_Reflections made in vain; flattering expectations dissolved into what
deserves neither flattery nor reflection.--The troubles to which a man
is exposed who takes a company of comedians and an actress under his
protection._
The upshot of my meditations upon the events related in the preceding
chapters was as follows. One day or another, this woman, with her
explosive character and egregious vanity, will expose me to some public
scandal. She cannot rest contented with the gains of her profession, and
is sure to add to them by baser means. She only cares for me because I
am useful to her at the theatre, and convenient as a cloak for her
intrigues. All my arguments and warnings are wasted. It is useless to
try to make a Lucretia or a Pamela out of an actress who will never be
more than Teodora Ricci.
Meanwhile, she went on writing to me by nearly every post, expressing
much affection for myself, and indulging in the usual lamentations over
her miserable earnings. One morning brought a letter in which she
informed me that she had just signed an engagement with a certain Signor
Francesco Zannuzzi.[47] He wanted to take her to Paris as _prima donna_
in the Italian theatre which he directed there. Her salary was to be
3000 francs a year. I was glad to get this news; for if things stood as
she declared, I should be freed from all my obligations, and separated
by several hundred leagues from her.
All the same, I replied in writing that she must remember her engagement
to Sacchi. It would be only right and proper to give him sufficient
notice of her intentions, in order that he might provide himself with
another leading actress. I added that the appointments offered by
Zannuzzi would hardly suffice for her expenses in a capital like Paris.
Also, I did not think her specially well qualified to appear with
success before a French audience; and her total ignorance of the
language seemed to me a grave objection. Nevertheless, she was quite
free to do as she thought best.
While thus indulging myself in the hope that she might actually leave
Italy, I was surprised by a visit from Signor Zannuzzi. He was known to
me, and was a man of excellent breeding. After exchanging compliments,
he began to say that his company had sent him on a voyage of discovery
through Italy to find a _prima donna_ for their theatre at Paris. "I
heard of this," I answered, "and, like an intelligent man, you have
selected Teodora Ricci." "By no means," he put in; "it is true that I
have seen her and held some general conversation on the subject with
her. But she is deficient in several points of great importance for our
theatre. The actress who seems most suitable is Elisabetta Vinacesi,
with whom I have spoken, and from whom I expect a decisive answer."
"What the devil," said I to myself, "has Teodora been up to, lying in
this way to her friend and gossip?" Nevertheless, I did my utmost to
persuade Zannuzzi that there was no comparison between the two
actresses; he ought certainly to choose Signora Ricci. My diplomacy was
thrown away. Later on, I heard that Vinacesi preferred remaining in
Italy to exposing herself to the bustle and irregularities of a
professional career at Paris. Also I was informed that Zannuzzi had
tried to engage other actresses, without reopening negotiations with the
Ricci. Thus my hope of being liberated from what I felt to be a perilous
situation vanished into air.
October arrived, when the acting companies return to Venice for the
winter. I found Signora Ricci in good health, and related to her with
displeasure what Zannuzzi had communicated to me about her proposed
engagement. She replied, not without heat, that he was on his way to
Paris in order to report to his associates. She expected letters from
him confirming what had passed between them in their interviews. Then
she launched forth into her usual invectives against Sacchi's troupe,
and vowed she would not serve for such pitiful appointments any longer.
I tried in vain to convince her that she was singularly well off
compared with other actresses, and considering the circumstances of the
profession in Italy. In reply to all I said she only went on beating the
same old gong. It was clear that her head had been turned upon her
summer tour by flatterers and so-called philosophical admirers of the
modern school.
Two days after the arrival of the company, Coralli came to see me, and
made the following confidences. "Sacchi," said he, "is dying of love for
Teodora Ricci. I do not conceal my affection for the young woman; I
frequent her house, attend her in public, and make myself as useful as I
can to her. He is brutally jealous of me, and I have had to put up with
a thousand outrages and insults. Finally, he has forbidden me to visit
at her house, alleging that if Count Gozzi came to remark our intimacy,
he would retire from the company in disgust." I burst into a fit of
laughter worthy of Margutte.[48] "What sort of people have I got myself
mixed up with?" said I to myself; "for whom am I wasting pen, ink,
paper and brains? Does Sacchi, who has received a thousand benefits at
my hands, expect to make me a stalking-horse in his drivelling amours?"
Recovering my gravity as well as I could, I informed Coralli that, so
far as I was concerned, he might cultivate Signora Ricci's intimacy
without scruple. If she played the part of a mercenary beauty with
libertines of fashion, I could not remain her friend. But he was not one
of those persons who could compromise my reputation. Only, I added, that
I feared for him; "Sacchi is revengeful, and will use his powerful arms
against you." Coralli, enlightened as to my way of thinking, returned a
thousand thanks and took his leave. Next day I went to visit Teodora,
and found Coralli there. I made a point of dining with them, and
inviting them both to dinner at my house. By thus acting, I taught
Sacchi how little chance there was of frightening Coralli by alleging my
jealousy. Baffled in his plans, he took the opportunity of Christmas,
when managers of theatres make changes in their troupes, to give Coralli
warning.
Coralli came at once to report what had befallen him, and to beg for my
intervention in his favour, while Teodora showed herself extremely
annoyed by his expulsion. Nothing meanwhile was heard among the actors
but virtuous remarks upon the scandalous connection which Sacchi had so
firmly put an end to. I tried to make the director see reason, and not
to expel a member of his troupe who was certainly a very useful actor.
All I could extort was a promise to keep Coralli, if some other player
happened to retire. Yet I knew that, after I had once expressed a wish
that he should stay, Sacchi would have managed this to gratify me. In
fact, the man was only forced to leave at last because of his own
knavish trickery. After learning from me what Sacchi had conceded, he
persuaded a good and simple fellow of his own city, Domenico Barsanti,
that the manager meant to give him, Barsanti, warning, and that he had
better, for his own repute, anticipate this misfortune by sending in his
resignation. When Barsanti proceeded to do so, Sacchi wormed the secret
out of him, and answered: "I had no intention of dismissing you. Go to
Conte Gozzi, tell him the whole story, and beg for his protection. That
will teach him what sort of fellow Coralli is." Barsanti accordingly
arrived, and stupefied me with the recital of this piece of swindling
ingenuity. I need not add that Coralli disappeared at the end of the
Carnival. I got a letter from him full of remorse, especially for having
hurt me by his stratagem for staying in the company.
I went on as usual with Signora Ricci, and had nothing particular to
notice in her conduct. Only I observed that gondoliers used often to
come behind the scenes with messages from ladies who desired her company
in the boxes. That they were not ladies, but a very different sort of
persons, I discovered in course of time. Again, she chose at this epoch
to change her dwelling from a house in the neighbourhood of the theatre,
which opened on a frequented street, to another at some distance, far
more expensive, and which had the disadvantage of standing in a little
lonely alley. This step exposed her to a renewal of the worst reports
about her private character and conduct. It also severely taxed her
purse for the expenses of removal and installation.
When she left Venice at the end of the Carnival, she placed her little
girl, my godchild, out at nurse. I used frequently to go and see this
excellent little creature in her mother's absence. For the rest, our
correspondence by letters continued much on the same footing as before.