XXXII., XXXIII., XXXIV.

_Condensed by the Translator._

[Gozzi having been accused by his adversary Gratarol of hypocrisy and

covert libertinism, wished to make a full confession of his frailties to

the world, while the witnesses of his life and conversation were still

alive, and his statements could be challenged. With this object he

related three love-passages of his early manhood. To omit these

altogether from his Memoirs would be tantamount to doing him a grave

injustice, since they were meant to illustrate his sentiments upon the

delicate question of the relation between men and women in affairs of

the heart. They are not, however, suited to the taste of the present

century, being dictated with a frankness and a sense of humour which

remind us of our own Fielding. Their tone is wholesome and manly, but

some of their details are crude. It is the translator's duty in these

circumstances to subordinate literary to ethical considerations.

Repeating the stories, so far as possible, in Gozzi's own language, he

must supply those parts which he feels bound to omit by a brief

statement of fact. The portions of this chapter which are enclosed in

brackets contain the translator's abstract. The rest is a more or less

literal version of the original text.]

(i.)

_Story of my first love, with an unexpected termination._

In order to relate the trifling stories of my love-adventures, I must

return to the period of my early manhood. I ought indeed to blush while

telling them, at the age which I have reached; but I promised the tales,

and I shall give them with all candour, even though I have to blush the

while.

Being a man, I felt the sympathy for women which all men feel. As soon

as I could comprehend the difference between the sexes--and one arrives

betimes at such discretion--women appeared to me a kind of earthly

goddesses. I far preferred the society of a woman to that of a man. It

happened, however, that education and religious principles were so

deeply rooted in my nature, and acted on me so powerfully as checks to

inclination, that they made me in those salad days extremely modest and

reserved. I hardly know whether this modesty and this reserve of mine

were quite agreeable to all the girls of my acquaintance during the

years of my first manhood.

I can take my oath that I left my father's house, at the age of sixteen,

on military service in Dalmatia, innocent--I will not say in

thoughts--but most innocent as to the acts of love. The town of Zara was

the rock on which this frail bark of my innocency foundered; and since I

hope to make my readers laugh at my peculiar bent in love-making, and

also by the tales of my amours, I will first describe my character in

this respect, and then proceed to the narratives.

I always preserved a tincture of romantic metaphysics with regard to

love. The brutality of the senses had less to do with my peccadilloes

than a delicate inclination and tenderness of heart. I cherished so

lofty and respectful a conception of feminine honour and virtue that any

women who abandoned themselves to facile pleasures were abhorrent to my

taste. A _fille de joie_, as the voluptuaries say, appeared to me more

frightful, more disgusting, than the Orc described by Boiardo.[2] Never

have I employed the iniquitous art of seduction by suggestive language,

nor have I ever allowed myself the slightest freedom which might

stimulate desire. Languishing in soft and thrilling sentiments, I

demanded from a woman sympathy and inclination of like nature with my

own. If she fell, I thought that this should only happen through one of

those blind and sudden transports which suppress our reason on both

sides, the mutual violence of which admits of no control. Nothing could

have been more charming to my fancy than the contemplation of a woman,

blushing, terrified, with eyes cast down to earth, after yielding to the

blind force of affection in self-abandonment to impulse. I should have

remembered how she made for me the greatest of all sacrifices--that of

honour and of virtue, on which I set so high a value. I should have

worshipped her like a deity. I could have spent my life's blood in

consoling her; and without swearing eternal constancy, I should have

been most stable on my side in loving such a mistress. On the other

hand, I could have safely defied all men alive upon the earth to take a

more sudden, more resolute, and more irreversible step of separation

than myself, however much it cost me, if only I discovered in that woman

a character different from what I had imagined and conceived of her,

while all the same I should have maintained her honour and good repute

at the cost of my own life.

This delicate or eccentric way of mine in thinking about love exposed me

to facile deceptions in my youthful years, when the blood boils, and

self-love has some right to illusion, and the great acquirement of

experience is yet to be made.

The narratives of my first loves will confer but little honour on the

fair sex; but before I enter on them I must protest that I have always

made allowance for the misfortune under which, perhaps, I suffered, of

having had bad luck in love; which does not shake my conviction that

many phoenixes may be alive with whom I was unworthy to consort.

After living through the mortal illness which I suffered during the

first days of my residence at Zara--an illness undergone and overcome in

that squalid room described by me in the first part of these Memoirs--I

moved into one of the so-called Quarterioni situated on the beautiful

walls of Zara, and built for the use of officers. A very good room,

which I furnished suitably to my moderate means, together with a

kitchen, formed the whole of my apartment. I engaged a soldier for my

service at a small remuneration. He had orders to retire in the evening

to his quarters, leaving me a light burning. I remained alone; went to

bed, with a book and a candle at my side; read, yawned, and fell asleep.

Now to attack the tale of my first love-adventure! Its details will

perhaps prove tiresome, but they may yet be profitable to the

inexperience of youngsters.

Opposite my windows, at a certain distance, rose the dwelling of three

sisters, noble by birth, but sunk in poverty which had nothing to do

with noble blood. An officer, their brother, sent them trifling monies

from his foreign station, and they earned a little for their livelihood

by various woman's work, with which I saw them occupied. The elder of

these three Graces would not have been ugly, if her bloodshot eyes,

rimmed round with scarlet, had not obscured the lustre of her

countenance. The second was one of those bewitching rogues who are bound

to please. Not tall, but well-made, and a brunette; her hair black and

long; eyes very black and sparkling. Under her demure aspect there

transpired a force of physique and a vivacity which were certainly

seductive. The third was still a girl, lively, spirited, with

possibilities of good or evil in her make.

I never saw these three nymphs except by accident, when I opened the

window at which I used to wash my hands, and when their windows were

also open, which happened seldom. They saluted me with a becoming bow. I

answered with equal decorum and sobriety. Meanwhile, I did not fail, as

time went on, to notice that whenever I opened my window to wash my

hands, that little devil, the second sister, lost no time in opening her

window too, and washed her hands precisely while I was washing mine;

also, when she bent her lovely head to greet me, she kept those fine

black eyes of hers fixed on my face in a sort of dream, and with a kind

of languor well fitted to captivate a lad. I felt, indeed, a certain

tickling at my heart-strings; but the austere thoughts to which I was

accustomed, cured me of that weakness; and without failing in civility,

I kept myself within the bounds of grave indifference.

A Genoese woman, to whom I paid a trifle for ironing my scanty linen,

came one morning with some of my shirts in a basket. Upon the washing

lay a very fine carnation. "Whose is that flower?" I asked. "It is sent

to you," she answered, "and from the hands of a lovely girl, your

neighbour, for whom you have the cruelty to take no heed." The carnation

and the diplomatic message--and well knew I from whence both

came--increased the itching at my heart-strings. Nevertheless, I

answered the ambassadress in terms like these: "Thank that lovely damsel

on my part; but do not fail to tell her that she is wasting her flowers

to little purpose."

My head began to spin round and my heart to soften. At the same time,

when I reflected that I had no wish to enter into matrimonial

engagements, which were wholly excluded from my plan of life, nor yet to

prejudice the reputation of a girl by traffic with her--furthermore,

when I considered how little money I possessed, to be bestowed on one in

whom I recognised so much of beauty--I stamped out all the sparks of

sympathy which drew me toward her. I began by never washing my hands at

the window, in order to escape the arrows of those thievish eyes. This

act of retirement was ineffectual; indeed, it led to worse consequences.

One day I was called to attend upon my old friend, the officer Giovanni

Apergi, who had been my master in military exercises, and who was now

in bed, racked and afflicted with aches acquired in youthful

dissipation. He had his lodging on the walls, not far away from mine, in

the house of a woman well advanced in years, the wife of a notary.

Thither then I went.

The elderly housekeeper began to twit me with my rustic manners.

Gradually she passed to sharp but motherly reproof; in a youngster of

from sixteen to seventeen, like myself, the sobriety of a man of fifty

had all the effect of caricature; in particular, my treatment of

well-bred handsome girls, devotedly in love with me, my driving them to

desperation and tears by indifference and what appeared like scorn, did

not deserve the name of prudence; it was nothing short of clownishness

and tyranny. My friend, the officer, pulling wry faces and shrieking at

the twinges of his gout, chimed in with similar reproaches: I was a

little simpleton, a fool who did not know his own good fortune. "Oh, if

I only had your youth, your health, your opportunities!" Groans

interrupted these broken exclamations.

