_A visit from Signor Gratarol.--Notes of our conversation.--Mutinous
murmurs in the playing company.--My weakly kindness toward the
Ricci.--Final rupture._
On the morning after Signor Gratarol's superb banquet, I was still in
bed when my servant announced a visit from that gentleman, whom I had
only met before in passing at the theatre. He entered, walking more like
an Englishman than a Venetian, elegantly attired, and uttering
compliments which my humility forced me to regard as ill-employed
cajoleries.
I begged him to excuse me for receiving him in bed. He inquired after my
health, and then proceeded to business. A society of gentlefolk, he told
me, had been formed, all of whom were amateur actors, and a theatre had
been built at San Gregorio for them to play comedies and tragedies. He
was a member of this company; and he had suggested to his friends the
propriety of electing a permanent chief, with full authority to control
and dictate regulations, whose word should be implicitly obeyed. This
suggestion having been unanimously accepted, he had taken the liberty to
name me as the chief and manager in question, and my nomination had
been received with general approval.
Beside the revolting flattery which underlay this speech, I was
positively taken aback to hear a secretary of the august Venetian
Senate, an ambassador-elect from the most Serene Republic to the court
of a monarch of the Two Sicilies, discussing such a frivolous affair
with so much seriousness and making such a fuss about it. I had much ado
to maintain my gravity, and could not speak for a few seconds. He came
to my relief by resuming his discourse. "Such an institution," he went
on, "will be extremely useful in Venice for developing and training the
abilities of young men, for giving them, in short, a liberal culture. In
my opinion it is admirable, of the greatest utility, and worthy of
respect. What do you think, Count?"
I replied that I was far from disapproving of the well-established
custom in schools and seminaries of making boys and young men act; and I
thought that the same custom in families had many advantages. Besides
sharpening and suppling the mental faculties of young people, and
improving their elocution, it kept them to some extent aloof from those
low sensual pleasures which were deplorably in vogue amongst them. It
seemed to me, however, that persons of a mature age, holding offices and
posts of public dignity, would do better to extend protection and
encouragement to such performances than to appear themselves upon the
stage. Such was my private opinion. But I did not wish to set up for
being a critic of my neighbours. For the rest, I thanked him for the
honour done me by his amateur society, but begged to decline the office
of director. I gave many reasons for not caring to undertake the
responsibilities of such a post, and reminded him that my interest in
the theatre served only as a distraction from many onerous and painful
duties which I had voluntarily undertaken for the benefit of my numerous
and far from wealthy relatives.
[Illustration: RUZZANTE (1525)
_Illustrating the Italian Commedia dell'Arte, or Impromptu Comedy_]
I do not know how far this candid answer was agreeable to Signor
Gratarol. Much of it must certainly have gone against his grain, and a
good deal he probably took for sarcasm. Nevertheless, he continued on
the note of adulation which annoyed me. "In truth," he said, "I hardly
hoped for your acceptance, knowing how much you value a quiet life. Yet
perhaps you will do me the favour of suggesting some one fit to
undertake the duty." "In my opinion," I replied, "the Marchese Francesco
Albergati would be a very proper man.[57] He is an enthusiastic
amateur, and has great experience in theatrical affairs. He has fixed
his residence at Venice, and is sure to accept the post with pleasure."
"Do you really think him capable?" asked Gratarol with the utmost
gravity, as though we were discussing a matter of vast importance. "Most
capable," I answered. "Pray allow me then," he continued, with the same
ludicrous concern, "to propose Marchese Albergati to my company of noble
amateurs at your recommendation!" "Certainly, if you think fit," I
replied, with difficulty repressing a yawn. The long conversation about
nothing had almost tired my patience out. At length he rose to take his
leave, drowning me in an ocean of compliments. I thanked him for his
visit, and promised to return it, blessing Heaven for his departure.
