I had just given a new piece to the company, and went to assist at its
first reading in the green-room. Sacchi shot his usual arrows at Signora
Ricci, and alluded to her love-affairs with Coralli. Perhaps he meant to
rouse my jealousy without reflecting that this liaison had in my eyes
nothing dishonourable. Coralli was a poor actor, and Teodora ran no risk
of passing for a venal beauty in his company. I contented myself by
showing the disgust I felt for the old man's insinuations by my manner,
without condescending to utter a word. Knowing well that it is only
possible to wound comedians in the sensitive point of their pecuniary
interest, I laid my plans accordingly. I cut short my visits to Signora
Ricci, avoided the green-room of the theatre, and did not put in an
appearance at the next rehearsal of my piece. The actors began to
whisper. Some of them inquired whether I was ill. "I am perfectly well,"
I answered, "but it seems to me that I am superfluous at your
rehearsals. Besides, I have private business." Next evening I kept away
from the theatre, and next day I avoided the rehearsal. The agitation
among the actors grew to a tumult. When the Ricci was asked about me,
she replied with perfect truth that she had not seen me. The uproar
increased, while I amused myself with thinking how my machinations were
succeeding.

[Illustration: SACCHI AND SIGNORA RICCI

_Original Etching by Ad. Lalauze_]

On the fourth morning, an actor, called Luigi Benedetti, a Roman, and
Sacchi's nephew, waited on me. He was in great distress, and wet to the
skin with a heavy shower which happened to be falling. He opened the
conversation by expressing the regrets of all the troupe at my
unaccountable desertion of them. I said nothing about the real point in
question, but replied with cheerful dignity to this effect: "Sacchi does
not care for my attendance or assistance. I am not a hired poet, nor yet
a man of plaster. If your uncle comes to rehearsal, he spends the time
in insulting Signora Ricci before my face and before the whole company.
He committed this lady to my charge, and begged me to make her useful to
the troupe. I have done my duty; she has become a valuable actress. I am
godchild to one of her children and her friend, and do not choose to be
exposed to rudeness on her account. Therefore I take it that the best
course for me will be to withdraw from the society of Signora Ricci and
the rest of you. I shall not harbour hostile