CHAPTER VIII

My Misfortunes in Chiozza--Father Stephano--The Lazzaretto at Ancona--The

Greek Slave--My Pilgrimage to Our Lady of Loretto--I Go to Rome on Foot,

and From Rome to Naples to Meet the Bishop--I Cannot Join Him--Good Luck

Offers Me the Means of Reaching Martorano, Which Place I Very Quickly

Leave to Return to Naples

The retinue of the ambassador, which was styled "grand," appeared to me

very small. It was composed of a Milanese steward, named Carcinelli, of a

priest who fulfilled the duties of secretary because he could not write,

of an old woman acting as housekeeper, of a man cook with his ugly wife,

and eight or ten servants.

We reached Chiozza about noon. Immediately after landing, I politely

asked the steward where I should put up, and his answer was:

"Wherever you please, provided you let this man know where it is, so that

he can give you notice when the peotta is ready to sail. My duty," he

added, "is to leave you at the lazzaretto of Ancona free of expense from

the moment we leave this place. Until then enjoy yourself as well as you

can."

The man to whom I was to give my address was the captain of the peotta. I

asked him to recommend me a lodging.

"You can come to my house," he said, "if you have no objection to share a

large bed with the cook, whose wife remains on board."

Unable to devise any better plan, I accepted the offer, and a sailor,

carrying my trunk, accompanied me to the dwelling of the honest captain.

My trunk had to be placed under the bed which filled up the room. I was

amused at this, for I was not in a position to be over-fastidious, and,

after partaking of some dinner at the inn, I went about the town. Chiozza

is a peninsula, a sea-port belonging to Venice, with a population of ten

thousand inhabitants, seamen, fishermen, merchants, lawyers, and

government clerks.

I entered a coffee-room, and I had scarcely taken a seat when a young

doctor-at-law, with whom I had studied in Padua, came up to me, and

introduced me to a druggist whose shop was near by, saying that his house

was the rendezvous of all the literary men of the place. A few minutes

afterwards, a tall Jacobin friar, blind of one eye, called Corsini, whom

I had known in Venice, came in and paid me many compliments. He told me

that I had arrived just in time to go to a picnic got up by the Macaronic

academicians for the next day, after a sitting of the academy in which

every member was to recite something of his composition. He invited me to

join them, and to gratify the meeting with the delivery of one of my

productions. I accepted the invitation, and, after the reading of ten

stanzas which I had written for the occasion, I was unanimously elected a

member. My success at the picnic was still greater, for I disposed of

such a quantity of macaroni that I was found worthy of the title of

prince of the academy.

The young doctor, himself one of the academicians, introduced me to his

family. His parents, who were in easy circumstances, received me very

kindly. One of his sisters was very amiable, but the other, a professed

nun, appeared to me a prodigy of beauty. I might have enjoyed myself in a

very agreeable way in the midst of that charming family during my stay in

Chiozza, but I suppose that it was my destiny to meet in that place with

nothing but sorrows. The young doctor forewarned me that the monk Corsini

was a very worthless fellow, despised by everybody, and advised me to

avoid him. I thanked him for the information, but my thoughtlessness

prevented me from profiting by it. Of a very easy disposition, and too

giddy to fear any snares, I was foolish enough to believe that the monk

would, on the contrary, be the very man to throw plenty of amusement in

my way.

On the third day the worthless dog took me to a house of ill-fame, where

I might have gone without his introduction, and, in order to shew my

mettle, I obliged a low creature whose ugliness ought to have been a

sufficient antidote against any fleshly desire. On leaving the place, he

brought me for supper to an inn where we met four scoundrels of his own

stamp. After supper one of them began a bank of faro, and I was invited

to join in the game. I gave way to that feeling of false pride which so

often causes the ruin of young men, and after losing four sequins I

expressed a wish to retire, but my honest friend, the Jacobin contrived

to make me risk four more sequins in partnership with him. He held the

bank, and it was broken. I did not wish to play any more, but Corsini,

feigning to pity me and to feel great sorrow at being the cause of my

loss, induced me to try myself a bank of twenty-five sequins; my bank was

likewise broken. The hope of winning back my money made me keep up the

game, and I lost everything I had.

