these performances are traced as far back as 1530. Goldoni, born in the beginning of the eighteenth century, may be said to be the founder of modern Italian comedy. Avoiding classic subjects, and proposing to himself to represent life in its ordinary phases, he took the personages of the "Comedy of Art," gave them more respectable names, and language more correct than they had been accustomed to, wrote their parts, and forbade all unnecessary buffoonery. Columbine alone retained her name along with her duties as Cameriera (chambermaid) to Signora Eleonora, and her smartness, flippancy, and intrigue. Harlequin exercised his stupid cunning and committed his blunders under other names. On his introduction to a Parisian audience, at the end of the seventeenth century, he appears to have acquired considerable pretensions to wit or something resembling it.

Modern critics may despise the apparent poverty of a piece restricted in machinery and situation, and depending for its interest on these few personages; but if you leave them out of any of our present acting comedies of ordinary life, what character of importance will remain ?

A company of Italian comedians had established themselves at the Hotel de Bourgogne, in Paris, about the year 1682, under royal patronage. It was up-hill work with them to please the Parisians, though some of the characters were closely related to the Sganarelles, and Mascarelles, and Pierrots of Molière ; and it ought to have been a relief to people who had sat out so many correctly classical, but not the less dreary, pieces in the Salle of the Palais Royal, to enjoy a hearty series of explosions at the irresistible drolleries of the versatile Italians. As quickly as they could they acquired some knowledge of French and delivered some of their fun in that language. Still, considerable portions continued to be uttered in the native tongue. The doctor was, however, obliged to give up his Bologna dialect, and harlequin that of Bergamo, his natal soil, their best educated auditors being supposed ignorant of the Italian spoken in those places.

We find no traces of their performances later than 1697; but one of the company, Evariste Gherardi by name, made a collection of some of the best performances, and of select scenes of others, and published them in six volumes in the year 1700. The male characters are dressed according to the tradition of the Italian stageharlequin with his blackened visage and diamond motley; the doctor with a false nose, a skull-cap, and a large frill; Pierrot in a jerry hat, a belted frock, and modern trowsers; the ladies in long hanging sleeves, long-bodied gowns, and high ramparts occupying the same position as the peaks of the spoon-bonnets of 1863.

Some extracts from this collection will give a better idea of the spirit and character of these whimsical productions than a laboured essay. The first shall be from the

MERCURE GALLANT.

Harlequin, with Mercury's caduceus, hat, and heel wings, is seen in the air, mounted on Jupiter's eagle. Spying his master in a shepherd's dress below him, he cries out," Good day, Jupiter."

Jupiter.-How comes it that Mercury is using my eagle for his steed? Has he not wings at his heels?

Mercury.-Alas, Signor Jupiter, I can not make use of them. Coming along the street, a maid at an upper window emptied a basin upon me, and so wetted my wings that only I had the good luck to tumble on a dung heap, my neck would have been broken. So finding the eagle tied to the rack in the stable, I took the liberty to bestride him to go on my various messages.

Jupiter.-Come down, and tell me all the latest news from above.

Mercury.-Truly, Olympus is in an uproar since you left. Vulcan, who, as your lordship knows, is as spiteful as the devil, took it into his head to make snares for Mars and Venus; and so, under this pretence, he went to take a walk along the Zodiac. He drew near the sign of the Fishes, and took them in his net, and was off without

Another commission. The moon is in terrible trouble. She is uttering a thousand nonsensical things, and I fear that it is not long till Luna herself becomes a lunatic. She is particularly wroth with the astronomers for saying she has got blotches on her face. She is proud of her beauty, and keenly feels the insult. She has begged me to get her a cure, and I intend to bring five or six of the best practitioners of Paris to her. Saturn has caught a cold, and I must fetch Bacchus him some Sirop de Capillaire.

wants a box of onions to take after supper. But the worst of all is the visit of a comet with a tail two hundred leagues long. She asked me to be her trainbearer; but, said I, "Madame, I'm sorry I must decline. When you would be sitting to dinner in the salon, I should be two hundred leagues off, with

out a chance of a morsel."

Jupiter.-Now for your reports. Mercury (reads).—The people of the Antipodes are impatient to know whether they or we have heads down and feet up.

The great Khan of Tartary has brought his wife before the courts, and condemned her to the galleys for mistaking his turban for a china vase.

The husbands of Paris are in great consternation. Government has ordered every man tired of his wife to be enlisted.

Jupiter. It would be better to enrol the women. What a fine regiment of Dragōns they would make!