After Signor Gratarol's banquet, which was described to me as regal in
its pomp, the whole of Sacchi's troupe let their spite loose against
Mme. Ricci. It was a storm of innuendoes and equivocal allusions, upon
which my presence barely imposed a check. Some of the actresses went so
far as to ask me in private whether I was not at last convinced of what
they had always told me about that woman's character. I fenced with them
as well as I could, sometimes pretending not to understand, sometimes
rebuking their evil gossip, and sometimes turning my back with affected
indignation. And so I rubbed on, always sighing for the arrival of
Lent.
One evening, her sister Marianna met me in a little room behind the
theatre. "What do you think, Sir Count," she said, "of this
extraordinary turn of affairs?" "What are you talking about?" I replied.
"About my madcap sister, of course," she added: "Teodora was always a
hair-brained, giddy, imprudent creature of caprice. But who would have
thought that, after five years of countenance and real friendship
extended to her by you, she would have given herself so openly and
formally to a man like Gratarol?" While I was revolving some answer,
which should signify nothing, a knot of actors entered, and relieved me
of my embarrassment.
I had always invited some of the comedians to a dinner at my house
before the end of the Carnival; and this year, not choosing to deviate
from old custom, I fixed it for a Thursday. Among the guests were Ricci
and her husband, Fiorelli and Zannoni, with other actresses and actors.
The conversation was as brilliant as usual; but I noticed, to my deep
regret, that Fiorelli's witticisms returned again and again to certain
new ornaments worn by Mme. Ricci. His allusions seemed to cut her to the
quick. She blushed, and shifted on her chair without replying. The
others laughed, and I vainly strove to introduce fresh topics. From this
day forward, rumour dealt loudly and cruelly with her reputation. Folk
went so far as to assert that every evening she retired from the theatre
with Signor Gratarol to his casino, and spent the whole night there.
How far these reports were true, I do not pretend to judge. It is
certain, however, that her imprudent connection with a notorious
voluptuary was nothing short of disastrous to a woman in her profession.
How Signor Gratarol justified his behaviour in causing this open scandal
to a person still ostensibly beneath my protection, can only be
conjectured. It is possible that Mme. Ricci concealed from him the
obligations she was under to me, and my repeated declarations that I
should abandon her to her fate if anything of the sort occurred. Yet he
must have been aware that he was placing me in a false and odious
position.
All Sacchi's troupe made it only too clear that they wished me to drop
her at once and for ever. Their innuendoes directed against myself, and
the continuous open gossip which went on, overcame my philosophy at
last, and I resolved to suspend my visits altogether without waiting for
Lent. Yet, before I exposed her unprotected to the hatred of her
comrades, I thought it best to take one final step, which proved, as
things turned out, a false one. I went to her sister Marianna, and told
her to warn Teodora that I meant at last to leave her. I could not play
the part of a fool and go-between. I was not jealous, and had never been
jealous of her other admirers; but a man in Gratarol's position,
notorious for libertinism, belonging to my own class, and with the eyes
of the world upon him, made my position as her friend and protector
odious beyond expression. She must choose between giving him up or
losing me for ever.
Marianna promised to discharge her mission, and spared no words of
reprobation for her sister's conduct. I ought, however, to have
reflected that a ballet-girl would be sure to misinterpret my real
delicacy, and to depict me as a jealous lover.
Two days later on, both sisters appeared at my house. Teodora began to
excuse herself. "My sister tells me that you are angry with me, and I am
come to ask the reason why." I replied that I was not angry, but that I
wanted to save her from certain ruin. If that was impossible, I meant to
provide for my own peace of mind and honour by doing what I had always
said I should. She begged me, with exaggerated demonstrations of
concern, to give her but one chance, averring that she had certain
things she wished to say to me in private. I weakly consented to pay her
a visit at her own house, and went there on the following day. There I
found her still in bed; and sitting down, I begged her to make a clean
breast of everything which concerned Signor Gratarol. She told me
frankly that she was not in love with him, and that she had only
received a couple of trifling presents at his hands--a little Neapolitan
watch-chain and an embroidered satin muff. Upon this, I advised her, if
things had not gone further, to write a polite letter to Gratarol,
begging him, as a gentleman, to discontinue his attentions. She might
return his two presents, as a mark of delicacy. The actress sighed, and
said she supposed she must follow my advice. I took her at her word; and
added that, since I found her so well disposed to adopt the only right
course open to her, I was willing not to withdraw my protection.
