 Chapter 8, Part B, of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1, by Jacomo Casanova. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by J. C. Guan. The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1, The Venetian Years, by Jacomo Casanova. Episode 2, Cleric in Naples. Chapter 8, Part B. This was the last night, probably which I'll never meet again. The flame of passion consumed us. She proposed that I should lift her up to the balcony through the open space. Where is the lover who would have objected to so attractive a proposal? I rose, and without being a mile low, I placed my hands under her arms. I drew her up towards me, and my desires are in the point of being fulfilled. Suddenly, I felt two hands upon my shoulders, and the voice of the keeper explained, What are you about? I let my precious burden drop. She regained her temper, and I, giving vent to my rage, Wrote myself flat on the floor of the balcony, and remained there without a movement, In spite of the shaking of the keeper, whom I was sorely tempted to strangle. At last, I rose from the floor, and went to bed without uttering one word, And not even caring to replace the plank. In the morning, the governor informed us that we were free. As I left the lazaretto with a breaking heart, I caught a glimpse of the Greek slave drowned in tears. I agreed to meet for your Stefano at the exchange, and I took the Jew from whom I had hired the furniture to the convent of the Minims, where I received from Father Lazarie ten sequins and the address of the bishop, who, after performing quarantine on the frontiers of Tuscany, had proceeded to Rome, where he would expect me to meet him. I paid the Jew, and made a poor dinner at an inn. As I was leaving it to join the monk, I was so unlucky as to meet Captain Alban, who reproached me bitterly for having led him to believe that my trunk had been left behind. I contrived to appease his anger by telling him all my misfortunes, and I signed a paper in which I declared that I had no cling whatsoever upon him. I then purchased a pair of shoes and an overcoat, and met Stefano, whom I informed of my decision to make a pilgrimage to our Lady of Loretto. I said I would wait there for him, and that we would afterwards travel together as far as Rome. He answered that he did not wish to go through Loretto, and that I would repent of my contempt for the grace of St. Francis. He did not alter my mind, and I left for Loretto the next day in the enjoyment of perfect health. I reached the holy city, tired almost to death, for it was the first time in my life that I had walked fifteen miles, drinking nothing but water, although the weather was very warm, because the dry wine used in that part of the country parched me too much. I must observe that, in spite of my poverty, I did not look like a beggar. As I was entering the city, I saw coming towards me an elderly priest of very respectable appearance, and as he was evidently taking notice of me, as soon as he drew near, I saluted him and inquired where I could find a comfortable inn. I cannot doubt, he said, that a person like you, travelling on foot, must come here from devout motives, come with me. He turned back, I followed him, and he took me to a fine-looking house. After whispering a few words to a man who appeared to be a steward, he left me, saying very afably, you shall be well attended to. My first impression was that I had been mistaken for some other person, but I said nothing. I was led to a suit of three rooms. The chamber was decorated with the mask hangings. The best dead had a canopy, and the table was supplied with all materials necessary for writing. A servant brought me a light dressing-gown, and another came in with linen and a large tub full of water, which he placed before me. My shoes and stockings were taken off, and my feet washed. A very decent-looking woman, followed by a servant-girl, came in a few minutes later, and curtsing very low, she proceeded to make my bed. At that moment the angelous bell was heard. Everyone knelt down, and I followed their example. After the prayer, a small table was neatly laid out, and I was asked what sort of wine I wished to drink, and I was provided with newspapers and two silver candlesticks. An hour afterwards I had a delicious fish supper, and before I retired to bed, a servant came to inquire whether I would take chocolate in the morning before or after mass. As soon as I was in bed, the servant brought me a night lamp with a dial, and I remained alone. Except in France I have never had such a good bed as I had that night. It would have curbed the most chronic insomnia, but I was not laboring under such a disease, and I slept for ten hours. This sort of treatment easily led me to believe that I was not in any kind of hostility, but where was I? How was I to suppose that I was in a hospital? When I had taken my chocolate, a hairdresser, quite a fashionable, dapper fellow, made his appearance, dying to give vent to his chattering propensities. Guessing that I did not wish to be shaved, he offered to clip my soft down with the scissors, saying that I would look younger. Why do you suppose that I want to conceal my age? It is very natural, because if your lordship did not wish to do so, your lordship would have shaved long ago. Countess Marcolini is here. Does your lordship know her? I must go to her at noon to dress her hair. I did not feel interested in the Countess Marcolini, and seeing it, the gossip changed the subject. Is this your lordship's first visit to this house? It is the finest hospital throughout the Papal States. I quite agree with you, and I shall compliment his holiness on the establishment. Oh, his holiness knows all about it. He resided here before he became pope. If Monsignor Carrafa had not been well acquainted with you, he would not have introduced you here. Such is the use of barbers throughout Europe, but you must not put any questions to them, for if you do, they are sure to threat you to an impudent mixture of fruit and falsehood, and instead of you pumping them, they will warm everything out of you. Thinking that it was my duty to present my respectful compliments to Monsignor Carrafa, I desired to be taken to his apartment. He gave me a pleasant welcome, showed me his library, and enthrusted me to the care of one of his abe, a man of parts, who acted as my sister-own everywhere. Twenty years afterwards, this same abe was of great service to me in Rome, and if still alive, he is a canon of St. John Latteron. On the following day, I took the communion in the Santa Casa. The third day was entirely employed in examining the exterior of this truly wonderful sanctuary, and early the next day, I resumed my journey, having spent nothing except three pauli for the barber. Halfway to Marcerata, I overtook brother Stefano, walking on at very slow rate. He was delighted to see me again, and told me that he had left Ancona two hours after me, but that he never walked more than three miles a day, being quite satisfied to take two months for a journey which, even on foot, can easily be accomplished in a week. I want, he said, to reach Rome without fatigue and in good health, and in no hurry. And if you feel disposed to travel with me and in the same quiet way, St. Francis will not find it difficult to keep us both during the journey. This lazy fellow was a man about thirty, red-haired, very strong and healthy, a true peasant who had turned himself into a monk only for the sake of living in idle comfort. I answered that, as I was in a hurry to reach Rome, I could not be his traveling companion. I undertake to walk six miles instead of three today, he said, if you carry my cloak, which I find very heavy. The proposal struck me as a rather funny one. I put on his cloak, and he took my great coat, but, after the exchange, we cut such a comical figure that every peasant we met laughed at us. His cloak would truly have proved a load for a mule. There were twelve pockets quite full, without taken into account a pocket behind, which he called il batticolo, and which contained, alone, twice as much as all the others. Bread, wine, fresh and salt meat, fowls, eggs, cheese, ham, sausages—everything was to be found in those pockets, which contained provisions enough for a fortnight. I told him how well I had been treated in Loretto, and he assured me that I might have asked Monsignor Caraffa to give me letters for all the hospitals on my road to Rome, and that everywhere I would have met with the same reception. The hospitals, he added, are all under the curse of St. Francis, because the mendicant friars are not admitted in them. But we do not mind their gates being shut against us, because they are too far apart from each other. We prefer the homes of the persons attached to our order. These we find everywhere. Why do you not ask hospitality in the commons of your order? I am not so foolish. In the first place, I should not be admitted. Because being a fugitive, I have not the written obedience which must be shown at every convent, and I should even run the risk of being thrown into prison. Your monks are a cursed bad lot. In the second place, I should not be half so comfortable in the commons as I am with our devout benefactors. Why and how are you a fugitive? He answered my question by the narrative of his imprisonment and flight, the whole story being a tissue of absurdities and lies. The fugitive reculet friar was a fool with something of the wit of Harlequin, and he thought that every man listening to him was a greater fool than himself. Yet, with all his folly, he was not vent in a certain species of cunning. His religious principles were singular. As he did not wish to be taken for a bigoted man, he was scandalous, and for the sake of making people laugh, he would often make use of the most disgusting expressions. He had no taste whatsoever for women, and no inclination towards the pleasures of the flesh, but this was only owing to a deficiency in his natural temperament, and yet he claimed for himself the virtue of continence. On that score, everything appeared to