The humour of Italy

by Unknown

TRUTH.

[Paolo Severi is in love with his cousin Evelina, who, unknown to him, is being courted by his old schoolfellow, Adolfo Briga. Briga purposely encourages his rival, who is from the country and unused to society, thinking that he will be sure to make himself ridiculous, and so fail. In order the better to carry out this plan he pretends to devote himself to Graziosa, the daughter of the President Manlio, who is visiting at the house of Evelina’s parents. Paolo, in his simplicity, does his best to further Adolfo’s suit by pleading his cause with Signora Vereconda, Graziosa’s mother, a lady whose love of admiration has survived her youth, and who has taken Briga’s attentions as a homage to herself.]

Scene—A drawing-room in the house of the Advocate Scipioni, with a door opening on the garden. Adolfo and Vereconda seated, in conversation. Enter Paolo from the garden just as Adolfo kisses Vereconda’s hand.

Paolo (aside). “If you want canes, you must go to the cane-brake; if you want the daughter, you must make yourself agreeable to the mother.”[^[28]]

Vereconda (aside to Adolfo). Do not agitate yourself.... He cannot have seen it.

Pao. Am I intruding?

Ver. Do you think...?

Pao. I have just come in to fetch a volume of my aunt’s poems.... Here it is. I am very sorry that my aunt should expose herself to ridicule by publishing verses like these, in which even the syntax and spelling are wrong! I have a good mind to tell her so myself....

Adol. (aside to Paolo). So you have left Evelina? Well done!

Pao. (aside). Well done, indeed! It was not my choice!

Adol. (aside). But, indeed, it is a capital manœuvre of war! A woman entreated denies, and neglected entreats! Do you remain here instead of me.

Pao. (aside). No, indeed!

Adol. (aside). Yes, indeed! I’ll go and speak artfully for you in the other quarter, and put things right for you in no time!

Pao. (aside). But——

Adol. (aside). I’ll beat the big drum for you, you shall see! Let me go!

Pao. (aside). All right. Go!

Adol. (aside to Vereconda). I have removed all suspicion on his part.... I am going away to make things quite safe. (Aloud.) Will you excuse me, Signora Vereconda?

Ver. Do as you——

Pao. And take in my stead these ... well, let us call them verses. Don Vincenzo, rest his soul, would have called them “uncultivated, rugged songs, which have brought a blush to the revered countenances of Apollo and the Muses.”

Ver. (to Adolfo, aside). Who in the world was this Don Vincenzo?

Adol. (aside to Vereconda). Who knows?... Ah! I have it: the schoolmaster at Borgo di Castello! (Exit.)

Ver. (aside). How one always recognises the country lout at once!

Pao. (aside). What a first-rate friend Adolfo is! And now that I am with his Graziosa’s mother, could I do him a service? I should be ungrateful if I did not try; but I too am a real friend.

Ver. (aside). He looks as though he had just come from the plough-tail.

Pao. Madam....

Ver. Sir?...

Pao. If you permit ... if I am not wearisome to you ... may I stay and talk to you a little?

Ver. Pray sit down.

Pao. To supply the place of my friend is no easy job.

Ver. (aside). How vilely he expresses himself!

Pao. There are very few like him; he is a fellow who is liked by every one ... particularly by girls’ mothers....

Ver. (aside). Could he have noticed anything?

Pao. He is very fortunate; but he deserves to be so....

Ver. (aside). He must have noticed. (Aloud.) I don’t understand....

Pao. Now, look here; Adolfo has no secrets from me.... How could he? We have been friends from childhood....

Ver. What is all this to lead up to?

Pao. This—that the poor old fellow has opened his whole heart to me, and has told me in particular that you are inclined to look on him with favour.

Ver. Infamous! To go and say so!

Pao. And he hopes ... yes, I say hopes, that you will grant his request.

Ver. (rising). What does he want of me?

Pao. Why—from a mother as affectionate as you—what but the hand of your daughter?

Ver. What do you say?

Pao. Believe me, there is no young man more worthy to possess her. He loves her—loves her devotedly; but the poor fellow wants some encouragement—some protection.... Oh, do take him under your protecting wings!

Ver. (choking with suppressed vexation). Ah!... under my wings?

Pao. I have already given him a hint as to his right course. “If you want canes, you must go to the cane-brake....”

Ver. (aside). You and your cane-brakes!

Pao. A mother who has attained a certain age....

Ver. (aside). A certain age!!

Pao. Such a mother, I say, should have no other thought than that of settling her daughter comfortably before she dies....

Ver. (aside). Before she dies!!!

Pao. Particularly a good mother like yourself. What do you say—eh? Will you be on his side?

Ver. I will.... I will be ... whatever my conscience dictates!... (Aside.) Traitor!—In love with Graziosa.... Was that the reason of his attentions to me?

Pao. And shall I be able to give my friend some hope?

Ver. Why, yes ... yes ... give him ... whatever you think.... (Aside.) At a certain age!... Before she dies!... (Aloud.) Excuse me.... (Aside.) Only let me get at you!... (Aloud.) I shall hope to see you later. (Exit.)

Pao. Upon my word! if Adolfo is a real friend, I am another;—if he has been beating the big drum for me, I have certainly been blowing his trumpet with all my might.

Achille Torelli.

