Accademia degli Intronati, Gl'Ingannati

All Deceived





Texto utilizado para esta edición digital:
Accademia degli Intronati. All Deceived! (Gli Ingannati). Translated by Richard Andrews. EMOTHE, 2017.
Adaptación digital para EMOTHE:
  • Tronch Pérez, Jesus (Artelope)

BACKGROUND NOTES

GLI INGANNATI / THE DECEIVED

I. HISTORY AND CONTEXT
I.1 FIRST PERFORMANCE
The Accademia degli Intronati was one of the first literary academies of Renaissance Italy. It was founded in the city state of Siena (where it still survives) around the year 1525, at a time when the Italian peninsula was being fought over by the French on one side and the German and Spanish troops of the Emperor Charles V on the other. The word intronato is used colloquially of people who are rendered deaf and stupid by incessant clangour (it has nothing to do with the English ‘enthroned’, which would be intronizzato). So the self-deprecatory title of the Academy (the ‘Deaf and Daft’) was explained in its statutes as indicating that the roar of battle and war had bemused and deafened the academicians, leading them to retire from public affairs and concentrate exclusively on literary culture. They adopted as their emblem the zucca, the gourd or pumpkin which Tuscan peasants would hollow out into a container for pounding and storing salt. A pair of crossed pestles, for pounding, appeared above the gourd with the Latin motto Meliora latent (‘The best things lie hidden’). The self-deprecation was thus presented as a deliberate camouflage: the humble gourd concealed the essential nutrient which was proverbially connected with intelligence. To this day in Italy a person can be said to have ‘salt in his gourd’ (sale in zucca) if he or she is less of a fool than appears at first sight. Although this has not been followed up by Italian critics, such a combination of foolish appearance and hidden paradoxical wisdom might suggest parallels with the Fool Societies (Sociétés Joyeuses) which existed in this period in France and northern Europe. However, the more obvious function of the Intronati was to provide a social and cultural focus for the Sienese ruling class, which would cut across and attempt to ignore the complex political divisions by which that class was riven.

The Intronati, like members of other Italian academies, adopted heavily jocular nicknames like Il Bizzarro (‘Bizarre’), L’Addolorato (‘Grief-stricken’), or Lo Sfacciato (‘Cheeky’), and they developed that elaborate ritualized constitution which seems to emerge in so many all-male clubs. (In this sense it might be arguable that there was an input, eventually, from academies into the Freemasonry movement.) But the Academy eventually became known for its social evenings, to which the womenfolk were invited, and at which sophisticated games of literary wit were invented and played. For a while the ‘Sienese evening’ (veglia senese) was a type of structured entertainment or party recognized and followed in other Italian centres: the fact that women were involved in such social-intellectual gatherings was still striking at that time. But before this happened, the Academy had also built itself a reputation in the theatrical field, and Gli ingannati was the first of its plays to be published and widely imitated.

On the night of Epiphany (‘Twelfth Night’, by coincidence?), in the year 1532 (‘1531’ Sienese style, since their year began in the spring), the academicians staged a kind of pageant or masque of a kind common enough as court entertainment. It was symbolic rather than realistically dramatic, and addressed explicitly to the ladies in the audience, those to whom the academicians claimed to have devoted all their literary talents in vain. Despairing of amorous sympathy and encouragement, they explained, they now proposed to renounce love entirely, and to pursue intellectual acheivement on their own with no more courtly dedications. Each member of the Academy in turn, thirty men in all, stepped up to a pagan altar dedicated to Minerva and burned upon it some symbol of his former attachment—such as a handkerchief soaked in tears, a lock of hair, a portrait—reciting some verses composed for the occasion. The ashes of these tokens were scattered, and a final recitation reproached the ladies for their ingratitude, hinting at the same time that it might not be too late for them and their admirers to change their minds.

This charade was obviously light-hearted, and it is probable that the device of presenting a comedy to the same ladies as an apology and peace offering had been planned all along. All the early editions of the play print the text of the Epiphany pageant first, and the volumes are entitled Il Sacrificio degli Intronati, rather than Gli Ingannati which is the title of the comedy alone. (An anastatic copy of the first edition has been reprinted, edited by Nerida Newbigin, Forni, Bologna 1984.) The Prologue to the comedy conveys perfectly the spirit of the whole enterprise, in its regular prods of sexual innuendo directed at the women in the audience. It aims at a level of cheerful titillation permissible at Carnival time, but never steps over the bounds of a fictional game acceptable in sophisticated society. If we can take literally the remark of the character Scatizza (‘Stoke’) in Act I Scene 6, the comedy was actually performed on the last night of Carnival, a night on which Italians still normally expect to let their hair down a little before the onset of Lent. Although the Saturnalian spirit is not the only tone which the play contains, the festive setting of this performance must have been crucial in dictating the audience’s mood and its reception of the comedy. (And performances of this translation have confirmed that the play’s potentially more romantic and emotional elements tend in practice to collapse, at least for modern actors and audiences, in the face of a more pantomime spirit.)

Gli Ingannati, then, was offered to the ladies of Siena as a jocular apology for a jocular affront. It was presented, according to the Prologue, by the academy as a whole, and the academy always afterwards claimed collective responsibility for its authorship. The play was a successful one, and many people have found it hard to accept that it could have been written by a committee (even though there is now considerable evidence of other Intronati plays having multiple authorship). Moreover, some of the political attitudes casually concealed in it might be easier to interpret if they could be ascribed to an author whose views are already known from other sources. In 1977, Professor Giovanni Aquilecchia argued for a dual authorship, attributing the comedy to a collaboration between Francesco Maria Molza (1489-1544) and Claudio Tolomei (1492-1555). Molza was from Modena, where the play is set; Tolomei was Sienese, though at this time politically suspect. Most scholars, however, following the major study of Sienese theatre by Daniele Seragnoli (1980), accept that the comedy was indeed composed collectively, with a crucial co-ordinating role being played by the humanist scholar Alessandro Piccolomini (1508‑79).


I.2 HISTORICAL CONTEXT OF THE COMEDY: THE SACK OF ROME
An attempt in 1526 by Pope Clement VII to instal a government in Siena more friendly to him was a small move in a wide-ranging and increasingly desperate international strategy. Clement was the second of the Medici Popes, and thus presided over a clan which had dominated Rome and Florence since 1513. Siena, squeezed between Florence and the Papal State, could hardly fail to be nervous of a dynasty which controlled both territories at once; and in the great power struggles which oppressed Italy, the little city republic was always forced into whichever camp was in opposition to the Pope. Clement had formed a League of Italian states to side with France against the Empire. The chaotic oligarchical government of Siena had more to fear from Clement than from Charles V, so it was prepared to pay discreetly for Imperial protection, to supply the Emperor’s troops as they moved down towards Rome, to keep pro-Medici citizens like Claudio Tolomei formally in exile, and to shelter the Pope’s enemies.

The Italian League armies were incompetently led, and in two minds about their aims. In the summer of 1527, the Emperor’s German and Spanish troops reached the walls of Rome. They had been undernourished and unpaid for months, and were feeling bloodthirsty and exasperated: moreover some of the Germans in the service of the Holy Roman Emperor were Lutherans who saw Rome as the abode of Antichrist. They found it ludicrously easy to breach the walls, and embarked on a sack which staggered Europe, during which thousands of people were slaughtered, tortured, raped, or held to ransom several times over. The Pope and a few lucky aristocrats, with their dependants and guests, sat in their fortress-like palaces helpless and barely secure, while the bloody tide flowed uncontrollably through the streets around them.

The political and cultural trauma caused by the Sack of Rome was far reaching. It pointed forward to the loss of political independence in most of the Italian peninsula, and some see it as marking the end of the Renaissance. On a simpler level, the event was a severe shock to many individual Italians, even to those who had backed the Imperial cause. Rome had been a cosmopolitan commercial and artistic centre, so inhabitants of every town in Italy would have known somebody who suffered. During the months that followed, the survivors would have crawled back to all these towns, penniless after paying extortionate ransoms, and bearing news of those who would not return at all. The plot of Gli Ingannati uses this devastation as a starting point: old Virginio has been impoverished by the Sack, his daughter Lelia was held and (it is hinted) raped by Spaniards, his son Fabrizio captured by a different body of soldiers and removed to an unknown fate. None of this would seem inherently unlikely to an audience of 1532. They were used, it is true, to the purely fictional convention of a family separated by war or brigandage and then reunited at the end of the story—such stories were used in ancient Roman comedy, and this play makes as much fun as any other of the implausible coincidences involved in the format. But there is an underlying bite in setting the action so firmly in the ‘here and now’, and relating the fiction to a real traumatic fact. The political discomfort of being in the Imperial alliance is worked out in farce: the most clown-like figure of the comedy, and the one who gets the least sympathy, is the Spanish soldier, representative of the occupying forces (allied or hostile, it made very little difference) who were becoming wearisomely familiar in most Italian towns. (Another Sienese play, unpublished at the time, is much franker about the atrocities committed by Spanish ‘allies’ against local peasants.)

One would not want to exaggerate the historical and political content (or indeed the realism) of Gli Ingannati. Its main plot concerns the private, amorous and family affairs of its characters, in strict accordance with what was prescribed for the comic genre. Its central narrative format was exploited for Shakespeare’s more romantically individualistic Twelfth Night, among other derivations, and its political references are so fleeting and unspecific that scholars are not entirely sure which side it is on. But it was written for a particular audience on a particular occasion, and the current worries and recent memories of that audience in 1532 must have played some part in the way it was first received.


I.3 A PIONEERING TEXT
The central plot of Gli Ingannati, with its mistaken identities, amorous errors and rediscoveries, will not seem very new in style to readers of English Renaissance drama, and its links with Twelfth Night will make it appear even more familiar. The play seems to fit comfortably into what later became a European tradition of comedy lasting through to 1800 or so. It is all the more important to stress, therefore, that most of the more recognizable elements in the play are actually appearing for the first time on the Italian stage. These elements had certainly been uncommon, so far, in the new genre of five-act ‘regular’ comedy, with a fixed urban setting and unity of time, which Humanist-trained writers had been trying to establish since the first decade of the century. Most of the important innovations revolve in the end round the figure of Lelia, and the whole notion of an active sympathetic heroine.

Earlier attempts at Italian ‘regular’ comedy (by dramatists such as Ariosto, Machiavelli, Bibbiena and Aretino) had been strongly influenced in one particular by the models of Roman comedy (Plautus and Terence) which they were trying to revive. Roman comedy gives little development to female characters, unless they can be depicted as gross caricatures—either giggling sexually experienced whores, or older women mocked for their ugliness and grotesquerie. In particular young female characters, however central to the plot, were prevented by Roman social propriety from appearing on stage at all if the story was going to leave them in the end respectably married and socially unblemished. (The most striking example of this is perhaps Terence’s Hecyra.) This means that Roman comedy is always short on sympathetic women characters, and on the female point of view. This is quite unlike what we now expect from European comedy in the Renaissance and after—if anything, the heroines of Shakespeare, Molière, Marivaux, Goldsmith, Beaumarchais and Mozart tend to have the upper hand over the male characters in terms of sympathy, maturity, and moral coherence.

The first original Italian comedies produced according to classical formats tended to follow the Roman custom. They would be influenced by three factors. Firstly, their own sense of social propriety was similar to that of the Romans—young girls of good family were in some way ‘stained’ by coming too much into public view. Secondly, and because of this, it was simply unrealistic to represent such girls as coming into the public street—and mimetic realism in social behaviour on stage was one of the important elements which the classical mode of comedy was trying to foster. One very simple move was needed in order to investigate female characters more realistically: the staging of scenes indoors, rather than in the street. But in Italy this practice is not to be found until well into the seventeenth century (in imitation, perhaps, of innovations introduced by Molière). Thirdly, and again as in ancient Rome, all actors in this amateur gentlemanly context were male; and it may have been felt that boys could not sustain female roles very easily. (We are not dealing here, as in Elizabethan England, with professional apprentices or highly trained schoolboys, but with lads who possibly acted once or twice in their lives.)

As a result of these points, the plays of Ariosto, Machiavelli and Aretino are short on female characters and viewpoint, and in some cases can be judged as seriously misogynistic even by the standards of the time. The one important exception is Calandra by Bernardo Dovizi da Bibbiena, first produced in Urbino in 1513. Here there is a heroine called Santilla who, like Lelia in our present play, is circulating in male disguise and getting confused with her male twin. However, Santilla is not a heroine in love, and not trying to prove herself in relation to the supreme female virtue (in the eyes of a Renaissance aristocrat), namely sexual fidelity. This is where the Intronati of Siena made an important and lasting innovation in the patterns of classical comedy. The motif of a ‘constant’ heroine trying to reunite herself with husband, lover or family in the face of separation or misunderstanding was not a new one. It had long been developed in the medieval short story or novella, and was established in Boccaccio’s Decameron, which had already been adopted as a source for comic stage plots. Sienese dramatists had actually used it before, early in the sixteenth century, in plays which were more medieval in structure and ignored the classical unities. It was bound to appear sooner or later in the new commedia erudita: in point of fact it was the Intronati who, in Gli Ingannati, used it there for the first time, and opened the way to a more sympathetic investigation of the character and predicament of a young heroine. By doing so they were sowing seeds not just for the single play which is Twelfth Night, but for the main stream of European comedy over subsequent centuries. One has to note that the active roles played also by Pasquella the servant and Clemenzia the nurse mean that in the end, in this story, astute women gain the upper hand over male characters who are either obtuse or confused.

As a spin-off from this full presentation of an amorous heroine, Gli Ingannati also presented Italian audiences with the first ever love scenes on stage within a classical format. The carefully chosen rhetorical speeches of Flamminio and Lelia, in Act V Scene 3, are thus not yet ‘conventional’ in stage terms, because there was no convention; though they build heavily on established patterns used in dialogue from non-dramatic fiction. Astonishingly, they are preceded in Act II Scene 6 by the happily scandalous scene between Lelia and Isabella, in which kisses are exchanged between two girls (in the story) portrayed by two boy actors (in reality, in 1532). This is a surprising level of titillation and sexual ambiguity, perhaps then only permissible at Carnival time before a strictly private audience.

The innovation is compounded further by the clear invitation in this text to have the roles of both twins played by the same actor (or actress, as modern productions may now prefer). Bibbiena’s Calandra did not choose to do this: it put the twins on stage together more than once. Gli Ingannati carefully avoids any meeting between them, and produces some rather disconnected concluding scenes as a result, rather than the full family reunion which one would normally expect. This puts the roles of Lelia and Fabrizio in a fascinatingly ambiguous light (not least for the person who has to play them); and it has a range of possible effects on the tone of the whole play, which has to be explored anew in each production. It is certainly the first time in modern theatre in which a decision taken purely in respect of stage production would have had such an overwhelming and decisive effect on the ultimate nature of the verbal script.


I.4 THE AFTERLIFE OF GLI INGANNATI
We have mentioned how Gli Ingannati was quietly revolutionary in introducing an active female protagonist, whose feelings and motivation are taken seriously for at least some of the time. In fact this play can be seen as the single most influential Italian comedy of the sixteenth century, both within Italy and abroad.

With regard to later Italian comedies, critics have sometimes been distracted by the existence of two plays entitled Gli Inganni (‘The Deceits’ rather than ‘The Deceived’—by Niccolò Secchi, 1562; and Curzio Gonzaga, 1592). In fact both of these recall their Sienese predecessor more in the wording of their titles than in the details of their plots. Elsewhere, though, the influence is widespread: tropes from Gli ingannati recur in a number of printed scripts, and also in scenarios for commedia dell’arte improvisation. Heroines in male disguise became popular in themselves, and were a speciality of the star actress Isabella Andreini (1562‑1604). The idea of using such a disguise in order to track down a lost lover, or to recapture a recalcitrant one, was taken up in European comedy as late as the eighteenth century: it can be seen in Marivaux (La fausse suivante, 1724) and in Goldoni (La donna di garbo, 1743; Il servitore di due padroni, 1745, published 1753). The device might or might not be combined with mistakes regarding a twin brother; alternatively the theme of twins of different sexes could be pursued in its own right, in an otherwise different narrative context. All kinds of variants and permutations on these narremes can be identified in seven of the forty comic scenarios which Flamminio Scala published in 1611.

The influence of this comedy, however indirect, on Shakepeare’s Twelfth Night is now generally accepted: the pattern of misdirected and mistaken love between Orsino, Olivia, Viola (‘Cesario’) and Sebastian, reflects precisely that between Flamminio, Isabella, Lelia (‘Fabio’) and Fabrizio. Less well known, perhaps, is the fact that an early translation of the play into French—Charles Étienne’s Les abusez, as early as 1543—was one of the first examples of French humanist comedy, and the first French theatre script to be written in prose.


II. THE PLAY
II.1 STAGING
In the 1530s, stage scenery for classical comedy was settling down to standardized norms: the rules laid down by Sebastiano Serlio in 1545 were probably just descriptions of what was being done anyway. The backcloth would (if the company could afford it) be carefully painted by a professional to depict a convincing perspective view down the streets and over the rooftops of a typical Italian city. It is just possible that this could recognizably represent Modena, where this play is set, but a generalized urban background would have been quite acceptable. In the middle ground of the stage, four houses would probably be represented, two on each side. This might be done by flat wings, or by three-dimensional two-sided structures; but it was necessary for the houses to be ‘practicable’, so that actors could walk in and out of them and appear at an upper window. The area occupied by the houses would be relatively shallow, from front of stage to back, and perspective foreshortening would blend them into a continuous picture with the backcloth. The main acting area would be bare, representing a street or square. It was usually wider than it was deep, a fact which facilitated scenes where characters were allegedly out of earshot of one another.

A modern production would vary this scheme according to taste, resources, and the shape of the stage. But certain features are essential: there must be some representation of Gherardo’s house, Clemenzia’s house, and the Osteria del Matto (Fool’s Cap Inn). One might also want to represent the Osteria dello Specchio (Looking-Glass Inn) — in fact, by my interpretation, this would be advisable—and Flamminio’s house—less crucial, but Clemenzia can see his front door in Act I Scene 3.

I would argue firmly (against the late Bruce Penman, in his Penguin translation) that Virginio’s house is not on stage. It is never needed for entrances or exits; and in Act III Scene 7, by insisting that his ‘daughter’ should be taken straight to Gherardo’s house, Virginio uses the excuse that his own house is too far away, and that they would attract too much attention while getting there.


II.2 THE TRANSLATION
Gli Ingannati has no pretensions to poetry, and its fluid vernacular dialogue manages to avoid the literary stiffness of many Italian comedies of the period. Some of the longer speeches in the first two acts have a more formal rhetorical structure, but this tends to disappear as the play moves on. The present translation aims at producing a version which could be performed on stage to a modern audience, and which is neither better nor worse than the original. I have tried to produce laughs and pathos (if any) at all the same places as the original, and to conform to a standard of British English colloquial and scurrilous diction suitable for pantomime and farce. (This last condition inevitably implies that for performance in America, and perhaps Australia, some re-writing would be legitimate.) While wanting a modern translation, rather than a spoof sixteenth-century one, I have avoided (at least for most of the time) references to things or concepts which would be anachronistic.

Jokes in general have been treated fairly ruthlessly, the single aim being to make an audience laugh at every point of the original text where a laugh seems expected, and for roughly the same reason (pun, irony, exaggeration, insult, or whatever). Where a pun is untranslatable, I have looked for another one which arises equally well, or equally badly, out of the dialogue. The language of the Spanish soldier, which in the original is actually Spanish with a few Italianizing distortions, is represented here by a caricature Spanish distortion of English. This was a risky and possibly limiting approach, and an individual performer may prefer to tone it down. Most of the names of the male low-life characters are comically meaningful, so I have translated those as well—the only echo in this text of what might have been done in an English Elizabethan version.

One point perhaps needs emphasizing: like all other published Italian comedies of the period, the original text of this play contains no stage directions whatsoever, other than the list of characters who will speak in the coming scene. (Non-speaking characters were, by convention, not listed, even though dialogue then sometimes indicated their presence.) It follows that everything in this text which appears in italics and between brackets is an addition of my own, with no textual status.

The Intronati academicians were amateurs writing for amateurs, and tended in places to be a little prolix. A modern production is bound to make cuts; but as with any revival of an old play, these have to be dictated by the preferences, or the interpretative slant, of any single presentation. It was in any case important, on historical grounds, to translate everything which was there: there has been a previous history of selective rather than complete translations of this comedy, starting with the French one of 1543. My own recommendation would be not to omit any complete scene, but to prune carefully within scenes to tighten up the rhythm.


II.3 PRODUCTION NOTES
Any play text has to take its chance with a modern audience and modern interpreters, and neither a scholar nor (least of all) a translator has the right to impose a unitary view of how it should be performed. The following remarks, which may seem prescriptive here and there, should be treated as information to which one can respond selectively at will, or which one can ignore altogether. They concern points which in my view are implicit in the text as first composed, and which, if accepted, would have a practical outcome in performance.

Since Lelia and her twin brother Fabrizio are never allowed to meet on stage, one must conclude that the two parts were to be played by the same person. It is unlikely, otherwise, that the authors would have omitted a touching reunion between the two, which is such a regular feature of other plays involving family separation. Instead, and possibly for the first time in Italian theatre, it was decided to try out a combination of superficial realism and acting virtuosity, such has been regularly exploited ever since in farces involving physical doubles. A modern production might decide or not to follow suit; but to do so might help to reconcile the audience to the relative scrappiness, however modified, of the concluding scenes.

As a play written for a private occasion, this text makes allusions to the time and context of its first performance (the last night of Carnival 1532); to the Academy which is both performing and watching it; and to personalities and issues with which that audience was familiar. This attitude of winking across the footlights is foregrounded without any ambiguity in the Prologue, and implicit from time to time thereafter. It is perfectly easy, of course, to cut out all the references to historical personages, to cut the Prologue altogether, and to present the text as an ‘open’ dramatic fiction for an unspecified public. However, experience suggests that a club atmosphere of solidarity between performers and spectators does underly the script to some extent, and there may be something to be gained (at least in suitable performing spaces) from acknowledging and exploiting such allusions, when they can be made comprehensible.

This consideration arises particularly in the case of Act III, Scenes 1 and 2, which have more in them than meets the eye and play a pivotal part in the structure. They seem at first to be a piece of leisurely local colour: the contest for customers between the two innkeepers is fun, and good theatre if well played, but it seems to be a digression from the main narrative. However, there are two levels of discourse implicit in this scene, underneath the surface one.