Just when I was preparing to defend myself, some one knocked, and the

dangerous beauty came into the room, under the pretext of inquiring

after the health of the officer. Her entrance checked my speech and made

my heart beat faster. The conversation turned on general and decorous

topics. The girl discovered qualities of wit and understanding; she was

not very talkative, but sensible and modest. Her eyes, which might in

poetry have been called stars, told me clearly that I was an ingrate.

Her visit to the sick man was really intended for the sound. At its

close, she remarked that she had sent her servant back, because her

elder sister was confined to bed by fever; might she beg for some one to

conduct her home? "This gentleman," replied the elderly woman, pointing

at once to me, "will be able to oblige you." "Oh, I do not wish to put

him to trouble; I am not worthy of the honour." The cunning creature

said this with ironical seriousness. I made the usual polite offer of my

services, and rose to accompany her. We had not far to go, and during

the brief journey both were silent. As she leant upon my arm, which was

steadier than marble, I felt her tremble sensibly, and we were in the

month of July. This tremor ran through my vitals, and made me tremble

more than she did.

When we reached her dwelling, she begged me to step in and to give her

the pleasure of a few minutes' conversation. We went upstairs, and I

beheld a home breathing of indigence in all its details. In the room

which I was asked to enter, her elder sister (the one with the red eyes)

lay sound asleep upon a decent bed, notably different from the rest of

the furniture. She was really ill, and we did not wish to wake her; so

our conversation proceeded in a low voice. My beauty began to knit a

stocking, and made me sit upon a little wretched sofa at her side. She

whispered, with downcast eyes, that some weeks ago she had conceived

the greatest esteem for me, but that she feared she had not earned

gratitude for her lively sentiments of regard. I answered in a whisper,

but with raised eyes, that I believed in her sincerity; I did not

suppose that she was flattering me; yet I was inquisitive to learn how

she had come to entertain such partiality for a young man unknown to

her, who was not worthy to excite the sentiments she had described. She

replied, still whispering, but lifting her eyes a little, that she had

told the simple truth. Her heart had first been touched when she saw me

play the part of Luce, the _soubrette_, in the theatre. Afterwards,

while watching me on the pallone-ground, this impression had been

deepened. I listened with some repulsion to the motives of her passion,

nor could I refrain from answering, with a laugh: "Surely modest girls

are taken by the mental gifts and sterling qualities of a young man, not

by such follies as you deign to mention." She dropped her fine eyes,

mortified by this home-thrust. Then she replied with a finesse I hardly

expected from a Dalmatian: "You cannot deny that public exploits,

universally applauded, in a young man, have some right to impress a

girl's imagination. I could indeed have defended my heart against these

promptings, if your person had not pleased me; if you had not shown

yourself in private to be governed by principles of modesty, sobriety,

and prudence; if the whole city were not edified by your behaviour, and

ringing with perpetual eulogies of conduct rare indeed among those

madcap fellows of the garrison. These reports confirmed my passion; and

if now I find it scorned by you, I know not to what extremities despair

will drive me." This speech flattered my _amour propre_. Tears, which

she attempted to conceal, fell from her fine eyes, and stirred my

sensibility. The beauty of the little devil had bewitched me. However, I

summoned reason to my aid, and replied with gentle calmness: "Dear lady,

I should be a monster if I were not grateful to you for your kind and

precious sentiments. Still I am only a lad, dependent on my family,

without the resources of fortune. Unable as I am to think of marriage, I

should injure you and should commit a dishonourable action were I to

frequent your society. The tenderness, which I feel only too deeply for

you, might lead me also on my own side into some disaster. Precisely

because I love you, it is my duty to shrink from anything which could be

hurtful to you; and because you love me, it is your duty to shun what

might prove disastrous to myself. Do not be hurt by what I have to say.

I shall not cease to cherish in my breast an ardent affection for

yourself; but from this hour forward I must avoid all opportunities of

being in your company, not less for my own than for your advantage."

The stocking she was knitting fell to the floor. She took one of my

hands and clasped it to her bosom. Leaning her lovely cheek against my

shoulder and shedding tears, she whispered, changing _you_ to _thou_ in

the Dalmatian fashion: "Dear friend, how little dost thou know me! Thy

prudent and ingenuous speech has only added to the ardour of my soul.

Couldst thou suspect that my poverty was laying a trap for thy thrift?

Couldst thou imagine that I was a dissolute girl, or that I was angling

for a husband? Thou art mistaken. I make allowances for thy mistake.

But, for pity's sake, learn to know me better. Grant me from time to

time some moments of thy charming conversation. We will watch for these

precious moments with discretion. Unless thou art a tiger of cruelty, do

not abandon me to the unbearable torments of a burning heart." Her tears

began to fall in showers. For my part, I remained deeply moved,

confused, and, I confess, madly in love with this charming girl, who had

so cleverly expressed a passion quite in harmony with my own idealistic

tendencies. I promised to renew our meetings; and indeed this promise

was made at least as much to my own heart as to hers. She showed the

liveliest signs of satisfaction; but at this moment her sister woke. I

explained the accident which brought me to their house; and then my

innamorata led me to the staircase. There we shook and kissed hands. I

departed, head over ears in love, a captivated blockhead.

We continued to find occasions for our meetings, and with less of

caution than we had agreed upon. During several days our conversations

were playful, witty, piquant. It was an exchange of sentiments, of

sighs, of little caressing epithets, of languors, pallors, trembling

glances--of all those sweets, in short, which constitute the greatest

charm, the most delicate, the most enduring delights of love. On my

side, the restraint of modesty was not yet broken. On the girl's side,

it did not seem to be so. One day, after playing pallone, I changed my

shirt, and went to walk alone upon the ramparts. It was very hot, and I

looked forward to the refreshment of the sea-breeze. Passing the house

of the notary's wife, with whom my friend, the gouty officer, lodged, I

heard my name called. Looking up, I saw the woman with my idol at the

window. They asked me in, and I entered gladly. A walk upon the ramparts

was proposed; and the officer, who happened to be better, wished to join

our party. He gave his arm to the elderly dame; I offered mine to the

blooming girl. He walked slowly, limping on his gouty toes. I walked

slowly for a different reason; my heart, and not my toe, was smitten;

besides, my sweetheart and I were more at liberty together, if we kept

the other couple well in front. Meanwhile night began to fall. After

taking a short turn, the officer complained of pain in his feet, and

begged leave to go back with his elderly companion, adding that I could

see my lady home when we had enjoyed enough of the evening cool

together. The pair departed, while I remained with my innamorata, lost

in the ecstasies of love.

[At this point Gozzi proceeds to relate how the liaison between these

two young people became most intimate. It had begun, as we have seen,

with advances on the part of the girl, and now it was carried forward

chiefly by her address and pertinacity.]

The intrigue continued for two months, with equal ardour on both sides.

Blinded as we were by passion, we thought that it was hidden from all

eyes; and yet perchance we were but playing the comedy of _Il Pubblico

Secreto_.[3] At any rate, I must admit that I found in this girl a

mistress exactly suited to my metaphysical ineptitude. She showed

herself always tender, always in ecstasy, always afraid to lose me,

always candid. Knowing how poor she was, I often wanted to divide my

poverty with her. I used prayers, almost violence, to win her consent to

this partition of my substance. But she took it as an unbearable insult,

and broke into rage in her refusals, exclaiming with kisses which drew

my soul forth to her crimson lips: "Thy heart is my true riches."

Certainly, a young man in his first love-passage sees awry, and makes

mistakes through mere stupidity. The end of this amour, which seemed

interminable, was brought about by an incident sufficiently absurd, and

far removed from my delicate idealism. It happened that the Provveditore

Generale was summoned to Bocche di Cataro, in order to settle some

disputes between the tribe called Pastrovicchi and the Turks. I had to

take sail with the Court. Good God! what agonies there were, what

rendings of the heart, what tears, what vows of fidelity, at this cruel

parting between two young creatures drowned in love! My absence lasted

about forty days, which seemed to me as many years. Scarcely had I

returned, and was rushing to my goddess, when a certain Count Vilio of

Desenzano, master of the horse to the General, who had stayed behind at

Zara (a man sufficiently dissolute in his amours, but a good and sincere

friend), came up to me and spoke as follows: "Gozzi, I know that you are

on the best of terms with such and such a girl. I should be acting

wrongly if I did not inform you of what has happened in your absence,

the truth of which I hold on sure foundations. You have a rival, one

with whom it would ill become you to compete. I am certain that he has

employed his time to good purpose. You have received my warning; rule

yourself accordingly." These words were scorpions to my heart.

