George Macropedius' Andrisca--a very lighthearted play.
Greetings to John Hilenius from George Macropedius: At last, my dear John, the play once promised to you comes to you as it were by a restoration. After careful searching, and after all our somewhat small amount of furniture had frequently been overturned, until I thought the play had been lost, at last unexpectedly it was found by someone else. I dedicate it to you the more gladly, although I feel myself more certainly obligated to your father than to you. Indeed he treated me with such great and such frequent kindnesses, that (unless I were utterly ungrateful) I could not fail to remember them. Since therefore I cannot give thanks to him as I should wish, I am sending you this little literary gift, that at least I may be able in some way to please your father through you, although you yourself, through your many kindnesses to me from my earliest years, deserve that it should be sent to you. Accept therefore, my dear John, my Andrisca with an open mind, so that you also may have something by which now and then after your serious business you may be decently delighted. Goodbye.
Utrecht 21 Oct 1537.
Two very honest men of Bunscotium have both married rebellious wives. One is a tanner, the other a farmer. Andrisca, the wife of the farmer, is given to tippling at the tavern; Porna, the wife of the tanner, is the mistress of the priest. By no persuasion or threats can they be held in check and torn from their dishonourable ways. Therefore the tanner, Byrsocopus, beats his little Porna with whips, salts the weals and ties her in the hide of a horse; George, the farmer, defeats his Andrisca in a duel of clubs and tames her. Thus each of the wives is brought back to best behaviour and becomes a joy.
[In the original Latin, except for the choruses all the verses are in iambic trimeter.]
It is now almost six months since you saw on the stage any of my actors or me, my flock of scholars, my fine fellow warriors. Therefore now especially, unless I am mistaken, you will pay attention to me and will listen with kindly ears to what I shall briefly say about what matters to everyone before the play starts. Amid the many different scholarly exercises none I think is to be pursued with greater praise than sport on the stage and comic action (provided there is no indecency). Some may write poetry; others may frequently read and write letters; others may practise other honourable exercises, but comedy alone stands easily ahead of all the others. If poetry pleases, it slips into verse; if prose pleases, the metre of the whole work is so moderated that you can scarcely see from the liberated speech that it has ever been bound by metre.
A play provides the grammarian with figures of speech and tropes; it lends the orator the weapons of the emotions; it offers passages for a philosopher who differs from others. What, I ask you, produces greater pleasure for men? What equally trains youth in morality? What also is more useful for scholarship? For if in acting it you practise carefully, you will remove the awkwardness and rust of your speech, because acting will give not only readiness but also a remarkable confidence in speaking openly to people in assemblies. If you were to be a spectator at a play, you not only would be delighted but also would furnish your life with some of the best morals. For what, by the immortal gods, is comedy if it is not both the clearest mirror and a most complete example of man's whole life? In it you will see more clearly than light what in the future you must avoid and what you must do, and you will think about it.
So let everyone do who recklessly reproaches comedy and comic and tragic plays for their obscenity, their levity and their shamelessness. For as we say nothing is pure to the impure; so nothing can be impure to the pure. Indeed, poets certainly often write in this way that they may both instruct the good and censure the wicked. So, my pure fellow warriors, accept with all the affection of your minds and bodies this comedy given to you by a spirit from above. The companies of the actors of Lebedos have handed down nothing better than this, nothing more full of joy, more glorious, more rich than this. There will be no preface from me about the story of the comedy. Soon the men of Bunscotium will come on the stage; they will reveal part of the story. The Greek and Latin poets once wrote that comedies happened at Athens; this play of ours is imagined to have happened at Bunscotium, so that the place may provide more fun for our fellow countrymen. Now may the pure lover of literature be present and listen in silence to the followers of the Muses.
GEORGE. Andrisca, I am going to the corn field to see what the servant has weeded in my absence, to see if he has cleared the new crop of the weeds that have grown up. You keep busy, lest there be any delay in my dinner when I return, and see that all these dishes are properly arranged as is right. Indeed, nothing is so fitting for the mother of a family as to look after the household affairs neatly. Are you listening enough, Andrisca, to what I am telling you?
