongues. ascanio: … this critic of Jove, while disputing with Mercury – who has been appointed as interpreter and mouthpiece of the gods – came to interrogate him in these terms: ‘Oh Mercury, arch-sophist, false counsellor and go-between of the Lord of Thunder, given the different conditions and directions of winds and therefore the need to manoeuvre a vessel by raising or lowering the sails, how is it that this mast has no halyard? Or, to put it more bluntly: why does the cunt – with all due respect for chaste ears – have no buttons?’ To which Mercury replied: ‘Because, with all due reverence, the prick has no fingers with which to undo them.’ gianbernardo: Ha, ha, ha, what could the other gods reply to that? ascanio: Chaste Diana and modest Minerva turned their backs and left; and one of the disputants said: ‘May they go to a brothel.’ He might have said ‘Go to the devil,’ but in those times no one knew

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about this good fellow. And so, to confirm what you’re saying, however much this fellow has raised, raises, and will raise questions – as it has been in the past, is now and will be in the future – he will never be able to prove any error in what has been ordered by Nature and intelligence, except in appearance. gianbernardo: You’ve understood well. All the errors that occur are caused by this traitress Fortune, the same one who has given so much to your master, Malefacio, and taken it from me. Fortune grants honours to those who don’t deserve them, a good field to those who won’t sow it, wealth to those who don’t know how to spend it, children to those who can’t rear them, a good appetite to those who have nothing to eat, and hard biscuits to those who have no teeth. But what am I saying? The poor little thing must be excused because she’s blind and, in distributing the goods she has in her hands, she needs to proceed by touch and most of the time she seems to bump into fools, idiots, and rogues, of which the world is full. It’s a rare event when she lays hands on a deserving person, because they are few; a rarer event when she touches someone more deserving, because they are even fewer; rarest of all, and something of a wonder after all her stumbling about, is when she honours one of the most deserving, for these are very, very few. Yet, if it is not her fault, then it is the fault of whoever created her. Jove denies having made her and yet, whether or not she has been made by someone, it seems that she’s not responsible and whoever is responsible remains unknown. ascanio: And, in any case, to blame her or others is unjust and in vain. In fact, some would hold that she is not only useful but necessary, because in the absence of her influence and actions every virtue rings hollow, for it is not true virtue but something vain and empty. It’s unworthy that those who have the ability to seek and to find her should stand and wait for her. The gods decree that initiative may overcome bad fortune and may allow us to seize what we desire, as has happened in your case. It’s necessary that goods and worth be separated so that each needs the other and each seeks the other out. Those who are worthy will be denied the goods; those who have the goods usually don’t deserve them. gianbernardo: Oh my son, how well you speak and how much are your sentiments in advance of your years! What you say is true and I have even now confirmed it by experience. Notwithstanding that what I enjoyed tonight had not been given to me by God or Nature

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and had been denied to me by Fortune, judgment made me recognize the opportunity, diligence made me grab it by the hair, and perseverance allowed me to hold it fast. In all matters the real difficulty is in getting the head through, because then the chest and the body easily follow. In future I’m certain that between Madonna Carubina and myself there will be less need of schemes, introductions, discussions, and reasoned argument. ascanio: True enough, for your mouths needed to touch only once for each to understand the other’s language: eyes see, tongues speak, and hearts understand. At times what is grasped in a moment is retained for ever. There was a venerable saintly man called Sipion Savolino who one day went to Don Paulino, curate of Santa Primma, a village near Nola, in order to confess his sins. Although there were many serious sins, and not least because Sipion was his relative, Don Paulino forgave him without any difficulty. It was enough that this had been done once, because in the following years, without bothering about details, Sipion would say to Don Paulino: ‘Father, the sins of a year ago today you already know.’ And Don Paulino would reply to Sipione: ‘My son, you know the absolution I pronounced a year ago today: Vadde in pacio et non amplio peccare.’187 gianbernardo: Ha ha ha. We’ve spent long enough on this; do you see this door? ascanio: Yes sir. gianbernardo: This is where they are holding him. We must not knock on this door until Master Scaramuré has come for me. I think that by now he has done everything and is presently looking for me. In the meantime, go to Madonna Carubina and have her come here as soon as possible. ascanio: I’ll do so. Shall we find you here? gianbernardo: Certainly, for it should not take me long to find Master Scaramuré. Go. Scene xx gianbernardo, alone gianbernardo: Il Fastidito, The Annoyed One, wrote an epitaph on the tomb of Jacopone Tansillo that went something like this:

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The first button that Master Bonifacio put into the wrong hole was to become infatuated with Vittoria; the second was to become convinced that Master Scaramuré could use magic to free Satan from his chains, make women come fly through the air to him wherever he desired, and other things completely outside the course of Nature. All his other misfortunes have followed from this, one behind another, like children, and children of the children, like grandchildren and their grandchildren. Now nothing remains but to do up his belt and hook his breeches to his jacket, which he’ll do by asking mercy and forgiveness for the offences done to us poor innocents. Scene xxi gianbernardo, ascanio, scaramuré, and carubina gianbernardo: So, you’ve returned quickly. ascanio: I met them as they were coming this way. scaramuré: Here we are, all ready to release this poor soul from Purgatory. carubina: Would to God that he were already there so that I wouldn’t have to see him again. ascanio: Nothing is too difficult for those who want it badly enough. scaramuré: Not finding you at your lodgings, I went into Signora Vittoria’s house, thinking you might be there; finally, I sent Lucia to find you and to bring you here. gianbernardo: We are all here, then. You, Madonna Carubina, pretend that you’ve come of your own initiative with Ascanio. But first allow time for Master Scaramuré and I to negotiate with Sanguino and these others; you, in the meantime, can withdraw and wait a little here, behind this corner. carubina: That’s a good idea. Let’s go, Ascanio. ascanio: Let’s place ourselves here, Madonna, so that we can hear what’s being said and judge the best time to come forward. carubina: Good, good.

