Pietro Giordani, “Of Sgricci and the Improvisers in Italy” (“Intorno allo Sgricci ed agl’ Improvvisatori in Italia”)

Performer Name:

Sgricci; Gianni; Perfetti; Corilla

Performance Venue:

 

Performance Date:

 

Author:

Giordani, Pietro

Date Written:

1816

Language:

Italian

Publication Title:

Biblioteca Italiana Ossia Giornale di Letteratura Scienze ed Arti

Article Title:

Intorno allo Sgricci ed agl’ Improvvisatori in Italia

Page Numbers:

4:365-75

Additional Info:

 

Publisher:

Presso Antonio Fortunato Stella

Place of Publication:

Milan

Date Published:

1816

Text:

The Biblioteca italiana¹ would very willingly have gone on keeping its silence about Mr. Tommaso Sgricci, improviser from Arezzo, given the fact that so many people talk about him, in many different ways, and with such a lot of passion. A lucky young man he is indeed to have managed to ensure so soon that it is possible neither to talk nor to keep silent about him without getting in trouble! When facing, however, those who have the disposition and the capacity to assault and storm our reasonable silence, we need to yield both to the authority of the interrogators, and to the rationality of the interrogations.

I. Does Sgricci cheat? Or does he really improvise?

We wish to believe that it is not possible to doubt his sincerity, and therefore hold that Sgricci does indeed improvise.

II. Is Sgricci a good improviser?

He seems good to us; he is as good as it is possible to be when improvising; good to the extent that we consider him worthy of not being an improviser. We would willingly say of this young man what the sovereign of eloquence had once said of Q. Roscio, that marvel and delight of the Romans who had grown fond of delicate and frivolous pleasures: Artifex ejusmodi ut solus dignus videatur esse qui in scenâ spectetur; tum vir ejusmodi ut solus dignus videatur qui eo non accedat.

III. Are the things said by Sgricci impromptu beautiful? That is to say, are they true, not trivial, well-found and well-expressed? Are they completely or partly so? And if partly, how many parts are so?

Gentle interrogators, since we had to begin this interrogation, we cannot refuse to go on answering your questions: but to this particular question, we pray each one of you give his own answer. Quod excerpitis, quod refertis, you know whether a piece is any good in itself, or whether it possesses anything of some beauty, some force, some truth, or some novelty in itself: it is certain that what vanishes from your mind without leaving any sign was not really to your liking; and it is probable that it wasn’t worthy of your liking at all. And this is not any less true for poetry than for the sister arts. It is therefore up to you to decide how much of Sgricci’s verses you receive and keep in your intellect.

IV. How would those verses look when written down?

Without doubt, they would seem to be improvised things. How could it possibly be otherwise? Whoever produces hundreds of verses stans pede in uno, has, of inevitable necessity, to fluere lutulentus. Truly blessed must he be of whom at least something proves worthy of staying on! But we wish to say of Sgricci something we would not be able to say about the other improvisers: that he (thanks to his intelligence and his extensive studies) would dislike his verses, were they to be written down; the judgment of the other improvisers in this matter is so poor that, in reading their impromptu verses, they do not get ashamed of themselves. Gianni (but not just Gianni) prints his verses, exalts himself in them, and convinces himself in good faith that those verses will make him immortal. And perhaps it is with prudent artifice that Sgricci falls breathless for going so fast in reciting his verses, so that the ear and the mind can follow him only with great difficulty; he knows that, were he to leave more space for the judgment of the concepts and the sentences, he would have less benevolent judges: such a copious and rapid torrent of words, on the other hand, cannot lack a reaction of wonder.

V. How are the tragedies improvised by Sgricci? Are they real and good tragedies?

His tragedies are the most they can possibly be for improvised things. And we have had to admire Sgricci’s courage, constancy and felicity in these strange trials. It is well known to those who interrogate us, and actually to any sensible person, that the mere choosing of a truly appropriate subject for a real and good tragedy constitutes a long and extremely difficult quest in itself; and it is not just a matter of difficulty, it is also uncertain whether some great master of tragedy would not notice, right after completing the work, that the material he chose and exhausted himself over, was in fact inadequate. Alfieri says this of himself; and he quite deserves to be believed in, both as a judge and a witness. Now, Sgricci deprives himself not even of the time, but of the will to choose. It is not his own judgment, but only fate that provides him with the subject: And by whom does the ballot box get filled up? Oh, by a multitude of people: bellua multorum capitum, as was once said by the finest critic of poetry and customs.² Piero de’ Medici gave young Michelangelo, who was a great sculptor already, a pile of snow to make a statue. Sgricci is exposed to something worse. If, however, he does not sometimes accept those subjects that are absolutely and quite evidently impossible to make a tragedy from, nobody can reprimand him for that with good reason.