PASQUIN.

One species of wit and humour in which Italians have always excelled is the impromptu epigram—the stinging comment in verse on passing events. The language abounds in rhymes, and easily lends itself to metre; and it is rare to meet with an Italian, however uneducated, who cannot string together a few lines of at least passable quality. Any family event—a marriage, a baptism, or a death—is sure to call forth a shower of sonnets from friends and acquaintances; and on special occasions these contributions are published in volume form. Most of these, indeed, are dull enough reading; but the satirical verses suggested by public events are often amusing enough, though sometimes so local in their application as to have little meaning or interest to outsiders. Many of those translated in the following pages are in Latin, but the knowledge of this language was common enough in Rome to make them almost as popular as verses in the vulgar tongue; and it must be remembered that any Italian with the smallest pretension to culture can turn out a few Latin elegiacs indifferent well. At least this was the case under the ancien régime, when such education as was to be had was almost exclusively classical.

This tendency to satiric comment was curbed, but never quite repressed, by the censorship of the ancien régime. In Papal Rome it found an outlet in Pasquin, whence the word Pasquinade has passed into most of the languages of Europe. Concerning Pasquin, and the epigrams for which he became responsible, we cannot do better than quote from Story’s Roba di Roma.[^[29]]

“The only type of true Roman humour which now remains since the demise of Cassandrino is Pasquino. He is the public satirist, who lances his pointed jests against every absurdity and abuse. There he sits on his pedestal behind the Palazzo Braschi—a mutilated torso which, in the days of its pride, was a portion of a noble group, representing, it is supposed, Menelaus dragging the dead body of Patroclus from the fight.... Whatever may have been the subject of this once beautiful and now ruined work it is scarcely less famous under its modern name. Pasquino is now the mouthpiece of the most pungent Roman wit.

“The companion and rival of Pasquin in the early days was Marforio. This was a colossal statue representing a river-god, and received its name from the Forum of Mars, where it was unearthed in the sixteenth century. Other friends, too, had Pasquin, who took part in his satiric conversazioni, and carried on dialogues with him. Among these was Madama Lucrezia, whose ruined figure still may be seen near the Church of St. Marco, behind the Venetian Palace; the Facchino, or porter, who empties his barrel still in the Corso, though his wit has run dry; the Abbate Luigi of the Palazzo Valle; and the battered Babbuino, who still presides over his fountain in the Via del Babbuino, and gives his name to the street, but who has now lost his features and his voice. Marforio, however, was the chief speaker next to Pasquin, and he still at times joins with him in a satiric dialogue. Formerly there was a constant strife of wit between the two; and a lampoon from Pasquin was sure to call out a reply from Marforio. But of late years Marforio has been imprisoned in the Court of the Campidoglio, and, like many other free speakers, locked up and forbidden to speak; so that Pasquin has it all his own way. In the time of the Revolution of 1848 he made friends with Don Pirlone and uttered in print his satires. Il Don Pirlone was the title of the Roman Charivari of this period. It was issued daily, except on festa days, and was very liberal in its politics, and extremely bitter against the Papalini, French, and Austrians. The caricatures, though coarsely executed, were full of humour and spirit, and give strong evidence that the satiric fire for which Rome has been always celebrated, though smouldering, is always ready to burst into flame. Take, for instance, as a specimen, the caricature which appeared on the 15th of June 1849. The Pope is here represented in the act of celebrating mass. Oudinot, the French general, acts as the attendant priest, kneeling at the step of the altar, and holding up the pontifical robes. The bell of the mass is the imperial crown. A group of military officers surrounds the altar, with a row of bayonets behind them. The altar candles are in the shape of bayonets.... On the sole of one of Oudinot’s boots are the words, ‘Accomodamento Lesseps,’ and of the other, ‘Articolo V. della Costituzione,’ thus showing that he tramples not only on the convention made by Lesseps with the Roman triumvirate on the 31st May, but also on the French constitution, the fifth article of which says, ‘La République Française n’emploie jamais ses forces contre la liberté d’aucun peuple.’[^[30]] Beneath the picture is the motto, ‘He has begun the service with mass, and completed it with bombs.’

“On the 2nd July 1849 the French entered Rome, and Il Don Pirlone was issued for the last time. The engraving in this number represents a naked female figure lying lifeless on the ground, with a cap of liberty on her head. On a dunghill near by a cock is crowing loudly, while a French general is covering the body with earth. Beneath are these significant words, ‘But, dear Mr. Undertaker, are you so perfectly sure that she is dead?’

“That day Don Pirlone died, and all his works were confiscated. Some, however, still remain, guarded jealously in secret hiding-places, and talked about in whispers; but if you are curious, you may have the luck to buy a copy for 30 or 40 Roman scudi.