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Scene xxii scaramuré. gianbernardo. corcovizzo, barra, and sanguino scaramuré: Let’s knock on the door. corcovizzo: Who’s there? scaramuré: Friends. Could you let the Captain know we’re here. corcovizzo: Right away, sir. scaramuré: That’s Corcovizzo. Now I think he’s having them call him either Coppino or some such devil of a name. I heard the other fellow being called Panzuottolo, or perhaps it was him. gianbernardo: Ha ha ha, the pedant and Bonifacio should recognize them well enough. Have the others put on beards as well? scaramuré: Every one of them; so much so that this seems to me to be a real stage comedy. All the pedant needs is a beard; Master Bonifacio already has one, if he should want to wear it. These two know each other, but they haven’t realized that the others are disguised. sanguino: You’re back here, then? You haven’t brought the wife? I warn you that nothing can happen if the wife does not come. scaramuré: Sir, she’s on her way and she’ll be here presently. sanguino: Wait, then, and we’ll bring him down. scaramuré: (To Gianbernardo) Press your own concerns for a little while. gianbernardo: Leave my business to me. sanguino: I bid you welcome, Master Gianbernardo. gianbernardo: Your Lordship is well met. As soon as I understood from Master Scaramuré that you were asking for me, I immediately got up from bed and hurried here, wondering whether you haven’t discovered something that this malefactor has done in my guise. sanguino: Here is the malefactor, or Malefacio, as one might call him. But in the name of the devil I didn’t send for you, but rather Master Scaramuré begged me so insistently not to take this fellow to Vicaria, saying that he knew other things relating to his motives for disguising himself and that you would be satisfied. I, in part to please you, in part moved by Master Scaramurè’s entreaties, not to mention the tears and contrition of this poor sinner, have waited upon you, but I did not send for you. bonifacio: Have mercy, for the love of God. gianbernardo: Master Scaramuré, didn’t you come to call me, on

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behalf of the Captain, frightening the wits out of me by telling me that he wanted to see me about something to do with this affair? Why such treachery? Do you call this friendship? Is this the zeal you have for my affections? You have schemed and, as I see, are still scheming, to favour and help, with my consent, this iniquitous man. Captain, I would like also to lay charges against this fellow who has abused my name and intentions in speaking with your Lordship, and he has abused the authority and name of your Lordship in giving me the discomfort of coming all the way here just to bother others. bonifacio: Mercy, for the honour of God and of Our Lady. sanguino: Gently, now. Let’s see if this matter can’t be resolved; let’s see how serious it really is. Since you are here, think carefully about what you’re doing and don’t let anger get the better of you. gianbernardo: For my part, I don’t think this thing can ever be resolved; on the contrary, I think that, even after justice has taken its course, we two will still have accounts to settle. scaramuré: My dear Master Gianbernardo, what I’ve done and what I’m doing is, I believe, not at all against your honour. Every time that there shall be a report of some misdeed done at night by someone who looks like you, we’re all here united as witnesses in order to make the responsibility fall on the head of Master Bonifacio. But since to this point nothing has happened but some lighthearted joke, played by this fellow on his wife for who knows what reason, you should calm yourself. gianbernardo: So he disguised himself in order to have people believe that I was keeping his wife’s company, to compromise us both and to put our lives in danger. Do you not know that he was trying to dupe her and to do me the greatest harm he could? bonifacio: May it not please God. And why should I do this to you, my Master Gianbernardo? Forgive me, I beg you; forgive me for the Five Wounds of Christ. (Kneels to kiss Gianbernardo’s feet) gianbernardo: Not so much kissing of the feet, I beg of you. barra: The whole world has become pope and emperor in this man’s devotion, at least for the moment. If God grants him grace now, he’ll be sending everyone gifts for years to come. sanguino: Come, come, show a bit of compassion, not least because it appears that he has done nothing else but this. You can see how there must have been some other intrigue going on; his wife was still disguised as someone else and not in her own clothes, as this fellow says, so it’s hardly likely that he was trying to compromise you in this way.

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scaramuré: Apart from which, the wife was wearing the clothes of a woman with whom Master Gianbernardo is often seen without any suspicion at all. Come, come, my Master Gianbernardo: I once again beg you to keep the example of God’s mercy before your eyes. I well knew that you would not have come here had I not spoken to you in that way. I also overstepped the mark with respect to the Captain, but I estimated that he would not have regarded me as an enemy, given that he’s all for showing charity and mercy to one person if it doesn’t involve doing an injustice to someone else. bonifacio: My dear Master Gianbernardo, I publicly pledge myself for any charge or claim that may be brought against you. Master Gianbernardo, I beg you, allow this poor soul of Bonifacio to be, shamelessly if you like, in your debt. My honour is in your hands. I shall never be able to deny that I have my reputation only thanks to your mercy if only you would do me this favour. (Cries) boo hoo hoo. sanguino: Oh good, good; here is his wife. Scene xxiii carubina, sanguino, scaramuré, gianbernardo, bonifacio, barra, corcovizzo, ascanio, and marca carubina: Is the wife-seducer still here? sanguino: This certainly is something new! I think these people who make a profession of studying moral responsibility can never yet have imagined how someone could be both an adulterer and a frequenter of prostitutes by screwing his own proper and legitimate wife. scaramuré: Come now, let’s leave aside both irony and anger. We need to resolve this question here among ourselves, since Captain Palma has done us the favour of allowing us to take into consideration your honour, Madonna Carubina; and consider that your husband’s shame cannot increase your honour, nor can it be of any use to you, Master Gianbernardo. bonifacio: That’s most certain. Mercy, pity, compassion, charity, for the love of God! My dear Master Gianbernardo and my dear wife, forgive me, I beg you, for this my first and only error. barra: The world is a strange place! Some people make mistakes but, from what one sees, never pay for them; others pay after many mistakes; others get caught the first time; others haven’t sinned yet and already do penance; others do penance but never sin; some do pen-