It seems to us that he could make a list of one or two hundred subjects — or as many more or less as he wishes — that have been generally recognized to be suitable for the tragic form; such a list could be hung at the doors of those theatres or halls where he executes his highly daring experiments; everyone can pick from that list whichever subject he likes, and throw it into the ballot box, around which neither the Police, for caution, nor the other inspectors, for any other convenient causes, would have to waste time any longer: whatever subject comes out of the box, Sgricci would not need to dispute about it with the audience. Perhaps the admiration of the uncultivated crowd would diminish just a little because of this method; but the admiration of the prudent ones would be intact.

But after all this, would it be possible for Sgricci to produce one real good tragedy standing on his two feet? It is not possible, not for Sgricci, not (we believe) for any of the other living, not for the dead, were they to rise again, and not for the ones to be born. It is possible to produce dramatic dialogues of tragic subject-matter, the way he does: it is also possible to maintain the customs and manners imposed by the story over the characters, the way he does, and to express oneself in a fast flow of words; but to complicate and then to reasonably solve a tragic knot, that is not the kind of thing one can do without thinking for a long time. Nor can he ever give to his tragedies — which he alone is to act in without interruption — any form other than his usual, the very simple form of Greek tragedies with choral interludes. He is the first to have ever attempted to produce these tragic dialogues impromptu: no one denies that; but that others can do anything better following his steps, we do not believe.

VI. Is it a fair complaint of many people that, while improvising blank verses, tercets and dramatic dialogues, Sgricci often excuses himself from dealing with present-time, or recent, or modern subjects, declaring himself not to be informed in those matters?

It is perhaps a fair complaint, but not a rigorous one. It is not strange at all that the Public would love to hear more of our own things, things new or well-known, rather than of ancient things, or things that have already been repeated too much, or things that not many people care about. And whoever gives himself to the Public should neither ignore nor neglect what the Public likes. But on the other hand, it should also be noted that Sgricci is only twenty-four years old; and that he necessarily spent a very long time studying ancient tales and fables. If he was wrong to have wanted to learn about ancient times before learning about our own, that was not his particular mistake, but rather a common one in Italy, where education is still lying at the mercy of fate. When the time comes for our people to be educated according to reason, it will be understood (as it has already been by other nations) that ancient history must, of necessity, be preceded by modern history; and everyone will recognize his foolishness to have wanted to know about what happened two thousand years ago, before learning about what happened the other day, or in the days of our fathers and forefathers.

VII. Is Sgricci nothing, or a minor improviser, or a much greater one, in comparison to the others?

Surely our interrogators refer to those improvisers who are present or near to our memory, given the fact that no one can give an answer in comparison to Perfetti,³ and only the elderly would be able to mention Corilla.⁴ On the other hand, it is dangerous to come to a judgment with the sole testimony of memory (and it is unfortunately not possible to do otherwise with the improvisers). We make a distinction between Sgricci who improvises and Sgricci who is not engaged in that act. This young man has been, and still is, studying, which is not something improvisers usually tend to do; but all friends of this talented man should wish that he could go on studying a lot more, as he wants, and yield to the world fruits worthy of great studies. The presence of such extensive studies is even felt in that hasty running of his improvisations; and it seemed to us, in what we have heard of those improvisations — we have already heard a lot — that he proves inferior to no one and wins a truly big crowd that envies him vainly.

— But we want to know whether he is the greatest, the one best of all improvisers. —

Whoever is so pressing in interrogating should excuse us. There are those who affirm that he is the greatest, and those who deny it. We definitely do not wish to say anything other than what we can say by giving probable, and evident, reasons.