Deeply grieved, I went away and laid myself down near the cook, who woke

up and said I was a libertine.

"You are right," was all I could answer.

I was worn out with fatigue and sorrow, and I slept soundly. My vile

tormentor, the monk, woke me at noon, and informed me with a triumphant

joy that a very rich young man had been invited by his friends to supper,

that he would be sure to play and to lose, and that it would be a good

opportunity for me to retrieve my losses.

"I have lost all my money. Lend me twenty sequins."

"When I lend money I am sure to lose; you may call it superstition, but I

have tried it too often. Try to find money somewhere else, and come.

Farewell."

I felt ashamed to confess my position to my friend, and sending for, a

money-lender I emptied my trunk before him. We made an inventory of my

clothes, and the honest broker gave me thirty sequins, with the

understanding that if I did not redeem them within three days all my

things would become his property. I am bound to call him an honest man,

for he advised me to keep three shirts, a few pairs of stockings, and a

few handkerchiefs; I was disposed to let him take everything, having a

presentiment that I would win back all I had lost; a very common error. A

few years later I took my revenge by writing a diatribe against

presentiments. I am of opinion that the only foreboding in which man can

have any sort of faith is the one which forbodes evil, because it comes

from the mind, while a presentiment of happiness has its origin in the

heart, and the heart is a fool worthy of reckoning foolishly upon fickle

fortune.

I did not lose any time in joining the honest company, which was alarmed

at the thought of not seeing me. Supper went off without any allusion to

gambling, but my admirable qualities were highly praised, and it was

decided that a brilliant fortune awaited me in Rome. After supper there

was no talk of play, but giving way to my evil genius I loudly asked for

my revenge. I was told that if I would take the bank everyone would punt.

I took the bank, lost every sequin I had, and retired, begging the monk

to pay what I owed to the landlord, which he promised to do.

I was in despair, and to crown my misery I found out as I was going home

that I had met the day before with another living specimen of the Greek

woman, less beautiful but as perfidious. I went to bed stunned by my

grief, and I believe that I must have fainted into a heavy sleep, which

lasted eleven hours; my awaking was that of a miserable being, hating the

light of heaven, of which he felt himself unworthy, and I closed my eyes

again, trying to sleep for a little while longer. I dreaded to rouse

myself up entirely, knowing that I would then have to take some decision;

but I never once thought of returning to Venice, which would have been

the very best thing to do, and I would have destroyed myself rather than

confide my sad position to the young doctor. I was weary of my existence,

and I entertained vaguely some hope of starving where I was, without

leaving my bed. It is certain that I should not have got up if M. Alban,

the master of the peotta, had not roused me by calling upon me and

informing me that the boat was ready to sail.

The man who is delivered from great perplexity, no matter by what means,

feels himself relieved. It seemed to me that Captain Alban had come to

point out the only thing I could possibly do; I dressed myself in haste,

and tying all my worldly possessions in a handkerchief I went on board.

Soon afterwards we left the shore, and in the morning we cast anchor in

Orsara, a seaport of Istria. We all landed to visit the city, which would

more properly be called a village. It belongs to the Pope, the Republic

of Venice having abandoned it to the Holy See.

A young monk of the order of the Recollects who called himself Friar

Stephano of Belun, and had obtained a free passage from the devout

Captain Alban, joined me as we landed and enquired whether I felt sick.

"Reverend father, I am unhappy."

"You will forget all your sorrow, if you will come and dine with me at

the house of one of our devout friends."

I had not broken my fast for thirty-six hours, and having suffered much

from sea-sickness during the night, my stomach was quite empty. My erotic

inconvenience made me very uncomfortable, my mind felt deeply the

consciousness of my degradation, and I did not possess a groat! I was in

such a miserable state that I had no strength to accept or to refuse

anything. I was thoroughly torpid, and I followed the monk mechanically.

