Being alone one autumn evening in Palermo, about a year and a half after I had seen Samson, I returned to the teatrino and found it open. On asking the young man at the door whether the performance had begun and whether there was room for me, he pulled aside the curtain at the entrance and disclosed the stage full of fighting paladins and the auditorium half empty. I paid three soldi and took a seat. After the first act, I congratulated the young man at the door on the performance and told him it was not the first time I had been to his theatre, and that I was sorry to see it so empty.

“There is no one here,” he agreed; “do you know why? It is because to-night will die Guido Santo, a marionette very sympathetic to the public, they cannot bear to see his end. But it is the last night and to-morrow they will come because the story will begin all over again.”

Feeling I could bear to witness the death of Guido Santo, I returned to my seat. Before the curtain drew up on the last act there entered a page who took his hat off with his right hand and stood politely bowing until the audience should be ready to listen to what he had to say. He then recited the programme for the next evening, telling us that all who came would see the baptism of Costantino, Imperatore del Mondo. As soon as he had gone, Pasquino and Onofrio came on and in dialect comically commented upon the programme.

At the end of the entertainment, after Guido Santo was dead and the angel had come down, taken his white soul out of his mouth and carried it up to heaven, I resumed conversation with the young man at the door, and soon perceived that he was a fine natural actor who will commit a crime if he does not go on the stage as a buffo. He told me that the theatre is open all the year round; they do not make much money in the summer because the people prefer to be in the open air, but in the winter ! and his gestures indicating how they sat shoulder to shoulder and craned their necks to see over one another’s heads and wiped the perspiration off their foreheads and scattered it upon the floor, were rapid, precise and eloquent. He remembered the performance of Samson and the crowd and, as soon as he saw I was interested, became like a puppy that has found some one to play with. If I would come to-morrow he would show me all the marionettes and tell me all the secrets of the business.

I went and was introduced to his brother, his three sisters and his father who is the proprietor of the show. It was the father’s voice that I had heard in Samson, the buffo and his brother help in working the marionettes and in cleaning and repairing them after the performance, the sisters do the housekeeping, speak for the women and make the dresses. They told me a great deal that I wanted to hear. For instance, they knew all about Michele and the Princess of Bizerta and told me that she is the sister of Agramante, King of Campinas and Emperor of Yundiay, and her name is Fulorinda di Nerbof di Bizerta; the name of her wicked Arabian giant is Alaballak Aizan. I had asked Pasquale in the teatrino at Trapani about them, but he had never heard of them. These professional marionettists at Palermo had a poor opinion of the teatrino at Trapani and, from what I told them about it, said it could only be an amateur affair. They were particularly contemptuous of the management for allowing the words to be read out of a book. They ought to be improvised. At Palermo the only play that is ever read is Samson, which was written by a Sicilian, and even in that the comic episode of the masks with the riddle of Rosina is a home-made, unwritten interpolation.

Pharaoh has nothing to do with the Egyptian Pharaohs. Faraone is his private name and he is the king of the Philistines. The name of the paladin is Acabbo and he is a Philistine and not a Scotchman; but they excused me for falling into the error, and showed me that many of the knights wear stuff sufficiently like a Scotch plaid to deceive a mere Englishman. Moreover, Scotch knights do come into the story; Carlo Magno sends Rinaldo off to fetch recruits and he returns with an army of Scotch paladins under Zerbino, the Prince of Scotland. Samson ranks with Christians because he is on the right side in religion and that is why his skirt was really a skirt. Acabbo ranks with Turks because he is on the wrong side in religion and that is why he wears trousers. The lady is Tanimatea, but Dalila is brought on afterwards and it is she who cuts Samson’s hair. The buffo nearly wept when I told him I had gone away without seeing the operation. However, he explained how it was done: his long brown hair is a wig and is pulled off when she uses the scissors.

