The bargello or his lieutenant will come to execute some ‘ordine santissimo’, or to visit some suspicious dwelling in order to arrest and carry off some person who does not expect anything of the sort.


How do you know it?


His eminence has to know it, for the Pope would not venture to encroach upon his jurisdiction without asking his permission.


And his eminence has given it?


Yes, one of the Holy Father’s auditors came for that purpose this morning.


But the cardinal might have refused?


Of course; but such a permission is never denied.


And if the person to be arrested happened to be under the protection of the cardinal--what then?


His eminence would give timely warning to that person.


No one, has seen me, I am certain, when I entered the mansion and came up to your room, and I consider my visit here a week ago as most fortunate; otherwise, I never could have known which was your room.


Alas! how much better if you had never come! But what has become of your lover?


The ‘sbirri’ have carried him off, as well as the servant. I will tell you all about it. My lover had informed me that a carriage would wait to-night at the foot of the flight of steps before the Church of Trinita del Monte, and that he would be there himself. I entered his room through the garret window an hour ago. There I put on this disguise, and, accompanied by the servant, proceeded to meet him. The servant walked a few yards before me, and carried a parcel of my things. At the corner of the street, one of the buckles of my shoes being unfastened, I stopped an instant, and the servant went on, thinking that I was following her. She reached the carriage, got into it, and, as I was getting nearer, the light from a lantern disclosed to me some thirty sbirri; at the same instant, one of them got on the driver’s box and drove off at full speed, carrying off the servant, whom they must have mistaken for me, and my lover who was in the coach awaiting me. What could I do at such a fearful moment? I could not go back to my father’s house, and I followed my first impulse which brought me here. And here I am! You tell me that my presence will cause your ruin; if it is so, tell me what to do; I feel I am dying; but find some expedient and I am ready to do anything, even to lay my life down, rather than be the cause of your ruin.


Let me, conduct you to your father; I feel sure of obtaining your pardon.


I am lost. I know my father. Ah! reverend sir, turn me out into the street, and abandon me to my miserable fate.


My poor girl, when daylight comes, and that will not be long, for it is past midnight, what do you intend to do?


I must leave the palace. In this disguise no one can recognize me; I will leave Rome, and I will walk straight before me until I fall on the ground, dying with grief and fatigue. Alas! reverend sir, pity is the only feeling with which I can now inspire anyone.


We must wait, until the cardinal is visible, but I am quite certain that, if anyone has taken refuge here unknown to him, his eminence will compel that person to leave the palace.


I am an honest girl, monsignor, though I am disguised in the dress of an abbé. I entreat your eminence to allow me to give my name only to you and in person. I hope that, prompted by the great goodness of your soul, your eminence will save me from dishonour.


When you are in his presence, throw yourself on your knees, tell him everything without any concealment, except as regards your having passed the night in my room. You must be sure not to mention that circumstance, for the cardinal must remain in complete ignorance of my knowing anything whatever of this intrigue. Tell him that, seeing your lover carried off, you rushed to his palace and ran upstairs as far as you could go, and that after a most painful night Heaven inspired you with the idea of writing to him to entreat his pity. I feel certain that, one way or the other, his eminence will save you from dishonour, and it certainly is the only chance you have of being united to the man you love so dearly.


A father, whose name I do not know yet, had requested the assistance of the Vicar-General to prevent his son from carrying off a young girl, with whom he intended to leave the States of the Church; the pair had arranged to meet at midnight in this very square, and the Vicar, having previously obtained the consent of our cardinal, as I told you yesterday, gave orders to the bargello to dispose his men in such a way as to catch the young people in the very act of running away, and to arrest them. The orders were executed, but the ‘sbirri’ found out, when they returned to the bargello, that they had met with only a half success, the woman who got out of the carriage with the young man not belonging to that species likely to be carried off. Soon afterwards a spy informed the bargello that, at the very moment the arrest was executed, he had seen a young abbé run away very rapidly and take refuge in this palace, and the suspicion immediately arose that it might be the missing young lady in the disguise of an ecclesiastic. The bargello reported to the Vicar-General the failure of his men, as well as the account given by the spy, and the Prelate, sharing the suspicion of the police, sent to his eminence, our master, requesting him to have the person in question, man or woman, turned out of the palace, unless such persons should happen to be known to his excellency, and therefore above suspicion. Cardinal Acquaviva was made acquainted with these circumstances at nine this morning through the auditor you met in my room, and he promised to have the person sent away unless she belonged to his household. According to his promise, the cardinal ordered the palace to be searched, but, in less than a quarter of an hour, the major-domo received orders to stop, and the only reason for these new instructions must be this: I am told by the major-domo that at nine o’clock exactly a very handsome, young abbé, whom he immediately judged to be a girl in disguise, asked him to deliver a note to his eminence, and that the cardinal, after reading it, had desired the said abbé be brought to his apartment, which he has not left since. As the order to stop searching the palace was given immediately after the introduction of the abbé to the cardinal, it is easy enough to suppose that this ecclesiastic is no other than the young girl missed by the police, who took refuge in the palace in which she must have passed the whole night.


I suppose, that his eminence will give her up to-day, if not to the bargello, at least to the Vicar-General.


No, not even to the Pope himself. You have not yet a right idea of the protection of our cardinal, and that protection is evidently granted to her, since the young person is not only in the palace of his eminence, but also in his own apartment and under his own guardianship.


Everybody, is satisfied that you knew the whole affair, and it is natural to suspect that the poor girl spent the night in your room. I admire your prudent reserve during our conversation of yesterday. You kept so well on your guard that I would have sworn you knew nothing whatever of the affair.


And it is the truth. I have only learned all the circumstances from you this moment. I know the girl, but I have not seen her for six weeks, since I gave up my French lessons; I am much better acquainted with the young man, but he never confided his project to me. However, people may believe whatever they please. You say that it is natural for the girl to have passed the night in my room, but you will not mind my laughing in the face of those who accept their own suppositions as realities.


That, my dear friend, is one of the vices of the Romans; happy those who can afford to laugh at it; but this slander may do you harm, even in the mind of our cardinal.


I should be very happy if it should turn out so, for they are both most estimable people.


It is known, that you have been in the habit of going every morning to Dalacqua’s house; it is known that the young man often called on you; that is quite enough. People do not care, to know the circumstances which might counteract the slander, but only those, likely to give it new force for slander is vastly relished in the Holy City. Your innocence will not prevent the whole adventure being booked to your account, if, in forty years time you were proposed as pope in the conclave.


The affair of the girl Dalacqua is now over; it is no longer spoken of, but the verdict of the public is that you and I have profited by the clumsiness of the young man who intended to carry her off. In reality I care little for such a verdict, for, under similar circumstances, I should always act in a similar manner, and I do not wish to know that which no one can compel you to confess, and which, as a man of honour, you must not admit. If you had no previous knowledge of the intrigue, and had actually turned the girl out of your room (supposing she did come to you), you would have been guilty of a wrong and cowardly action, because you would have sealed her misery for the remainder of her days, and it would not have caused you to escape the suspicion of being an accomplice, while at the same time it would have attached to you the odium of dastardly treachery. Notwithstanding all I have just said, you can easily imagine that, in spite of my utter contempt for all gossiping fools, I cannot openly defy them. I therefore feel myself compelled to ask you not only to quit my service, but even to leave Rome. I undertake to supply you with an honourable pretext for your departure, so as to insure you the continuation of the respect which you may have secured through the marks of esteem I have bestowed upon you. I promise you to whisper in the ear of any person you may choose, and even to inform everybody, that you are going on an important mission which I have entrusted to you. You have only to name the country where you want to go; I have friends everywhere, and can recommend you to such purpose that you will be sure to find employment. My letters of recommendation will be in my own handwriting, and nobody need know where you are going. Meet me to-morrow at the Villa Negroni, and let me know where my letters are to be addressed. You must be ready to start within a week. Believe me, I am sorry to lose you; but the sacrifice is forced upon me by the most absurd prejudice. Go now, and do not let me witness your grief.


I am sure, that they are caused by the conversation you have had with his eminence.


You are right; but you do not know the sorrow at my heart which I try not to shew outwardly.


What sorrow?


I am afraid of failing in a difficult mission which the cardinal has entrusted me with this morning. I am compelled to conceal how little confidence I feel in myself in order not to lessen the good opinion his eminence is pleased to entertain of me.


If my advice can be of any service to you, pray dispose of me; but you are quite right to shew yourself calm and cheerful. Is it any business to transact in Rome?


No; it is a journey I shall have to undertake in a week or ten days.


Which way?


Towards the west.


Oh! I am not curious to know.


Where shall I go?


I have no hope of success, for I am certain that Fortune will smile upon me only as long as I am near your eminence.


Constantinople!


Yes, monsignor, Constantinople,


I am glad you have not chosen Ispahan, as I should have felt rather embarrassed. When do you wish to go?


This day week, as your eminence has ordered me.


Do you intend to sail from Naples or from Venice?


From Venice.


I will give you such a passport as will be needed, for you will find two armies in winter-quarters in the Romagna. It strikes me that you may tell everybody that I sent you to Constantinople, for nobody will believe you.


Either I am mad, or I am obeying the impulse of a mysterious genius which sends me to Constantinople to work out my fate. Without any doubt, he did not wish me to believe that he had boasted of more than he could achieve, in telling me that he had friends everywhere. But to whom can he recommend me in Constantinople? I have not the slightest idea, but to Constantinople I must go.


The Holy Father has granted me permission to eat meat.


Let me see your permission.


He gave it to me by word of mouth.


Reverend sir, I am not obliged to believe you.


You are a fool.


I am master in my own house, and I beg you will go to some other inn.