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ance for the sins of others. In this man, if one looks well, all of these possibilities are conjoined. bonifacio: I’m asking you for grace and mercy. I beg that you forgive me the way Our Lord Jesus Christ forgave the good thief and Mary Magdalene. barra: (Aside) Well, I’ll be buggered! This one thinks he’s the good thief! (To Bonifacio)When you’re a good thief like the one who managed to snatch heaven from Our Lord, then you’ll obtain mercy. You are a thief who takes what belongs to your wife – her milk, her liqueur, her manna, her conjugal goods and possessions – and you give them to another. gianbernardo: And what about my person and my beard and my cloak and perhaps my honour? What may he have done with those? barra: Which is why he should be forgiven, not in the manner of the good thief but, rather, like the Magdalene. corcovizzo: See what a sweet Magdalene he makes! May a canker eat him and the four hundred lice that he must be carrying in the forest of his beard. See what sort of precious ointment this fellow is spreading around? By my faith, he only needs a dress to be a real Magdalene. I say if he is to be forgiven, let it be as the Jews forgave Barabbas. sanguino: A fine way to help a poor man out! A nice way to console an afflicted soul! Be quiet, there, you, and don’t stick your noses into all this, but just wait until you’re commanded. scaramuré: I beg you to forgive him; and he too is still begging you, as you see, on his knees, may it be in the name of God or in the name of the devil, in the way of Barabbas or like Dimas.188 sanguino: That’s it exactly, and you would do well to show him mercy. gianbernardo: What do you say, Madonna Carubina? carubina: I, for this time, will forgive him, but may he be on guard in the future; otherwise, I shall make him pay for this and for that. bonifacio: I assure you absolutely, my Carubina … carubina: I’m yours, but you belong to Signora Vittoria. bonifacio: … that never, ever will you catch me doing wrong. carubina: Because now you’ve learned to do it with more care. gianbernardo: You’ve understood him. bonifacio: I say that you won’t catch me doing wrong because I won’t be doing any wrong. barra: Women, when they’re in the pains of labour, say: ‘Never, never again. Now I’m going to put you under lock and key. You traitor of

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a husband, if you come near me, I’ll kill you; for certain I’ll rip you apart with my teeth.’ But no sooner has the little creature come out, and given that Nature abhors a vacuum, they’ll want in every way to get the other thing in. Such are the pains women suffer in labour; such are the resolutions they make while giving birth. sanguino: Oh, what a fine sight: while some people are crying others vent their spleen! And you lot are cracking jokes and treating this as a pastime! Silence; be quiet. carubina: I not only pardon you but to show you some grace and to safeguard my honour, which is also involved, I further implore Gianbernardo to allow the Captain to set you free. bonifacio: I thank you, my dear wife. Until today I loved you in one respect and two duties; from today forward I shall love you in all respects and in all duties. gianbernardo: Master Bonifacio, I’m a Christian and I profess to be a good Catholic. I go often to confession and I take communion on all important feast days. My art is that of the painter, to place before worldly eyes the image of Our Lord, Our Lady, and the other saints in Paradise. This is why, seeing you so contrite, I am unable to refuse to forgive you and to make that remission that every pious and good Christian is obliged to make in such cases. In the meantime, may God forgive you in heaven and I’ll forgive you on earth. I reserve only one thing for myself, because it is written, ‘Honore meom nemini tabbo,’189 so if under this guise you have committed any crime, you should hurry to make reparation for it. And this you must promise to the Captain as to the minister of justice, to me, and before your wife, Master Scaramuré, and all these companions. sanguino: Do you so promise? bonifacio: I promise it and re-promise it, I affirm it and confirm it; and furthermore I swear with both my hands raised to high heaven, that I have committed no other misdeed that might displease Gianbernardo. except that I impersonated him in order not to be noticed while entering and exiting from the house of Signora Vittoria, none of which could expose Master Gianbernardo to any scandal or suspicion whatever since it is the house where he rents his quarters. sanguino: By my faith, if this is a fault, it is not a serious one. Come now, rise to your feet Master Bonifacio; embrace Master Gianbernardo; be better friends in the future than you have been in the past; try always to be of service to each other; visit and help one another.

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gianbernardo: So will we do, if this is how it must be, and with this I embrace you and accept you as friend. bonifacio: I shall be your friend and servant for ever. barra: Be good companions. sanguino: What are you doing? Embrace and kiss your wife. carubina: No matter; we have made peace. marca: Go home, go home. Treat your wife well, Master Bonifacio; otherwise she and Gianbernardo will punish you together. sanguino: Well, then, go with God all of you. Go through here so you can go out by that other door; and you, Master Bonifacio, leave that token that you had promised these friends of mine for all of the bother that we’ve endured on your account. bonifacio: Most willingly, my Lord. scaramuré: Let us go. May God be praised for making this peace and union between Master Bonifacio, Madonna Carubina, and Master Gianbernardo – three in one. bonifacio: Amen, amen. carubina: You go first, Master Gianbernardo. gianbernardo: Never would I do so, madam. Your Ladyship must go first. carubina: If so it must be. gianbernardo: It is your right, Madonna. carubina: I go then in order to obey and to serve you. gianbernardo: Follow me, Master Bonifacio; hold on to me, grab my cloak, and be careful not to fall. bonifacio: I’ll take care. sanguino: Wait here with me a moment, my boy, and we’ll remain together while the others leave through there. ascanio: As your Lordship commands. Scene xxiv sanguino, ascanio sanguino: What do you think now of your Master Bonifacio? ascanio: Well, from what I see. sanguino: Isn’t he a gentleman, wise, astute, wealthy, worthy of every esteem? ascanio: Like all his peers. sanguino: Who seem to you to be his peers?