They told me all about the story, or rather stories, of the paladins. First there is an Introduction beginning with the conversion of the Emperor Constantine, and passing rapidly through his son Fiovo and his descendants to Pipino King of France and father of Carlo Magno. It lasts about a month and is followed by

I. The Story of the Paladins of France with Carlo Magno, Orlando, Rinaldo, Gano di Magonza and many others. This lasts about six months and ends with the defeat and death of Orlando and the paladins at Roncisvalle. It is followed by

II. The Story of the Sons of the Paladins with Palmerino d’Oliva, Tarquasso, Scolimmaro and the crusades. This lasts about three months and is followed by

III. The Story of Balocco with the valiant Paladins Trufaldino, Nitto, Vanni Caccas, Pietro Fazio, Mimico Alicata and the giant Surchianespole. This lasts about six months, and is followed by

IV. The Story of Michele, Emperor of Belgium, against the Saracens. This lasts about three months and ends with the death of Guido Santo.

I had come on the last night and if I had come a few nights before, I might have happened upon the Palermitan version of what I had seen at Catania.

Among all this, which by itself would last over a year and a half, they celebrate certain anniversaries by interpolating other plays, each of which lasts one, two, or three days. Thus, at Christmas they do the Nativity, at Easter the Passion, at Midsummer the story of S. Giovanni Battista; on the 11th of May, the day Garibaldi landed at Marsala, they do the Sicilian episodes from his life; on the anniversary of the day that Musolino, the famous brigand, was arrested, they do his life and on the proper day they commemorate the execution of Anna Bonanno, la Velenatrice, detta la Vecchia dell’ Aceto, who sold poisoned vinegar. There is no regular day for Samson; they do it whenever they feel inclined, that is whenever they want a few more soldi than usual, for they look upon the paladins as the pane quotidiano and on the interpolations, for which they charge extra, as feasts.

They also occasionally give a kind of music-hall entertainment and I was so fortunate as to see one.

PICCOLA SERATA BALLABILE

1. Passo a due eseguito da due ballerini di rango Francese, viz.
Miss Ella e Monsieur Canguiu.

2. Dansa del Gran Turco, fumatore di pipa.

3. L’Ubbriaco. Scena buffa.

In private life, that is behind the scenes, the ballerini are called Miss Helvet and Monsieur Mastropinnuzza. Miss Helvet first danced alone; she had six strings and two wires, not rods, and was dressed like the conventional ballet-girl with a red bodice and a diamond necklace, and she wriggled her white muslin skirts and waved a broad green ribbon. Monsieur Canguiu then danced alone; he was slightly less complicated, and kissed his hand with great frequency. They wound up by dancing together. They twinkled their toes and alighted on the tips of them like Adeline Genee and, as their heels were cunningly jointed and balanced, they could also walk like ordinary mortals, or at least as well as any marionette. He assisted her to leap up and pose in an attitude while standing on his knee, and they waltzed round one another and did all the things that one has learnt to expect from opera dancers.

The name of the Gran Turco was Piriteddu cu Giummu. He was accompanied by Pasquino and danced while Pasquino went and fetched him a lighted candle. He lighted his pipe at the flame and puffed real smoke out of his mouth. After which Pasquino blew out the candle and they danced together.

The Ubbriaco, whose name was Funcia, asked Pasquino for wine, and drank it out of the bottle with consequences that might have been anticipated, but may not be described. When he had done drinking, he threw the bottle away, dancing all the time. He took off his coat and threw it away, then unbuttoned his trousers and took them off, threw them away and went on dancing in his shirt.

“He is a very common man,” said the buffo apologetically; “a fellow of no education.”

This constant introduction of Pasquino must not be taken as involving any anachronism. Pasquino is like Love, he is not Time’s fool. Never having been born, he can never die, and never to die is to be immortal. Accordingly, whenever a comic servant is wanted, whether as a messenger from a castle which is being stormed by Samson, or to assist a Grand Turk or a drunkard of no definite period, or to accompany a paladin on a journey, be put into prison with him and help him to escape, or merely on behalf of the proprietor of the show to invite the people to to-morrow’s performance, Pasquino is always there, with his dialect and his comic relief, to undertake the job. He works harder than any other marionette and consequently is always requiring renovation.