Mercury. Others say that all husbands may remarry, in consideration of a sum proportioned to the wickedness of his wife. Jupiter.—Ah! this act will soon fill the

exchequer.

Mercury (reads).-News from Spain. Some days since a man presented himself to combat a very furious bull. To one's every surprise, the bull knelt in submission to the man; but the wonder ceased when they recollected the character of his wife. The bull, seeing his forehead so strongly armed, knew he had no chance, and so yielded with a good grace.

Cinthio desires Eularia for wife. She returns his love, but Scaramouch, her father, prefers Pasquariel for sonin-law. Harlequin, Cinthio's valet, sets all manner of snares for Pasquariel, so that he may appear to his intended father as a gambler and debauchee. In

HARLEQUIN NURSE

I

Pasquariel.-What do you say about a child? You are mad, young woman; never had a child in my life.

Harlequin.--O, Heaven, what do I hear? Disown his son! Isn't this giving nature herself a slap in the face? My cap turns pale with horror; my milk the goes wrong way. The ass himself pricks up his ears at your want of nature. Cruel father, to disown the child that loves you since he was in the cradle! The poor little fellow! the moment he sees an ass, a pig, or a bullock, he runs to pet it, thinking it's his "little papa."

Pasquariel.-Monsieur the Doctor, this woman has lost her senses.

Harlequin.-Ever since he was two months old, he has all your pretty ways. He is never quiet unless he has his little hands full of cards. He'll have no toys except tobaccopipes; and he won't take the breast unless

it is first rubbed with wine.

Doctor. This is wonderful.

Harlequin.-Indeed, sir, our collectors, who are learned men, say that the births of great people are always attended by prodigies.

Doctor.-True enough.

Harlequin.-When the little Pasquariel was born, the candle burned blue three times, the wine turned sour in the cask, and the little pot boiled over. And what can these foretell, but that he will be the glory of the tobacco-shops, the stay of the taverns, and the terror of the little pots?

Doctor.-But where is the child? Have

you brought him with you?

Harlequin. To be sure I have. (To the ass-leader) Take down little Pasquariel.

They bring down the cradle, and a child dressed like Pasquariel gets out, and rushes to him, crying, "O, papa, papa!" Pasquariel, turning from him, bestows a sound kick on Harlequin, who cries, "Oh! I'm dead; and so soon expecting to be confined! Murder, police, police!"

In the following extracts it will be

observed that the modern clown is indebted to the old-world Harlequin for many of his characteristic traits and habits.

HARLEQUIN PROTEUS

Neptune is seen, in his marine chariot, expelling Proteus and Glaucus from his damp domains; and when they are left high and dry on the beach, Harlequin thus vents his opinion on life in the ocean, in the presence of its lord.

Harlequin.-Little I care to remain in your devil of a salt-park, where there is none to converse with but cod-fish, with minds as flat as their sides. A nice country, indeed! where you never see a man, unless some fool that comes to bathe; and where you can get nothing to eat but fish, even on Shrove Tuesday. Well, perhaps, I would stand this, if I could get a moment's repose among these rolling hills, but there's no such thing to be had. If I wish to sleep, these pests of salmon snort so loud, that I can't close an eye. If I turn to one side a lobster pricks me in the head. If I turn to the other, the sprats get into my nose and The crabs seize me behind, and these cursed whales spirt a whole hogshead of water into my face. No one but a fool would remain here longer.

ears.

Glaucus, even in the first exulting sense of liberty, recollects that they have not a sou; but Proteus reminds him of his own powers of shapechanging. Glaucus objecting that under any form they must find something to eat, Proteus expresses his determination to become a cutpurse, or pickpocket. Then a country is to be selected for their debut. Spain is too proud and too poor; they would scarcely get water to drink there. They would find good fruit and wine in Italy, but then the husbands are so very suspicious! They decide upon Paris; but Proteus and Glaucus are not names to be announced at a ball; they must assume others. Proteus suggests Paillasse for his companion, but he rejects it unless the other consents to be called Bedstead. Proteus then selects Brazier (the utensil, not the artizan).

Proteus.—There is a significant name for

you.

In my eyes you are the very model of a copper-smith at this moment, and as Brazier, and lover of good cheer, you will have the advantage of being present at all choice repasts.

The names finally selected are HarHarlequin, lequin and Mezzetin. dressed grotesquely, a sugar-loaf hat on his head, and an enormous sword by his side, and passing for a foreign merchant, is accosted in the middle of the street by two rival hotel-keepers; and he insists on a small room for himself, and a large one for his sword. After much mutual abuse of each other, one pays Harlequin the compliment of calling him a great lord.

