Excerpt from The Innamorati: The Libertini Rehearse I

The Commedia dell' Arte in the 16th century was a vigorous form of theater, and a largely improvised theater, with established stock plots and bits of commedic exchange that employed a free flowing rehearsal -- a chance to invent and reinvent the plays so the performances remained fresh and current to their audiences. For the actors who performed the roles of the different Zanni (the clowns) there were physical demands, requiring agility and athleticism. In the background, there was an on-going apprenticeship with the children of the actors to acquire experience and understanding of their parent's craft and carry the troupe into the next generation. 

Beneath a star-studded sky, the maestro of the Libertini studied his actors and pondered the next two weeks. Alberto Torelli was a tall, well-built man. Though in his forties, he carried himself like an athlete. His black hair, salted with grey at the temples, was thick and wavy. He had an expressive face, with arched eyebrows poised over intense, dark eyes. He wore a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, which he stroked as he thought about their plans. In a month the Libertini would perform in the wealthy palazzos of Milan's nobles. There they would find a much better reception than at this rude seaside camp where they were now. But Alberto knew that his company needed the journey along the coast to develop new plays. They needed more rehearsals and the opportunity to experiment in front of rougher audiences. If these villagers laughed, if they wept and applauded, then Alberto knew his troupe could proceed with confidence to the more daunting audiences of the nobility.

Alberto had high hopes for this company. It was a good mix of experienced hands and energetic newcomers. From Milan they would go west to Turin, and then across the border into France. There, with the right letters of introduction, they would be able to make a comfortable season for themselves.

Alberto glanced at his wife, Isabella, where she sat reading a book of poetry. She was radiant in the glow of firelight, her skin the color of ivory, her long golden hair rippling over her soft, rounded shoulders. Even in the crude camp of wagons and horses, she maintained an aura of elegance. She sat on rugs amid Turkish pillows, her tiny feet encased in embroidered slippers. Isabella was born a prima donna, an Innamorata who could seduce the audience simply by her feminine presence. Alberto had never been happier in his life than the day she had consented to marry him.

As if feeling the warmth of his stare, Isabella glanced up from her book and smiled. Alberto felt his knees go weak. She kissed a pearl-colored fingertip and blew the kiss to him before returning to her book. Alberto caught the kiss and touched his fingers to his own lips. Beyond Isabella sat Fiammetta, who was nursing her baby daughter, Rosella. Fiammetta was married to Flavio Fiorillo, the actor working on the role of II Dottore. Sitting next to her was Alberto s daughter, Silvia, practicing a singing duet with Fiammetta. At sixteen, Silvia was already a charming young woman. But where her mother, Isabella, was golden, Silvia was raven-haired, like Alberto. She had expressive dark eyes and a pouting red mouth.

"You piece of Spanish shit!"

"Italian sop!"

"Paella-breath!"

"Pasta-head!"

"Crab louse! You're getting on my tits!" "Pus-plague sore!"

"I vomit your insults and throw them at your pox-covered face!"

"I'm going to kill you for that!"

Alberto smiled, watching the antics of Gianni Moretti and Bruno Pasquati rehearsing a scene between the blustering II Capitano and the scrappy king of insults, Pulcinella. The upper halves of their faces were covered by black leather masks with huge black noses and rumpled foreheads. Bruno, playing Pulcinella, wore a tall dusty fez, while Gianni, as II Capitano, had a sweeping mustache that puffed out with every word he spat. The two actors swaggered with huge pot bellies, their shoulders thrust back as they traded insults.

"Hold him while I run him through!" an enraged II Capitano barked to the imaginary audience. Grunting and puffing, II Capitano struggled to draw his absurdly long sword, squeaking when he nearly sliced him¬self up the middle in the process. With his sword liberated, II Capitano tried to beat Pulcinella over the head.

"Wait! It's not right," Flavio interrupted them. Both actors turned to look at the speaker.

"What's wrong?" growled II Capitano, pushing his mask up to his forehead. Gianni's square middle-aged face reappeared, bushy eyebrows knitted together over the bridge of his nose. His cheeks were ruddy, his skin flushed from the heat of the mask.

"Something's missing. It seems you're beating Pulcinella too soon."

"Flavio s right," offered Matteo Riccoboni, who was squatting close to the fire. A young man in his twenties, well suited to Arlecchino's pranks, he was slender and strong, like a rangy tomcat. Firelight left strands of gold in the curly brown hair and sparkled in the almond eyes. "I think you need more balance between the masks or II Capitano will win over Pulcinella. Which wouldn't be right."

"Suggestions?" Pulcinella asked, pushing his mask up on his fore¬head to reveal Bruno's plump, boyish face. He coughed and adjusted the big padded belly in front of him. His long legs kicked out at the dust to keep the muscles limber.