“The first acquaintance we make with Pasquin is as an abandoned, limbless fragment of an antique statue, which serves as a butt for boys to throw stones at, and for other slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Near by him lives a tailor, named Pasquino, skilful in his trade, and still more skilful in his epigrams. At his shop many of the literati, prelates, courtiers, and wits of the town meet to order their robes and dresses, report scandal, to anatomise reputations, and kill their time. Pasquino’s humour was contagious, and so many sharp epigrams were made in his shop that it grew to be famous. After Pasquino’s death, in mending the street, it became necessary to remove the old statue, embedded in the ground near by; and to get it out of the way it was set up at the side of his shop. The people then in joke said that Pasquino had come back, and so the statue acquired this nickname, which it has ever since retained. This, at least, is the account given by Castelvetro, published in 1553.... However this be, there is no doubt that the custom soon grew up to stick to the statue any lampoon, epigram, or satiric verses which the author desired to be anonymous, and to pretend that it was a pasquinata. From this time Pasquino becomes a name and a power. His tongue could never be ruled. He had his bitter saying on everything. Vainly Government strove to suppress him. At one time he narrowly escaped being thrown into the Tiber by Adrian VI., who was deeply offended by some of his sarcasms; but he was saved from this fate by the wisdom of the Spanish Legate, who gravely counselled the Pope to do no such act, lest he should thus teach all the frogs in the river to croak pasquinades. In reference to the various attempts made to silence him, he says in an epigram addressed to Paul III.—

“‘Great were the sums once paid to poets for singing;

How much will you, O Paul, give me to be silent?’

Finally, his popularity became so great that all epigrams, good or bad, were affixed to him. Against this he remonstrated, crying—

“‘Alas! the veriest copyist sticks upon me his verses;

Every one now on me his wretched trifles bestows.’

This remonstrance seems to have been attended with good results, for shortly after he says—

“‘No man at Rome is better than I; I seek nothing from any.

I am never verbose; here I sit, and am silent.’

Of late years no collection has been made, so far as I know, of the sayings of Pasquin; and it is only here and there that they can be found recorded in books or in the ‘hidden tablets of the brain.’ But in 1544 a volume of 637 pages was printed, with the title, Pasquillorum Tomi Duo, in which, among a mass of epigrams and satires drawn from various sources, a considerable number of real pasquinades were preserved. This volume is now very rare and costly, most of the copies having been burnt at Rome and elsewhere, on account of the many satires it contained against the Romish Church; so rare, indeed, that the celebrated scholar Daniel Heinsius supposed his copy to be unique, as he stated in the inscription written by him on its fly-leaf—

“‘Rome to the fire gave my brothers—I, the single phœnix,

Live—by Heinsius bought for a hundred pieces of gold.’

In this, however, he was mistaken. There are several other copies now known to be in existence.

“This collection was edited by Cælius Secundus Curio, a Piedmontese, who, being a reformer, had suffered persecution, confiscation, exile, and imprisonment in the Inquisition. From the latter he escaped, and while spending his later days in exile in Switzerland he printed this volume and sent it forth to harass his enemies and bigoted opponents. The chief aim of the book was to attack the Romish Church; and some of the satires are evidently German, and probably from the hands of his friends. It is greatly to be regretted that no other collection exists; and since so great a success has attended the admirable collections of popular songs and proverbs in Tuscany, it is to be hoped that some competent Italian may soon be found who will have the spirit and patience to collect the pasquinades of more modern days.

“The earliest pasquinades were directed against the Borgian Pope, Alexander VI. (Sextus), the infamy of whose life can scarcely be written. Of him says Pasquin—

“‘Sextus Tarquinus, Sextus Nero—Sextus et iste;

Semper sub Sextis perdita Roma fuit.’

(Always under the Sextuses Rome has been ruined.) Again, in allusion to the fact that he obtained his election by the grossest bribery, and, as Guicciardini expresses it, ‘infected the whole world by selling without distinction holy and profane things,’ Pasquino says—

“‘Alexander sells the keys, the altar, Christ:

He who bought them first has a good right to sell.’

Here, too, is another savage epigram on the Borgian Pope, referring to the murder of his son, Giovanni, Duca di Gandia. His brother, Cesare, Duca di Valentino, slew him at night and threw his body into the Tiber, from which it was fished out next morning—

“‘Lest we should think you not a fisher of men, O Sextus,

Lo, for your very son with nets you fish!’

“No epigrams worth recording seem to have been made during the short reign of Pius III.; but Julius II., the warlike, fiery, impetuous soldier drew upon himself the constant fire of Pasquin. Alluding to the story that, when leading his army out of Rome, he threw the keys of Peter into the Tiber, saying that he would henceforth trust to the sword of Paul, Pasquin, merely repeating his impetuous words, says—

“‘Since nothing the keys of Peter for battle can profit,

The sword of Paul, perhaps, may be of use.’

And again, referring to the beard which Julius was the first among the Popes of comparatively late days to wear—

“‘The beard of Paul, and the sword of Paul—I would fain have all things of Paul—

As for that key-bearer Peter, he’s not to my liking at all.’

But of all the epigrams on Julius none is so stern and fierce as this—

“‘Julius is at Rome—what is wanting? Ye gods, give us Brutus.

For whenever at Rome is Julius, the city is lost!’

“If to Julius Pasquin was severe, he was scathing to his licentious and venal successor, Leo X., who raised money for his vices by the sale of cardinals’ hats and indulgences. Many of these epigrams are too coarse to bear translation; here is one, however, more decent, if less bitter, than many—

“‘Bring me gifts, spectators! bring me not verses.

Divine money alone rules the ethereal gods.’

And again, referring to Leo’s taste for buffoons, he says—

“‘Pasquin, why have you never asked to be made a buffoon?