In the first place, references to the citizens of various different Italian towns (Florence, Venice, Piacenza, etc. and the cardinals from Rome) are all designed to appeal not only to the general prejudices of the Sienese audience, but also probably to their views on current political alignments in 1532. The Duke of Amalfi was a senior member of the Academy, and probably sitting in the place of honour in the audience, so there is a level of allusion here which may be more specific than we can ever recuperate. (When this text was performed for Siena University in 1991, it became natural to replace him with the Rector who was present on the first night.)

More important, though, is the fact that in Act III Scene 2 these comments, decipherable or not, are offered in a symbolic framework which would have been reinforced by staging and properties. The Looking-Glass Inn and the Fool’s Cap are not just two rival commercial establishments in a fictionally transformed Modena: they are also symbolic Houses, as in medieval or Tudor drama, representing Prudence and Folly (‘The Mirror of Prudence teaches us to know ourselves’, says Master Peter). The Pedant is tempted by his sexual weakness to choose Folly rather than Prudence, and in effect the whole cast of the play eventually lines up under the sign of the Fool’s Cap. Squint invites the audience to come and join them there for the final celebratory meal. This tendency is made explicit just at the moment when the actor/actress playing Lelia has appeared on stage for the first time in her/his new role as Lelia’s twin brother. Carnival is a time for disguises, for transvestism, for a holiday from common sense. It seems to me that the play ultimately surrenders to this mood, and it probably makes more sense to stress it from the the beginning, and make the Fool’s bauble one of the main visual symbols.

There were over-strict conventions, in the early part of the sixteenth century in Italy, about what one was allowed to publish in the written text of a play. The complete absence of stage directions can sometimes give the impression that the plays must be all talk and no action: certain characters may have a pitifully small number of words to speak, and seem to be supernumerary. After a while, the reader of these texts comes to realize that this impression is sometimes (not always) misleading. In our present case, the part of Clemenzia’s daughter can easily be expanded to become a mute, mischievous and inconvenient witness to any or all of the goings-on, and she can have established a firm relationship with the audience long before she actually makes her single speech in Act V Scene 5. (There is less potential for plausibly developing the role of Isabella, much though a modern actress might like to do so: an unmarried girl of her class would have been kept firmly indoors.) The script suggests that Spela (‘Pluck’) and Scatizza (‘Stoke’) are on stage with their masters during the central scenes of mistaken identity with Fabrizio in Act III: their presence can then provide some mute ‘business’ with the puzzled Fabrizio, while the two old gentlemen are pursuing their own bewildered dialogue. And in Act V Scene 1, the comic assault on Gherardo’s house need not fade out so anti-climactically as the dialogue suggests. It can easily culminate in an explosion of slapstick violence with no dialogue at all, before things calm down again. More speculatively, the frustrated Spaniard Lilias might become gratuitously involved in the mayhem. He has motivation of his own for assaulting Gherardo’s house, to get at Pasquella: his presence may be confusing and unwelcome to Virginio’s party. His ignominious rout from the stage (perhaps entirely at the hands of the women characters?) is arguably a necessary element in one of the earliest and most topical revivals of the old but exploitable figure of the Braggart Soldier.

RICHARD ANDREWS


List of Characters, in order of appearance

GHERARDO Foiani, an old merchant of Modena
VIRGINIO Bellenzini, his friend and contemporary
CLEMENZIA, nurse to Virginio’s children
LELIA, Virginio’s daughter, calling herself ‘Fabio’
PLUCK, (Spela), Gherardo’s manservant
STOKE, (Scatizza), Virginio’s manservant
FLAMMINIO Carandini, a young gentleman in love
PASQUELLA, maidservant to Gherardo and Isabella
ISABELLA, Gherardo’s daughter
LILIAS, (Giglio), a Spanish soldier
SIFTER, (Crivello), Flamminio’s manservant
MASTER PETER, (Messer Piero), a Pedant, tutor to Fabrizio
FABRIZIO, Virginio’s son, identical twin to Lelia
SQUINT, (Stragualcia), Fabrizio’s manservant
EASY, (L’Agiato), landlord/landlady of the Looking Glass Inn
WHISK, (Frulla), landlord/landlady of the Fool’s Cap Inn
A YOUNG GIRL, (cittina), Clemenzia’s daughter

Production note: All the evidence suggests that the parts of Lelia and Fabrizio should be played by the same person; but that the audience should not anticipate this until Fabrizio’s first appearance in Act III.


SCENE OF THE ACTION: Modena
DATE OF THE ACTION: 1532, just before Lent


PROLOGUE

to be spoken by the actor playing Squint

Good evening to you, most noble ladies. I see that you are rather surprised to see me appearing before you in this costume and in front of a stage set, as though we were going to put on some kind of play. You would hardly be expecting that, would you?—because until last year you had reason to suppose that our Deaf and Daft Academy had other things on its mind than theatricals. And then only the other day you were shown just what our members think of you ladies: how they broke off all relations with you, and refused to pursue you any longer, because they had had enough of being prodded and teased by you all the time. So, as you saw last Twelfth Night, they consigned to the flames everything they had which might stimulate their imaginations and arouse their appetite for you and your affairs.
Well, I shall put you out of your bewilderment. These Deaf and Daft Academicians (and you can believe me, because I’ve been listening to them) are now regretting very much that they got themselves into this whole crazy affair. They are worried that in future you are going to take it out on them every time they approach you. And so they have sent me before you on their behalf, as ambassador, orator, agent, proxy, or poet, or whatever title slips in most easily. I’m fully equipped with my credentials, all in the proper form. So you’d better take my word for it, or I might have to show them to you. They’ve sent me out to make peace and patch things up with you, if you are willing: because, to tell the truth, without you to encourage them, all their efforts are cold and sluggish, and liable to shrink away to nothing unless you provide some remedy. So forgive them please, ladies, and lend a hand! It’s in your own interests, when all is said and done. You’re well acquainted with these gentlemen’s characters; and you know that if you’ll only look on them with a kindly eye, then they’ll be like putty in your hands — they’ll let you (but only you, no one else) do or say what you please, tease and torment them with words and with deeds, always take the lead and come out on top in every one of your transactions. So what do you say? Are you willing? Will you forgive them, or not? ... No answer. Well, they say that silence means consent.
Now to show how eager they are to please you and make peace, they have put together a whole comedy in just a few days, and today they want to put it on for you, if you are prepared to watch it. So now you know the reason for this set, and what I’m doing out in front of it like this. I understand that they have entitled the play All Deceived—not because they have ever been deceived by you, far from it, you have never deceived them for a moment because you know them too well (although you have always pressed them very hard, and they haven’t always been able to steer clear of your efforts). No, the title comes from the fact that by the end of the play there is hardly a single character in the story who hasn’t been deceived at some point. (Mind you, the way I’ve got it in for you ladies, there are some kinds of deceits which I wish to God you might be deceived by more often, especially if I could be the deceiver: I wouldn’t even care if the tables were turned, and you ended up on top.)
The story of this play is a new one, coming from no other source than the Academy’s own busy pumpkin head, the one out of which they drew all your fortunes by lot on Twelfth Night. That was when you thought that our Deaf and Daft brothers were teasing you so sharply over your unwillingness to come clean, and you said they all had foul tongues. But I don’t think you had ever got a proper taste of their tongues: if you had, you wouldn’t talk that way, you’d defend them instead, and take their part like good friends whenever the need arose.
No doubt there will be some who will say that this whole show is a bit of a dog’s breakfast. But such people don't even deserve an answer, because however it may be, the Academy’s one concern is to please you. They think they can do this easily enough, especially if one or two of you are pregnant, and have acquired a sudden taste for strange things, like ground charcoal, wool-grease, brick-dust, cement chips, and shows like the one you are about to see. Whether the men in the audience like it or not doesn’t matter, because the Deaf and Daft Academy have arranged things so that no man will be able to see or hear the play unless he is blind. So if there is some smart-arsed critic among you, who is determined to find fault with us and wants to make sure he sees and hears the play, he’ll have to put his eyes out first, otherwise he won’t take it in. You may be wondering how blind men can watch a play—and yet it’s true, and if you’ll pay attention, I’ll prove it to you right now.
Everything that is beautiful in this world of ours is undoubtedly now to be found in Siena; and all the beauty of Siena is at present gathered in this hall. There can be no argument about this: I can’t believe that any woman who has stayed away is anywhere near beautiful, because she was afraid to be compared with the rest of you. This being so, how can you expect those men to sit and watch plays on a stage? What interest are they going to take in anything we say or do up here, if you are there in front of them? Is there any finer show or pageant, any more splendid and delightful sight than you? Of course not. And that is the proof that no man is going to watch or listen to this play unless he is blind, however much you may have thought that I was talking twaddle. But you ladies are going to see and hear it perfectly, because we have never yet found you so susceptible to our charms that you fall into ecstasy just from looking at us. And all those rosy-cheeked young dandies out there haven’t a chance: it’s no use them thinking that their neat little beards, or their thigh-hugging boots, or their bows and flourishes and sighs that you can hear from here to Fonte Becci, are going to turn your attention from us to them. If they do think so, they are deceived, and so they are stealing the title of our comedy. It could just be that a certain Spaniard whom you’ll see come on stage might break the train of your imagination and interrupt the thread of the story. But let me give you a tip—don’t bother too much about him, because you can’t speak his language anyway, and you’ll never get on together. Just pay attention to the others, who are all Italians: if you do that, you won’t miss anything that’s said and all will be well.
But since I see that the men are already lost in contemplation of you, and don’t hear what I’m saying, let me have a quick word with you ladies in private, joking apart. How long are you going to remain so unresponsive? Are these poor Academicians always to do nothing but complain of you? Will it always be the same story, that after the labours they endure for your sakes, and the care they take in singing your praises, you won’t stoop to do them a single favour, not once? In God’s name, come down off your pedestals, call them to you, one by one, and listen to what they say and what they want of you. What they are asking is a mere trifle; and with the rich abundance that you possess, you could bestow it on the whole town, let alone just on them, without any wear and tear. Tell me now, just what do you suppose they want from you? Your benevolent favour, that’s all. They want you to take note of their various talents, the large ones along with the small, and say ‘I like this’, and ‘I don’t like that’, so that the ones who can’t please you can turn their thoughts elsewhere and follow some other activity. But it really is too bad that you should keep tantalizing them, and never make up your minds to pronounce that little word ‘yes’. Do you know what I think? One day you might find that they have had enough and given up—you mark my words, I know what I’m talking about. You could lose them altogether before you knew it, and then there would be no way of making up to them again and putting things right. You would be sorry, but it would be too late. Nobody can hold out for ever, you know. Think about it.
Oh yes, by the way, don’t expect any more information about the plot, because the fellow who was going to administer the Argument is not prepared. You’ll have to do without, this time. I can just tell you that the city you see before you is Modena, on this occasion at least, and most of the people in the story are Modenese citizens. So if they don’t always speak the language perfectly, it’s not surprising, because they haven’t learned it properly yet. For the rest, you’re sharp enough to take in all the subject-matter as it comes. There are two lessons above all to be learned from this story: how much depends on chance and good luck, in matters of love; and the value, in such affairs, of long patience aided by good advice. This will all be demonstrated to you by two shrewd young girls; and if you can profit by their example, then you ought to be grateful to us. As for the men, if they get no pleasure out of what we have to offer, they can still thank us for giving them at least four hours at a stretch in which to feast their eyes on your celestial beauties.
But since I can see two old men coming on, I’d better be off, hard though it is to tear myself away from such a pretty sight. I shall be back later for another look. Take care, everyone.


Act I

(Early morning)

Scene 1

GHERARDO and VIRGINIO, two old merchants

GHERARDO:
Now listen please, Virginio, if you really want to oblige me in this matter, as you say you do, just arrange for this blessed wedding to take place as soon as possible; and release me once for all from this tangled labyrinth in which I seem to have got caught. If you are facing some kind of difficulty, like not having enough money for her clothes — I know perfectly well how you lost all your fortune in that wretched Sack of Rome — or for the house furnishings, or if you’re not able to pay for the wedding itself, just forget your scruples and say so. I’ll provide for whatever is necessary. If I can bring the date forward and satisfy this appetite of mine a month sooner, I shan’t grumble about spending an extra ten scudi: God be thanked, I’m sufficiently well provided for that. And you know very well that neither of us is in the springtime of our years any longer, but getting into high summer, and perhaps... well... anyway, the more we wait, the more time we lose. Virginio, you mustn’t wonder if I seem to be a little pressing about this because I swear to you that, since I’ve got caught up in this scheme, I can’t sleep half the night. Look how early I’m up this morning. I didn’t want to wake you before, so I went and heard early Mass in the Cathedral. If the fact is that you’ve changed your mind, if you think that your daughter’s youth doesn’t match my ... advanced middle age, then say so straight out. In that case, I’ll provide for myself, I’ll turn my thoughts elsewhere, and free both of us at once from any further embarrassment. You know well enough how many other families are anxious to make a match with me.

VIRGINIO:
My dear Gherardo, neither that consideration nor any other would prevent me from marrying my daughter to you today, were it in my power to do so; and although I lost almost all my possessions in the Sack, and Fabrizio my poor dear son along with them, I thank the Lord that I still have enough of my inheritance to hope that I can provide clothes and a wedding feast for my daughter without depriving anyone else who has claims on me. You must not think that I have any intention of going back on what I have promised, provided the girl herself is content. A merchant’s word is his bond, and a bargain struck is supposed to be kept.

GHERARDO:
Those sentiments are proclaimed by merchants more often than they are observed, nowadays. But I well believe that you are the exception. All the same, when the matter is put off from today until tomorrow, and from tomorrow until the day after, I am bound to start wondering what is behind it all. I have never thought of you as a man of so little character that you can’t make your own daughter do what you want her to.

VIRGINIO:
I’ll tell you the full story. You know that I had to go to Bologna, to clear up the accounts of some business I had in partnership with Master Buonaparte Ghislieri and my lord Da Casio. Well, since I have no family, and was living out of town, I did not wish to leave my daughter alone in the care of servants. So I sent her to the Convent of the Holy Election, to her aunt Sister Camilla, and there she is still, because you know I only came back to Modena last night. Now I have sent my servant to tell her to come home.

GHERARDO:
Do you know for certain that she is at the convent and nowhere else?

VIRGINIO:
What do you mean, ‘Do I know for certain’? Where else should she be? What kind of question is that?

GHERARDO:
Well, the fact is that I went there myself once or twice... on business of my own... and I asked after her, and I was never able to see her. Some of them said that she’s not there.

VIRGINIO:
No doubt those holy mothers would like to make her a nun too, so the convent can inherit my last pittance after I’m dead. But they won’t get away with that one. I’m not so old that I’m not capable of fathering a couple of sons, if I should choose to take a wife.

GHERARDO:
Old? I tell you, I still feel as full of spunk now as I did when I was twenty-five — especially in the morning, before I’ve been for a pee. As the poet says, the head of the leek may be white, but its tail is still green. All those smooth-chinned whippersnappers, swaggering around Modena these days with their feathers cocked up to show they support the Pope, swords at the side, dagger in the rear, silk tassels dangling... I don’t believe there’s a single thing they can do better than I can, except run.

VIRGINIO:
Well, your spirit seems willing. Let’s hope the flesh doesn’t turn out to be weak.

GHERARDO:
You wait until after the wedding night, and ask Lelia how much sleep she’s had with me.

VIRGINIO:
In God’s name, you must show a little restraint with her! She’s still only a girl, and it’s not kind to unleash all that frenzy on her right from the start.

GHERARDO:
How old is she?

VIRGINIO:
When Rome was sacked, and she and I were captured by those pigs of Spaniards, she was just reaching thirteen.

GHERARDO:
Thirteen plus five... eighteen! Just exactly what I need. I wouldn’t want her a year older or younger. Her wardrobe is all prepared for her at my house: robes, pendants, necklaces and women’s ornaments, finer than she would get from any other man in Modena.

VIRGINIO:
Let it be as God wills. I am content with her good fortune and yours.

GHERARDO:
Make haste, then.

VIRGINIO:
As far as the dowry is concerned, we are agreed?

GHERARDO:
Do you think I would let you down? Good-bye, now.

VIRGINIO:
God be with you. (Exit Gherardo to his own house.)
And there’s her nurse coming now, which will save me the trouble of sending for her so she can bring Lelia home.

Scene 2

CLEMENZIA the nurse, VIRGINIO

CLEMENZIA:
(comes from her own house; to audience) I don’t know what it can all signify, but all my hens this morning set up such a chattering, as though they wanted to set the household by the ears, or else present me with a fortune in eggs. Something peculiar is going to happen today, you mark my words: they never start cackling like that without something unexpected happening the same day.

VIRGINIO:
She’s miles away — communing with the angels. Or with the Reverend Father Superior of St. Francis’ friary.

CLEMENZIA:
(as before) There was another thing that happened, which must mean something or other — though my confessor always says it’s wrong to pay attention to these things, and that I shouldn’t believe in signs and omens.

VIRGINIO:
What are you doing, talking to yourself like that? It’s no use hoping for windfalls. Christmas was a long time ago.

CLEMENZIA:
Oh! Good day, Virginio. As God’s my witness, it was you I was coming to see. You’re up very early. What a pleasure to see you!

VIRGINIO:
What were you muttering to yourself just then? Were you possibly hoping to come and cadge a bushel of corn, or a flask of oil, or a piece of lard? It would hardly make a change, would it?

CLEMENZIA:
Oh, naturally, sir! Where else should we turn but to my Lord Bountiful, if we’re in need of a handout? He’s saving it all for those children he hasn’t got.

VIRGINIO:
What were you saying, then?

CLEMENZIA:
I was saying that I don’t know what to make of the fact that a pretty little kitten which I’ve got, and which I thought I’d lost for a fortnight, came back again this morning; and she caught a little mouse in my bedroom in the dark; and while she was playing with it, she knocked over a bottle of Trebbiano wine which the preacher up at St. Francis’ gave me — (hastily) because I’ve been doing his laundry for him.

VIRGINIO:
Spilt wine means a wedding. But what you really mean is that you want me to give you another. Am I right?

CLEMENZIA:
You’re right.

VIRGINIO:
So I guessed from the start, didn’t I? But what’s the news of your fosterling Lelia?

CLEMENZIA:
Ah! poor girl, what a disgrace, it would be better if she had never been born!

VIRGINIO:
Why? What’s happened?

CLEMENZIA:
Why, he says! Haven’t you heard that old Gherardo Foiani is going round telling everyone that he’s going to marry her, and that all the arrangements are made?

VIRGINIO:
He’s telling the truth. What’s the matter? Don’t you think she’s made a fine match? She’s going into an honourable family, to a rich husband, well equipped and provided with everything she can want. And there’s no one else in the household, so she won’t have to fight like cats with lots of mothers-in-law, stepdaughters, sisters-in-law, as happens all too often. And he’ll treat her like a daughter.

CLEMENZIA:
Isn’t that just the trouble? Young women want to be treated like wives, not like daughters; they want someone who’ll pinch them, and nibble them, and towsle them, before and behind, not someone who’ll treat them like a daughter.

VIRGINIO:
You think all women are like you, eh? Because we both know what you’re like, don’t we? But it’s not always true; and anyway, Gherardo seems to have every intention of treating her like a wife.

CLEMENZIA:
How will he manage that, when he’s past fifty years old?

VIRGINIO:
What does that matter? Look at me: I’m nearly as old as he is, and you know whether I can manage a good gallop or two.

CLEMENZIA:
(ambiguous) Oh, you’re in a class of your own, we all know that. But if I believed you were really going to give her to him, I’d drown her first.

VIRGINIO:
(serious) Clemenzia, I lost everything I possessed. Now I have to do the best I can. If Fabrizio one day were to be found alive, and I’d already given everything to her, then he’d starve — which I would not like to see. I’m marrying her now to Gherardo with the proviso that if Fabrizio is not found within four years, she will get a thousand florins in dowry: whereas if he should turn up, then she is to have only two hundred, and Gherardo is prepared to find all the rest.

CLEMENZIA:
Poor child! There’s one thing, if she takes a leaf from my book, she’ll....

VIRGINIO:
How is she? How long is it since you last saw her?

CLEMENZIA:
More than two weeks. I was going to see her today.

VIRGINIO:
I suspect that those nuns want to make her a nun too, and I’m afraid they may have put ideas into her head. You know how they can be. You go down and see her, and tell her from me that she must come home.

CLEMENZIA:
(casual, spying an opportunity) Do you know, I was wondering if you could lend me two carlini to buy a load of firewood. I haven’t a stick in the house.

VIRGINIO:
You can’t win with this one, can you, Devil take it! All right, you go along, and I’ll buy it for you.

CLEMENZIA:
But I’m going to Mass first.

(Exit Virginio into town.)

Scene 3

LELIA, dressed as a boy and calling herself Fabio; and CLEMENZIA the nurse.

LELIA:
(comes from Flamminio’s house, and addresses audience) Surely I am becoming quite shameless, when I think that in spite of knowing how lewd is the behaviour of these dissolute young men in Modena, I still choose to venture out of doors alone, at this hour! It would serve me right if one of those debauched youths were to seize me by force, drag me into some house, and decide to see for himself whether I am male or female. That would teach me to go out so early! But the cause of all this daring is Love, the love I feel for that cruel, ungrateful Flamminio. Oh what a fate to suffer! I love a man who hates me, who constantly disparages me; I serve a man who does not know me; and, even more unbearable, I help him to court another woman — no one will believe this, if it ever becomes known — with no hope other than to be able some day to quench this thirst I have for the mere sight of him. And until now, everything has gone sufficiently well. But how shall I manage from now on? What course can I follow? My father has come home. Flamminio has come to live in town. I cannot stay here without being recognized; and if that happens I shall be shamed for ever, an object of scandal for the whole city. This is why I came out so early — to seek advice from my old nurse, whom I saw from my window coming this way, and to choose with her help whatever remedy seems best. But first I want to see whether she recognizes me in these clothes.

CLEMENZIA:
Well I never! Flamminio must have come back to live in Modena, his front door is open. If Lelia knew that piece of news, she couldn’t wait to get home to her father’s. But who is this young nitwit who keeps on crossing my path this morning? (To Lelia) Must you stay under my feet? Can’t you get out of the way? Stop prowling round me, will you? What do you want? If you knew what I think of your sort of young....

LELIA:
And a very good day to you, Mrs Thumb-twiddle.

CLEMENZIA:
Buzz off with your good day! Take it back to whoever you’ve been giving a good night to.

LELIA:
I might have been giving a very good night to somebody. But I could still manage to give you a good day, if you’re interested.

CLEMENZIA:
Stop mucking me about. I’ve got enough to cope with this morning without you. If you don’t look out, I’ll....

LELIA:
Could you just possibly be on your way to an assignation with the Father Superior at St. Francis’? Or are you going to see the reverend Brother Longcarrot?

