The humour of Italy — Key Ideas to Explore

Dinner-Table Dynamics and Social Comedy

The longest excerpt from the collection describes a tense meal at the home of Sor Cosimo. The humour arises from the gap between formal politeness and genuine feeling. When the boy exclaims, “Look what a lot of nice things there are to-day, because you’re here!” the adults respond with kicks under the table and “a frozen silence.” The narrator’s feigned innocence—asking what the boy said—defuses the moment, but the comedy lies in the elaborate choreography of embarrassment. Servants are scolded for wearing hats or not wearing hats; guests are force-fed with escalating insistence. The scene relies on precise physical comedy: Gostino’s shrugs, the boy’s fists on the table, the “avalanche of attentions.” This is not broad farce but a satire of hospitality as performance, where every gesture is loaded with unspoken rules.

Verbal Wit and the Art of the Anecdote

Many selections in the anthology are short anecdotes—often only a few paragraphs—that hinge on a single clever remark or reversal. In the excerpt from Franco Sacchetti, for instance, the story of Dante and the Smith (listed in the contents) likely depends on a verbal riposte. The same structure appears in Vasari’s “Merry Jests of Buffalmacco the Painter,” where practical jokes and quick tongues drive the narrative. Werner’s translations preserve the rhythm of Italian dialogue, using contractions and colloquial phrasing (“I say, this is jolly!”) to keep the tone light. The humour is rarely cruel; even when characters are embarrassed, the narrator’s tone remains amused rather than mocking. This restraint suggests an editorial preference for wit that exposes social hypocrisy without condemning the hypocrites.

The Role of the Narrator as Comic Straight Man

In the dinner scene, the first-person narrator is an outsider whose calm reactions heighten the absurdity around him. He notes the “roguish glance” of a woman, the “odorous presence of table-linen,” and the boy’s open-mouthed wonder. By reporting events with deadpan precision, he becomes the straight man to the family’s frantic hospitality. This narrative stance recurs in other excerpts: the poet on tramp (Filippo Pananti) and the idler (Antonio Ghislanzoni) observe life with detached irony. Werner’s selection favours narrators who are slightly removed from the action—visitors, poets, or scholars—whose bewilderment mirrors the reader’s. The humour thus depends on a gap between what characters say and what the narrator perceives, a technique that rewards close attention to word choice and tone.

Translating Italian Humour for an English Audience

Werner’s translation choices reveal her strategy for making Italian jokes land in English. She retains Italian titles (Sor, Signorina) and cultural specifics (jessamine, quinces, lavender) to preserve local colour, but she also naturalises dialogue with English idioms like “I say” and “this is jolly.” The result is a hybrid voice: the setting remains unmistakably Italian, but the humour feels accessible. The anthology includes verse as well as prose, from Machiavelli’s chorus in “La Mandragola” to Tassoni’s mock-epic “The Rape of the Bucket.” Werner’s notes (not excerpted here) likely explain puns and allusions. The illustrations by Arturo Faldi, judging by the frontispiece, add a visual dimension to the comedy, capturing exaggerated expressions and chaotic scenes.

Readers approaching this collection should attend to the interplay between text and context: the humour often depends on knowing the social codes being satirised. Werner’s introduction and biographical index (not included in the excerpts) would clarify the historical backdrop. The anthology rewards browsing—each piece is short enough to sample, and the variety of authors (from Boccaccio to Collodi) offers a broad view of Italian comic traditions. The humour is rarely laugh-out-loud; it is the humour of recognition, of seeing human folly mirrored in precise, well-turned prose.

There’s a particular kindness in these old Italian tales, the way they smile at human folly without ever losing affection for the fool. It reminds me of another book I keep near, What's your hurry? A deck full of jokers — A Closer Reading, which has that same patient, knowing wink. Some evenings, I just sit with both, letting the laughter settle into something gentler than amusement.