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ascanio: Whoever knows no more and no less than he, and who is worth no more and no less than he. sanguino: There being all sorts of madness, which sort do you think he suffers from? ascanio: The sorts of madness can be grouped under many headings but let’s say this: some madmen are indifferent, others are sad, others are good. This fellow comes to be all three: when he’s asleep, he’s indifferent; when he’s awake he’s sad; and when he’s dead, he’s good. sanguino: Why did Madonna Carubina take him as a husband? ascanio: Because he’s mad. sanguino: Do you think she did well? ascanio: According to the advice given to her by hoary, old, bearded Madonna Angela, she has done better than well, ideste, very well. This woman was her counsellor; she’s the shepherdess of all the beautiful girls of Naples. Whoever wants some Agnus dei, some blessed grains, water from the well of Saint Peter Martyr, the seed of Saint Johnny, the manna of Saint Andrea, the oil of the fat of the marrow of the meat of the bones of the body of Saint Piantorio, whoever wants to make a novena to attract good luck, all go to see Madonna Angela Spina. So to her went Madonna Carubina and said: ‘Mother, they want to give me a husband. They have introduced me to Bonifacio Trucco, who has ways and means.’ The old woman replied: ‘Take him.’ ‘Yes, but he’s already quite old,’ said Carubina. The old woman replied: ‘Daughter, don’t take him.’ ‘My parents advise me to take him.’ She replied: ‘Take him.’ ‘But I don’t like him very much,’ said Carubina. ‘Then, don’t take him,’ she replied. Carubina added: ‘I know he’s from a good family.’ ‘Take him,’ said the old woman. ‘But I’m told that he’s the sort who would skin a mouse and send the hide to market.’ She replied: ‘Don’t take him.’ ‘I’m informed,’ said Carubina, ‘that he has a fine mount.’ ‘Take him,’ replied old Madonna Angela. ‘But, alas,’ she said, ‘I’ve heard that he’s a candlebearer.’ ‘Don’t take him,’ she replied. Carubina said: ‘They all think he’s mad.’ ‘Take him, take him, take him, take him, take him, take him, take him,’ said the old woman seven times; ‘It’s not important if he’s a candlebearer; don’t worry if he’s a miser; it doesn’t matter if you don’t like him much; don’t worry about him being a bit old. Take him, take him because he’s mad, but just beware that he’s not one of the rigid, bilious, sour types.’ ‘I’m sure he’s not one of those,’ said Carubina. ‘Take him, then, take him,’ said Madonna Angela, ‘Take him.’ But here are our companions.190

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Scene xxv barra, marca, corcovizzo, manfurio, sanguino, and ascanio barra: Well, the other one has been dispatched. What do we want to do with this one, the Domino Magister? sanguino: This one wears his guilt on his forehead; can’t you see that he is in disguise? Don’t you see that that’s the cloak that was stolen from Tiburolo. Didn’t you see how he was running from the Watch? marca: It’s true, but he has put forward a reasonable explanation. barra: Then he shouldn’t fear going to prison. manfurio: Verum, but I shall fall into derision among my scholastics and others on account of these mischances that have thrown themselves upon my dorsum. sanguino: Do you understand what he is saying? corcovizzo: Samson wouldn’t understand him.191 sanguino: Well now, to make it brief, Magister, you need to make a choice: do you want to go to prison or do you want to donate to the company all the money left in your day-purse, since, as you said yourself, the thief took only what you had in your hand to change? manfurio: Minime, I have no more. What I did have was all taken from me, ita, mehercle, per Iovem, per Altitonantem, vos sidera testor.192 sanguino: Listen to what I say to you. If you don’t want to experience the straits of Vicaria prison and you have no money, then you must choose between these two others: either you accept ten strokes on your hand from this leather strap here or, with your breeches down, we’ll give you a ‘horse’ of fifty lashes;193 in either case you won’t be leaving here until you’ve done some penance for your sins. manfurio: ‘Duobus propositis malis minus est tolerandum, sicut duobus propositis bonis melius est eligendum,’ dicit Peripateticorum princeps.194 ascanio: Master, do try to make yourself understood, because these are suspicious people. barra: Perhaps he’s right and you don’t want to be understood? manfurio: Nil mali vobis imprecor: I make no imprecation in your regards. sanguino: Implicate all you want; it will not be granted. corcovizzo: Choose quickly what you prefer; otherwise we will tie you more tightly and lead you away. manfurio: Minus pudendum erit palma feriri, quam quod congerant in veteres flagella nates: id non puerile est.195

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sanguino: What are you saying? What, in the devil’s name, are you saying? manfurio: I offer you my palm. sanguino: That’s the place, Corcovizzo; hit hard. corcovizzo: I’m hitting. Whack, one. manfurio: Oh me, Jesus! Ow! corcovizzo: Now open wide the other hand. Whack, that’s two. manfurio: Ow! Ow! Jesus and Mary. corcovizzo: Straighten your hand out fully, I say; hold it straight, like that. Whack, and that’s three. manfurio: Oh, oh me, ow, ow, ouch; for the love of the passion of Our Lord Jesus. Rather, lift me up on the horse, because I can’t bear so much pain on the hands. sanguino: All right, then, Barra, take him on your shoulders; you, Marca, hold him fast by the feet so that he can’t move. You, Corcovizzo, undo his breeches and pull them well down low; and leave the whipping to me. And you, maestro, count the lashes one by one so that I can hear you; and take care because if you make a mistake in the counting, we’ll be forced to begin again. You, Ascanio, watch and judge. marca: Everything is ready. Begin to dust him, but be careful not to harm the clothes, because they’re not to blame. sanguino: In the name of Saint Scoppettella,196 count: whack. manfurio: Ouch, one; ouch, oh three; ow, ow, ouch, four; ow, oh me, oh me; ouch, oi, oh me, ouch, oh for the love of God, seven. sanguino: Let’s start again from the beginning. Then you’ll see if after four comes seven! You should have said five. manfurio: Oh me, what can I do? they were in rei veritate197 seven. sanguino: You’re meant to count them one by one. Come on, then, again; whack. manfurio: Ouch, one; ouch, one; ouch, oh me, two; ow, ow, ow, three, four; ow, ouch, five, oh me; ow, ow, six. Oh for the honour of God, ouch, no more, ow, ow, no more, because I want, ow, ouch, to look in my purse, ouch, to see if there mightn’t be a little money left. sanguino: We have to start again because he left out a lot that he didn’t count. barra: By your grace, Captain, forgive him, because he wants to take the other choice and hand over the tip. sanguino: He has nothing to pay with.