Sir, you are wrong in calling for meat, when in Ancona fish is much better; you are wrong in expecting the landlord to believe you on your bare word; and if you have obtained the permission from the Pope, you have been wrong in soliciting it at your age; you have been wrong in not asking for such permission in writing; you are wrong in calling the host a fool, because it is a compliment that no man is likely to accept in his own house; and, finally, you are wrong in making such an uproar.


I willingly plead guilty, sir, to all the counts which you allege against me; but it is raining, it is getting late, I am tired and hungry, and therefore you will easily understand that I do not feel disposed to change my quarters. Will you give me some supper, as the landlord refuses to do so?


No, because I am a good Catholic and fast. But I will undertake to make it all right for you with the landlord, who will give you a good supper.


Will you not take supper with me?


No, but I will keep you company.


My name is Sancio Pico. I am a Castilian, and the ‘proveditore’ of the army of H. C. M., which is commanded by Count de Gages under the orders of the generalissimo, the Duke of Modena.


No,


Are you not afraid such a supper will hurt you?


On the contrary, I hope it will do me a great deal of good.


Then you have deceived the Pope?


No, for I did not tell him that I had no appetite, but only that I liked meat better than fish.


If you feel disposed to hear some good music, follow me to the next room; the prima donna of Ancona lives there.


I intend to leave very early to-morrow morning, for Sinigaglia, with the Abbé Vilmarcati, but I expect to return for supper the day after to-morrow.


Reverend sir, the persons you have invited here have each the appetite of two men at least; I give you notice of it, because I must charge accordingly.


All right, but let us have a good dinner.


The manager of the theatre, is a miser who has given us only fifty Roman crowns for the whole carnival. We have spent them for our living, and, to return to Bologna, we shall have to walk and beg our way.


I promise you another gold quadruple, madam, if you will confide in me entirely. Confess that Bellino is a pretty woman in disguise.


I can assure you it is not so, although he has the appearance of a woman.


Not only the appearance, madam, but the tone, the manners; I am a good judge.


Nevertheless, he is a boy, for he has had to be examined before he could sing on the stage here.


And who examined him?


My lord bishop’s chaplain.


A chaplain?


Yes, and you may satisfy yourself by enquiring from him.


The only way to clear my doubts would be to examine him myself.


You may, if he has no objection, but truly I cannot interfere, as I do not know what your intentions are.


They are quite natural. Bellino, I am certain that your natural conformation is different from mine; my dear, you are a girl.


I am a man, but a castrato; I have been examined.


Allow me to examine you likewise, and I will give you a doubloon.


I cannot, for it is evident that you love me, and such love is condemned by religion.


You did not raise these objections with the bishop’s chaplain.


He was an elderly priest, and besides, he only just glanced at me.


I will know the truth,


Oh! this is enough. I can no longer doubt that you are a beautifully-formed woman!


It is, the defect of all castrati.


No, it is the perfection of all handsome women. Bellino, believe me, I am enough of a good judge to distinguish between the deformed breast of a castrato, and that of a beautiful woman; and your alabaster bosom belongs to a young beauty of seventeen summers.


Bellino begged me to take him to Rimini, where he was engaged to sing in an opera to be performed after Easter.


Go and tell him, my dear little seraph, that I am ready to do what he wishes, if he will only grant me in your presence what I desire; I want to know for a certainty whether he is a man or a woman.


Bellino had gone to bed, but that if I would postpone my departure for one day only he promised to satisfy me on the morrow.


Tell me the truth, Cecilia, and I will give you six sequins.


I cannot earn them, for I have never seen him naked, and I cannot swear to his being a girl. But he must be a man, otherwise he would not have been allowed to perform here.


Well, I will remain until the day after to-morrow, provided you keep me company tonight.


Do you love me very much?


Very much indeed, if you shew yourself very kind.


I will be very kind, for I love you dearly likewise. I will go and tell my mother.


Of course you have a lover?


I never had one. her mother believed me an honest man; You have made me so happy!


the day was not passed yet, he was certain of traveling with me.


I fairly warn you that you cannot accompany me unless I am fully satisfied.


Well, I will satisfy you.


Shall we go and take a walk together?


Willingly; I will dress myself.


Cecilia has passed the night with you, Bellino will go with you to-morrow, I am the most unfortunate of us all.


Do you want money?


No, for I love you.


But, Marinetta, you are too young.


I am much stronger than my sister.


Perhaps you have a lover.


Oh! no.


Very well, we can try this evening.


Good! Then I will tell mother to prepare clean sheets for to-morrow morning; otherwise everybody here would know that I slept with you.


Now is your time!


Spolaitis,


How unhappy they must be!


Do you think, that coquettes are happier?


No, but I think that when a woman yields to love, she should not be conquered before she has fought with her own desires; she should not give way to the first impulse of a lustful desire and abandon herself to the first man who takes her fancy, like an animal--the slave of sense. You must confess that the Greek woman has given you an evident proof that you had taken her fancy, but that she has at the same time given you a proof not less certain of her beastly lust, and of an effrontery which exposed her to the shame of being repulsed, for she could not possibly know whether you would feel as well disposed for her as she felt for you. She is very handsome, and it all turned out well, but the adventure has thrown me into a whirlpool of agitation which I cannot yet control.


I hope you will excuse me if I had felt certain that he would not refuse me the honour of his company to supper with Bellino.


he could not declare himself thoroughly pleased unless I promised to sup with him the next evening with the same guests.


I am delighted you find me so, we must not sleep at all throughout the night.


Sleep, my darling, will prove our friend, and our strength renewed by repose will reward you in the morning for what you may suppose lost time.


Are you satisfied, that Bellino is a woman?


Woman or man, what do I care! I think he is a very pretty ‘castrato’, and I have seen many as good-looking as he is.


But are you sure he is a ‘castrato’?


'Valgame Dios'! I have not the slightest wish to ascertain the truth.


Bellino, everything must have an end; you have promised: it will soon be over. If you are what you represent yourself to be, I will let you go back to your own room; if you are what I believe you to be, and if you consent to remain with me to-night, I will give you one hundred sequins, and we will start together tomorrow morning.


You must go alone, and forgive me if I cannot fulfil my promise. I am what I told you, and I can neither reconcile myself to the idea of exposing my shame before you, nor lay myself open to the terrible consequences that might follow the solution of your doubts.


There can be no consequences, since there will be an end to it at the moment I have assured myself that you are unfortunate enough to be what you say, and without ever mentioning the circumstances again, I promise to take you with me to-morrow and to leave you at Rimini.


No, my mind is made up; I cannot satisfy your curiosity.


Should it be the case. I should have no difficulty in passing over a deformity which, in reality, is only laughable. Bellino, the impression you produce upon me, this sort of magnetism, your bosom worthy of Venus herself, which you have once abandoned to my eager hand, the sound of your voice, every movement of yours, assure me that you do not belong to my sex. Let me see for myself, and, if my conjectures are right, depend upon my faithful love; if, on the contrary, I find that I have been mistaken, you can rely upon my friendship. If you refuse me, I shall be compelled to believe that you are cruelly enjoying my misery, and that you have learned in the most accursed school that the best way of preventing a young man from curing himself of an amorous passion is to excite it constantly; but you must agree with me that, to put such tyranny in practice, it is necessary to hate the person it is practised upon, and, if that be so, I ought to call upon my reason to give me the strength necessary to hate you likewise.


Recollect that you are not my master, that I am in your hands, because I had faith in your promise, and that, if you use violence, you will be guilty of murder. Order the postillion to stop, I will get out of the carriage, and you may rely upon my not complaining of your treatment.


We might have spent a little time in Rimini like good friends, if you had felt any friendship for me, for, with a little kind compliance, you could have easily cured me of my passion.


It would not cure you, no, you would not be cured, whether you found me to be man or woman, for you are in love with me independently of my sex, and the certainty you would acquire would make you furious. In such a state, should you find me inexorable, you would very likely give way to excesses which would afterwards cause you deep sorrow.


You expect to make me admit that you are right, but you are completely mistaken, for I feel that I should remain perfectly calm, and that by complying with my wishes you would gain my friendship.


I tell you again that you would become furious.


Bellino, that which has made me furious is the sight of your charms, either too real or too completely deceiving, the power of which you cannot affect to ignore. You have not been afraid to ignite my amorous fury, how can you expect me to believe you now, when you pretend to fear it, and when I am only asking you to let me touch a thing, which, if it be as you say, will only disgust me?


Ah! disgust you; I am quite certain of the contrary. Listen to me. Were I a girl, I feel I could not resist loving you, but, being a man, it is my duty not to grant what you desire, for your passion, now very natural, would then become monstrous. Your ardent nature would be stronger than your reason, and your reason itself would easily come to the assistance of your senses and of your nature. That violent clearing-up of the mystery, were you to obtain it, would leave you deprived of all control over yourself. Disappointed in not finding what you had expected, you would satisfy your passion upon that which you would find, and the result would, of course, be an abomination. How can you, intelligent as you are, flatter yourself that, finding me to be a man, you could all at once cease to love me? Would the charms which you now see in me cease to exist then? Perhaps their power would, on the contrary, be enhanced, and your passion, becoming brutal, would lead you to take any means your imagination suggested to gratify it. You would persuade yourself that you might change me into a woman, or, what is worse, that you might change yourself into one. Your passion would invent a thousand sophisms to justify your love, decorated with the fine appellation of friendship, and you would not fail to allege hundreds of similarly disgusting cases in order to excuse your conduct. You would certainly never find me compliant; and how am I to know that you would not threaten me with death?


Nothing of the sort would happen, Bellino, positively nothing, and I am sure you are exaggerating your fears. Yet I am bound to tell you that, even if all you say should happen, it seems to me that to allow what can strictly be considered only as a temporary fit of insanity, would prove a less evil than to render incurable a disease of the mind which reason would soon cut short.


Dearest, are you satisfied now? Have you found me truly loving?