He presented me to a lady, saying that he was accompanying me to Rome,

where I intend to become a Franciscan. This untruth disgusted me, and

under any other circumstances I would not have let it pass without

protest, but in my actual position it struck me as rather comical. The

good lady gave us a good dinner of fish cooked in oil, which in Orsara is

delicious, and we drank some exquisite refosco. During our meal, a priest

happened to drop in, and, after a short conversation, he told me that I

ought not to pass the night on board the tartan, and pressed me to accept

a bed in his house and a good dinner for the next day in case the wind

should not allow us to sail; I accepted without hesitation. I offered my

most sincere thanks to the good old lady, and the priest took me all over

the town. In the evening, he brought me to his house where we partook of

an excellent supper prepared by his housekeeper, who sat down to the

table with us, and with whom I was much pleased. The refosco, still

better than that which I had drunk at dinner, scattered all my misery to

the wind, and I conversed gaily with the priest. He offered to read to me

a poem of his own composition, but, feeling that my eyes would not keep

open, I begged he would excuse me and postpone the reading until the

following day.

I went to bed, and in the morning, after ten hours of the most profound

sleep, the housekeeper, who had been watching for my awakening, brought

me some coffee. I thought her a charming woman, but, alas! I was not in a

fit state to prove to her the high estimation in which I held her beauty.

Entertaining feelings of gratitude for my kind host, and disposed to

listen attentively to his poem, I dismissed all sadness, and I paid his

poetry such compliments that he was delighted, and, finding me much more

talented than he had judged me to be at first, he insisted upon treating

me to a reading of his idylls, and I had to swallow them, bearing the

infliction cheerfully. The day passed off very agreeably; the housekeeper

surrounded me with the kindest attentions--a proof that she was smitten

with me; and, giving way to that pleasing idea, I felt that, by a very

natural system of reciprocity, she had made my conquest. The good priest

thought that the day had passed like lightning, thanks to all the

beauties I had discovered in his poetry, which, to speak the truth, was

below mediocrity, but time seemed to me to drag along very slowly,

because the friendly glances of the housekeeper made me long for bedtime,

in spite of the miserable condition in which I felt myself morally and

physically. But such was my nature; I abandoned myself to joy and

happiness, when, had I been more reasonable, I ought to have sunk under

my grief and sadness.

But the golden time came at last. I found the pretty housekeeper full of

compliance, but only up to a certain point, and as she offered some

resistance when I shewed myself disposed to pay a full homage to her

charms, I quietly gave up the undertaking, very well pleased for both of

us that it had not been carried any further, and I sought my couch in

peace. But I had not seen the end of the adventure, for the next morning,

when she brought my coffee, her pretty, enticing manners allured me to

bestow a few loving caresses upon her, and if she did not abandon herself

entirely, it was only, as she said, because she was afraid of some

surprise. The day passed off very pleasantly with the good priest, and at

night, the house-keeper no longer fearing detection, and I having on my

side taken every precaution necessary in the state in which I was, we

passed two most delicious hours. I left Orsara the next morning.

Friar Stephano amused me all day with his talk, which plainly showed me

his ignorance combined with knavery under the veil of simplicity. He made

me look at the alms he had received in Orsara--bread, wine, cheese,

sausages, preserves, and chocolate; every nook and cranny of his holy

garment was full of provisions.

"Have you received money likewise?" I enquired.

"God forbid! In the first place, our glorious order does not permit me to

touch money, and, in the second place, were I to be foolish enough to

receive any when I am begging, people would think themselves quit of me

with one or two sous, whilst they dive me ten times as much in eatables.

Believe me Saint-Francis, was a very judicious man."

I bethought myself that what this monk called wealth would be poverty to

me. He offered to share with me, and seemed very proud at my consenting

to honour him so far.

The tartan touched at the harbour of Pola, called Veruda, and we landed.