him wood for merriment, and when he had drunk rather too much, he would ask questions of such an indecent character that he would bring blushes on everybody's continence. Yet, the brute would only laugh. As we were getting within one hundred yards from the house of the devout friend whom he intended to honour with his visit, he took back his heavy cloak. On entering the house, he gave his blessing to everybody, and everyone in the family came to kiss his hand. The mistress of the house requested him to say mass for them, and the compliant monk asked to be taken to the vestry. But when I whispered in his ear, Have you forgotten that we have already broken our fast today? He answered dryly, Mind your own business. I dared not make any further remark, but during the mass I was indeed surprised, for I saw that he did not understand what he was doing. I could not help being amused at his awkwardness, but I had not yet seen the best part of the comedy. As soon as he had somehow or other finished his mass, he went to the confessional. And after hearing and confession every member of the family, he took it into his head to refuse absolution to the daughter of his hostess, a girl of twelve or thirteen, pretty and quite charming. He gave his refusal publicly, scolding her and threatening her with the torments of hell. The poor girl, overwhelmed with shame, left the church crying bitterly, and I, feeling real sympathy for her, could not help saying aloud to Stefano that he was a madman. I ran after the girl to offer her my consolations, but she had disappeared, and could not be induced to join us at dinner. This piece of extravagance on the part of the monk exasperated me to such an extent that I felt a very strong inclination to thrash him. In the presence of all the family, I told him that he was an imposter and the infamous destroyer of the poor child's honor. I challenged him to explain his reasons for refusing to give her absolution, that he closed my lips by answering very coolly that he could not betray the secrets of the confessional. I could eat nothing, and was fully determined to leave the scoundrel. As we left the house, I was compelled to accept one paolo as the price of the mock mass he had said. I had to fulfill the sorry duty of his treasurer. The moment we were on the road, I told him that I was going to part company, because I was afraid of being sent as a felon to the galleagues if I continued my journeys with him. He exchanged high words. I called him an ignorant scoundrel. He stole me a beggar. I struck him a violent slap on the face, which he returned with a blow from his stick. But I quickly snatched it from him, and leaving him, I hastened toward Maserata. A carrier who was going to Tolentino took me with him for two paoli, and for six more I might have reached for gleno in a wagon. But unfortunately, a wish for economy made me refuse the offer. I felt well, and I thought I could easily walk as far as Valsimare, but I arrived there only after five hours of hard walking, and thoroughly beaten with fatigue. I was strong and healthy, but a walk of five hours was more than I could bear, because in my infancy I had never gone a league on foot. Young people cannot practice too much the art of walking. The next day, refreshed by a good night's rest, and ready to resume my journey, I wanted to pay the eankeeper. But alas, a new misfortune was in store for me. Let the reader imagine my sad position. I recollected that I had forgotten my purse, containing seven sequins on the table of the inn at Tolentino. What a thunderbolt! I was in despair, but I gave up the idea of going back, as it was very doubtful whether I would find my money. Yet, it contained all I possessed, save a few copper coins I had in my pocket. I paid my small bill, and deeply grieved at my loss, continued my journey toward Saraval. I was within three miles of that place when, in jumping over a ditch, I sprained my ankle, and was compelled to sit down on one side of the road, and to wait until someone should come to my assistance. In the curse of an hour, a peasant happened to pass with his donkey, and he agreed to carry me to Saraval for one paolo. As I wanted to spend as little as possible, the peasant took me to an ill-looking fellow who, for two paoli paid an advance, consented to give me a lodging. I asked him to send for a surgeon, but I did not obtain one until the following morning. I had a wretched supper, after which I lay down in a filthy bed. I was in hope that sleep would bring me some relief, but my evil genius was preparing for a night of torments. Three men, armed with guns and looking like banditie, came in shortly after I had gone to bed, speaking in a kind of slang which I could not make out, swearing, raging, and paying no attention to me. They drank and sang until midnight, after which they threw themselves down on bundles of straw brought for them, and my host, who was drunk, came greatly to my dismay to lie down near me. Disgusted at the idea of having such a fellow for my bed companion, I refused to let him come, but he answered, with fearful blasphemies, that all the devils in hell could not prevent him from taking possession of his own bed. I was forced to make room for him, and exclaimed, Heavens, where am I? He told me that I was in the house of the most honest constable in all the papal states. Could I possibly have supposed that the peasant would have brought me amongst those accursed enemies of humankind? He laid himself down near me, but the filthy scoundrel soon compelled me to give him, for certain reasons, such a blow in his chest that he rolled out of bed. He picked himself up, and he renewed his beastly attempt. Being well aware that I could not master him without great danger, I got out of bed, sinking myself lucky that he did not oppose my wish, and crawling along as well as I could, found a chair on which I passed the night. At daybreak, my tormentor, caught up by his honest comrades, joined them in drinking and shouting, and the three strangers, taking their guns, departed. Not alone by the departure of the vile rabble, I passed another unpleasant hour, calling in vain for someone. At last a young boy came in. I gave him some money, and he went for a surgeon. The doctor examined my foot, and assured me that three or four days would set me to rights. He advised me to be removed to an inn, and I most willingly followed his counsel. As soon as I was brought to the inn, I went to bed, and was well cared for. But my position was such that I dreaded the moment of my recovery. I feared that I should be compelled to sell my coat to pay the innkeeper, and in the very thought made me feel ashamed. I began to consider that if I had controlled my sympathy for the young girl so ill-treated by Stefano, I should not have fallen into this sad predicament, and I felt conscious that my sympathy had been a mistake. If I had put up with the faults of the friar, if this and if that, and every other if was conjured up to torment my restless and wretched brain, yet I must confess that the thoughts which have their origin in misfortune are not without advantage to a young man, for they give him the habit of thinking, and the man who does not think never does anything right. The moment of the fourth day came, and I was able to walk, as the surgeon had predicted. I made up my mind, although reluctantly, to beg the worthy man to sell my great coat for me, a most unpleasant necessity, for rain had begun to fall. I owed fifteen paoli to the innkeeper, and four to the surgeon. Just as I was going to proffer my painful request, brother Stefano made his appearance in my room, and burst into loud laughter, inquiring whether I had forgotten the blow from his stick. I was struck with amazement. I begged the surgeon to leave me with the monk, and he immediately complied. I must ask my readers whether it is possible in the face of such extraordinary circumstances not to feel so prestigious. What is truly miraculous in this case is the precise minute at which the event took place, for the friar entered the room as the word was hanging on my lips. What surprised me most was the force of providence, of fortune, of chance, whatever name is given to it, of that very necessary combination which compelled me to find no hope but in that fatal monk, who had begun to be my protective genius in Chiodza at the moment my distress had likewise commenced. And yet a singular guardian angel did Stefano. I felt that the mysterious force which threw me in his hands was a punishment rather than a favor. Nevertheless he was welcome, because I had no doubt of his relieving me from my difficulties, and whatever be the power that sent him to me, I felt that I could not do better than to submit to his influence. The destiny of that monk was to escort me to Rome. Qu'va Piano Vassano, said the friar, as soon as we were alone. He had taken five days to traverse the road over which I had traveled in one day. But he was in good health, and he had met with no misfortune. He told me that, as he was passing, he heard that an abbey, secretary to the Venetian ambassador at Rome, was lying ill at the inn, after having been robbed in Bansimara. I came to see you, he added, and as I find you recovered from your illness we can start again together. I agreed to walk six miles every day to please you. Come, let us forget the past, and let us be at once on our way. I cannot go, I have lost my purse, and I owe twenty paoli. I will go and find the amount in the name of St. Francis. He returned within an hour, but he was accompanied by the infamous constable who told me that, if I had let him know who I was, he would have been happy to keep me in his house. I will give you, he continued, forty paoli, if you will promise me the protection of your ambassador. But if you do not succeed in obtaining it for me in Rome, you will undertake to repay me. Therefore, you must give me an acknowledgement of the debt. I have no objection. My pre-arrangement was speedily completed. I received the money, paid my debts, and left Seravo with Stefano. At one o'clock in the