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manfurio: Ita, ita, because I’ve just remembered that I have another four scudi. sanguino: Put him down, then, and see what’s left in his purse. barra: By the blood of … There are more than seven scudi here. sanguino: Lift him up, lift him up again on the horse; because of the lies he’s told and the false oaths he’s sworn, he’s going to have to count them all, count up to seventy. manfurio: Have pity on me! Take my money, take my purse, take whatever you want, dimittam vobis.198 sanguino: Come, then, take everything he’s offering; and that cloak as well, because it’s only right that it should be returned to its poor owner. Let’s all be off. Good night to you, dear Ascanio. ascanio: Good night and a thousand good years to your Lordship, Captain, sir, much good may it do the teacher. Scene xxvi manfurio and ascanio manfurio: Ecquis erit modus?199 ascanio: Hey there, Master Manfurio, Master Manfurio. manfurio: Who is it, who recognizes me? Who can still distinguish me in these clothes and circumstance? Who interpolates me with my proper name? ascanio: Don’t worry about such things because they are of little or no importance; open your eyes and look where you are, see where you’ve ended up! manfurio: Quo melius videam,200 in order to corroborate my intuition and intensify the activity of visual potentiality so that the acuity of the pupil may more efficiently emit along the line of vision a ray in the direction of the visible object, and thereby introduce the image into the interior sensorium, idest, through the mediation of the common sense, to locate it in the cell of the fantastic faculty, I now must put these oculars upon my nose. Oh, I see a circle made up of many spectators. ascanio: Don’t you feel that you’re in a play? manfurio: Ita sane.201 ascanio: Don’t you feel like you’re on a stage? manfurio: Omni procul dubio.202 ascanio: At what point would you like the play to be?

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manfurio: In calce, at the end: neque enim et ego risu ilia tendo.203 ascanio: Well, then, initiate the Plaudite. manfurio: Quam male possum plaudere, Tentatus pacientia, Nam plausus per me factus est Iam dudum miserabilis Et natibus et manibus Et aureorum sonitu. Amen.204

ascanio: Initiate the Plaudite, I say; and do it yourself and do it well, like the master and man of letters that you are; otherwise, other characters may return to the stage and it will be the worse for you. manfurio: Hilari efficiam animo, forma quae sequitur.205 Just like sailors who, in spite of broken masts, mainsail gone, other sails ripped, and the rudder lost in a turgid tempest, will nevertheless plaudere upon reaching port; et iuxta the Virgilian motto: Votaque servati solvent in littore nautae Glauco, et Panopeae, et Inoo Melicertae;206

similarly, Ego Mamphurius, graecarum, latinarum vulgariumque literarum, non inquam regius, nec gregius, sed egregius–quod est per aethimologiam e grege assumptus – professor; nec non philosophiae, medicinae, et iuris utriusque, et theologiae doctor, si voluissem;207 for having reached the port of my ruinous and calamitous misadventures – post hac vota saluturus – Plaudo.208 Proinde,209 I say to you, oh most noble spectators – quorum omnium ora, atque oculos in me video esse coniectos210 – since I, finding myself at the end of my tragic subject, though without hands, clothes, and purse, corde tamen, et animo Plaudo,211 so, and with better reason, you, meliori hactenus acti fortuna212 who have been joyous and happy spectators of our troublesome and importunate circumstances, Valete et Plaudite.213

Notes 1 The Caballine Fount (fons caballinus) was the spring of Hippocrene on Mount Parnassus, said to have been formed originally by a blow from the hoof of Pegasus, the winged horse of the Muses.

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2 One of the seven sages of ancient Greece, who was reputed to have gone about naked, saying, ‘I carry all I have upon my back.’ 3 A reference to the De umbris idearum, Bruno’s first work on his art of memory, published in Paris in the same year. See the Introduction. 4 The allusion is probably to the devils in Inferno XXI, who swiftly pursue and torment the barrators. 5 ‘They shall not inherit the kingdom of God’; quoting Paul, 1 Corinthians 6.9–10. Although Paul includes a number of categories of sinners at this point, the reference is specifically to sexual sinners, and, in particular, to sodomites. Morgana’s present consort is thus being labelled as a homosexual. 6 Typical of the logic of inversion that operates throughout the play, the dedication here recalls the parable of the prodigal son recounted in Luke 15.11–32 but, significantly, completely reverses its original meaning. The sacrifice of the fattened calf in the biblical story is offered as a gesture of familial reconciliation, but here it is turned into a threat of revenge. 7 The pun here, and the extensive play made with it subsequently in I.ix, relies on the similarity in Italian between the word for ‘goldsmith’ (orefice) and the word for ‘orifice’ (orifizio). To understand the joke we need to keep in mind that in Bruno’s time candelaio was slang for ‘sodomite.’ See the Introduction. 8 The original has ‘S.Cresconio,’ a saint particularly venerated in Naples and always portrayed in outlandish clothes. 9 Thinking of himself as a newly graduated alchemist, Bartolomeo in this scene will extol the nobility of the study of minerals (i.e., de minerabilibus). 10 A light weight. Using the logic of the oxymoron, Bartolomeo will try to subvert the common belief that gold is the heaviest of elements by arguing that when man is without gold he is heavy and earthbound, like a bird without feathers at everyone’s mercy, while the more gold he possesses, the greater are his wings and his ability to soar. 11 In their frontispiece. 12 Playful allusion to the nine Muses and the inspiration they are said to lavish on learned writers, here – if the results of these writers are any indication – taking the form of fæces. 13 The handsome Ganymede, a mortal who had charmed Jupiter (Jove) by his beauty, was abducted by him in the form of an eagle, and thereafter acted as cup-bearer to the Olympian gods at their banquets. 14 A Latin term for the educator of young boys. They often sodomized their pupils, which is the insinuation here. In fact, Manfurio’s pedantry in the play is always presented as a form of pederasty.

