p and signed. Sacchi cursed and
swore while signing; and Zannoni told me that it would prove waste
paper, as indeed it did.

Patched up in this way, the company removed to the theatre of S.
Angelo, which had been their old quarters before I succeeded in
transferring them to S. Salvatore. They were scarce of money, scarce of
actors, and the few actors they had were people of no talent. Two pieces
I composed for them, _Cimene Pardo_ and _La Figlia dell'Aria_, could not
be put upon the stage for want of funds and proper players to sustain
the parts. I had eventually to give these dramas to two different
companies. The history of one of them, _Cimene Pardo_, brings my old
friend and gossip, Teodora Ricci, once more upon the scene; but I do not
think that I should interest my readers by relating it.[83]

Suffice it to say, that everything went daily from bad to worse with
Sacchi's troupe. He did not improve in temper. Receipts dwindled. The
paid actors had to recover their salaries by suits at law, and left the
company. Nothing was heard but outcries, lamentations, mutual
reproaches, threats, complaints, demands for money, talks about
executions, writs, and stamped papers from the courts. At last, after
two years of this infernal squabbling, a troupe which had been the
terror of its rivals and the delight of our theatres broke up in
pitiable confusion.

Sacchi, on the point of setting out for Genoa, came to visit me, and
spoke as follows, shedding tears thereby. I remember his precise words:
"You are the only friend on whom I mean to call before I leave Venice
secretly and with sorrow for ever. I shall never forget the benefits you
have heaped upon me. You alone have told me the truth with candour. Do
not deny me the favour of a kiss at parting, the favour of your pardon,
and of your compassion."

I gave him the kiss he asked for. He left me weeping; and I--I am bound
to say it--remained not less affected at the closing of this long and
once so happy chapter in my life.[84]

After that moment I laid my pen down, and never again resumed it for
dramatic composition.

LXIV.

_We cannot always go on laughing.--Deaths of friends.--Dissolution of
the old Republic of S. Mark.--I lay my pen down on the 18th of March
1798._

As years advanced, it came to me, as it comes to all, to be reminded
that we cannot go on always laughing. One Sunday I was hearing mass in
the Church of S. Moise, when a friend came up and ask