All things now are permitted at Rome to buffoons.’

Here is another, referring to the story, current at Rome, that Leo’s death was occasioned by poison, and on account of its suddenness there was no time to administer to him the last sacraments—

“‘At the last hour of life, if, perchance, you ask why Leo

Could not the sacraments take—’tis plain he had sold them all!’

“During the short reign of the ascetic Adrian VI. Pasquin seems to have been comparatively silent, perhaps through respect for that hard, bigoted, but honest Pope. Under his successor, Clement VII., Rome was besieged, taken, and sacked by the Constable de Bourbon, and through the horrors of those days Pasquin’s voice was seldom heard. One saying of his, however, has been preserved, which was uttered during the period of the Pope’s imprisonment in the Castle Saint Angelo. With a sneer at his infallibility and his imprisonment, he says: ‘Papa non potest errare’—‘The Pope cannot err (or go astray’)—errare having both meanings. But if Pasquin spared the Pope during his life he threw a handful of epigrams on his coffin at his death.... Thus in reference to the physician, Matteo Curzio, or Curtius, to whose ignorance Clement’s death was attributed—

“‘Curtius has killed our Clement—let gold then be given

To Curtius for thus securing the public health.’

“On Paul III., the Farnese Pope, Pasquin exercised his wit, but not always very successfully. This Pope was celebrated for his nepotism, and for the unscrupulous ways in which he endeavoured to build up his house and enrich his family, and one of Pasquin’s epigrams refers to this, as well as to the well-known fact that he built his palace by despoiling the Colosseum of its travertine—

“‘Let us pray for Pope Paul, for his zeal,

For his house is eating him up.’

“With Paul III. ceases the record of the Pasquillorum Tomi Duo, published at Eleutheropolis in 1544, and we now hunt out only rarely here and there an epigram. Against Sextus V., that cruel, stern old man, who never lifted his eyes from the ground until he had attained that great reward for all his hypocritical humility, the papal chair, several epigrams are recorded. One of these, in the form of dialogue, and given by Leti in his life of Sextus, is worth recording for the story connected with it. Pasquin makes his appearance in a very dirty shirt, and being asked by Marforio the reason of this, answers that he cannot procure a clean shirt because his washerwoman has been made a princess by the Pope; thus referring to the story that the Pope’s sister had formerly been a laundress. This soon came to the ears of the Pope, who ordered that the satirist should be sought for and punished severely. All researches, however, were vain. At last, by his order and in his name, placards were posted in the public streets, promising, in case the author would reveal his name, to grant him not only his life, but a present of a thousand pistoles; but threatening, in case of his discovery by any other person, to hang him forthwith, and give the reward to the informer. The satirist thereupon avowed the authorship and demanded the money. Sextus, true to the letter of his proclamation, granted him his life and paid him the one thousand pistoles; but in utter violation of its spirit, and saying that he had not promised absolution from all punishment, ordered his hands to be struck off and his tongue to be bored, ‘to hinder him from being so witty in future.’

“But Pasquin was not silenced even by this cruel revenge, and a short time after, in reference to the tyranny of Sextus, appeared a caricature representing the Pope as King Stork devouring the Romans as frogs, with the motto, ‘Merito haec patimur,’ i.e. ‘Serves us right.’

“Against Urban VIII., the Barberini Pope, whose noble palace was built out of the quarry of the Colosseum, who tore the bronze plates from the roof of the Pantheon, to cast into the tasteless baldacchino of St. Peter’s, and under whose pontificate so many antique buildings were destroyed, Pasquin uttered the famous saying—

“‘What the barbarians have left undone, the Barberini have done.’

“And on the occasion of Urban’s issuing a bull, excommunicating all persons who took snuff in the churches at Seville, Pasquin quoted from Job this passage, ‘Against a leaf driven to and fro by the wind, wilt thou show thy strength? and wilt thou pursue the light stubble?’

“The ignorant, indolent, profligate Innocent X., with the equally profligate Donna Olympia Maidalchini, afforded also a target to Pasquin’s arrows. Of the Pope, he says—

“‘Olympia he loves more than Olympus.’

“During the reign of Innocent XI., the Holy Office flourished, and its prisons were put in requisition for those who dared to speak freely or to think freely. Pasquin, in reference to this, says: ‘Se parliamo, in galera; se scriviamo, impiccati; se stiamo in quiete, al Santo Uffizio. Eh!—che bisogna fare?’ (If we speak, to the galleys; if we write, to the gallows; if we keep quiet, to the Inquisition. Eh!—what are we to do?)

“Throughout Rome, the stranger is struck by the constant recurrence of the inscription, ‘Munificentia Pii Sexti’ (By the munificence of Pius VI.), on statues and monuments and repaired ruins, and big and little antiquities. When, therefore, this Pope reduced the loaf of two baiocchi considerably in size, one of them was found hung on Pasquin’s neck, with the same inscription, ‘Munificentia Pii Sexti.’

“Against the despotism of this same Pope, when he was building the great Braschi Palace, Pasquin wrote these lines—

“‘Three jaws had Cerberus, and three mouths as well,

Which barked into the blackest deeps of hell.

Three hungry mouths have you—ay! even four,

Which bark at none, but every one devour.’