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15 The pun, in the original, is between ‘apollinesco’ (Apollonian) and ‘polledresco’ (foal-like, i.e., like a horse). 16 Reference to a relic that purported to be the tail of the very donkey on which Christ rode into Jerusalem. Bruno may have learned of the custom when he travelled through Genoa on his way out of Italy. 17 A distortion of Psalms 150.5: ‘In cymbalis benesonantibus’ (Praise him with high-sounding cymbals). 18 In the original: ‘signora Argenteria’ and ‘signora Orelia,’ a personification of the precious metals, silver and gold. 19 Well met, young man of good, better, and finest character; how goes it with you? How are you? 20 I am really most pleased and most happy if you are well; I also am well. 21 It being in vain. 22 Having held them in reserve. 23 Among all, even the most barbarous of peoples. 24 Even now persisting. 25 Beast-like exchanges. 26 You abandon the world of the learned. 27 Or, to say better, received. 28 With elegance and eloquence. 29 You should have said: ‘Your Excellency, your erudition, it is not given to me, it is not possible for me, to remain in the company of your most sweet muses.’ 30 Or, more Tuscanly, ‘VOSCO.’ 31 I have nothing in common with you. 32 But at first you judged him as a bad man. 33 In life follow the good, in writing follow the experts. 34 All famous teachers and authors of grammar manuals. Bruno regards them all as arch-pedants, like Manfurio. 35 Say then, ‘non aequum’ [not good] with a diphthong in the first syllable, in contrast to the quadruped animal [in Latin equus], which does not have a diphthong in its beginning. 36 Basket on her arm. 37 Towards. 38 A small woman [muliercula], that is, by etymology, a tender Hercules [mollis Hercules], thus joining opposites together. 39 Towards my house. 40 In large letters. 41 Literary notebook. 42 The original has ‘Bondí e bon anno a voi misser Bonifacio,’ which initiates

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 an ironic punning on Bonifacio’s name that will be carried on throughout the play. The wordplay is untranslatable but, roughly, Gianbernardo is telling Bonifacio that he is changing from sodomite to catamite, from ‘giving’ the candle to ‘receiving’ it. In the original this injunction to abandon sodomy clearly recalls Balia’s exchange with the marescalco in Aretino, Marescalco, I.iv. Sign of a perturbed soul. Venus retrograde in a male sign, and therefore, in all probability, in the twenty-seventh degree of Gemini. A difficult task to find it out. We will need to invoke northern spirits. Scaramuré seems to be quoting Agrippa of Nettesheim, De occulta philosophia, I.65. For a concise history of this notion of fascination through sight see Steven Connor, ‘Fascination, Skin and the Screen,’ Critical Quarterly 40 (1998), especially 9–12. Although it is being caricatured here, the notion, together with other ways of effecting magical links of this sort, is taken seriously by Bruno in some of his other works. For a fuller discussion see Ioan P. Couliano, Eros and Magic in the Renaissance, trans. Margaret Cook, foreword Mircea Eliade (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987). Avert, avert your eyes. Quoting The Song of Songs 6.4. The basis of all metals is the ash inside all of them. Ash dissolves in glass and congeals in the cold. The whole speech is a stringing together of bits of Ficinian magic and alchemical lore as Cencio tries to prove his knowledge of the art by mentioning its major authors and controversies. For a more systematic and historical presentation of these ideas, see E.J. Holmyard, Alchemy (London: Penguin, 1968). Although in some of his other works Bruno seems to take all this hermetic lore seriously, here Cencio is clearly presented as a fraud. Piedigrotta was a location near Naples dedicated to the Virgin Mary and a popular site for pilgrimages. Although Gigio and Perrotino are not otherwise known to us, tricks of this sort seem to have been common in the history of alchemy. An early version of the trick that Cencio will play on Bartolomeo is recounted by Holmyard in Alchemy (96–n128). The allusion seems to be to the proverb ‘Asinus ad lyram, ad tibiam’ from the Adages of Erasmus, the reference being to ignorant people trying to do something for which they’re not suited. For a fuller explanation see The Collected Works of Erasmus: Adages, Vol. 31, translated by M.M. Phillips (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1982), 344–45.

