Of the Hall, and of the Comedy.
Now, ascending by the most commodious staircase to the Great Hall, where the principal and most important festivities and the principal banquet of the nuptials were celebrated (forbearing to speak of the magnificent and stupendous ceiling, marvellous in the variety and multitude of the rare historical paintings, and marvellous also in the ingenuity of the inventions, in the richness of the partitions, and in the infinite quantity of gold with which the whole is seen to shine, but most marvellous in that it has been executed in an incredibly short time by the industry of a single painter; and treating of the other things pertaining only to this place), I must say that truly I do not believe that in these our parts we have any information of any other hall that is larger or more lofty; but to find one more beautiful, more rich, more ornate, or arranged with more convenience than that hall as it was seen on the day when the comedy was performed, that I believe would be absolutely impossible. For, in addition to the immense walls, on which with graceful partitions, and not without poetical invention, were seen portrayed from the reality the principal squares of the most noble cities of Tuscany, and in addition to the vast and most lovely canvas painted with various animals hunted and taken in various ways, which, upheld by a great cornice, and concealing the prospect-scene, served so well as one of the end-walls, that the Great Hall appeared to have its due proportions, such, in addition, and so well arranged, were the tiers of seats that ran right round, and so lovely on that day the sight of the handsome ladies who had been invited there in great numbers from among the most beautiful, the most noble, and the richest, and of the many lords, chevaliers, and other gentlemen who had been accommodated above them and throughout the rest of the room, that without a doubt, when the fantastic lights were lit, at the fall of the canvas described above, the luminous prospect-scene being revealed, it appeared in truth as if Paradise with all the Choirs of the Angels had been thrown open at that instant; which illusion was increased marvellously by a very soft, full, and masterly concert of instruments and voices, which very soon afterwards was heard to come forth from that direction. In that prospect-scene the most distant part was made to recede most ingeniously along the line of the bridge, terminating in the end of the street that is called the Via Maggio, and in the nearest part was represented the beautiful street of S. Trinita; and when the eyes of the spectators had been allowed to sate themselves for some time with that and the many other marvellous things, the desired and welcome beginning was made with the first interlude of the comedy, which was taken, like all the others, from that touching story of Psyche and Cupid so delicately narrated by Apuleius in his Golden Ass. From it were taken the parts that appeared the most important, and these were accommodated with the greatest possible dexterity to the comedy, so that, having made, as it were, an ingenious composition from the one fable and the other, it might appear that what the Gods did in the fable of the interludes was done also by mankind in the fable of the comedy, as if constrained by a superior power. In the hollow sky of the above-named prospect-scene, which opened out all of a sudden, there was seen to appear another sky contrived with great artifice, from which was seen issuing little by little a white and very naturally counterfeited cloud, upon which, with an effect of singular beauty, a gilded and jewelled car appeared to be resting, recognized as that of Venus, because it was drawn by two snow-white swans, and in it, as its mistress and guide, could be perceived likewise that most beautiful Goddess, wholly nude and crowned with roses and myrtle, seated with great majesty and holding the reins. She had in her company the three Graces, likewise recognized by their being shown wholly nude, by their blonde tresses, which fell all loose over their shoulders, and even more by the manner in which they were standing linked hand to hand; and also the four Hours, who had the wings all painted after the likeness of butterflies, and, not without reason, were distinguished in certain particulars according to the four seasons of the year. Thus one of them, who had the head and the buskins all adorned with various little flowers, and the dress of changing colours, was intended to represent the varied and flowering Spring; even as the second, with the garland and the buskins woven of pale ears of corn, and the yellow draperies wherewith she was adorned, was intended to signify the heat of Summer, and the third, representing Autumn, and all clothed in red draperies, signifying the maturity of fruits, was seen likewise all covered and adorned with those same fruits, vine-leaves, and grapes; and the fourth and last, who represented the white and snowy Winter, besides her dress of turquoise-blue all sprinkled with flakes of snow, had the hair and the buskins likewise covered with similar snow, hoar-frost, and ice. And all, as followers and handmaidens of Venus, being grouped around the car on the same cloud with singular artistry and most beautiful composition, were seen—leaving behind them Jove, Juno, Saturn, Mars, Mercury, and the other Gods, from whom appeared to be issuing the soft harmony described above—to sink gradually with most beautiful grace towards the earth, and by their coming to fill the scene and the whole hall with a thousand sweet and precious odours; while from another part, with an aspect no less gracious, but appearing to walk on earth, was seen to come the nude and winged Cupid, likewise accompanied by those four Passions that seem so often to be wont to disturb his unrestful kingdom; Hope, namely, all clothed in green, with a little flowering branch on the head; Fear, recognized, in addition to his pale garment, by the rabbits that he had on his hair and his buskins; Joy, likewise clothed in white and orange and a thousand glad colours, and with a plant of flowering borage on the hair, and Sorrow, all in black and in aspect all weeping and sad; of whom, as his ministers, one carried the bow, another the quiver and the arrows, another the nets, and yet another the lighted torch. And while the above-described Hours and Graces, having descended from the cloud, went slowly towards their mother's car, now arrived on earth, and, having grouped themselves reverently in a most graceful choir around the lovely Venus, seemed all intent on singing in harmony with her, she, turning towards her son with rare and infinite grace, and making manifest to him the cause of her displeasure, when those in Heaven were silent, sang the two following stanzas, the first of the ballad, saying:
A me, che fatta son negletta e sola,
Non più gli altar nè i voti,
Ma di Psiche devoti
A lei sola si danno, ella gl' invola;
Dunque, se mai di me ti calse o cale,
Figlio, l' armi tue prendi,
E questa folle accendi
Di vilissimo amor d' uomo mortale.
Which being finished, and each of her handmaidens having returned to her own place, while they kept continually throwing down various delicate and lovely garlands of flowers upon the assembled spectators, the cloud and the car, as if the beautiful guide had satisfied her desire, were seen to move slowly and to go back towards the heaven; and when they had arrived there, and the heaven was closed again in an instant, without a single sign remaining from which one might have guessed by which part the cloud and so many other things had come forth and returned, everyone, it appeared, was left all amazed with a sort of novel and pleasing marvel. But the obedient Cupid, while that was being done, making a sign, as it were, to his mother that her command would be fulfilled, and crossing the stage, continued—with his companions, who were presenting him his arms, and who, likewise singing, kept in harmony with him—the following stanza, the last, saying:
Ecco madre, andiam noi; chi l' arco dammi?
Chi le saette? ond' io
Con l' alto valor mio
Tutti i cor vinca, leghi, apra, ed infiammi.
And he, also, as he sang this, kept shooting arrows, many and various, at those listening to him, whereby he gave reason to believe that the lovers who were about to perform their parts, stung, as it were, by them, were giving birth to the comedy about to follow.