Nevertheless, I chose to assume indifference, and put a bold face on the

matter. So I forced myself to laugh, and answered, stammering perhaps a

trifle, that it was quite true I knew the girl, but that my intercourse

with her had always been blameless, and that I had no cause to fear. I

had invariably found her so modest and reserved that I suspected he must

have been taken in by a bragging impostor, to the infinite injury of the

poor girl's character. "I am not mistaken, by gad," cried Vilio in his

Brescian way. "You are of years to know the world. I have done my duty

as a friend, and that is enough for me."

He left me with my head stunned, my spirit in confusion, staggering upon

my feet. From my earliest boyhood, I have always made a point of

exercising self-control. Accordingly, I now stifled the imperious

impulse which urged me to embrace my mistress. I did not merely postpone

my visit, but I kept my windows shut, avoiding every opportunity of

setting eyes on her. The Genoese laundress brought me diplomatic

messages; to these I returned laconic and meaningless answers, without

betraying the reason of my sudden coldness. Some notes were refused with

heroic, or shall I call it asinine endurance. At the same time, I

nourished in my breast a lively desire that my mistress might be

innocent, and that the accusation of so base a fault might be proved a

vile mendacious calumny. I hoped to arrive at the truth somehow, by

adhering to severe and barbarous measures.

In course of time I obtained only too positive confirmation of my fears.

Walking one day upon the ramparts, the elderly dame, of whom I have

already spoken, called me from her window, and begged me to come up. She

had a word or two to say to me. I assented, and entered the house.

Divining that she wished to speak about my mistress, I armed myself with

caution. My plan was to allege decent excuses for my conduct, without

touching the repulsive wound. However, I had not divined the whole. She

led me into a room, where, to my surprise, I beheld the idol of my first

affections, seated and shedding tears. "What I wanted to say to you,"

exclaimed the dame, "you will hear from the lips of this afflicted

damsel." On this, she left the room, while I remained like a statue

before the beauty I had adored, and who was still supremely charming in

my sight. She lifted her forehead, and began to load me with the

bitterest reproaches. I did not allow her to run on, but told her with

resolute plainness that a young woman who, during my absence, had played

so false was no longer worthy of my love. She turned pale, crying aloud:

"What scoundrelly scandal-monger has dared...." Again I cut her speech

short, adding: "Do not tire yourself by attempting the justification of

your conduct. I know the whole truth from an infallible source. I am

neither inconstant, nor a dreamer, nor ungrateful, nor unjust." The

assurance with which I uttered these words made the poor girl lower her

face, as though she was ashamed that I should look at her. Then bursting

into a passion of tears, broken with sobs, she brought these incoherent

phrases forth: "You are right ... I am no longer worthy of you.... Oh,

cursed poverty, thrice-cursed poverty!" She was unable to continue, and

I thought her tears would suffocate her. I was fit to drop to earth with

the vertigo caused by this confession, which left no flattering hopes of

innocence. My senses still painted a Venus in that desolated beauty. My

romantic head and heart painted her a horrid Fury from the pit of hell.

I kept silence. In my purse were some ducats, few indeed, but yet I had

them. I took these coins out, and, speechless still, I let them gently

drop into the loveliest bosom I have ever seen. Then I turned my back

and fled. Half mad with grief, I bounded down the staircase like a

greyhound, screaming with the ecstasy of one possessed by devils:

"Cursed poverty! Cursed, thrice-cursed poverty!"

[Illustration: GOZZI AND HIS FIRST LOVE

_Original Etching by Ad. Lalauze_]

Since then I never saw the object of my first love. I thought I must

have died under the pressure of a passion which gnawed my entrails, but

which, although I was but a boy, I had the cruel strength to subjugate.

Soon afterwards I learned with satisfaction that the unhappy girl had

married an officer, but I never sought to trace her out or to hear more

about her history.

(ii.)

_The story of my second love-affair, with fewer platonisms and a more

comic ending than the last._

About that time the Provveditore Generale found that he had need of my

quarters for storing the appurtenances of his stables and of the

coach-house, which were situated beneath the Quarterioni. Accordingly, I

removed into a little pavilion, which my friend Signor Innocenzio

Massimo and I had taken. It stood upon the ramparts. We could not occupy

this dwelling long; for it was distant from the Court and from our place

of duty. Moreover, when the winter season arrived, heavy rains, a

terrible north-wind, and snowfalls made our nest uninhabitable. Massimo

had some acquaintance with a shopkeeper and tradesman, who lived inside

the town, and owned a house with rooms to spare and many conveniences.

This man was married to a fine woman, plump and blooming; and God

forgive me if I think it probable that Massimo was more intimate with

the wife than the husband! Anyhow, he made arrangements with this

excellent couple to rent two rooms, one for me, the other for himself,

in close communication. We agreed for these rooms by the month, taking

our meals with the masters; their table was homely but abundant, and the

food excellent.

The couple were not blessed with children, but the man had adopted a

poor girl, in order to perform an act of Christian charity. This child,

who had scarcely reached her fourteenth year, dined and supped with us,

as the adopted daughter of the house. Her behaviour betrayed nothing but

the innocence belonging to her age. She had blonde hair, large blue

eyes, an expression at once soft and languid, a pale complexion tinged

with rose. She was rather thin than fleshy; but her figure was straight,

lithe, and beautifully formed; in stature she promised to be tall, with

something of majestic in her build. This girl came to dress me and

arrange my hair for the part of Luce, whenever I played at the Court

theatre. She joked and laughed, and turned me round to look at me. I

made some harmless witticisms in reply. At this she laughed the louder.

Such was our custom; but one evening, after she had done my hair for

Luce, she suddenly gave me three or four kisses on my cheeks and lips. I

was astonished. Yet I thought the girl so guileless, that I supposed she

must have imagined she was kissing some one of her own sex, seeing me

dressed like a female. This scene was repeated every evening with

additions; and I began to perceive that her kisses were not as innocent

as I supposed. Respect for my host's roof induced me to reprove her

kindly but seriously, and so as not to rouse resentment in the girl. I

warned her that such kisses between man and woman were forbidden by our

confessors.

[Gozzi now describes the peculiar relations which subsisted between the

several members of his host's family, and the progress of his flirtation

with the little serving-maid. He admits that she bewitched him by her

fantastic and wayward coquetries--as of an elf, a sprite, an enchanted

butterfly--which contrasted curiously with her demure and serious

demeanour in public. "Her behaviour at table and about the house would

have done credit to Santa Rosa." In private, she was a creature of whim,

caprice, extravagant and reckless folly. He was on the point of losing

his heart, or at least of trespassing beyond the bounds of prudence,

when the following occurrences took place, which may be repeated in his

own words.]

About a month remained before our Provveditore Generale Querini took

sail for Venice. His successor was already at Zara; and I had arranged

my own departure, to suit with that of my superior. I must admit,

however, that I was so captivated by that little hussy's ways, that all

my strength of mind could not prevent me from looking forward with real

sadness to our parting.

A comic accident, which happened three days before I quitted Zara, cured

me on the instant, and made me bless the hour of my embarkation for

home. In order to make my narrative intelligible, I shall be obliged to

describe the plan and the construction of the house we occupied. After

ascending the first stone staircase, one entered a large hall. At the

end of this hall, on the right hand, were two chambers, in one of which

the married couple slept, while Massimo occupied the other. On the left

of the staircase lay my bedroom, near the door of which another opening

led to the foot of a long ladder of thirty or more wooden steps. By this

one mounted to a floor above. Just at the top of the ladder was a dormer

window, looking out upon the roof, for the convenience of work-people,

when tiles had to be replaced and other repairs made. At one side of

this window you found a little chamber, the chaste cell in which my

mistress slept.

The putative father of the girl, that charitable man, had conceived no

suspicions with regard to me; her behaviour and mine in public was

marked with indifference, so well sustained that it suggested nothing to

arouse a doubt about us. He was furiously jealous, however, and had some

inklings that a certain young man, who inhabited the next house, might

crawl along the roof at night like a cat, and get in by the window, if

his adopted daughter left it open. His working jealousy suggested the

following device. How it was executed, I do not know. But he secretly

attached a thick log to the dormer window by a slender cord, in such a

way that it was impossible to open the window without snapping the

twine, and letting the log fall headlong down the ladder with a fearful

crash. This trap was meant to act as an alarm to the paternal guardian.

One night while I was sweetly sleeping, an infernal uproar, as of

something tumbling down the wooden stairs which ran along the boarding

at my pillow's head, woke me up with an awful fright. I thought my

sweetheart must have fallen, but it was only the log which went heavily

lumbering down.