ANDRISCA. It shall be taken care of, husband. Goodbye.
GEORGE. You'll take care of it immediately, if you are wise, so that when I return I may not complain that what I want done is not done. I know well enough how you are drawn to drinking and conviviality; beware lest the revels of the Bacchanals call you out.
ANDRISCA. They won't call me out. (Why does he babble so at the door?) The sun is quite high and is calling you out to work.
GEORGE. See to it that you don't underestimate the warnings I've given you.
BYRSOCOPUS. Oho. What quarrel has arisen between George and his wife?
GEORGE. God, if a woman wears the breeches, she is a shameful thing and by far the greatest pest of a household.
BYRSOCOPUS. That indeed is most certain, as I myself have found out at home.
GEORGE. Who is that speaking? It's Byrsocopus. Good morning, neighbour.
BYRSOCOPUS. Good morning, George. You and your wife not agreeing, George?
GEORGE. I think it was most shrewdly said that it would be a very fine thing if a man should have a Theseus, a bosom friend, to whom he could unfold his problems from time to time. You alone of many I have found reliable, Byrsocopus, and there is something I would pour out to you with many a groan. My wife is from one of the best families; she has great wealth and a keen wit, but her character is so difficult and so wicked that I cannot put up with it calmly. As soon as I leave the house or start some outdoor work in the country, she immediately joins her drinking companions and, I fear, does much worse.
BYRSOCOPUS. You're discussing a most troublesome business with me, George, for you are touching on my own bitter plight. For I am sick and am wasting away because of the same illness under which you are suffering.
GEORGE. I'm sorry.
BYRSOCOPUS. Listen a moment. Do you know the priest who lives at the shrine of the virgin Agnes?
GEORGE. As I know you. For he has a twisted heart, a fat belly, red cheeks, a head shaggy and fully curled.
BYRSOCOPUS. That's the man. Whether my wife loves him more or whether she is loved more by him I shall not easily tell you, because he courts her and she encourages him. Each is attracted by gifts from the other. I have already driven him in terror from my house once or twice.
GEORGE. You've indeed acted prudently; he is a priest, exempt (as they wish) from the secular laws. But you must take care, lest by beating up a cleric, you rouse against yourself wasps and hornets. However, I don't think you've done wrong by pushing him out.
BYRSOCOPUS. But how shall I put up with my Porna's wantonness?
GEORGE. It would be indeed hard to attack. However, if a man could treat her as she deserves with sharp whips or some even more bitter punishment, I think she would not do it again.
BYRSOCOPUS. Who would risk that?
GEORGE. Who? I certainly ought to risk it. Indeed, it is certainly quite sure to be tried on my own wife first of all, if she has not recovered her senses as I ordered. But now we must keep quiet; my door is creaking. Andrisca will come out. Take care that she knows nothing of this, but listen to the thunder from that flashing lightning.
BYRSOCOPUS. The situation seems such to me that I shouldn't stay. I'm dressed for work as you see. You yourself receive the threatening thunder. Goodbye.
GEORGE. Goodbye.
ANDRISCA. Are you standing there still, you idle fellow? Isn't there anything on the farm which you should finish? Was it your pleasure to gossip so long that I have put away all the dishes as you ordered? Although I now think that my great labour has been finished, soon my lord, famished after his rest and his gossip, will be here and will demand food like a stern master. Go to the devil! Work to eat, you lazy fellow. There is no reason for you to look for food before the evening. Go away, I say, go away, you idler; you've talked enough. Be off.
GEORGE. Don't push me, woman, for I decide whether to go or stay. You do your own job carefully. Take care not to leave undone any of those things I ordered and don't do anything I've forbidden. Otherwise you and I must have a serious battle to see who shall wear the breeches.
ANDRISCA. That's enough of words. Go away. He has been pushed out. So must stupid rustics be mastered. He won't return before evening. But if he should return, nothing more than this will be prepared for him to eat. Now listen; aren't those the revels of the Bacchanals? What woman would stay at home or not attend with all her heart? Nay, yonder Porna is looking out. Is she watching for her lover (as usual)? Just the same I'm going to ask her whether she wishes to go with me.