There is so much renovation going on among the puppets that the buffo cannot tell exactly how many there are at any particular time. He says their number is fluid, and supposes that it rises and falls round about five hundred. They are very heavy, especially those in armour, and vary in height from twenty-six to thirty inches, giants being thirty-four inches. They must represent a large capital, for a well-made marionette in full armour will cost as much as 150 francs (6 pounds), the elaborate ones, with tricks, and the dancers probably more; ordinary Turks and pages unarmed will cost less, say perhaps 50 francs (2 pounds) each. Some of them have glass eyes which catch the light and brighten them up wonderfully. Many have eyes that move like Acabbo. There are two paladins who can be cut in half, one horizontally and other perpendicularly.

There was nothing the buffo and his brother could not explain, and what this implies a glance through the notes to the Orlando Furioso, which is only a fragment of the complete story, will show. Orlando squints, both his eyeballs are close to his nose. They told me that this is because when his uncle, Carlo Magno, met him as a child, not knowing who he was and taking a fancy to the boy, he told him to look at him, and Orlando came close and looked at him so fixedly that his eyes never returned to their normal position. He also has two little holes, one on each side of the bridge of his nose. This is because at Roncisvalle he called for help by winding his magic horn; Oliviero told him to blow louder and he blew so forcibly that he broke a blood-vessel and the blood poured out of the little holes so that he died. He could not die by being mortally wounded in the usual way, because his flesh was made of diamonds, which was a gift of God to help him to propagate the faith and to conquer the heathen.

They showed me the three separate Christs which they use at Easter, the first as he walks among the people, the second as he is on the cross and the third as he rises from the tomb, and all, especially the last, were beautiful and impressive figures.

They give two performances every day, from six to eight and from nine to eleven, all the year round, Sundays and festas included, unless some irremovable obstacle, such as an illness or a wedding in the family, or the death of the king or an earthquake, necessitates the closing of the theatre. Nearly all the rest of every day they are cleaning up and preparing for the next performance.

On the evening when Constantine was converted to Christianity I went to both performances, being behind the scenes for the first so as to see how everything was done. Before we began, I was let into the secret of how the emperor had his leprosy lightly stitched on him in such a way that the thread could be drawn, and it would fall off at the right moment. The first performance was to a certain extent a rehearsal for the second, at least in the second there were modifications always improvements. The father stood on one side of the stage, working some of the marionettes and speaking for them. He had a MS. book which contained little more than a list of the characters and properties and a short statement of what was to happen in each scene. He also directed his younger son who stood at the other side of the stage, working other figures and speaking for some of them, and, when there were many puppets on at once, the buffo was sent for from the front door, where he was keeping order. When there were women or angels or children to speak, one or more of the girls came down a ladder through a trap-door from the house above. To speak improvised words on a given subject, as the father did, is called “recitare a soggetto.” When the girls spoke, the father prompted, if necessary, and this they call “recitare col suggeritore” to speak, with the assistance of a prompter, words that have been learnt.

For the second performance I was among the audience, and this is what I saw. It may not be in every detail in complete accordance with the received views of historians, but the marionettes take their history wherever they find it. In this case they found it not in Gibbon but in a favourite legend of the people, and, considering that they depend upon the favour of the people, to take it from that source was a judicious proceeding.

The curtain rose on a bedroom in the palace in Rome. Constantine, Emperor of the World, was lying in just such a bed as Pasquino or Onofrio might have, with pillows and sheets and a red flowered counterpane. He was endeavouring to allay the irritation of his skin caused by the painful malady from which he had been suffering for twelve years. A sentinel stood at the foot of the bed.

Amid shouts of “Evviva Costantino,” two Christians were brought on in chains. They knelt to the emperor who offered to spare their lives if they would become Saracens or Turks or pagans that is, if they would adopt his religion. Of course, they indignantly refused and were led off to be burnt, leaving the emperor restlessly soliloquizing to the effect that all Christians must be burnt and all doctors, too, if they could not cure him.

This was the cue for the family doctor to enter with a specialist.

“Come sta vostra Maiesta stamattina?” inquired the family doctor, and the patient declared himself no better he was much the same.

