Charlotte Eaton, Rome in the Nineteenth Century

Eaton describes the spontaneous nature of poetic improvisation in Italy, the unpretentious skill of Rosa Taddei, and the trite and nonsensical improvisation of the “pastoral brotherhood” of the Arcadian Academy. She compares talented improvisatrici to the Sybils, and suggests that Sybils were actually improvisatrici speaking of the divine. Eaton describes Sgricci’s performance of Medea and says that he is one of the few improvisatori who attempts tragedy.

Performer Name:
Sgricci; Taddei
Performance Venue:
Rome
Performance Date:
 
Author:
Eaton, Charlotte
Date Written:
 
Language:
English
Publication Title:
Rome in the nineteenth century : containing a complete account of the ruins of the ancient city, the remains of the middle ages, and the monuments of modern times; with remarks on the fine arts, on the state of society, and on the religious ceremonies, manners, and customs, of the modern Romans in a series of letters written during a residence at Rome, in the years 1817 and 1818.
Article Title:
 
Page Numbers:
3: 270-79
Additional Info:
Chapter entitled “Improvisatori”
Publisher:
James Ballantyne and Company
Place of Publication:
Edinburgh
Date Published:
1822

Text:

[270] I have heard one of the most extraordinary Improvisatori that I suppose ever appeared, even in Italy. For four or five successive hours, he continues to pour forth a flood of unpremeditated verse, without the smallest hesitation, or apparent effort, and with far more ease than any of us could, after hard labour, recite a composition by rote. But this is not the wonder: This prodigy can compose entire extempore tragedies, on any given subject, with all the plot, incidents, and dramatis personæ,—repeat all the parts himself, and bring the whole to a regular denouement, with as much ease as you and I would carry on a common conversation.

I assure you that I do not exaggerate. No words can do justice to the perfect ease, the energy, and unhesitating flow of verse, in which he poured forth this long,—and, in some respects, fine tragedy; for there were scenes and passages in it, that not [271] only possessed real poetic beauty, and the warm irresistible eloquence of passion; but might have done honour to a drama deliberately finished off in the closet. I, a poor unskilled foreigner, you may be sure, would not have the presumption to pronounce so decisively upon its positive merits, though I might be allowed to have an opinion of its comparative ones; since I must be as well qualified to judge of one Italian play as another; but the solemn critics who surrounded me,—with brows bent to frown, and dispositions prepared to condemn,—were themselves carried away into the same extravagant applause, admiration, and astonishment, which possessed me.

[271] That it was really improvviso, not a shadow of doubt could exist, even in the minds of the most incredulous, of whom, before I went, I believe I was one. A variety of subjects, proposed by different persons in company, were written down by a man on the stage, sealed, and thrown into a vase, which was shaken by various people among the audience, and the billet was drawn by a gentleman of our acquaintance. On this occasion it proved to be Medea, a subject so hackneyed, that when Signore Tomaso Sgricci,—for that is the name of this extraordinary person,—received it on his entrance, he expressed a wish that another lot might be drawn, both from the difficulty of avoiding an imitation of the great writers who had already treated it, and from having very lately, at Florence, dramatized on the same. The Sala, however, resounded with cries of “Medea! Medea!” to the great joy of an Italian gentleman of my acquaintance, behind me; who had heard him on this very theme at Florence, and was curious to see if he would repeat it verbatim. Signore Sgricci bowed, paused a single minute, and then said, that to avoid repetition as much as possible, he would make a different cast of parts: He introduced, as my Florentine friend acknowledged, two new characters,—opened the action in a different part of the story, and neither in a single scene, nor even speech, approached to the tragedy he had composed at Florence. The character of Medea, throughout, was supported with wonderful force and effect; and her invocation to the hellish brood was horribly sublime. The second tragedy, which I heard on another occasion, was a much more novel subject; it was the death of Lucretia, which gave far more scope to his powers; and there were many parts in it which absolutely electrified the house, and drew forth loud and continued Evviva’s of applause. I should observe, that these tragedies were both in verse sciolto , without rhyme; but improvviso poems, on any given subject and measure, he can pour forth with the same inconceivable rapidity.

He is a native of Arezzo, (the birth-place of Petrarch,) and the harsh Tuscan accent is very distinguishable in his enunciation. His language, however, is remarkably pure, and its flow and variety are most wonderful.