"Ca-ca-ca . .." stuttered Fabrizio, the newest member to the troupe.

"Castrate him!" crowed Bruno, snatching II Capitano's long sword from Gianni's hand with a wicked grin. Bruno brandished it wildly about II Capitano's potbelly.

"Cazzo!" Gianni cursed as he dodged the flailing sword, clamping his hands over his groin.

"No!" Fabrizio said, and an angry blush started on his fair cheeks. La-ca-pita-

"Corporal punishment! Whack him severely! That's what he needs!" shouted Antonio Balletti, who was carefully trimming his nails with a Venetian stiletto. Antonio played the role of the lover, Lelio. He was fastidious about his body; his hair was always washed and combed, his fingers clean, his armpits scented with rosewater and bay.

Matteo leapt up from his place by the fire and, with a bow, presented the sword-dodging Gianni with Arlecchino's bat. Armed and bellowing, Gianni swung the bat to counterattack Bruno's waving sword. The two men capered madly around the campfire, the loud whack of their weapons startling the picketed horses. Gianni and Bruno swung their weapons gleefully, knocking over piles of books and stepping into plates of leftover dinner. Bruno kicked a ham and sent it rolling under the wagon while Gianni tipped over a half-filled bottle of red wine.

"D-dio, che pe-pe-pezzi di m-m-erda," stuttered Fabrizio. "II Capitano should kn-kn-"

"Knock him out!" shrieked Silvia as Bruno tripped over her feet trying to avoid a hard spank of Arlecchino's bat. The bat just missed smacking Fiammetta and Silvia on their heads. The baby Rosella at Fiammetta's breast stopped suckling to stare wide-eyed at the two shouting men. Her lips puckered and she began to wail.

"Basta! Stop it!" Fiammetta cried, and slapped the two men on their legs to move them away.

Bruno leaped into the air and did a forward somersault over the fire. He cursed as the long sword tangled in his legs, upsetting the balance of his forward roll. He landed hard on the far side of the fire, his padded belly flattening out like a squashed pancake around him. With a roar, Gianni followed after, Arlecchino s bat dragging on the ground and scattering ashes from the fire.

"I sa-sa-id to knight him!" Fabrizio shouted, trying to be heard over the din of a wailing baby, whinnying horses, and the shouting men.

"I am fighting him!" Gianni shouted back, slapping the bat repeatedly against the ground and raising a cloud of dust and ashes as Bruno rolled from side to side.

"Listen to him, you buffuni! Listen to Fabrizio," commanded a woman. The two men stopped their fighting, though Gianni got one last blow to Bruno s backside before they put their weapons down. Laughing and panting with their exertions, the men turned their attentions to the woman who had called them to a halt. Giuliana was close in age to Isabella, maybe older, Alberto thought, though she refused to say. Her beauty cut a rougher figure, being solid and fleshy where Isabella was translucent as porcelain. Giuliana's skin was brushed sienna from the sun, her eyes earthen-brown, and her lips the stained color of red wine. Heavy tresses of auburn hair fell in loose curls around her broad shoulders. The laces of her bodice struggled to meet over her generous bosom and waist. She rested balled fists on her hips. "Eh, finalmente," she said with a light toss of her head. "Fabrizio has a good idea. You need to listen," she said. Giuliana turnied her palm upward to Fabrizio, inviting him to speak.

Fabrizio blushed from his collarbone to the roots of his blond hair. His face grew pinched with concentration; his shoulders tightened and his chest lifted with the effort of speaking. The cords of his neck strained and Alberto imagined he could see the words knotting rated himself for taking on Fabrizio in the first place. But he had come to them with an inheritance that amounted to a lot of money, money that Alberto had desperately needed to finance this trip. Fabrizio had bought the horses, many of their supplies, and the wagon that served as their trestle stage. Alberto couldn't refuse the young man's request to join them as an actor. But his stutter. That stutter was going to be impossible to hide.

"II Ca-ca-pitano sh-sh-sh-ould m-m-ake Pulcinella a knight!"

"What?" said Bruno with a frown.

"It's a wonderful idea," said Isabella, looking up from her book. Her voice drifted like a song in the air. "Of course, II Capitano can't fight Pulcinella, because they are not equals. Pulcinella is a street chicken. So, II Capitano must knight him before he tries to kill him or he will lose his honor. Such as it is," she added with a smile.

"And Pulcinella can then get II Capitano, now that they are equals and fellow knights, to buy him a meal, which is all Pulcinella wants anyway," finished Giuliana. "Thus Pulcinella may enjoy the pleasure of insulting and eating at II Capitano's expense. What do you think?"