After a walk up hill of nearly a quarter of an hour, we entered the city,

and I devoted a couple of hours to visiting the Roman antiquities, which

are numerous, the town having been the metropolis of the empire. Yet I

saw no other trace of grand buildings except the ruins of the arena. We

returned to Veruda, and went again to sea. On the following day we

sighted Ancona, but the wind being against us we were compelled to tack

about, and we did not reach the port till the second day. The harbour of

Ancona, although considered one of the great works of Trajan, would be

very unsafe if it were not for a causeway which has cost a great deal of

money, and which makes it some what better. I observed a fact worthy of

notice, namely, that, in the Adriatic, the northern coast has many

harbours, while the opposite coast can only boast of one or two. It is

evident that the sea is retiring by degrees towards the east, and that in

three or four more centuries Venice must be joined to the land. We landed

at the old lazzaretto, where we received the pleasant information that we

would go through a quarantine of twenty-eight days, because Venice had

admitted, after a quarantine of three months, the crew of two ships from

Messina, where the plague had recently been raging. I requested a room

for myself and for Brother Stephano, who thanked me very heartily. I

hired from a Jew a bed, a table and a few chairs, promising to pay for

the hire at the expiration of our quarantine. The monk would have nothing

but straw. If he had guessed that without him I might have starved, he

would most likely not have felt so much vanity at sharing my room. A

sailor, expecting to find in me a generous customer, came to enquire

where my trunk was, and, hearing from me that I did not know, he, as well

as Captain Alban, went to a great deal of trouble to find it, and I could

hardly keep down my merriment when the captain called, begging to be

excused for having left it behind, and assuring me that he would take

care to forward it to me in less than three weeks.

The friar, who had to remain with me four weeks, expected to live at my

expense, while, on the contrary, he had been sent by Providence to keep

me. He had provisions enough for one week, but it was necessary to think

of the future.

After supper, I drew a most affecting picture of my position, shewing

that I should be in need of everything until my arrival at Rome, where I

was going, I said, to fill the post of secretary of memorials, and my

astonishment may be imagined when I saw the blockhead delighted at the

recital of my misfortunes.

"I undertake to take care of you until we reach Rome; only tell me

whether you can write."

"What a question! Are you joking?"

"Why should I? Look at me; I cannot write anything but my name. True, I

can write it with either hand; and what else do I want to know?"

"You astonish me greatly, for I thought you were a priest."

"I am a monk; I say the mass, and, as a matter of course, I must know how

to read. Saint-Francis, whose unworthy son I am, could not read, an that

is the reason why he never said a mass. But as you can write, you will

to-morrow pen a letter in my name to the persons whose names I will give

you, and I warrant you we shall have enough sent here to live like

fighting cocks all through our quarantine."

The next day he made me write eight letters, because, in the oral

tradition of his order, it is said that, when a monk has knocked at seven

doors and has met with a refusal at every one of them, he must apply to

the eighth with perfect confidence, because there he is certain of

receiving alms. As he had already performed the pilgrimage to Rome, he

knew every person in Ancona devoted to the cult of Saint-Francis, and was

acquainted with the superiors of all the rich convents. I had to write to

every person he named, and to set down all the lies he dictated to me. He

likewise made me sign the letters for him, saying, that, if he signed

himself, his correspondents would see that the letters had not been

written by him, which would injure him, for, he added, in this age of

corruption, people will esteem only learned men. He compelled me to fill

the letters with Latin passages and quotations, even those addressed to

ladies, and I remonstrated in vain, for, when I raised any objection, he

threatened to leave me without anything to eat. I made up my mind to do

exactly as he wished. He desired me to write to the superior of the

Jesuits that he would not apply to the Capuchins, because they were no

better than atheists, and that that was the reason of the great dislike

of Saint-Francis for them. It was in vain that I reminded him of the fact

that, in the time of Saint-Francis, there were neither Capuchins nor

Recollets. His answer was that I had proved myself an ignoramus. I firmly

believed that he would be thought a madman, and that we should not

receive anything, but I was mistaken, for such a quantity of provisions

came pouring in that I was amazed. Wine was sent from three or four

different quarters, more than enough for us during all our stay, and yet

I drank nothing but water, so great was my wish to recover my health. As

for eatables, enough was sent in every day for six persons; we gave all

our surplus to our keeper, who had a large family. But the monk felt no

gratitude for the kind souls who bestowed their charity upon him; all his

thanks were reserved for Saint-Francis.

He undertook to have my men washed by the keeper; I would not have dared

to give it myself, and he said that he had nothing to fear, as everybody

was well aware that the monks of his order never wear any kind of linen.

I kept myself in bed nearly all day, and thus avoided shewing myself to

visitors. The persons who did not come wrote letters full of

incongruities cleverly worded, which I took good care not to point out to

him. It was with great difficulty that I tried to persuade him that those

letters did not require any answer.