CLEMENZIA:
You go and boil your head! What right have you got poking your nose into my business, where I’m going and where I’m coming from? What Father Superior? What Brother Longcarrot?

LELIA:
Now, now! Don’t lose your temper, Mrs All-Cluck-and-No-Egg.

CLEMENZIA:
I’m sure I know that face; I don’t know where, but I’ve seen it hundreds of times. Listen, brat: how come you know me so well that you go ferreting into my affairs? Take that hood from your face.

LELIA:
Come off it! Pretending you don’t know me, eh?

CLEMENZIA:
If you hide away like that, nobody’ll know you.

LELIA:
Come over here a bit.

CLEMENZIA:
Where?

LELIA:
Over this way. Now do you recognize me?

CLEMENZIA:
Can it be... Lelia! Oh Lord forgive us! Oh what have I done to deserve it? It is Lelia! Oh heavens, what are you doing, my poor child?

LELIA:
Keep your voice down. Are you going off your head? If you go on yelling like that, I’m not staying here.

CLEMENZIA:
She’s not even ashamed of it! Can you really have become a... a woman of the world?

LELIA:
Of course I’m ‘of the world’. Have you ever seen a woman out of the world? I’ve never been there, as far as I remember.

CLEMENZIA:
I mean... have you lost the name of virgin?

LELIA:
The name, no, not as far as I know, at least not in this town. For the rest you’ll have to ask the Spaniards who held me to ransom in Rome.

CLEMENZIA:
Is this the credit you bring to your father, to your family name, to yourself, and to me who nursed you? I’ve a good mind to skin you with my own hands. Come inside quickly: I’m not having you seen around dressed like that.

LELIA:
Look, calm down just for a minute, please, nurse.

CLEMENZIA:
Aren’t you ashamed to be seen in those clothes?

LELIA:
You talk as if I were the first. I saw hundreds of women in Rome doing the same. And even in this town, there are plenty who go about their business every night dressed like this.

CLEMENZIA:
But those are all trollops.

LELIA:
Well, can’t all the trollops find room for just one respectable woman?

CLEMENZIA:
You’re going to tell me why you’re mixing with them, and why you ran away from the convent. Oh God, if your father saw you, he’d kill you on the spot.

LELIA:
It would be a merciful release. I haven’t very much reason to value my life, have I?

CLEMENZIA:
Why are you going round like this? Tell me.

LELIA:
If you’ll only be quiet and listen, I will tell you; and then you’ll understand how miserable I am, and why I’m going round outside the convent dressed like this, and what I want you to do about it. But move a bit further out of the way, so that if anyone should pass they won’t recognize me just because they see me talking to you.

CLEMENZIA:
Oh, I’m all of a dither! Come on, tell me quickly, or I shall burst. Oh dear!

LELIA:
Well then, you know that after that horrible Sack of Rome, my father had lost all his property and my brother Fabrizio along with it; and so as not to be left alone he took me away from serving my lady the Marchioness, where he had placed me before, and we came back to Modena because we had nowhere else to go, hoping to leave all the misfortune behind us and live on what little we had left. And you know that since my father had been known as a supporter of Count Guido Rangone, there were some people here who were not very well disposed towards him.

CLEMENZIA:
Why go telling me things I know better than you do? And I also know that because of that, you both went to live out of town, on that little Fontanile farm of yours.

LELIA:
That’s right. You also know what an empty and miserable life I led there, cut off from almost all human contact, let alone from thoughts of love — because after I had been captured by the soldiers, everyone was pointing the finger at me, and there seemed to be no way for me to live virtuously enough to stop people gossiping. You ought to remember, because you kept telling me off for being so gloomy, and you tried to cheer me up all the time.

CLEMENZIA:
If I know, why tell me? Go on.

LELIA:
Because if I hadn’t gone over it again, you wouldn’t follow the next part. Now it was at that time that Flamminio Carandini became very friendly with my father, because he was on our side politically; and he came to our house absolutely every day; and often, very secretly, he would look at me, and lower his eyes with a sigh. And it was you who pointed it out to me. So I began to take notice, and appreciate his manners, his conversation and his style, much more than I had to start with, though I wasn’t thinking yet in terms of love. But as he kept coming to our house so regularly, and dropping hints and signs of love, one after the other — sighing, pleading, gazing at me — I realized that he was more than a little taken with me. And so I, who had never really experienced love before, seeing this man so worthy a subject for my thoughts, began to dote on him so fiercely that to look at him was the only pleasure I ever sought.

CLEMENZIA:
I knew all that, too.

LELIA:
And you know as well that when the armies withdrew from Rome, my father wanted to go back there to see if any of our property had survived, but most of all to see if there was news of my brother; and so as not to leave me alone, he sent me to stay at Mirandola, until he came home, with my aunt Giovanna. And how I hated to part from my Flamminio you know too well, from the number of times you had to dry my tears! I stayed at Mirandola for a whole year. Then, when my father came home, you know that I came back to Modena, more in love than ever with my very first love who had delighted me so much; and expecting that he would still love me as he had shown he did before.

CLEMENZIA:
You poor silly child! And how many young men have you ever known in Modena who stayed in love with the same woman for a whole year, instead of making fools of a new one every month?

LELIA:
Indeed I found, just as you say, that he had forgotten me as though he had never seen me in his life; and what is worse, that he is now devoting his heart, his soul and all his energies to winning the love of Gherardo Foiani’s daughter Isabella who, as well as being beautiful, is her father’s only heir — if the crazy old fool doesn’t get married again and produce some more children.

CLEMENZIA:
He’s counting on doing just that — with you! — and he says that your father has promised he can have you. But none of all this has got anything to do with your going around dressed as a man and running away from the convent.

LELIA:
If you let me go on, you’ll see that it has something to do with it. But as for what you just said, I can promise you that that old man will never have me. When my father came back from Rome, he had to ride over to Bologna to settle various business deals; and since I wouldn’t go back to Mirandola, he sent me to the Convent of the Holy Election, to our relative Sister Charity, because he didn’t think he would be away very long.

CLEMENZIA:
You’re still not telling me anything new.

LELIA:
Once I got to that convent, I found that the only subject of conversation among those reverend mothers was their love affairs; so I felt I could risk telling my whole story to Sister Charity Lovecraft. She was very sympathetic; she insisted on arranging for Flamminio to come several times to the convent, to speak with her or with others, just so I could hide behind some curtains, and feast my eyes with the sight of him, and my ears with the sound of his voice, which was the only thing I wanted in the whole world. But one day when he came, among all the other things he said, I heard him grieving for a young page boy of his who had died. He said this boy had been a servant in a million; and that if he could find another lad like him, he would be as happy as a king, and would entrust him with anything he possessed.

CLEMENZIA:
Oh dear, oh dear! I can see where this page boy is leading to.

LELIA:
Straight away I was determined to try and arrange for me to be this lucky young boy. The moment he had gone, I suggested to Sister Charity that, since Flamminio wasn’t actually living in town, we might see if I could set myself up to be his new servant.

CLEMENZIA:
Didn’t I say I could see it coming? Oh misery me!

LELIA:
She encouraged me to try: she taught me how I ought to conduct myself, and she lent me some of the man’s clothes which she had just had made for herself, so that she could slip out in disguise on her own private business like all the other nuns do. And so, early one morning, I walked out of the convent in these clothes, reckoning that it was far enough out of town for me not to attract any attention. And I went to the villa where Flamminio was living, which is not far from the convent, as you know; and I waited around there until he came out. And then luck was really on my side, because Flamminio caught sight of me straight away, and asked me very affably if there was anything I wanted, and where I came from.

CLEMENZIA:
And didn’t you drop dead from shame on the spot?

LELIA:
Not at all. Love put heart into me, and I answered straight back that I was from Rome, and fallen on hard times, so I had gone out to seek my fortune. He looked me up and down, from head to foot, for such a long time that I was almost afraid he recognized me; then he said that if I were willing to enter his service, he would be happy to engage me; and would treat me well, as a man of breeding should. I did feel a little ashamed then, but I said yes.

CLEMENZIA:
It makes me curl up with shame just to listen to you. What on earth did you expect to gain from this crazy scheme?

LELIA:
To gain? Isn’t it some satisfaction for a girl in love to see the man she adores all the time, to talk to him, to touch him, to know his secrets and who he spends his time with, to converse with him, and to be sure at least that if you can’t enjoy him yourself, no one else is enjoying him either?

CLEMENZIA:
Those are all silly little things, just fanning the flames to no purpose, if you’re not sure that you’re pleasing him as well as yourself. How do you serve him? And where?

LELIA:
I’m his waiter at table, and his valet in the bedroom. And I know that in the two weeks I’ve been working for him he has come to look on me with such favour that, if only he felt the same about me in my proper clothes, I would be in Heaven.

CLEMENZIA:
But wait a minute — where do you sleep?

LELIA:
In his antechamber, alone.

CLEMENZIA:
Supposing one night he were to be tempted by... by a wicked temptation, and called you in to sleep with him? Then what would happen?

LELIA:
I’m not going to invent trouble before it comes. If that happened, I should think about it, and decide what to do.

CLEMENZIA:
You naughty girl! What will people say when all this comes out?

LELIA:
Who is going to tell them about it, if you don’t? Now what I want you to do is this — because I hear that my father came home last night, and I expect he'll be sending for me — I want you to arrange that he puts off calling me home for four or five days; or else make him believe that I have gone to Roverino with Sister Charity and will be coming back again in about that time.

CLEMENZIA:
What’s the point of that?

LELIA:
I’ll tell you. Flamminio, as I said, is in love with Isabella Foiani, and he often sends me to her with letters and messages. She, thinking that I’m a young man, has fallen so madly in love with me that she can’t take her hands off me; and I’m pretending that I shan’t return her love unless she can put Flamminio off and make him give her up — and I’m making some progress. There’s a good chance that within three or four days I shall manage it, and he’ll drop her.

CLEMENZIA:
But your father has just this minute sent me to fetch you! All I want to do is to take you back to my house and send for your proper clothes. I won’t have you seen about like that a moment longer, and if you won’t come with me I shall tell your father everything.

LELIA:
In that case I shall make sure that neither you nor he will ever see me again. Do it my way, nurse... please! But I can’t explain any more now, I can hear Flamminio calling. Coming, sir! Wait for me at your house in an hour, and I’ll come and find you. And listen, make sure that if you ever have to ask for me, you call me Fabio — Fabio degli Alberini, that’s what I’m calling myself, so don’t go getting it wrong. Yes sir, right away! Good-bye.

(She exits to Flamminio’s house.)

CLEMENZIA:
My goodness, she’s seen old Gherardo coming out: that’s why she ran off so fast. Now what am I going to do? I can’t tell her father what she’s done, but I can’t let her carry on with it either. I’ll keep quiet until I can talk to her again.

Scene 4

GHERARDO, PLUCK, CLEMENZIA
(Gherardo comes out of his house with his servant Pluck.)

GHERARDO:
If Virginio keeps his promise, I’ll be in clover! I’ll be as well off for frolics as any man in Modena. What do you say, Pluck? Won’t I just?

PLUCK:
I reckon you’d do better to make some provision for those nephews of yours, who can’t make ends meet — and for me! All this time I’ve worked for you, and I’ve not saved up so much as a pair of boots. This young wife of yours will just lead you a dance, and make you a... well, work it out for yourself.

GHERARDO:
Oh no, just you wait and see. I shan’t be slack in paying her wages.

PLUCK:
Oh sure: only where another man would put a penny in the slot, you’ll only be able to manage a ha’penny.

GHERARDO:
Here’s her nurse. Quiet now, while I worm some news of Lelia out of her.

CLEMENZIA:
(to audience) Oh what a fine Prince Charming for a tender young bride! Imagine the poor girl ending up with that moribund old dodderer! So help me, I’d sooner throttle her than let her be given to that stale, mouldy, dribbling, putrid, snotty piece of decrepitude. I must get a few laughs out of him, at least. (Goes to Gherardo.) A very good morning to you, Gherardo, sir! You look as fresh as a cherub this morning.

GHERARDO:
And a fistful of good mornings to you, my dear, and a handful of ducats into the bargain.

PLUCK:
I’m the one that needs those.

GHERARDO:
Oh Pluck, how happy I would be if I were this good lady here!

PLUCK:
You mean you wish you’d had the pleasure of all those husbands, instead of just one wife? Or is there some other reason?

CLEMENZIA:
What do you mean, you, Pluck? I’ll have you plucked and shaved before I’ve finished with you. ‘All those husbands’, indeed! Feeling jealous? Wishing you’d been one of them?

PLUCK:
My God yes — that really would have been a privilege.

GHERARDO:
Quiet, you ape! That’s not what I meant at all.

PLUCK:
What did you mean then?

GHERARDO:
(with lyric imbecillity) Because if I’d been her, I could have hugged and kissed my little Lelia over and over again — sweet Lelia, sugar and gold, milk and roses....

PLUCK:
Ugh! Uuugh! Here, guv’nor, we’d better go home. Quick!

GHERARDO:
Why?

PLUCK:
You’re sickening for something, you’re feverish. It won’t do you any good to stay out in this cold air.

GHERARDO:
Feverish yourself! What fever? I’m perfectly well.

PLUCK:
I know what I’m talking about. You’re dangerously ill.

GHERARDO:
I’m quite well, I tell you.

PLUCK:
Does your head ache?

GHERARDO:
No.

PLUCK:
Let me feel your pulse a moment. Have you got a belly ache? Can you feel the fumes rising to the brain?

GHERARDO:
Stop talking drivel. Are you trying to make an idiot of me? There’s nothing on my brain except Lelia, my tender flower, my sugar-bun.

PLUCK:
I say you’re feverish, you’re very sick.

GHERARDO:
What are you talking about?

PLUCK:
What? Can’t you tell you're off your rocker? You’re delirious, you’re breathing heavy, you’re talking a load of nonsense.

GHERARDO:
That’s the effect of Love, eh, Clemenzia? Omnia vincit Amor.

PLUCK:
Oh, a fine phrase for a Neapolitan ponce! Applause from all the company! Breathtaking originality!

GHERARDO:
Your little fosterling, she’s such a minx!

PLUCK:
That’s not fever, that’s softening of the brain. A fine thing to happen. What do I do now?

GHERARDO:
Oh Clemenzia, I could hug you and kiss you a thousand times.

PLUCK:
What did I tell you? He needs a strait-jacket.

CLEMENZIA:
No, thank you very much. I don’t want old men kissing me.

PLUCK:
Steady on! He’s still got some eyes in his mouth — I mean, some teeth in his head.

CLEMENZIA:
At least you’re not as old as you look, I can see that.

GHERARDO:
Tell Lelia so! Do you hear? If you put in a good word for me, I’ll give you a new veil.

PLUCK:
Big spender! And what will you give me?

CLEMENZIA:
Now now, sir, if the Duke of Ferrara had as many good words for you as Lelia has, then your fortune would be made! You’re just tantalising the poor girl: if you were really fond of her, you wouldn’t be getting her all steamed up like this, and spoiling her chances.

GHERARDO:
What do you mean, spoiling her chances? I’m trying to give her the chance of a lifetime.

CLEMENZIA:
Then why have you been spinning it out for a whole year before you come to terms? Let her know, one way or the other.

GHERARDO:
What? Does Lelia think that’s my fault? Doesn’t she know that I’ve been pestering her father every day, that there’s nothing I’d like better in the world than to marry her right here and now? May I be carried out of that house feet first if it isn’t true.

CLEMENZIA:
Well, may God grant your wish. I’ll tell her everything you’ve said. But do you know what? She’d like to see you going round a bit differently — not like the way you do now, like an old ram.

GHERARDO:
Old ram? I’ve not had the chance to touch her.

CLEMENZIA:
No, it’s not that. It’s the way you go about muffled up in those skins all the time.

PLUCK:
What’s he supposed to do, then? Have himself flayed? Or run around the town stark naked? I don’t know what things are coming to.

GHERARDO:
My wardrobe is as good as any man’s in Modena. I’m obliged that you told me. I’ll make sure that she sees me in a different guise before long. But when will I be able to see her? When will she come back from the convent?

CLEMENZIA:
She’ll be at the St. Francis gate. I must go and fetch her now.

GHERARDO:
Why don’t I keep you company? We could have a little chat on the way.

CLEMENZIA:
What are you thinking of? What would people say?

GHERARDO:
God! How long before I burst with passion?

PLUCK:
(echoing) God! How long before I give him a thrashing?

GHERARDO:
O happy Clemenzia!

PLUCK:
O senile dementia!

GHERARDO:
O blushing bride of June!

PLUCK:
O gibbering baboon!

GHERARDO:
You nursed her at your breast!

PLUCK:
You’ll burst, you need a rest!

GHERARDO:
O idol of my soul!

PLUCK:
Oh go and stick a carrot up your hole!

GHERARDO:
Well then, good-bye Clemenzia! (Exit Clemenzia.)
Come on, Pluck, I must go and smarten myself up. From now on I must dress differently to please my bride.

PLUCK:
No good will come of it.

GHERARDO:
What do you mean?

PLUCK:
You’re already starting to do what she tells you. I can see who’s going to wear the breeches in this household.

GHERARDO:
Go to Marco’s scent shop, and buy me a flask of civet. From now on I must be the young lover about town.

PLUCK:
Where’s the money for it?

GHERARDO:
Here’s a bolognino. Be quick. I’ll start back home.

(Exits to his own house.)

Scene 5

PLUCK, then STOKE, servant to Virginio

PLUCK:
If anyone wanted to collect up every possible aspect of idiocy and shut them all in a bag, he’d only have to pop my master into it and the job would be done. It’s even worse now he’s got this love-lunacy. He combs his hair, and he plucks his eyebrows, and he struts about in front of the women, and he goes off to all-night parties with his little sword dangling, and sings all day in his creaky horrible voice with a warped old lute more out of tune than he is. And he’s started writing, too — odes, and song-its and epustules (which he’ll catch if he's not careful) and ball-ads and mad wriggles and couplings and every other kind of farce. It’s enough to make a donkey laugh, let alone a cat. And now he wants to go back to wearing civet. It curdles my balls, it really does. But here comes old Stoke: he must be back from the nuns.

STOKE:
(coming from town, not noticing Pluck) Have you seen all these old fathers sending their daughters to be nuns nowadays? Real old-fashioned simple-minded virtue, that is — from the days of Old King Cu-Cold. They seem to think the girls ’ll be grateful — imagine them spending day and night in front of the crucifix, blessing the souls of the benefactors who put them in the convent. They’re praying, all right, to God and the Devil: praying that the people who locked them away inside will break their necks.

PLUCK:
I mustn’t miss this.

STOKE:
The moment I knocked at the hatch, the whole parlour filled up with nuns in a twinkling, all as young and pretty as angels. I ask if I can see Lelia. So they start giggling here, and tittering there, all sending me up as if I was a spare sugar-stick at a wedding.

PLUCK:
Hello, Stoke, where have you been? Hey, you’ve got some sweets. Give us a few.

STOKE:
May the pox rot you, and your lunatic boss too.

PLUCK:
If you leave me out of it, be my guest. Where have you been?

STOKE:
To the Convent of the Holy Election.

PLUCK:
Oh really? How’s Lelia? Have they sent her home yet?

STOKE:
Send yourself to be hanged! Does that old wreck of a boss of yours really think he’s going to have her?

PLUCK:
Why not? Doesn’t she want him?

STOKE:
It doesn’t seem likely, does it? He’s not exactly a tender morsel for her young teeth.

PLUCK:
No, you can’t blame her, can you? What does she say?

STOKE:
Nothing at all. How could she, when I’ve not been able to see her? When I got there and asked for her, those jaileresses at the convent just tried to take the mickey out of me.

PLUCK:
It wasn’t your mickey they were after, it was your dickey. You don’t know what they’re like.

STOKE:
I know them better than you do, pox rot ’em! You should have seen them. One asks me if I fancy her, if I’d be prepared to marry her. Another says Lelia’s just out of the tub in the dormitory, being dried; so someone else says she’s being pressed in the cloister. And then another asks (imitating) ‘Did your father have any male children?’ So I nearly told them to f... find out for themselves. But in the end I saw they were teasing me to put me off, they didn’t want me to talk to Lelia.

PLUCK:
You missed your chance. You should have thrust your way in, and said you’d look for her yourself.

STOKE:
Poxing hell! Go in there alone? What do you take me for? A randy stud stallion couldn’t do their business for them without help. Nuns! I ask you. But I can’t stand here talking to you, I’ve got to report to my boss.

PLUCK:
And I’ve got to go and buy civet for mine — the lunatic!

End of Act I

Act II

Scene 1

LELIA as ‘Fabio’; FLAMMINIO, a young man in love
(They come from Flamminio’s house.)

FLAMMINIO:
It really makes no sense to me, Fabio! After all this while, you have still not been able to obtain any response from this cruel, ungracious Isabella. And yet, if she is always prepared to listen to you, and if she welcomes you so eagerly, it is hard to believe that she actually dislikes me: after all, I have never done anything which could displease her, as far as I know. You would be able to gather, wouldn’t you, from her conversation, if she had any cause to see me as her enemy? Tell me again, Fabio, please: just what did she say last night when you went there with that letter?

LELIA:
I’ve told you a dozen times over already, sir.

FLAMMINIO:
So tell me again. What concern is it of yours?

LELIA:
What concern? I’m concerned, sir, because I can see that it makes you unhappy, and that hurts me as much as it does you. Being your servant, I am supposed to try to please you at all times — and listening to these answers of hers, you might end by blaming me.

FLAMMINIO:
Don’t be afraid of that, Fabio my boy — I’m as fond of you as I am of my own brother. I know how loyal you are to me, and you can count on my standing by you always. You’ll see what I mean, in time, if you can wait just a while. But what did she say?

LELIA:
What I told you before: that the greatest favour in the world that you can do her is to leave her in peace and forget about her, because her thoughts are turned elsewhere; that she is not sufficiently her own mistress even to be able to look at you, because her eyes are slaves to another; that you are wasting your time and energy in pursuing her, because you will be left at the end clutching nothing but the empty air.

FLAMMINIO:
But do you think, Fabio, that she really means these things she says, or is it just that she’s offended with something I’ve done? Because there was a time when she seemed quite amiable towards me, and I can hardly believe that she dislikes me when she keeps accepting my letters and messages. I shall continue to plead with her, come what may. Sooner or later she will succumb. What do you say, Fabio? Don’t you think so?

LELIA:
I think not, my lord.

FLAMMINIO:
But why?