Truly loving? Ah! traitress that you are! Do you, then, confess that I was not mistaken when I guessed that you were a charming woman? And if you truly loved me, tell me how you could contrive to defer your happiness and mine so long? But is it quite certain that I did not make a mistake?


I am yours all over; see for yourself.


What has become, of that dreadful monstrosity?


Listen to me, and I will tell you everything. My name is Thérèse. My father, a poor clerk in the Institute of Bologna, had let an apartment in his house to the celebrated Salimberi, a castrato, and a delightful musician. He was young and handsome, he became attached to me, and I felt flattered by his affection and by the praise he lavished upon me. I was only twelve years of age; he proposed to teach me music, and finding that I had a fine voice, he cultivated it carefully, and in less than a year I could accompany myself on the harpsichord. His reward was that which his love for me induced him to ask, and I granted the reward without feeling any humiliation, for I worshipped him. Of course, men like yourself are much above men of his species, but Salimberi was an exception. His beauty, his manners, his talent, and the rare qualities of his soul, made him superior in my eyes to all the men I had seen until then. He was modest and reserved, rich and generous, and I doubt whether he could have found a woman able to resist him; yet I never heard him boast of having seduced any. The mutilation practised upon his body had made him a monster, but he was an angel by his rare qualities and endowments. Salimberi was at that time educating a boy of the same age as myself, who was in Rimini with a music teacher. The father of the boy, who was poor and had a large family, seeing himself near death, had thought of having his unfortunate son maimed so that he should become the support of his brothers with his voice. The name of the boy was Bellino; the good woman whom you have just seen in Ancona was his mother, and everybody believes that she is mine. I had belonged to Salimberi for about a year, when he announced to me one day, weeping bitterly, that he was compelled to leave me to go to Rome, but he promised to see me again. The news threw me into despair. He had arranged everything for the continuation of my musical education, but, as he was preparing himself for his departure, my father died very suddenly, after a short illness, and I was left an orphan. Salimberi had not courage enough to resist my tears and my entreaties; he made up his mind to take me to Rimini, and to place me in the same house where his young ‘protege’ was educated. We reached Rimini, and put up at an inn; after a short rest, Salimberi left me to call upon the teacher of music, and to make all necessary arrangements respecting me with him; but he soon returned, looking sad and unhappy; Bellino had died the day before.


I will give her, everything necessary for the completion of your musical education, and in four years, I will take you to Dresden (he was in the service of the Elector of Saxony, King of Poland), not as a girl, but as a castrato. There we will live together without giving anyone cause for scandal, and you will remain with me and minister to my happiness until I die. All we have to do is to represent you as Bellino, and it is very easy, as nobody knows you in Bologna. Bellino’s mother will alone know the secret; her other children have seen their brother only when he was very young, and can have no suspicion. But if you love me you must renounce your sex, lose even the remembrance of it, and leave immediately for Bologna, dressed as a boy, and under the name of Bellino. You must be very careful lest anyone should find out that you are a girl; you must sleep alone, dress yourself in private, and when your bosom is formed, as it will be in a year or two, it will only be thought a deformity not uncommon amongst ‘castrati’. Besides, before leaving you, I will give you a small instrument, and teach how to fix it in such manner that, if you had at any time to submit to an examination, you would easily be mistaken for a man. If you accept my plan, I feel certain that we can live together in Dresden without losing the good graces of the queen, who is very religious. Tell me, now, whether you will accept my proposal?


He could not entertain any doubt of my consent, for I adored him. As soon as he had made a boy of me we left Rimini for Bologna, where we arrived late in the evening. A little gold made everything right with Bellino’s mother; I gave her the name of mother, and she kissed me, calling me her dear son. Salimberi left us, and returned a short time afterwards with the instrument which would complete my transformation. He taught me, in the presence of my new mother, how to fix it with some tragacanth gum, and I found myself exactly like my friend. I would have laughed at it, had not my heart been deeply grieved at the departure of my beloved Salimberi, for he bade me farewell as soon as the curious operation was completed. People laugh at forebodings; I do not believe in them myself, but the foreboding of evil, which almost broke my heart as he gave me his farewell kiss, did not deceive me. I felt the cold shivering of death run through me; I felt I was looking at him for the last time, and I fainted away. Alas! my fears proved only too prophetic. Salimberi died a year ago in the Tyrol in the prime of life, with the calmness of a true philosopher. His death compelled me to earn my living with the assistance of my musical talent. My mother advised me to continue to give myself out as a castrato, in the hope of being able to take me to Rome. I agreed to do so, for I did not feel sufficient energy to decide upon any other plan. In the meantime she accepted an offer for the Ancona Theatre, and Petronio took the part of first female dancer; in this way we played the comedy of ‘The World Turned Upside Down.’ After Salimberi, you are the only man I have known, and, if you like, you can restore me to my original state, and make me give up the name of Bellino, which I hate since the death of my protector, and which begins to inconvenience me. I have only appeared at two theatres, and each time I have been compelled to submit to the scandalous, degrading examination, because everywhere I am thought to have too much the appearance of a girl, and I am admitted only after the shameful test has brought conviction. Until now, fortunately, I have had to deal only with old priests who, in their good faith, have been satisfied with a very slight examination, and have made a favourable report to the bishop; but I might fall into the hands of some young abbé, and the test would then become a more severe one. Besides, I find myself exposed to the daily persecutions of two sorts of beings: those who, like you, cannot and will not believe me to be a man, and those who, for the satisfaction of their disgusting propensities, are delighted at my being so, or find it advantageous to suppose me so. The last particularly annoy me! Their tastes are so infamous, their habits so low, that I fear I shall murder one of them some day, when I can no longer control the rage in which their obscene language throws me. Out of pity, my beloved angel, be generous; and, if you love me, oh! free me from this state of shame and degradation! Take me with you. I do not ask to become your wife, that would be too much happiness; I will only be your friend, your mistress, as I would have been Salimberi’s; my heart is pure and innocent, I feel that I can remain faithful to my lover through my whole life. Do not abandon me. The love I have for you is sincere; my affection for Salimberi was innocent; it was born of my inexperience and of my gratitude, and it is only with you that I have felt myself truly a woman.


If you loved me truly,


how could you let me sleep with your sisters, out of spite at your resistance?


Alas, dearest! think of our great poverty, and how difficult it was for me to discover myself. I loved you; but was it not natural that I should suppose your inclination for me only a passing caprice? When I saw you go so easily from Cecilia to Marinetta, I thought that you would treat me in the same manner as soon as your desires were satisfied, I was likewise confirmed in my opinion of your want of constancy and of the little importance you attached to the delicacy of the sentiment of love, when I witnessed what you did on board the Turkish vessel without being hindered by my presence; had you loved me, I thought my being present would have made you uncomfortable. I feared to be soon despised, and God knows how much I suffered! You have insulted me, darling, in many different ways, but my heart pleaded in your favour, because I knew you were excited, angry, and thirsting for revenge. Did you not threaten me this very day in your carriage? I confess you greatly frightened me, but do not fancy that I gave myself to you out of fear. No, I had made up my mind to be yours from the moment you sent me word by Cecilia that you would take me to Rimini, and your control over your own feelings during a part of our journey confirmed me in my resolution, for I thought I could trust myself to your honour, to your delicacy.


Throw up,


the engagement you have in Rimini; let us proceed on our journey, and, after remaining a couple of days in Bologna, you will go with me to Venice; dressed as a woman, and with another name, I would challenge the manager here to find you out.


I accept. Your will shall always be my law. I am my own mistress, and I give myself to you without any reserve or restriction; my heart belongs to you, and I trust to keep yours.


Shew me,


how you were when I mistook you for a man.


Dearest Thérèse, all you have told me leaves me no doubt of your love for me, and the consciousness you feel of being the mistress of my heart enhances my love for you to such a degree, that I am ready to do everything to convince you that you were not mistaken in thinking that you had entirely conquered me. I wish to prove to you that I am worthy of the noble confidence you have reposed in me by trusting you with equal sincerity.


Our hearts must be on a footing of perfect equality. I know you, my dearest Thérèse, but you do not know me yet. I can read in your eyes that you do not mind it, and it proves our great love, but that feeling places me too much below you, and I do not wish you to have so great an advantage over me. I feel certain that my confidence is not necessary to your love; that you only care to be mine, that your only wish is to possess my heart, and I admire you, my Thérèse; but I should feel humiliated if I found myself either too much above or too much below you. You have entrusted your secrets to me, now listen to mine; but before I begin, promise me that, when you know everything that concerns me, you will tell me candidly if any change has taken place either in your feelings or in your hopes.


I promise it faithfully; I promise not to conceal anything from you; but be upright enough not to tell me anything that is not perfectly true, for I warn you that it would be useless. If you tried any artifice in order to find me less worthy of you than I am in reality, you would only succeed in lowering yourself in my estimation. I should be very sorry to see you guilty of any cunning towards me. Have no more suspicion of me than I have of you; tell me the whole truth.


Here it is. You suppose me wealthy, and I am not so; as soon as what there is now in my purse is spent I shall have nothing left. You may fancy that I was born a patrician, but my social condition is really inferior to your own. I have no lucrative talents, no profession, nothing to give me the assurance that I am able to earn my living. I have neither relatives nor friends, nor claims upon anyone, and I have no serious plan or purpose before me. All I possess is youth, health, courage, some intelligence, honour, honesty, and some tincture of letters. My greatest treasure consists in being my own master, perfectly independent, and not afraid of misfortune. With all that, I am naturally inclined to extravagance. Lovely Thérèse, you have my portrait. What is your answer?