A fortnight of repose and severe diet brought me round towards complete

recovery, and I began to walk in the yard of the lazzaretto from morning

till night; but the arrival of a Turk from Thessalonia with his family

compelled me to suspend my walks, the ground-floor having been given to

him. The only pleasure left me was to spend my time on the balcony

overlooking the yard. I soon saw a Greek slave, a girl of dazzling

beauty, for whom I felt the deepest interest. She was in the habit of

spending the whole day sitting near the door with a book or some

embroidery in her hand. If she happened to raise her eyes and to meet

mine, she modestly bent her head down, and sometimes she rose and went in

slowly, as if she meant to say, "I did not know that somebody was looking

at me." Her figure was tall and slender, her features proclaimed her to

be very young; she had a very fair complexion, with beautiful black hair

and eyes. She wore the Greek costume, which gave her person a certain air

of very exciting voluptuousness.

I was perfectly idle, and with the temperament which nature and habit had

given me, was it likely that I could feast my eyes constantly upon such a

charming object without falling desperately in love? I had heard her

conversing in Lingua Franca with her master, a fine old man, who, like

her, felt very weary of the quarantine, and used to come out but seldom,

smoking his pipe, and remaining in the yard only a short time. I felt a

great temptation to address a few words to the beautiful girl, but I was

afraid she might run away and never come out again; however, unable to

control myself any longer, I determined to write to her; I had no

difficulty in conveying the letter, as I had only to let it fall from my

balcony. But she might have refused to pick it up, and this is the plan I

adopted in order not to risk any unpleasant result.

Availing myself of a moment during which she was alone in the yard, I

dropped from my balcony a small piece of paper folded like a letter, but

I had taken care not to write anything on it, and held the true letter in

my hand. As soon as I saw her stooping down to pick up the first, I

quickly let the second drop at her feet, and she put both into her

pocket. A few minutes afterwards she left the yard. My letter was

somewhat to this effect:

"Beautiful angel from the East, I worship you. I will remain all night on

this balcony in the hope that you will come to me for a quarter of an

hour, and listen to my voice through the hole under my feet. We can speak

softly, and in order to hear me you can climb up to the top of the bale

of goods which lies beneath the same hole."

I begged from my keeper not to lock me in as he did every night, and he

consented on condition that he would watch me, for if I had jumped down

in the yard his life might have been the penalty, and he promised not to

disturb me on the balcony.

At midnight, as I was beginning to give her up, she came forward. I then

laid myself flat on the floor of the balcony, and I placed my head

against the hole, about six inches square. I saw her jump on the bale,

and her head reached within a foot from the balcony. She was compelled to

steady herself with one hand against the wall for fear of falling, and in

that position we talked of love, of ardent desires, of obstacles, of

impossibilities, and of cunning artifices. I told her the reason for

which I dared not jump down in the yard, and she observed that, even

without that reason, it would bring ruin upon us, as it would be

impossible to come up again, and that, besides, God alone knew what her

master would do if he were to find us together. Then, promising to visit

me in this way every night, she passed her hand through the hole. Alas! I

could not leave off kissing it, for I thought that I had never in my life

touched so soft, so delicate a hand. But what bliss when she begged for

mine! I quickly thrust my arm through the hole, so that she could fasten

her lips to the bend of the elbow. How many sweet liberties my hand

ventured to take! But we were at last compelled by prudence to separate,

and when I returned to my room I saw with great pleasure that the keeper

was fast asleep.

Although I was delighted at having obtained every favour I could possibly

wish for in the uncomfortable position we had been in, I racked my brain

to contrive the means of securing more complete enjoyment for the

following night, but I found during the afternoon that the feminine

cunning of my beautiful Greek was more fertile than mine.

