LIII.

_Candid details regarding the composition and production of my notorious

comedy entitled "Le Droghe d'Amore."--More too about the Ricci, and her

relations to Signor P. A. Gratarol._

Just about this time I had planned and partly executed a new comedy,

which afterwards obtained a _succes de scandale_ under the title of _Le

Droghe d'Amore_.[52] The dust stirred up by this innocent piece in three

acts obliges me to enter at some length into the circumstances which

attended its composition and production.

Everybody is aware that, after the long series of my allegorical fables

had run their course upon the stage, I thought fit to change my manner,

and adapted several Spanish dramas for our theatre. Sacchi used to bring

me bundles of Spanish plays. I turned them over, and selected those

which seemed to me best fitted for my purpose. Taking the bare skeleton

and ground-plot of these pieces, I worked them up with new characters,

fresh dialogue, and an improved conduct of the action, to suit the

requirements of the Italian theatre. A whole array of dramas--the

_Donna Innamorata_, the _Donna Vendicativa_, the _Donna Elvira_, the

_Notti Affannose_, the _Fratelli Nimici_, the _Principessa Filosofa_,

the _Pubblico Segreto_, the _Moro di Corpo Bianco_, the _Metafisico_,

and the _Bianca di Melfi_, all of which issued from my pen, attest the

truth of these remarks.[53] I need say no more about them, because the

prefaces with which I sent them to the press have sufficiently informed

the public.

In pursuance of this plan, then, I had been working up Tirso da Molina's

piece, entitled _Zelos cum Zelos se Curat_, into my own _Droghe

d'Amore_. I was but little satisfied, made tardy progress, and had even

laid aside the manuscript as worthless--condemning it, like scores of

other abortive pieces, to the waste-paper basket. It so happened that

after Christmas in this year, 1775, I was laid up with a tedious attack

of rheumatism, which threatened to pass over into putrid fever, and

which confined me to the house for more than thirty days. Signora Ricci

kept up amicable relations with me during this illness; and even after

Carnival began, she and her husband used to spend their spare evenings

at my house. The society which cheered me through my lingering

convalescence included the patrician Paolo Balbi, Doctor Andrea

Comparetti, Signor Raffaelle Todeschini, my nephew Francesco, son of

Gasparo, Signor Carlo Maffeo, Signor Michele Molinari, and an occasional

actor from Sacchi's troupe. Wanting occupation for my hours of solitude,

I took up the _Droghe d'Amore_, and went on working at it; always

against the grain, however, for the piece seemed to me to drag and to

want life. There is so much improbability in the plots of Spanish dramas

that all the arts of rhetoric and eloquence have to be employed in order

to convey an appearance of reality to the action. This tends to

prolixity, and I felt that my unfinished piece was particularly faulty

in that respect. It was divided into three acts, and I had brought the

dialogue down to the middle of the third. Little as I liked it, the

fancy took me to see what impression it would make upon an audience.

Accordingly, I read it aloud one evening to Teodora Ricci, my nephew,

Doctor Comparetti, and Signor Molinari. They were interested beyond my

expectation, and loudly opposed my intention of laying it aside. The

_prima donna_, in particular, urged me in the strongest terms to finish

what remained of it to do. The gentlemen I have just named can bear

witness to the sincerity of my coldness for this play, which afterwards,

by a succession of accidents, came to be regarded as a deliberate satire

on a single individual.

Some days after the reading, Signora Ricci asked me casually if I was

acquainted with Signor Piero Antonio Gratarol, secretary to the Senate.

I answered that I did not know him, which was the simple truth. I

added, however, that he had been pointed out to me on the piazza, and

that his outlandish air, gait, and costume struck me as very different

from what one would expect in a secretary to the grave Venetian Senate.

"Yet I have heard him spoken of as a man of ability and intelligence."

"He has a great respect for you," said she. "I am obliged to him for his

good opinion," I replied. "I think him a man of breeding," she went on,

"and I also think him a man of honour." "So far as I am concerned," I

answered, "I know nothing to the contrary, unless it be his unfortunate

notoriety for what is now called gallantry." There was no malice in thus

alluding to what was universally talked about, and had even come before

the judges of the State. I only intended to give a hint to my gossip,

which I soon discovered to be too late for any service. Having spoken, I

immediately sought to soften what I said by adding: "I do not deny that

externals may expose a man to false opinion in such matters; and not

being familiar with Signor Gratarol, I neither affirm nor deny what is

commonly voiced abroad about him." "He is elected ambassador to Naples,"

she continued, "and I am anxious to appear upon a theatre in that

capital. He may be of the utmost service to me." "Why," said I, "are not

you thinking of going to Paris?" "I must try," she replied, "to make my

fortune where and how I can." "Do as you like," I answered, and turned

the conversation upon other topics.

It was clear to my mind that, during my long illness, the Ricci had

struck up a friendship with this Signor Gratarol, and that she was

beating about the bush to bring us together at her house. She had not

forgotten my determination to cut short my daily visits if she received

attentions from a man of fashion and pleasure. I, for my part, should

have been delighted to meet Signor Gratarol anywhere but in the dwelling

of the actress I had protected and publicly acknowledged for the last

five years.