In the first place, dearest, let me assure you that I believe every word you have just uttered, as I would believe in the Gospel; in the second, allow me to tell you that several times in Ancona I have judged you such as you have just described yourself, but far from being displeased at such a knowledge of your nature, I was only afraid of some illusion on my part, for I could hope to win you if you were what I thought you to be. In one word, dear one, if it is true that you are poor and a very bad hand at economy, allow me to tell you that I feel delighted, because, if you love me, you will not refuse a present from me, or despise me for offering it. The present consists of myself, such as I am, and with all my faculties. I give myself to you without any condition, with no restriction; I am yours, I will take care of you. For the future think only of your love for me, but love me exclusively. From this moment I am no longer Bellino. Let us go to Venice, where my talent will keep us both comfortably; if you wish to go anywhere else, let us go where you please.


I must go to Constantinople.


Then let us proceed to Constantinople. If you are afraid to lose me through want of constancy, marry me, and your right over me will be strengthened by law. I should not love you better than I do now, but I should be happy to be your wife.


It is my intention to marry you, and I am delighted that we agree in that respect. The day after to-morrow, in Bologna, you shall be made my legal-wife before the altar of God; I swear it to you here in the presence of Love. I want you to be mine, I want to be yours, I want us to be united by the most holy ties.


I am the happiest of women! We have nothing to do in Rimini; suppose we do not get up; we can have our dinner in bed, and go away to-morrow well rested after our fatigues.


What have you done with your passport?


I have lost it.


A passport is not so easily lost.


Well, I have lost mine.


You cannot proceed any further.


I come from Rome, and I am going to Constantinople, bearing a letter from Cardinal Acquaviva. Here is the letter stamped with his seal.


All I can do for you is to send you to M. de Gages.


The only favour I can grant you is to put you under arrest till you receive another passport from Rome delivered under the same name as the one you have given here. To lose a passport is a misfortune which befalls only a thoughtless, giddy man, and the cardinal will for the future know better than to put his confidence in a giddy fellow like you.


Nisi quum pituita molesta est.


To what chance, reverend sir, am I indebted for the honour of having you in my custody?


I ought, to put you under arrest, but I am willing to save you that unpleasantness. Then you can go wherever you please, but take care not to again enter the lines of my army without a passport, or you might fare badly.


I have one, sir, but I live half a league from here.


Go and get it, I will wait for you here.


I know him, and he is a worthy man, but he comes here every evening, and you must conceal yourself.


As soon as I can get a passport, there is nothing to hinder me from remaining near you until the end of your engagement. But as M. Vais calls upon you, tell me whether you have informed him of my having spent a few days in Ancona? I did, and I even told him that you had been arrested because you had lost your passport.


In Rome, my good woman, the false Bellino would have been found out, and Thérèse would have been consigned to a miserable convent for which she was never made.


You are welcome to the ride, but I would advise you not to get on the mule till we are outside the city, and to pass through the gate on foot as if you were one of the drivers.


Casanova. Your profession, if you please, sir?


Officer.


In which service?


None.


Your native place?


Venice.


Where do you come from?


That is no business of yours.


But we have met before, at Venice and Rome.


he must certainly be mistaken.


I do not know, what affair you are alluding to.


That may be, but you are certainly the Casanova I knew a month ago at Cardinal Acquaviva’s, and two years ago at the house of my sister, Madame Lovedan, in Venice. Besides the Ancona banker speaks of you as an ecclesiastic in his letter of advice to M. Orsi.


Very well, monsignor; your excellency compels me to agree to my being the same Casanova, but I entreat you not to ask me any more questions as I am bound in honour to observe the strictest reserve.


That is enough for me, and I am satisfied. Let us talk of something else.


I did not expect to see you in such a costume. I have resolved to throw off the garb which could not procure me a fortune likely to satisfy my ambition. Where are you going? To Constantinople; and I hope to find a quick passage to Corfu, as I have dispatches from Cardinal Acquaviva. Where do you come from now? From the Spanish army, which I left ten days ago.


That is not true.


The profession to which I belong, does not permit me to let anyone give me the lie.


I should be only too happy, to have you so long, but I have no room to offer you.


Yes, you have one, my dear, and I undertake to put it to rights within two hours.


There would be no need for them to do that, madam, and if I am likely to occasion the slightest disturbance, I can remain at the inn. There will be no disturbance whatever; but forgive my nieces, they are young prudes, and have a very high opinion of themselves.


I could not receive my discharge, as I was never in the service. And how did you manage to come to Venice without performing quarantine? Persons coming from Mantua are not subject to it. True; but I advise you to enter the Venetian service like Major Pelodoro.


Even the Spanish officer? No, for he remarked that, if you had truly been with the army, you could not act differently, and he has himself assured me that you were there, and to prove what he asserted he made me read an article in the newspaper, in which it is stated that you killed your captain in a duel. Of course it is only a fable?


How do you know that it is not a fact?


Is it true, then?


I do not say so, but it may be true, quite as true as my having been with the Spanish army ten days ago.


But that is impossible, unless you have broken through the quarantine.


I have broken nothing. I have openly crossed the Po at Revero, and here I am. I am sorry not to be able to present myself at your excellency’s palace, but I cannot do so until I have received the most complete satisfaction from the person who has given me the lie. I could put up with an insult when I wore the livery of humility, but I cannot bear one now that I wear the garb of honour.


You are wrong to take it in such a high tone. The person who attacked your veracity is M. Valmarana, the proveditore of the sanitary department, and he contends that, as nobody can pass through the cordon, it would be impossible for you to be here. Satisfaction, indeed! Have you forgotten who you are?


No, I know who I am; and I know likewise that, if I was taken for a coward before leaving Venice, now that I have returned no one shall insult me without repenting it.


Come and dine with me.


No, because the Spanish officer would know it.


He would even see you, for he dines with me every day.


Very well, then I will go, and I will let him be the judge of my quarrel with M. Valmarana.


I am acquainted, with a young lieutenant whose health is not sufficiently strong to allow him to go to the East, and who would be glad to sell his commission, for which he wants one hundred sequins. But it would be necessary to obtain the consent of the secretary of war.


Mention the matter to him, the one hundred sequins are ready.


The duke is old, but even if he were young, you would have no cause for uneasiness on my account. Should you ever want any money, draw upon me from any place where you may happen to be, and be quite certain that your letters of exchange will be paid, even if I had to sell everything I possess to honour your signature.


Irasci, celerem tamen et placabilem esse


Might I presume to enquire whether this is your first visit to Orsera, captain?


No, sir, it is my second visit to this city.


Were you not here last year?


I was.


But you were not in uniform then?


True again; but your questions begin to sound rather indiscreet.


Be good enough to forgive me, sir, for my curiosity is the offspring of gratitude. I am indebted to you for the greatest benefits, and I trust that Providence has brought you here again only to give me the opportunity of making greater still my debt of gratitude to you.


What on earth have I done, and what can I do for you? I am at a loss to guess your meaning.


Will you be so kind as to come and breakfast with me? My house is near at hand; my refosco is delicious, please to taste it, and I will convince you in a few words that you are truly my benefactor, and that I have a right to expect that you have returned Orsera to load me with fresh benefits.


Yes, captain; I have been practising surgery in this place for twenty years, and in a very poor way, for I had nothing to do, except a few cases of bleeding, of cupping, and occasionally some slight excoriation to dress or a sprained ankle to put to rights. I did not earn even the poorest living. But since last year a great change has taken place; I have made a good deal of money, I have laid it out advantageously, and it is to you, captain, to you (may God bless you!) that I am indebted for my present comforts.


But how so?


In this way, captain. You had a connection with Don Jerome’s housekeeper, and you left her, when you went away, a certain souvenir which she communicated to a friend of hers, who, in perfect good faith, made a present of it to his wife. This lady did not wish, I suppose, to be selfish, and she gave the souvenir to a libertine who, in his turn, was so generous with it that, in less than a month, I had about fifty clients. The following months were not less fruitful, and I gave the benefit of my attendance to everybody, of course, for a consideration. There are a few patients still under my care, but in a short time there will be no more, as the souvenir left by you has now lost all its virtue. You can easily realize now the joy I felt when I saw you; you are a bird of good omen. May I hope that your visit will last long enough to enable you to renew the source of my fortune?


Tant de fiel entre-t-il dans l’ame d’un devot!


I am an Atheist


I had no recollection of it, but it was true.


We are sentenced to live, and perhaps to die, in this island by the despotism of the Council of Ten. There are forty others as unfortunate as ourselves, and we are all born subjects of the Republic.


The crime of which we have been accused, which is not considered a crime anywhere, is that we were in the habit of living with our mistresses, without being jealous of our friends, when, finding our ladies handsome, they obtained their favours with our ready consent. As we were not rich, we felt no remorse in availing ourselves of the generosity of our friends in such cases, but it was said that we were carrying on an illicit trade, and we have been sent to this place, where we receive every day ten sous in ‘moneta lunga’. We are called ‘mangia-mayroni’, and are worse off than galley slaves, for we are dying of ennui, and we are often starving without knowing how to stay our hunger. My name is Don Antonio Pocchini, I am of a noble Paduan family, and my mother belongs to the illustrious family of Campo San-Piero.


Here is the proper seat of the empire of the whole world!


Then, without this letter, you never would have come to Constantinople, and you have no need of me? True, but I consider myself fortunate in having thus made the acquaintance of a man who has attracted the attention of the whole of Europe, and who still commands that attention.


