_Fresh benefits conferred upon the playing company protected by
me.--Fresh advantages won by me for Mme. Ricci.--All thrown away as
nought._
I feel that this long story of my liaison with an actress cannot fail to
be tedious. Yet I am obliged to continue it in detail, inasmuch as
events to which the public attached considerable importance, and which
exposed me to criticism, can only be understood in their right light by
reference to this piece of private history.[49]
It may be demurred that I ought to have withdrawn from Sacchi's troupe
when I detected the evil spirits which were making mischief there. To
this I reply that I had found recreation and amusement in their society
for many years, that I enjoyed the opportunity of seeing my plays acted
by such clever artists, and also that my temper inclines me to endure
many inconveniences rather than break old habits. For example, I have
always borne with vicious inattentive servants, tailors who cheated me
and spoiled my clothes, shoemakers who tortured my feet with their
ill-fitting handiwork, barbers who flayed my chin with their razors,
hairdressers who snipped my ears with their scissors, and other tiresome
folk of the same sort, to whom I never administered a sharp rebuke, but
only such jesting expostulations as made them laugh.
When October brought the actors back to Venice, Sacchi was disagreeably
surprised by a piece of news which threatened him with ruin. Before the
theatres open for the season, they are examined by official architects,
who report upon their substantiality and safety. The theatre of S.
Salvatore was condemned this year by the experts, and an order from the
Government prohibited its being used. Signor Vendramini and the players
were in despair. Thirty and more persons, who gained their bread by
acting, saw themselves thrown out of work. Steps were immediately taken
to put the house in repair, and render it fit for the reception of the
public. During two-and-twenty days, while this work was going on, the
company took not a penny. Yet Sacchi continued to pay his hired actors
at their stipulated rates. This seemed to me generous on his part, and I
tried to persuade Teodora Ricci that she ought to be grateful. She took
no notice of my arguments, but kept on repeating her old complaints
about her salary. Her husband, who had come back, but no longer occupied
the same room as his wife, saw the matter in its proper light.
Meanwhile the rival theatres triumphed over our discomfiture. At S. Gio.
Grisostomo a new Truffaldino appeared, whom the fickle Venetians dubbed
a better Zanni than their old friend Sacchi. Satirical sonnets began to
circulate against my proteges, and they replied with pasquinades. This
wordy warfare filled the town with dirty libels. I begged Sacchi's
associates to keep their temper and be silent, trusting to my power of
restoring their prestige by a new piece I was at work on. This was
entitled _Il Moro di Corpo Bianco, ossia lo Schiavo del Proprio
Onore_.[50]
At last the repairs were finished, and received the surveyor's approval.
An official edict appeared to the effect that the theatre Vendramini at
S. Salvatore would be safe for the autumn and ensuing Carnival. This
limited announcement did not restore the confidence of the public, who
still feared that the house might tumble about their ears. Accordingly,
the first ten or twelve nights saw a desert in our theatre. The
Venetians had two other houses for plays and three for operas open; and
they persisted in regarding S. Salvatore as a trap for the destruction
of the human race.
While things were dragging on in this way, I got my drama finished. We
read it aloud to the whole company at a dinner given in the Wild Man
Inn.[51] The enthusiastic applause of the actors made me feel sure of
its success. I made them a present of it, and the piece was mounted with
the least possible delay. The playbills drew a large audience. Everybody
was burning to know what the deuce a Moor with a white body could
possibly be; this taught me that the prospect of a new excitement will
drive the fear of death out of the heads of my Venetians. During a run
of eighteen successive nights, all the other theatres were drained of
their spectators, and the opera-houses cursed my _Moro di Corpo Bianco_.
The reputation of S. Salvatore was fully re-established, and we heard
nothing more about the fabric being a rat-trap to catch human beings.
Teodora Ricci had scored a great success by her brilliant acting.