It now became my fixed resolve to procrastinate until the end of the

Carnival, avoiding the scandal which would ensue from a sudden

abandonment of Teodora Ricci. But when she left Venice for the spring

and summer tour, I determined to drop our correspondence by letter, and

to meet her afterwards upon the footing of distant civility. Events

proved how useless it was to form any such plans with reference to a

woman of her character.

Wearying at length of my long imprisonment, I ventured abroad against my

doctor's advice, and found myself much the better for a moderate amount

of exercise.[54] This encouraged me to seek my accustomed recreation in

the small rooms behind the scenes of the theatre. There I was welcomed

with loud unanimous delight by all the members of the company. But, much

to my surprise, and in spite of Sacchi's usual strictness with regard to

visitors, I found Signor Gratarol installed in the green-room. He seemed

to be quite at home, flaunting a crimson mantle lined with costly furs,

and distributing candied citrons and Neapolitan bonbons[55] right and

left. He very politely offered me some of his comfits, as though I had

been a pretty girl, on whom such things are well bestowed. I thanked him

for the attention, and took good care to utter no remarks upon the

novelty of his appearance in that place.

I have already mentioned that Signora Ricci's removal to a lonely

quarter of the town had exposed her to much malignant gossip. Her

ill-wishers suggested that she was laying herself out for clandestine

visits and company which compromised her reputation. I went to see her

still, but not every day as formerly, and always at times when I was

certain not to meet with Signor Gratarol. He meanwhile continued to be a

constant guest behind the scenes of the theatre.

In order to cast dust in my eyes, and not to lose the support of my

protection, Mme. Ricci took every opportunity of alluding to the

good-breeding and excellent behaviour of her new friend. He treated her

with the respect due to a queen, she said, and greatly regretted that he

was never fortunate enough to find me at her house. I reflected, perhaps

unjustly, that Signor Gratarol would indeed have been delighted to meet

me there. This would have suited his game; for when the flirtation had

advanced to the stage of gallantry, his mistress would still have had

her old friend and gossip to rely on. Anyhow, I responded to her

suggestions in terms like these: "I am much obliged to the gentleman in

question. I believe all you tell me, although nobody else would believe

it. You know my principles, and the position I have willingly assumed

toward you. I am sorry to see you exposing yourself to fresh calumnies,

and to be no longer able to defend you. With Signor Gratarol, much as I

differ from him upon certain points, I should be glad to enter into

social relations anywhere but under your roof. You must have observed

that I treat him with esteem and respect when we come together behind

the scenes. It is impossible, however, that he can be ignorant of the

open friendship I have professed for you during five whole years. All

Venice knows it. I desire nothing more than that he should continue to

treat you like a queen, as you say he does. But since I do not seek to

oppose your liberty of action, I trust that you will not be so

indiscreet as to impose conditions on my freedom."

What report of this conversation she made to Signor Gratarol is known

only to her and him. She was exasperated, and I do not think the picture

she drew of me can have been very flattering. Probably I was described

as weakly jealous:--jealous, however, I had never been of other

admirers, who did not compromise me in my intimacy with this actress.

A few weeks were left of the Carnival, when, entering the small rooms of

the theatre one evening, I found Signor Gratarol as usual there. He

addressed me courteously: "Count, Sacchi here and Fiorelli and Zannoni

have been invited to eat a pheasant with me at my casino at S. Mose. I

hardly venture to invite you also; yet knowing the kindly feeling you

have for these persons, and the pleasure you take in their company, if

you were disposed to join our party, I should esteem it an honour." The

invitation could not have been more politely given; and as the other

guests had been named, I saw no reason to refuse. I added, however, that

the state of my health prevented me from counting with certainty upon

the pleasure he offered; anyhow, my absence would not be a great loss to

his party. After a few compliments, the day was fixed.

On the following morning I met Sacchi upon the piazza. His eyes were

starting from their sockets, and he told me he was in urgent need of my

advice. What passed between us I will relate in dialogue. Sacchi

began:--

"A short time since, I met a gentleman who was dining last night at the

house of a patrician, the President of the Supreme Tribunal.[56] He took

me aside and said: 'Such and such a nobleman (and you know over what

Tribunal he presides) was speaking last night about the theatres; in the

course of his remarks he let these words fall:--I do not know how it is

that Sacchi, who has the reputation of managing his troupe with

strictness, and only allowing a few confidential friends to appear

behind the scenes of his theatre, should receive secretaries of the

Senate openly and every night in the green-room.--Dear Sacchi,' this

gentleman continued, 'do not tell any one that I have reported these

words; my only object is to put you on your guard.' You see, sir, that

the communication forces me to take some active measures. If I neglect

it rashly, I shall find myself in difficulties. I confess that I am

puzzled, and come to you for counsel."