VIII. All in all, what and how much is Sgricci’s worth?

We believe that it is possible to have good hope from such a blooming age and talent as he has. We hope that he never loses those great praises he receives, and we do not fear at all that those envious censures will do him any harm. Nature has been friendly and generous towards him. And to that has been added the very desirable fortune of being so early shown the hidden seats of the beautiful and the good, which so many people nowadays search for in vain. Sgricci cannot remain uncertain as to choose between a short-term success and an eternal fame; and we believe that he has already made that choice for himself. He who can be something else would never like to be an improviser. It is not prudent to present an immature spectacle, unless excused by necessity; one should rather wait for truly great and steadfast merits to be brought by few spectacles, and to add from few to many, and thus to entrust oneself from our entire century to posterity. In order to become a great man, however, one needs to be capable of living in complete dedication to a noble toil. Instead of offering all these applauses, therefore, which are perhaps harmful, but definitely vain, it would be much better if some magnanimous Italian gentleman could cherish such a happy hope for our country, which presently needs it so much, and offer her one talented man, as Sgricci seems promising to be: a stream of water would be truly happy, if it could find someone to make a canal where it can run freely and grow into a majestic and fertile river; otherwise, it would remain wanting and unknown, and get miserably lost in putrid ponds — without being at fault itself.

IX. What are these improvisers? What are the nature and the extent of this profession of speaking about everything in improvised verses?

At this point, dear interrogators, you are enlarging the field of our answering, but you do not diminish its dangers; our answering has to become a fight which we join in sheer disgust; and moreover, we state that we will not keep silent about anything that seems true to us. So, let us first of all answer your question with two words which we borrow from that famous decree of the Roman Censors, when Rome, already literate, chased the rhetoricians away; and we deem ourselves to be using those two words with much more evident truth. The profession of improvisation, in our opinion, is nothing but LUDUS IMPUDENTIAE. Improvisers are indeed very impudent, for they promise an impossible absolute. And — this is something one would never believe if he did not witness it every day — such a promise gets very well accepted by the Public, and even by those who prove to be quite prudent in other matters! We say that it is absolutely and completely impossible to speak of every thing, impromptu and well. We say well because one can quite easily speak badly impromptu; but such a promise, though reasonable, would have been despised. We are talking about speaking well and impromptu; we do not care whether it is going to be in prose or in verse. What the mob admires in the abundant downpour of non-meditated verses is nothing to a sensible person, who understands what kind of a great achievement it is to compose excellent and enduring verses; to throw out of one’s mouth some less than mediocre verses is the kind of habit that anyone can acquire easily. What is hard is to be able to say things that are true and beautiful, things that are not vile, things that are worth the time and the attention invested in hearing them out. And here we repeat that, an orderly succession of rigorous thoughts, which is the outcome of an intelligence that is not vulgar, and which is acquired through a great many toils, can never ever be obtained (no matter what the charlatans say) through an impromptu fury, or a spontaneous inspiration. There is no fury other than talent; no inspiration other than hard work. So what intelligence, what talent, what extensive studies do improvisers generally have? And let us suppose that they possess those things as much as Homer and Dante did: there is no talent and no study that can yield fruit without time. We ask each one of you, dear Sirs, who have been exercising your intellects in numerous meditations and practices, we ask whether you would have the nerve to present yourselves on a stage or at the centre of a hall, in front of a large audience, to speak impromptu of just any aspect of those subjects that you are most familiar and comfortable with; we ask whether you would like to speak in this manner even for only half an hour, and even in a plain and domestic sermon, provided that it is clear and reasonable? And that which you would not wish to promise yourselves, are you just going to accept it when it is promised to you by such people as these improvisers, people to whom were we ever to wish to compare you, you would take it as the greatest offence? It occurs from time to time to the Members of the English Parliament to give improvised speeches; but of course not on just any matter that someone thinks suitable to propose. They speak on certain particular matters, about which they come to the Council already greatly informed. Those speeches are written down and then published; but it is certain and widely known that they get amended and edited before publication. And nevertheless, how many of such orators receive any praise in there? Just three or four, who are the flowers of the nation. Well then, are there many people to have this privilege in Italy? Italy too had her oration platforms in our days; we do not need to look for those whose oration bore any fruit in politics, we should just try to recall those who were praised for their eloquence. Who was distinguished at that time? And who is still remembered today? Those assemblies did not lack the best of the intellectuals then known. Are we going to say that it is easy for Italians to speak in verse, and rather difficult to speak in prose? The difficult thing in any language, dear Sirs, is to think and speak well, without any equipment and meditation; it is difficult even in the most simple, domestic or daily manner. It is in fact more difficult to do so in Italian, rather than in other languages. We pray our alert interrogators to kindly recall here what they know to have happened to John Locke, when he was completely focused and intent on thinking that famous and very useful principle of his, the principle of the association of ideas. One day he found himself in the company of four of the most distinguished and respectable intellectuals of England, and after listening and speaking to them for a while, he had an urge to conduct an experiment, for his metaphysics, over those four best thinkers and orators of the kingdom; without having them notice him in their already heated discussions, he moved aside to write down what they were saying. After a not very short while, the four gentlemen shook themselves out of their distraction, noted Locke’s absence, called him nearer and graciously complained that he had left them like that, and to do what? — I actually have never abandoned your Excellencies, I have always been with you. Knowing that nothing but concepts worthy of keeping would issue from the four wisest and most cultivated minds of Great Britain, I just wanted to write down what you were saying. — Oh, let us see; pray read to us. — Thus Locke began to read, and the four gentlemen, to be astonished at first; they then began to laugh, and then got ashamed of themselves; and finally, getting completely out of patience, they prayed the philosopher to stop reading that minute; and since he wanted to go on tormenting them, they tore the wicked sheet out of his hands and shredded it to pieces.