Here are. Here are, my library and my harem. I am old, women would only shorten my life but good wine will prolong it, or at least, make it more agreeable. I imagine your excellency has obtained a dispensation from the mufti? You are mistaken, for the Pope of the Turks is very far from enjoying as great a power as the Christian Pope. He cannot in any case permit what is forbidden by the Koran; but everyone is at liberty to work out his own damnation if he likes. The Turkish devotees pity the libertines, but they do not persecute them; there is no inquisition in Turkey. Those who do not know the precepts of religion, say the Turks, will suffer enough in the life to come; there is no need to make them suffer in this life. The only dispensation I have asked and obtained, has been respecting circumcision, although it can hardly be called so, because, at my age, it might have proved dangerous. That ceremony is generally performed, but it is not compulsory. I am certain, that I shall die-calmer and much happier than Prince Eugene. I have had to say that God is God, and that Mahomet is the prophet. I have said it, and the Turks care very little whether I believe it or not. I wear the turban as the soldier wears the uniform. I was nothing but a military man; I could not have turned my hand to any other profession, and I made up my mind to become lieutenant-general of the Grand Turk only when I found myself entirely at a loss how to earn my living. When I left Venice, the pitcher had gone too often to the well, it was broken at last, and if the Jews had offered me the command of an army of fifty thousand men, I would have gone and besieged Jerusalem.


Your hydromel, is very good, and the Mussulmans who offend against the law by drinking wine do not deserve any indulgence; I believe they drink wine only because it is forbidden.


Many of the true believers, think that they can take it as a medicine. The Grand Turk’s physician has brought it into vogue as a medicine, and it has been the cause of his fortune, for he has captivated the favour of his master who is in reality constantly ill, because he is always in a state of intoxication. I cannot understand, why wine is allowed by all religions, when its use deprives man of his reason.


All religions forbid excess in drinking wine, and the crime is only in the abuse.


The tobacco you are now smoking is of a very fine quality, and you ought to swallow its balsam which is mixed with the saliva.


I suppose you are right; smoking cannot be truly enjoyed without the best tobacco.


That is true to a certain extent, but the enjoyment found in smoking good tobacco is not the principal pleasure, because it only pleases our senses; true enjoyment is that which works upon the soul, and is completely independent of the senses.


I cannot realize pleasures enjoyed by the soul without the instrumentality of the senses.


Listen to me. When you fill your pipe do you feel any pleasure?


Yes.


Whence does that pleasure arise, if it is not from your soul? Let us go further. Do you not feel pleased when you give up your pipe after having smoked all the tobacco in it--when you see that nothing is left but some ashes?


It is true.


Well, there are two pleasures in which your senses have certainly nothing to do, but I want you to guess the third, and the most essential.


The most essential? It is the perfume.


No; that is a pleasure of the organ of smelling--a sensual pleasure.


Then I do not know.


Listen. The principal pleasure derived from tobacco smoking is the sight of a smoke itself. You must never see it go out of the bowl of your pipe,--but only from the corner of your mouth, at regular intervals which must not be too frequent. It is so truly the greatest pleasure connected with the pipe, that you cannot find anywhere a blind man who smokes. Try yourself the experiment of smoking a pipe in your room, at night and without a light; you will soon lay the pipe down.


It is all perfectly true; yet you must forgive me if I give the preference to several pleasures, in which my senses are interested, over those which afford enjoyment only to my soul.


Forty years ago I was of the same opinion, and in forty years, if you succeed in acquiring wisdom, you will think like me. Pleasures which give activity to our senses, my dear son, disturb the repose of our soul--a proof that they do not deserve the name of real enjoyments.


But if I feel them to be real enjoyments, it is enough to prove that they are truly so.


Granted; but if you would take the trouble of analyzing them after you have tasted them, you would not find them unalloyed.


It may be so, but why should I take a trouble which would only lessen my enjoyment.


A time will come when you will feel pleasure in that very trouble.


It strikes me, dear father, that you prefer mature age to youth.


You may boldly say old age.


You surprise me. Must I believe that your early life has been unhappy?


Far from it. I was always fortunate in good health, and the master of my own passions; but all I saw in my equals was for me a good school in which I have acquired the knowledge of man, and learned the real road to happiness. The happiest of men is not the most voluptuous, but the one who knows how to choose the highest standards of voluptuousness, which can be found, I say again, not in the pleasures which excite our senses, but in those which give greater repose to the soul.


That is the voluptuousness which you consider unalloyed.


Yes, and such is the sight of a vast prairie all covered with grass. The green colour, so strongly recommended by our divine prophet, strikes my eyes, and at the same moment I feel that my soul is wrapped up in a calm so delightful that I fancy myself nearer the Creator. I enjoy the same peace, the same repose, when I am seated on the banks of a river, when I look upon the water so quiet, yet always moving, which flows constantly, yet never disappears from my sight, never loses any of its clearness in spite of its constant motion. It strikes me as the image of my own existence, and of the calm which I require for my life in order to reach, like the water I am gazing upon, the goal which I do not see, and which can only be found at the other end of the journey.


We envy you, the prospect you have before you of spending agreeably three or four months in this country, while, in our quality of ministers, we must pine away with melancholy.


Recollect, my son, that the nations to which the prophet brought the knowledge of the true God were all idolators. Men are weak; if the disciples of the prophet had continued to see the same objects, they might have fallen back into their former errors.


No one ever worshipped an image as an image; the deity of which the image is a representation is what is worshipped.


I may grant that, but God cannot be matter, and it is right to remove from the thoughts of the vulgar the idea of a material divinity. You are the only men, you Christians, who believe that you see God.


It is true, we are sure of it, but observe that faith alone gives us that certainty.


I know it; but you are idolators, for you see nothing but a material representation, and yet you have a complete certainty that you see God, unless you should tell me that faith disaffirms it.


God forbid I should tell you such a thing! Faith, on the contrary, affirms our certainty.


We thank God that we have no need of such self-delusion, and there is not one philosopher in the world who could prove to me that you require it.


That would not be the province of philosophy, dear father, but of theology--a very superior science.


You are now speaking the language of our theologians, who differ from yours only in this; they use their science to make clearer the truths we ought to know, whilst your theologians try to render those truths more obscure.


Recollect, dear father, that they are mysteries.


The existence of God is a sufficiently important mystery to prevent men from daring to add anything to it. God can only be simple; any kind of combination would destroy His essence; such is the God announced by our prophet, who must be the same for all men and in all times. Agree with me that we can add nothing to the simplicity of God. We say that God is one; that is the image of simplicity. You say that He is one and three at the same time, and such a definition strikes us as contradictory, absurd, and impious.


It is a mystery.


Do you mean God or the definition? I am speaking only of the definition, which ought not to be a mystery or absurd. Common sense, my son, must consider as absurd an assertion which is substantially nonsensical. Prove to me that three is not a compound, that it cannot be a compound and I will become a Christian at once.


My religion tells me to believe without arguing, and I shudder, my dear Yusuf, when I think that, through some specious reasoning, I might be led to renounce the creed of my fathers. I first must be convinced that they lived in error. Tell me whether, respecting my father’s memory, I ought to have such a good opinion of myself as to sit in judgement over him, with the intention of giving my sentence against him?


With such feelings, my son, you are sure to find grace in the eyes of God, and you are, therefore, one of the elect. If you are in error, God alone can convince you of it, for no just man on earth can refute the sentiment you have just given expression to.


Do you believe, dear father, that the religion of Mahomet is the only one in which salvation can be secured?


No, my dear son, I am not certain of it, and no man can have such a certainty; but I am sure that the Christian religion is not the true one, because it cannot be universal.


Why not?


Because there is neither bread nor wine to be found in three-fourths of the world. Observe that the precepts of the Koran can be followed everywhere.


If God cannot be matter,


then He must be a spirit?


We know what He is not but we do not know what He is: man cannot affirm that God is a spirit, because he can only realize the idea in an abstract manner. God is immaterial; that is the extent of our knowledge and it can never be greater.


Observe, my son, that God never abandons the man who, in the midst of misfortunes, falls down in prayer before Him, and that He often allows the wretch who has no faith in prayer to die miserably.


Yet we meet with Atheists who are fortunate and happy.


True; but, in spite of their tranquillity, I pity them because they have no hope beyond this life, and are on a level with animals. Besides, if they are philosophers, they must linger in dark ignorance, and, if they never think, they have no consolation, no resource, when adversity reaches them. God has made man in such a manner that he cannot be happy unless he entertains no doubt of the existence of his Divine Creator; in all stations of life man is naturally prone to believe in that existence, otherwise man would never have admitted one God, Creator of all beings and of all things.


I should like to know why Atheism has only existed in the systems of the learned, and never as a national creed.


Because the poor feel their wants much more than the rich, There are amongst us a great many impious men who deride the true believers because they have faith in the pilgrimage to Mecca. Wretches that they are, they ought to respect the ancient customs which, exciting the devotion of fervent souls, feed religious principles, and impart courage under all misfortunes. Without such consolation, people would give way to all the excess of despair.


I would like to know, for instance,


what name can be given to the chastity of your knights of Malta. They take a vow of chastity, but it does not mean that they will renounce women altogether, they renounce marriage only. Their chastity, and therefore chastity in general, is violated only by marriage; yet I observe that marriage is one of your sacraments. Therefore, those knights of Malta promise not to give way to lustful incontinence in the only case in which God might forgive it, but they reserve the license of being lustful unlawfully as often as they please, and whenever an opportunity may offer itself; and that immoral, illicit license is granted to them to such an extent, that they are allowed to acknowledge legally a child which can be born to them only through a double crime! The most revolting part of it all is that these children of crime, who are of course perfectly innocent themselves, are called natural children, as if children born in wedlock came into the world in an unnatural manner! In one word, my dear son, the vow of chastity is so much opposed to Divine precepts and to human nature that it can be agreeable neither to God nor to society, nor to those who pledge themselves to keep it, and being in such opposition to every divine and human law, it must be a crime.


What!


I must then believe that you are not a perfect man, or that you intend to work out your own damnation; unless you should tell me that you are a Christian only outwardly.


I am a man in the very strongest sense of the word, and I am a true Christian. I must even confess that I adore women, and that I have not the slightest idea of depriving myself of the most delightful of all pleasures.


According to your religion, damnation awaits you.


