She was fairly well off, enjoying a salary of 530 ducats, while her husband lived at Bologna at the charges of the company. In fact, her position, compared with that of other leading actresses, was decidedly good; yet she continued to complain and haggle for an increase of wages. I did all in my power to interest the other members of the troupe in her behalf, and brought Sacchi to her house. In this way an intimacy sprang up between her and the director of the company which led in a short while to his augmenting her appointments by more than a hundred ducats. He told his partners that this addition was made in order that she might improve her stage wardrobe. I always laugh when I remember that excuse for generosity. My readers will soon know why.
The Ricci, left without her husband, stood in need of some domestic counsellor and friend, who would assist her not only in Venice, but during the six months of her theatrical tours. She chose for this purpose a young Bolognese actor called Coralli, of more education than his comrades, but somewhat of a humbug. I liked the fellow for his polished manners and dramatic talent, and saw no reason to resent this intimacy. Nor did I object to the male visitors whom I met at her house. They were{202} actors, men of business, letter-carriers from Florence, Bologna, and Modena, and persons of the same sort. But I warned her frequently and seriously against admitting men of the town and pleasure, who would certainly compromise her reputation and bring discredit on my friendship. I could see that she rebelled in secret against the severity of my principles. I repeated that, if she broke into revolt, I should immediately carry out my threat of leaving her to her fate. In taking this line, I confess that I acted very foolishly. I could not change her nature or substitute sound views of life for the corrupt traditions of her calling. She imagined that I was nothing more than a jealous lover, and only sought my society for the protection it afforded her, and for the benefits I was able to confer upon her by my writings. She also hoped to make me a screen for carrying on intrigues in accordance with her vitiated principles. I ought indeed to have withdrawn from her at this point. But my good-nature and the task I had undertaken of pushing her in the profession kept me at her side.
Very soon new motives for taking the decisive step of a rupture with Signora Ricci appeared. Sacchi, whom I had introduced to her house, was seized with a blind and brutal passion for the young woman. Who would have imagined that an old fellow of eighty, gouty, with swollen legs and frozen veins, could have been inflamed by such desires? Sometimes, when I{203} happened to pay visits at unwonted hours, I saw him running as fast as he could to hide himself from my sight. I pretended not to notice this, but I felt sure that a conspiracy of some sort was being hatched between them.
One morning I found my gossip engaged in unrolling a piece of white satin, some thirty ells in length. She hung lost in admiration over the beautiful stuff. "So," said I, "you have been making purchases?" "Yes," she answered, "I wanted a new gown of white satin, and have been to buy it." "You are always complaining that your salary is insufficient, but I am glad to see that you can afford yourself this indulgence." "Sacchi was with me this morning; he gave the merchant security; I have got the stuff on credit, and three sequins a month are to be deducted from my salary to pay for it." Now I have said that Teodora Ricci could not tell a lie without betraying some confusion. I noticed a blush overspread her face, and quietly resumed the conversation: "Well, you have not behaved well by me. I know how punctual you are in paying debts, and have before now given the same security for you on more than one occasion. Why did you resort to Sacchi for this little service? You are not dealing frankly with me." She blushed still deeper, and exclaimed with irritation: "I suppose I must tell you the truth! That old man is madly in love with me. He wants to give me the dress, and expects from{204} me what he will never get." I saw at a glance why the capocomico had been hiding from me, and began to address the following remarks to the young actress: "Dear gossip, it is impossible that an old man of eighty can have gone so far without encouragement from you. I have often noticed that he ran away and hid himself on my approach. What reason had he for doing this? You are sowing the seeds of dissension between me and an associate of more than twenty years standing. You are painting me in false colours to that man; and this is your return for a thousand kindnesses. I have stood by you in your profession, and declared myself the champion of your honour. Now, for a satin gown, you are going to destroy the work of years. That white dress upon your shoulders will be the filthiest, the most besmirched, the most shameful of your wardrobe. It will be a robe of infamy, and work your ruin. Pray reflect that old Sacchi has a viper for his wife, with two daughters, who hate and vilify and slander you. Do you imagine that you will conceal your intrigues from their curious eyes? No indeed. They will assail you with their tongues, and having caught you in so vile an act, will spare nothing to cast the truth in your teeth, as previously they spread abroad their lies behind your back. I am speaking far more for you than for myself. I can always save my honour by quitting you without an open scandal. I know quite well that you fancy I am in love with you and jealous{205} of your decrepit adorer. That is not the case. I am only jealous for your honour and for mine. I shall certainly do what I have often threatened, and shall do it without breaking my heart, although 'tis true I have a warm affection for you. What right have I to lay the law down and to preach to you? None. But you have no right to imagine that a man like me, your gossip and your friend, will play the part of screen to your disgraceful traffic. My remedy is to leave you absolute mistress of yourself by withdrawing from your intimacy."