I expected the doctor to feel his pulse and look at his tongue, but the buffo told me that this is not done in leprosy and that it was wrong of his brother at the afternoon performance to outrage realism by making one of them lay his hand upon the emperor’s fevered brow; his father had reproved him for it and the action was not repeated in the evening. One cannot be too careful in dealing with diseases of a contagious nature.

The doctors consulted, and with unexpected unanimity and rapidity recommended the emperor to bathe in the blood of six children. He agreed, and said to the sentinel

“Let six children be arrested at once and brought to me.”

The sentinel showed the doctors out and departed to execute the order, returning with six children already half dead with fright. The emperor addressed him

“Children,” he said, “for twelve years I have suffered from a painful and irritating disease. My learned physicians advise me that a bath of your blood will restore me to health. The remedy is so simple that I have resolved to try it. Of course, the first step will be to put you all to death. This I regret, but ”

Here he was interrupted by the sobs and cries of the children

“We do not want to die, your Majesty!”

He assured them of his sympathy, but begged them not to stray from the point, explaining that, as it was a question of saving the life of the Emperor of the World, their personal wishes could not be consulted and they had better prepare to have their blood shed at once. They trembled violently and, choking with tears and anguish, knelt to him for mercy.

“Pieta, Maiesta, pieta!”

It was a view of the situation which had not occurred to him. The children, being too young to understand the nature of his complaint, rashly leapt on the bed and embraced him. The noble sufferer reconsidered while the children continued to cry

“Pieta, Maiesta, pieta!”

He was touched with compassion, he wavered, he could resist no longer.

“It is not just,” he declared, “to kill all these children; if that is the only remedy, I am content to die.”

So he pardoned them and they danced away, joyfully shouting, “Evviva
Costantino!”

The doctors puzzled me. After languishing for twelve years, why should the patient suddenly call in a specialist? I wondered whether perhaps he disbelieved entirely in doctors, and had at last yielded to the reiterated entreaties of his adorata mamma.

“Now do, my dear, be guided by those who must know better than yourself. It is such a pity you will persist in going on like this. If only you would try to realize how much it distresses me to witness your sufferings! Why not take a second opinion? What I always say is: Make proper inquiries, go to a good man, follow his treatment and you will derive benefit.”

Twelve years of this sort of thing would bring round the most obstinate emperor. The buffo, however, assured me that nothing of the kind had happened; no specialist had been called in, those two doctors had had charge of the case from the beginning, the emperor was an orphan who had never known a mother’s loving care and I must have been drawing upon my imagination or my personal reminiscences. Nevertheless, like a true Sicilian, he congratulated me upon the modification and promised to speak to his father about it with a view to introducing it next time the doctors come to see the emperor that is in about a year and a half.

And then, what became of the doctors? Were they also pardoned? they stood more in need of pardon than the poor children. Or were they burnt for failing to cure the emperor? which would not have been fair, seeing that he would not give their proposal a trial. The buffo explained that they knew this was to be their last chance, and that if they did not cure him in two hours they were to be burnt with the Christians. They had proposed their barbarous treatment not expecting it to have any beneficial effect on his health but merely to gain time, and they had escaped.

As soon as the children had danced away, the patient pulled up the bed-clothes, which had become disarranged owing partly to his restlessness and partly to the children’s terror, and composed himself to slumber. He slept, woke and told his dream. He slept again, woke and told his dream. He slept again and this time we saw his dream. There was a juggling with the lights and a red gauze was let down. Two quivering clouds descended from heaven; St. Peter, with the keys at his girdle, and St. Paul, with a sword, burst through. They made passes at the sleeping emperor and spoke antiphonally, one being a tenor and the other a bass. They announced that the Padre Eterno was pleased with him for pardoning the six children, and that if he would send for Silvestro, a hermit living on Monte Sirach (i.e. Soracte, near Rome, where there is now a church dedicated to S. Silvestro), he would be told what to do. The saints and the quivering clouds rose and disappeared. The emperor woke for the third time, called Captain Mucioalbano, told him his dream and sent him to fetch Silvestro. It was all carried out with extreme reverence and the applause was enthusiastic.