I feel certain of the contrary, because, when we confess our sins, our priests are compelled to give us absolution.


I know it, but you must agree with me that it is absurd to suppose that God will forgive a crime which you would, perhaps, not commit, if you did not think that, after confession, a priest, a man like you, will give you absolution. God forgives only the repenting sinner.


No doubt of it, and confession supposes repentance; without it, absolution has no effect.


Is onanism a crime amongst you?


Yes, even greater than lustful and illegitimate copulation.


I was aware of it, and it has always caused me great surprise, for the legislator who enacts a law, the execution of which is impossible, is a fool. A man in good health, if he cannot have a woman, must necessarily have recourse to onanism, whenever imperious nature demands it, and the man who, from fear of polluting his soul, would abstain from it, would only draw upon himself a mortal disease.


We believe exactly the reverse; we think that young people destroy their constitutions, and shorten their lives through self-abuse. In several communities they are closely watched, and are as much as possible deprived of every opportunity of indulging in that crime.


Those who watch them are ignorant fools, and those who pay the watchers for such a service are even more stupid, because prohibition must excite the wish to break through such a tyrannical law, to set at nought an interdiction so contrary to nature.


Yet it seems to me that self-abuse in excess must be injurious to health, for it must weaken and enervate.


Certainly, because excess in everything is prejudicial and pernicious; but all such excess is the result of our severe prohibition. If girls are not interfered with in the matter of self-abuse, I do not see why boys should be.


Because girls are very far from running the same risk; they do not lose a great deal in the action of self-abuse, and what they lose does not come from the same source whence flows the germinal liquid in men.


I do not know, but we have some physicians who say that chlorosis in girls is the result of that pleasure indulged in to excess.


I have two sons and a daughter. I no longer think of my sons, because they have received their share of my fortune. As far as my daughter is concerned she will, after my death, inherit all my possessions, and I am, besides, in a position while I am alive to promote the fortune of the man who may marry her. Five years ago I took a young wife, but she has not given me any progeny, and I know to a certainty that no offspring will bless our union. My daughter, whose name is Zelmi, is now fifteen; she is handsome, her eyes are black and lovely like her mother’s, her hair is of the colour of the raven’s wing, her complexion is animated alabaster; she is tall, well made, and of a sweet disposition; I have given her an education which would make her worthy of our master, the Sultan. She speaks Greek and Italian fluently, she sings delightfully, and accompanies herself on the harp; she can draw and embroider, and is always contented and cheerful. No living man can boast of having seen her features, and she loves me so dearly that my will is hers. My daughter is a treasure, and I offer her to you if you will consent to go for one year to Adrianople to reside with a relative of mine, who will teach you our religion, our language, and our manners. You will return at the end of one year, and as soon as you have become a Mussulman my daughter shall be your wife. You will find a house ready furnished, slaves of your own, and an income which will enable you to live in comfort. I have no more to say at present. I do not wish you to answer me either to-day, or to-morrow, or on any fixed day. You will give me your decision whenever you feel yourself called upon by your genius to give it, and you need not give me any answer unless you accept my offer, for, should you refuse it, it is not necessary that the subject should be again mentioned. I do not ask you to give full consideration to my proposal, for now that I have thrown the seed in your soul it must fructify. Without hurry, without delay, without anxiety, you can but obey the decrees of God and follow the immutable decision of fate. Such as I know you, I believe that you only require the possession of Zelmi to be completely happy, and that you will become one of the pillars of the Ottoman Empire.


I have abandoned myself to God, dear Yusuf, and, full of confidence in Him, I feel certain that I shall decide for the best, whether I make up my mind to become your son, or believe that I ought to remain what I am now. In the mean time, my mind ponders over it day and night, whenever I am quiet and feel myself composed and collected. When I come to a decision, I will impart it to you alone, and from that moment you shall have over me the authority of a father.


Continue to act in that way, my dear son, and be certain that you can never act wrongly.


But, one thing might happen, Zelmi might not accept me.


Have no anxiety about that. My daughter loves you; she, as well as my wife and her nurse, sees you every time that we dine together, and she listens to you with pleasure.


Does she know that you are thinking of giving her to me as my wife?


She knows that I ardently wish you to become a true believer, so as to enable me to link her destiny to yours.


I am glad that your habits do not permit you to let me see her, because she might dazzle me with her beauty, and then passion would soon have too much weight in the scale; I could no longer flatter myself that my decision had been taken in all the unbiased, purity of my soul.


Ancora sei, a poi basta, se non volete vedermi a morire.


The worthy Ismail, has been to-day the dupe of his vanity, and I have no doubt that he is sorry already for what he has done. To bring out his beautiful slave to dance with you! According to the prejudices of this country it is injurious to his dignity, for you are sure to have kindled an amorous flame in the poor girl’s breast. I would advise you to be careful and to keep on your guard, because she will try to get up some intrigue with you; but be prudent, for intrigues are always dangerous in Turkey.


Should you wish to see the person with whom you danced the forlana, take a walk towards evening in the garden beyond the fountain, and contrive to become acquainted with the old servant of the gardener by asking her for some lemonade. You may perchance manage to see your partner in the forlana without running any risk, even if you should happen to meet Ismail; she is a native of Venice. Be careful not to mention this invitation to any human being.


I am not such a fool, my lovely countrywoman,


She sees us at this very moment, from behind that green window-blind, and we love you ever since Yusuf has informed us that you may, perhaps, become Zelmi’s husband.


May I mention our conversation to Yusuf?


No.


Then it must be a pleasure seldom enjoyed, if it is so much talked of?


Very seldom indeed, for there is amongst us an invincible prejudice against exposing our lovely women to the eyes of other men; but everyone may do as he pleases in his own house: Ismail is a very worthy and a very intelligent man.


Is the lady with whom I danced known?


I believe not. She wore a mask, and everybody knows that Ismail possesses half a dozen slaves of surpassing beauty.


Let us leave this place quietly. I have just heard a slight noise which heralds something that will amuse us. Let us go to a small room, the key of which I luckily have with me, but let us be careful not to make any noise. That room has a window overlooking the fountain where I think that two or three of my beauties have just gone to bathe. We will see them and enjoy a very pleasing sight, for they do not imagine that anyone is looking at them. They know that the place is forbidden to everybody except me.


I suppose, that you do not know who I am?


I could not guess, if I tried.


I have been for the last five years the wife of your friend, and I am a native of Scio. I was thirteen years of age when I became his wife.


Dost thou deserve. Yusuf’s friendship, when thou abusest the sacred laws of hospitality by insulting his wife?


Madam, you must kindly forgive me, for I never had any intention to insult you. In my country the lowest of men may fix his eyes upon the face of a queen.


Yes, but he cannot tear off her veil, if she chooses to wear it. Yusuf shall avenge me. Take a seat. Art thou excited?


How could I be otherwise, when thou art scorching me with an ardent fire?


Here is my husband,


I thought, that I had Zelmi before me.


That would have been too much against our established rules. What I have done is not much, but I do not know an honest man who would be bold enough to bring his daughter into the presence of a stranger.


I think your wife must be handsome; is she more beautiful than Zelmi?


My daughter’s beauty is cheerful, sweet, and gentle; that of Sophia is proud and haughty. She will be happy after my death. The man who will marry her will find her a virgin.


She was laughing at you, and you ran no danger. She felt very sorry, believe me, to have to deal with a novice like you. You have been playing the comedy in the French fashion, when you ought to have gone straight to the point. What on earth did you want to see her nose for? She knew very well that she would have gained nothing by allowing you to see her. You ought to have secured the essential point. If I were young I would perhaps manage to give her a revenge, and to punish my friend Yusuf. You have given that lovely woman a poor opinion of Italian valour. The most reserved of Turkish women has no modesty except on her face, and, with her veil over it, she knows to a certainty that she will not blush at anything. I am certain that your beauty keeps her face covered whenever our friend Yusuf wishes to joke with her.


She is yet a virgin.


Rather a difficult thing to admit, my good friend; but I know the daughters of Scio; they have a talent for counterfeiting virginity.


having observed that a very, very fine turkey had been placed before me, told me to carve it, and I immediately went to work.


What do you do with your money?


I keep it, madam, as a provision against possible losses.


But as you do not indulge in any expense it would be better for you not to play; it is time wasted.


Time given to pleasure is never time lost, madam; the only time which a young man wastes is that which is consumed in weariness, because when he is a prey to ennui he is likely to fall a prey to love, and to be despised by the object of his affection.


Very likely; but you amuse yourself with hoarding up your money, and shew yourself to be a miser, and a miser is not less contemptible than a man in love. Why do you not buy yourself a pair of gloves?


having sent me with dispatches to M. de Condulmer, captain of a ‘galeazza’, I had to wait until midnight to deliver them, and when I returned I found that M. D---- R---- had retired to his apartment for the night.


Pray be seated. I wish to speak with you. Last evening my husband lost two hundred sequins upon trust at your faro bank; he believed that amount to be in my hands, and I must therefore give it to him immediately, as he is bound in honour to pay his losses to-day. Unfortunately I have disposed of the money, and I am in great trouble. I thought you might tell Maroli that I have paid you the amount lost by my husband. Here is a ring of some value; keep it until the 1st of January, when I will return the two hundred sequins for which I am ready to give you my note of hand.


I believe, sir, that if I had known that you were so well disposed to oblige me, I could not have made up my mind to beg that service from you. What you say is very complimentary, but I trust never to find myself again under the necessity of making such a cruel experiment.


If you wish your audience to cry, you must shed tears yourself, but if you wish to make them laugh you must contrive to look as serious as a judge.


So, your servant was a prince! Why? He is dead, but he was not insane. You have seen his armorial bearings, his certificate of baptism, as well as what he wrote with his own hand. When a man is so near death, he does not fancy practical jokes.