Also the sophists in Greece, and the rhetoricians who had returned to Rome after the well-known chase were engaged in the profession of improvising speeches, disputing in any subject that was proposed to them, keeping the pros and the cons of any sentence whatsoever. But for this strange purpose they would at least care to provide a specious reason: namely, to be better equipped for the necessary practices in the forum and the Roman Curia. And they were at least studying for a very long time, beginning a greatly demanding exercise from as early as their adolescence. It is true that these were the worst schools, and the most pernicious, which were even then greatly criticized by sage people; but they at least knew that one cannot get anything out of nothing. Then, what exactly are the studies, the exercises and the schools through which our improvisers acquire so many abilities? All they seem to need is an excellent impudence, and an incredible patience of people.

X. What comparison can be made between improvisers and actors, dancers and singers?

Only one thing do they have in common, that they leave no traces behind; but then again, they have some crucial differences. Those three arts produce a lot of pleasure, pleasure that is not unworthy; whereas improvised verses are as annoying as they are useless, and worse than being just useless, they horribly disgrace true poetry. Those three arts are capable of attaining real perfection, because they all have principles, rules, and exercises that require a long time of study to master. We praise ourselves for having befriended Matteo Babini;⁵ after observing the way he teaches how to sing and how to gesticulate, we have been confirmed in our opinion that every man who becomes the master of an art becomes also a great philosopher of that art. But we repeat asking, where are the rules, the studies and the exercises of our improvisers? Should something universally denied — that beautiful things can come out of the recklessness of fate — be admitted and believed in just for their sake?

XI. Then, is Italy mistaken to take pride in her improvisers? Is she mistaken to consider herself at least unique with respect to the other nations in this matter?

It is quite certain that improvisers can give us nothing but words and more words; and it is greatly evident that these words are either vulgar or barbarous. Then what glory can it be to have some people who dare to speak publicly without saying anything? What shame it is not to have crowds who are intent on long listening to a vain noise that says nothing, especially when it is already known that it cannot say anything?

— Well, it is true that they say nothing; but they certainly do speak. Isn’t it a beautiful miracle to be able to speak, whichever way, by improvisation? Are we supposed to deprive of its due praises such swiftness, which we praise and admire in many other things?

