In their attempt to involve the audience in the dramatic action, dramatists tended to place ancient myths in modern settings, often referring to mythological characters as knights and barons and setting the dramatic events in castles or fortresses. The imposing structure dominating the scenic space in Rucellai’s Oreste, for instance, looks more like a Renaissance fortress than a Greek temple. In the Italian adaptation, Artemis’ shrine takes on the appearance of a fortress with high walls, immense turrets, a deep moat, iron doors, and a drawbridge suspended by huge chains (1.93-94, 113-18).
This attempt to transpose myth into a familiar spatial setting is also apparent even when the castle is not part of the visible scene. In Anguillara’s Edippo, a messenger tells how Polynices sent one of his captains to take over the castle where Oedipus was being held prisoner. He describes the castle as having five heavily defended ramparts, each guarded by valiant knights faithful to the castellan, who refused to surrender the fortress to anyone other than the lawful king of Thebes (4.2, p. 103). The castellan, the fortress, the ramparts, Polynices’ intent to force the day ( tentar la Fortuna) with four hundred men in order to take control of the fortress ( insignorirsi del castello) convey a strong sense of Renaissance reality. The modernization is especially apparent when one sets the scene against the simplicity of Euripides’ Phoenician Women, where Oedipus is held ‘‘behind the locked doors’’ of the stage-building (64). For contemporary audiences the realistic description of the castle cut across the barrier of time and myth, enlivening the representation with a sense of cultural immediacy. They could easily place in the context of their own times the castellan’s refusal to surrender the stronghold to Polynices’ forces, for Renaissance history abounds in episodes of loyal or disloyal castellans. In 1499, for example, Caterina Sforza’s faithful castellan Dionigi Naldi refused to surrender the castle, declaring that he was not afraid to die by the enemy’s sword (Breisach 1967, 212-18).
The aura of contemporary realism included the presence of barons and knights or cavalieri. In Rucellai’s Oreste, King Toante goes about the city accompanied by his baroni (3.5); in Dolce’s Medea, Creon and Medea refer to Jason as cavaliere, and a messenger reports that Jason’s royal wedding was attended by the most distinguished baroni in Corinth (Act 4). In Anguillara’s Edippo, cavalieri of great virtue are said to be everywhere in the kingdom. The male chorus refers to Creon as a knight of honor, and Oedipus remembers that he once fought and killed four honorable knights (3.2). These knights and men of honor are more than mere mythological figures with modern appellations, for they often exhibit qualities reminiscent of knights from the courtly love tradition. Dolce’s Medea speaks of Jason and his deeds as if he were a villainous knight of King Arthur’s court when she accuses him of having taken her ‘‘virginity and honor’’ (2, p. 17). After she appeals to his sense of cortesia, Jason, who describes himself as a knight of noble lineage, offers her his protection per bontd, per amor, e per pietade [out of kindness, love, and compassion] (2, pp. 18-19), qualities reminiscent of the knights that populate the chivalric world of King Arthur and Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso.
The sense of cultural proximity was perhaps more immediate when barons were actually seen on stage, as in Oreste. Though their contribution to the development of the plot is insignificant, their role as courtiers satisfied the requirements of Renaissance courtly realism. In the 1585 performance of Giustiniani’s Edippo, Oedipus appeared on stage with an escort of twenty-four soldiers, all in exotic Turkish uniforms (Pigafetta 1585, 56), which, incidentally, was equal in number to Duke Ercole’s armed guard (Gundersheimer 1973, 184). Angelo Ingegneri, who directed the performance, noted that between actors, chorus, escorts, and other extras, there were 108 participants. They were all so beautifully and expensively dressed, he observed, that after the performance many spectators approached the players to ascertain that the costumes were as sumptuous as they appeared from afar (Ingegneri 1598, 303). Such opulence was in sharp contrast to the simplicity of Sophocles’ play, where Oedipus presumably enters alone.
The notion of princely decorum and the ostentation on which it was predicated had the specific, if unspoken, purpose of projecting the ruler’s reputation for power. Machiavelli underscored the importance of princely reputation, noting that a ruler’s failure or success in preserving his state often depended on how weak or how strong he was perceived to be. It is not at all surprising, then, that honor and reputation often inform the thought and deeds of mythological characters represented on the Renaissance stage. In Anguillara’s rendition of the Oedipus myth, for example, the young princes prevent their father from leaving the city because they fear that news of the patricide, the incest, and the eye-gouging would spread from court to court and forever tarnish the reputation of the royal family (Edippo 4.1). Renaissance audiences surely understood the importance that the two mythological brothers place on reputation. Undoubtedly, many were reminded of the bloody episode that at the turn of the century had brought shame to the court of Ferrara. Duke Alphonse went out of his way to protect the honor of the Este family, following the gruesome quarrel between his younger brothers Giulio and Ippolito, in which Giulio lost an eye and was severely disfigured. In a note to his sister Isabel, the duke expressed his apprehension about the negative impact on the Este reputation should the truth become known. Such was his anxiety that he asked her to destroy the note and proceeded to mount an all-out diplomatic effort to control the damage. The official version practically exonerated cardinal Ippolito, but the Este were widely censured for their cruelty, just like the two Greek brothers.
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