and perhaps catch crabs._

We had arrived at the year 1766, when it became evident that my band of
comedians, by this time well established in their theatre, and supported
by the public, who flocked eagerly to see the pieces I provided for
them, were about to win a decisive victory over our adversaries.
Chiari's works stood revealed in all their native nakedness; the glamour
of enchantment had departed. Those of Goldoni, in spite of their real
merit, did not make the same effect as in the past. People noticed that
he repeated himself; they discovered poverty of ideas, flaccidity, and
faults of construction in his later pieces. They said that he was played
out.

The truth is that a rage so vehement and fanatical as that created by
Chiari and Goldoni was bound to die away. They had been so much spoken
and quarrelled about that their very names began to pall upon the ear.
In Italy, moreover, there is no well-founded and intelligent respect for
authors. Dramatists in particular are merely regarded as purveyors of
ephemeral amusement. Perhaps Venice exceeds every other capital in this
way of thinking. A Venetian citizen, to take a single instance, was
congratulating Goldoni on the success of one of his comedies; then, as
though ashamed of condescending to so trivial a theme, he added: "It is
true that works of this sort are trifles, which do not deserve our
serious attention; and yet I can imagine that you may have been
gratified by the reception of your play."

Goldoni, with true business-like prudence, had compelled the shabby
Italian comedians to pay him thirty sequins for every piece, good, bad,
or indifferent, which he supplied them. I gave my dramatic fancies away
gratis. It is very probable that, finding themselves eclipsed by what
their rivals got for nothing, Goldoni's paymasters waxed insolent
against him.

Chiari stopped writing when he saw that his dramas ceased to take.
Goldoni went to Paris, to seek his fortune there, whereof we shall be
duly informed in his Memoirs. Sacchi's company remained in possession of
the field and earned a handsome competency.

It became a necessity, a sort of customary law dictated by my
friendship, to present these actors every year or two with pieces from
my pen. The ability with which they had interpreted my fancies deserved
gratitude; and the sympathy of the Venetians, who had so warmly welcomed
them, called for recognition. Accordingly, I added the _Donna Serpente_,
the