LELIA:
Because if I were in your place, I should at the very least expect to be allowed to see her. It’s not as though a man like you can be short of interested ladies — you’re well born, high-minded, dignified, handsome.... Take my advice, master: let her alone, and devote yourself to someone else who loves you. You’ll find such a one, you’ll see, and probably just as pretty as Isabella. Think now, is there no one in this town who would be glad if you were to love her?

FLAMMINIO:
More than a few, of course! There’s one in particular among all the others, called Lelia — do you know, you look amazingly like her, I’ve been meaning to say so several times. She’s reckoned to be the prettiest, the shrewdest, the most spirited girl in town. I must point her out to you one day. She would be overjoyed if I paid her some attention: she’s rich, she’s been in court, and she was my sweetheart for nearly a year. She made it clear scores of times how she felt, and then all of a sudden she went off to Mirandola. And my evil luck made me fall in love with Isabella, who has been as cold towards me as Lelia was kind.

LELIA:
Master, in that case you deserve whatever sufferings you get, because if you have someone who loves you, and you don’t appreciate her, it’s only justice that another woman should not appreciate you.

FLAMMINIO:
What do you mean?

LELIA:
If that poor young lady was in love with you before, and still loves you more than ever, why did you cast her aside to follow someone else? I don’t know if God can ever forgive such a sin. My lord Flamminio, you are doing a great wrong.

FLAMMINIO:
You’re still only a boy, Fabio, you don’t understand the strength of love. I say that I am compelled to love this Isabella; I dote on her; I cannot and I will not think of anyone but her. So you must go back and talk to her, and see if you can tease out of her just what it is that I’ve done that makes her refuse even to see me.

LELIA:
You are wasting your time, sir.

FLAMMINIO:
My time is my own to waste.

LELIA:
It will be no use.

FLAMMINIO:
So be it.

LELIA:
Let her go, sir — I’m sure I’m right.

FLAMMINIO:
I cannot. Go along now, if you please.

LELIA:
Very well then, but....

FLAMMINIO:
Come back straight away with her answer. I’m going as far as the Cathedral.

LELIA:
At the first suitable moment I’ll approach her.

FLAMMINIO:
Fabio, if you succeed in this, you can name your own reward.

(Flamminio exits to town.)

LELIA:
He’s away just in time. Here’s Pasquella on her way to find me.

Scene 2

PASQUELLA, servant to Gherardo; LELIA as Fabio
(Pasquella enters from Gherardo’s house.)

PASQUELLA:
(to audience) I don’t think there’s anything more troublesome in the world, for someone like me, than to be in the service of a young woman in love. And it’s even worse with one like my mistress, who doesn’t have to worry about a mother, or sisters, or anyone else who might find out. The last few days she's been getting so itchy and so frantic, there’s no peace by night or by day. She keeps scratching away at her... pincushion, kneading at her thighs, one minute she dashes to the window, then downstairs, then up again; she won’t stand still for a minute, you’d think she had quicksilver on her feet. Lord save us! I don’t know, I’ve had my share of being young and in love, and I’ve done some things in my time; but I did use to sit down occasionally. It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d latched on to a man of some substance and experience, who knew what he was up to and could scratch her itch for her properly! But she’s gone all soft over a silly little boy who’s hardly got the sense to do up his own breeches without some help. And she keeps sending me out after this handsome swain at all hours of the day, as though I hadn’t enough to keep me busy in the house. And while all this is going on, his boss still thinks that he’s just acting as a go-between. But there he is, coming this way. That’s a piece of luck! Fabio, a very good day to you. I was on my way to find you, my sweetheart.

LELIA:
And a thousand ducats to you, Pasquella my love. And what is your beautiful mistress up to? What did she want me for?

PASQUELLA:
What do you think she’s doing? She’s weeping, she’s wilting, she’s wasting away, because you haven’t paid her a call yet this morning.

LELIA:
Does she expect me to turn up before it’s even light?

PASQUELLA:
I think she’d like it even better if you stayed with her all night.

LELIA:
Not likely! I’ve got other things to do. I’ve got to wait on my master, haven’t I?

PASQUELLA:
Oh, I’m sure your master wouldn’t miss you if you came here. After all, you don’t sleep with him — or do you?

LELIA:
I wish to Heaven I were that much in his favour! Then I wouldn’t be in the trouble I’m in now.

PASQUELLA:
Come on, now! Wouldn’t you rather sleep with Isabella?

LELIA:
Not I.

PASQUELLA:
Hey! You’re having me on.

LELIA:
I wish I were.

PASQUELLA:
Well, anyway.... My mistress begs you to come to her straight away, because her father has gone out and she wants to talk to you about something important.

LELIA:
Tell her that if she doesn’t get rid of Flamminio, she’s wasting her time: she knows quite well that it would be all up with me if I were found cheating my master.

PASQUELLA:
Come and tell her yourself.

LELIA:
I tell you I’m busy. Didn’t you hear?

PASQUELLA:
Busy with what? Go on, pop in for a moment: you don’t have to stay long.

LELIA:
Stop pestering me, for goodness sake. Take yourself off.

PASQUELLA:
You won’t come, then?

LELIA:
No, I’ve told you. How many more times?

PASQUELLA:
Well really, I must say, young Fabio, you think a great deal of yourself. If you want my opinion, you’re just a silly child who doesn’t know when he’s well off. You’re not always going to be mooned over like this, you know. Those whiskers will come, sooner or later; and then you won’t have your tender pink cheeks and your little rosebud lips, and there won’t be quite so many people chasing after you, will there? The you’ll realize what a fool you were, and you’ll be sorry when it’s too late. How many men do you think there are in this town who would give anything for Isabella just to throw a glance in their direction? And all you can do is turn your nose up — talk about pearls before swine!

LELIA:
Why doesn’t she throw them a few glances, then? Perhaps she’d leave me in peace.

PASQUELLA:
Good God! I know young men are not supposed to have much sense, but....

LELIA:
Come on now, Pasquella! Stop preaching at me, you’re only making things worse.

PASQUELLA:
You supercilious little urchin, you'll be sorry when you get off your high horse! (Changing tone) Oh come on now, Fabio my love, my honeybunch! Come and see her, do me a favour; otherwise she’ll only send me out after you again, she won’t even believe I found you the first time.

LELIA:
All right! Go along now, Pasquella, I’ll come. I was only teasing you.

PASQUELLA:
When, my sweetheart?

LELIA:
Soon.

PASQUELLA:
How soon?

LELIA:
Right away. Go on, now.

PASQUELLA:
I’ll be waiting for you on the doorstep.

LELIA:
Yes, yes, all right!

(Exit)

PASQUELLA:
Hey! Do you hear me? If you don’t come soon, I’ll give you what for!

Scene 3

LILIAS, a Spanish soldier; PASQUELLA

LILIAS:
Por mi vida! Hhere I see before me ze anthient and fortunate vooman hhose mistress is ze hhandsomest señorita in all zis thitty[N]
X
Nota del traductor

"thitty"

Lilias’s pronunciation: A double ‘h’ is used to represent a guttural ‘ch’ sound, as in Scottish ‘loch’ or the first sound of Spanish junta, gente. An accent on a vowel indicates a stressed syllable; and a dieresis over an ‘e’ (‘possethiónës’) shows that it is pronounced as a separate syllable.

. If only I could make ze occasión to strike up a conversathión viz hher, in secret and vizout testimonies! I svear by ze chastity of all ze hholy priests in Rome zat I vould make hher sqveal like a cat in ze hhayloft! I shall try my blandishments upon hher, and dethieve zis shoddy and corrupt old hhag into giving me all her possethiónës. Buenos días, señora Pasquella, flower of hhentility! Hhwere hhave you been at zis premature hour of ze day?

PASQUELLA:
Oh! Good day to you Señor Lilias! And where are you on your way to?

LILIAS:
I go hhunting for adventura, zat I might find some vooman to bestow hher caresses upon me.

PASQUELLA:
(ironic) Of course! You Spaniards can’t get rid of them, can you? Not a single one of you that hasn’t got a dozen of us poor females just waiting on his pleasure!

LILIAS:
To speak truth, I hhave but two, dos — but I cannot visit eizer vun vizout periglo extremo, extreme peril!

PASQUELLA:
Oh really? They’ll be gentlewomen, no doubt, from the best known ‘houses’.

LILIAS:
Exactamente. But I am now in search of a matron hhoo might launder my shirts for me, repair my breeches and doublet, and treat me as hher own son — and I in my turn vould serve hher viz devothión.

PASQUELLA:
Well, keep on searching, you're bound to find someone eventually. A man who traffics with gentlewomen should have no trouble with servants.

LILIAS:
She is already found, viz your permithión.

PASQUELLA:
Who is she?

LILIAS:
Yourselve.

PASQUELLA:
What? I’m too old for you.

LILIAS:
Old? I svear by ze Virgen María of Monserrato zat I took you for an infanta of fifteen or tventy yearss! Por favor, do not speak of yourselve so, it cautheth me much pain. Consider razzer if you may do me some favor, and zen you vill see if I treat you as old or as young.

PASQUELLA:
Oh no, none of your swaggering. I’m having no truck with Spaniards. You’re like hornets, you lot: even if you don’t sting, you pester the life out of people. Dealing with you is like picking up coal: you either burn your hand or get it dirty. No good comes of mixing in your affairs.

LILIAS:
No good? Madre de Diós, you vill benefit more from me zan from ze greatest nobleman of zis town. Perhhaps I may seem in some small poverty at zis moment, but I am vun of ze best and most hhighly born hidalgos of Spain.

PASQUELLA:
(to audience) It’s a wonder he didn’t say ‘Duke’ or ‘Knight’ — all the Spaniards that come over here make out they’re lords of some kind. And look at them!

LILIAS:
Pasquella, acthept my protecthión, and you vill gain great things.

PASQUELLA:
Why, what will you give me, for heaven’s sake?

LILIAS:
I vish nothing but zat you should be my muzzer, mi madre. And I vill be your liddle son, and sometimes your hhusband too if you vish.

PASQUELLA:
Hey, leave me alone! Not likely!

LILIAS:
(to audience) She laughéd! Victory! She vill yield to my persuathiónës!

PASQUELLA:
What did you say?

LILIAS:
I vish to give you a rosary for your devothiónës.

PASQUELLA:
Where is it then?

LILIAS:
Behhold.

PASQUELLA:
Oh, but that’s a necklace! (He snatches it away.) I thought you wanted to give it to me.

LILIAS:
If you vill consent to be my muzzer, please, zen I give it to you.

PASQUELLA:
I’ll be anything you like if I can have it.

LILIAS:
Hhwen may ve hhave a liddle conversathión togezzer — chust a short time?

PASQUELLA:
Whenever you like.

LILIAS:
Hhwere?

PASQUELLA:
Oh... I don’t know where.

LILIAS:
Hhave you not in your hhouze un lugar segreto, a secret place hhwere I may insert myselve zis evening?

PASQUELLA:
Well, there is somewhere... but suppose my master found out?

LILIAS:
But no, hhe vill know nothing.

PASQUELLA:
Listen, I’ll see if there’s any way of managing it this evening. You stroll by in front of the house, and I’ll let you know if you can come or not. Give me the necklace now, it’s a real beauty!

LILIAS:
(holding on to it) Muy bien! I shall be ready and vaiting at dusk.

PASQUELLA:
Yes, yes, of course, but let’s have the beads.

LILIAS:
I shall bring zem viz me hhwen I come to your hhouze; before giving zem I vish to perfume zem a liddle.

PASQUELLA:
Oh, I’m not fussy about that. I’ll take them as they are, I don’t want them scented.

LILIAS:
But look, zis bead is broken. I must make it repairéd viz gold, and I give it to you zis evening. Is it not enough zat it vill be yourss?

PASQUELLA:
It’ll be mine when I’ve got my hands on it, and not before. That’s what comes of believing what a Spaniard says to you. It’s just like I said: getting something out of you lot is like blood out of a stone.

LILIAS:
But madre, my muzzer, hhwat are you saying?

PASQUELLA:
I’m going home, my mistress is waiting.

LILIAS:
No, vait a liddle! Hhwy so much hhurry? Hhwat business hhave you viz your mistress?

PASQUELLA:
What do you think? Young women these days fall in love before you’ve stopped blowing their noses for them. If they’re not careful, before they start learning to sew, they’ll get ‘pricked’.

LILIAS:
Qué queréis dezir?

PASQUELLA:
What’s that? ‘Rests here?’ No, she doesn’t rest here or anywhere, with the fidgets she’s got on her.

LILIAS:
But tell me, por favor, viz hhoom is she in love? It seems not posible, she is too young.

PASQUELLA:
It’s only too true. I wish it wasn’t, or I wish she’d picked on someone of her own station.

LILIAS:
But tell me, I beg you: hhoo is hhe?

PASQUELLA:
I shouldn’t talk about it, really. Well, make sure you don’t spread it around. You know that page boy who waits on Flamminio de’ Carandini?

LILIAS:
Hhwat? Zat liddle boy hhoo is dressëd all in hhwite?

PASQUELLA:
That’s the one.

LILIAS:
Váleme Diós! Is it posible? Hhwat can she expect from him? Hhe seems vun to rethieve attenthiónës, not to give zem.

PASQUELLA:
You can say that again.

LILIAS:
And zis liddle boy, hhe loves hher also?

PASQUELLA:
It’s hard to say.

LILIAS:
But su padre, her fazzer, does hhe know of zis conspirathy?

PASQUELLA:
Not as far as I can see. In fact he’s found the boy twice in his house now, and he’s made a great fuss of him — taken his hand, chucked him under the chin, as though the lad were his own son. He says he looks very like the daughter of Virginio Bellenzini.

LILIAS:
Ah, ze filthy pig, perverted old svine! Sí, sí, it is clear hhwat hhe is vanting.

PASQUELLA:
Hey, you’ve kept me here too long, I’ve got to go.

LILIAS:
Listen: I vill come tonight. Do not forget your promise.

PASQUELLA:
And you don’t forget to bring the necklace.

(Both exit, Pasquella to Gherardo’s house, Lilias to town.)

Scene 4

FLAMMINIO; SIFTER, his servant; STOKE, servant to Virginio.

FLAMMINIO:
You still haven’t been to look for Fabio, as I told you, and he hasn’t come back yet. He’s been so long, I don’t know what to make of it.

SIFTER:
I was just going, and you called me back for something else. It’s not my fault.

FLAMMINIO:
Go now, then. If you find that he’s still in with Isabella, wait until he comes out and then bring him straight back here.

SIFTER:
How am I supposed to know if he’s inside her house or not? Do you want me to ask for him at the door?

FLAMMINIO:
You stupid half-wit! Do you want to give me away? Good God, I haven’t a servant in the house who’s worth his keep, apart from Fabio. I only hope I can give him the reward he deserves. What do you say? What are you mumbling, you moron? Isn’t it true?

SIFTER:
What am I supposed to be saying? I’m agreeing with you, aren’t I? Fabio is honest, Fabio is pretty, Fabio is a good servant. Fabio in with you, Fabio in with my lady.... Fabio goes everywhere, Fabio does everything. Only....

FLAMMINIO:
Only what?

SIFTER:
(muttering) He won’t always be such a pretty piece of goods.

FLAMMINIO:
What’s that about ‘goods’?

SIFTER:
I say you shouldn’t trust him all the time with your goods. He’s only a foreigner, after all. One of these days he could diddle you and disappear with the lot.

(Enter Stoke.)

FLAMMINIO:
I wish I could trust the rest of you as much! Look, there’s Stoke; go and ask him if he’s seen the boy. I shall be at the Porrini Exchange.

(Exit Flamminio.)

SIFTER:
Hey, Stoke! Have you seen Fabio?

STOKE:
Who? That pretty boy of yours? You dirty dog, you’re on to a good thing there, aren’t you?

SIFTER:
Where are you off to?

STOKE:
Looking for my old gaffer.

SIFTER:
He just went by not long ago.

STOKE:
Which way was he pointing?

SIFTER:
Up that way. Come on, we'll find him together. Come on! I’ve got something to tell you about, a really juicy story that happened when I was in with Caterina. You’ll really crease yourself....

(They retire.)

Scene 5

PLUCK, alone

PLUCK:
There’s nothing worse than having to run errands for a boss who’s off his rocker. Gherardo sends me to buy him that civet. When I asked at the perfume shop for it, and said I only had one bolognino to pay for it, he started saying that I must have remembered it all wrong, and that Gherardo must have wanted some itch ointment — ’cause he needs plenty of that, he said, and he’s never bought civet before. So to make him believe me, I started telling him about this love affair; and he nearly died laughing, along with some young fellows that were there, and wanted me to buy him a flask of bromide. So I came away with nothing, and looking a fool into the bargain. If the boss really wants some, then next time he’ll have to cough up a bit more.

(Exit.)

Scene 6

SIFTER; STOKE; then LELIA as a boy, and ISABELLA
(Sifter and Stoke emerge with howls of laughter)

SIFTER:
There you are, what did I tell you? And if you want to come with me next time, I’ll find you another one just like her.

STOKE:
Get to work on it then: because if you can find me a girl who takes my fancy, I swear I’ll lay on a really good time for the two of us. I’ve got the keys to the granary, the cellar, the larder, and the wood store: all I need is a good bunk-up when I feel like it, and I reckon you and me could live in clover. After all, it’s the only way to get anything out of working for these bosses.

SIFTER:
Well, I’ve told you: I’ll get hold of old Bita, and get her to rustle you up a nice well-stacked little tart, and the four of us could really live it up during this Carnival.

STOKE:
But this is the last day of Carnival.

SIFTER:
Then we’ll live it up during Lent, while the bosses are day-dreaming in church listening to the sermons. Hey, hang on! Old Gherardo’s front door is opening. Stay back here, out of sight.

STOKE:
What for?

SIFTER:
Just in case.

(Isabella and Lelia appear on the doorstep of Gherardo’s house.)

LELIA:
Now listen, Isabella, don’t forget what you’ve promised me.

ISABELLA:
And you don’t forget to come and see me again. Wait, come here, I want to tell you something.

SIFTER:
If I were in the place of that pansy, I’d show the boss a trick or two!

STOKE:
You’d taste the goods yourself before you delivered them, eh?

SIFTER:
You can say that again.

LELIA:
Is that all, then?

ISABELLA:
Listen a moment.

LELIA:
What now?

ISABELLA:
Is there anyone out there who can see us?

LELIA:
I can’t see a soul.

SIFTER:
What the hell is she after?

STOKE:
A bit over-familiar, I’d say.

SIFTER:
Let’s see.

ISABELLA:
Here a moment.

SIFTER:
They’re getting a bit close to each other.

STOKE:
So they are. I wonder....

ISABELLA:
You know, I wish....

LELIA:
What do you wish?

ISABELLA:
I wish... Come nearer.

STOKE:
Go on, nearer, you great bumpkin!

ISABELLA:
See if there’s anyone there.

LELIA:
I told you, there’s nobody.

ISABELLA:
I wish you could come back after dinner, when my father has gone out.

LELIA:
All right, I will: but when my master passes by here, you must run indoors and shut the window in his face.

ISABELLA:
If I don’t do just that, never love me more.

STOKE:
Here, where’s she putting her hand?

SIFTER:
(gleefully) Well poor old Flamminio! I told him, didn’t I? I must have second sight.

LELIA:
Good-bye.

ISABELLA:
Wait, must you go?

STOKE:
Kiss her, pox rot you!

SIFTER:
He’s afraid someone will see.

LELIA:
Shouldn’t you get back indoors now?

ISABELLA:
Please, I want a favour from you.

LELIA:
What?

ISABELLA:
Step inside the door a moment.

STOKE:
They’re off!

ISABELLA:
You’re very shy.

LELIA:
Someone will see us.

(Isabella kisses ‘Fabio’.)

SIFTER:
Hey, hey, hey hey! Holy smoke! How about one for me, now?

STOKE:
I told you he’d kiss her.

SIFTER:
And I’m telling you I’d rather have seen that kiss, with you as witness, than earn a hundred crowns.

STOKE:
I saw it, all right! I wish I’d felt it too.

SIFTER:
Now what is the boss going to do when he finds out?

STOKE:
Bloody hell! You’re not going to tell him?

ISABELLA:
Forgive me. You’re too handsome, and I love you too much, so I’ve done what I shouldn’t, and perhaps now you’ll despise me. But God knows I couldn’t hold back any longer.

LELIA:
You need not explain yourself to me, my lady; I know how it is with me too, and how much I have been led to do by too much love.

ISABELLA:
What have you done?

LELIA:
What? Oh... I have deceived my master, and it is not right.

ISABELLA:
To hell with your master!

SIFTER:
And that’s what you get for trusting a tart! It serves him right. No wonder the snooty little fop was trying to persuade him to give her up.

STOKE:
The Lord helps those who help themselves — and he’s helping himself with a vengeance! They’re all the same, these women, when you get down to it.

LELIA:
It’s late, and I have to find my master. God be with you.

ISABELLA:
Wait.

(Another kiss.)

SIFTER:
Wheeee! And one for luck! You wait, my pretty boy, it won’t taste so nice in an hour or two!

STOKE:
(adjusting his dress) Jesus Christ, I’ve grown an extra leg!

LELIA:
Lock the door, now. Good-bye.

ISABELLA:
Do what you like with me!

LELIA:
I’m all yours. (Isabella goes in and shuts the door.)
I don’t know what I’m going to do. On the one hand I’m having the time of my life, bamboozling that silly wench into thinking I’m a man; on the other hand, I’m getting into a mess, and I don’t know how to get out of it. She’s got as far as kissing now, and she’ll try to go further when she gets the chance; and that will expose my weak point, and the whole trick will fall apart. I must get to Clemenzia and ask her what I ought to do next. But there’s Flamminio coming.

(She withdraws to wait for him.)

SIFTER:
Listen, Stoke, the boss said he’d wait for me at the Porrini Exchange. I’m going to give him this piece of good news. If he doesn’t believe me, you must back me up and say I’m not a liar.

STOKE:
All right, I owe you a favour. But if I were you, I’d keep quiet about it. You’ll have it as a hold over Fabio, and he’ll have to let you do whatever you want.

SIFTER:
No, you’ve got it all wrong. I can’t stand the bastard, he’s ruined me with the boss.

STOKE:
Do as you like then.

(Exeunt into town.)

Scene 7

FLAMMINIO; LELIA as Fabio

FLAMMINIO:
Is it possible, though, that I have so little control and so little self-respect that I insist on loving that woman against her will? Dancing attendance on someone who torments me, who ignores me, who won’t even favour me with a glance? Am I so soft and spiritless that I cannot rid myself of this shame and this suffering? But there is Fabio. Well, what have you managed to achieve?

LELIA:
Nothing.

FLAMMINIO:
Why did you take so long? You’re getting to be as bad as those other layabouts.