Being alone in the yard with her master, she said a few words to him in

Turkish, to which he seemed to give his approval, and soon after a

servant, assisted by the keeper, brought under the balcony a large basket

of goods. She overlooked the arrangement, and in order to secure the

basket better, she made the servant place a bale of cotton across two

others. Guessing at her purpose, I fairly leaped for joy, for she had

found the way of raising herself two feet higher; but I thought that she

would then find herself in the most inconvenient position, and that,

forced to bend double, she would not be able to resist the fatigue. The

hole was not wide enough for her head to pass through, otherwise she

might have stood erect and been comfortable. It was necessary at all

events to guard against that difficulty; the only way was to tear out one

of the planks of the floor of the balcony, but it was not an easy

undertaking. Yet I decided upon attempting it, regardless of

consequences; and I went to my room to provide myself with a large pair

of pincers. Luckily the keeper was absent, and availing myself of the

opportunity, I succeeded in dragging out carefully the four large nails

which fastened the plank. Finding that I could lift it at my will, I

replaced the pincers, and waited for the night with amorous impatience.

The darling girl came exactly at midnight, noticing the difficulty she

experienced in climbing up, and in getting a footing upon the third bale

of cotton, I lifted the plank, and, extending my arm as far as I could, I

offered her a steady point of support. She stood straight, and found

herself agreeably surprised, for she could pass her head and her arms

through the hole. We wasted no time in empty compliments; we only

congratulated each other upon having both worked for the same purpose.

If, the night before, I had found myself master of her person more than

she was of mine, this time the position was entirely reversed. Her hand

roamed freely over every part of my body, but I had to stop half-way down

hers. She cursed the man who had packed the bale for not having made it

half a foot bigger, so as to get nearer to me. Very likely even that

would not have satisfied us, but she would have felt happier.

Our pleasures were barren, yet we kept up our enjoyment until the first

streak of light. I put back the plank carefully, and I lay down in my bed

in great need of recruiting my strength.

My dear mistress had informed me that the Turkish Bairam began that very

morning, and would last three days during which it would be impossible

for her to see me.

The night after Bairam, she did not fail to make her appearance, and,

saying that she could not be happy without me, she told me that, as she

was a Christian woman, I could buy her, if I waited for her after leaving

the lazzaretto. I was compelled to tell her that I did not possess the

means of doing so, and my confession made her sigh. On the following

night, she informed me that her master would sell her for two thousand

piasters, that she would give me the amount, that she was yet a virgin,

and that I would be pleased with my bargain. She added that she would

give me a casket full of diamonds, one of which was alone worth two

thousand piasters, and that the sale of the others would place us beyond

the reach of poverty for the remainder of our life. She assured me that

her master would not notice the loss of the casket, and that, if he did,

he would never think of accusing her.

I was in love with this girl; and her proposal made me uncomfortable, but

when I woke in the morning I did not hesitate any longer. She brought the

casket in the evening, but I told her that I never could make up my mind

to be accessory to a robbery; she was very unhappy, and said that my love

was not as deep as her own, but that she could not help admiring me for

being so good a Christian.

This was the last night; probably we should 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 Milo, I

placed my hands under her arms, I drew her up towards me, and my desires

are on the point of being fulfilled. Suddenly I feel two hands upon my

shoulders, and the voice of the keeper exclaims, "What are you about?" I

let my precious burden drop; she regains her chamber, and I, giving vent

to my rage, throw myself flat on the floor of the balcony, and remain

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

lazzaretto, with a breaking heart, I caught a glimpse of the Greek slave

drowned in tears.

I agreed to meet Friar Stephano 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 Lazari 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 claim

whatever upon him. I then purchased a pair of shoes and an overcoat, and

met Stephano, whom I informed of my decision to make a pilgrimage to Our

Lady of Loretto. I said I would await 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 Saint-Francis. I 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 enquired 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 affably, "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 suite of three rooms; the chamber was decorated with

damask hangings, the bedstead 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 after, and curtsying very low, she proceeded

to make my bed. At that moment the Angelus bell was heard; everyone knelt

down, and I followed their example. After the prayer, a small table was

neatly laid out, 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 enquire 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 cured the most chronic insomnia, but I

was not labouring 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 hostelry; but where was I? How was I to suppose that I was in a

hospital?

When I had taken my chocolate, a hair-dresser--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 Caraffa 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 truth and falsehood, and instead of you pumping them,

they will worm everything out of you.

Thinking that it was my duty to present my respectful compliments to

Monsignor Caraffa, I desired to be taken to his apartment. He gave me a

pleasant welcome, shewed me his library, and entrusted me to the care of

one of his abbes, a man of parts, who acted as my cicerone every where.