afternoon we saw a wretched-looking house at a short distance from the road, and the friar said, it is a good distance from here to Colifiorito. We had better put up there for the nights. It was in vain that I objected, remonstrating that we were certain of having very poor accommodation. I had to submit to his will. We found a decrepit old man lying on a pallet, two ugly women of thirty or forty, three children entirely naked, a cow, and a cursed dog which barked continually. It was a picture of squalid misery, but the niggardly monk, instead of giving alms to the poor people, asked them to entertain us to supper in the name of St. Francis. You must boil the hen, said the dying man to the females, and bring out of the cellar the bottle of wine which I have kept now for twenty years. As he uttered those words, he was seized with such a fit of coughing that I thought he would die. The friar went near him, and promised him that by the grace of St. Francis he would get young and well. Moved by the sight of such misery, I wanted to continue my journey as far as Califiorito and wait there for Stefano, but the women would not let me go, and I remained. After boiling for four hours the hen set the strongest teeth at the fines, and the bottle which I uncorked proved to be nothing but sour vinegar. During patience, I got hold of the monk's batikaslo, and took out of it enough for a plentiful supper, and I saw the two women opening their eyes very wide at the side of our provisions. We all ate with good appetite, and after our supper the women made us for two large beds of fresh straw, and we lay down in the dark, as the last bit of candle to be found in the miserable dwelling was burnt out. We had not been lying on the straw five minutes when Stefano called out to me that one of the women had just placed herself near him, and at the same instant the other one takes me in her arms and kisses me. I push her away, and the monk defends himself against the other, but smine, nothing doubted, insists upon laying herself near me. I get up, the dog springs at my neck, and fear compels me to remain quiet on my straw bed. The monk screams, swears, struggles, the dog barks furiously. The old man coughs, all is noise and confusion. At last Stefano, protected by his heavy garments, shakes off the two loving shrew, and, braving the dog, manages to find his stick. Then he lays about to right and left, striking in every direction. One of the women exclaims, Oh God! The quiet answers. She has her quietes. Calm reigns again in the house. The dog, most likely dead, is silent. The old man, who perhaps has received his deathblow, coughs no more. The children sleep, and the women, afraid of the singular caresses of the monk, shear off into a corner. The remainder of the night passed off quietly. At daybreak I rose. Stefano was likewise soon up. I looked all around, and my surprise was great when I found that the women had gone out, and seeing that the old man gave no sign of life, and had a bruise on his forehead. I showed it to Stefano, remarking that very likely he had killed him. It is possible, he answered, but I have not done it intentionally. Then, taking up his batikoro and finding it empty, he flowed into a violent passion. But I was much pleased, for I had been afraid that the women had gone out to get assistance and to have us arrested, and the robbery of our provisions reassured me, as I felt certain that the poor wretches had gone out of the way so as to secure impunity for their theft. But I laid great stress upon the danger we should run by remaining any longer, and I succeeded in frightening the friar out of the house. We soon met a wagoner going to Foligno. I persuaded Stefano to take the opportunity of putting a good distance between us and the scene of our last adventures, and as we were eating our breakfast at Foligno, we saw another wagon, quite empty, got a lift in it for a trifle, and thus rode to Pisignano, where a devout person gave us a charitable welcome, and I slept soundly through the night without the dread of being arrested. Early the next day we reached Spoletti, where brothers Stefano had two benefactors, and careful not to give either of them a cause of jealousy, he favored both. We dined with the first, who entertained us like princes, and we had supper and lodging in the house of the second, a wealthy wine merchant, and the father of a large and delightful family. He gave us a delicious supper, and everything would have gone unpleasantly, had not the friar, already excited by his good dinner, made himself quite drunk. In that state, thinking to please his new host, he began to abuse the other, greatly to my annoyance. He said the wine he had given us to drink was adulterated, and that the man was a thief. He gave him to lie to his face, and called him a scoundrel. The host and his wife pacified me, saying that they were well acquainted with their neighbor, and knew what to think of him. But the monk threw his napkin at my face, and the host took him very quietly by the arm, and put him to bed in a room in which he locked him up. I slept in another room. In the morning I rose early, and was considering whether it would not be better to go alone, when the friar, who had slept himself sober, made his appearance, and told me that we ought for the future live together like good friends, and not give way to angry feelings. I followed my destiny once more. We resumed our journey, and at Soma, the innkeeper, a woman of rare beauty, gave us a good dinner, and some excellent cypress wine, which the Venetian couriers exchanged with her against delicious truffles found in the vicinity of Soma, which sold for a good price in Venice. I did not leave the handsome innkeeper without losing a part of my heart. It would be difficult to draw a picture of the inclination which overpowered me when, as we were about two miles from Terni, the infamous friar showed me a small bag full of truffles which the scoundrel has stolen from the amiable woman by way of thanks for her generous hospitality. The truffles were worth two sequins at last. In my indignation I snatched the bag from him, saying that I would certainly return it to his lawful owner. But as he had not committed the robbery to give himself the pleasure of making restitution, he threw himself upon me, and we came to a regular fight. But victory did not remain long in abeyance. I forced his stick out of his hands, knocked him into a ditch, and went off. On witching Terni I wrote a letter of apology to our beautiful hostess of Soma, and sent back the truffles. On Terni I went on foot to Odricoli, where I only stayed long enough to examine the fine old bridge, and from there I paid four paoli to a wagoner who carried me to Castel Nuovo, from which place I walked to Rome. I reached the celebrated city on the 1st of September, at nine in the morning. I must not forget to mention here a rather peculiar circumstance, which, however ridiculous it may be in reality, will please many of my readers. End of Chapter 8, Part B. Chapter 8, Part C, of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1, by Giacomo Casanova. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LIBRIVOX.ORG. Recording by J. C. Guan, the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1, The Venetian Years, by Giacomo Casanova. Chapter 8, Part C. An hour after I had left Castel Nuovo, the atmosphere being calm and the sky clear, I perceived on my right, and within ten paces of me, a pyramidal flame about two feet long and four or five feet above the ground. This apparition surprised me, because it seemed to accompany me. Anxious to examine it, I endeavored to get nearer to it, but the more I advanced towards it, the further it went from me. It would stop when I stood still, and when the road along which I was travelling happened to be lined with trees, I no longer saw it. But it was sure to reappear as soon as I reached a portion of the road without trees. I several times retrieved my steps purposely, but every time I did so, the flame disappeared, and would not show itself again until I proceeded towards Rome. This extraordinary beacon left me when daylight chased darkness from the sky. It was a splendid field for ignorant superstition, if there had been any witnesses to that phenomenon, and if I had changed to make a great name in Rome. History is full of such trifles, and the world is full of people who attach great importance to them in spite of the so-called light of science. I must candidly confess that, although somewhat versed in physics, the sight of that small meteor gave me singular ideas. But I was prudent enough not to mention the circumstance to anyone. When I reached the ancient capital of the world, I possessed only seven paoli, and consequently I did not loiter about. I paid no attention to the splendid entrance through the gates of the polar trees, which is by mistake pompously called of the people, or to the beautiful square of the same name, or to the portals of the Manic Fish and Churches, or to all the stately buildings which generally strike the traveller as he enters the city. I went straight towards Monte Magnanopoli, where, according to the address given to me, I was to find the bishop. There, I was informed that he had left Rome ten days before, leaving instructions to send me to Naples free of expense. A coach was to start for Naples the next day, not caring to see Rome. I went to bed, until the time for the departure of the coach. I travelled with three low fellows to whom I did not address one word through the whole of the journey. I entered Naples on the sixth day of September. I went immediately to the address which had been given to me in Rome. The bishop was not there. I called at the convent of the Minims, and I found that he had left Naples to proceed to Martorano. I inquired whether he had left any instructions for me, but in vain. No one could give me any information. And there I was, alone in a large city, without a friend, with eight Carlini in my pocket, and not knowing what to do. But never mind, fate calls me to Martorano, and to Martorano