LELIA:
I had to wait around to try and speak to Isabella.

FLAMMINIO:
Then why didn’t you speak to her?

LELIA:
Because she wouldn’t listen. And if you were to take my advice, you’d cut your losses and turn your mind elsewhere; because, from what I’ve been able to gather so far, you are wasting your time. She is determined not to do a single thing that you want.

FLAMMINIO:
I won’t give in, I don’t care who says so! Do you know, I was passing by there just now, and the moment she saw me she leapt up from the window with such fury and contempt that you’d think she’d seen something horrible or frightening.

LELIA:
Let her go, I tell you. Is it possible that in all this city there can be no one who deserves your love as well as she does? Have you never loved anyone else?

FLAMMINIO:
If only I had not! I’m afraid that this might be the cause of all my troubles. Because I told you, I was very much in love once before with that girl Lelia, Virginio Bellenzini’s daughter. I’m afraid that Isabella suspects that this affair is still going on, and that’s why she won’t look at me. But I shall make it clear that I don’t love Lelia any longer — I hate her, in fact, I can’t bear to hear her mentioned. I’ll make any promise Isabella wants never to go near her again. You can go and tell her so.

LELIA:
Aaaah!

FLAMMINIO:
What’s the matter? You look as if you’re going to faint. What is it?

LELIA:
Ahi!

FLAMMINIO:
Where does it hurt?

LELIA:
Ahi! My heart!

FLAMMINIO:
How long have you been feeling it? Lean on me a moment. Have you hurt yourself somewhere?

LELIA:
No, sir.

FLAMMINIO:
Does your stomach feel weak?

LELIA:
No sir, I said it’s my heart that hurts.

FLAMMINIO:
So does mine, my poor boy, even more! You’re quite pale. Go straight home, get a warm cloth put against your chest, and have yourself rubbed down: that’s probably all you need. I’ll be there quite soon, and if it’s necessary I’ll get a doctor to come and feel your pulse and see what’s wrong. Give me your arm a moment. You’re frozen. Go along now, and take it easy. (Lelia begins to go.) What a strange thing to happen! I wouldn’t want to lose this lad, not for anything in the world. I’ve never known a servant as capable or so well-bred; and what is more, he seems so attached to me that if he were a woman I’d think he was in love with me. — Fabio, go on home, I tell you, and get yourself warm. I’ll be there soon. Tell them to get the meal ready.

(Exit)

LELIA:
Now you’ve heard, haven’t you, heard with your own ears, from his own ungrateful mouth, how much Flamminio loves you! Poor Lelia, miserable Lelia! Why do you still waste time adoring this unfeeling beast? Your patience has been of no use, nor have your prayers, nor have the favours you have shown him; and now trickery is of no use either. Look at me now! Refused, rejected, avoided, hated! Why do I seek out a man who refuses me? Why do I offer myself to a man who rejects me? Why do I seek out a man who avoids me? Why do I love a man who detests me? Flamminio! You only have eyes for Isabella. He only wants Isabella. He can have her then, he can keep her; I shall give him up, or else die. I am resolved, since he hates me so much, never to serve him again in these clothes, and never to appear in his sight. I shall go and find Clemenzia, I know she’s waiting in her house; and I’ll let her decide what is to become of me.

(Exit to Clemenzia's house.)

Scene 8

SIFTER; FLAMMINIO

SIFTER:
If I’m not telling you the truth, you can cut my tongue out, you can have me hanged if you like. I swear to you, that was how it was!

FLAMMINIO:
How long ago?

SIFTER:
When you sent me to look for him.

FLAMMINIO:
Now tell me the whole thing again from the beginning, because he says he wasn’t even allowed to speak to her.

SIFTER:
Well he’s not going to admit it, is he? I’ve told you: I was spying to see if he was hanging round her house, and I saw him come out of it. He was just about to leave, and Isabella called him back in again. They looked to see if there was anyone outside who could see them, didn’t see anybody, and started kissing each other.

FLAMMINIO:
How was it they didn’t see you?

SIFTER:
I’d slipped back into that porch opposite. They couldn’t see me.

FLAMMINIO:
How could you see, then?

SIFTER:
With my eyes. What do you think I saw them with, my elbows?

FLAMMINIO:
And you say he kissed her?

SIFTER:
I don’t know if she kissed him or he kissed her, but I reckon one of them kissed the other.

FLAMMINIO:
Were their faces close enough for them to kiss each other?

SIFTER:
I don’t know about their faces. Their lips were.

FLAMMINIO:
What does that mean? Could they put their lips close to each other without their faces?

SIFTER:
Well, I suppose they could if their mouths were in their ears or their necks, but otherwise... no.

FLAMMINIO:
You’d better be sure of what you saw. Don’t come later saying ‘Well, I think I saw them....’ This is a really big matter, you know.

SIFTER:
I’ve seen bigger things. There’s that giant that rings the bell on the tower in Siena....

FLAMMINIO:
How did you see them?

SIFTER:
By being awake, with my eyes open, hanging around to see and with nothing to do but look.

FLAMMINIO:
If it’s true, you’ve been the death of me.

SIFTER:
It is true. She called him, she stepped close to him, she hugged him, she kissed him. So if you want to die, then die.

FLAMMINIO:
No wonder the traitor said he’d never been inside! Now I know why the little filth kept urging me to leave her: so he could enjoy her himself. By God, if I’m any sort of a man, I’ll make such an example of him that no servant will cheat his master again as long as this town stands! But I’m not going to believe you until there’s some other proof. You’re a bad lot yourself, and you’ve got it in for Fabio – you’d do this to make me get rid of him. But by the holy God above, I’ll get the truth out of you or kill you. Come on, now! You really saw this?

SIFTER:
Yes sir.

FLAMMINIO:
He kissed her?

SIFTER:
They kissed each other.

FLAMMINIO:
How many times?

SIFTER:
Twice.

FLAMMINIO:
Where?

SIFTER:
In her hallway.

FLAMMINIO:
You’re lying in your teeth. Just now you said in the doorway.

SIFTER:
I meant near the doorway.

FLAMMINIO:
Tell the truth!

SIFTER:
Ahi, ahi! I wish I hadn’t told you anything!

FLAMMINIO:
Was it the truth?

SIFTER:
Yes sir. But I forgot, there was a witness.

FLAMMINIO:
Who was that?

SIFTER:
Stoke, Virginio’s servant.

FLAMMINIO:
Did he see all this too?

SIFTER:
Just like I did.

FLAMMINIO:
And suppose he won’t admit it?

SIFTER:
Then you can kill me.

FLAMMINIO:
I shall.

SIFTER:
And if he does admit it?

FLAMMINIO:
Then I’ll kill both....

SIFTER:
No! Why?

FLAMMINIO:
I don’t mean you two — Isabella and Fabio.

SIFTER:
And burn the whole house down, with Pasquella and the rest inside!

FLAMMINIO:
We’ll go and find Stoke. If I don’t pay him out.... I won’t have it said.... the whole town will see if I.... I’ll have such a revenge! The traitor! That’s what comes of trusting....

(Exeunt)
End of Act II

Act III

(Towards noon)

Scene 1

FABRIZIO, Virginio’s young son (the image of Lelia); MASTER PETER, his tutor; SQUINT, their servant

MASTER PETER:
This city seems completely altered since I was here last. Mind you, I was only passing through with the legation from Ancona, and we stayed at the Guicciardini Inn. But we did stay for about a week. Do you recognize any part of it, Fabrizio?

FABRIZIO:
I might just as well never have set foot here.

MASTER PETER:
Well, of course, you were so little when you left, it’s not surprising, is it? But I think I do recognize this street. That’s the Rangoni palace; this is where the great canal goes underneath; and look, there’s the Cathedral at the end. See? And you know they call their Town Hall the Mayory — so there’s that saying about a person who thinks a lot of himself, ‘He thinks he’s the Hairy Mayory of Modena’.

FABRIZIO:
Of course. Is it here?

MASTER PETER:
Take a look up there, on the Cathedral.

FABRIZIO:
Is that the Hairy Mayory?

MASTER PETER:
That’s right.

FABRIZIO:
But it’s a joke!

MASTER PETER:
Well, there you are then.

FABRIZIO:
What’s that other saying — ‘taking the bear to Modena’, for going on a wild goose chase? What does that mean? What bear is it?

MASTER PETER:
Those are venerable proverbs de quibus nescitur origo — of which the origin is not known.

FABRIZIO:
Do you know, Master Peter, there’s something about this city which agrees with me.

SQUINT:
And there’s something that agrees with me, too. I can smell some meat roasting somewhere, that’s making my mouth water.

MASTER PETER:
(ignoring Squint) Well, what did my old teacher Cantalicius say? ‘Dulcis amor patriae’ — sweet is the love of one’s own homeland. And Cato too: ‘Pugna pro patria’ — fight for your country. Hic, haec, hoc. When all is said and done, there’s nothing sweeter than home.

SQUINT:
Oh yes there is, teacher — Trebbiano wine. And I could do with a flagon of it right now. I’m getting a dropped shoulder carrying this trunk.

MASTER PETER:
These streets must be newly paved. When I was here last, they were all filthy and muddy.

SQUINT:
Are we going to stand around here and count the bricks? It’ll take some time. How about shifting ourselves, double quick, to somewhere where we can have some dinner?

MASTER PETER:
(primly) Iamdudum animus est in patinis — his soul is already among the saucepans.

FABRIZIO:
What’s that coat of arms with those gimlets on?

MASTER PETER:
That’s the badge of the Commune, they call it the Screw. Just as in Florence they use the Marzocco lion as their rallying cry, and in Venice they rally to St. Mark, and in Siena to the emblem of the she-wolf, here in Modena they rally round the Screw.

SQUINT:
I’d rather we started thinking about rallying round the Stew.

FABRIZIO:
I know that one: it’s the arms of the Duke.

SQUINT:
Hey teacher, it’s your turn to carry the luggage. I’m so parched I can hardly talk.

MASTER PETER:
Don’t worry, you'll get your drink soon enough.

SQUINT:
When I’m dead, which won’t be long at this rate, you’ll be able to boil an egg in my gurgling guts.

FABRIZIO:
Well anyway, judging by first impressions, I really like this city. How about you, Squint?

SQUINT:
Oh yes, master, it’s just like being in Paradise among the angels — nobody ever seems to need food and drink. Come on, now! Don’t let’s waste any more time sight-seeing, there’ll be plenty of chances for that later.

MASTER PETER:
The Cathedral here has the most superb bell-tower you could possibly find in the compass of this world.

SQUINT:
Is that the one the citizens wanted to make a cover for, a sort of sheath? The one that's supposed to turn you mad if you stand in its shadow?

MASTER PETER:
That is correct.

SQUINT:
In that case, I’m not setting foot outside the kitchen. You can go and see it, if you're that daft. Now let’s find somewhere to stay.

MASTER PETER:
You’re in a great hurry!

SQUINT:
Poxing hell, I’m dying of hunger! All I’ve eaten today was a half chicken that someone left in the river boat.

FABRIZIO:
Should we ask somebody to show us where my father’s house is?

MASTER PETER:
No. I think we should find accommodation at a hostelry first, settle down, and then try and trace him at our leisure.

FABRIZIO:
As you wish. This must be where the inns are.

Scene 2

FABRIZIO; MASTER PETER; SQUINT; two innkeepers, EASY and WHISK

EASY:
Well now, gentlemen! If you’re looking for lodging, here is the very place! At the sign of the Looking Glass!

WHISK:
Welcome back to Modena! You’ve stayed with me before, haven't you? Don’t you remember your old friend Whisk, at your service as always? Come along in, gentlemen, all travellers of your standing lodge here.

EASY:
Why not come and lodge with me? I can offer good rooms, a good fire, excellent beds and fresh linen. You’ll not go short of anything you’ve got....

SQUINT:
I should hope not!

EASY:
Er... that is, of anything you want.

WHISK:
I can give you the best wine in Lombardy, nice plump partridges, good solid salami, pigeons, chickens and whatever else you ask for — you'll be able to feast yourselves.

SQUINT:
That’s what I’m after!

MASTER PETER:
(to Easy) And what do you say?

EASY:
I can give you calves’ sweetbreads, mortadella, fine mountain wine — all the choicest, most delicate fare there is.

WHISK:
If you come to me, you’ll get less delicacy and more food. I’ll feast you like lords, and leave you to set a fair price. If you go to the Looking Glass, he’ll charge you separately for every candle you use. It’s up to you.

SQUINT:
(to Fabrizio) Let’s go here, boss, it’s better.

EASY:
Come to me, if you want proper treatment. Do you want people to know that you’re lodging at the sign of the Fool’s Cap?

WHISK:
My Fool’s Cap is a hundred times better than your Mirror!

MASTER PETER:
Speculum Prudentiae significat: ‘Nosce teipsum’. Do you follow me, Fabrizio?

FABRIZIO:
Yes: ‘The mirror of Prudence teaches us to know ourselves’.

WHISK:
(to Easy) Who gets the most custom — you or me?

EASY:
But who gets the best custom, the people of quality?

WHISK:
Where are they fed better?

EASY:
Where are they nourished more delicately?

SQUINT:
What’s all this ‘delicate’ rubbish all the time? What I want is more food for my belly, and less of this ‘delicate’ stuff. All this finicky eating is for ruddy Florentines.

EASY:
Indeed, sir, the Florentine travellers always stay with me.

WHISK:
They used to, you mean. For the last three years they’ve been coming to me instead.

EASY:
(to Squint) Come now, my good man, why don't you put that trunk down in here? It must be breaking your back.

SQUINT:
Don’t worry about me. I’m not resting my back until I can be sure of my belly.

WHISK:
Would a pair of capons suit you? (Calls inside) Bring them out! These can be just for you.

SQUINT:
No, really? Well, perhaps just for starters.

EASY:
Look at the colour of this ham, gentlemen, it’s like crimson silk!

MASTER PETER:
(acting the conoisseur) Not bad at all.

WHISK:
Who’s the expert on wine?

SQUINT:
I am — better than any Frenchman.

WHISK:
Taste this, and see if it appeals to you. If not, I can offer you a dozen others.

SQUINT:
Whisk, my old mate, I like your style. That other fellow sets you up to drink before he even knows which wine is right for you. (Tastes the wine) Oh boss, it’s great! (To Whisk) Here you are, in with the trunk.

(He moves towards the Fool’s Cap.)

MASTER PETER:
Not quite so hasty. (To Easy) What have you to say?

EASY:
I say that gentlemen of quality do not wish simply to eat as much as they can. They eat modestly, and choose only the best.

SQUINT:
He sounds as if he’s running a workhouse, or a hospital.

MASTER PETER:
(To Easy) I like your words, friend. What can you offer us?

EASY:
Anything you choose.

WHISK:
I’m surprised at you gentlemen. When the supply is plentiful, a man can eat as little or as much as he likes: if there is only a little to start with, he hasn’t got the same choice. And then, once you have started, your appetite often turns out to be greater than you thought, and you need to fill up the corners with bread.

SQUINT:
Impeccable logic! Spoken like a judge! I never saw a man who understood me so well. Whisk, you and me are blood brothers.

WHISK:
Just step into the kitchen then, brother, and have a look round.

MASTER PETER:
Omnis repletio mala, panis autem pessima — All satiety is harmful, but that of bread is worst.

SQUINT:
Pedantic poof! I’ll knock your teeth in one day, if I live long enough.

(He goes into the kitchen of the Fool’s Cap.)

EASY:
Why not come inside, gentlemen? It’s not wise to stand about in the cold.

FABRIZIO:
Oh come now, we’re not such easy freezers as that.

WHISK:
I must tell you gentlemen that the Looking Glass Inn used to be the best house in Lombardy. But since I opened up under the sign of the Fool’s Cap, he doesn’t get more than a dozen clients a year, and my sign is now more famous throughout the world than any other inn you can name. The French come here in droves, and the Germans too, to a man.

EASY:
That’s a lie: all Germans lodge at the sign of the Pig-Sty.

WHISK:
I get all the trade from Milan, from Parma, from Piacenza....

EASY:
And I get all the trade from Venice, from Genoa, from Florence....

MASTER PETER:
Where do the Neapolitans lodge?

WHISK:
With me.

EASY:
Rubbish. Most of them go to the Bed of Venus.

WHISK:
There’s still plenty who come to me.

FABRIZIO:
Where does the Duke of Amalfi lodge?

EASY:
Sometimes at my place, sometimes at his; sometimes at the sign of the Sword, and sometimes at the Bed of Venus. Just as his lordship pleases.

MASTER PETER:
We come from Rome: where do the Romans stay?

EASY:
They come to me.

WHISK:
That’s a lie. You won’t find a single one there from one year’s end to the next. Or rather, it’s true that some of the older Cardinals still go there out of habit; but all the newer ones head straight for the Fool’s Cap.

SQUINT:
(emerging) I’m not stirring out of here, not even if you carry me. These two can go where they like. Boss, you should see inside the kitchen. (Rhapsodical) There’s loads of pots all round the fire, full of everything you can think of: soups and sauces and gravies, and there’s spits full of partridges and thrushes and pigeons, roast kid, capon boiled, roast and stewed, marinades, pastries, pies — you’d think they were expecting a second Carnival, or the Pope’s whole household for the night.

WHISK:
Have you had a drink yet?

SQUINT:
And the wines, boss, the wines...!

MASTER PETER:
Variorum ciborum commistio pessimam generat digestionem — A mixture of various commestibles causes gross indigestion.

SQUINT:
(furious) Horum scorum cretinorum fetchat cloutat lug-holibus! What a wet bloody blanket you are! The pox rot you, and all the rest of you schoolmasters! You’re about as cheerful as the municipal hangman. Come on, boss, let’s go inside.

FABRIZIO:
Where do the Spaniards lodge?

WHISK:
I don’t get mixed up with that lot. They can stay where they belong, at the sign of the Fiddle. But we don’t need to chatter any longer. There isn’t a traveller on the road who doesn’t rest under this sign here. Except the folk from Siena, of course, who count as honorary citizens of Modena, and have a dozen friends to put them up at home the moment they arrive in town. Otherwise, lords and masters, rich and poor, soldiers and gay companions, all come running to the sign of the Fool’s Cap.

EASY:
But the learned doctors, the judges, the friars, and all virtuous men come under my sign.

WHISK:
And yet it’s surprising how, after a few days, some of those who started off at the Looking Glass change their minds, and come over to stay with me.

FABRIZIO:
What shall we do, sir?

MASTER PETER:
Etiam atque etiam cogitandum — this must be pondered again and again.

SQUINT:
(an idea dawning) I’ve got it! Look out, stomach, here it comes. This time there’ll be no mistake....

MASTER PETER:
It seems to me, Fabrizio, that we’re on the brink of penury...

(obviously inclining towards the Looking Glass)

SQUINT:
Professor! The host over here has got a beautiful little boy, chubby as a cherub.

MASTER PETER:
(fatally tempted, changes his mind in a split second) Well, let’s stay here. Your father will be able to pay the bill, if we find him.

SQUINT:
Hooked him just in time. It's his weakness, it never fails. Three drinks already, and look at me. I shan’t leave that kitchen till I’ve tasted everything in it, and then I’ll sleep it off by that beautiful fire. And to hell with saving for your old age!

(They enter under the sign of the Fool’s Cap.)

EASY:
You’d better watch it, Whisk. You’re being too clever for your own good. One of these days you’ll find yourself in a punch-up.

WHISK:
Whenever you like, sunshine. It can’t be too soon for me.

(Exeunt)

Scene 3

VIRGINIO; CLEMENZIA

VIRGINIO :
(in anguished fury) Is this the way you taught her to behave? Is this the honour she does to my name? I’m the most unlucky man alive! I survive one disaster after another, and what do I find at the end of it all? I see my property without an heir! I see my household scattered, and my daughter a whore! Am I to be the laughing stock of all the riff-raff in town? Will I never hold up my head again in company? Must I be sniggered at by urchins, mocked by old men, put in plays by Sienese Academics, made an example of in stories, and have my name bandied about by every woman in Modena? They’re the biggest gossips in Italy, they’ll slaughter me with their tongues. They must all have heard by now: it only needs one to find out, and it’ll be all round the town in a couple of hours. Why did I have children? Why do I live so long, just to end with all this grief? I don’t know what to do; I don’t know which way to turn.

CLEMENZIA:
The best thing you can do is to make as little noise about it as you can, and do your best to see that she gets back home before the whole town finds out. But in any case, I’m sure that that Sister Chattery Charity wasn’t telling the truth — and I hope she chokes to death on her own lying tongue. Lelia going about in man’s clothes, indeed! Mark my words, they’re just making this all up so you’ll have to make her a nun, and leave all your property to the convent.

VIRGINIO:
What do you mean, not telling the truth? She had all the details, she even told me that Lelia’s taken service with a gentleman of this town, and that he hasn’t realized yet that she’s a woman.

CLEMENZIA:
Well, the oddest things happen, I suppose — but really, I can’t believe a word of it.

VIRGINIO:
Nor can I believe that he doesn’t know she’s a woman.

CLEMENZIA:
That wasn’t what I meant.

VIRGINIO:
It’s what I meant, though; and I’m the one who has to suffer. Though I suppose it’s my own fault, giving her to you to nurse — I knew well enough what sort of woman you are.

CLEMENZIA:
That’s enough of that, Virginio. If I’ve been something less than I should be, it was you who made me so. You know quite well that until you came along I’d never been with anyone except my husband. What I say is that you never knew how to treat a young girl like Lelia. Weren’t you ashamed at trying to marry her off to that death’s head old enough to be her grandfather?

VIRGINIO:
And what’s wrong with old men, you female thug? They’re a sight better than young ones.

CLEMENZIA:
You’re losing your grip, you know. People are beginning to spot you a mile off. No wonder they’re feeding you all sorts of tall stories, like this one....

VIRGINIO:
If I find her, I’ll drag her back home through the streets by her hair!

CLEMENZIA:
That’s right: instead of keeping your shame under your cloak, you’ll stick it up there on your forehead for all to see.

VIRGINIO:
I don’t care. Everyone is going to know in any case. I’ll wash it off again by giving her the punishment she deserves.

CLEMENZIA:
Well, do it your way, then. It won’t be your head that hurts.

VIRGINIO:
I know exactly what she’s wearing, I’ve got all the details. I’m going to keep on looking until I find her. Then she’ll get what’s coming.

CLEMENZIA:
Just as you like. I’m going, I can see I’m wasting my breath. All the same....

(Exeunt, in mid-argument.)

Scene 4

FABRIZIO; WHISK
(They emerge from the inn. Fabrizio has taken off his travel clothes, and is dressed more like ‘Fabio’.)