I jumped out of bed in my shirt, caught up a light, and sallied forth to

give assistance to the wretched girl. While I was opening my door, I

spied the putative father in his shirt with a light in one hand and a

long naked scimitar clenched in the other, running like mad and rushing

up the stairs to execute summary vengeance. His wife in her shirt

hurried after, shrieking to make him stop. Massimo in his shirt, with a

light, and with his brandished sword, issued at the same time from his

bedroom, judging by the din that thieves were in the house. The husband

ran upstairs, swearing. The wife followed, howling. I followed the wife,

in dumb bewilderment. Massimo followed me, shouting: "Who is it? What is

it? Make room for me! Leave me to do the business!" The scene was quite

dramatic. The dormer window stood wide open. The girl in her smock had

fallen, huddled together, terrified, and trembling, just beneath it. Her

crime was manifest. We had much ado, all three of us, to curb the rage

of the so-called putative father, who had now become an Orlando Furioso,

and was bent on cutting the throat of his adopted daughter. The row was

terrible. During the long examinations which ensued, and in which,

thanks to Heaven, no mention was made of me, it came out that this

modest little damsel was very far from being the Santa Rosa that she

seemed.

All these matters were finally made up with sermons, threats, entreaties

for forgiveness, promises, vows to never do the like again, and a change

of dormitory for the vestal. I left Zara, light of heart, three days

after this event, horrified at the memory of my second love-affair.

(iii.)

_Story of my third love-affair, which, though it is true history, women

may, if they please, regard as fiction._

After my return to Venice occurred the events which I shall now proceed

to narrate. This third amour was also the last of any essential

importance in my life. During its development the romance and idealism

of my nature, the delicacy of my emotions, seemed to meet with perfect

correspondence in a mistress whose sublime sentiments matched my own.

Why I say _seemed_, will appear in the sequel of this story, out of

which Boccaccio might have formed a first-rate novel. The recital must

be lengthy; but I crave indulgence from my readers, feeling that the

numerous episodes which it contains and the abundance of curious

material deserve a careful handling.

I occupied some little rooms at the top of our house in Venice. Here I

used to sleep, and pass whole days in study. From time to time, while I

was working, an angel's voice arrested my attention, singing melancholy

airs attuned to sad and plaintive melodies. This lovely voice came from

a house which was only divided by a very narrow alley from my apartment.

My windows opened on the house in question; and so it happened, as a

matter of course, that one fine day I caught sight of its possessor

sitting at her window sewing. Leaning at one of my windows, I found

myself so close to the lady that civility obliged me to salute her. She

returned my bow with courteous gravity. It was a young woman of about

seventeen, married, and endowed with all the charms which nature can

confer. Her demeanour was stately; complexion, very white; stature,

middle-sized; the look of her eyes gentle and modest. She was neither

plump nor lean. Her bust presented an agreeable firmness; her arms were

rounded, and she had the most beautiful hands. A scarlet riband bound

her forehead, and was tied in a bow behind her thick and flowing

tresses. On her countenance dwelt a fixed expression of profound

sadness, which compelled attention. In spite of these distinguished

qualities, I was far from engaging my romantic heart upon the spot. My

adventures at Zara were too fresh in my memory, and had taught me some

experience.

When one has a beautiful young woman for one's next-door neighbour, it

is easy to pass by degrees from daily compliments and salutations to a

certain sort of intimacy. One begins to ask: "How are you?" or "Did you

sleep well last night?" One exchanges complaints upon the subject of the

weather, the scirocco, the rain. At length, after some days passed in

such inquiries on topics common to all stupid people, one is anxious to

show that one is not as stupid as the rest of the world.

I asked her one morning why she invariably exercised her charming voice

in mournful songs and plaintive music. She replied that her temperament

inclined to melancholy; that she sang to distract her thoughts, and that

she only found relief in sadness. "But you are young," I said. "I see

that you are well provided; I recognise that you have wit and

understanding; you ought to overcome your temperament by wise

reflections; and yet, I cannot deny it, there is always something in

your eyes and in your face which betrays a chagrin unsuited to your

years. I cannot comprehend it." She answered with much grace, and with a

captivating half-smile, that "since she was not a man, she could not

know what impression the affairs of this world make upon the minds of

men, and since I was not a woman, I could not know what impression they

make upon the minds of women." This reply, which had a flavour of

philosophy, sent a little arrow to my heart. The modest demeanour, the

seriousness, and the cultivation of this Venetian lady pictured her to

me immeasurably different from the Dalmatian women I had known. I began

to flatter myself that here perhaps I had discovered the virtuous

mistress for whom my romantic, metaphysical, delicate heart was sighing.

A crowd of reflections came to break the dream, and I contented myself

with complimenting her upon her answer. Afterwards, I rather avoided

occasions for seeing and talking with her.

Certainly she must have had plenty of work to finish; for I observed her

every day seated at the same window sewing with melancholy seriousness.

While shunning, so far as this was possible, the danger of conversing

with her, my poor heart felt it would be less than civil not to speak a

word from time to time. Accordingly we now and then engaged in short

dialogues. They turned upon philosophical and moral topics--absurdities

in life, human nature, fashion. I tried to take a lively tone, and

entered upon some innocent witticisms, in order to dispel her gloom. But

I rarely succeeded in waking a smile on her fair lips. Her replies were

always sensible, decorous, ingenious, and acute. While debating some

knotty point which admitted controversy, she forgot to work, left her

needle sticking in the stuff, looked me earnestly in the face and

listened to my remarks as though she were reading a book which compelled

her to concentrate her mind. Flattering suggestions filled my head. I

sought to extinguish them, and grew still more abstemious in the

indulgence of our colloquies.

More than a month had passed in this way, when I noticed, on opening a

conversation of the usual kind, that the young woman gazed hard at me

and blushed a little, without my being able to assign any cause for her

blushes. A few indifferent sentences were exchanged. Still I perceived

her to be restless and impatient, as though she were annoyed by my

keeping to generalities and not saying something she was waiting for. I

did not, and really could not, make it out. I might have imagined she

was expecting a declaration. But she did not look like a woman of that

sort, and I was neither bold nor eager enough to risk it. At length I

thought it best to remark that I saw she had things to think over, and

that I would not infringe upon her leisure further. I bowed, and was

about to take my leave. "Please, do not go!" she exclaimed in some

distress, and rising at the same time from her chair: "Did you not

receive, two days ago, a note from me in answer to one of yours,

together with a miniature?" "What note? What answer? What miniature?"

cried I in astonishment: "I know nothing about the matter." "Are you

telling the truth?" she asked, turning pale as she spoke. I assured her

on my honour that I did not know what she referred to. "Good God!" she

said with a sigh, and sinking back half-fainting on her chair: "Unhappy

me! I am betrayed." "But what is it all about?" continued I, in a low

voice, from my window, truly grieved to be unable to assist her.

Ultimately, after a pause of profound discouragement, she rose and said

that in her position she had extreme need of advice. She had obtained

her husband's permission to go that day after dinner to visit an aunt of

hers, a nun, on the Giudecca. Therefore she begged me to repair at

twenty-one o'clock to the _sotto portico_ by the _ponte storto_ at S.

Apollinare.[4] There I should see, waiting or arriving, a gondola with a

white handkerchief hung out of one of its windows. I was to get boldly

into this gondola, and I should find her inside. "Then you will hear all

about the circumstances in which my want of caution has involved me."

This she spoke with continued agitation. "I have no one but you to go

to for advice. If I deserve compassion, do not fail me. I believe enough

in your discretion to confide in you." With these words she bowed and

rapidly retired.

I remained fixed to the spot, like a man of plaster; my brains working,

without detecting the least clue to the conundrum; firmly resolved,

however, to seek out the _sotto portico_, the _ponte storto_, and the

gondola. I took my dinner in haste, nearly choked myself, and alleging

business of the last importance, flew off to the _ponte storto_. The

gondola was in position at a _riva_, with the flag of the white

handkerchief hung out. I entered it in haste, impelled perhaps by the

desire to join the lovely woman, perhaps by curiosity to hear the

explanation of the letters and the miniature. When I entered, there she

was, resplendent with gems of price at her ears, her throat, her

fingers, underneath the _zendado_.[5] She made room for me beside her,

and gave orders to the gondolier that he should draw the curtain, and

row toward the Giudecca to a monastery which she named.

She opened our conversation by apologising for having given me so much

trouble, and by begging me not to form a sinister conception of her

character. The invitation, it was true, exposed her to the risk of being

taken for a light woman, considering her obligations as a wife. To this

she added that she had already formed a flattering opinion of my

discretion, prudence, honourable conduct, and upright ways of thinking.