I must go. The distance, after all, is only two hundred miles. I found several drivers starting for Consenza, but when they heard that I had no luggage, they refused to take me, unless I paid in advance. They were quite right, but their prudence placed me under the necessity of going on foot. Yet I felt I must reach Martorano, and I made up my mind to walk the distance, begging food and lodging like the very Reverend Barstifano. First of all, I made a light meal for one-fourth of my money, and having been informed that I had to follow the Salerno Road, I went towards Portici, where I arrived in an hour and a half. I already felt rather fatigued. My legs, if not my head, took me to an inn, where I ordered a room and some supper. I was served in good style, my appetite was excellent, and I passed a quiet white in a comfortable bed. In the morning I told the innkeeper that I would return for my dinner, and went out to visit the Royal Palace. As I passed through the gate, I was met by a man of preprocessing appearance, dressed in the Eastern fashion, who offered to shoe me all over the place, saying that I would thus save my money. I was in a position to accept any offer. I thanked him for his kindness. Happening during the conversation to state that I was a Venetian, he told me that he was my subject, since he came from Zante. I acknowledged his polite compliment with a reference. I have, he said, some very excellent muscatel wine, grown in the East, which I could sell you cheap. I might buy some, but I warn you, I am a good judge. So much the better, which do you prefer? The Cerrigo wine. You are right. I have some rare Cerrigo muscatel, and we can taste it if you have no objection to dine with me. I can likewise give you the wines of Samus and Sepulonia. I have also a quantity of minerals, plenty of vitriol, cinnabar, antimony, and one hundred kindles of mercury. Are all these goods here? No, they are in Naples. Here I have only the muscatel wine and the mercury. It is quite naturally, and without any intention to deceive, that a young man accustomed to poverty, and ashamed of it when he speaks to a rich stranger, boast of his means, of his fortune. As I was talking with my new acquaintance, I recollected an amalgam of mercury with lead and bismuth, by which the mercury increases one fourth in weight. I said nothing, but I besought myself that if the mystery should be unknown to the Greek, I might profit by it. I felt that some cunning was necessary, and that he would not care for my secret if I proposed to sell it to him without preparing the way. The best plan was to astonish my man with the miracle of the augmentation of mercury, treat it as a jest, and see what his intentions would be. Cheating is a crime, but honest cunning may be considered as the species of prudence. True, it is a quality which is near akin to roguery, but that cannot be helped, and the man who, in time of need, does not know how to exercise his cunning nobly is a fool. The Greeks call this sort of wisdom sardaleofion, from the word sardau, fox, and it might be translated by foxdom, if there were such a word in English. After we had visited the place, we returned to the inn, and the Greek took me to his room, in which he ordered the table to be laid for two. In the next room, I saw several large vessels of muscatel wine and four flagons of mercury, each containing about ten pounds. My plans were laid out, and I asked him to let me have one of the flagons of mercury at the current price, and took it to my room. The Greek went out to attend to his business, reminding me that he expected me to dinner. I went out likewise, and bought two pounds and a half of lead, and an equal quantity of business. The druggist had no more. When I came back to the inn, asked for some large empty bottles, and made the amalgam. We dined very pleasantly, and the Greek was delighted, because a pronounced hysterique was so excellent. In the course of conversation, he inquired laughingly why I had bought one of his flagons of mercury. You can find out if you come to my room, I said. After dinner, we repaired to my room, and he found his mercury divided in two vessels. I asked for a piece of chamois, strained the liquid through it, filled his own flagon, and the Greek stood astonished at the sight of the fine mercury, about one-fourth of a flagon, which remained over, with an equal quantity of a powder unknown to him. It was the business. My merry laugh kept company with his astonishment, and calling one of the servants of the inn, I sent him to the druggist to sell the mercury that was left. He returned it in a few minutes, and handed me fifteen Carlini. The Greek, whose surprise was complete, asked me to give him back his own flagon, which was there quite full, and worth sixty Carlini. I handed it to him with a smile, thanking him for the opportunity he had afforded me of earning fifteen Carlini, and took care to add that I should leave for Salyagno early the next morning. Then we must have supper tonight this evening, he said. During the afternoon, we took a walk towards Mount Vesuvius. Our conversation went from one subject to another, but no allusion was made to the mercury, though I could see that the Greek had something on his mind. At supper, he told me, jestingly, that I ought to stop in Portici the next day to make forty-five Carlini out of the three other flagons of mercury. I answered gravely that I did not want the money, and that I had augmented the first flagon only for the sake of procuring him an agreeable surprise. But he said, you must be very wealthy. No, I am not, because I am in search of the secret of the augmentation of gold, and it is a very expensive study for us. How many are there in your company? Only my uncle and myself. What do you want to augment gold for? The augmentation of mercury ought to be enough for you. Pray tell me whether the mercury augmented by you today is against susceptible of a similar increase. No, if it were so, it would be an immense source of wealth for us. I am much pleased with your sincerity. Supper over, I paid my bill, and asked the landlord to get me a carriage and pair of horses to take me to Salerno early the next morning. I thanked the Greek for his delicious muscatel wine, and, requesting his address in Naples, I assured him that he would see me within a fortnight, as I was determined to secure a cast of his serigo. We embraced each other, and I retired to bed, well pleased with my day's work, and in no way astonished at the Greeks not offering to purchase my secret. So I was certain that he would not sleep for anxiety, and that I should see him early in the next morning. At all events, I had enough money to reach the Torjugreek, and their providence would take care of me. Yet, it seemed to me very difficult to travel as far as Martorano, begging like a mendicant friar, because my outward appearance did not excite petty. People would feel interested in me only from a conviction that I needed nothing, a very unfortunate conviction, when the object of it is truly poor. As I had foreseen, the Greek was in my room at Daybridge. I received him in a friendly way, saying that we could take coffee together. Willingly, but tell me, Brevin Abbey, whether you would feel disposed to sell me your secret. Why not, when we meet in Naples, but why not now? I am expected in Salerno. Besides, I would only sell the secret for a large sum of money, and I am not acquainted with you. That does not matter, as I am sufficiently known here to pay you in cash. How much would you want? Two thousand ounces. I agreed to pay you that sum, provided that I succeed in making the augmentation myself with such matter as you named to me, which I will purchase. It is impossible, because the necessary ingredients cannot be got here, but they are common enough in Naples. If it is any sort of metal, we can get it at the Tordjou Greek. We could go there together. Can you tell me what is the expense of the augmentation? One and a half percent, but you are likewise known at the Tordjou Greek, for I should not like to lose my time. Your doubts grieve me, saying which he took a pen, wrote a few words, and handed to me this order. At sight, pay to bearer the sum of fifty gold ounces, an account of panagioti. He told me that the banker resided within two hundred yards of the inn, and he pressed me to go there myself. I did not stand upon ceremony, but went to the banker who paid me the amount. I returned to my room in which he was waiting for me, and placed the gold on the table, saying that we could now proceed together to the Tordjou Greek, where we would complete our arrangements after the signature of a deed of agreement. The Greek had his own carriage and horses. He gave orders for them to be got ready, and we left the inn, but he had nobly insisted upon my taking possession of the fifty ounces. When we arrived at the Tordjou Greek, he signed a document by which he promised to pay me two thousand ounces, as soon as I should have discovered to him the process of augmenting mercury by one-fourth without injuring its quality. The amalgam to be equal to the mercury which I had sold in his present at Portici. He then gave me a bill of exchange payable at sight in eight days, on Mr. Genaro de Carlo. I told him that the ingredients were lead and business, the first combining with mercury, and the second giving to the whole the perfect fluidity necessary to strain it through the chamois leather. The Greek went out to try the amalgam. I did not know where, and I dined alone, but toward evening he came back looking very disconsolate as I had expected. I have made the amalgam, he said, but the mercury is not perfect. It is equal to that which I have sold in Portici, and that is the very letter of your engagement. But my engagement says likewise without injury to the quality. You must agree that the quality is injured, because it is no longer susceptible of further augmentation. You knew that to be the case. The point is its equality with the mercury I sold in Portici. But we shall have to go to law, and you will lose. I am sorry