Bruno and Gianni looked at each other and gave a deep shrug of their shoulders before plumping up their sagging bellies and slipping their masks over their faces again.

A heartbeat later, II Capitano and Pulcinella began the scene again. This time it worked. After the two masks had insulted and threatened each other with certain death, II Capitano offered to make Pulcinella a knight so that they could fight a duel as equals. Pulcinella agreed and then suggested they eat to celebrate his new status, since it was a better fate to die on a full belly of minestrone than an empty one.

"Bravissimo," said Giuliana, clapping her hands gently when the two men had finished the scene. "What do you think, Alberto?"

"Va bene," he answered with a curt nod of his head. "It works. A good suggestion, Fabrizio,"

The young man smiled shyly and waved the compliment away. His face grew tense again as he struggled to speak. "Co-co-could I be-be-be gi-gi-ven a r-r-role? Perha-ha-haps a mask?" Fabrizio exhaled hard with the effort of his speech.

The other actors looked at Alberto curiously, waiting to see what he would say. Even Isabella crooked her eyebrow and glanced at him over the edge of her book. Alberto gave Fabrizio a wan smile.

"Of course you must practice until you can say the lines without, without"—he groped trying to find a tactful word—"without error," he finished. "Giuliana, perhaps you can give Fabrizio a hand with some of the lover's duets?" Giuliana pursed her lips with the faintest hint of annoyance, though she didn't let Fabrizio see her face. Distract him, Alberto said to her with his eyes, keep him from pressing too hard for a part.

Giuliana turned and gave Fabrizio a dazzling smile. "Allora, Fabrizio. Let's go to the shore where it's quiet, and I'll teach you the lover's duet."

"And, may-may-be Arlech-ch-ch-ino's scenes wi-wi-th Colombina?" Fabrizio asked, his face hopeful.

Giuliana looked back at Alberto, who shrugged his shoulders and opened his hands to the sky.

"Why not? Matteo, give him a mask."

Matteo handed Fabrizio an old leather mask of Arlecchino. It was frayed around the edges, and years of other actors' sweat had stained the inside of the cheeks black. Matteo gave it to Fabrizio reluctantly, as though he were tearing off a piece of his soul.

Fabrizio took it eagerly and hung it on his arm by its straps. He fol¬lowed Giuliana through a path amid the scruffy gorse and twisted pine trees that led down a steep hill to the dark sea.

Alberto sat down beside Isabella. He rested his elbows on his knees, one hand cupping his cheek. "What am I going to do with Fabrizio and that stutter of his?"

Isabella raked her fingers gently through Alberto's thick hair. "Niente, amore mio. It will all work out somehow."

"If only we hadn't needed the money," he grumbled.

Isabella laughed, a silvery sound like a bell. "It will be all right, Al¬berto. Giuliana will see to Fabrizio. He may yet become something."

"Something other than a pain in the ass, I hope," Alberto said glumly. Then he closed his eyes, relaxing as Isabella's soothing hand continued to comb through his hair.

* * * * *

"Let's play the lovers, Fabrizio," Giuliana said. They sat on a huge slab of rock that hung out over the water. Giuliana had raised her skirts above her knees and let her feet dangle in the lapping waves. Moonlight span¬gled the water and bleached the skin of her knees the color of marble.

Fabrizio sat beside her, staring at the sea and bouncing the mask of Arlecchino from hand to hand. He inhaled the salt tang of the ocean, the smell of fish and dried kelp. Memories of his home far to the south seized him, pungent as the brittle spines of anchovy. He loved the sea, its whispering voice, and the cold caress of the waves. They reminded him of his mother and her sisters falling into the foaming surf, their shifts transparent where the fabric clung to their wet skin, the bright sun¬light leaving a spattering of freckles across their breasts. Loneliness coiled around his heart.

"Here, take my hand," said Giuliana, and squeezed his hand.

He smiled in the dark as the strong fingers wrapped around his. Ab¬sently he brought her hand to his lips and licked the salt from the back. As a child he had kissed the hands of his aunts, savoring the dried lacy brine on their skin. They laughed at him, called him their gallant lover. Then they chucked him under the chin, placed kisses like butterfly wings on his closed eyelids, and ruffled his golden curls.

"Go away!" recited Giuliana.

"Disappear!" Fabrizio answered.

"... from my eyes."

"... from my sight."

"Demon with a mask of love."

"Fury with a heavenly face."

"How I curse ..."

"How I detest..."

"... the moment I adored you."

"... the moment I set eyes on you."

"But, Fabrizio, I don't understand," Giuliana said, breaking the rhyth-mical spell of the lover's duet. "You aren't stuttering at all now."