She proceeded to tell me that she found herself much embarrassed by

circumstances. She asked me if I knew a woman and a man, a poor married

couple, whom her husband lodged under his roof, renting them a room and

kitchen on the ground-floor. I replied with the frankness of veracity

that I was perfectly ignorant regarding the persons whom she indicated;

far from being aware that they dwelt in her house, I did not know of

their existence in the universe. At this answer, she closed her eyes and

lips, as though in pain; then she resumed: "And yet the man assured me

that he knew you perfectly, and possessed your thorough confidence;

furthermore, he brought me this note from you, in the greatest secrecy;

you can read it, and discover whether I am speaking true." Upon this she

drew the billet from her bosom, and handed it to me.

I opened it with amazement, and saw at once that I had never written it.

I read it through, and found in it the divagations of a most consummate

lady-killer, full of panegyrics on the fair one's charms, oceans of

nauseous adulation, stuffed out with verses filched from Metastasio. I

was on the point of giving way to laughter. The concluding moral of the

letter was that I (who was not I), being desperately in love with her,

and forecasting the impossibility of keeping company with her, saw my

only hope in the possession of her portrait; if I could obtain but this,

and keep it close to a heart wounded by Cupid's dart, this would have

been an immense relief to my intense passion.

"Is it conceivable, madam," said I, after reading this precious

effusion, "that you have conceived a gracious inclination toward me,

grounded on my discretion, on my prudence, on my good principles, on my

ways of thinking, and that after all this you have accepted such

ridiculous and stupid stuff as a composition addressed by me to you?"

"So it is," she answered: "we women cannot wholly divest us of a certain

vanity, which makes us foolish and blind. Added to the letter, the man

who brought it uttered words, as though they came from you, which

betrayed me into an imprudence that will cost me many tears, I fear. I

answered the letter with some civil sentiments, cordially expressed; and

as I happened to have by me a miniature, set in jewels, and ordered by

my husband, I consigned this to the man in question, together with my

note, feeling sure that if I were obliged to show the picture to my

husband, you would have returned it to me. It seems then that you have

received neither the portrait nor my letter in reply?" "Is it possible,"

I answered, "that you are still in doubt about my having done this

thing? Do you still believe me capable of such an action?" "No, no!" she

said: "I see only too well that you have nothing to do with the affair.

Poor wretched me! to what am I exposed then? A letter written by my hand

... that portrait ... in the keeping of that man ... my husband!... For

heaven's sake, give me some good counsel!" She abandoned herself to

tears.

I could do nothing but express my astonishment at the cleverness of the

thief. I tried to tranquillise her; then I said that, if I had to give

advice, it was necessary that I should be informed about the man and

wife who occupied her house, and about the intimacy she maintained with

them. She replied that the husband seemed to be a good sort of fellow,

who gained something by a transport-boat he kept. "The wife is a most

excellent poor creature, and a devoted daughter of the Church. She is

attached to me, and I to her. I often keep her in my company, have often

helped her in her need, and she has shown herself amply grateful. You

know that, between women, we exchange confidences which we do not

communicate to men. She is aware of certain troubles which beset me, and

which I need not speak to you about; and she feels sorry for me. She has

heard me talking at the window with you, and has joked me on the

subject. I made no secret to her of my inclination, adding however that

I knew my duties as a wife, and that I had overcome the weakness. She

laughed at me, and encouraged me to be a little less regardful on this

point. That is really all I have to tell you, and I think I shall have

said perhaps too much." So she spoke, and dropped her eyes. "You have

not said enough," I put in: "That excellent Christian woman, your

confidante--tell me, did she ever see your portrait set in jewels?" "Oh,

yes! I often showed it to her." "Well, the excellent and so forth woman

has told everything to her excellent husband. They have laid their heads

together, and devised the roguery of the forged letter to abstract your

jewelled miniature. The worst is that the excellent pair had some

secretary to help them in their infernal conciliabulum." "Is it

possible?" exclaimed she, like one bewitched. "You may be more than sure

that it is so; and shortly you will obtain proof of this infallible

certainty." "But what can I do?" "Give me some hints about your

husband's character, and how he treats you." "My husband adores me. I

live upon the most loyal terms with him. He is austere, and does not

wish to be visited at home. But whenever I ask leave to go and pay my

compliments to relatives or female friends, he grants me permission

without asking further questions." "I do not deny that your want of

caution has placed you in a position of delicacy and danger.

Nevertheless, I will give you the advice, which I think the only one

under these uncomfortable circumstances. That excellent Christian woman,

your confidante, does she know perhaps that I was going to meet you in

the gondola to-day?" "No, sir! certainly not, because she was not at

home." "I am glad to hear it. This, then, is my advice. Forget

everything about the miniature, just as though you had never possessed

it; bear the loss with patience, because there is no help for it. If you

attempted to reclaim it, the villain of a thief and his devout wife and

the secretary, finding their roguery exposed, might bring you into the

most serious trouble. If your husband has a whim to see the miniature,

you can always pretend to look for it and not to find it, affect

despair, and insinuate a theft. Do not let yourself be seen henceforward

at the window talking with me. Go even to the length of informing your

confidante that you intend to subjugate an unbecoming inclination. Treat

the pair of scoundrels with your customary friendliness, and be very

cautious not to betray the least suspicion or the slightest sign of

coolness. Should the impostor bring you another forged letter under the

same cloak of secrecy, as I think he is pretty sure to do, take and keep

it, but tell him quietly that you do not mean to return an answer; nay,

send a message through the knave to me, to this effect--that you beg me

to cease troubling you with letters; that you have made wholesome

reflections, remembering the duty which an honest woman owes her

husband. You may add that you have discovered me to be a wild young

fellow of the worst character, and that you are very sorry to have

intrusted me with your miniature. Paint me as black as you can to the

rascal; if he takes up the cudgels in my defence, as he is sure to do in

order to seduce you, abide by your determination, without displaying any

anger, but only asking him to break the thread of these communications

which annoy you. You may, if matters take a turn in that direction,

waste a ducat or two upon the ruffian, provided he swears that he will

accept no further messages or notes from me. This is the best advice

which I can give you in a matter of considerable peril to your

reputation. Pray carry my directions out with caution and ability.

Remember that your good name is in the hands of people who are

diabolically capable of blackening it before your husband to defend

themselves. I flatter myself that before many days are past you will

find that my counsel was a sound one."

The young woman declared herself convinced by my reasoning. She promised

to execute the plan which I had traced, and vowed that her esteem for me

had been increased. At this point we reached the Giudecca, where she had

to disembark. With a modest pressure of one of her soft hands on mine,

she thanked me for the trouble I had taken in her behalf, begging me to

maintain my cordial feelings toward her, and assuring me that she prized

our friendship among the great good fortunes of her life. I left her

gondola, and reached Venice by another boat, considerably further gone

in love, but with my brain confused and labouring. Love and the curious

story I had heard kept me on the stretch.

A week or more passed before I saw her again. Yet I was always anxious

to meet her, and to hear how she had managed with those sharpers. At

last she showed herself one morning in her workroom; and while I was

passing along by my open window, she threw a paper tied to a pebble into

the room; then disappeared. I picked the missive up, and read the

scroll, of which the purport was to this effect: "She had to pay a visit

to a friend after dinner; her husband had given his permission; could I

meet her at the former hour, and at the former _ponte storto_? There I

should see a gondola waiting with the former ensign of the handkerchief.

She begged me to jump into the boat; for she was sorely pressed to tell

me something." I went accordingly, and found my lady at the rendezvous.

She seemed more beautiful than I had ever seen her, because her face

wore a certain look of cheerfulness which was not usual to it. She

ordered the gondolier, who was not the same as on the previous occasion,

to take a circuit by the Grand Canal, and afterwards to land her in a

certain _rio_ at Santa Margherita. Then she turned to me and said that I

was a famous prophet of events to come. From her bosom she drew forth

another note and handed it to me. It was written in the same hand as the

first. The caricature of passion was the same. I, who was not I,

thanked her for the portrait; vowed that I kept it continually before my

eyes or next my heart. I, who was not I, complained loudly that she had

deserted the window; I was miserable, yet I comforted myself by thinking

that she kept apart from prudent motives. I, who was not I, had no

doubts of her kindness; as a proof of this, being obliged to wait for a

draft, in order to meet certain payments, and the draft not having yet

arrived, I, who was not I, begged for the loan of twenty sequins, to

discharge my obligations. I promised to repay them religiously within

the month. She might give the money to the bearer, a person known to me,

a man of the most perfect confidence, &c., &c.