If your excellency is satisfied of the truth of the story, my duty is to remain silent.


The story cannot be anything but true, and your doubts surprise me.


I doubt, monsignor, because I happen to have positive information respecting the families of La Rochefoucault and Du Plessis. Besides, I have seen too much of the man. He was not a madman, but he certainly was an extravagant jester. I have never seen him write, and he has told me himself a score of times that he had never learned.


The paper he has written proves the contrary. His arms have the ducal bearings; but perhaps you are not aware that M. de la Rochefoucault is a duke and peer of the French realm?


I beg your eminence’s pardon; I know all about it; I know even more, for I know that Francois VI. married a daughter of the house of Vivonne.


You know nothing.


He was only twenty-five years of age, and if he was endowed with all those qualities, you must have discovered them.


I can only give you, madam, a true likeness of the man, such as I have seen him. Always gay, often even to folly, for he could throw a somersault beautifully; singing songs of a very erotic kind, full of stories and of popular tales of magic, miracles, and ghosts, and a thousand marvellous feats which common-sense refused to believe, and which, for that very reason, provoked the mirth of his hearers. His faults were that he was drunken, dirty, quarrelsome, dissolute, and somewhat of a cheat. I put up with all his deficiences, because he dressed my hair to my taste, and his constant chattering offered me the opportunity of practising the colloquial French which cannot be acquired from books. He has always assured me that he was born in Picardy, the son of a common peasant, and that he had deserted from the French army. He may have deceived me when he said that he could not write. And I likewise, monsignor, but his confessor will certainly kill him to-night.


Why should the father confessor kill him?


To escape the galleys to which your excellency would not fail to send him for having violated the secrecy of the confessional.


I am of your opinion about that prince, but you have incurred the displeasure of the proveditore.


I am very sorry, madam, but it could not have been avoided, for I cannot help speaking the truth openly.


You might have spared him, the cutting jest of the confessor killing the false prince.


You are right, sir, but I thought it would make him laugh as well as it made madam and your excellency. In conversation people generally do not object to a witty jest causing merriment and laughter.


True; only those who have not wit enough to laugh do not like the jest.


I bet a hundred sequins that the madman will recover, and that, having the general on his side, he will reap all the advantages of his imposture. I long to see him treated as a prince, and making love to Madame Sagredo.


I have it from his own lips, and he cannot make out your obstinacy in believing him an impostor.


I have given him that advice, madam, because my heart is good, and my judgment sane.


Then we are all of us as many fools, the proveditore included?


That deduction would not be right, madam. An opinion contrary to that of another does not necessarily make a fool of the person who entertains it. It might possibly turn out, in ten or twelve days, that I have been entirely mistaken myself, but I should not consider myself a fool in consequence. In the mean time, a lady of your intelligence must have discovered whether that man is a peasant or a prince by his education and manners. For instance, does he dance well?


He does not know one step, but he is the first to laugh about it; he says he never would learn dancing.


Does he behave well at table?


Well, he doesn’t stand on ceremony. He does not want his plate to be changed, he helps himself with his spoon out of the dishes; he does not know how to check an eructation or a yawn, and if he feels tired he leaves the table. It is evident that he has been very badly brought up.


And yet he is very pleasant, I suppose. Is he clean and neat?


No, but then he is not yet well provided with linen.


I am told that he is very sober.


You are joking. He leaves the table intoxicated twice a day, but he ought to be pitied, for he cannot drink wine and keep his head clear. Then he swears like a trooper, and we all laugh, but he never takes offence.


Is he witty?


He has a wonderful memory, for he tells us new stories every day.


Does he speak of his family?


Very often of his mother, whom he loved tenderly. She was a Du Plessis.


If his mother is still alive she must be a hundred and fifty years old.


What nonsense!


Not at all; she was married in the days of Marie de Medicis.


But the certificate of baptism names the prince’s mother, and his seal--


Does he know what armorial bearings he has on that seal?


Do you doubt it?


Very strongly, or rather I am certain that he knows nothing about it.


Prince, here is M. Casanova; he pretends that you do not know your own armorial bearings.


I left the room very slowly, not forgetting my hat and my cane, and went downstairs, while M. D---- R---- was loudly ordering the servants to throw the madman out of the window.


Very good, adjutant, it shall be done.


But how can you find it out?


The Papa Deldimopulo will tell me; he will communicate faithfully the oracle of the Holy Virgin.


Oh! quite satisfied. I know now that my father-in-law is alive, and that he will pay me the dowry, if I consent to leave my child with him. I am aware that it is his fancy and I will give him the boy.


Does the papa know you?


No; he is not even acquainted with my name.


Have you any fine goods on board your tartan?


Yes; come and breakfast with me; you can see all I have.


Very willingly.


Thieves! Murder!


To eat it, my good fellow, but not before I have paid for it.


But his holiness, the papa, might choose to charge one sequin for it.


Here is one sequin. My good man, I would like to have in my service twenty-four fellows like these under military discipline. I would give each man twenty gazzette a day, and you would have forty as my lieutenant.


I will, raise for you this very day a body-guard of which you will be proud.


Next Sunday, the Papa Deldimopulo will fulminate against you the ‘cataramonachia’. If you do not prevent him, a slow fever will send you into the next world in six weeks.


I have never heard of such a drug.


It is not a drug. It is a curse pronounced by a priest with the Host in his hands, and it is sure to be fulfilled.


What reason can that priest have to murder me?


You disturb the peace and discipline of his parish. You have seduced several young girls, and now their lovers refuse to marry them.


On the first symptom of fever, I will shoot you like a dog. Throw over me a curse which will kill me instantly, or make your will. Farewell!


You are alone, and therefore you come as a friend. Let us embrace.


I must come as a friend, for, as an enemy, I should not have enough men. But what I see seems a dream.


Take a seat, and dine with me. I will treat you splendidly.


Most willingly, and after dinner we will leave the island together.


You may go alone, if you like; but I will not leave this place until I have the certainty, not only that I shall not be sent to the ‘bastarda’, but also that I shall have every satisfaction from the knave whom the general ought to send to the galleys.


Be reasonable, and come with me of your own accord. My orders are to take you by force, but as I have not enough men to do so, I shall make my report, and the general will, of course, send a force sufficient to arrest you.


Never; I will not be taken alive.


You must be mad; believe me, you are in the wrong. You have disobeyed the order I brought you to go to the ‘bastarda; in that you have acted wrongly, and in that alone, for in every other respect you were perfectly right, the general himself says so.


Then I ought to have put myself under arrest?


Certainly; obedience is necessary in our profession.


Would you have obeyed, if you had been in my place?


I cannot and will not tell you what I would have done, but I know that if I had disobeyed orders I should have been guilty of a crime.


But if I surrendered now I should be treated like a criminal, and much more severely than if I had obeyed that unjust order.


I think not. Come with me, and you will know everything.


What! Go without knowing what fate may be in store for me? Do not expect it. Let us have dinner. If I am guilty of such a dreadful crime that violence must be used against me, I will surrender only to irresistible force. I cannot be worse off, but there may be blood spilled.


You are mistaken, such conduct would only make you more guilty. But I say like you, let us have dinner. A good meal will very likely render you more disposed to listen to reason.


It is all very amusing, but it will turn out very serious if you let me go away alone, for my duty compels me to give an exact account of all I have witnessed.


I will follow you, if you will give me your word of honour to land me free in Corfu.


I have orders to deliver your person to M. Foscari, on board the bastarda.


Well, you shall not execute your orders this time.


If you do not obey the commands of the general, his honour will compel him to use violence against you, and of course he can do it. But tell me, what would you do if the general should leave you in this island for the sake of the joke? There is no fear of that, however, and, after the report which I must give, the general will certainly make up his mind to stop the affair without shedding blood.


Without a fight it will be difficult to arrest me, for with five hundred peasants in such a place as this I would not be afraid of three thousand men.


One man will prove enough; you will be treated as a leader of rebels. All these peasants may be devoted to you, but they cannot protect you against one man who will shoot you for the sake of earning a few pieces of gold. I can tell you more than that: amongst all those men who surround you there is not one who would not murder you for twenty sequins. Believe me, go with me. Come to enjoy the triumph which is awaiting you in Corfu. You will be courted and applauded. You will narrate yourself all your mad frolics, people will laugh, and at the same time will admire you for having listened to reason the moment I came here. Everybody feels esteem for you, and M. D---- R---- thinks a great deal of you. He praises very highly the command you have shewn over your passion in refraining from thrusting your sword through that insolent fool, in order not to forget the respect you owed to his house. The general himself must esteem you, for he cannot forget what you told him of that knave.


What has become of him?


Four days ago Major Sardina’s frigate arrived with dispatches, in which the general must have found all the proof of the imposture, for he has caused the false duke or prince to disappear very suddenly. Nobody knows where he has been sent to, and nobody ventures to mention the fellow before the general, for he made the most egregious blunder respecting him.


But was the man received in society after the thrashing I gave him?


God forbid! Do you not recollect that he wore a sword? From that moment no one would receive him. His arm was broken and his jaw shattered to pieces. But in spite of the state he was in, in spite of what he must have suffered, his excellency had him removed a week after you had treated him so severely. But your flight is what everyone has been wondering over. It was thought for three days that M. D---- R---- had concealed you in his house, and he was openly blamed for doing so. He had to declare loudly at the general’s table that he was in the most complete ignorance of your whereabouts. His excellency even expressed his anxiety about your escape, and it was only yesterday that your place of refuge was made known by a letter addressed by the priest of this island to the Proto-Papa Bulgari, in which he complained that an Italian officer had invaded the island of Casopo a week before, and had committed unheard-of violence. He accused you of seducing all the girls, and of threatening to shoot him if he dared to pronounce ‘cataramonachia’ against you. This letter, which was read publicly at the evening reception, made the general laugh, but he ordered me to arrest you all the same.