“During the French Revolution, and the occupation of Rome by the French, Pasquin uttered some bitter sayings, and among them this—

“‘I Francesi son tutti ladri—

Non tutti—ma Buona parte.’

(The French are all thieves—nay, not all, but a good part—or, in the original, Buonaparte.)

“Here also is one referring to the institution of the Cross of the Legion of Honour in France, which is admirable in wit—

“‘In times less pleasant and more fierce, of old,

The thieves were hung on crosses, so we’re told;

In times less fierce, more pleasant, like to-day,

Crosses are hung upon the thieves, they say.’

“When the Emperor Francis of Austria visited Rome, Pasquin called him ‘Gaudium urbis—Fletus provinciorum—Risus mundi.’ (The joy of the city—the tears of the provinces—the laughter of the world.)

“A clever epigram was also made on Canova’s draped statue of Italy—

“‘For once Canova surely has tripped:

Italy is not draped but stripped.’

EPIGRAM ON CANOVA’S STATUE OF ITALY.

“The latter days of Pius IX. have opened a large field for Pasquin, and his epigrams have a flavour quite equal to that of the best of which we have any record. When, in 1858, the Pope made a journey through the provinces of Tuscany, leaving the administration in the hands of Cardinal Antonelli and other cardinals of the Sacred College, the following dialogue was found on Pasquin:—

“‘The Shepherd then is gone away?’

“‘Yes, sir.’

“‘And whom has he left to take care of the flock?’

“‘The dogs.’

“‘And who keeps the dogs?’

“‘The mastiff.’

“The wit of Pasquin, as of all Romans, is never purely verbal, for the pun, simply as a pun, is little relished in Italy; ordinarily the wit lies in the thought and image, though sometimes it is expressed by a play upon words as well, as in the epigram on Buonaparte. The ingenious method adopted by the Italians to express their political sympathies with Victor Emmanuel was thoroughly characteristic of Italian humour. Forbidden by the police to make any public demonstration in his favour, the Government were surprised by the constant shouts of ‘Viva Verdi! Viva Verdi!’ at all the theatres, as well as by finding these words scrawled on all the walls of the city. But they soon discovered that the cries for Verdi were through no enthusiasm for the composer, but only because his name was an acrostic signifying

‘Vittorio Emanuele, Re D’ Italia.’

“Of a similar character was a satire in dialogue, which appeared in 1859, when all the world at Rome was waiting and hoping for the death of King Bomba, of execrated memory. Pasquin imagines a traveller just returned from Naples, and inquires of him what he has seen there—

“‘Ho visto un tumore.’ (I have seen a tumour.)

“‘Un tumore? ma che cosa è un tumore?’ (A tumour? but what is a tumour?)

“‘Leva il t per risposta.’ (Take away the t for answer.)

“‘Ah! un umore; ma questo umore porta danno?’ (Ah! a humour;[^[31]] but is this humour dangerous?)

“‘Leva l’u per risposta.’ (Take away the u.)

“‘More! che peccato! ma quando? Fra breve?’ (He dies (more)! but what a pity! When? Shortly?)

“‘Leva l’m.’ (Take away the m.)

“‘Ore! fra ore! ma chi dunque ha quest’ umore?’ (Hours! (ore) in a few hours! but who then has this humour?)

“‘Leva l’o.’ (Take away the o.)

“‘Rè! Il Rè! Ho piacere davvero! Ma poi, dove andrà?’ (King! (re) the king! I am delighted! But then where will he go?)

“‘Leva l’r.’ (Take away the r.)

“‘E-eh! e-e-e-h!’

with a shrug and a prolonged tone peculiarly Roman—indicative of an immense doubt as to Paradise, and little question as to the other place.

“Two years ago Pasquin represents himself as having joined the other plenipotentiaries at the conference of Zurich, where he represents the Court of Rome. Austria speaks German, France speaks French, neither of which languages Pasquin understands. On being interrogated as to the views of Rome, he answers that, being a priest, he only speaks Latin, not Italian; and that, in his opinion, is ‘Sicut erat in principio,’ etc. (As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end! Amen.)

“This is as pure a specimen of true Roman wit as can be found. Of a rather different and punning character was the epigram lately made upon the movement of the Piedmontese and Garibaldians on Naples and Sicily: ‘Tutti stanno in viaggio—soldati vanno per terra—marinari vanno per mare, e preti vanno in aria.’ (Everybody is in movement—the soldiers go by land, the sailors by sea, and the priests vanish into air.)

“And here too is another, full of spirit and point, which shall be the last in these pages. When the conference at Zurich was proposed, it was rumoured that Cardinal Antonelli was to go as the representative of the Roman States, and to be accompanied by Monsignor Barile, upon which Pasquin said, ‘Il Cardinale di Stato va via con Barile, ma tornerà con fiasco’—which is untranslatable.”[^[32]]

There are several collections of Pasquinades in the British Museum, but none appear to extend over more than a single year. None are later than 1536. The collection for that year has the following MS. note (in English) on the fly-leaf: “The Author of these Pasquinades is quite unknown. They have little of the Petulance or Wit of that species of writing, and consist principally of grave and fulsome Compliments to the Emperor Charles 5th on his late Victories over the Moors in Africa.” There is, however, a humorous prose proclamation in Italian (the rest of the book is mostly in Latin), “in order to enrich simple men who waste their time in the practice of Alchemy.” To these persons he delivers ten commandments, such as, “Always to have a pair of bellows and keep it in its place, so that you may not have to send and borrow from the neighbours—to know the properties of metals—to use good earthenware—and to employ an honest lad who will stick to his work and not talk,” etc., etc.

