hat must have
afforded Homeric laughter to the plebeians of Pompeii. The longshoremen
of Naples, in our day, seek exactly similar effects in the admixture of
pure Italian and the local _patois_. The titles of some of the Atellian
farces are still extant: "Pappus, the Doctor Shown Out," "Maccus
Married," "Maccus as Safe Keeper," etc. These are nearly the same
subjects that are still treated every day on the boards at Naples; the
same rough daubs, half improvised on the spur of the moment; the same
frankly coarse and indecent gayety. The Odeon where we are now, was the
Pompeian San Carlino. Bucco, the stupid and mocking buffoon; the dotard
Pappus, who reminds us of the Venetian Pantaloon; Mandacus, who is the
Neapolitan Guappo; the Oscan Casnar, a first edition of Cassandra; and
finally, Maccus, the king of the company, the Punchinello who still
survives and flourishes,--such were the ancient mimes, and such, too,
are their modern successors. All these must have appeared in their turn
on the small stage of the Odeon; and the slaves, the freedmen crowded
together in the upper tiers, the citizens ranged in the middle cavea or
family-circle, the duumvirs, the decurions, the augustals, the aediles
seated majestically on the bisellia of the orchestra, even the
priestesses of the proscenium and the melancholy Eumachia, whose statue
confesses, I know not what anguish of the heart,--all these must have
roared with laughter at the rude and extravagant sallies of their low
comedians, who, notwithstanding the parts they played, were more highly
appreciated than the rest and had the exclusive privilege of wearing the
title of Roman citizens.

Now, if these trivialities revolt your fastidious taste, you can picture
to yourself the representation of some comedy of Plautus in the Odeon of
Pompeii; that is, admitting, to begin with, that you can find a comedy
by that author which in no wise shocks our susceptibilities. You can
also fill the stage with mimes and pantomimists, for the favor accorded
to that class of actors under the emperors is well known. The Caesars--I
am speaking of the Romans--somewhat feared spoken comedy, attributing
political proclivities to it, as they did; and, hence, they encouraged
to their utmost that mute comedy which, at the same time, in the
Imperial Babel, had the advantage of being understood by all the
conquered nations. In the provinces, this supreme art of gesticulation,
"these talking fingers, these lo