Signore Sgricci is, as far as I know, the only improvisatore who ever attempted tragedy. Of the tribe who spout forth torrents of verse on every possible theme, there is no end. It is, however, far [273] from being my intention to speak of them disparagingly; on the contrary, I think it a wonderful talent, and one which, I believe, is exclusively Italian; for, though I have heard in the evenings of summer, a knot of Portugueze peasants singing improvviso to their guitars, (which they call glossare ) their little extempore songs can scarcely be styled poetry; aspiring to no elevation, fancy, or even regularity of metre, but merely stringing together the rhymes into which their euphonious language naturally runs. The genius of the Italian language affords considerable facility to the composition of verse; yet, when that composition is to be on any given subject, without a moment’s pause or hesitation, and in the face of an expecting audience, it is amazing that its difficulties can be conquered at all. Few people in our country would find it easy to make a tolerable dissertation in prose, on any given theme, in such a situation; how much more difficult would they find it, when encumbered with the fetters of rhyme and measure! But the Italian improvisatori could make no extempore oration in prose on a given theme, and this seems to prove that it is a sort of inspiration, or poetic fervour, that carries them on. They often compose with rime obligate , that is, the rhymes and measure, as well as subject, as assigned them. This, to my great astonishment, one of them assured me, he found even easier than unshackled composition, because the rhymes being chosen, saved him the necessity of searching for them; so that it is plain he adapted the sense to the sound, not the sound to the sense. It is very common, too, to have a verso [274] obligato , a distich taken from any popular poet, assigned them, which they must introduce at the end of every eight-line stanza.

It is scarcely possible that verses so composed should ever be very fine, and sometimes they are very bad; but they are occasionally wonderfully pretty, and adorned with images and allusions which it is amazing they should have been able to conjure up in the moment. But the truth is, they have similes and thoughts ready prepared; they are versed in all the common-place of poetry, have all its hackneyed images at command, and bring in, on all occasions, the gods and goddesses, and muses, as auxiliaries. Still, when themes are given on which these useful personages cannot be brought to their assistance, and on which, from their oddity, they could not be prepared, they sometimes hit off very happily-turned verses. I gave a cat as a subject one night to a Roman improvisatrice,* who instantly composed some very pretty lines upon it; and a pen , upon another occasion, called forth a still more ingenious poem from a gentleman.

By far the most interesting performance of the kind is, when two sing together, or rather against each other, in alternate stanzas; something like the contests in Virgil’s Eclogues, or the trials of skill between ancient bards. The Improvisatori, fired by each other’s strains, by rivalry, and emulation,—[275] pour out their Strophe, and Antistrophe, with a degree of increasing fervour and animation, that carries away their audience, as well as themselves.

Of the improvisatori of Rome itself, Signore Biondi is, in my opinion, by far the first, and I believe he is almost a solitary example of the published poems of an improvisatore being received with eclat. He, too, with the exception of Signore Sgricci, is the most calm in his action,—the most free from those violent contortions or distortions, which, whether the effect of natural agitation or affected passion, are peculiarly unpleasant to witness. These, indeed, I have invariably observed to be strongest in an inverse ratio to the goodness of the performer; and Sgricci, who confessedly stands at the head of the race, is wholly free of them.

A young Neapolian improvisatrice, Rosa Taddei, has lately excited great interest at Rome; she is only nineteen, not handsome, but with a countenance full of expression, intelligence, and sensibility. That she is endowed with great natural genius, it would be vain to deny; and though very unequal, her compositions are sometimes lighted up with bursts of beauty, that seem really the effect of inspiration; but it is almost painful to see her, from the violent agitation under which she labours, and the violent physical effort which every lines seems to cost her. She is the daughter of a comedian, and has, consequently, enjoyed no advantage of education; yet her manners have that natural elegance which results from a mind of genius and sensibility. She is now studying Latin, that universal and rational foundation for a good [276] education here, and is making rapid advances in knowledge of history. With the Italian poets she is already conversant.