About 1550 we find a curious little broadsheet entitled an “opera,” but more like a street ballad—a kind of proclamation, announcing that Pasquin has lost his nose, and is making search for it. In the course of the next century several prose works were issued under the name of Pasquin, which were mostly dialogues between Pasquin and Marforio. Many of them were translated into English, and appear to have enjoyed a wide popularity towards the end of Charles II.’s reign—which is not to be wondered at, if we remember that this was the era of the Popish plot, and that Pasquin is by no means sparing in his denunciations of the Roman clergy. The Visione Politiche were printed in 1671, probably at Geneva, and Pasquin risen from the Dead appeared in London in 1674. This book must have been popular, as at least one other translation was published. The version of 1674—the translator’s name is not given—is quaint and spirited; and the general tenor of the work may be gathered from the following extract:—

Pasquin. What, ho! Marforio! you’re in mighty haste, sure; what, not so much as vouchsafe a word to an old friend, but to pass by as though we had never seen one another before?

Marforio. God’s my life! what’s he that calls me? Sure I have known that voice. It must certainly be Pasquin that talks in that statue. And yet how can that be, since I am a witness of his death? ’Tis surely some ghost that would fain make me believe he is yet living. What would I give for some holy water to drive this devil away now!

Pasquin. Prithee, sweetheart, been’t frighted; I am Pasquin, very Pasquin, thy old pot-companion. Why shouldst thou wish for holy water to drive me hence, since I am miraculously risen?... And prithee, by the way, be no longer cheated with that fond opinion that holy water is able to drive away devils. Those are old wives’ fables, fit only to bubble fools withal; for, were there any such thing, since there can be no worse devil than the priests and friars, they had been all driven out of the church long ago.

Marforio. Where the devil hadst thou this knowledge? Sure, thou hast not been in hell to fetch it? I am almost in an ague to think of it, and the more I look on thee the more I tremble.

Pasquin. Been’t such a fool to be afraid to look upon a friend, for true friendship should last even to the other world: but I am no ghost or goblin, but verily alive; or were I dead (as indeed I have been), what reason hast thou to fear me? The dead are honest, quiet people: they neither kill nor steal; they ramble not about the streets in the night to murder poor tailors; they break no glass windows, nor beat no watches, nor are any violators of the laws. Whilst I was in the world I was never afraid of the dead. If I could but guard myself from the living, who are a proud, revengeful generation, that scarce pardon men in their graves, I thought all well enough; therefore, prithee, be of my mind.... Take my counsel, keep as fair as thou canst with the living, and leave the dead to their fate.

Marforio. Yet at least let me have commune with thee, that com’st to seek mine with so much grace and civility.

Pasquin. I am alive and not dead, for my death was rather a wonderful ecstasy than anything else.

Marforio. But tell me, prithee, how is it possible that thou, who art a body of stone, as thou art, couldst first be animated, then die, and be revived again?

Pasquin. And canst thou that art born a Roman be such a noddy as to wonder at that—thou that seest daily so many greater wonders before thy eyes? With how much more reason mayst thou wonder to see so many tun-bellied friars (the good always excepted) that feed like pigs and drink like fishes; that fatten themselves in the scoundrel laziness of the convents, and yet have the impudence to think they shall one day enjoy the felicities of Paradise? And yet greater wonders than this there are. For thou knowest, or at least shouldst know, that all divines agree that there is nothing in the world that can be equal in weight to the nature of sin; for, say they, iron, lead, stones, brass, or gold are, in comparison, lighter than feathers when put in the scale with sin. So that he must needs be worse than a sot that believes that so many bouncing friars, as well seculars as regulars, who are laden with such a mass of sins that only to lift one of them from the ground would require an engine like that wherewith Sixtus V. raised the great Pyramid of St. Peter,[^[33]] can ever mount up to heaven.... This, brother, must needs be so great a folly that any man of reason cannot but imagine it a less wonder to see a stone mount up to heaven than one of those sinful monks.

Pasquin then describes his journey through the Unseen World, which is made the vehicle for a great deal of strong invective against the Pope and Clergy. No Pope, he says, has ever entered heaven since the year 800, “that is, soon after corruption was crept into the Pontificate;” and the infernal regions are peopled with the various religious orders. Pasquin sought in vain among them for the Jesuits—but only because a separate and special place of torment was reserved for the latter.

EPIGRAMS.

I do not please all my readers?—But see,——

Is it every reader that pleases me?——

The tolling of church-bells, O Doctor Ismenus,—dost find it a bore?

Write no more prescriptions, O Doctor, and then they will toll no more!

Here lies a cardinal

Who did more ill than good.

The good he did badly,

The ill as well as he could.

A monk to a dying sinner said, “Beware!

Just now, as I was coming up the stair,

I saw the devil come for you——” “But stay,—

What shape had he?” “An ass.” “Good father, nay!—

It was your shadow frightened you to-day!”