"No, I'm not, am I?" he said.

"But what's different?"

"It's being out here, by the sea," he answered dreamily. "No one here but you. The words come easily."

Giuliana leaned closer to Fabrizio. Her breasts pressed into his arm as she rested her chin on his shoulder. "But not on stage?"

Fabrizio shook his head. "Something happens. I choke on the very words that burn in my veins. I can't get them out."

"How long has it been this way?" Giuliana asked, a sympathetic hand stroking the length of his arm.

"Ever since I left my mother's home in the south and ca-came to li-live with my fa-father in Rimini."

"It's back."

Fabrizio nodded.

"But we're alone."

"Except for the gh-ghost of my pa-pa-father," Fabrizio finished bit¬terly.

"Then send him away," Giuliana said gently.

"I'm tr-trying."

"Ah, I begin to understand. The stage isn't the problem; neither are women. Do you stutter in the company of men? Men in authority like Alberto and your father?"

"Alberto is a go-good man. My fa-fa-ther was a ba-ba-"

"Bastardo?"

"Ballbuster."

Giuliana laughed. "I was daughter to one of those wretched men too. And foolish girl that I was, when I was old enough to get away from him, what did I do but marry another one? Che stronzo," she spat. "King of shits, he was."

"But you didn't learn to stutter," Fabrizio said.

"I did worse. I disappeared a little more each day, feeding pieces of my heart to that monster."

"What happened?"

"I got lucky. My husband fell over dead, blasted by pestilence. His skin turned black, just like his soul. I was left a widow, young enough to remarry but much too smart to go back into harness." Giuliana laughed again and kicked a silvery spray of water into the air. "I went to join my sisters in Breschia. On the road there, I fell in with a troupe of Commedians and never made it to my sisters. That troupe was no where near as good as the Libertini," she said with a shake of her finger. "But good enough for me to learn the parts. The role of Colombina was made for me," Giuliana said passionately. "She speaks from her heart, but she rules with her mind. I adore her. And if I am ever lucky enough, perhaps I will find a worthy Arlecchino on whom to set my sights."

Fabrizio lifted the mask of Arlecchino to his eyes and grinned, his teeth shark-white beneath the black mask.

"I love you. I love you as much as sausages and pancetta.'"

Giuliana leaned in and kissed his mouth beneath the mask. She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck and gazed lovingly into the dark hollows of the masks eyes. "And I love you as much as men love lying.'" she recited.

"And I love you as much as pickpockets love fairs."

"And I love you as much as playwrights love applause."

"And I love you as much as doctors love epidemics."

Giuliana released her hold on Fabrizio's neck and burst out laughing. Fabrizio lowered the mask and smiled at her. He liked the way she laughed, with her head thrown back so that the moon lit the roof of her mouth.

"O'Dio, what a wonderful actor you are, Fabrizio."

"If I can stop stuttering."

"Maybe all that is needed is tenderness to give you strength," she suggested. She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed the muscle. It tensed beneath her hand.

"Are you a virgin?"

"I may not be able to speak as I wish, but I have never stalled when it came to women," he said circling her waist with one arm. He pulled her close, inhaling the damp fragrance that rose up from between her breasts: fish from the deep waters, dried roses, and sweat. He gave her small kisses on her upper lip and then nibbled lightly on her lower lip. She leaned her body into him, her back curved into an arc. Slowly, he kissed her behind her ears, and tasting the salt of her sweat, he licked her neck.

"O'Dio." She sighed as his tongue lapped at the edge of her collar¬bone. His head slipped lower. He took the fabric of her bodice be¬tween his teeth and pulled it opened. She shivered as a gust of wind cooled her heated skin, puckering her exposed nipples. "Oh, mio Dio." She sighed again, her breath quickening as Fabrizio's warm mouth fas¬tened on her nipples.

Fabrizio lay Giuliana down on the damp slab, covering her with his eager body. A small wave splashed up the sides of the rock and spattered its cold spray on their faces. His eyes were blinded by mirrors of moon¬light reflected in water droplets on his lashes. Fabrizio snuggled his face in the warm cleft between Giuliana's full breasts. With a free hand he raised the hem of her skirts and bared her shapely legs.

"Come to me now!" she cried breathlessly. Her hands grabbed at the strings that held his hose and violently tugged them free of his doublet. She snaked her hands under his shirt and wrenched it over his back and then pulled down his hose over his hips.

Dimly Fabrizio heard something splash, falling into the sea. But he forgot it almost instantly as Giuliana's strong hands began to knead his bare buttocks. Her legs circled his waist and pulled him into the heated shelter of her thighs. If only he could learn to speak like he fucked, he thought, hearing the woman moan with delight beneath his driving body.