Madame Sagredo is the cause of it all.


True, but she is well punished for it. You ought to call upon her with me to-morrow.


To-morrow? Are you then certain that I shall not be placed under arrest?


Yes, for I know that the general is a man of honour.


I am of the same opinion. Well, let us go on board your felucca. We will embark together after midnight.


Why not now?


Because I will not run the risk of spending the night on board M. Foscari’s bastarda. I want to reach Corfu by daylight, so as to make your victory more brilliant.


But what shall we do for the next eight hours?


We will pay a visit to some beauties of a species unknown in Corfu, and have a good supper.


You can’t think, how interested Madame F---- was in your fate. She would be really delighted if you called on her immediately.


I do not know, madam, how I have deserved such great happiness, for all I dared aim at was toleration.


We all admired the control you kept over your feelings when you refrained from killing that insolent madman on the spot; he would have been thrown out of the window if he had not beat a hurried retreat.


I should certainly have killed him, madam, if you had not been present.


A very pretty compliment, but I can hardly believe that you thought of me in such a moment.


Would you have the courage, to repeat all you have just told me, and exactly in the same terms, before the proveditore-generale?


Most certainly, madam, provided he asked me himself.


Well, then, prepare to redeem your promise. I want our excellent general to love you and to become your warmest protector, so as to shield you against every injustice and to promote your advancement. Leave it all to me.


Here comes the young man who is a good judge of princes.


My lord, I have become a judge of nobility by frequenting the society of men like you.


The ladies are curious to know all you have done from the time of your escape from Corfu up to your return.


Then you sentence me, monsignor, to make a public confession?


Exactly; but, as it is to be a confession, be careful not to omit the most insignificant circumstance, and suppose that I am not in the room.


On the contrary, I wish to receive absolution only from your excellency. But my history will be a long one.


If such is the case, your confessor gives you permission to be seated. Your story is a very instructive one,


Yes, my lord, for the adventures shew that a young man is never so near his utter ruin than when, excited by some great passion, he finds himself able to minister to it, thanks to the gold in his purse.


It is nothing else but regular cheating, but it is very difficult to put a stop to it; it is an old custom.


Why did you refuse to tell your adventures in Constantinople before the general?


Because I do not wish everybody to know that you allow me to tell you such things. What I may dare, madam, to say to you when we are alone, I would certainly not say to you in public.


And why not? It seems to me, on the contrary, that if you are silent in public out of respect for me, you ought to be all the more silent when we are alone.


I wanted to amuse you, and have exposed myself to the danger of displeasing you, but I can assure you, madam, that I will not run such a risk again.


I have no wish to pry into your intentions, but it strikes me that if your wish was to please me, you ought not to have run the risk of obtaining the opposite result. We take supper with the general this evening, and M. D---- R---- has been asked to bring you. I feel certain that the general will ask you again for your adventures in Constantinople, and this time you cannot refuse him.


M. Casanova pretends that if he had given an account of his meeting with Yusuf’s wife without changing anything everybody would think that I allowed him to entertain me with indecent stories. I want you to give your opinion about it. Will you, be so good as to relate immediately the adventure in the same words which you have used when you told me of it?


Yes, madam, if you wish me to do so.


Do you think, that he ought to have related that adventure before all our friends as he has just related it to us?


If it be wrong for him to tell it in public, it is also wrong to tell it to me in private.


You are the only judge of that: yes, if he has displeased you; no, if he has amused you. As for my own opinion, here it is: He has just now amused me very much, but he would have greatly displeased me if he had related the same adventure in public.


Then. I must request you never to tell me in private anything that you cannot repeat in public.


I promise, madam, to act always according to your wishes.


It being understood, that madam reserves all rights of repealing that order whenever she may think fit.


In spite of my distress. I fell in love with a young and beautiful Greek slave, who very nearly contrived to make me break through all the sanitary laws.


How so?


You are alone, madam, and I have not forgotten your orders.


Is it a very improper story?


No: yet I would not relate it to you in public.


Well. I repeal my order, as M. D---- R---- said I would. Tell me all about it. What do you mean by your misery? I think that the poor girl was more to be pitied than you. You have never seen her since?


I beg your pardon, madam; I met her again, but I dare not tell you when or how.


Now you must go on; it is all nonsense for you to stop. Tell me all; I expect you have been guilty of some black deed.


Very far from it, madam, for it was a very sweet, although incomplete, enjoyment.


Go on! But do not call things exactly by their names. It is not necessary to go into details.


It is here, and God alone knows what happiness it has given me.


You have drunk my blood with happiness! Are you then a cannibal?


I believe not, madam; but it would have been sacrilege in my eyes if I had suffered one single drop of your blood to be lost.


Sir, we are twenty, and shall require six rooms with ten beds, one sitting-room for all of us, and thirty Neapolitan ducats a day, all travelling expenses paid. Here is my stock of plays, and we will perform those that you may choose.


I wanted to see you, to return the two hundred sequins which you lent me so nobly. Here they are; be good enough to give me back my note of hand.


Your note of hand, madam, is no longer in my possession. I have deposited it in a sealed envelope with the notary who, according to this receipt of his, can return it only to you.


Why did you not keep it yourself?


Because I was afraid of losing it, or of having it stolen. And in the event of my death I did not want such a document to fall into any other hands but yours.


A great proof of your extreme delicacy, certainly, but I think you ought to have reserved the right of taking it out of the notary’s custody yourself.


I did not forsee the possibility of calling for it myself.


Yet it was a very likely thing. Then I can send word to the notary to transmit it to me?


Certainly, madam; you alone can claim it.


You have acted, most nobly; but you must agree with me that I cannot be certain that this piece of paper is really my note of hand, although I see my name on it.


True, madam; and if you are not certain of it, I confess myself in the wrong.


I must be certain of it, and I am so; but you must grant that I could not swear to it.


Granted, madam.


Three times, my lord. And always happily, of course. Always unhappily. The first time, perhaps, because, being an ecclesiastic, I durst not speak openly of my love. The second, because a cruel, unexpected event compelled me to leave the woman I loved at the very moment in which my happiness would have been complete. The third time, because the feeling of pity, with which I inspired the beloved object, induced her to cure me of my passion, instead of crowning my felicity. But what specific remedies did she use to effect your cure? She has ceased to be kind. I understand she has treated you cruelly, and you call that pity, do you? You are mistaken.


Certainly, a woman may pity the man she loves, but she would not think of ill-treating him to cure him of his passion. That woman has never felt any love for you.


I cannot, I will not believe it, madam. But are you cured? Oh! thoroughly; for when I happen to think of her, I feel nothing but indifference and coldness. But my recovery was long. Your convalescence lasted, I suppose, until you fell in love with another. With another, madam? I thought I had just told you that the third time I loved was the last.


I could not experience any weariness in your society, madam; at all events, I can leave you only by your express command, and, in that case, I must spend the next four hours in your ante-room, for M. D-- R---- has told me to wait for him here.


If so, you may take a seat. What has become of your cheerfulness?


If it has disappeared, madam, it can only be by your will. Call it back, and you will see it return in full force.


What must I do to obtain that result?


Only be towards me as you were when I returned from Casopo. I have been disagreeable to you for the last four months, and as I do not know why, I feel deeply grieved.


I am always the same: in what do you find me changed?


Good heavens! In everything, except in beauty. But I have taken my decision.


And what is it?


To suffer in silence, without allowing any circumstance to alter the feelings with which you have inspired me; to wish ardently to convince you of my perfect obedience to your commands; to be ever ready to give you fresh proofs of my devotion.


I thank you, but I cannot imagine what you can have to suffer in silence on my account. I take an interest in you, and I always listen with pleasure to your adventures. As a proof of it, I am extremely curious to hear the history of your three loves.


If she truly loved you, she may have wished not to cure you, but to cure herself.


M. F----, whose adjutant died yesterday, has just been entreating me to give you to him until he can find another officer. I have told him that I had no right to dispose of your person, and that he ought to apply to you, assuring him that, if you asked me leave to go with him, I would not raise any objection, although I require two adjutants. Has he not mentioned the matter to you? No, monsignor, he has only tendered me his thanks for having accompanied him to Butintro, nothing else. He is sure to speak to you about it. What do you intend to say? Simply that I will never leave the service of your excellency without your express command to do so. I never will give you such an order.


Well, M. Casanova, would you not be willing to live with me as my adjutant?


Does his excellency dismiss me from his service? Not at all, but I leave you the choice. My lord, I could not be guilty of ingratitude.


M. Casanova is right,


I will accept,


if M. D---- R---- tells me positively that I shall please him by doing so. It is for M. F---- to make him say it.


Ah! yes, you are aware that our adjutant is dead, and that we want to replace him. My husband, who has a great esteem for you, and feels that M. D---- R---- leaves you perfectly free to make your choice, has taken the singular fancy that you will come, if I ask you myself to do us that pleasure. Is he mistaken? If you would come to us, you would have that room. M. D---- R---- will not love you less, and as he will see you here every day, he will not be likely to forget his interest in your welfare. Now, tell me, will you come or not?


I wish I could, madam, but indeed I cannot.


You cannot? That is singular. Take a seat, and tell me what there is to prevent you, when, in accepting my offer, you are sure to please M. D---- R---- as well as us.


If I were certain of it, I would accept immediately; but all I have heard from his lips was that he left me free to make a choice.


Then you are afraid to grieve him, if you come to us?


It might be, and for nothing on earth....


I am certain of the contrary.


Will you be so good as to obtain that he says so to me himself?


And then you will come?


Oh, madam! that very minute!


Your hand, is burning.


Casanova, as you suit each other so well, you may be certain that you will greatly please me by remaining in the service of M. F.


You have enemies, but I silenced them last night.