PORNA. I'm waiting, but in vain. But look, Andrisca is coming over. What has driven you out, dear? Surely your husband is not at home?
ANDRISCA. No, he is not. I've come to talk to you.
PORNA. What's the matter?
ANDRISCA. I've driven my Geponus out to the fields and I don't doubt that your Aplaemus is at his tanning. How about coming to the pub with me? Who could abstain on this day of Bacchus? I have ordered a goose, a young hare, sausages and a leg of ham to be sumptuously prepared. Nothing will be missing if only there are guests to eat and drink. Never will there have been such revels for Bacchus. For these rites we shall have to be joyous, to revel and drink. With laughter, jests and drinking the festivities are being made ready for Bacchus.
PORNA. Indeed, Andrisca, I'd gladly come with you, but I have made an engagement with some other very dear friends whom I must gratify and humour. Therefore today I am not free to go out. Tomorrow you may take me out anywhere.
ANDRISCA. Indeed, I know that you are waiting for Hieronymus. Tell me, please, what is this great communion you have with the priest? Is your husband so inadequate that you have to call in the priest?
PORNA. Go away, you drunkard. Are you attacking my honourable and sober intimacy with my dear friend? Go away.
ANDRISCA. Farewell, harlot, as you deserve to be called. Are you to be a reproach for good women? Even if you should be dying of hunger, I shall never offer you even a crumb of bread. May the harlot fare as she deserves. When I have locked the doors of my house, I shall seek out my drinking companions.
PORNA. She has gone. But where is my little friend delaying?
HIERONYMUS. Hi there, Porna.
PORNA. Are you there, friend? What kept you so long? I've been waiting for you a long time.
HIERONYMUS. Andrisca's presence forced me to hide in this corner.
PORNA. You've got the bottle?
HIERONYMUS. Yes, and also a fat capon.
PORNA. It's well; my soul, you are welcome. While Andrisca is inside her house, you slip into my house as quickly as possible. Well done. No one is looking. Very well done. Andrisca is now returning. The Bacchanals are getting ready. Goodbye to her. Let them rage and let us in private, with our door closed, play our own games.
ANDRISCA. Why has Porna's door suddenly closed? Has the wolf rushed upon the prey for which he has long been baiting his trap? Let the harlot have him till she's sick of him. But look, the Bacchanals and the crowds of Maenads are coming forth. With them I shall noisily celebrate these revels sacred to Bacchus.
CHORUS OF BOYS. There is nothing more honourable or useful than a free man, or nothing more pleasant than the desire to cultivate the fields, especially with the crops which belong to the nourishment of life. Is anything more ancient than this work, which the founder of the country fields himself quickly handed over for cultivation to man, whom he created free?
What is more worthy than the life of Quintius or Curius among the citizens whom Rome summoned from the country to the city for the sake of the state? What is more excellent than Cyrus? Yet he by his work produced a garden joined to the groves for an astonished Sparta. Why do we cite these secular heroes when the pages of scripture show that the majority of prophets, fathers, princes were countrymen? Are not Isaac and Israel with Abraham noble farmers? Was it not in the country that Elisaeus was made a prophet and Amos too? I'm not passing over David, who was summoned from his wide pastures to be king of Israel. So you see how much the glory of the country is.
Perhaps you ask about its advantages. You will see (if you listen to us) that they are very great and are combined with the greatest enjoyment. What could be more useful or more pleasant than to sow seeds in the ground and soon to see the sprouts sown by you sprouting up? While you sleep the seeds germinate, flower, give forth fruit in abundance that you may carry to your barn, by which you may feed yourself and your family. You will collect nothing more justly than these crops; you will possess nothing more safely; nothing you will leave more worthy to bless your children than these.
Therefore let the farmer not blush to be laughed at by fools but let him take pride that he is approved by more important men.
HIERONYMUS. It is my pleasure to be out of doors for a little, while it is a favourable time to trifle. The Bacchanals have gone inside; there is no chance of danger, nor is there here any little sparrow who would betray me. Porna, what was that you were chattering about inside amid your cups? You say you could in some way deceive your husband even if he rushed upon me suddenly and you could save me from danger?