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57 The ‘Chi vooo spazzacammin?’ of the original is the first line of a popular carnival song, documented by Tommaso Garzoni in his Piazza universale of 1585. See the discussion in Aulo Greco, L’istituzione del teatro comico nel Rinascimento (Naples: Liguori, 1976), 281. 58 With teeth uncut, flesh plump, a fresh nature, no wrinkles, breath smelling of milk, roseate lips, soft tongues, a sweet innocence, in flower and not in seed, with small clear eyes like little girls. 59 Better to say. 60 I could add many more: on the very threshold of life, at its very beginning, still at the very rudiments of experience with this great earthly and cosmic structure, at the very vestibule, the very spring of life, like the herbs that have yet to germinate that are offered at weddings. 61 The allusion is to the story of Semele in Ovid, Metamorphoses, III.256–309. 62 I must bend to your ways. 63 I shall be silent then, regarding these things, I shall add nothing, be like silent fish, having said so much, my throat has become speechless. 64 In the whole course of life. 65 Letters, syllables, expression and style, and parts close and remote. 66 About what? Concerning or regarding what subject? 67 Who coveted the neck of a crane. Philoxenus was an ancient Greek poet with a reputation for gluttony. It was said he longed for a crane’s neck so as to be able to enjoy the taste of food for as long as possible. 68 Most willingly. 69 I gloss the written page with my own finger. 70 Sulmo is my homeland; quoting Ovid, Tristia, IV.10.3 71 The story of the boar appears in Metamorphoses VIII.284–98, although Ovid’s treatment, as one might expect, is rather different to Manfurio’s. 72 May it be done. To give quickly is to give twice. The exordium depends on the state of the hearer. 73 Following these. 74 Without any qualification and absolutely. 75 Hardly. 76 Not at all. 77 In no way. 78 No way in the world. 79 Without meaning to offend anyone, may the gods keep us from such a thing, nor would the superior forces permit it. 80 Born from the mind of Jove. 81 Manfurio recites a list of Latin affirmative particles. 82 Once a list is completed, one must add nothing.

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 The Etruscan or the Tuscan tongue. Certainly. Our elegance of speech. As our discourse has proceeded. As a form of exercise. All Latin forms of affirmation, which Manfurio himself had previously recited. Go, go (to Ottaviano). Come now (to Pollula). I too shall take myself hence. Keep them far from me; alluding to the injunction against frequenting prostitutes given in Proverbs 5.8. Allusion to Orlando furioso, XXVII.66. ‘Fare il Gradasso’ has passed into standard Italian with the meaning of ‘to swagger or to brag.’ The patron saint of prisoners. Vittorio Viviani has suggested that the story recounted here was a traditional tale going back to ancient times and depicted in a mosaic from Pompei, now in the National Museum at Naples. See Viviani, Storia del teatro napoletano (Naples: Guida, 1969), 105. A playful distortion of the Latin proverb, ‘omnium rerum vicissitudo est,’ everything has its proper time. A form of herpes. The reference is to a satirical poem by Francesco Berni, ‘Sonetto sopra la mula dell’ Alcionio.’ See Berni, Rime, edited by G. Bàrberi Squarotti (Turin: Einaudi, 1969), 5–8. S.P.D. stands for ‘salutem plurimam dicit,’ that is, sends many greetings. No one could be surprised nor could anyone doubt. Father of the gods and king of men. What pertains to words, to plants and to stones. Words have power. If you do good, take care to whom you do it; a saying attributed to Cato the Elder. Gold, incense. Without which, nothing. A largely meaningless jumble of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin words. A deformation of mnemonic formulae for remembering logical syllogisms. Approach. How a speech can return from whence it came. That is, evidently, manifestly, forsooth, inasmuch as, for instance. May he be welcomed. Some of the most renowned ancient Greek painters. Manfurio’s (and

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Bruno’s) most likely source here is Pliny’s list of ‘artists eminent in painting’ in Natural History, XXXV.52ff. Bacchus and nurturing Ceres, since your grace procured that the earth should change Chaonia’s acorns for rich ears of grain. Quoting Georgics, I.8. In the poetic manner. Only a few, beloved by the righteous Jove or whose own brilliant virtue had lifted them on high. A citation of Aeneid, VI.129–30. Most willingly. With the conjunction placed appropriately after the last word. Just as [ut, velut, veluti, and quemadmodum are all synonyms of sicut] I unshelled the Ovidian walnut before my students, so that they might better taste its kernel. The reference to a walnut alludes to a certain Liber nucis, which was widely used as a schoolbook at the time but erroneously attributed to Ovid. Or, according to a more concise and profound etymology: pe: perfect; dan: donating; te: treasures. Tell no lies and hold nothing lightly. Variations on another motto of Cato the Elder, roughly: When you’re fighting a chatterbox, don’t do it with words. A quotation from Petrarch, Triumph of Love, I.1–18. The drop wears smooth the stone falling not twice but many times; so the man becomes wise by reading not twice but continually. The verses are generally regarded as pseudo-Ovidian. In public places. In a private building. A Neapolitan inn mentioned in contemporary accounts as a place much frequented by soldiers, courtesans and petty criminals. The identity of Cesare of Siena is not otherwise known. A much-venerated saint who is always shown with a huge wound in his thigh. The dative connotes ‘to give,’ the ablative connotes ‘to take.’ Corcovizzo has played to Manfurio’s love of grammatical pedantry in order to joke about the cloak being ‘in the ablative case,’ that is, taken from Bonifacio, so Manfurio immediately seizes the opportunity to state the grammatical rule. I make erudite, that is, I e-rudite, that is, I lead them out of rudeness. For the sake of lucre. ‘Hurry slowly’; and similarly: ‘Little by little, bit by bit, step by step.’ In commenting on the Latin phrase, Erasmus had spoken of it as a proverb,

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Renaissance Comedy: Volume 2 which is why Manfurio, ever the pedant, has doubts as to whether it is appropriate to call it an ‘adage.’ Chance is that which occurs infrequently and unintentionally. Let’s come to the facts. Oh, if only the gods and the higher powers would have it so! Oh Lords, heavenly powers, gods and goddesses all! You faithful witnesses. Yes, yes. Nothing better. Excellent. The presence of Turnus urges them on. Manfurio is quoting Virgil, Aeneid, IX.3. I myself am offering [to reward you]. The line could also be read as: I am at your disposal. Except in very urgent cases, it is improper to divest oneself of one’s own clothes. As the poets testify. Being resolved to achieve this most worthy end. Let us go in good fortune. The original here, ‘Aspettare e non venire `e cosa da morire,’ clearly echoes Parabolano, ‘Duro quanto la notte è l’aspettare,’ in Aretino, La Cortigiana, V.iv. The wherewithal. This stratagem of the wife’s standing in for the husband’s lover in order to uncover the tryst has a long tradition that goes back at least to the fourth of the Calandrino stories in Boccaccio’s Decameron (Day 9, Story 5). See the Introduction. In the original ‘Buon in faccia,’ good-in-the-face, punning on Bonifacio’s name. An allusion to Pope Innocent VIII, who, in his later years, was said to drink only women’s milk. A parody of Luke 4.30: ‘Ipse autem, transiens per medium illorum, ibat’ (but he, passing through their midst, went his way). Meaning: to go from bad to worse. To be marked with a black pebble. Oh heaven, oh earth, oh seas of Neptune. To cover my head. Oh faith of the gods and men. From the frying pan into the fire. What should be returned. Young girls not at all bad to look at. This house has two entrances and exits.