I confess, that I was angry after reading this. The lady laughed at my

indignant outburst. "How did you deal with the impostor?" I cried.

"Exactly as you counselled me," she answered: "excuse me if I painted

you as black as possible to the fellow. He stood confused and wanted to

explain; but on seeing that my mind was made up, he held his tongue,

completely mortified. I ordered him to talk no more to me about you, and

to accept no further messages or letters. Then I gave him a sequin, on

the clear understanding that he should never utter a word again to me

concerning you. I told him that I was resolved to break off all

relations with you. To what extent our relations have been broken off,

you can see for yourself now in this gondola; and they will only come

to an end when you reject my friendship, which event I should reckon as

my great disaster. I swear this on my honour."

"I must report another favourable circumstance," she continued: "My

husband surprised that rogue in the act of stealing some ducats from a

secret drawer in his bureau. He told the man to pack out with his wife,

threatening to send him to prison if they did not quit our premises at

once." "Were you clever enough," I said, "to affect a great sorrow for

those unfortunate robbers, sent about their business?" "I did indeed try

to exhibit the signs of unaffected sorrow," she replied; "I even made

them believe that I had sought to melt my husband's heart with prayers

and tears, but that I found him firm as marble. I gave them some alms,

and three days ago they dislodged."

"Well done!" I exclaimed: "the affair could not have gone better than it

does. Now, even if your husband asks to see the portrait, it will be

easy to persuade him that they stole it. You will incur no sin of

falsehood; for steal it they did, in good sooth, the arrant pair of

sharpers." "Ah!" cried she, "why cannot I enjoy the privilege of your

society at home? What relief would my oppressed soul find in the company

of such a friend! My sadness would assuredly be dissipated. Alas! it is

impossible. My husband is too too strict upon the point of visitors. I

must abandon this desire. Yet do not cease to love me; and believe that

my sentiment for you exceeds the limits of mere esteem. Be sure that I

shall find occasions for our meeting, if indeed these be not irksome to

yourself. Your modesty and reserve embolden me. I know my duties as a

married woman, and would die sooner than prove myself disloyal to them."

We had now arrived at Santa Margherita. She clasped my hand with one of

the loveliest hands a woman ever had. I wished to lift it to my lips.

She drew it back, and even deigned to bend as though to kiss my own.

That I could not permit; but leapt from the gondola, a simpleton

besotted and befooled by passion. Then she proceeded on her way to the

house she meant to visit.

This heroine of seventeen summers, beautiful as an angel, had inflamed

my Quixotic heart. It would be a crime, I reflected, not to give myself

up to a Lucretia like her, so thoroughly in harmony with my own

sentiments regarding love. "Yes, surely, surely I have found the

phoenix I was yearning for!"

A few days afterwards the pebble was once more flung into my chamber.

The paper wrapped around it spoke of _ponte storto_, gondola, a visit to

a cousin in childbed. I flew to the assignation. Nor can I describe the

exultation, the vivacity, the grace, with which I was welcomed. Our

conversation was both lively and tender; an interchange of sentiments

diversified by sallies of wit. Our caresses were confined to clasped

hands and gentle pressure of the fingers at some mot which caught our

fancy. She never let fall an equivocal word, or gave the slightest hint

of impropriety. We were a pair of sweethearts madly in love with one

another, yet respectful, and apparently contented with the ecstasies of

mutual affection. The pebble and the scroll, the _ponte storto_, and the

gondola were often put in requisition. I cannot say what pretexts she

discovered to explain her conduct to her husband. The truth was that her

visits for the most part consisted in our rowing together to the

Giudecca or to Murano, where we entered a garden of some lonely cottage,

and ate a dish of salad with a slice of ham, always laughing, always

swearing that we loved each other dearly, always well-behaved, and

always melting into sighs at parting. I noticed that in all this

innocent but stolen traffic she changed her gondola and gondolier each

time. This did credit to her caution. We had reached the perfection of a

guiltless friendship--to all appearances, I mean--the inner workings of

imagination and desires are uncontrollable. _You_ had become _thou_, and

yet our love delights consisted merely in each other's company,

exchanging thoughts, clasping hands, and listening now and then to

hearts which beat like hammers.

One day I begged her to tell me the story of her marriage. She replied

in a playful tone: "You will laugh; but you must know I am a countess.

My father, Count so-and-so, had only two daughters. He is a spendthrift,

and has wasted all his patrimony. Having no means to portion off us

girls, he gave my sister in marriage to a corn-factor. A substantial

merchant of about fifty years fell in love with me, and my father

married me to him without a farthing of dowry. At that time I was only

fifteen. Two years have passed since I became the wife of a man who,

barring the austerity of his old-fashioned manners, is excellent, who

maintains me in opulence, and who worships me." (I knew all about the

Count her father, his prodigality and vicious living.) "But during the

two years of your marriage," said I, "have you had no children?" The

young lady showed some displeasure at this question. She blushed deeply,

and replied with a grave haughtiness: "Your curiosity leads you rather

too far." I was stung by this rebuke, and begged her pardon for the

question I had asked, although I could not perceive anything offensive

in it. My mortification touched her sympathy, and pressing my hand, she

continued as follows: "A friend like you has the right to be acquainted

with the misfortune which I willingly endure, but which saddens and

embitters my existence. Know then that my poor husband is far gone in

lung-disease; consumed with fever, powerless; in fact, he is no husband.

Nearly all night long he sheds bitter tears, entreating forgiveness for

the sacrifice imposed upon me of my youth. His words are so ingenuous,

so cordial, that they make me weep in my turn, less for my own than for

his misfortune. I try to comfort him, to flatter him with the hope that

he may yet recover. I assure you that if my blood could be of help, I

would give it all to save his life. He has executed a legal instrument,

recognising my marriage dowry at a sum of 8000 ducats, and is constantly

trying to secure my toleration by generous gifts. One day he pours

ducats into my lap, then sequins, then great golden medals; at another

time it is a ring or a sprig of brilliants; now he brings stuffs for

dresses or bales of the finest linen, always repeating: 'Put them by,

dear girl. Before long you will be a widow. It is the desire of my soul

that in the future you may enjoy happier days than those which now

enchain you to a fatal union.' There then is the story of my marriage.

You now know what you wished to know about my circumstances." Soon after

she resumed, changing her tone to one of pride and dignity: "I am afraid

that this confession, which you extorted from me, may occasion you to

form a wrong conception of my character. Do not indulge the suspicion

that I have sought your friendship in order to obtain vile

compensations. If I discovered the least sign in you of such

dishonouring dirty thoughts, I should lose at once the feeling which

drew me toward you, and our friendship would be irrevocably broken."

I need hardly say that this discovery of a Penelope in my mistress was

exactly what thrilled my metaphysical heart with the most delicious

ecstasy. Six months meanwhile had flown, and we were still at

boiling-point. I used to write her tender and platonic sonnets, which

she prized like gems, fully appreciating their sense and literary

qualities. I also wrote songs for the tunes she knew; and these she used

to sing at home, unseen by me, surpassing the most famous sirens of the

stage by the truth and depth of her feeling. I am afraid that my readers

will be fatigued by the long history of this semi-platonic amour. Yet

the time has now arrived when I must confess that it degenerated at last

into a mere vulgar _liaison_. It pains me; but truth demands that I

should do so. Indeed, it was hardly to be expected that a young man of

twenty and a girl of seventeen should carry on so romantic and ethereal

a friendship for ever.

One day I saw my mistress seated with a very sad expression at her

window. I inquired what had happened. She answered in a low voice that

she had things of importance to communicate, and begged me to be

punctual at the gondola, the _ponte storto_. Nothing more. Her reserve

made me tremble for the future which might lie before us.

She told me that she was much distressed about her husband. He was very

ill. The doctors had recommended him to seek the temperate air of Padua

and the advice of its physicians. He had departed in tears, leaving her

alone with a somnolent old serving-woman. I was genuinely sorry for the

cause of her distress; but the news relieved me of my worst fears. After

expatiating on the sad occurrence and over-acting her grief, I thought,

even to the extent of shedding tears, she entered into a discourse which

presented a singular mixture of good sense, tenderness, and artifice.