Intoxicated with popular plaudits, she began to grumble, and threatened
to break her engagement unless her salary were raised. Under these
circumstances, Sacchi came to me one day and begged me to draw up
articles between the actress and the troupe, by which she should commit
herself to five years of fixed service. He left the settlement of her
appointments to me, but stipulated that a fine of 500 ducats should be
exacted from whichever of the contracting parties broke the bond. I
undertook this negotiation with some reluctance, and concluded it, to my
own satisfaction, in the following way. Signora Ricci and her husband
were to receive 850 ducats a year, they engaging to serve the company
five years, under the above-mentioned penalty of 500 ducats if they
cancelled the agreement. The articles were drawn up in writing and
signed by Ricci and her husband. I fancied I had done what was right and
equitable for both parties, and took the articles with some pride to
Sacchi. That brutal old fellow thanked me in the way I shall relate.
Putting his spectacles upon his nose, he began to read the document; and
when I wished to explain it, he burst into a torrent of oaths, banging
the table with his fists as though I had just attempted a surgical
operation upon his tenderest parts. I remarked that, if he did not
approve of the conditions, he might tear the paper up: it was all the
same to me. This line he did not take; but set his signature to the
document, grumbling all the while that neither fines nor penalties would
bind that woman to her word, and that he reckoned upon my influence to
keep her in the straight path. Then I took the contract back to the
Signora, who murmured some words between her teeth about the hard
condition of her five years' service.
The imposthume, which had so long been forming, was bound to come to a
head at last and burst. It is now my business to relate what made the
final rupture between me and Teodora Ricci unavoidable.
The actors left Venice for their summer tour, and many letters passed
between her and me, which showed that she was still aggrieved with
Sacchi, and more than ever puffed up with the flatteries of lovers. I
read and pondered her correspondence, and came to the conclusion that
before a year was out we must cease to be friends.
When she returned in the autumn, on the occasion of my first visit, she
expressed some surprise at the alteration of my manner. It so happened
that at this very moment her servant Pavola handed her a letter which
had just arrived from Turin. She flared up, and flung herself about,
manifesting a strong desire to be able to strike the woman dead for
bringing the letter in my presence. "What has the poor girl done
amiss?" I asked. "Do not wrong me by supposing that I am inquisitive
about your correspondence. If one of the lovers, whom you actresses
always leave behind you, has written you a _billet-doux_, I have no
right to interfere in such concerns of wholly private interest." "This
is no affair of lovers," she replied with heat, opening and casting her
eyes over the pages. When she had read the letter, she hesitated a
little, and then handed it to me. "I do not want to hide anything from
you; read it, and you will see that it has nothing to do with love." I
replied that I did not care to read it, being sure from her behaviour to
the servant that it contained some secret which she wished to conceal
from me. "Well, then," she said, "I must inform you that I made the
acquaintance at Turin of a lady called Mme. Rossetti, whose husband
lives at Paris. This lady expressed her regret at my being obliged to
drag my life out among wretched Italian comedians. She encouraged me to
act with spirit in my own interest, and gave me hopes of entering the
theatre at Paris through her husband's assistance. The writer of this
letter in my hand is a certain Abbe of Turin, who negotiates the matter,
and is a very able diplomatist. He informs me that the affair is on the
point of being settled to my wishes."
I pointed out that, if she intended to accept an engagement at Paris, it
was her duty to inform Sacchi, and to pay the penalty of 500 ducats.
"No," she replied, "that is precisely what I want to avoid doing." "So
then," I retorted, "you mean to transact your business secretly, and to
swindle the poor actors to whom you are engaged here! Be open, tell
Sacchi the truth, and I will engage to manage matters so that you shall
not have to pay the fine." "Sacchi," she rejoined, "must know nothing
about the transaction. If he gets wind of these negotiations, he will
engage another leading actress; and should my treaty fail, I shall be
dismissed and thrown upon the street. What an excellent friend and
gossip you are, forsooth, at a pinch like this! We actors and actresses
are not accustomed to such niceties and scruples." I told her that she
ought to rely on me for carrying her through any difficulties, and that
I could only recommend fair dealing in the matter. "However," I added,
"if you prefer to take the tortuous path and work by intrigue, I promise
to keep the secret which you have disclosed."
Having passed my word, I let her do what she liked in this affair, and
asked no further questions. But I was more than ever resolved to
withdraw as prudently and quietly as possible from the complicated
position in which I found myself placed. I wished to avoid open scandal;
but I little reckoned on the people I had to deal with. You cannot
disengage yourself so easily from actors.