Professor Ardei’s ashes in this urn

Repose. Dame Nature intended him to teach——

So he was never able aught to learn.

Gian Maria’s ill-conditioned wife

Was bitten by a viper yester-eve.

“Then, I suppose, she’s yielded up her life?”

“No, sir—that ’twas the viper died, I grieve!”

“The abbey has been struck by lightning.” “Where?”

“’Twas in the library.” “Thank heaven’s care!——

The friars, holy men!—uninjured are!”——

PROVERBS, FOLK-LORE, AND TRADITIONAL ANECDOTES.

Don’t lend your knife in pumpkin-time.

Do not ask the host whether his wine is good.

All the brains are not in one head.

Pride went out on horseback, and came home afoot.

Heaven keep you from a bad neighbour, and from a man who is learning the violin.

Better to be a lizard’s head than a dragon’s tail.

Drink wine, and let water go to drive the mill.

If I sleep, I sleep for myself; if I work, I don’t know whom I work for.

Let us have florins, and we shall find cousins.

Peel the fig for your friend and the peach for your enemy.[^[34]]

In buying a horse and taking a wife, shut your eyes and trust God for your life.

Women are saints in church, angels in the street, devils in the house, owls (civette, i.e. coquettes) at the window, and magpies at the door.

Women always tell the truth, but never the whole truth.

Maids weep with one eye, wives with two, and nuns with four.

When God gives flour, the devil takes away the sack.

Have nothing to do with an innkeeper’s daughter or a miller’s horse.

He who wants canes should go to the cane-brake; and he who would court the daughter should be polite to the mother.

For the buyer a hundred eyes are too few, for the seller one is enough.

If you want to have your hands full buy a watch, take a wife, or beat a friar.

God keep thee from the fury of the wind, from a monk outside his monastery, from a woman who can speak Latin, and from a man who cannot hold up his head.

Brother Modestus was never made Prior.

Tie up the ass where his owner tells you, and if he breaks his neck the blame is not yours.

You cannot drink and whistle at the same time; you cannot both carry the cross and sing with the choir.

An unfrocked monk and warmed-up cabbage were never yet good for anything.

There are no pockets in the shroud.

Where there are many cocks crowing it never gets light.

He carries both yes and no in his pocket.

Three are powerful—the Pope, the king, and the man who has nothing.

Make me your steward for one year, and I shall be a rich man.

Never give a woman as much as she wants—unless it be of flax to spin.

All the seven deadly sins are feminine.

Lies have short legs.

With time and straw medlars get ripe.

Beware of fire, of water, of dogs, and of the man who speaks under his breath.

The poor man’s commandments are these—Thou shalt not eat meat on Friday, nor on Saturday, nor yet on Sunday.

He who seeks better bread than is made of wheat must be either a fool or a knave.

He who sleeps with dogs will get up with fleas.

He who eats a bone chokes himself.

Bread and kicks will get no thanks, even from a dog.

Make haste and get rich—and then I am your uncle.

You call on St. Paul without having seen the viper. (You cry out before you are hurt.)

When two have set their minds on each other, a hundred cannot keep them apart.

On a fool’s beard the barber learns to shave.

A man who was pleading asked a judge whether the lawyer or the physician had the precedence in any judicial affair. Says the judge, “Pray, who goes first, the criminal or the executioner?” “The criminal,” replied the pleader. “Then,” says the judge, “the lawyer may go first as the thief, and the physician follow after as the executioner.”

A certain person who had squandered away all his patrimony being at an entertainment, one of the guests said, “The earth used to swallow up men, but this man has swallowed up the earth.”

A poor man, presenting himself before the King of Spain, asked his charity, telling him that he was his brother. The king desiring to know how he claimed kindred to him, the poor fellow replied, “We are all descended from one common father and mother—viz., Adam and Eve.” Upon which the king gave him a little copper piece of money. The poor man began to bemoan himself, saying, “Is it possible that your Majesty should give no more than this to your brother?” “Away, away,” replies the king; “if all the brothers you have in the world give you as much as I have done, you’ll be richer than I am.”

A certain man reading a book that treated of the secrets of nature, fell upon a chapter in which ’twas said that a man who has a long beard wears the badge of a fool. Upon which our reader takes up the candle in his hand, for ’twas in the night-time, and views himself in the glass, and inconsiderately burns above half his beard off; whereupon he immediately takes up the pen and writes in the margin of the book, “Probatum est,”—that is, I know him to be a fool.

A certain person who was to engage with swords against another, knowing that his antagonist was a braver man than himself, would not stand the trial, but made off as fast as possible. Now it happened, as he was discoursing one day with some of his acquaintance, they reproached him for having run away in so scandalous a manner. “Pooh!” replied he, “I had much rather the world should say that in such a place a coward had been put to flight, than that a brave man had been killed.”

A soldier selling a horse, his captain asked him why he did so. He replied that ’twas in order to fly from the tumult of arms. Says the captain, “I wonder you should sell it for the very same reason for which I imagined you had bought it.”

Tesetto was very angry with Zerbo the physician, when Zerbo saying to him, “Hold your tongue, you scoundrel; don’t I know that your father was a bricklayer?” Tesetto immediately replied, “No one could have told you that but your own father, who carried the lime and the stones to mine.”