"My friend," she said, "it is certain that I must be left a widow after

a few days. How can a widow in my youthful years exist alone, without

protection? I shall only have my father's house to seek as an asylum. He

is a man of broken fortunes, burdened with debts, enslaved to the vices

of extravagance. My natural submission to him as a daughter will be the

ruin of my fortune. After a short space of time I shall be left young,

widowed, and in indigence. I have no one to confide in except yourself,

to whom I have yielded up my heart, my virtue, and my reputation. In my

closet I have stored a considerable sum of money, jewels, gold and

silver objects of value. Will you oblige me by taking care of these

things, so that my father may not lay his talons on them, under the

pretext of guarding my interests in the expected event of my poor

husband's death? Should he succeed in doing so, I am certain that before

two months are over the whole will be dissipated. You will not refuse me

this favour? Little by little I will convey to your keeping all that I

possess. I shall also place in your hands the deed by which my husband

recognised the dowry of which I spoke to you upon another occasion. My

father knows nothing of this document; and in the sad event of my

husband's death it may well be possible that I shall need the assistance

of some lawyer to prove my rights and the maintenance which they secure

me. For the direction of these affairs I trust in you. You love me, and

I doubt not that you will give me your assistance in these painful

circumstances."

I saw clearly that the object of this speech was to bring me to a

marriage without mentioning the subject. Now I was extremely averse to

matrimony for two reasons. First, because I abhorred indissoluble ties

of any sort. Secondly, because my brothers were married, with large

families, and I could not stomach the prospect of charging our estate

with jointures, and of procreating a brood of little Gozzis, all

paupers. Nevertheless, I loved the young woman, felt sincerely grateful

toward her, and in spite of what had happened between us, believed her

to be virtuous and capable of making me a faithful wife. My heart

adapted itself in quiet to the coming change, and conquered its aversion

to a matrimonial bond.

A very surprising event, which I am about to describe, released me from

all obligations to my mistress, dispelled my dreams of marriage, and

nearly broke my heart.

Well; I did my best to comfort the fair lady. I told her that perhaps

her husband's case was not so desperate as she imagined. Next I firmly

refused to become the depositary of her property. My reasons were as

follows. In the first place, I had no receptacle to which the goods

could be transferred with secrecy and safety. In the next place, her

husband might survive and make inquiries. This would compromise the

reputation of both her and me. I thanked her for the confidence she

reposed in me, and vowed that she should always, at the hour of need,

find me ready to support her as the guardian of her rights, her friend,

and a man devoted to her person. She expressed herself satisfied with my

decision; and once again we abandoned ourselves to the transports of a

love which only grew in strength with its indulgence. She was an

extraordinary woman; perfectly beautiful, always graceful, always new.

Even in her hours of passion she preserved a modesty which overwhelmed

my reason. Would that the six months of our platonic love had been

prolonged into a lifetime, instead of yielding place to sensuality! In

that case, the unexpected accident, which cut short our intercourse in a

single moment, would not have inflicted the wound it did upon my

feelings.

A friend of mine came about this time to Venice on business, and took

up his quarters with me. He observed me exchanging some words with this

young lady, and began to banter me, loudly praising my good taste. I

played the part of a prudish youngster, exaggerated the virtues of my

neighbour, and protested that I had never so much as set foot in her

house--which was indeed, the truth. It was not easy to deceive my friend

in anything regarding the fair sex. He positively refused to believe me,

swearing he was sure I was the favoured lover of the beauty, and that he

had read our secret in the eyes of both. "You are a loyal friend to me,"

he added; "but in the matter of your love-affairs, I have always found

you too reserved. Between comrades there ought to be perfect confidence;

and you insult me by making a mystery of such trifles." "I can boast of

no intimacy whatever with that respectable lady," I replied; "but in

order to prove my sincerity toward my friend, I will inform you that

even if I enjoyed such an intimacy as you suspect, I would rather cut my

tongue out than reveal it to any man alive. For me the honour of women

is like a sanctuary. Nothing can convince me that men are bound by

friendship to expose the frailty and the shame of a mistress who has

sacrificed her virtue, trusting that the man she loves will keep the

secret of her fault; nor do I believe that such honourable reticence can

be wounding to a friend." We argued a little on this point, I

maintaining my position, he treating it with ridicule, and twitting me

with holding the opinions of a musty Spanish romance.

Meanwhile he was always on the watch to catch sight of my goddess, and

to exchange conversation with her at the window. He drenched her with

fulsome compliments upon her beauty, her elegance and her discretion,

artfully interweaving his flatteries with references to the close

friendship which had united himself and me for many years. To hear him,

one would have thought that we were more than brothers. She soon began

to listen with pleasure, entering deeper and deeper into the spirit of

these dialogues. Though ready to die of irritation, I forced myself to

appear indifferent. I knew the man to be an honourable and a cordial

friend; but with regard to women, I knew that he was one of the most

redoubtable pirates, the most energetic, the most fertile in resources,

who ever ploughed the seas of Venus. He was older than I; a fine man,

however, eloquent, sharp-witted, lively, resolute and expeditious.

Some days went by in these preliminaries, and the date of his departure

was approaching. In other circumstances I should have been sorry at the

prospect of parting from him. Now I looked forward to it with

impatience. One morning I heard him telling her that he had taken a box

at the theatre of San Luca, and that he was going there that evening

with his beloved friend. He added that it would cheer her up to join

our party, breathe the air, and divert her spirits at the play. She

declined the invitation with civility. He insisted, and called on me to

back him up. She looked me in the face, as though to say: "What do you

think of the project?" My friend kept his eyes firmly fixed on mine,

waiting to detect any sign which might suggest a _No_. I did not like to

betray my uneasiness, and felt embarrassed. I thought it sufficient to

remark that the lady knew her own mind best; she had refused; therefore

she must have good reasons for refusing; I could only approve her

decision. "How!" cried my friend, "are you so barbarous as not to give

this lady courage to escape for once from her sad solitude? Do you mean

to say that we are not persons of honour, to whose protection she can

safely confide herself? Answer me that question." "I cannot deny that we

are," said I. "Well, then," interposed the coquette upon the moment,

much to my surprise, "I am expecting a young woman of my acquaintance,

who comes every evening to keep me company, and to sleep with me, during

the absence of my husband. We will join you together, masked. Wait for

us about two hours after nightfall at the opening of this _calle_."[6]

"Excellent!" exclaimed my friend with exultation; "we will pass a merry

evening. After the comedy we will go to sup at a restaurant. It will

not be my fault if we do not shine to-night." I was more dead than alive

at this discovery. Yet I tried to keep up the appearance of

indifference. Can it be possible, I said in my own heart, that these few

hours have sufficed to pervert a young lady whom I have so long known as

virtuous? Can these few hours have robbed me of a mistress whom I esteem

so highly, who loves me, and who is seeking to win my hand in marriage?

The bargain was concluded, and at the hour appointed we found the two

women in masks at the opening of the _calle_. My friend swooped like a

falcon on my mistress. I remained to man the other girl. She was a

blonde, well in flesh, and far from ugly; but at that moment I did not

take thought whether she was male or female. My friend in front kept

pouring out a deluge of fine sentiments in whispers, without stopping to

draw breath, except when he drew a long sigh. I sighed deeper than he

did, and with better reason. Can it be possible, I thought, that yonder

heroine will fall into his snare so lightly?

We reached the theatre and entered the box. The blonde gave her whole

attention to the play. My friend did not suffer the idol of my heart to

listen to a syllable. He kept on breathing into her ear a torrent of

seductive poisonous trash. What it was all about I knew not, though I

saw her turning red and losing self-control. I chafed with rage

internally, but pretended to follow the comedy, of which I remember

nothing but that it seemed to be interminable. When it was over, we

repaired to the Luna--as before, in couples--my friend with my mistress,

I with the blonde. I never caught a syllable of the stuff which he

dribbled incessantly into his companion's ears. Supper was ordered; a

room was placed at our disposal, and candles lighted. My friend,

meanwhile, never interrupted his flood of eloquence.

[Illustration: GOZZI AND HIS FRIENDS' ADVENTURE IN THE CAFE LUNA

_Original Etching by Ad. Lalauze_]

[What ensued justified Gozzi in believing that the lady whom he loved

was capable of misconducting herself, and that his friend was ready to

take advantage of her levity. While he was chewing the bitter root of

disillusionment, she provoked an outburst of jealousy which exposed the

situation.]

The ruthless woman came up to me with friendly demonstrations. One of

those blind impulses, which it is impossible to control, made me send

her reeling three steps backwards. She hung her head, confused with

chagrin. My friend looked on in astonishment. The blonde opened her eyes

and mouth as wide as she was able. I pulled myself together, ashamed

perhaps at having shown my anger; then, as though nothing had happened,

I began to complain of the host; "why did he not bring our supper? it

was getting late, and the ladies ought to be going home." I noticed that

my mistress shed some furtive tears. Just then the supper was served,

and we sat down to table. For me it was nothing better than the banquet

of Thyestes. Still I set myself to abusing the comedy, which I had not

heard, and the host, and the viands, swallowing a morsel now and then,

which tasted in my mouth like arsenic. My friend betrayed a certain

perplexity of mind; yet he consumed the food without aversion. My

mistress was gloomy, and scarcely raised a mouthful to her lips with

trembling fingers. The blonde fell too with a good appetite, and partook

of every dish. When the bill was paid, we conducted the ladies back to

their house, and wished them good-night.