This tirade, which might have been effective in some comedy, but which was too full of delicate sentiment for a comedian, made my actress bend her brows to earth, repeating over and over again: "What a mess I have made of it!" "Yes," I replied, "you will soon find what a nasty mess it is!" And so I rose to take my leave. "Sir, dear friend and gossip," she began again, detaining me with tears which fell from her eyelids—tears more probably of rage than of repentance—"I swear that I did not mean to act amiss. Gladly will I throw that satin out of window. Oh, wretched trade of us poor actresses! We have always devils round us, to torment and work upon our weakness. The old man promised me plate, jewels, splendid toilette-tables. He turned my brains and dulled my senses." "Very well," I answered. "I do not want to prevent you from buying wealth at the price of infamy, and{206} of the libels which attend it. But I do not mean to serve as screen, to be the friend and consort of a woman of your sort." "I am quite prepared," she added, "to return the satin; and you may be sure that I left Sacchi under the impression that I should pay for it out of my salary. By all that I hold sacred, I swear to you that I have never given, and shall never give, that old seducer what he asks for. I come to you for advice now, and you shall see that I will follow it to the very letter."
I told her that she was asking for advice too late in the day to be of any use. "Sacchi is spiteful, vicious, brutal, corrupt in his opinions upon human nature, and—a player. What is worse, he is in love. He does not believe you capable of giving up this satin or of paying for it. He will scent the truth that I have been at work here, because he knows my principles of conduct. Shame, rage, and spite will make a demon of the man. He will conceive a violent hatred against me, which he will vent upon you, his interest being to keep on good terms with myself. I am truly sorry for you. You do not know the lengths to which the infernal nature of the animal will carry him. Yet I cannot recommend any other course but that which your own sense of duty will dictate to you."
A few days after this scene, she told me with a beaming countenance that she had announced to Sacchi her firm intention of paying for the satin out{207} of her appointments. "I wholly approve of the step which you have taken," said I in answer, "but I beg you to tell me without reserve how he took your declaration." "To speak the candid truth," she replied, "he looked at me askance, then turned surly, and muttered, 'Yes, yes! I see who gave you the advice. Well, well, you shall pay for the gown!'" "My poor girl," I added, "prepare yourself to pay dearly for the satin, both with money and with tears. May this be a lesson to you not to coax presents out of brutal libertines."
The fact was that from this moment forward she became the butt of that bad old man's persecutions. From the height of his position as director of the troupe, he launched taunt after taunt against her, subjected her to the grossest sarcasms, and did not spare them even in my presence. If she had to act upon the stage with him, he employed his popularity with the audience and his ability as actor to turn her into ridicule with scurvy jests and sallies. Nay, more: in one of the rooms behind the theatre, where some eight actors and actresses were assembled, the brute, before my face, insulted her by implying that he had been admitted to her last familiarities. I saw her turn pale and on the point of fainting.
I was absolutely certain that Sacchi's innuendoes had no grain of truth in them. He only wished to compromise her in my eyes, in order that I might abandon her to his desires and vengeance. This stung{208} me to espouse her cause, although I knew that prudence pointed in the contrary direction. Next day I found her drowned in tears. I told her that the moment had not come for me to leave her. "Sacchi has insulted me as well as you, forgetful of the benefits which I have heaped upon him. It is now my business to tame the devil in him without open scandal. All I am afraid of is, that you will force me to abandon you by future follies of a like description. As far as the present case is concerned, you may trust to my fidelity."
SACCHI AND SIGNORA RICCI
Original Etching by Ad. Lalauze