PORNA. I certainly could and, lest he should rush upon us suddenly, it is worth while to show you the plans you don't know and so could not follow or use to your advantage. But they cannot be done without the help of my maid. She must be called out here.
HIERONYMUS. Very well. Let her be called.
PORNA. Ho there, Paedisca. Come here, there are some things you ought to know.
PAEDISCA. Mistress, what is it you want me to look after? Is the wine to be poured? Or is the bed to be made softly now?
PORNA. Neither. Be quiet and listen. If perchance my husband shall shock my lord Hieronymus by repeated knocking, I will go forth out of doors with a wet sheet spread out; I will lift it up when the door is opened and, singing, will spread it out before my husband, until Hieronymus goes out secretly. You understand?
PAEDISCA. Yes.
HIERONYMUS. Nothing shrewder could be thought up--nothing at all.
PORNA. See to it that you do not disagree with my words or nods, but while my husband thinks that you are engaged in one thing, you will be seeing to it that another is effected.
PAEDISCA. I will do it, but go inside. The village is filled with noise. I don't know what it is. It is our neighbour. He's coming home. But he is about to find, by Castor, no guardian of his home in the form of his wife now.
GEORGE. I have left my servant alone working in the field. Unless I pitied him, I should not have returned before night fell. For what sweetness is there at home for him whose wife is bitter, if the woman makes the victuals sour with the spice of her wantonness? I ought to have taken some food for my man to eat, if only my obstinate wife had cooked it. To be sure, I fear some trouble here. The door, the windows and all things are locked up. I dare bet my life that she is in the tavern. What, I wonder, will be the end of this? Must I put up with this always? I would prefer to have her sick in bed with arms and legs broken than to endure an off-colour, hard and rebellious wife. But here she is. Here she comes tipsily, not indeed to go home, but to see all those very stupid revellers. Now she is looking round. I will see what she will do. She is angry; she comes out excitedly; she will quarrel. And now I will bear that and will accuse her quite severely. I will try if I can do anything by tolerance.
ANDRISCA. How inactively your body sits, how worn out it is with labour and work, you lazybones. Scarcely an hour has gone since you left here and now you are ready to eat? Fool, it is not yet time for breakfast and would you dream of dinner? Return to work. Hunger won by sweat shall deserve food. Go away.
GEORGE. Wife, I wish to eat something and to take some food back to the man working for me.
ANDRISCA. Here is bread; here is cheese. Eat it and be off quickly and return in the evening.
GEORGE. Something should have been cooked for lunch now no less than for the evening. Why are you so senseless as not to obey my orders? What is this state of madness (curses on you) that makes you disregard all domestic matters and devote yourself to that which smacks of intoxication and gluttony? You eat, you drink, you wanton and you waste money; you eat me out of house and home, as if I could collect money from poplar trees. If I were to lay up provisions, you would distribute them; if I were to save, you would waste; what agreement, I ask you can there be? What end except poverty for our children?
ANDRISCA. How the madman barks. Am I eating up your home? You miserable creature, I made you noble by my family and I made you rich by my very large dowry; do you today accuse me of being a spendthrift? Keep quiet, you clod. You'll order me about, will you? Shut up, you clod, you useless log. After this I'll drive you to such a state of asking for mercy that I'll finish you off with it.
GEORGE. Put an end to these useless insults. Listen to me, wife; if you do not put a limit on your wantonness and your gluttony, and if, after I leave, you again go off to the inn or the restaurant, I thrice call to witness the high father of the gods, thrice greatest Jove, that I will either force you to obey me by whipping you or, as you have said, I shall be defeated and I shall serve you. It must be decided which of us wears the breeches.
ANDRISCA. Coward, would you whip me? I'll never yield my wide stalk to you, as the proverb goes, you square, dirty, muddy rustic. Give me a man's anger, rather than that I should be touched even by your little finger, and for these threats you babbled at me I shall not swallow even one drink less. Go away from here, you plague, you shade-loving louse, go to the devil.