Harlequin.-Not at all; I am only a dealer in stones (Marchand pierreux, stone merchant).

Inn-keeper. I understand; 'Marchand Tailleur de pierres, (Merchant Tailor in stone, or Merchant stone-cutter).

stones-diamonds, pearls, rubies, topazes, Harlequin.-No, no! Dealer in precious emeralds, roasted apples.

Inn-keeper. And what do you charge for them by the yard?

Harlequin.-You dunce, they are not sold that way. Look here (opens the box). Is there anything in the world finer than these?

Inn-keeper (pointing to a large diamond). -What is that, monsieur?

Harlequin.-That stone I extracted from the inside of the Great Mogul. This other

is a petrified tear of the King of Morocco.

While they are intent on the contents of the box, he steals the purse of one and the watch of the other. He then shuts the box, and the rivals, intent on securing him, call out to their boys, who proceed, one side to invest him with a night gown and night cap, and the other to pull off his boots. The fiddlers belonging to the establishments strike up a lively tune, and harlequin, seizing one of his ravished boots, thrashes and routs the innkeepers and their followers. Seeing the doctor's house-door ajar, he walks in, leaving his valise in the street. The Bonifaces, finding themselves robbed, re-enter, and fall on the

valise, expecting to find the precious stones inside, but they only light on rags and paving-stones. They rush off, crying out," thieves, police, po

lice!"

Mezzetin, re-appearing, spies Harlequin at the first-floor window, and receives a signal from him to be on the alert. Harlequin now proceeds to burglary upon a large scale, and pitches out into the open arms of Mezzetin, a mattress, a feather-bed, quilts, and hangings, and a young child. flings him a mouse-trap, bidding him set it in his bed-chamber, to catch a mouse who has been nibbling a piece of a ten-year-old Milan cheese concealed in the paillasse. The doctor enters, and Harlequin makes good his

retreat.

He

Scaramouch, now comes on, bending under a basket of plate, which, on his laying it down to rest himself, is carried off by Harlequin. Scaramouch, finding himself robbed, roars out his grief; the doctor, discovering his house gutted, joins in chorus; and the two inn-keepers returning, swell the clamour. All cry for help to the powers and terrors of the law, and the flat opening, discovers Harlequin as Commissaire, clad in robe and fur bonnet, and occupying the magisterial seat.

Second Inn-keeper.-Monsieur the Commissaire, they have stolen from me a purse containing thirty crowns.

Harlequin.-Had you counted them?
Second Inn-keeper.--Yes, sir.
Harlequin.--You were wrong.
sheep all go to the wolf.

Counted

First Inn-keeper.--Sir, I complain with a plaintive complaint.

Harlequin.-I seldom hear a joyous one. First Inn-keeper.-Sir, they have stolen my watch that cost twelve pistoles; the best watch in the world it was.

Harlequin. If it was so good, why did it not mark the hour it was to leave you? Do you know the thief?

First Inn-keeper.-No, sir; only that he's a stranger.

Harlequin.-Ah, there's the misfortune. Be very cautious what you do. Perhaps it's the custom of his province. What if he's a low-country Norman ?

Scaramouch.--Sir, they have taken from me a basket of plate, which I was carrying home.

Harlequin.-And from whom did you take it?

Scaramouch.-From no one at all. I had just bought it.

Doctor.--While I was on a visit, some

one entered my house, and cleared away the

furniture.

Harlequin.-You will have the less trouhow I do justice to you all. ble in your next flitting. Now, observe

Harlequin's chair of justice becomes at once a wicked-looking monster, and casts fire and smoke from its jaws and nostrils. The complainants make a hasty retreat, and the scene closes.

We find in this and other pieces, Harlequin acting in the spirit of the clown of our own times; and eschewing the blundering stupidity bestowed on him in the infancy of the Italian drama. Audiences would tire of seeing an actor, however popular, always personating the same character, though with some variety of dialogue. So later writers for this simple drama were obliged to vary his business and life served as transition to the comedy his humours; and this phase of mimic of real life, so successfully introduced by Goldoni.

Gherardi's company even undertook to present an imitation of our "Timon of Athens," under the title of

HARLEQUIN MISANTHROPE.