the secret should become public. Congratulate yourself, sir, for if you should gain the lawsuit, you will have obtained my secret for nothing. I would never have believed you capable of deceiving me in such a manner. Reverend sir, I can assure you that I would not willingly deceive anyone. Do you know the secret, or do you not? Do you suppose I would have given it to you without the agreement we entered into? Well, there will be some fun over this affair in Naples, and the lawyers will make money out of it. But I am much grieved at this turn of affairs, and I am very sorry that I allowed myself to be so easily deceived by your fine talk. In the meantime, here are your fifty ounces. As I was taking the money out of my pocket, frightened to death, lest he should accept it, he left the room, saying that he would not have it. He soon returned. We had supper in the same room, but at separate tables. War had been openly declared, but I felt certain that a treaty of peace would soon be signed. We did not exchange one word during the evening, but in the morning he came to me as I was getting ready to go. I again offered to return the money I received, but he told me to keep it, and proposed to give me fifty ounces more if I would give him back his bill of exchange for two thousand. We began to argue the matter quietly, and after two hours of discussion I gave in. I received fifty ounces more. We dined together like old friends, and embraced each other cordially. As I was bidding him adieu, he gave me an order on his house at Naples for a barrel of muscatel wine, and he presented me with a splendid box containing twelve razors with silver handles manufactured in the Tour du Grec. We parted, the best friends in the world, and well-placed with each other. I remained two days in Salerno to provide myself with linen and other necessaries. Possessing about one hundred sequins and enjoying good health, I was very proud of my success, in which I could not see any cause to reproach to myself. For the cunning I had brought into play to ensure the sell of my secret could not be found false with except by the most intolerant of moralists, and such men have no authority to speak on matters of business. At all events, free, rich, and certain of presenting myself before the bishop with a respectable appearance and not like a beggar, I soon recovered my natural spirits, and congratulated myself upon having brought sufficient experience to ensure me against falling a second time and easy prey to a father Corsini, to sieving gamblers, to mercenary women, and particularly to the impudence scoundrels who bare-facedly praised so well those they intend to dupe, a species of knaves very common in the world, even amongst people who form what is called good society. I left Salerno with two priests who were going to Consenza, on business, and we traversed the distance of one hundred and forty-two miles in twenty-two hours. The day after my arrival in the capital of Calabria, I took a small carriage and drove to Martorano. During the journey, fixing my eyes upon the famous Mare Austonam, I felt delighted at finding myself in the middle of Magna Grecia, rendered so celebrated for twenty-four centuries by its connection with Pythagoras. I looked with astonishment upon a country renowned for its fertility, and in which, in spite of nature's prodigality, my eyes met everywhere the aspect of terrible misery, the complete absence of that pleasant superfluity which helps man to enjoy life, and the degradation of the inhabitants sparsely scartered on the soil where the odds to be so numerous. I felt ashamed to acknowledge them as originating from the same stock as myself, such as, however, the terra di lavoro, where labor seems to be execrated, where everything is cheap, where the miserable inhabitants consider that they have made a good bargain when they have found anyone disposed to take care of the fruit which the ground supplies almost spontaneously in two great aboundants, and for which there is no market. I felt compelled to admit the justice of the Romans who had called them brutes instead of beutians. The good priest with whom I had been travelling laughed at my dread of the tarantula and of the classidra, for the disease brought on by the bite of those insects appeared to me more fearful even than a certain disease with which I was already too well acquainted. They assured me that all the stories relating to those creatures were fables. They laughed at the lines which Virgil had devoted to them in the georgics, as well as at all those I quoted to justify my fears. I found Bechel Bernard de Bernardis occupying a hard chair near an old table on which he was writing. I fell on my knees as the disgust a merry to do before a prelate, but instead of giving me his blessing, he raised me up from the floor and, folding me in his arms, embraced me tenderly. He expressed his deep sorrow when I told him that in Naples I had not been able to find any instructions to enable me to join him, but his face lighted up again when I added that I was indebted to no one for money and that I was in good health. He bade me take his seat, and with a heavy sigh he began to talk of his poverty and ordered a servant to lay the cloths for three prisons. Besides this servant his lordship's suit consisted of a most devout looking housekeeper and of a priest whom I judged to be very ignorant from the few words he uttered during our meal. The house inhabited by his lordship was large, but badly built and poorly kept. The furniture was so miserable that, in order to make up a bed for me in the room adjoining his chamber, the poor bishop had to give up one of his two mattresses. His dinner, not to say any more about it, frightened me, for he was very strict in keeping the rules of his order, and this being a fast day he did not eat any meat, and the oil was very bad. Nevertheless, Monsignor was an intelligent man, and, what is still better, an honest man. He told me, much to my surprise, that his bishopric, although not one of little importance, brought him only five hundred ducat direño yearly, and that, unfortunately, he had contracted debts to the amount of six hundred. He added, with a sigh, that his only happiness was to fill himself out of the clutches of the monks, who had persecuted him, and made his life perfectly purgatory for fifteen years. All these confidences caused me sorrow and mortification, because they proved to me not only that I was not in the promised land where a matron could be picked up, but also that I would be a heavy charge for him. I felt that he was grieved himself, at the sorry present his patronage seemed likely to prove. I inquired whether he had a good library, whether there were any literary men, or any good society in which one could spend a few agreeable hours. He smiled and answered that throughout his diocese there was not one man who could boast of writing decently, and still less of any taste or knowledge in literature, that there was not a single bookseller, nor any person caring even for the newspapers. But he promised me that we would follow our literary tastes together, as soon as he received the books he had ordered from Naples. That was all very well, but was this the place for a young man of eighteen to live in, without a good library, without good society, without emulation and literary intercourse? The good bishop, seeing me full of sad thoughts, and almost astounded at the prospect of the miserable life I should have to lead with him, tried to give me courage by promising to do everything in his power to secure my happiness. The next day, the bishop, having to officiate in his pontifical robes, I had an opportunity of seeing all the clergy, and all the faithful of the diocese, men and women, of whom the cathedral was full. The sight made me resolve at once to leave Mardorano. I thought I was gazing upon a troop of brutes, for whom my external appearance was a cause of scandal. How ugly were the women! What a look of stupidity and coarseness in the men! When I returned to the bishop's house, I told the prelate that I did not feel in me the vocation to die within a few months a martyr in this miserable city. Give me your blessing, I said, and let me go, or rather come with me. I promise you that we shall make a fortune somewhere else. The proposal made him laugh repeatedly during the day. Had he agreed to it, he would not have died two years afterwards in the prime of manhood. The worthy man, feeling how natural was my repugnance, begged me to forgive him for having summoned me to him, and considering it his duty to send me back to Venice, having no money himself, and not being aware that I had any, he told me that he would give me an introduction to a worthy citizen of Naples who would lend me sixty ducati di regno to enable me to reach my native city. I accepted his offer with gratitude, and going to my room I took out of my trunk the case of fine razors which the Greek had given me, and begged his acceptance of it as a souvenir of me. I had great difficulty in forcing it upon him, for it was worse the sixty ducats, and to conquer his resistance I had to threaten to remain with him if he refused my present. He gave me a very flattering letter of recommendation for the archbishop of Cossenza, in which he requested him to forward me as far as Naples without any expense to myself. It was thus I left Martorano sixty hours after my arrival, pitying the bishop whom I was leaving behind, and who wept as he was pouring heartfelt blessings upon me. The archbishop of Cossenza, a man of wealth and of intelligence, offered me a room in his palace, during the dinner I made with an overflowing heart, the eulogy of the bishop of Martorano. But I railed mercilessly at his diocese and at the whole of Calabria in so cutting a manner that I greatly amused the bishop and all his guests, among whom were two ladies, his relatives, who did the honors of the dinner table. The youngest, however, objected to the satirical style in which I had depicted her country, and declared war against me. But I contrived to obtain peace