FABRIZIO:
While my two men are resting, I’m going to look round the town. When they get up, tell them to come in the direction of the main square.

WHISK:
You know, young master, if I hadn’t actually seen you put those clothes on, I would have sworn you were a lad from this town — a gentleman’s servant, who wears white like you are now, and is the spitting image of you.

FABRIZIO:
(joking) He must be a long lost brother of mine!

WHISK:
Could be indeed, sir.

FABRIZIO:
Can you tell my tutor to start looking around for the man we’ve come to see?

WHISK:
Leave it to me, sir.

(He goes back inside.)

Scene 5

PASQUELLA; FABRIZIO

PASQUELLA:
Bless me, there he is. I was afraid I’d have to tramp all round the town before I found him. Fabio! Thank goodness you’re here. I was coming to look for you, and you’ve saved me the trouble. Listen, sweetie, my mistress says can you come and see her now about something very important to you both. I can’t think what it can be.

FABRIZIO:
Who is your mistress?

PASQUELLA:
As if you don’t know. I must say it was a stroke of luck coming across you like this.

FABRIZIO:
I’ve not ‘come across’ anyone here yet: but if she’ll come across for me, I’ll come across her.

PASQUELLA:
There’s no spunk in either of you. I wish I was young again and had your chance to make a meal of things. If I were in your shoes, I’d have done with all your suspicions and scruples long ago. But you’ll make it in the end.

FABRIZIO:
I think your ladyship has got the wrong end of the stick. Run along, will you? You’ve mistaken me for someone else.

PASQUELLA:
Come on, Fabio my love, don’t go all offended. I’m only trying to help you along.

FABRIZIO:
I’m not offended at anything — but that’s not my name, so I can’t be who you think.

PASQUELLA:
Oh, do as you like then, the pair of you. But do you know what, sonny? There are very few to compare with her in this town, either for looks or for money. And I just wish you’d both stop dithering and get down to business: because the more I have to go chasing back and forth every day, bringing messages and taking answers, the more people are going to talk. And that won’t help either your pleasure or her reputation.

FABRIZIO:
(apart) What’s all this story, then? I can’t make it out. Either she’s off her head, or she’s got the wrong man. All the same, I’d like to see where it all leads. (To Pasquella) Let’s go, then.

PASQUELLA:
(at the door of Gherardo’s house) Wait! I think there’s someone inside. Wait around for a minute, and I’ll see if Isabella is on her own. If there’s no one, I’ll wave you to come in.

(She goes inside.)

FABRIZIO:
I’m going to see how this fairy-tale is supposed to end. Perhaps she works for some fancy whore, and thinks she’s going to wheedle a pile of ducats out of me. If that’s so, she's got a shock coming — after my apprenticeship with the Spaniards, so to speak, I’m more likely to charge her five than pay her three. One of us is going to wind up the loser, that’s for sure. I’ll stand away from the house a bit, and watch who comes in and out, to see what type of woman she is.

Scene 6

GHERARDO; VIRGINIO; [two Servants[N]
X
Nota del traductor

"Servants"

two Servants: These are not mentioned in the stage direction. But someone (in the plural) will be asked to guard Fabrizio in Scene 7. It makes most sense that those people should be Pluck and Stoke.

— PLUCK and STOKE?]; PASQUELLA reappearing later on the doorstep

GHERARDO:
No thank you very much. If that’s the way things are, you can keep her. If your daughter has done a thing like that, then the very least I can think is that she did it because she doesn’t want me. But it’s more likely that she’s already taken someone else.

VIRGINIO:
But it’s not true, Gherardo. Don’t you think I would have told you? Please don’t spoil everything we’ve arranged.

GHERARDO:
I’d ask you not to mention it again.

VIRGINIO:
Aren’t you going to honour our bargain?

GHERARDO:
Not if you’re supplying shop-soiled goods. In any case, you don’t even know if you’ll get her back: you’re trying to sell the bird while it’s still on the bush. I heard it all, when you were talking to Clemenzia — everything.

VIRGINIO:
All right: if I don’t find her again, I won’t insist. But if I do find her, won’t you agree to a wedding straight away?

GHERARDO:
Virginio, my first wife was the most respected lady in this whole city, and my daughter is as pure as a lamb. Do you think I’m going to bring into such a household a girl who has run away from her father, and who is going round other people’s houses dressed as a man, like some unmentionable trollop? Can’t you see that once I did that, I’d never find a husband for Isabella?

VIRGINIO:
It’ll all blow over after a few days. It’s not as bad as you think. No one knows about it except you and I.

GHERARDO:
And before you can turn round, the whole town will know too.

VIRGINIO:
That’s not true.

GHERARDO:
(wavering slightly) How long is it since she disappeared?

VIRGINIO:
Only yesterday or this morning.

GHERARDO:
I hope you’re right. But are you sure she’s still in Modena?

VIRGINIO:
I know it.

GHERARDO:
Well, find her, and we’ll talk about it again.

VIRGINIO:
Do you promise you’ll have her?

GHERARDO:
I’ll see.

VIRGINIO:
Give me your word now....

GHERARDO:
Not now, but....

VIRGINIO:
Please, Gherardo! Now, in all sincerity....

GHERARDO:
Not so hasty! Pasquella, what are you doing there? Where’s Isabella?

PASQUELLA:
She’s praying to her little altar, as usual.

GHERARDO:
The blessed angel! What a consolation to have a daughter who’s always on her knees! She’s an absolute treasure.

PASQUELLA:
Oh you’re so right! You wouldn’t believe how she fasts and stays awake all night, like a little saint. Her hands are never away from her beads.

GHERARDO:
Just like her poor dear mother, may she rest in Paradise!

PASQUELLA:
It’s the gospel truth. When I think of the good works that poor lady did.... She used to flagellate herself more, and wear more hairy shirts, than any woman I've ever known. And so charitable to others! If it had been up to her, she’d have taken in every passing friar, every priest, every wandering beggar who came to the door, and given them all she’d got. It was only her respect for your property, sir, that held her back.

VIRGINIO:
She had remarkable qualities.

PASQUELLA:
Do you know, she used to get up one hour, even two hours before dawn, to go and hear the early mass along with the friars at St. Francis’. She went by night so as not to attract attention, so she wouldn’t be thought a hippogriff, like some sanctimonious show-offs I could mention.

GHERARDO:
What do you mean, a ‘hippogriff’?

VIRGINIO:
I’ve never heard that word before.

PASQUELLA:
I’m sure that’s what she used to say.

GHERARDO:
You mean ‘hypocrite’, don’t you?

PASQUELLA:
Maybe that’s it. But she’ll be outdone by her daughter, you mark my words.

GHERARDO:
Let us pray that she will.

(At this point Virginio catches sight of Fabrizio, to whom Pasquella may have been signalling meanwhile.)

VIRGINIO:
Ssssst! Gherardo! Gherardo! Over there... it’s her... the, er, woman we were talking about before! Oh the shame of it! She’s seen me, and she doesn’t even try to hid or run away. Let’s get her.

GHERARDO:
Are you sure you aren’t mistaken? Perhaps it isn’t her after all.

VIRGINIO:
Of course it’s her! She’s dressed just as sister Chattery said she would be.

PASQUELLA:
This is going all wrong. I think I’m for it.

(She goes inside.)

Scene 7

GHERARDO; VIRGINIO; FABRIZIO; [two servants]

VIRGINIO:
Well good day to you, my young miss! Is this your idea of suitable clothing? A real credit to the family, aren’t you? A real consolation and support to your poor old father! I wish I’d dropped dead the moment I conceived you, rather than see you born to bury me alive under such shame. What do you think, eh, Gherardo? What do you think of your bride? A fine spectacle, isn’t she?

GHERARDO:
Not so fast with the ‘bride’ — I haven’t said....

VIRGINIO:
You wicked little slut! It would serve you right if this gentleman were to refuse you now, and break off the match. But he’s being generous enough to overlook your insane behaviour, and he’ll marry you just the same.

GHERARDO:
Now wait a minute!

VIRGINIO:
Get home this minute, you wretch! I wish I’d never got you, nor your mother ever nourished you, if this is what it was to lead to.

FABRIZIO:
Tell me, old gentleman, haven’t you any sons, or relatives, or friends in this town who ought to be looking after you?

VIRGINIO:
Look how she answers me back! What are you talking about?

FABRIZIO:
Because, seeing that you so obviously need the attentions of a doctor, I’m surprised they let you out of the house. Anywhere else they’d keep you locked up.

VIRGINIO:
I should have locked you up long ago, hussy, and skinned you alive into the bargain. Bring me a knife, someone — I’ll do it now!

FABRIZIO:
Old man, you clearly don’t know me very well, and perhaps you think you can abuse me as you like because I’m a foreigner. But as it happens I’m from Modena myself, and my father is as good a man and as well born as you are.

GHERARDO:
(to himself) She’s pretty, at least. If she hasn’t gone too far, I might decide to have her after all.

VIRGINIO:
And just why did you run away from this father of yours, and from the place where I had lodged you?

FABRIZIO:
I can’t remember you ever lodging me anywhere. As for leaving my father, I had no choice.

VIRGINIO:
Oh, really? And who forced you?

FABRIZIO:
The Spanish soldiers.

VIRGINIO:
(blenching) And where have you come from now?

FABRIZIO:
From their camp.

VIRGINIO:
From the soldiers’ camp?

FABRIZIO:
That’s right.

GHERARDO:
The whole thing is off.

VIRGINIO:
Then damn you to hell!

FABRIZIO:
Your words on your own head!

VIRGINIO:
Gherardo, please, let’s get her into your house, so nobody sees her like this.

GHERARDO:
Not me. Take her to your own house.

VIRGINIO:
For the sake of our friendship, open up the door.

GHERARDO:
No, I tell you.

VIRGINIO:
Listen here a moment. And you two (to the servants) make sure she doesn’t go away.

(He takes Gherardo aside, to confer with him.)

FABRIZIO:
(to audience) I’ve known plenty of people from Modena, and they were all a bit cracked; but I’ve never seen anyone as mad as this old fool, who wasn’t locked up and chained to the wall. And the queer way it takes him! As far as I can see, his madness makes him mistake young men for women. It’s even better than Molza’s story of the Sienese woman, whose head was so empty she thought it was a sponge — because when all is said and done, women aren’t supposed to have much sense to start with, whereas old men ought by rights to have picked up some wisdom. I shall be able to dine out on this story when Carnival comes round again. They’re coming back. Let’s see what they’ve got to say.

GHERARDO:
(returning) To tell you the honest truth, I’m still very much in two minds. Let’s find out exactly what she has done and what she hasn’t.

VIRGINIO:
(to Fabrizio) Come here.

FABRIZIO:
What can I do for you, old man?

VIRGINIO:
You’re a sordid wretch.

FABRIZIO:
Watch your tongue. I’m not going to put up with insults.

VIRGINIO:
You brazen minx!

(He lays hands on Fabrizio, who reacts violently in his turn. Gherardo and the servants intervene.)

FABRIZIO:
Hey, hey, hey!

GHERARDO:
(to Fabrizio) Don’t be so touchy, now! Can’t you see he's just lost his temper? Humour him a little.

FABRIZIO:
What does he want with me? What have I got to do with him, or with you?

VIRGINIO:
Have you still got the impudence to answer me? Whose child do you think you are?

FABRIZIO:
Virginio Bellenzini’s.

VIRGINIO:
And I wish to God you weren’t. You’re sending me to an early grave.

FABRIZIO:
An early grave, at your age? You’re lucky to have lived so long. You can call it a day whenever you like, as far as I’m concerned: you seem to have outstayed your welcome.

VIRGINIO:
Only because of you, you trollop!

GHERARDO:
Words like that don’t solve anything. Come now, my fine young miss, that’s not the way to address your father.

FABRIZIO:
They’re breeding like rabbits! Two of them now, with exactly the same disease. This is getting ridiculous.

VIRGINIO:
Laughing now, are you?

GHERARDO:
It’s not a good sign, you know, to be mocking your father.

FABRIZIO:
What have ‘father’ or ‘mother’ got to do with it? My father was Virginio, my mother was Giovanna, and that’s all the parents I ever had. You must be off your head! Do you think I’m completely alone in this town, with no friends to fall back on?

GHERARDO:
Virginio, do you know what I’m beginning to think? That perhaps this poor young lady’s brains have been disturbed by too much brooding.

VIRGINIO:
(almost eagerly) I’m afraid you’re right. I thought there was something odd right from the start, from the way she shrugged me off like that.

GHERARDO:
(retreating) Ah, but that could have a different explanation.

VIRGINIO:
What do you mean?

GHERARDO:
Once a woman has lost her virtue, there’s nothing left to restrain her.

VIRGINIO:
I think it’s more likely that her wits are a bit deranged.

GHERARDO:
The odd thing is that she knows her parents’ names, but doesn’t recognize you face to face.

VIRGINIO:
Let’s get her inside your house, since it’s close at hand. I couldn’t get her all the way back home without the whole town seeing us.

FABRIZIO:
(emerging from some unspecified business with the servants) What are those two drooling old Methuselahs up to?

VIRGINIO:
Let’s humour her gently until we get her inside the house; then we can grab her, and shut her in with your daughter.

GHERARDO:
Right, that’s the plan then.

(They both adopt wheedling attitudes.)

VIRGINIO:
Come along then, my treasure! I can’t stay angry with you for long. I’ll forgive and forget everything, as long as you behave decently in future.

FABRIZIO:
Thank you very much.

GHERARDO:
That’s a good girl, then.

FABRIZIO:
Here comes the second clown, right on cue.

GHERARDO:
Well now! It won’t do you any good to stand around chatting dressed like that. Come along inside, now. Pasquella! Open up, please.

VIRGINIO:
Come inside now, daughter.

FABRIZIO:
I would prefer not to.

GHERARDO:
Why not?

FABRIZIO:
I would rather not enter the house of a man whom I do not know.

GHERARDO:
(ironic) Well now, what a fine sense of womanly modesty!

VIRGINIO:
Didn’t I say she was virtuous, as well as beautiful?

GHERARDO:
Yes — she dresses with such restraint, too!

VIRGINIO:
(to Fabrizio) I only want a little word with you.

FABRIZIO:
Say it out here.

GHERARDO:
Come now, this isn’t proper. This is not a stranger’s house, it’s your house too, since you’re going to be my wife.

FABRIZIO:
Your wife? Why, you dirty old bu... buffer!

GHERARDO:
Your father has made all the arrangements.

FABRIZIO:
Do you think I’m some rotten little queen who lets just anybody...?

VIRGINIO:
Come now, forget it. Don’t let’s make her angry. Listen, my angel: I shan’t make you do anything you don’t want.

FABRIZIO:
Listen, old fellow, you’ve got the wrong idea about me.

VIRGINIO:
Let’s have a word about it — indoors.

FABRIZIO:
Well, why not? A dozen words, if you like. After all, why should I be afraid of you?

(Fabrizio goes into Gherardo’s house.)

VIRGINIO:
Gherardo, now you’ve got her in, let’s arrange to shut her in the bedroom with your daughter, until we can send for her proper clothes.

GHERARDO:
Just as you like, old friend. Pasquella! Bring the key of the downstairs bedroom, and call Isabella to come down.

(They all go in.)
End of Act III

Act IV

Scene 1

MASTER PETER; SQUINT

MASTER PETER:
It would serve you right if he took you out and beat you black and blue! Then you would learn to stay with him and look after him when he goes out, and not to get drunk and doze off as you did, and let him wander away by himself.

SQUINT:
And he ought to take you out and cover you with pitch and brimstone, faggots and gunpowder, and set light to you! That would teach you not to be the pervert that you are.

MASTER PETER:
Drunken hog!

SQUINT:
Ped... ped... pedant!

MASTER PETER:
Wait until I tell the young master!

SQUINT:
Wait until I tell his father!

MASTER PETER:
And just what do you intend to tell his father?

SQUINT:
What will you say about me?

MASTER PETER:
That you’re a wastrel, a hooligan, a vagabond, a delinquent, a maniac, and a drunkard. Is that enough?

SQUINT:
And I’ll say that you’re a thief, a gambler, a muck-raker, a cheat, a swindler, a quack, a boaster, a bonehead, a bigmouth, an ignoramus, a double-crosser, and a filthy sodomite. Is that enough?

MASTER PETER:
So now we know.

SQUINT:
Too right we do.

MASTER PETER:
I’ve nothing more to say. It’s beneath my dignity to bandy words with the likes of you.

SQUINT:
My God yes! I was forgetting your high-class origins. The bluest blood in Fairyland! You know damn well your father was a mule-driver, you’re even more of a peasant than I am. Look at him, for God’s sake: just because he’s learned how to say ‘quia masculinus sum’, he thinks he can lord it over the lot of us.

MASTER PETER:
‘Philosophy, thou art reduced to rags.’ Who would have thought to hear the language of divine learning — lingua latina — issue from the jaws of an ass?

SQUINT:
You’ll be the ass, if you don’t change your tune — because I’ll be weighing your back down with sticks.

MASTER PETER:
Take care, Squint, there is an end to the patience even of a philosopher: furor fit laesa saepius sapientia. One day I could lose my temper. Now let me alone, you stable-scullion, lout and arch-lout!

SQUINT:
Pedant, arch-pedant, pedantextra, pedantissimo! Is there anything worse than being a pedant? Is there a worse race of scum, or a lousier occupation under the sun? They swan around with their heads swollen like bladders, just because of being called ‘Master This’ and ‘Doctor That’; and if they see a hat being taken off half a mile away, they think it’s meant for them and salute back. Oh your very humble servant, Master Bowel, Master Turd, Doctor Squitters, Master Shitface!

MASTER PETER:
Tractant fabrilia fabri. Workmen carry their own tools with them. One can see that you’re descending to your own proper level.

SQUINT:
It’s a level that always seems to interest you.

MASTER PETER:
Get out — you’re blocking my passage.

SQUINT:
You’ve never managed to ‘block my passage’, have you? Though it’s not been for want of trying.

MASTER PETER:
I’ll be....

SQUINT:
(interrupting) And I'll C! It’s no use threatening me, sweetheart! There’s not a single piece of filth you’ve got up to that I don’t know about, and I could have you tied to a stake any time I choose. So stop trying to bugger me about.

MASTER PETER:
I have no desire to do any such thing. What do you take me for?

SQUINT:
Then I must be the first one you haven’t fancied.

MASTER PETER:
Listen, Squint, either you leave this household or I will.

SQUINT:
Come off it! How many times have you said that before? You wouldn’t leave this set-up if they rode you out on a broomstick. Where else would you find such a tasty young lad, who’ll eat with you and study with you and sleep with you like this one here?

MASTER PETER:
Heavens, as though I would be short of offers, if I chose to take them! There are people who are begging for my services!

SQUINT:
Make way for the belle of the ball! Join the queue for the next dance!

MASTER PETER:
We’d better stop this right now. Go back to the inn, and look after the master’s things. We’ll settle our accounts later.

SQUINT:
I’ll go back to the inn all right — and perhaps I’ll open an account in your name, which you’ll have to pay. (They separate.) If I didn’t give that bastard a scare from time to time, I wouldn’t be able to stand living with him. He’s as timid as a rabbit. If I stand up to him, he daren’t say a word: but if I were to let him get on top of me, he’d pin me down with the weight of his erudition. It’s a good job I know what he’s like.

(Exit.)

Scene 2

GHERARDO; VIRGINIO; MASTER PETER

GHERARDO:
As far as dowry is concerned, we’ll stick to our bargain. I’ll endow her as you please, and you add a thousand florins if your son doesn’t turn up.

VIRGINIO:
Agreed.

MASTER PETER:
If I’m not mistaken, I’ve seen that gentleman before — but I can’t think where.

VIRGINIO:
What are you staring at, my good man?

MASTER PETER:
Can it be my old master?

GHERARDO:
Let him gawp as he pleases. He’s probably a stranger here. In other towns they don’t seem to mind being stared at, and everyone’s allowed to look as he likes.

MASTER PETER:
If I am staring, sir, it is not sine causa, without good cause. Tell me, do either of you know Virginio Bellenzini, a citizen of this town?

VIRGINIO:
Yes, I know him. In fact I’m the closest friend he’s got. But what do you want with him? If you’re hoping to lodge with him, I can tell you that he has other things on his mind, and won’t have time for you, so it would be better to look elsewhere.

MASTER PETER:
But surely you yourself are the very man. Salvete, patronorum optime!

VIRGINIO:
Can you be Master Peter Hayseed, my son’s tutor?

MASTER PETER:
The very same.

VIRGINIO:
Oh my poor son! What news have you of him? Where did you leave him? Where did he die? Why have you been so long bringing the news? Did they kill him, those treacherous heathen swine? My poor son! All I had in the world! Tell me, please, quickly, my dear tutor!

MASTER PETER:
Don’t weep, master, please.

VIRGINIO:
Gherardo! Son-in-law! Here is the man who tutored my poor dear son while he was alive. Dear Master Peter! My poor, poor boy — where is he buried? Do you know? Won’t you tell me? I’m caught between longing to know and fear of hearing it spoken.

MASTER PETER:
But master, don’t cry. Why are you crying?

VIRGINIO:
Shouldn’t I weep for that sweet young boy? So quick and clever, so beautifully mannered? And those swine killed him!

MASTER PETER:
God forbid! Your son is alive and well.

GHERARDO:
(aside) That's bad news for me, if it’s true. I stand to lose a thousand florins.

VIRGINIO:
Alive and well? Can it be? But if that were true, he’d be with you now.

GHERARDO:
Virginio, do you really know this man? Might he not be some kind of swindler?

MASTER PETER:
Parcius ista viris, tamen obiicienda memento!

GHERARDO:
Eh?

MASTER PETER:
Your insinuations, sir, may recoil upon your own head.

VIRGINIO:
Come on, Master Peter, let me know something.

MASTER PETER:
During the Sack of Rome, your son was captured by a certain Captain Orteca.

GHERARDO:
Are you sitting comfortably? Here comes the fairy tale.

MASTER PETER:
And because this captain was dividing his booty with two comrades, he tried to trick them out of their share of the spoils by sending us to Siena behind their backs. But after a few days, he became perturbed: he realized that Sienese gentlemen are lovers of justice and fair dealing, that they are friends to all citizens of Modena, and above all that they are men of honour. So he feared they might take Fabrizio from him, and liberate us. Therefore, he removed us from Siena, and sent us to a castle belonging to the Prince of Piombino; and from there he made us write off over and over again — per usque millies — for the thousand ducats which he had set as ransom.

VIRGINIO:
Poor boy! At least they didn’t ill-treat him?

MASTER PETER:
Not at all, he was treated according to his station.