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So immediately. In this corner. The patron saint of dentists and of those who suffer from toothache. The two Latin phrases are playfully recalling the injunction to open the gates to the King of Glory in Psalm 23. Floro is mentioned only this once. If he is meant to be on stage later as one of the gang, he is given no lines to speak. God save us. Lupa ( Latin for whore ), from which derives lupanare (Italian for brothel). The conclusion follows. I am Manfurio, a teacher of the liberal arts. I am not a malefactor, nor thief, nor adulterer, nor a false witness; I do not covet the wife of another, nor the goods of others. I am a schoolteacher. ‘San Manganello’ in the original. A manganello is a small club. To say it in your language. Afflict. A playful mock-Latin exchange, the satirical thrust of which might be rendered by something like: ‘Hey there, Abbot, Friar Tuck, wanna run a bit amok? / And if amok you would not do, wanna dance the boogaloo?’ By first lines. A slightly deformed version of the standard question asked in basic Latin grammar exercises: ‘Genera nominum quot sunt?’ What are the categories of nouns? Those with the very basics on their lips. Call epicene things not distinguished by gender. All that pertains only to man is called male. As a specific and particular property. As a function, as an applied attribute. Of poor me. Words are useless. O unhappy day and night. An allusion to Apocalypse 7.5: ‘Of the tribe [of Judah] twelve thousand signed.’ An allusion to Matthew 7.3: ‘And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, and considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?’ Pray for us. Three renowned magicians. Apollonius of Tyana is a historical figure and the author of alchemical and magical treatises; Merlin and Malaggigi are fictional characters from the poemi cavallereschi. The source for magic rituals with hair which can go disastrously wrong is clearly Apuleius, The Golden Ass, Book III.

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186 Scaramuré is alluding playfully to Genesis 3.19: ‘In sudore vultus tui visceris,’ thou shall eat the bread from the sweat of thy brow. 187 Go in peace and sin no more. A curious detail about this anecdote is that Sipion Savolino was, in fact, Bruno’s uncle on his mother’s side. 188 Dimas was the ‘good’ thief crucified on Christ’s right. See Luke 23.40–2. 189 A slightly garbled version of Proverbs 5.9: ‘Honorem meum nemini dabo,’ I will not give my honour to anyone. 190 As well as being renowned for his great strength, Samson was also legendary for his skill with riddles, largely based on Judges 14.12–20. 191 Ascanio’s story closely echoes that of Pantagruel’s advice to Panurge in Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, Book III, chap. 9. 192 It is so, by Hercules, by Jove, by the Thunderer, as you, oh stars, are my witness. 193 ‘Il cavallo’ (the horse) was a punishment commonly meted out in Renaissance times by teachers to schoolchildren and so came to be closely connected with the figure of the pedant. For the purposes of the punishment the pupil would be hoisted onto the back of a companion, his breeches lowered and the bare bottom would then be whipped. Given the notorious pederastic tendencies of teachers during this era, the sexual connotations are all too obvious. The locus classicus for the cavallo on the cinquecento stage was Francesco Belo, Il pedante, Act III, scene ii, where the pedant Prudenzio administers the cavallo to his wayward disciple, Luzio. Mention of the punishment occurs often in the plays of Aretino, for example, in the prologues of L’ipocrito and Il marescalco and a fresco by Benozzo Gozzoli in the church of Saint Augustine in San Gimignano shows the Christ child looking on as the cavallo is administered to another child. For a more extended discussion of the punishment and its appearance on and off the cinquecento stage see Abd-El-Kader Salza, ‘Una commedia pedantesca del Cinquecento,’ Miscellanea di studi critici edita in onore di Arturo Graf (Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, 1903), 431–52. 194 Between two evils one should choose to bear the lesser, just as between two goods one should choose the better, says the prince of the Peripatetics. Manfurio is quoting Aristotle, Rhetoric, I.6.5. 195 It is less shameful to be beaten on the hands than to have one’s old buttocks feel the blows of the whip; this is no child’s punishment. 196 A fictional saint, made up for the occasion (‘scopetella’ was Neapolitan slang for an ecclesiastical guard). 197 In point of fact. 198 I give it all to you. 199 Where will it all end?

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So as better to see. Just so. Without any doubt. For even my own sides are bursting with laughter. I can ill applaud, with my patience so sorely tried; in fact, for some time now the sounds of clapping, either on the bum or on the hands or in the clinking of coins, has become for me an occasion of misery. Amen. I will strive to affect a happy heart, in the following way. Quoting Virgil, Georgics, I.436–7: And sailors once safely landed pay their vows to Glaucus, Panopea, and Melicertes. I, Manfurio, I say not regius, nor gregious, but e-gregious, that is, etymologically, standing out from the flock, professor of Greek, Latin and vernacular letters, to say nothing of Philosophy, Medicine and also Law, and a Doctor of Theology, if I had so wished. After all these things and on the point of absolving my vows, do applaud. And so. All of whom I now see have faces and eyes turned towards me. All the same, with heart and soul applaud. Brought here by better fortune. Applaud and go.