again by telling her that Calabria would be a delightful country if one force only of its inhabitants were like her. Perhaps it was the idea of proving to me that I had been wrong in my opinion that the archbishop gave on the following day as splendid supper. Cossenza is a city in which a gentleman can find plenty of amusement. The nobility are wealthy, the women are pretty, and men generally well informed, because they have been educated in Naples or in Rome. I left Cossenza on the third day with a letter from the archbishop for the far-famed Ginovesi. I had five traveling companions whom I judged, from their appearance, to be either pirates or banditi, and I took very good care not to let them see or guess that I had a well-filled purse. Likewise, I thought it prudent to go to bed without undressing during the whole journey, an excellent measure of prudence for a young man traveling in that part of the country. I reached Naples on the 16th of September 1743, and I lost no times in presenting the letter of the bishop of Martorano. It was addressed to a Mr. Genaro Polo at St. Anne's, this excellent man, whose duty was only to give me the sum of sixty duquets, insisted, after perusing the bishop's letter, upon receiving me in his house, because he wished me to make the acquaintance of his son, who was a poet like myself. The bishop had represented my poetry as sublime. After the usual ceremonies, I accepted this kind invitation. My trunk was sent for, and I was a guest in the house of Mr. Genaro Polo, and of Chapter VIII. Chapter IX of Memoirs of Jacques Cassanova, Volume I, by Jacomo Cassanova. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Memoirs of Jacques Cassanova, Volume I, The Venetian Years, by Jacomo Cassanova. Episode II, Cleric in Naples, Chapter IX. Part I. I had no difficulty in answering the various questions which Dr. Genaro addressed me, but I was surprised and even displeased at the constant peals of laughter with which he received my answers, the piteous description of miserable Calabria, and the picture of the sad situation of the bishop of Martorano appeared to me more likely to call forth tears than to excite hilarity, and suspecting that some mystification was being played upon me. I was very near getting angry when, becoming more composed, he told me with feeling that I must kindly excuse him, that his laughter was a disease which seemed to be endemic in his family, for one of his uncles died of it. What, I exclaim, died of laughing? Yes, this disease, which was not known to Hippocrates, is called Liflatti. What do you mean, does a hypochondriac affection which causes sadness and lowness in all those who suffer from it render you cheerful? Yes, because most likely, my flatti, instead of influencing the hypochondrium, affects my spleen, which my physician asserts to be the organ of laughter. It is quite a discovery. You are mistaken. It is a very ancient notion, and it is the only function which is ascribed to the spleen in our animal organization. Well, we must discuss the matter at length, for I hope you will remain with us a few weeks. I wish I could, but I must leave Naples tomorrow or the day after. Have you got any money? I rely upon the sixty ducats you have to give me. At these words his peals of laughter began again, and as he could see that I was annoyed, he said, I am amused at the idea that I can keep you here as long as I like, but be good enough to see my son. He writes pretty verses enough. And truly his son, although only fourteen, was already a great poet. A servant took me to the apartment of the young man whom I found possessed of a pleasing countenance and engaging manners. He gave me a polite welcome, and begged to be excused if he could not attend to me altogether for the present, as he had to finish a song which he was composing for a relative of the Duchess de Rovino, who was taking the veil at the Comet of St. Clair, and the printer was waiting for the manuscript. I told him that his excuse was a very good one, and I offered to assist him. He then read a song, and I found it so full of enthusiasm, and so truly in the style of Guidi, that I advised him to call it an ode, but as I had praised all the truly beautiful passages, I thought I could venture to point out the weak ones, and I replaced them by verses of my own composition. He was delighted, and thanked me warmly, inquiring whether I was Apollo. As he was writing his ode, I composed a sonnet on the same subject, and expressing his admiration for it, he begged me to sign it, and to allow him to send it with his poetry. While I was correcting and recopying my manuscript, he went to his father to find out who I was, which made the old man laughed until supper time. In the evening, I had the pleasure of seeing that my bed had been prepared in the young man's chamber. Dr. Gennaro's family was composed of this son, and of a daughter unfortunately very plain, and of his wife, and of two elderly devout sisters. Amongst the guests at the supper table, I met several literary men, in the Marquis Galliani, who was, at that time, annotating Vitruvius. He had a brother and Abbe, whose acquaintance I made twenty years after, in Paris, when he was Secretary of Embassy to Count Cantilana. The next day at supper, I was presented to the celebrated Genovese. I had already sent him the letter of the Archbishop of Cosenza. He spoke to me of Apostolo Zeno, and of the Abbe Conti. He remarked that it was considered a very venial sin for regular priests to say two masses in one day, for the sake of earning two Carlini more, but that for the same sin a secular priest would deserve to be burnt at the stake. The nun took the veil on the following day, and Gennaro's ode, and my son, it had the greatest success. An epauletian gentleman, whose name was the same as mine, expressed a wish to know me, and, hearing that I resided at the doctors, he called to congratulate him on the occasion of his feast day, which happened to fall on the day following the ceremony at St. Clair. Don Antonio Casanova, informing me of his name, inquired whether my family was originally from Venice. I am, sir, I answered modestly, the great grandson of the unfortunate Marco Antonio Casanova, secretary to Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, who died of the plague in Rome in the year 1528, under the pontificate of Lemont VII. The words were scarcely out of my lips when he embraced me, calling me his cousin, but we all thought that Dr. Gennaro would actually die with laughter for it seemed impossible to laugh so immoderately with the risk of life. Madame Gennaro was very angry and told my newly found cousin that he might have avoid enacting such a scene before her husband, knowing his disease, but he answered that he never thought the circumstance likely to provoke mirth. I said nothing, for, in reality, I felt that the recognition was very comic. Our poor laughter, having recovered his composure, Casanova, who had remained very serious, invited me to dinner for the next day with my young friend Paul Gennaro, who had already become my alter ego. When we called it his house, my worthy cousin showed me his family tree, beginning with a Don Francisco, brother of Don Juan. In my pedigree, which I knew by heart, Don Juan, my direct ancestor, was a posthumous child. It was possible that there might have been a brother of Marco Antonio's, but when he heard that my genealogy began with Don Francisco from Aragon, who had lived in the 14th century and that consequently all the pedigree of the illustrious house of the Casanovas of Zaragoza belonged to him, his joy knew no bounds. He did not know what to do to convince me that the same blood was flowing in his veins and in mine. He expressed some curiosity to know what lucky accident had brought me to Naples. I told him that, having embraced the ecclesiastical profession, I was going to Rome to seek my fortune. He then presented me to his family, and I thought that I could read on the countenance of my cousin, his dearly beloved wife, that she was not much pleased with the newly found relationship, but his pretty daughter, and a still pretty niece of his, might very easily have given me faith in the doctrine that blood is thicker than water, however fabulous it may be. After dinner, Don Antonio informed me that the Duchess de Bovino had expressed a wish to know the abe Casanova, who had written this on it in honour of her relative, that he would be very happy to introduce me to her as his own cousin. As we were alone at that moment, I begged he would not insist on presenting me, as I was only provided with travelling suits and had to be careful of my purse so as not to arrive in Rome without money. Delighted at my confidence and approving my economy, he said, I am rich and you must not scruple to come with me to my tailor. He accompanied his offer with an assurance that the circumstance would not be known to anyone and that he would feel deeply mortified if I denied him the pleasure of serving me. I shook him warmly by the hand and answered that I was ready to do anything he pleased. We went to a tailor who took my measure and who brought me on the following day everything necessary to the toilet of the most elegant abe. Don Antonio called on me and remained to dine with Don Gelaro, after which he took me and my friend Paul to the Duchess. This lady, according to the Neapolitan fashion, called me thou and her very first compliment of welcome. Her daughter, then only ten or twelve years old, and a few years later became Duchess di Matalona. The Duchess presented me with a snuff box in pale tourist shell, with arabesque and crustaceans in gold, and she invited us to dine with her on the morrow, promising to take us after dinner to the convent of Saint Clair to pay a visit to the new nun. As we came out of the palace of the Duchess, I left my friends and went alone to Panagiotis, to claim the barrel of muscatal wine. The manager was kind enough to have the barrel divided into two smaller casks of equal capacity, and I sent one to Don Antonio and the other to Don Genaro. As I was leaving