No sooner were we alone together, than my friend turned to me and said:

"It is all your fault. You denied that you were intimate with that young

woman. Had you confessed the truth to your friend, he would have

respected your amour. It is your fault, and the loss is yours." "What I

told you, was the truth," I answered: "but permit me now to tell you

another truth. I am sure that she consented to join our company, relying

upon me, and on my guarantee--which I gave at your request--that we were

honourable men, to whom she could commit herself with safety. I cannot

regard it as honourable in a friend to wheedle his comrade into playing

the ignoble part which you have thrust upon me." "What twaddle!"

exclaimed he. "Between friends such things are not weighed in your

romantic scales. True friendship has nothing to do with passing

pleasures of this nature. You have far too sublime a conception of

feminine virtue. My opinion is quite different. The most skilful

arithmetician could not calculate the number of my conquests. I take my

pastime, and let others take theirs." "If a ram could talk," I answered,

"and if I were to question him about his love-affairs with the ewes of

his flock, he would express precisely the same sentiments as yours."

"Well, well!" he retorted: "you are young yet. A few years will teach

you that, as regards the sex you reverence, I am a better philosopher

than you are. That little blonde, by the way, has taken my fancy. The

other woman told me where she lives. To-morrow I mean to attack the

fortress, and I will duly report my victory to you." "Go where you

like," I said: "but you won't catch me again with women at the play or

in a restaurant."

He retired to sleep and dream of the blonde. I went to bed with thoughts

gnawing and a tempest in my soul, which kept me wide-awake all night.

Early next morning my friend took his walks abroad, and at dinner-time

he returned to inform me with amazement that the blonde was an inhuman

tigress; all his artifices had not succeeded in subduing her. "She may

thank heaven," he continued, "that I must quit Venice to-night. The

prudish chatter-box has put me on my mettle. I should like to see two

days pass before I stormed the citadel and made her my victim." He went

away, leaving me to the tormenting thoughts which preyed upon my mind.

I was resolved to break at once and for ever with the woman who had been

my one delight through a whole year. Yet the image of her beauty, her

tenderness, our mutual transports, her modesty and virtue in the midst

of self-abandonment to love, assailed my heart and sapped my resolution.

I felt it would be some relief to cover her with reproaches. Then the

remembrance of the folly to which she had stooped, almost before my very

eyes, returned to my assistance, and I was on the point of hating her.

Ten days passed in this contention of the spirit, which consumed my

flesh. At last one morning the pebble flew into my chamber. I picked it

up, without showing my head above the window, and read the scroll it

carried. Among the many papers I have committed to the flames, I never

had the heart to burn this. The novel and bizzarre self-defence which it

contains made it too precious in my judgment. Here, then, I present it

in full. Only the spelling has been corrected.

"You are right. I have done wrong, and do not deserve forgiveness. I

cannot pretend to have wiped out my sin with ten days of incessant

weeping. These tears are sufficiently explained by the sad state in

which my husband has returned from Padua, reduced to the last extremity.

They will therefore appear only fitting and proper in the sight of

those who may observe them. Alas! would that they were simply shed for

my poor dying husband! I cannot say this; and so I have a double crime

to make me loathe myself.

"Your friend is a demon, who carried me beyond my senses. He persuaded

me that he was so entirely your friend, that if I did not listen to his

suit I should affront _you_. You need not believe what seems incredible;

yet I swear to God that he confused me so and filled my brain with such

strange thoughts that I gave way in blindness, thinking I was paying you

a courtesy, knowing not what I was doing, nor that I was plunging into

the horrible abyss in which I woke to find myself the moment after I had

fallen.

"Leave me to my wretchedness, and shun me. I am unworthy of you; I

confess it. I deserve nothing but to die in my despair. Farewell--a

terrible farewell! Farewell for ever!"

I could not have conceived it possible that any one should justify such

conduct on such grounds. Yet the letter, though it did not change my

mind, disturbed my heart. I reflected on her painful circumstances, with

her husband at the point of death. It occurred to me that I could at

least intervene as a friend, without playing the part of lover any more.

Yet I dared not trust myself to meet the woman who for a whole year had

been the object of my burning passion. At the cost of my life, I was

resolved to stamp out all emotions for one who had proved herself alien

to my way of thinking and of feeling about love. Moreover, I suspected

that she might be exaggerating the illness of her husband, in order to

mollify me. I subdued my inclinations, and refrained from answering her

letter or from seeing her.

The fact is that I soon beheld the funeral procession of her husband

pass beneath my windows, with the man himself upon the bier. I could no

longer refuse credence to her letter.

This revived my sympathy for the unhappy, desolate, neglected beauty. I

was still hesitating, when I met a priest of my acquaintance who told me

that he was going to pay a visit of condolence to the youthful widow.

"You ought to come with me," said he. "It is an act of piety toward one

of your neighbours." I seized the occasion offered, and joined company

with the priest.

I found her plunged in affliction, pale, and weeping. No sooner did she

set eyes upon me, than she bent her forehead and abandoned herself to

tears. "With the escort of this minister of our religion," I began, "I

have come to express my sincere sorrow for your loss, and to lay my

services at your disposal." Her sobs redoubled; and without lifting her

eyes to mine, she broke into these words: "I deserve nothing at your

hands." Then a storm of crying and of sobs interrupted her utterance.

My heart was touched. But reason, or hardness, came to my aid. After

expressing a few commonplaces, such as are usually employed about the

dead, and renewing my proffer of assistance, I departed with the priest.

A full month elapsed before I set eyes on her again. It chanced that I

had commissioned a certain tailoress to make me a waistcoat. Meeting me

in the road, this woman said that she had lost my measure, and asked

whether I would come that evening and let her measure me again. I went,

and on entering a room, to which she introduced me, was stupefied to

find my mistress sitting there in mourning raiment of black silk.[7] I

swear that Andromache, the widow of Hector, was not so lovely as she

looked. She rose on my approach, and began to speak: "I know that you

have a right to be surprised at my boldness in seeking an occasion to

meet with you. I hesitated whether I ought or ought not to communicate a

certain matter to you. At last I thought that I should be doing wrong

unless I told you. I have received offers of marriage from an honest

merchant. You remember what I told you about my father; and now he is

moving heaven and earth to get me under his protection with my little

property. I sought this opportunity of speaking with you, merely that I

might be able to swear to you by all that is most sacred, that I would

gladly refuse any happiness in this life for the felicity of dying in

the arms of such a friend as you are. I am well aware that I have

forfeited this good fortune; how I hardly know, and by whose fault I

could not say. I do not wish to affront you, nor yet the intriguer whom

you call your friend; I am ready to take all the blame on my own

shoulders. Accept, at any rate, the candid oath which I have uttered,

and leave me to my remorseful reflections." Having spoken these words,

she resumed her seat and wept. Armed as I was with reason, I confess

that she almost made me yield to her seductive graces. I sat down beside

her, and taking one of her fair hands in mine, spoke as follows, with

perfect kindness: "Think not, dear lady, that I am not deeply moved by

your affliction. I am grateful to you for the stratagem by which you

contrived this interview. What you have communicated to me with so much

feeling not only lays down your line of action; it also suggests my

answer. Let us relegate to the chapter of accidental mishaps that fatal

occurrence, which will cause me lasting pain, and which remains fixed in

my memory. Yet I must tell you that I cannot regard you, after what then

happened, as I did formerly. Our union would only make two persons

miserable for life. Your good repute with me is in a sanctuary. Accept

this advice then from a young man who will be your good friend to his

dying day. Strengthen your mind, and be upon your guard against

seducers. The opportunity now offered is excellent; accept at once the

proposals of the honest merchant you named to me, and place yourself in

safety under his protection."

I did not wait for an answer; but kissed her hand, and took my leave,

without speaking about my waistcoat to the tailoress. A few months after

this interview she married the merchant. I saw her occasionally in the

street together with her husband. She was always beautiful. On

recognising me, she used to turn colour and drop her eyes. This is as

much as I can relate concerning my third lady-love. It came indeed to my

ears, from time to time, without instituting inquiries, that she was

well-conducted, discreet, exemplary in all her ways, and that she made

an excellent wife to her second husband.