I did not inquire whether she actually wrote the letter to Signor
Gratarol, but continued to treat her with politeness, trusting to her
word and honour. One evening, when she had no engagement at the theatre,
I proposed that we should go together to the opera at S. Samuele. She
accepted, but showed a singular curiosity to know the row and number of
the box. "I will send you the key," I said, "this morning, and you will
see where it is placed. If you like to go before me with your husband, I
will look in during the evening." I fancied there must be some intrigue
hidden under this anxiety about the number of the box; but I said
nothing, and did what I had promised.
When the evening came, I went to S. Samuele, and found Mme. Ricci with
her husband in the box. His duties at the other theatre obliged him to
retire, and I was left alone with Teodora. Scarcely had I taken my seat,
when I heard the door of the next box open, and some one entered, who
was greeted by the actress with charming airs of coquetry and winning
grace. I had my shoulders turned to the person, but I divined who it
was. The Ricci had informed Gratarol that she was going with me to S.
Samuele, and had given him the number of our box. Pretending to notice
him by accident, I turned my head round, bowed, and begged him to excuse
me for not having yet returned his visit. He overwhelmed me, as usual,
with a shower of those compliments which won for him the fame of
eloquence.
"This then," said I to myself, "is the woman's way of writing notes at
my advice!" However, I attended her back to her house without making any
comment on what had happened.
The last day of this most tedious Carnival at length arrived. It was the
custom for the leading members of Sacchi's troupe, together with a
numerous company of friends, to celebrate the evening with a supper at
some inn. I had always accompanied Teodora Ricci on these occasions; and
I now determined to put the final stroke to our friendship by acting as
usual. After a very festive supper, the whole party adjourned to the
opera at S. Samuele. The performance began at midnight, and several
boxes had been engaged beforehand. It chanced that I found myself alone
in one of them with Mme. Ricci. Thereupon, seeing that the Carnival was
over, and the moment of my emancipation had arrived, I opened my mind to
the young woman, and informed her that my patience was exhausted. She
tried to turn the matter off with a jest; her liaison with Gratarol had
been a mere Carnival caprice, which would end with the Carnival. (As if
that made any difference to me!) I replied with firmness that it was now
too late. She had thrown away the fruits of my benefits conferred on her
through five long years, and had repaid them by exposing me to shame and
insult. I forgave her and left her at liberty; but abode by my decision
to withdraw from her friendship.
"What!" said she, "shall I not be your gossip[58] any more?" "Please to
forget that title," I replied: "a good woman does not try to turn her
gossip into a simpleton or go-between. I shall not become your enemy,
and have no petty thirst for vengeance. If I were wise, I should cut my
old connection with the troupe whom I have protected for twenty years.
That would secure me against further annoyances and tittle-tattle. But I
do not mean to take this step. And you may be very grateful to me; for
were I to leave them, they would ascribe the loss of their great
champion to you alone." "Oh, what will ever happen to me?" she exclaimed
with an air of tragic desperation. "Nothing," I added laughing, "except
what you have sought and brought about."
When the opera was over, I attended her home, and standing in the
doorway, repeated that this was the last time she would be troubled with
my company. "Do you not mean then to visit me any more?" cried she.
"You certainly will not be exposed to that disturbance," I replied. "Oh,
we shall see you here, we shall see you!" she answered with a cheerful
air of security. I could not help laughing at her conceit. "So you
persist in looking on me as a hopeless victim of your charms! If I do
come to visit you, you will see me, certes!" "But I shall come to you,"
she added. "I hope that you will never give yourself the trouble," said
I; and with these final words I turned my back and walked away.
So ended the open and ingenuous friendship which I had carried on for
five years with this woman.