the shop, I met the worthy Panagioti, who was glad to see me. Was I to blush at the sight of the good man I had at first deceived? No, for in his opinion, I had acted very nobly towards him. Don Genaro, as I returned home, managed to thank me for my handsome present without laughing, and the next day, Don Antonio, to make up for the muscatal wine I had sent him, offered me a gold-head cane, worth at least fifteen ounces, and his tailor brought me a traveling suit and a blue-gray coat with the buttonholes in gold lace. I therefore found myself splendidly equipped. At the Duchess di Bovino's dinner, I made the acquaintance of the wisest and most learned man in Naples, the illustrious Don Lelio Caraffa, who belonged to the Ducal family of Matalona, in whom King Carlos honored with the title of friend. I spent two delightful hours in the convent parlor, coping successfully with the curiosity of all the nuns who were pressing against the grading. Had destiny allowed me to remain in Naples, my fortune would have been made. But, although I had no fixed plan, the voice of fate summoned me to Rome, and therefore I resisted all the entreaties of my cousin Antonio to accept the honorable position of tutor in several houses of the highest order. Don Antonio gave a splendid dinner in my honor, but he was annoyed and angry because he saw that his wife looked daggers at her new cousin. I thought that, more than once, she cast a glance at my new costume, and then whispered to the guest next to her. Very likely she knew what had taken place. There are some positions in life to which I could never be reconciled. If, in the most brilliant circle, there is one person who affects to stare at me, I lose all presence of mind. Solvedingity feels outraged, my wit dies away, and I play the part of adult. It is a weakness on my part, but a weakness I cannot overcome. Don Lelio Caraffa offered me a very liberal salary if I would undertake the education of his nephew, the Ducal Matalona, then ten years of age. I expressed my gratitude and begged him to be my true benefactor in a different manner, namely by giving me a few good letters of introduction for Rome, a favor which he granted at once. He gave me one for Cardinal Aquaviva, and another for Father Giorgi. I found out that the interest fell towards me by my friends had induced them to obtain for me the honor of kissing the hand of Her Majesty the Queen, and I hastened my preparations to leave Naples, for the Queen would certainly have asked me some questions, and I could not have avoided telling her that I had just left Martorano, and the poor bishop whom she had sent there. The Queen likewise knew my mother, she would very likely have alluded to my mother's profession dressed in. It would have mortified Don Antonio, and my pedigree would have been covered with ridicule. I knew the force of prejudice. I should have been ruined, and I felt I should do well too with the draw in good time. As I took leave of him, Don Antonio presented me with a fine gold watch, and gave me a letter for Don Gaspar Vivaldi, whom he called his best friend. Don Gennaro paid me the sixty ducats, and his son, swearing eternal friendship, asked me to write to him. They all accompanied me to the coach, blending their tears with mine, and loading me with good wishes and blessings. From my landing in Ciotza up to my arrival in Naples, fortune had seemed bent upon frowning on me. In Naples it began to shoe itself less adverse, and on my return to that city, an entirely smiled upon me. Naples has always been a fortunate place for me, as the reader of my memoirs will discover. My readers must not forget that in Pochi I was on the point of disgracing myself, and there is no remedy against the degradation of the mind, for nothing can restore to its firmer standard. It is a case of disartening atony for which there is no possible cure. I was not ungrateful to the good bishop of Martorano, for if he unwittingly injured me by summoning me to his diocese, I felt that to his letter from Mr. Gennaro I was indebted for all the good fortune which had just befallen me. I wrote to him from Rome. I was wholly engaged in drying my tears as we were driving through beautiful street of Toledo, and it was only after we had left Naples that I could find time to examine the countenance of my traveling companions. Next to me I saw a man of from forty to fifty, with a pleasing face and a lively air, but opposite to me, two charming faces delighted my eyes. They belonged to two ladies, young and pretty, very well dressed, with a look of candour and modesty. This discovery was most agreeable, but I felt sad and I wanted calm and silence. We reached Avesa without one word being exchanged, and as the Vetturino stopped there only to water his mules, we did not get out of the coach. From Avesa to Capua, my companions conversed almost without interruption, and wonderful to relate, I did not open my lips once. I was amused by the neapolitan jargon of the gentleman, and by the pretty accent of the ladies who were evidently Romans. It was the most wonderful feat for me to remain five hours before two charming women without addressing one word to them, without paying them one compliment. At Capua, where we were to spend the night, we put up at an inn, and we were shown into a room with two beds, a very usual thing in Italy. The neapolitan, addressing himself to me, said, Am I to have the honour of sleeping with the reverent gentleman? I answer in a very serious tone that it was for him to choose or to arrange it otherwise, if he liked. The answer made the two ladies smile, particularly the one whom I preferred, and it seemed to me a good omen. We were five at supper, for it is usual for the Vetturino to supply his travellers with their meals, unless some private agreement is made otherwise, and to sit down at table with them, in the disultory talk which went on during the supper. I founded my travelling companions to quorum, propriety, wit, and the matters of persons accustomed to good society. I became curious to know who they were, and going down with the driver after supper I asked him. The gentleman, he told me, is an advocate, and one of the ladies is his wife, but I do not know which of the two. I went back to our room and I was polite enough go to bed first, in order to make it easier for the ladies to undress themselves with freedom. I likewise got up first in the morning, left the room, and only returned when I was called for breakfast. The coffee was delicious. I praised it highly, and the lady, the one who was my favourite, promised that I should have the same every morning during our journey. The barber came in after breakfast, the advocate was shaved, and the barber offered me his services, which I declined, but the rogue declared that it was slovenly to wear one's beard. When we had resumed our seats in the coach, the advocate made some remark upon the impudence of barbers in general. But we ought to decide first, said the lady, whether or not it is slovenly to go bearded. Of course it is, said the advocate. Beard is nothing but a dirty excretions. You may think so, I answered, but everybody does not share your opinion. Do we consider as a dirty excretions the hair of which we take so much care, and which is of the same nature as the beard? Far from it, we admire the length and the beauty of the hair. Then, remarked the lady, the barber is a fool. But after all, I asked, have I any beard? I thought you had, she answered. In that case, I will begin to shave as soon as I reach Rome, for this is the first time that I have been convicted of having a beard. My dear wife, exclaimed the advocate, you should have held your tongue. Perhaps the reverent Abbey is going to roam with the intention of becoming a capuchin friar. The pleasantry made me laugh, but unwilling that he should have last word. I answered that he had guessed rightly. That such had been my intention, but that I had entirely altered my mind since I had seen his wife. Oh, you are wrong, said the joyous Neapolitan. For my wife is very fond of capuchins, and if you wished a pleaser, you had better follow your original vocation. Our conversation continued in the same tone of pleasantry, and the day passed off in an agreeable manner. In the evening we had a very poor separate garylin, but we made up for it by cheerfulness and witty conversation. My dawning inclination for the advocate's wife borrowed strength from the affectionate manner she displayed towards me. The next day she asked me, after we had resumed our journey, whether I intended to make a long stay in Rome before returning to Venice. I answered that having no acquaintances in Rome, I was afraid my life there might be very dull. Strangers are liked in Rome, she said. I feel certain that you will be pleased with your residence in that city. May I hope, madam, that you will allow me to pay you my respects? We shall be honoured by your calling on us, said the advocate. My eyes were fixed upon his charming wife. She blushed, but I did not appear to notice it. I kept up the conversation, and the day passed as pleasantly as the previous one. We stopped at Terracina, where they gave us a room with three beds, two single beds, and a larger one between the two others. It was natural that the two sisters should take the large bed. They did so, and then dress themselves while the advocate and I went on talking at the table with our backs turned to them. As soon as they had gone to rest, the advocate took the bed on which he found his nightcap, and I the other, which was only about one foot distant from the large bed. I remarked that the lady by whom I was captivated was on the side nearest my couch, and without much vanity I could suppose that it was not owing only to chance. I put the light out and laid down, revolving in my mind a project which I could not abandon and yet durst not execute. In vain did I court sleep. A very faint light enabled me to perceive the bed in which the pretty woman was lying, and my eyes would, in spite of myself, remain open. It would be difficult to guess what I might have