A criminal being carried to prison, and hearing his process read, confessed that every article in it was true, and said, “I have done still worse.” Being asked in what, he replied with a sigh, “In suffering myself to be brought hither.”

A certain person, who was desirous to be thought young, said that he was but thirty, when a friend of his who had been his schoolfellow replied, “So, I warrant you, you were not born when we studied logic together.”

A thief going with a trunk full of valuable things from a citizen’s house in the dusk of the evening, was met by some persons who asked him how he came by them. The thief replied, “A man is dead in this house, and I am carrying this trunk, with other things, to another house where I am going to live.” “But if that man be lately dead,” said they, “why don’t they weep and take on?” “You’ll hear them weep to-morrow morning,” says the thief.

A man bemoaning himself to another for the great scarcity of corn, and saying he believed that if it did not rain all the beasts would die, the other replied to him, “Heaven preserve your worship!”

A physician, who had a son of his under cure, gave him no remedy, and prescribed nothing, but only that he should observe a regular course of diet. His daughter-in-law complained, and asked him why he did not treat him like other sick people; and the physician replied, “Daughter, we physicians have medicaments in order to sell them, and not to make use of them ourselves.”

A certain lazzarone once came to confess himself to a missionary priest who was confined to his bed with the gout, with the intention of stealing a pair of new shoes which he had seen under the good father’s bed. The priest having called him up to the bed, as he could not rise, the man knelt down, and while reciting the Confiteor got hold of the shoes, and put them into the wallet which he had under his cloak. Having finished the Confiteor, the first and last sin which he confessed was that of having stolen a pair of shoes. The confessor replied, “Ah! my son, you ought to restore them!” The penitent replied, “Father, do you want them?” “No,” said the priest, “no, my son; but they ought to be restored to the rightful owner, otherwise I cannot give you absolution.” “But, father,” replied the man, “the owner says he does not want them; what, then, shall I do?” The confessor answered, “Since that is so, keep them for yourself,” and giving him absolution, he dismissed him, and the penitent carried off the shoes.

Dante, meditating apart one day in the church of Santa Maria Novella, was accosted by a bore, who asked him many foolish questions. After vainly endeavouring to get rid of him, Dante at last said, “Before I reply to thee do thou tell me the answer to a certain question,” and then asked him, “Which is the greatest of all beasts?” The gentleman replied that “on the authority of Pliny he believed it to be the elephant.” Then said Dante, “O elephant, leave me in peace!” and so saying, he turned and left him.

Domenico da Cigoli having gone to Rome, news was brought him a few days after that his wife was dead; upon which he, in the utmost transports of joy, immediately became priest and undertook the cure of souls in his own village, when who should be the very first person that he meets but his wife, who was not dead but living, which greatly afflicted him.

A certain rich man had a son who had but little sense, and wishing to get him a wife, found a fair and gentle damsel; and her parents being willing to overlook the defects of the man for the sake of his riches, the marriage was concluded. Then the father, in order to hide as much as he could the imbecile foolishness of his son, admonished him to speak little, that his folly and light-mindedness might not be made manifest. The son obeyed; and when they were seated at the wedding-feast it happened that not only he but all the others kept silence, till at last a lady of more courage than the rest said, looking round at the guests, “Surely there must be a fool at this table, since no one ventures to speak!” Then said the bridegroom, turning to his father, “Father, now that they have found me out, pray give me permission to talk!”

A countryman, benumbed with cold, alighted from his horse to walk on foot, and two Franciscan friars observing this, one of them said to his companion, “Had I a horse I would not be such a fool as to lead him by the bridle, but would make use of him to carry me to the convent.” Says the other, who was of a gay temper, “I would play this countryman a trick, and steal his horse from him, if you would but help me.” The friar immediately consenting, both of them stole very softly up to the countryman, without his perceiving it; and one, slyly taking the bridle off the horse, put it over his own head, while the other with a halter led the horse aside. Not long after this the countryman, intending to get on horseback again, turned himself about, but had like to have died with fear when he saw the change; and, uttering terrible cries for help, he was stopped by the Franciscan, who went down on his knees before him, and begged him very humbly to give him his liberty, telling him that he had been condemned to such a metamorphosis because of his irregularities, and the enormities of his sins; and that the time of his penance being expired, he was returned to his first shape. The peasant, recovering himself a little, not only let him go, but also, not smelling the trick in the least, foolishly replied, “Get you gone in Heaven’s name; I now no longer wonder if, after having led so disorderly a life, you should have been changed into so vile an animal.” The friar, telling him that he was greatly obliged to him, made off, and went to look after his companion, and when they saw the poor silly fellow at a good distance, went another way to a neighbouring town. A few days after, the Franciscans desired a friend of theirs to go and sell the horse at the fair. This man sold the horse, and as he was going with the buyer to receive the money for it, whom should they happen to meet but the countryman, who, knowing the horse again, desired the buyer to let him speak a word with him in private; and having asked him whom the horse belonged to, the other replied that he had just bargained for it, but had not yet paid for it. “For goodness’ sake,” said the countryman, “return it to him again; don’t pay for it, for I assure you that ’tis not a horse, but the soul of a cordelier, who is returned to his dissolute way of life. Don’t buy him, I tell you, for he’s the most wretched animal in the whole world, and has put me into a fury an hundred thousand times.”