I never pitied any one more than this poor girl, at two or three sittings of the Accademias. These sapient institutions are confraternities of male and female poets, who elect, and eulogize, and stun each other with their own lack-a-daisical sonnets, elegies, and pastorals. There are two grand Accademie in Rome, the Tiburina, which is quite of modern date, and the Arcadia, which is the ancient parent of the whole, and has planted its colonies in every city of Italy: For the Arcadians,—these enraptured swains, who so unweariedly extol the pleasures of rural simplicity, and pastoral innocence, will be sought in vain among peaceful plains or secluded hamlets, or any where, except among the din of popular towns. Every member, on admission, becomes a shepherd, and takes some pastoral name, and receives a grant of some fanciful pastoral estate in the happy regions of Arcadia, where he is supposed to feed his harmless sheep. This pastoral brotherhood holds its meetings in a large hall, adorned with portraits of some of the most famous worthies among its deceased members; among whom, Sir Isaac Newton, and several other great philosophers of our country, had the honour to be included. Once a-month,—moved I presume by the influence of the moon,—they assemble to disburden their minds, and rills of nonsense meander from every mouth. I was seduced into one of these assemblages, and sustained the infliction of the incessant recitation of the most [277] wretched rhymes during three mortal hours. Nothing could be much more ridiculous than to hear an Arcadian, in the shape of a huge, clumsy, ungainly-looking man, in dirty boots, and a great-coat, called upon by some such absurd name as Il Pastor Corydone, and then to see him get up and begin to repeat some silly ditty about his sheep, or to bewail himself on the cruelty of his Fillide. The natural effect ensued, and one of these plaintive pastorals was interrupted by the loud snores of a fat Arcadian swain. They convened an extraordinary sitting the other night, in honour of Rosa Taddei, the fair improvisatrice, whom, of course, they have made a shepherdess. She was handed into the crowded Sala, which on this occasion presented not its usual beggarly account of empty benches, but boasted of cardinals, dukes and duchesses, foreign ambassadors, —and Canova, who accompanied us. One after another, they began addressing her, in long Latin and Italian pastorals, and other rigmaroles, in which they made her out to be a star come down from heaven, an amaranthine flower transplanted to earth,—the soul of a Seraph, usually employed in singing in heaven, now come down to perform in this nether world: they said Corilla was a dunce to her; even Sappho herself was undone: she was a tenth Muse, and beat the other nine all to nothing,—had been nursed upon Olympus, and was Apollo’s prime favourite, &c. &c.

She is really modest, and without any affectation it was easy to see she was extremely discomposed with the absurd hyperboles that were mercilessly ad-[278]dressed to her. After this weary performance, her own began. The parting of Titus and Berenice,—the address of Moses to the Israelites on the passage of the Red Sea,—(some passages very fine,)—the Fall of Man,—Adam and Eve expelled from Paradise,—the Death of Arria,—the Parting of Venus and Adonis, (by far the best,)—the Battle of Constantine and Maxentius, (not suited to her, and very poor,) and Calliope, at the Tomb of Homer,—a favourite Italian mode of verse-making, in which the supposed visitor, whether muse or man, pours forth an appropriate strain of lamentation,—these were some of the principal subjects on which she sang, with various but sometimes distinguished success. She is almost the only performer in whom I have ever seen much hesitation. She was frequently obliged to repeat the last line twice, and even thrice. I believe I forgot to tell you that few improvisatori, except Sgricci, ever perform without music, and none ever accompany themselves. They choose a simple, but marked measure, suited to the rhythm they are going to compose in, which is played on the piano-forte by another person; and the cadence, and strong intonation in which they recite, is nearly singing.

The utility of the music is not so much to conceal any irregularity in the metre, as to give a certain inspiration to the performer,—to kindle a certain feeling, which it is vain to describe, but which all who are susceptible of the power of music or poesy, must have felt. The improvisatori seem to have the power, by certain associations, of calling up at will [279] those trains of feeling under which alone they can pour out the unpremeditated strains of lyric song. Several of the Italian improvisatrice, in their raised and inspired moods, pouring forth their unpremeditated strains,—exactly as if possessed,—remind me of all I have heard of the Sybils of old, who, I believe, were nothing more than improvisatrice, except that they spoke and were heard, under the belief of their oracular divine mission.

*A lady of remarkable talent, who, from diffidence, never would attempt to perform, except in a small circle of her own friends. She is since dead.

Notes:

 
Collected by:
AE