done at last. I had already fought a hard battle with myself for more than an hour. When I saw her rise, get out of her bed, and go and lay herself down near her husband, who most likely did not wake up, and continued to sleep in peace, for I did not hear any noise. Vext, disgusted, I tried to compose myself to sleep and I woke only at daybreak. Seeing the beautiful wandering star in her own bed, I got up, dressed myself in haste, and went out, leaving all my companions fast to sleep. I returned to the inn only at the time fixed for a departure, and I found the advocate and the two ladies already in the couch waiting for me. The lady complained in a very blaging manner, of my not having cared for her coffee. I pleaded as an excuse a desire for an early walk, and I took care not to honour her even with a look. I feigned to be suffering from the toothache, and remained in my corner dull and silent. At Piperno, she managed to whisper to me that my toothache was all sham. I was pleased with the reproach, because it heralded an explanation which I craved for in spite of my vexation. I was morose and silent until we reached Serenoneta, where we were to pass the night. We arrived early, and the weather being fine, the lady said that she could enjoy a walk, and asked me politely to offer her my arm. I did so, for it would have been rude to refuse. Besides, I had had enough of my sulking fit. An explanation could alone bring matters back to the original standing, but I did not know how to force it upon the lady. Her husband followed us at some distance with the sister. When we were far enough in advance, I ventured to ask her why she had supposed my toothache to have been feigned. I am very candid, she said. It is because the difference in your manner was so marked, and because you were so careful to avoid looking at me through the whole day. A toothache would not have prevented you from being polite, and therefore I thought it had been feigned for some purpose. But I am certain that not one of us can possibly have given you any grounds for such a rapid change in your manner. Yet something must have caused the change, and you, madam, are only half sincere. You are mistaken, sir. I am entirely sincere. If I have given you any motive for anger, I am, and must remain ignorant of it. Be good enough to tell me what I have done. Nothing. For I have no right to complain. Yes, you have. You have a right. The same that I have myself, the right which good society grants to every one of its members. Speak, and show yourself as sincere as I am. You are certainly bound not to know, or to pretend not to know the real cause, but you must acknowledge that my duty is to remain silent. Very well. Now it is all over. But your duty bids you to conceal the cause of your bad humor. It also bids you not to show it. Delicacy sometimes enforces upon a polite gentleman the necessity of concealing certain feelings which might implicate either himself or others. It is a restraint for the mind, I confess, but it has some advantage when its effect is to render more amiable the man who forces himself to accept that restraint. Her close argument made me blush for shame. In carrying her beautiful hand to my lips, I confessed myself in the wrong. You would see me at your feet, I exclaimed, in token of my repentance, where I am not afraid of injuring you. Do not let us allude to a matter anymore, she answered. And pleased with my repentance, she gave me a look so excessive of forgiveness that, without being afraid of augmenting my guilt, I took my lips off her hand and I raised them to her half-open, smiling mouth. Intoxicated with rapture, I passed so rapidly from a state of sadness to one of overwhelming cheerfulness that, during our supper, the advocate enjoyed a thousand jokes upon my toothache so quickly cured by the simple remedy of a walk. On the following day, we dined at Veletri and slept in Marino, where, although the town was full of troops, we had two small rooms and a good supper. I could not have been on better terms with my charming Roman. For, although I had received but a rapid proof of her regard, it had been such a true one, such a tender one. In the coach our eyes could not say much, but I was opposite to her, and our feet spoke a very eloquent language. The advocate had told me that he was going to Rome on some ecclesiastical business, and that he intended to reside in the house of the mother-in-law, whom his wife had not seen since her marriage two years ago, and her sister hoped to remain in Rome, where she expected to marry a clerk at the Spirito Santo Bank. He gave me their address with a pressing invitation to call upon them, and I promised to devote all my spare time to them. We were enjoying our dessert when my beautiful lady Love, admiring my snuff box, told her husband that she wished she had one like it. I will buy you one, dear. Then buy mine, I said. I will let you have it for twenty ounces, and you can give me a note of hand payable to bear in payment. I owe that amount to an Englishman, and I will give it to him to redeem my debt. Your snuff box, my dear Abby, is worth twenty ounces, but I cannot buy it unless you agree to receive payment and cash. I should be delighted to see it in my wife's possession, and she would keep it as a remembrance of you. His wife, thinking that I would not accept his offer, said that she had no objection to give me the note of hand. But, exclaimed the Advocate, can you not guess the Englishman exists only in our friend's imagination? He would never enter an appearance, and we would have the snuff box for nothing. Do not trust the Abby, my dear. He is a great cheat. I had no idea, answered his wife, looking at me, that the world contained rows of the species. I affected a melancholy air, and said that I only wished myself rich enough to be often guilty of such cheating. When a man is in love, very little is enough to throw him into despair, and as little to enhance his joy to the utmost. There was but one bed in the room where supper had been served, and another in a small closet leading out of the room, but without a door. The ladies chose the closet, and the Advocate retired to rest before me. I bid the ladies good night as soon as they had gone to bed. I looked at my dear mistress, and after undressing myself, I went to bed, intending not to sleep through the night. But the reader may imagine my rage when I found as I got into the bed, that it creaked loud enough to wake the dead. I waited, however, quite motionless until my companion should be fast asleep, and as soon as the snoring told me that he was entirely under the influence of Morpheus, I tried to slip out of the bed. But the infernal creaking, which took place whenever I moved, woke my companion, who felt about with his hand, and fighting me near him, and went to sleep again. Half an hour after, I tried a second time, but with the same result. I had to give up, and despair. Love is the most cunning of gods, in the midst of obstacles he seems to be in his own element. But as his very existence depends upon the enjoyment of those who ardently worship him, the shrewd, all-seeing, little-blind God contrives to bring success out of the most desperate case. I had given up all hope for the night, and had nearly gone to sleep when suddenly we hear a dreadful noise. Guns are fired in the street, people screaming and howling are running up and down the stairs. At last, there's loud knocking at our door. The advocate, frightened out of his slumbers, asks me what it can all mean. I pretend to be very indifferent and beg to be allowed to sleep. But the ladies are trembling with fear and loudly calling for a light. I remain very quiet. The advocate jumps out of bed and runs out of the room to obtain a candle. I rise at once, I follow him to shut the door, but I slam it rather too hard. The double spring of the lock gives way, and the door cannot be reopened without the key. I approach the ladies in order to calm their anxiety, telling them that the advocate would soon return with a light, and that we should then know the cause of the tumult. But I am not losing my time, and am at work while I am speaking. I meet with very little opposition, but leaning rather too heavily upon my fair lady. I break through the bottom of the bedstead, and we suddenly find ourselves, the two ladies and myself, all together in a heap on the floor. The advocate comes back and knocks at the door. The sister gets up. I obey the prayers of my charming friend, and, feeling my way, reach the door and tell the advocate that I cannot open it, and that he must get the key. The two sisters are behind me. I extend my hand, but I am abruptly repulsed, and judge that I have addressed myself to the wrong quarter. I go to the other side, and there I am better received. But the husband returns. The noise of the key and the lock announces that the door is going to be opened, and we return to her respective beds. The advocate hurries to the bed of the two frightened ladies, thinking of relieving their anxiety. But when he sees them buried in their broken-down bedstead, he bursts into a loud laugh. He tells me to come and have a look at them, but I am very modest and decline the invitation. He then tells us that the alarm has been caused by a German detachment, attacking suddenly the Spanish troops in the city, and that the Spaniards are running away. In a quarter of an hour, the noise has ceased, and quiet is entirely re-established. The advocate complimented me upon my coolness, gone to bed again, and was soon asleep. As for me, I was careful not to close my eyes, and as soon as I saw daylight, I got up in order to perform certain evolutions, and to change my shirt. It was an absolute necessity. I returned for breakfast, and while we were drinking the delicious coffee which Dona Lucretia had made, as I thought, better than ever, I remarked that her sister frowned on me. But how little I cared for her anger when I saw the cheerful, happy countenance and the approving looks of my adored Lucretia, I felt a delightful sensation run through the whole of my body.