At this point, if we have any rationality at all, we have to strongly criticize this way of thinking. The only object of fine arts is beauty; the beautiful in fine arts is everything, the fast, nothing. If Sir Benvenuti⁶ or Sir Landi were to present to you a painting, saying: “You know well what we would have been able to produce in six months, but instead we just liked the idea of passing off this thing which we made in a week,” how would you take it? In what esteem do you hold Luca Giordano⁷ who acquired, through his fellow Neapolitans, the nickname of Luca Fa-priesto [Luca Makes-it-Quick] for his fearful speed in painting, and whom was called by many the Improviser of painters? The fury of divine Michelangelo was many times condemned, and not by anyone other than himself; because it occurred to him many times that, not having the patience to make models first, and wanting to improvise on the marble — which he used to shape with a marvellous force — he came out with defective works that were not worthy of his talent at all, and he disdainfully discarded them. Apelleus gave a very well known answer to that poor idiot who took pride in having produced a panel with great speed;⁸ it is also well known how the brothers Caracci⁹ continuously protested against the sect which introduced into the art of painting that concept of painting quickly, which an imbecility of art very appropriately called strapazzare [‘ill-treating’ or ‘overdoing’]. Since it has been manifestly proven that improvisers can produce nothing but bad verses, what does it matter if they produce them quickly? And do you think that swiftness, which adds to the value of the beautiful next to nothing, will somehow buy some respect for the ugly? On the contrary, it will make the ugly even guiltier, depriving it of all excuses.

— It is at least a marvel to be able to enjoy that readiness of rhymes. —

It is only common people who can accommodate such an enjoyment and such an admiration. How could any person of average senses be able to admire and not get bothered by such a thing, when the rhymes are often false, and more often than that forced and miserable, and therefore annoying? Or when they are so trivial and inevitable that the listener can already expect their coming and cannot keep himself from putting them into the rhymer’s mouth? These rhymes are so frequently used that any man would be able to recall them. Then we should admire not the men of letters, but rather the mobs of Spain; those people in theatres who, when the performer on stage utters the first verse and half of the other de las seguidillas, enjoy completing the verse altogether and finish it with a rhyme. Beautiful rhymes in Italian do certainly require imagination and good taste: but it is so excessively easy to get similar inflexions, whichever way they occur to us, that one needs to pay some attention to avoid them in writing and speaking in prose. We are not going to try to find out whether other nations have improvisers (divitias miseras), which is something we hear to be affirmed by some people; but although we are certain that more than one or two or three million inhabitants of Italy will cry against us, we are firmly of the opinion that no credit is done to our nation by having and listening to improvisers.

XII. Then, what should we think of all those crowns given to improvisers in the Capitol [the Campidoglio]?

The foreigners can perhaps laugh at them, but the good Italians should be disdainful of such things. When Rome was strong and great, it honoured many times in the Capitol, with its greatest distinctions, the most abhorrent of all crimes, which is an unjust war; the Rome of our times gives the crown, on the very same Capitol Hill, to the most frivolous of all trifles. The turn of the centuries brings with itself such a mutation of traditions, without ever causing any increase of justice or prudence! If it is not credible that ancient Rome was manifestly guilty of all those solemn injustices, it is still very credible that modern Rome does not approve of these mockeries, and that she just did not think it was necessary to suppress them. We are not asserting that peaceful arts should not receive rewards and honours, even of an extraordinary kind; on the contrary, we would like to have them greatly honoured, but only with a healthy judgment, and a rightful consideration of their utility and excellence. We cannot tolerate to see Italy drag herself in mud as if she were insane, trample upon gems, and pick up and gild cheap ornaments. The Greeks honoured wrestling and running, as these sports make the body healthy, vigorous, dexterous and attractive; they honoured singers, musicians and poets, as they give joy and refinement to the spirit; and we do not praise them in those instances where they were sometimes mistaken in moderation. When the civilization rose again in Italy (as it always and necessarily does), arts preceded science, and were held in the greatest esteem. The lofty and unique genius of Dante manifestly desired to be crowned as a poet in his country; but Dante gave to his nation a poem that uni cedit Homero Propter bis mille annos. Petrarch too received the crown in Rome, but only in return for the ingenious toils of writing an epic poem in Latin hexameters. During the same century and the one that followed, many were crowned in Italy as poets and scholars, until the abuse of this tradition turned the title of Poeta laureate into something vulgar and despicable, as it usually does. The poetical crown managed to recover its prestige only after being offered to great Torquato. The eighteenth century, on the other hand, was delirious enough to mistake the improvisers’ tittle-tattle for poetry, and did not get ashamed of presenting them the crown that had once belonged to Petrarch and Tasso; it did not occur to the people of that century to give the crown to Metastasio, Varano, Parini, Alfieri, (and we are going to say even) Monti. And after all, isn’t it an extremely foolish and pitiful thing to crown a person like Corilla on the spot where Galileo was imprisoned and tortured? Enough of talking about these disgraces, which inspire overly grave words because of the intolerable shame and the rightful rage they cause.