GHERARDO:
(aside) This looks bad for me.

MASTER PETER:
We never had any reply to the letters he made us write.

GHERARDO:
There you are! He’s getting ready to touch you for the ransom now!

VIRGINIO :
(ignoring Gherardo) Go on.

MASTER PETER:
Well, after he had transferred us to the Spanish camp at Correggio, this captain was killed, and the court took possession of all his property and gave us our freedom.

VIRGINIO:
And where is my son?

MASTER PETER:
Closer than you think.

VIRGINIO:
He’s not actually in Modena?

MASTER PETER:
Master, if I may presume to expect the traditional reward for good news — quia omnis labor optat praemium— I shall tell you.

GHERARDO:
So that’s your game, you charlatan!

MASTER PETER:
You are in the wrong, sir. I, a charlatan? Absit!

VIRGINIO:
You can have whatever you like. Where is he?

MASTER PETER:
Here, at the inn, at the sign of the Fool’s Cap!

GHERARDO:
That’s it. I can kiss good-bye to my thousand florins. But why should I care, as long as I get the girl? I’m rich enough already.

VIRGINIO:
Come on, Master Peter, I can’t wait to see him, to hug him, to kiss him, and bounce him on my knee.

MASTER PETER:
But master, he’s grown! Quanto mutatur ab illo! He’s not a little boy any more, to sit on your knee. You won’t recognize him, he’s so tall. And I don’t think he'll recognize you, you’ve changed so much. You’re wearing that beard now, which you didn’t have before, and I’d never have known you without hearing you speak. How is mistress Lelia?

VIRGINIO:
Well, thank you. She’s filled out a bit too.

GHERARDO:
What do you mean, ‘filled out’? If that’s the way things are, you can keep her — I’m not having her in that condition!

VIRGINIO:
Calm down! All I meant was that she’s grown into a woman. Master Peter, I have not yet given you the embrace you deserve.

MASTER PETER:
Master, I don’t want to boast unduly, but the things I've done for your son... well, you’d never imagine. And he’s deserved it all, he’s been as good as gold. Always amenable, always bending to my will.

VIRGINIO:
Has he kept up with his studies?

MASTER PETER:
He’s never wasted time when circumstances permitted: per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum....

VIRGINIO:
Call him out now, and don’t say anything. I want to see if he’ll know me.

MASTER PETER:
He went out of the inn a little while ago. Let’s see if he's come back yet.

Scene 3

MASTER PETER; SQUINT; VIRGINIO; GHERARDO

MASTER PETER:
(calls into the inn) Squint! Hey, Squint! Has Master Fabrizio come back?

SQUINT:
Not yet.

(He emerges, drunker than ever; perhaps with Whisk supporting.)

MASTER PETER:
Come here, and say a few words to the old master. This is Master Virginio.

SQUINT:
Have you cooled down yet?

MASTER PETER:
Of course. You know I can’t stay angry with you for long.

SQUINT:
Just as well.

MASTER PETER:
Now give your hand to Fabrizio's father.

SQUINT:
You give me your hand, then.

MASTER PETER:
I don’t mean me. I mean this gentleman here.

SQUINT:
Is this our young master’s father?

MASTER PETER:
That’s right.

SQUINT:
Most noble and generous master, you have arrived just in time to pay the bill. Welcome, sir.

MASTER PETER:
This man was a faithful servant to your son.

SQUINT:
What do you mean, ‘was’? I haven’t stopped being one, have I?

MASTER PETER:
No.

VIRGINIO:
God bless you, my fine lad! And be sure that those who have loyally kept him company will have their reward.

SQUINT:
Boss, there’s only one thing I want in the whole world.

VIRGINIO:
Ask, and it’s yours.

SQUINT:
Buy me a place as apprentice with the landlord of this tavern here. He’s the best drinking companion a man ever had, and the best stocked and the wisest, and understands a traveller’s needs better than any landlord I’ve ever met. This is heaven on earth, boss, I don’t want to go anywhere else.

GHERARDO:
He’s certainly got a reputation for his table.

VIRGINIO:
Have you dined today?

SQUINT:
Only a little.

VIRGINIO:
What have you had?

SQUINT:
Oh, just a brace of partridges, half a dozen thrushes, a capon, a piece of veal, and I’ve only drunk two flagons.

VIRGINIO:
Whisk, give him whatever he wants, and I’ll pay for it all.

MASTER PETER:
Well, what do you want?

SQUINT:
(Spanish accent, miming elaborate reverences) I kees your hhandos, señoros! That’s the kind of boss for me, professor! Master Peter, you’re a mean man, you always want to keep everything for yourself. You’ve been told over and over again. Whisk! Bring these gentlemen a little drink.

MASTER PETER:
Not for me, thank you.

SQUINT:
You’ll drink it when it comes. I’m paying. (Whisk comes out with drinks and snacks.)
What do you think I am? Here, a few sweetbreads, a slice of sausage.... Go on, professor, drink up.

MASTER PETER:
Very well then, if it means that we’ve made peace with each other.

SQUINT:
God, that’s good stuff! And boss, you must love and cherish this schoolteacher, whose eye your son is the apple of.

VIRGINIO:
God give him all prosperity.

SQUINT:
You first, boss, and God afterwards. (To Gherardo) Another drink, your worship?

GHERARDO:
(his mind on other matters) Never mind about me.

SQUINT:
Why don’t we all go inside, and wait for Fabrizio in the inn? And then, if supper’s ready, we could all have it here this evening.

MASTER PETER:
Yes, perhaps that would be best.

GHERARDO:
I think I shall leave you — I have things to see to at home.

VIRGINIO:
(confidentially) You’ll make sure she doesn’t get away?

GHERARDO:
That’s just what I had in mind.

VIRGINIO:
She’s all yours, do what you like with her. I give you a free hand.

(All except Gherardo go into the inn.)

GHERARDO:
Well, I suppose one can’t expect to have everything. Never mind. But if my eyes aren’t playing me tricks, that’s Lelia herself, out in the street. That good-for-nothing maid must have let her get away.

Scene 4

LELIA as ‘Fabio’; CLEMENZIA; GHERARDO
(Lelia and Clemenzia have come out of Clemenzia’s house.)

LELIA:
It’s no use, Clemenzia. Fortune is determined to play games with me, and then leave me with nothing.

CLEMENZIA:
You set your heart at rest, and leave matters to me, and I’ll find some way of making you happy. Come in and get those clothes off: you mustn’t be seen like that any longer.

GHERARDO:
I’m going to face her and find out how she escaped. Good day to you, Clemenzia; and to you, Lelia, my fair young bride. Who let you out of the house, then? That stupid Pasquella, I’ll be bound. I’m glad to see you came straight to your nurse, but to go on walking around in those clothes does no credit either to you or to me.

LELIA:
Oh heavens, he’s recognized me! Excuse me, sir, to who were you speaking? To Lelia? I’m not Lelia.

GHERARDO:
Come now! Just now, when your father and I shut you in with my daughter Isabella, didn’t you admit you were Lelia? And do you think now that I can’t recognize my own bride? Come along, let’s get rid of these clothes.

LELIA:
The last thing I need now is a husband!

(She runs indoors.)

CLEMENZIA:
Go back home, Gherardo, my dear. All women do childish things of one sort or another. There’s not a single one of us who doesn’t kick over the traces once or twice. But it’s better to keep quiet about these things.

GHERARDO:
Nobody’s going to hear about it from me. But how did she get out of my house, when I’d locked her up with Isabella?

CLEMENZIA:
Who? Lelia?

GHERARDO:
Of course.

CLEMENZIA:
You’re making some mistake. She hasn’t been out of my sight all day. She just wanted to put on those clothes as a dressing-up game, as young girls will: she wanted to see if they suited her.

GHERARDO:
Don’t you try to pull the wool over my eyes. I tell you that we locked her indoors with Isabella.

CLEMENZIA:
Where have you come from now?

GHERARDO:
From the Fool’s Cap tavern. I was there with Virginio.

CLEMENZIA:
Have you been drinking?

GHERARDO:
Only one small glass.

CLEMENZIA:
I should go home and have a snooze. You sound as if you need it.

GHERARDO:
Let me just see Lelia properly for a moment before I go. I want to give her some good news.

CLEMENZIA:
What news?

GHERARDO:
That her brother has come back safe and sound, and that her father is waiting to see him at the inn.

CLEMENZIA:
What? Fabrizio?

GHERARDO:
Fabrizio himself.

CLEMENZIA:
If I thought that was true, I’d give you a kiss.

GHERARDO:
Delighted, I'm sure. I’d rather you gave me the chance to give one to Lelia.

CLEMENZIA:
I must go and tell her straight away.

(She slips indoors and shuts Gherardo out.)

GHERARDO:
And I must go and tan the hide of that stupid hag who let her run away.

[But he gets distracted in some way, not explained by the authors, and goes off into town.]

Scene 5

PASQUELLA
(She rushes out of Gherardo’s house.)

PASQUELLA:
Oh good Lord almighty! I’ve had such a fright in there, I’ve had to come outside to get over it! And I’m sure that if I didn’t tell you ladies what it was, you’d never guess. I’ll tell you about it, on your own: I’m not going to tell those rotten men, they’d only split themselves laughing. Well: you know those two silly old suckers kept on saying that young man was a girl, and they shut him in the bedroom with my mistress Isabella, and gave me the key to look after. I decided to go in and see what they were up to, and I found them hugging and kissing each other like mad. I thought we’d better sort out once and for all whether he really was male or female, so my mistress held him down flat on the bed and got me to help her while she kept hold of his hands. He didn’t put up much of a struggle. So I undid him in front, and all of a sudden something goes ‘plonk’ into my hand. I didn’t stop to see whether it was a pestle or a carrot or a you know what, but whatever it was it certainly hadn’t been shrivelled by the frost. Well, my dears, the moment I saw it such a size — whoosh! — I was up and out and locked the door again. And I can tell you, I’m not going back in there alone: and if there’s anyone who doesn’t believe me, and wants to check, I’ll lend you the key. Oh Lord, there’s Lilias. Now I must see if I can trick him out of that necklace. These Spaniards reckon they’re so smart, they don’t think there’s anyone in the world who can get the better of them.

Scene 6

LILIAS the Spaniard; PASQUELLA

LILIAS:
(to audience) Zere stands Pasquella. She avaits me viz impathienth, and ze time seems to hher mucho longo, so great is hher desire for my caresses. Ze cunning hhag knows already hhow expert is an Español in ze manipulathión of vomen. Hhow much bliss my compatriótës hhave brought to zese Italian hharlots!

PASQUELLA:
(to audience) I’ve already worked out a way to leave him with the sticky end. Just you watch now.

LILIAS:
(continues) Zis sordid vashervoman thinks zat I vill give hher ze rosary. But I shall make hher so milk hher old master, zat viz hhis money I buy doublets, hhoses and shirts, two at a time! Ze honor of ze Imperador is stakëd upon my sukthess! Now I vill take my pleasure viz hher, and zen take back my rosary and say nothing; for I think she no longer remembers.

PASQUELLA:
(continues) If he once leaves that necklace in my hand, then he won’t set eyes on it ever again, if I can help it. And if he starts complaining, then I’ll get my old boy friend Pluck to give him the fright of his life.

LILIAS:
(approaching her) Blessings upon ze muzzer hhoo bore you, and hhoo made you so hermosa, so courteous, so sinthere! I think you vere vaiting for me, no?

PASQUELLA:
Ooooh, haven’t they got a way with words, these Spaniards! I’ve been waiting for you on this step for more than half an hour, just in case you passed by. My master was out, and we’d have been able to spend all that time together!

LILIAS:
I regret so much my loss, por Diós, but I hhad many things to do. Now ve go in.

PASQUELLA:
I’m a bit afraid now that the master might come back. He’s been away quite a time. I bet you’ve forgotten that necklace, eh?

LILIAS:
Not at all, my lady: it is hhere.

PASQUELLA:
Show me. Hey, you were going to get that bead repaired! Why haven’t you done it?

LILIAS:
I shall make it done anuzzer time. If I tell ze truth, I did not remember.

PASQUELLA:
It shows how much you really care about me, doesn’t it, you heartless womaniser! It makes me want to....

LILIAS:
No, no, liddle muzzer, do not be angry viz your son. You know, do you not, zat I am friend to no uzzer voman.

PASQUELLA:
It doesn’t take long to catch you out, does it? Last time you said that you had two others, two ‘gentlewomen’ mooning over you.

LILIAS:
I hhave abandonëd zem at vunce for you: I vant none uzzer zan yourselve. Do you not hhear?

PASQUELLA:
All right, I’ll believe you. Let’s see if this necklace really is a rosary. It looks rather long to me.

LILIAS:
I do not know hhow many are ze beads.

PASQUELLA:
It shows how often you say your prayers. I bet you don't even know the words of the Paternoster. Give it here a minute and I’ll count them.

LILIAS:
Take it zen — but let us go inside togezzer.

PASQUELLA:
Here, take a look round, and make sure there’s no one watching you come inside.

LILIAS:
(moves away to look) Hhere zere is nobody.

PASQUELLA:
Right. (Looks inside the door of Gherardo’s house) Oh hell, all my chickens have got out. Stop there a moment, Lilias my love, in case they try to go that way. Otherwise it’ll take me all day to catch them again.

LILIAS:
Be qvick, please.

PASQUELLA:
Cheeeeeecky, chicky, chicky, chicky! Come along, my darlings! Chk, chk, chk! (etc.) I’ll wring your ruddy necks! I’m sure one’s going to get out. Be ready to stop it, Lilias.

LILIAS:
Hhwat? Hhwere are zese chickens? I can see nothing, no cocks, no hhens.

PASQUELLA:
Can’t you see them? Look, just here. Move a moment, let me shut the door until I’ve got them back in their coop.

(She slips indoors, with the rosary, and slams the door.)

LILIAS:
Oh! But you hhave bolted and chainëd ze door! Hhwy is zis?

PASQUELLA:
(inside) So the chickens won’t open it again.

LILIAS:
Be qvick, zen. Someone might come and prevent our liddle business.

PASQUELLA:
I don’t care who comes, sweetheart, because nobody is coming in here!

LILIAS:
(catching on) You cursëd old hhore! Hhwy vill you not open?

PASQUELLA:
You know what, my treasure? First of all, I think I’m going to recite the whole of this rosary. It’ll take all the evening, so you might as well push off for now. Oh yes, and I’ve just remembered another prayer, which I never miss saying on occasions like these.

LILIAS:
Hhwat foolery is zis? Hhwat rosary? Hhwat prayer?

PASQUELLA:
You want me to teach it to you? It’s a very potent incantation for getting rid of spooks. It always works. It goes like this:
ErrorMetrica
35
Bogeyman, bogeyman,
Haunting night and day,
You came here with your tail up,
And that’s how you’ll stay.
Birds of a feather flock together.
40
You tried to bring me stormy weather.
You thought that you could worse me,
But now you're left to curse me. Amen.

LILIAS:
I do not understand zis prayer. If you vill not let me in, zen give me my rosary again and I vill go. By all ze hholy martyrs, zis lousy bawdy treacherous old hhag has dethievëd me! Madam Pasquella, open up! Qvickly, if you vish to live!

PASQUELLA:
(sings):
‘Where is my wandering boy tonight?
45
Holding some other woman tight.’
Poor me! Betrayed and abandoned yet again!

LILIAS:
Hhwat? It is not true, lady Pasquella, hhe is hhere. Your boy is hhere, vaiting for you to open.

PASQUELLA:
(sings):
‘I’m sorry, my lord, I can’t oblige this evening.’
Oh dear me!

LILIAS:
Now ze bitch is making music as if I vere not hhere. I svear to God, I vill break ze door down!

(He starts hammering at it.)

PASQUELLA:
Who’s there?

LILIAS:
Your liddle son.

PASQUELLA:
What do you want? I’m afraid the master’s out at the moment. Can I take a message?

LILIAS:
A vord viz you, please.

PASQUELLA:
You could wait there, if you like. I’m sure he won’t be much longer.

LILIAS:
Open, and I vill vait inside. She has gone avay. I svear by ze hhole vorld, zat if she does not give back my rosary, I vill burn ze hhouze down!

(He continues thumping on the door.)

PASQUELLA:
Hey! Who the hell’s that? That’s no way to behave! Who are you? Are you trying to smash the door down?

LILIAS:
By God and Saint Letania, I vill burn ze hhouze down, if you do not give me my rosary!

PASQUELLA:
I think you must have got the wrong house. There are no rose trees in this garden.

LILIAS:
I am not saying zat: I am saying my Paternosters.

PASQUELLA:
What’s it got to do with me if you’re saying your Paternosters? I learned mine a long time ago, I don’t need to practice alongside you.

LILIAS:
You filthy cowardly hhore! Do you take me for a lousy hheathen, converted only yesterday?

PASQUELLA:
You know what? If you don’t clear off from in front of this door, you’ll get a bucketful of something on your head.

LILIAS:
Throw your vater if you vill! It vill not suffice to qvench ze fire vhich I shall set to zis door! (Pasquella tips a bucket, or chamber-pot, over him from a window above.) Curse ze bitch! I am drenchëd, you lousy stinking old hhore! Hell and damnathión!

PASQUELLA:
Did I wet you? Oh dear. But here comes the master. If there’s something you want, you can ask him about it, and stop messing me about.

LILIAS:
If zat old man finds me hhere, I shall be beaten blue and black. Better to retire from ze field.

(He runs out.)

Scene 7

GHERARDO; PSAQUELLA
(Gherardo comes from town.)

GHERARDO:
What are you hanging round the doorstep for, with that Spaniard? What business have you got with him?

PASQUELLA:
He was going on about a rose tree or something. I couldn’t make head or tale of it.

GHERARDO:
Now listen to me. Why can’t you do what you’re told once in a while? I’ve half a mind to give you what for.

PASQUELLA:
What for?

GHERARDO:
Why did you let Lelia get out of the house? Didn’t I tell you not to open the door?

PASQUELLA:
What do you mean? Isn’t she in the bedroom now?

GHERARDO:
You know very well she isn’t.

PASQUELLA:
I’m quite sure she is.

GHERARDO:
And I’m quite sure she’s not. I’ve just seen her over there in Clemenzia’s house.

PASQUELLA:
But I left the two of them in that room just now. On their knees, they were. Threading beads on their rosary.

GHERARDO:
Perhaps she got back ahead of me.

PASQUELLA:
But I tell you she never got out. I can swear it. The room’s been locked the whole time.

GHERARDO:
Where’s the key?

PASQUELLA:
Right here.

GHERARDO:
Give it to me. If she’s not there, I'm going to give you the hiding of your life.

PASQUELLA:
And if she is there, will you give me a new shift?

GHERARDO:
Right, it’s a bargain.

PASQUELLA:
Let me open up, then.

GHERARDO:
(He goes in.) Oh no, I’m going to do that. You’d only pull some trick or other.

PASQUELLA:
Oh Lord, I’m afraid he’s going to find them hard at it. But it’s some time since I left them — perhaps they’ve finished.

Scene 8

FLAMMINIO; PASQUELLA; then GHERARDO
(Flamminio comes from the town.)

FLAMMINIO:
Pasquella, how long is it since my boy Fabio was here?

PASQUELLA:
Why?

FLAMMINIO:
Because he’s betrayed me, and I’m going to punish him. And since Isabella has rejected me for him, she can expect the consequences too. It’s shameful, a gentlewoman of her rank falling for a page boy!

PASQUELLA:
Oh don’t say things like that, sir. It’s only for your sake that she was kind to him.

FLAMMINIO:
You can tell her from me that she’ll soon be sorry. As for him... you see this knife? The moment I lay hands on him, I’m going to cut off his lips and his ears, and tear his eyes out, and send the whole lot to Isabella on a platter. Then she can kiss them all to her heart’s content.

PASQUELLA:
That’s all bark and no bite. You won’t mend anything with that sort of talk.

FLAMMINIO:
(He storms into his house.Gherardo come You wait and see!s running out from his own house.)

GHERARDO:
Help! Treachery! I’ve been cheated, I’ve been swindled! That lying chiselling hypocrite Virginio, he’s made a fool of me! What am I going to do now?

PASQUELLA:
What’s the matter, sir?

GHERARDO:
What’s the matter? Who is that person in with my daughter?

PASQUELLA:
But you know, don’t you? It's Virginio’s little girl, isn’t it?

GHERARDO:
Little girl, eh? That ‘little girl’ will have my daughter producing little boys, damn and blast it!

PASQUELLA:
Don’t use such language, sir! What’s the matter? Isn’t it Lelia?

GHERARDO:
No it is not Lelia, it’s a man!

PASQUELLA:
Oh what rubbish! What do you know about it?

GHERARDO:
I tell you I’ve seen with my own eyes!

PASQUELLA:
How do you mean?

GHERARDO:
Lying on top of my daughter, curse it!

PASQUELLA:
They were probably just having a little game.

GHERARDO:
I know what little game they were having.

PASQUELLA:
Are you really sure it’s a man?

GHERARDO:
Only too sure. I opened the door on them without warning, and he’d got half his clothes off, and didn’t have time to cover up.

PASQUELLA:
But are you sure you really saw everything? It might have been a woman after all.

GHERARDO:
I tell you once and for all, he’s a man! There’s enough man there for two.

PASQUELLA:
What does Isabella say?

GHERARDO:
What do you expect her to say? Oh the shame of it!

PASQUELLA:
Well why don’t you just let the young man go, and keep quiet? What are you going to do with him?

GHERARDO:
Do? I’m going to bring him up before the Governor General, and have him punished.

PASQUELLA:
Perhaps he’ll run away.

GHERARDO:
I’ve locked him in again. And here comes Virginio. Just the man I wanted to see.

Scene 9

MASTER PETER; VIRGINIO; GHERARDO
(Master Peter and Virginio come out of the inn.)

MASTER PETER:
I really don’t understand why he’s not back by now. I don’t know what to say.

VIRGINIO:
Had he any weapon with him?

MASTER PETER:
I think so.

VIRGINIO:
He’s probably been picked up by the Watch. This new Prefect of Police we’ve got won’t let a flea slip through his net.

MASTER PETER:
Surely they wouldn’t be so discourteous to a foreigner?

GHERARDO:
Good day to you, Virginio. Is this your notion of honourable behaviour? Is this how you treat your friends? A fine match you wanted to make between our two families! Who did you think you were cheating? Did you think I was just going to put up with it? You’d better watch out for yourself....

VIRGINIO:
Have you got some grudge against me, Gherardo? What am I supposed to have done? It wasn’t me who wanted to make this match. You were pestering me about it for a whole year. If you’ve changed your mind now, we’ll simply call it off.

