Passeri now proceeds:  “At this time Bernini had made a comedy in the Carnival, very pungent and biting; and that summer he had one of Castelli’s performed in the suburbs, where, to represent the dawn of day, appeared on the stage water-carriers, couriers, and goat-herds, going about—­all which is contrary to rule, which allows of no character who is not concerned in the dialogue to mix with the groups.  At these words of the Formica, I, who well knew his meaning, instantly glanced my eye at Bernini, to observe his movements; but he, with an artificial carelessness, showed that this ‘cut of the shears’ did not touch him; and he made no apparent show of being hurt.  But Castelli, who was also near, tossing his head and smiling in bitterness, showed clearly that he was hit.”

This Italian story, told with all the poignant relish of these vivacious natives, to whom such a stinging incident was an important event, also shows the personal freedoms taken on these occasions by a man of genius, entirely in the spirit of the ancient Roman Atellana, or the Grecian Satyra.

Riccoboni has discussed the curious subject of Extemporal Comedy with equal modesty and feeling; and Gherardi, with more exultation and egotism.  “This kind of spectacle,” says Riccoboni, “is peculiar to Italy; one cannot deny that it has graces perfectly its own, and which written Comedy can never exhibit.  This impromptu mode of acting furnishes opportunities for a perpetual change in the performance, so that the same scenario repeated still appears a new one:  thus one Comedy may become twenty Comedies.  An actor of this description, always supposing an actor of genius, is more vividly affected than one who has coldly got his part by rote.”  But Riccoboni could not deny that there were inconveniences in this singular art.  One difficulty not easily surmounted was the preventing of all the actors speaking together; each one eager to reply before the other had finished.  It was a nice point to know when to yield up the scene entirely to a predominant character, when agitated by violent passion; nor did it require a less exercised tact to feel when to stop; the vanity of an actor often spoiled a fine scene.

It evidently required that some of the actors at least should be blessed with genius, and what is scarcely less difficult to find, with a certain equality of talents; for the performance of the happiest actor of this school greatly depends on the excitement he receives from his companion; an actor beneath mediocrity would ruin a piece.  “But figure, memory, voice, and even sensibility, are not sufficient for the actor all’ improvista; he must be in the habit of cultivating the imagination, pouring forth the flow of expression, and prompt in those flashes which instantaneously vibrate in the plaudits of an audience.”  And this accomplished extemporal actor feelingly laments that those destined to his profession, who require the most careful education, are likely to have received the most neglected one.  Lucian, in his curious treatise on Tragic Pantomime, asserts that the great actor should also be a man of letters, and such were Garrick and Kemble.