ear that I never took advantage of these
opportunities to play the part of a seducer or a libertine. These
Memoirs I am writing, together with the whole tenour of my life through
a long course of years, suffice to clear me from the imputation of
hypocrisy. Some of my readers will probably suppose that I am making a
vain parade of philosophy in order to gain credit for virtues I did not
possess. Others will call me a simpleton for not availing myself more
freely of my exceptional position among the beauties of the stage. What
I am going to relate concerning my friendship for the Ricci will show
that I erred upon the side of simplicity and folly. It was my fixed
intention to benefit her, and at the same time to benefit the troupe I
had taken under my protection, by making her an able artist and
verifying my own opinion of her talents in the teeth of jealousy and
opposition.

She had spirit, a good voice, a retentive memory, extraordinary
rapidity of perception, and a fine figure, which she knew how to set off
to the best advantage. On the other hand, she was inattentive to the
conduct of a dialogue, deficient in naturalness and in real sensibility
for the roles she undertook. These defects, which are fatal to scenical
illusion, proceeded from lack of intelligence, want of real heart for
her business, and all kinds of feminine distractions. Some literary
culture would have been of service to her; but, like all Italian
actresses, she was deficient in such culture. According to her own
account, she had been the most neglected of five or more sisters. After
taking some lessons in dancing, she abandoned that branch of the
profession because of a physical weakness in her knee-joints. Her
mother, poor, and with a drunken husband, then made her the domestic
drudge. Since she showed some talent for acting, however, a certain
Pietro Rossi begged this woman to let her enter his company of players.
She made no difficulties; and signing the girl's forehead with a large
maternal cross, sent her out into the world with this practical
injunction: "Go, and earn your bread; do not come back to be a burden to
the family, where there are too many mouths to feed already." Throwing
herself with courage and closed eyes into her new career, Teodora won
applause by her natural aptitude for acting, and by the charm of her
youth. The piece I wrote for her placed her well before the public, and
I was not at all doubtful of her future success. Yet I