_I publicly avow my friendship for Mme. Ricci.--Efforts made to secure
her advancement.--I become godfather to her child, and indulge in
foolish hopes about her future._
Before entering into those open and formal ties of friendship which in
Italy carry something of the nature of an obligation, I thought it right
to warn Signora Ricci with regard to certain matters.[45] I pointed out
that she was a member of a company renowned for its good character, and
that she had already been exposed to calumny by her detractors. This
ought to make her circumspect in repelling the advances of men of
pleasure who might compromise her reputation. For myself, I meant to be
her avowed friend, her daily visitor, and cavalier in public; but she
must not think that I wanted to play the part of a lover, far less of a
flatterer. My age, which bordered upon fifty, and my temperament were
enough to prevent me from making any foolish pretensions to her favours.
Should she find herself in need, through the failure of her monthly
salary to meet expenses, she might count upon my purse. If, in spite of
my good counsels, she increased her reputation for light conduct, I
should be obliged to break with her at once and for ever. On the other
hand, if my principles were distasteful to her, she had only to speak
the word, and I would leave her absolutely at liberty. So long as I
supported her in public and championed her honour as a woman and her
fame as an artist, I had the right to expect conduct from her
conformable to my avowed philosophy of life.
To these Quixotical discourses she replied by saying that all honest
folk congratulated her upon acquiring my favour. They urged her to do
all in her power to strengthen our alliance, and to avoid everything
which could make me leave her. Nay, more: her spiritual director, in the
course of confession, had exhorted her to remain by me, a man whom he
regarded as a marvel of our century. This I thought a little
exaggerated; it smacked of the stage.
The Ricci's husband was a good sort of fellow, who had been a
bookseller, and had acquired a kind of literary fanaticism in that
business.[46] All day and night he scribbled volumes, which were sure,
he said, to be the source of vast profit to himself and his heirs.
Absorbed in these barren studies, he abandoned the household to his
wife, philosophically making no claims on her attention. Shoes in holes
and muddy stockings never troubled him. But meanwhile his health was
being ruined. He grew as lean as a corpse and spat blood from the lungs,
while bending over his beloved desk. His wife vainly scolded him,
predicting that he was sure to fall into a consumption, which might
infect his family. He pitied her gross ignorance, and continued to
immolate himself upon the altar of learning. How this ill-assorted
couple ever came together I cannot imagine. They appeared, however, to
like each other, and lived on fairly good terms.
An income of 500 ducats was wholly insufficient for man and wife and
child, with an expected confinement, and the expenses of a theatrical
wardrobe to be met. I represented the case to Sacchi, who agreed to add
a sum of 130 ducats annually, remarking, however, that each year Teodora
would be sure to clamour for a further rise in wages. He was right. In
proportion as she grew more necessary to the company, she augmented her
threats of leaving it and her demands for better appointments.
On the days when she was not on duty at the theatre, I used to accompany
her openly to the opera and playhouses and other places of diversion.
She had her cover laid at my house, and she frequently dined there in
company with her husband, whom I liked for his modest and civil manners.
I also managed to introduce her into society. Many of the noble or
wealthy families of Venice took pleasure in receiving members of
Sacchi's troupe at their houses. At first Teodora Ricci was excluded
from such invitations, so cruelly had her character been blackened by
female jealousy and malice. I made myself responsible for her good
behaviour, and removed the prejudices which placed her at this
disadvantage. Under my protection, she went to fashionable
dinner-parties and polite assemblies; I also introduced both men and
women of good manners to her at her own home. Acting with reckless or
stupid good faith, I did not foresee how soon the hidden mines of her
perverted inclinations and bad early training would explode and cover me
with confusion.
Meanwhile her condition improved in other ways. She exchanged the dark,
ill-smelling apartment she first occupied for a small but convenient
abode. Perhaps I ought to touch upon those material services which she
may have from time to time received from me; but if she can forget them,
it is easier for me to do so also. I must add that, while I was never
blindly enamoured of her, I never found her grasping or rapacious.
The time arrived when my friends the actors were about to leave Venice
for the theatres of Bergamo and Milan. Before parting from Teodora, I
begged her to remember that she had to some extent my honour in her
keeping. She was going into danger, among a crowd of envious persons who
would enjoy nothing better than to see her compromise herself and me by
levity of conduct. She replied that her wishes and intentions were so
firmly bent on abiding by my counsels, that she should like to ratify
our alliance by a bond of religion. Would I hold her expected infant at
the font? I said that I should be very willing to do so, but that I
could not promise to leave Venice to be present at the christening. To
this I added jestingly: "Your request is somewhat despotic in the
condition it imposes on me. You are thinking more of your own interests
than of my affections, which may perchance have been engaged for you.
This bond of religion puts an insuperable barrier to my desires." We
laughed the matter over, and agreed upon it amicably.
She begged for letters of recommendation to Bergamo and Milan. Knowing
how worse than useless such introductions are, I confined myself to one
testimonial, addressed to my good friend Signor Stefano Sciugliaga,
Secretary of the University at Milan, and to his wife, an estimable
couple, full of kindness and distinguished by their virtues. Furnished
with this letter, the Ricci left me, and I felt the loss of her at
Venice. She went to Bergamo, where she gave birth to a little girl, for
whom Sacchi stood my proxy at the font. I discharged the usual duties to
the Church, and did what was proper in the circumstances by the mother
of my godchild. Teodora pursued her journey to Milan, whence she wrote
me a full account of the kindness and courtesy she received from Signor
Stefano Sciugliaga and his wife Lucia.
The weariness I feel in writing this chapter makes me measure what my
readers must experience in reading it. I therefore cut it short and
finish it.