"You have chosen an inappropriate adviser in this affair," I answered.

"You are the master in your own theatre, and have always been severe

upon the point in question. Why did not you civilly put a stop to the

irregularity before it assumed so embarrassing an aspect? I was a whole

month absent from your stage, owing to my illness. When I returned, I

found Signor Gratarol installed, and hail-fellow-well-met with

everybody. At any rate, it would not have befitted me to make remarks

upon the sort of people you admitted."

"I did not introduce the man," said Sacchi. "I noticed him one evening,

and thought his visit might be accidental. When he came again and again,

I made inquiries; and the whole troupe assured me with ironical malice

that he came in the company of the Ricci, was introduced by her, and

only came on her account."

"That makes it still more difficult for me to advise you," I replied.

"Yet I think I may tell you that I do not believe Signor Gratarol to be

indiscreet. If you inform him privately, or let him know through Mme.

Ricci, what has been reported to you, I am certain that he will not show

himself behind the scenes again."

"I am aware," rejoined Sacchi, "that my way of talking is brusque,

passionate, and awkward. Pray do me the kindness to speak to Ricci."

"Excuse me," said I; "I do not undertake commissions of this kind, and

have no wish to be mixed up with what only concerns you."

"Nay, I beseech you to do me this kindness!" exclaimed Sacchi once more.

"You need only hint at what I have communicated. I assure you, Count,

that if I begin to give that woman a bit of my mind, I shall not be

able to refrain from some gross insults."

"Why do you not speak civilly to Signor Gratarol?"

"To tell you the truth, I have not the courage. He is always polite to

me. I am afraid that he will take my remarks for an actor's scheming to

expel him from the green-room. He might become my enemy, and Ricci in

her rage might do me some injury. You know that in our profession we are

forced to keep on good terms with everybody."

"Well," said I, "I see that you want me to put my paw into the fire to

draw the chestnut out! Never mind! If the opportunity occurs, I will try

to do what you request, and set things straight as cautiously as may

be."

In the course of one of my coldly ceremonious visits to Mme. Ricci, I

dropped these words before rising to take my leave: "I was forgetting to

tell you something, which I do not like to say, but which it would be

unfriendly to leave unsaid. Sacchi has mentioned this and this to me,

and asked me to give you a hint. You can see Signor Gratarol as much as

you like in your own house. I hope that you will arrange matters so as

not to incur further odium." "Gratarol does not come behind the scenes

for me!" cried she, flaming up; "what does it matter to me whether he

comes or stays away? Sacchi can tell him to drop his visits." "I have

reported to you a fact," said I with perfect calm, "at the request of

an old acquaintance. Whether you, or Sacchi, or nobody tells Signor

Gratarol, is all the same to me." I left her fuming and chafing in a

fury.

I perceived that my customary readiness to make myself of use had got me

into a scrape. The viperish temper in which the woman was when I left

her, made me feel sure that she would bite me behind my back; and what

followed confirmed my apprehension. She saw with rage that my friendship

for her was expiring. She wanted to hold her new friend fast. Incapable

of acknowledging herself in the wrong, blinded by vanity and folly, she

persisted in regarding me as the victim of jealousy. After the

conversation I have just related, Signor Gratarol did not show himself

again behind the scenes. What his feelings were towards me Heaven only

knows.

On the evening before the famous banquet, I was in one of the small

rooms of the theatre with Sacchi, Mme. Ricci, a sister of hers named

Marianna who danced in the ballet, and several other actresses and

actors. Sacchi suddenly burst into the following tirade:--"To-morrow,"

he began, "we are to dine with Signor Gratarol. I thought that the

guests were Count Gozzi, myself, Fiorelli, and Zannoni. Now it reaches

my ears that certain actresses of my troupe have been invited, and that

the sumptuous and splendid festivity is given solely in honour of Mme.

Teodora Ricci. It has never been my habit to act as go-between for the

women of my establishment. Deuce take it all--&c., &c.--let him go who

likes; I shall not, that is flat." He followed up this flood of

eloquence with the foulest invectives.

The Ricci's face burned; she did not know where to look, and fixed her

eyes upon the ground. Everybody was staring at her. I confess that I

felt sorry to see her pilloried in this way. "Well," said I to myself,

"the labour of five years has been cast to the winds by this vain

woman's frivolous misconduct. The imbroglio is becoming so serious that

I fear I shall not drag on to the end of the Carnival without some

tiresome explosion." Meanwhile Sacchi went storming on. I tried to calm

him down. "You say you do not want to make enemies, and yet you are

ready to affront a gentleman who treats you with politeness. The whole

affair may be quite harmless, and I do not see why you should lash

yourself into a rage about it. You listen too much to idle or malignant

gossip." I succeeded in restoring peace, and Sacchi promised to keep his

appointment.

I, for my part, feeling really indisposed, and having a rooted antipathy

for banquets, especially when the host is no intimate friend of my own,

excused myself next morning on the score of health, and received a

letter of profuse compliments and expressions of regret in return.