GEORGE. Citizens of Bunscotium, bear witness for me in what a shameful way my wife treats me. Am I not unlucky that I am forced by these feminine rantings to waste my time? It's now dinner time; the tanner comes to eat. I shall go back without a meal, so that I may take this food to my boy. Yet first I'd like to see how the meeting of the husband with the priest and the wife will go. For if I saw clearly enough, the priest did go in.
ANDRISCA. The threatener has been driven away; good, he has been driven off. I will shut the door and return to my drinking companions.
BYRSOCOPUS. I'm all wet and I'm shivering with cold. Unless my wife has built a fire, I shall perish. But what does it mean that she locks the door? Is the priest inside my house again? Surely not in broad daylight? For night owls fly at night. I will knock. Open this door quickly, because I'm perishing with cold.
PORNA. Wait a moment till we may come out freely and may fold our sheet neatly. Here, lift it higher, girl, don't you see that it is falling on the ground? Stand here a moment, husband, while I stretch it out.
BYRSOCOPUS. Hem.
PORNA. While I fold the wet sheets with the servant in the open door,
PAEDISCA. "While I fold the wet sheets with the servant in the open door,"
PORNA. my husband is baffled with this.
PAEDISCA. The husband is baffled with this. By it the priest has escaped.
PORNA. By it the priest has escaped.
BYRSOCOPUS. Isn't the thing finished yet?
GEORGE. It's finished, by Jove. O, the cunning of woman.
BYRSOCOPUS. Is there so much trouble as this to fold a sheet? Wife, don't you see how wet and muddy I am?
GEORGE. I'm going.
PORNA. Ho there, boy.
BOY. Yes, ma'am.
PORNA. Bring me the water-pail.
BOY. Yes, ma'am.
PORNA. While you are wet, husband, please fill this pail with fresh water and bring it back here.
BYRSOCOPUS. Give me the pail.
PORNA. My Aplaemus has gone away. Good. How well we have tricked my husband and how well we sent away my other guest. As quickly as possible see that all the furniture is arranged in its proper place, so that nothing may rouse the suspicion of my husband.
PAEDISCA. You tell one who is aware of it.
PORNA. By Castor, I've never seen a stupider man than he is. I could easily persuade him that the goose eggs are being produced by the cats, if ever I wanted to. Look, he is back, dripping with wet. Hurry up. Blow up that dull fire and put on dry fuel that he may be out of here the quicker; my old friend is waiting for his departure.
BYRSOCOPUS. My hands are freezing.
PORNA. Paedisca, didn't I tell you to make up the fire?
PAEDISCA. Yes. Everything's now ready.
PORNA. Come inside, dear heart, and have your dinner. Why do you look so glum? If the food is too plain now, I'll correct that by supper time. Serve your master till I return, Paedisca. There are the Bacchanals. I want to join their revels for a while.
CHORUS OF BACCHANALS. Iacchus Bacchus ohe ohe, etc. [see Act I Scene iv].
ANOTHER CHORUS. In comparison with all the other sins of mortals, riotous living of whatsoever kind is most to be cursed as the greatest pest in the world. What an unworthy and shameful thing it is, which does not make man fashioned in the image of God equal to the beasts but casts him down far below them. The beasts limit their times for the coupling of Venus.
Man alone does not yield to the honest laws of nature. Hence comes the man abominable to the nose of gods and men, the man who defiles his body and his mind with foul debauchery. Riotous living stains the body and clouds the mind; riotous living takes vitality from all the senses. This, I say, heaps a great darkness over the light of the mind, so that it can see neither heaven nor hell, neither things honourable nor things good. Now, whoever is so dedicated to execrable lust, see how liable it makes him to dangers of various kinds.
He is threatened by the French pox, misery and unforeseen death, impenitence and desperation over his salvation. From this destruction let everyone of you flee, you who are consecrated and you who are not, youth, old man and boy and especially the priest. Let no one who performs the duties of a priest by day be by night a priest of the mysteries of the Cyprian Venus: anyone who is corrupted when he is young may not be able to stop when he is adult.
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