The second act passed before the hermit’s grotto on Monte Sirach. Enter Captain Mucioalbano with two comic Saracen soldiers. They have searched all the mountain and this is the only grotto they have found; they hope it will prove to be the right one, for they are tired and hungry.

“Come out, come out, come out,” exclaims Captain Mucioalbano.

“You are a pagan,” says a voice within.

“Yes, I know,” shouts the captain, “but never mind that. Come out, I want to speak to you.”

Enter, from the grotto, Silvestro who declares he will have no dealings with Turks.

“That has nothing to do with it,” says the captain. “I come from Constantine, Emperor of the World,” and he tells him about the twelve years’ illness, the constant irritation and the mysterious vision.

Silvestro bows his head, crosses himself, and says

“I understand.”

“Then do not keep his Majesty waiting,” says the captain. “Come at once and cure him.”

Silvestro agrees to come, but not till he has celebrated Mass, at which he invites them to be present. They laugh at the idea Saracens at Mass, indeed! and when they see that he is serious they laugh more; it is, in fact, such a good joke that in a spirit of What next? they accept his invitation, intending to jeer. First, however, they want something to eat. Silvestro has nothing for them; besides, one does not eat before Mass.

“But we are hungry,” they say. “You don’t fast all the year; what do you eat?”

Silvestro, like so many hermits, lives on roots, but he has not yet sown the seed he will sow it now. The soldiers object, they are not going to wait four months for their dinner. Silvestro did not mean that they should: the seed will grow during Mass and they shall eat the roots afterwards. They are more amused than ever, but consent to wait. Silvestro sows his seed in two places and they all go off to Mass.

An angel descends with ballet-girl feet, performs an elegant dance and blesses the seed, which by a simple stage trick immediately grows up in two flower-pots. The angel dances again and disappears.

Silvestro returns from Mass with the captain, who is deep in thought, and the two soldiers, who show comic incredulity in every movement. The captain tells Silvestro that during Mass he had a vision of the Passion. Silvestro is not surprised.

“Ah!” he says musingly, “yes; that, I suppose, would be so.”

The captain is so much impressed he is not at all sure he ought not to be baptized. The soldiers, who are too hungry to pay any attention, interrupt

“What about that food?”

They had been standing with their backs to the full-blown turnips. Silvestro turns them round and they are stupefied to see that the miracle has been performed. They are all three converted and insist on being baptized instantly. Silvestro performs the ceremony, somewhat perfunctorily, and promises to cure the emperor. They shout, “Evviva Silvestro!” and dance for joy as the curtain falls.

For the third act we returned to the palace in Rome. Costantino was still in bed, his son Fiovo and his nephew Sanguíneo were with him attempting to comfort him; he was pointing out that it is little use trying to comfort a man who is, and has been for twelve years, enduring such extreme discomfort. They were interrupted by a messenger who announced the return of the captain with Silvestro.

“Let them be brought in,” said the emperor.

Accordingly they came, and the patient repeated to Silvestro all about the twelve years’ illness and the constant irritation. Silvestro imitated the emperor’s action to show he understood how unpleasant it must be. The patient then recounted his vision and asked

“Can you propose any remedy?”

“Become a Christian. The water of baptism will wash away your disease.”

The emperor hesitated not a moment. Silvestro retired to have a cup fixed into his right fist and filled with real water, while the sufferer cleverly turned down the bedclothes and, with the assistance of Fiovo and Sanguíneo, got out of bed and stood upright, showing his body and arms covered with the dreadful marks of the leprosy.

Silvestro returned and solemnly performed the sacrament of baptism, pouring all the water over the kneeling emperor who shivered violently with the cold, so violently that, while he rose, his leprosy fell from him as it had been a garment and his flesh became as the flesh of Samson which in fact it was, for ordinary naked men are so seldom required that by changing his head one marionette can double the parts.

Then Costantino danced for joy and embraced Silvestro, he embraced Fiovo, embraced Sanguíneo, embraced Captain Mucioalbano, embraced the comic soldiers, embraced Silvestro again and made him bishop over all bishops that is Pope of Rome. They were all dancing and embracing one another indiscriminately as the curtain fell.