XIII. Isn’t it possible to somehow accommodate this tendency and ease of the Italians to improvise verses?

Certainly no one should be prohibited from doing something he harmlessly takes pleasure in. One could improvise a little (but shortly and moderately) in the company of a cultured gathering, and even get praised there; but improvisation should never be the major entertainment of a people, nor the profession of many, nor the pride of our nation, as long as we wish to prove that we have some rationality.

XIV. In the end, what is this bunch of people — who, not having taken the risk of becoming tightrope walkers, preferred becoming improvisers — supposed to do? Exterminate them we surely cannot. To force them to engage in some more useful professions could be right, but it would also be very harsh; isn’t it possible to adjust that idle, restless and vagabond genius of the improviser for some practical purpose?

We think that is possible. Do they wish to make a living of verses? We cannot say that Tasso was denied that opportunity, nor was Parini; so we will grant that they live on poetry, but for God’s sake, not on their own poetry. Let them be similar to the ancient Rhapsodists or to some of the Troubadours of the Middle Ages. Let them memorize some Dante, some Ariosto, or Tasso, or Metastasio; let them learn to pronounce perfectly, and to recite poetry with charm and decorum. People all over Italy, as soon as they read good poetry, tend to recite it themselves, and become familiar with our great poets. The accents in most parts of Italy are irritating; so these novel rhapsodists should be chosen only from Tuscany and Rome. Then, after getting well trained as to how to pronounce correctly, and how to control their voices — but not in the detestable school of someone like Morocchesi,¹⁰ or anything like that — these rhapsodists could fill the ears of people, rich and poor, with some Italian sounds; the public spirit would thus begin to house an Italian consciousness, which would nourish the faculty of conceiving — and perhaps even of expressing — some Italian thoughts. This would not be a contemptible part or manner of public education at all. Hence, by securing some better-quality pleasures and making some profit as well, Italy would be liberated from this great nuisance and mockery of improvisers.

 

Translator’s notes:
1. Journal of literature, arts and science that was founded in Milan in 1816, under the protection of the Austrian government, which had succeeded to Italian rule after the fall of Napoleon. Giordani was one of the compilers of the journal, and wrote its introduction; but about a year later he resigned from that position, disgusted with the behaviour of the Director Giuseppe Acerbi, whom, not knowing him in person, he had at first thought to be a gentleman; he realized that being a compiler of the Biblioteca italiana was not compatible with his dignity and patriotism, as by accepting that position he had once believed. This article on Sgricci was written by Giordani especially for the journal.
2. Horace, in the first Epistle of Book I, v.76.
3. Bernardino Perfetti was born in 1681 in Siena and died in 1747; in his time, he gained great fame as an improviser and was crowned in the Capitol [the Campidiglio] in 1725. His posthumously published poems are completely forgotten today.
4. Maria Maddelena Morelli of Pistoia was another very famous improviser who also received the crown in the Capitol. She was born in 1728 and died in 1800.
5. Matteo Babini (1754-1816) was one of the best-known tenors in Italy.
6. Pietro Benvenuti, who was a greatly respected painter in his times, was born in Arezzo in 1769, and died in Florence in 1844.
7. Luca Giordano is a painter of Spanish origin who was born in Naples in 1632, and died there in 1704; he was greatly famous for the astonishing ease with which he could imitate the works of more distinguished artists; he earned a lot of money and contributed to the decadence of art with his example.
8. In his Vite dei pittori antichi [‘The Lives of Ancient Painters’], Carlo Dati recounts the following as to Apelleus: “when a painter showed him one of his works and stated that he had worked with great speed, Apelleus answered saying that his speed could indeed be clearly observed, and that he was amazed that he had not produced much more works of this kind in the same span of time.”
9. The brothers Annibale and Agostino Caracci were both talented painters of the sixteenth century, though the younger sibling Annibale was the most famous and the most gifted. Agostino was born in 1558 and died in 1602; Annibale was born in 1560 and died in 1609.
10. Morocchesi was a professor of declamation at the I. and R. Florentine Academy of Fine Arts, and a tragic actor of some renown: he was born on May 15, 1768, in S. Casciano in the Valley of Pesa, and died in Florence on November 26, 1838.

Notes:

Collected by:

EW