GHERARDO:
And you’ve got the nerve to answer me back as though I were an idiot. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on? You cheating, swindling, lying crook! I’m going to take the whole matter before the Governor General.

VIRGINIO:
Gherardo, insults like that are hardly suitable for a man of your standing — and particularly when they are addressed to me.

GHERARDO:
Do you think I’m going to stand here and not even complain, you scum? Do you suppose you can get away with anything, just because you’ve got your son back?

VIRGINIO:
Scum yourself.

GHERARDO:
My God, if I were a young man again, I’d chop you into little pieces!

VIRGINIO:
Look, are you going to tell me what this is all about, or not?

GHERARDO:
You shameless ruffian!

VIRGINIO:
I’m not putting up with any more of this.

GHERARDO:
Thief!

VIRGINIO:
Forger!

GHERARDO:
Liar! Just you wait....

VIRGINIO:
I’m waiting.

MASTER PETER:
(trying to separate them) Come now, gentlemen! This is madness.

GHERARDO:
Let go of me.

MASTER PETER:
And you, sir, put your coat back on.

VIRGINIO:
Who does he think he’s dealing with? Send me back my daughter!

GHERARDO:
I’ll skin you alive, and her too.

(He runs into his house to find something to do it with.)

MASTER PETER:
What is this gentleman’s quarrel with you?

VIRGINIO:
I’ve no idea. Except that a little while ago I left my daughter Lelia in his house, because he was going to marry her. Now all of a sudden he’s making this fuss. I hope he doesn’t do her any harm.

(Gherardo rushes out of his house with a sharp implement and murderous intent. Virginio runs away.)

MASTER PETER:
(intervening) Oh come now, please, good sir! That’s an offensive weapon, you know. Really, this is going too far.

GHERARDO:
Let me get at him!

MASTER PETER:
But what is the cause of your quarrel?

GHERARDO:
That cheating swine has ruined me.

MASTER PETER:
How?

GHERARDO:
I’ll chop him to bits. I’ll rip him apart with this cutter....

MASTER PETER:
But what has he done?

GHERARDO:
Let’s go indoors, since the lying bastard has run away, and I’ll tell you the whole thing. Aren’t you his son’s tutor, who was in the tavern with us just now?

MASTER PETER:
That is correct, sir.

GHERARDO:
Come inside.

MASTER PETER:
Can I rely on your good faith?

GHERARDO:
(They go into Gherardo’s house.) Of course.

End of Act IV

Act V

(Early evening)

Scene 1

VIRGINIO; SQUINT; STOKE; GHERARDO; MASTER PETER; FABRIZIO
(Virginio, Stoke and Squint prepare to assault Gherardo’s house, with a motley array of weapons and armour.)

VIRGINIO:
Right, men, everybody follow me. That means you too, Squint.

SQUINT:
(still drunk) Are we supposed to be armed, or not? I haven’t got anything.

VIRGINIO:
Go and borrow some equipment from the inn.

(Squint goes into the Fool’s Cap.)

STOKE:
Boss, with a shield that size you ought to have a lance.

VIRGINIO:
I can’t be bothered with a lance. This is good enough for me.

STOKE:
Since you’re stripped down for duelling, perhaps you ought to have this buckler (i.e. his own rather inadequate means of defence). It would look much more dashing.

VIRGINIO:
No, this gives more protection. God, I can’t wait to get at that thieving ruffian! Goodness knows what he’s done to that poor girl. He might even have killed her.

(Squint staggers out with a kitchen spit, the meat still on it, and probably some pots and pans as armour.)

SQUINT:
This’ll do for me, boss. I’ll skewer him on this spit like a plucked woodcock.

STOKE:
What do you need the meat for?

SQUINT:
We old campaigners know that the first thing an army needs is provisions.

STOKE:
And what’s that bottle for?

SQUINT:
To refresh and sustain the troops, if their first assault is beaten off.

STOKE:
That’s just as well, ’cause it will be.

SQUINT:
Right! Let me get at ’em. I’ll have the old man and his daughter and all the household skewered side by side like a row of little kidneys over a stove. I’ll spit the old man in through his arse and out through his eyes, and all the others sideways like little roasting thrushes.

VIRGINIO:
The door seems to be open. Do you think they’ve prepared an ambush?

SQUINT:
An ambush? I don’t fancy that. If they’re in hiding, they might give us a hiding. Hey, there’s the Professor!

(Master Peter comes out of Gherardo’s house.)

MASTER PETER:
Don’t worry, Gherardo, sir! Leave it all to me, and I promise to set everything to rights.

SQUINT:
You be careful, boss! That ruddy schoolteacher’s probably deserted to the enemy. His sort always do that: they can never stand firm in a tight spot. Shall I skewer him now, and it’ll be first blood to us?[N]
X
Nota del traductor

"us?"

[Production experience suggests that this is a good moment for a scene of fairly extensive slapstick violence and mayhem, involving as many characters as possible.]

MASTER PETER:
But Virginio sir, master, why all these weapons?

SQUINT:
There you are. I told you.

VIRGINIO:
What’s happened to my daughter? Give her to me now so I can take her home. And have you found Fabrizio?

MASTER PETER:
Yes sir, I have.

VIRGINIO:
Where is he?

MASTER PETER:
He’s in here, and he’s found himself a fine wife, if you’re prepared to give your consent.

VIRGINIO:
A wife? Who?

SQUINT:
That’s quick work. We’re rich, we’re rich!

MASTER PETER:
A beautiful and well-bred young lady — Gherardo’s daughter.

VIRGINIO:
But Gherardo was trying to murder me just now!

MASTER PETER:
Rem omnem a principio audies: you shall hear the whole thing from the beginning. If you would like to come inside, we can tell you all about it. Would you come out now, Gherardo sir?

GHERARDO:
(coming out) Oh Virginio, you’ll never believe what’s happened! The most amazing chance! Come along in.

SQUINT:
Shall I spit him now, boss? But he’s too tough to be worth cooking.

GHERARDO:
Put all those weapons away, it’s a lot of nonsense.

VIRGINIO:
Can I trust you?

MASTER PETER:
I can answer for your safety, sir.

VIRGINIO:
Well then. You others go back home, get rid of your weapons, and bring me back my robe.

(Exit Squint and Stoke. Master Peter brings out Fabrizio.)

MASTER PETER:
Fabrizio, come and be re-united with your father.

VIRGINIO:
But isn’t this Lelia?

MASTER PETER:
No, this is Fabrizio.

VIRGINIO:
My son!

FABRIZIO:
I’ve waited so long for this!

VIRGINIO:
My son, I thought you were lost for ever!

GHERARDO:
Inside, everyone, and hear the whole story. And if you’re worried about your daughter, she’s safe at home with Clemenzia.

VIRGINIO:
God be praised!

(They all go into Gherardo’s house.)

Scene 2

SIFTER; FLAMMINIO; CLEMENZIA
(Sifter and Flamminio from Flamminio’s house.)

SIFTER:
But he’s in Clemenzia’s house, I tell you. I’ve seen him there, and heard him.

FLAMMINIO:
Are you sure it was Fabio?

SIFTER:
Do you think I don’t know him?

FLAMMINIO:
Let’s go there, then. And if I get my hands on him....

SIFTER:
Calm down, you’ll ruin everything. Control yourself until you can get him out of there.

FLAMMINIO:
How am I supposed to control myself?

SIFTER:
If you don’t, you’ll spoil the whole plan.

FLAMMINIO:
Let it spoil.

(Flamminio knocks at Clemenzia’s door.)

CLEMENZIA:
(inside) Who’s there?

FLAMMINIO:
A friend. Come down a moment, Clemenzia.

CLEMENZIA:
Oh! Master Flamminio. What do you want, sir?

FLAMMINIO:
Open up, and I’ll tell you.

CLEMENZIA:
I’ll be down in a moment.

FLAMMINIO:
As soon as she opens the door, push your way in, see if he’s there, and call me.

SIFTER:
Leave it to me.

CLEMENZIA:
(opening the door) What can I do for you, sir?

FLAMMINIO:
What are you doing with my page boy in your house?

(Sifter tries to get in.)

CLEMENZIA:
What page boy? And where do you think you’re going, pusher? (She succeeds in keeping Sifter out.) Are you trying to force an entry to my house?

FLAMMINIO:
Clemenzia, I swear by the holy immaculate... if you don’t give me back...

CLEMENZIA:
Give you back what?

FLAMMINIO:
My page boy who’s hiding in your house.

CLEMENZIA:
There are no page boys of yours in my house, though you might find a chamber maid if you looked.

FLAMMINIO:
Clemenzia, this is no time for foolery. We’ve always been friends, you and I: you’ve done favours for me, and I’ve done some for you. This time it’s something really important.

CLEMENZIA:
In other words, something to do with a woman, by the looks of it. Now just you give yourself time to cool down a little.

FLAMMINIO:
I’m asking you to give me Fabio.

CLEMENZIA:
So I shall.

FLAMMINIO:
Right. Get him down, then.

CLEMENZIA:
Take it a little easy, for goodness’ sake! You young men are always so hasty, you’re no use to a woman at all. How are things with Isabella?

FLAMMINIO:
I’d like to rip her apart!

CLEMENZIA:
Go on! You can’t mean it.

FLAMMINIO:
Can’t I? She’s made it pretty clear what she means.

CLEMENZIA:
Well, whatever she’s done, it serves you right. There’s no gratitude in you young men, you can never recognize your obligations

FLAMMINIO:
That is not true of me. I know well that I have my faults, but ingratitude is not one of them. It’s a thing I detest, I’m the last man in the world to be charged with that.

CLEMENZIA:
Well, perhaps not you, then. But there is another young gentleman in Modena, rather like yourself, who started taking an interest in a girl here; and she fell for him in return, so desperately that she had eyes for no one else in the world.

FLAMMINIO:
He’s a lucky man, then. I wish I could say the same in my case.

CLEMENZIA:
Well, it happened that the girl’s father sent her away from Modena for a while. And when she left, she was in such tears as you’ve never seen, for fear he should forget her while she was gone. And in fact he turned straight away to another woman, as though the first had never existed for him.

FLAMMINIO:
Then that man is not a gentleman, as you said he was. He is an ungrateful deserter.

CLEMENZIA:
But there is worse to come. When the young girl came back a few months later, and found her lover was in love with a woman who cared nothing for him, then to do him service she left her house and her father, and put her honour at risk. She dressed as a page boy, and got herself hired as a servant by the man she loved.

FLAMMINIO:
This actually happened in Modena?

CLEMENZIA:
And you know both the young people concerned.

FLAMMINIO:
I would rather be loved as that man was loved than be Duke of Milan.

CLEMENZIA:
And then what happens? This lover of hers still didn’t know her, and he used her as go-between to carry messages to that other woman; and that poor girl, just to give him pleasure, did exactly as she was told.

FLAMMINIO:
Now that is true virtue, true loyalty! An example for all time! Why could such a thing not happen to me?

CLEMENZIA:
Well... in any case, even if it did, you’d never give up Isabella.

FLAMMINIO:
I'd give up... I nearly said Christ, for a woman like that. Please, Clemenzia, can’t you tell me who she is?

CLEMENZIA:
Well, I could. But first of all, I want you to tell me, on your honour as a knight and a gentleman, what you would do to that poor young woman if such a thing happened to you. Would you throw her out, when you heard what she’d done? Would you kill her? Or would you think that she deserved some recompense?

FLAMMINIO:
I swear to you by the sun you see in the sky: may I never be seen again in honourable society if I would not prefer that woman as my wife before the Duke of Ferrara’s daughter — even if she were ugly, even if she were poor, even if she were of low birth.

CLEMENZIA:
You’re saying a great deal. Do you swear it?

FLAMMINIO:
I swear it, and I would do it.

CLEMENZIA:
(to Sifter) You’re witness to that.

SIFTER:
I heard. And I know he’d do it, too.

CLEMENZIA:
Now I shall tell you the names of that girl and that young gentleman. Fabio! Fabio! Come down here, your master wants you.

(She goes in to fetch him.)

FLAMMINIO:
What shall I do, Sifter? Should I kill this traitor or not? He’s always been a very able servant.

SIFTER:
I wondered how long you’d keep it up. I knew it all along. Go on, forgive him, what else? In any case, that giddy Isabella never cared anything about you.

FLAMMINIO:
That’s very true.

Scene 3

CLEMENZIA; FLAMMINIO; SIFTER; LELIA in woman’s clothes; PASQUELLA
(Clemenzia brings Lelia out. Pasquella comes out of Gherardo’s house.)

PASQUELLA:
Yes, all right, leave it to me. I’ll tell her everything you’ve said. I’m not daft.

CLEMENZIA:
Well, master Flamminio, this is your servant Fabio. Take a good look. Do you know him? You look a little surprised. But this is that very same faithful, loving girl whom I was telling you about. Look at her, see if you recognize her. Have you lost your tongue? Why is that? You yourself are that young man, with so little appreciation of his lady’s love. This is the truth, now — no more deceptions. You know if I’m telling the truth or not. Now it’s for you to attend to what you swore to do, or I’ll call you out in public for breach of promise.

FLAMMINIO:
If this is a deception, then I can’t think of a better way to be deceived. How could I be so blind that I didn’t know her?

SIFTER:
What about me then, after all those times when I wanted to see for myself? I’ve been a complete ruddy idiot.

PASQUELLA:
Clemenzia! Virginio says you’ve got to come to our house straight away, because his son Fabrizio who came home today is getting married, and you’ve got to go home to tidy up, because you know there are no other women there to see to things.

CLEMENZIA:
Getting married? Who to?

PASQUELLA:
To Isabella, my master Gherardo’s daughter.

FLAMMINIO:
What? Do you mean your Isabella, Gherardo Foiani’s daughter, or some other?

PASQUELLA:
Some other who? No, I mean her. He knows what he’s about, that young man — he went straight to the honey pot.

FLAMMINIO:
Are you sure?

PASQUELLA:
Absolutely. I saw the whole thing: they exchanged rings, hugs and kisses, and everyone was delighted. And before he gave her the ring, my mistress had already given him... well, never mind.

FLAMMINIO:
How long ago was all this?

PASQUELLA:
Right now, this very minute. And they sent me straight off at the double to tell Clemenzia and fetch her over.

CLEMENZIA:
Well, you tell them that I’ll only be a little moment. Go along.

LELIA:
I can’t believe it — my brother! So many wonderful things, all at once!

PASQUELLA:
Don't be long, then, because I’ve got so much to do myself that I don’t know which end is which. First of all I’ve got to go and buy some make-up for her. Oh yes, I forgot to ask if you’ve got Lelia at home with you — because Gherardo has accepted her again.

CLEMENZIA:
You can see for yourself that she’s here. But does he really mean to marry her off to your spineless bogey of a master? He ought to be ashamed of himself.

PASQUELLA:
You don’t know my master. If you knew how lively he can be, you wouldn’t say that.

CLEMENZIA:
Well you ought to know. You’ve probably tried him out.

PASQUELLA:
Same as you have with yours. I’m off now.

(Pasquella exits into town.)

FLAMMINIO:
They can’t want to marry her to Gherardo?

CLEMENZIA:
They do, worse luck. Poor child, nothing seems to go right for her.

FLAMMINIO:
He can go and croak first, if I have anything to do with it. Listen, Clemenzia, I’m sure this has all come about by the will of God, who has taken pity on this loyal young girl and given me a chance to save my soul and make restitution. So, my lady Lelia, if you are willing, I hereby take you as my promised wife. And I swear on my honour as a knight and a gentleman that if I cannot have you, I shall have no other woman.

LELIA:
Flamminio, you are my lord, and you know well what I did and why I did it. I have no other desire in the world.

FLAMMINIO:
As you have truly shown. And forgive me if I have done anything to hurt you during the time when I did not know you, for I recognize my error and am greatly ashamed.

LELIA:
My lord Flamminio, nothing that you could do can give me anything but pleasure.

FLAMMINIO:
Clemenzia, I do not want to delay matters and allow time for anything to interfere with our good fortune. I should like to marry her now, if she is willing.

LELIA:
Very willing.

SIFTER:
Thanks be to God! And you, master, my lord Flamminio, are you willing? Be it known that I hereby appoint myself notary at law — and these are my qualifications.

FLAMMINIO:
More willing to do this than anything I have ever done.

SIFTER:
Very good. You may now marry, and proceed to bed in your own time. Hey, I didn’t say you could kiss her!

CLEMENZIA:
Do you know what I think now? You two should go into my house, while I tell Virginio what’s happened, and see Gherardo’s face when he hears the news.

FLAMMINIO:
Yes please, and tell Isabella too.

(Flamminio, Lelia and Sifter go into Clemenzia’s house. Clemenzia to Gherardo’s house.)

Scene 4

Pasquella; Lilias
(They enter from different directions)

LILIAS:
Por la vida del rey! Hhoo do I see but zat sneaking bitch Pasquella, hhoo mockëd me and robbëd me of my beads by dethepthión. Hhwat luck to find hher again!

PASQUELLA:
Oh hell, here comes the old nag-bag himself! He would have to turn up now. I wish he’d go and boil his head, and the rest of his regiment along with him. How am I going to get out of this one?

LILIAS:
Madam Pasquella!

PASQUELLA:
That’s a good start. I’m a madam already.

LILIAS:
Madam, you hhave mockëd me, and you hhave taken my rosary, and you hhave not done zose things vhich you promisëd you vould do....

PASQUELLA:
Sssshh! Keep your voice down, for God’s sake!

LILIAS:
Hhwat for? Zere is no vun hhere hhoo can hhear us.

PASQUELLA:
Are you trying to ruin me?

LILIAS:
Are you trying to dethieve me?

PASQUELLA:
Push off now, and leave me alone. I’ll talk to you another time.

LILIAS:
Return to me my rosary, and zen say vhat you vant. I vill not let you able to say zat you dethievëd me.

PASQUELLA:
You can have it back another time. Do you think I’m carrying it around with me? It’s not all that precious, you know: there are plenty of other people who’ll give me necklaces.

LILIAS:
Hhwy did you enclose me out of your door, and zen make musics and songs, and zen said something ‘Bogeyman, bogeyman’, and prayers and uzzer nonsensicals?

PASQUELLA:
Keep it quiet! You’re ruining me. I’ll tell you the whole thing.

LILIAS:
Hhwat hhole thing? Go on, zen.

PASQUELLA:
Come over into this corner, so the mistress won’t see us.

LILIAS:
Is zis anuzzer trick or no?

PASQUELLA:
Me trick you? Am I the sort of person that goes around playing tricks on people? Come now.

LILIAS:
Now tell me — hhwat is all zis?

PASQUELLA:
Well. You remember we were talking together. Well. My mistress Isabella had sneaked down the stairs, and was hiding right next to me and listening to every word we said. When I was chasing the chickens, she slipped into the bedroom and was watching what we were up to through a crack in the door. But I spotted her, and pretended I hadn’t, so I had to make out I’d been trying to trick you, and I showed her the rosary afterwards to prove it. She took it, because she thought I’d done you out of it, and she’s wearing it now as a bracelet. But I’ll get it back off her tonight, and give it back to you, if you’ve decided not to give it to me after all.

LILIAS:
Can zis be ze truth? Bevare zat you do not dethieve me.

PASQUELLA:
My dear Lilias, if it’s not the absolute truth may I never set eyes on you again! Do you think I’m not proud of your friendship? You’re so suspicious, you Spaniards. It’s a wonder you believe in Jesus Christ, since you don’t seem to believe anything else you’re told.

LILIAS:
Vell now, hhwy do ve not do hhwat ve had agreed betveen ourselves?

PASQUELLA:
My mistress has just got engaged, and the wedding’s this evening, so I’ve got much too much work to do. We’ll have to wait for another time. (To herself) Ugh, they really turn your stomach, this lot!

LILIAS:
(from a distance) Mañana, zen, tomorrow? Tomorrow morning, yes? Is it not so?

PASQUELLA:
Leave it to me. I’ll remember you when the time comes. Don’t worry. Whew! Crikey!

(She escapes into Gherardo’s house)

LILIAS:
(calls after her) I svear to God, if you dethieve me vun more time, I shall slap you on ze face!

(Exit)

Scene 5

A YOUNG GIRL (Clemenzia’s daughter)
(Listening intently at a window of her own house)

THE GIRL:
Hey, there’s an awful lot of thrashing about in this downstairs room. I wonder what it is. There’s a bed in there, heaving and shaking about as if it were haunted. Oooooh, I’m frightened! What’s that? There’s someone in there moaning, and saying ‘Ooh, not so hard!’ And there’s someone else, what’s he saying? ‘My darling, my love, my angel, my wife!’ (Giggles.) I can’t hear the rest. Do you think I should knock and ask them to speak up? Oh! One’s saying ‘Wait for me’. They must be going somewhere. And there’s the other saying ‘Be quick then!’ Are they trying to smash that bed? It’s going faster and faster.... Help! I’m going to tell my mum!

Scene 6

ISABELLA; FABRIZIO; CLEMENZIA
(Isabella and Fabrizio from Gherardo’s house)

ISABELLA:
I was convinced you were somebody I knew, a gentleman’s servant in this town, who looks so much like you that he must be your brother.

FABRIZIO:
Other people have been mistaking me today. I was beginning to think that the landlord had swapped me for someone else while I was sleeping at the inn.

ISABELLA:
Here’s your nurse Clemenzia, come to have a word.

CLEMENZIA:
(following them out of the house) This must be him. He’s the very image of Lelia. Fabrizio, my darling boy, welcome home. How are you?

FABRIZIO:
Dear old nurse! I’m very well. How’s Lelia?

CLEMENZIA:
She’s doing very well too. But let’s go in, there’s so much for us all to talk about.

(She waves Fabrizio and Isabella into her own house, but is held back by Virginio’s approach)

Scene 7

VIRGINIO; CLEMENZIA
(Virginio from Gherardo’s house)

VIRGINIO:
I’m so pleased to have found my son that I’ll agree to whatever you like.

CLEMENZIA:
It's God’s will, sir, believe me. So much better than marrying her off to an old man with no backbone like Gherardo. Let me go in now and check how things are, because I left the young couple very intent on each other, and they’re all by themselves. Come in now, sir. Everything is all right.

(They go into Clemenzia’s house)

Scene 8

SQUINT, alone

SQUINT:
Evening, your worships. Don’t expect any of that lot to come outside again: the play’s been long enough already. If you want to join us at the wedding supper, then I’ll see you all at the Fool’s Cap. But bring some cash with you, because you’ll have to pay for yourselves. But if you aren’t coming — and you don’t look as if you are — then stay here and have a good time. Members of the Academy: your appreciation, please!

END OF THE COMEDY