The first scene presents a wood, to which our hero has retired. At the rising of the curtain, he salutes the wild animals in this style :

"Good day, comrades! I am your obedient valet. No animal with more brutality or less humanity than man. I see about me none of these captious spirits who never agree to any thing asserted by another. I live according to my humour, and the lions-the high justiciaries and chief magistrates, do not require me to waste my time on their stairs, or weary myself to death in their ante-chambers. I am not spattered by a parvenu who wonders to find himself inside a carriage which his father formerly drove. I have not to endure the impertinences of the Petits-Maitres, nor to go into raptures at the five or six anecdotes of an Ass of Quality, which he has pillaged from the Espiègle, or the Tomb of Melancholy, and relates a score times in the day. Complaisance does not oblige me to enjoy the infantine ways of a superannuated beauty, who forgets that she has not a tooth on which Carmeline (a dentist) does not hold a mortgage. I am freed from all the annoyances of Paris, and find that it is only among these animals one can get rid of the ferocity contracted among men. I detest men; and--women still more. If one presented herself here I would treat her with

Columbine. He turns his back. How unlucky I am!

Harlequin.--Alas! woman was made to deceive us.

Columbine.-Alas, sir! do you dread a poor, unhappy creature, who implores your succour ?

Harlequin.--I dread you more than all

the beasts of the wood.

Columbine.--Will you have the goodness to listen, and advise me?

Harlequin.--Go on; it's useless to forbid a woman's talking.

left

Columbine.--It is eight days since Paris in search of a villain, a perjured wretch, a traitor!

Harlequin.-And you have left Paris for that! Ah, if I wanted such an individual, it's direct to Paris I'd go. Well, pretty child, what's the cause of your grief?

Columbine.-It is just four years since my mother was left a widow; and as my father had left but little property, she was obliged to keep furnished lodgings. Many people of quality came to her, several of them foreigners.

Harlequin. That is as much as to say dupes.

Columbine.-My mother having no child but myself, took good care of my education, particularly in giving me the air of a person of condition.

Harlequin.-A well-conditioned education, I'm sure.

Columbine.-To say truth, I have always felt a furious inclination to be a great lady. Harlequin.-Poor little thing!

Columbine.-When I was twelve my horoscope was taken, and my palm was found nicely marked with a crown. Among the strangers was a German Prince, worthy to be painted, and handsome as the loves. We learned singing from the same master, and we read romances out of the same book. Harlequin.-Prognostic partly accomplished-voyage to the Isle of Love. did you embark?

How

Columbine.-One day when we were in the garden he made me a declaration of love out of the third volume of the Grand Cyrus.

Harlequin.-Ah, clever youth! Columbine.-Faith, as my ideas were to the full as fresh as his, I gave him change for his money out of the same book.

Harlequin.-Delightful presence of mind!

This prince was only a comedian ; and it will please our tender-hearted reader to know that the truant, who

really loves the romantic lady, is recovered, and makes amends for the sorrows he has inflicted.

The misanthrope's next visitors are a country doctor, and his son and daughter-a family of genius, coming up to Paris to make their fortunes. After several attempts at ceremony by the learned head of the party, all nipped in the bud by this new Timon, the Doctor explains the family plan.

Doctor.-Sir, as nothing is now done in the country in the literary way, and as Paris is the only place where a person of merit can appear to advantage, I am about to establish myself and family there, but could not think of passing the abode of a philosopher of your distinction without paying my respects.

Harlequin.-Please abridge your compli ments; but what are you, that you venture to Paris with such confidence?

Doctor.-Sir, I am a man of letters, whose name has made some noise among the

savans.

Harlequin. You then expect to secure a high position?

Doctor.-I have no fear on that head. I have two or three fine works ready for the press, and I shall scarcely be settled in the city, when the publishers, who are all men of intelligence, rich, and honourable, will wait on me with most liberal offers for the copyrights.

Harlequin.-Ah, the intelligent, rich, and honourable publishers! How well he is acquainted with them!

Doctor. And the generous young nobles of the court will be delighted to have me at their parties.

Harlequin.-He is just as well acquainted with the generous young nobles.

Doctor. And as my information is vast, and your young magistrates all benevolent and eager for knowledge, you will be delighted to see how eagerly they'll seek my acquaintance.

Harlequin.-Young magistrates benevolent and eager for knowledge! He knows the gentlemen of the long robe as well as those of the sword! My friend, when you arrive at Paris, you'll not find realities answer your expectation. A life of literature is bright in perspective only. pray, is your son about to make his fortune also?

And

Leander.-Sir, I flatter myself as being tolerably good-looking. I can manage a steed, I dance passably, I have some knowledge of languages.

Harlequin.-And thus gifted, you in

tend

Leander.-To attach myself to some great