Twenty years afterwards, this same abbe was of great service to me in

Rome, and, if still alive, he is a canon of St. John Lateran.

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 paoli for the barber. Halfway to Macerata, I

overtook Brother Stephano walking on at a 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. I am in no hurry, and if you feel

disposed to travel with me and in the same quiet way, Saint-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 travelling companion.

"I undertake to walk six miles, instead of three, today," he said, "if

you will 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 batticulo', 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 Saint-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 convents 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 convents 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

Recollet 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 went 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 whatever 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 food for merriment, and when he

had drunk rather too much, he would ask questions of such an indecent

character that they would bring blushes on everybody's countenance. 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 to-day?" 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 in 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 Stephano 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 impostor, and the infamous destroyer of the

poor child's honour; I challenged him to explain his reasons for refusing

to give her absolution, but 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 fulfil 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 galleys if

I continued my journey with him. We exchanged high words; I called him an

ignorant scoundrel, he styled me 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 towards Macerata. A

carrier who was going to Tolentino took me with him for two paoli, and

for six more I might have reached Foligno in a waggon, but unfortunately

a wish for economy made me refuse the offer. I felt well, and I thought I

could easily walk as far as Valcimare, 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 practise 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 innkeeper, 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 towards Seraval. 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 course of an hour a peasant happened to pass with his donkey, and

he agreed to carry me to Seraval 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 in 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 me a night of torments.

Three men, armed with guns and looking like banditti, came in shortly

after I had gone to bed, speaking 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 renewed his beastly attempt. Being

well aware that I could not master him without great danger, I got out of

bed, thinking myself lucky that he did not oppose my wish, and crawling

along as well as I could, I found a chair on which I passed the night. At

day-break, my tormentor, called up by his honest comrades, joined them in

drinking and shouting, and the three strangers, taking their guns,

departed. Left 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 inn-keeper, and 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 Stephano, 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 morning 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 inn-keeper and

four to the surgeon. Just as I was going to proffer my painful request,

Brother Stephano made his appearance in my room, and burst into loud

laughter enquiring 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 superstitious! 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 Chiozza at the moment my distress had

likewise commenced. And yet, a singular guardian angel, this Stephano! I

felt that the mysterious force which threw me in his hands was a

punishment rather than a favour.

Nevertheless he was welcome, because I had no doubt of his relieving me

from my difficulties,--and whatever might be the power that sent him to

me, I felt that I could not do better than to submit to its influence;

the destiny of that monk was to escort me to Rome.

"Chi va piano va sano," said the friar as soon as we were alone. He had

taken five days to traverse the road over which I had travelled 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 abbe, secretary to the

Venetian ambassador at Rome, was lying ill at the inn, after having been

robbed in Valcimara. "I came to see you," he added, "and as I find you

recovered from your illness, we can start again together; I agree 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 Saint-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." Every arrangement was speedily completed; I

received the money, paid my debts, and left Seraval with Stephano.

About 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 Collefiorito; we had better put up there for the night." 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 Saint-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 few 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 Saint-Francis, he would get young and

well. Moved by the sight of so much misery, I wanted to continue my

journey as far as Collefiorito, and to wait there for Stephano, but the

women would not let me go, and I remained. After boiling for four hours

the hen set the strongest teeth at defiance, and the bottle which I

uncorked proved to be nothing but sour vinegar. Losing patience, I got

hold of the monk's batticaslo, and took out of it enough for a plentiful

supper, and I saw the two women opening their eyes very wide at the sight

of our provisions.

We all ate with good appetite, and, after our supper the women made for

us 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 Stephano 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 mine, nothing

daunted, 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 Stephano, protected by his heavy

garments, shakes off the too 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 friar answers,

"She has her quietus." Calm reigns again in the house, the dog, most

likely dead, is silent; the old man, who perhaps has received his

death-blow, coughs no more; the children sleep, and the women, afraid of

the singular caresses of the monk, sheer off into a corner; the remainder

of the night passed off quietly.

At day-break I rose; Stephano was likewise soon up. I looked all round,

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 shewed it to Stephano, remarking that very likely he had

killed him.

"It is possible," he answered, "but I have not done it intentionally."

Then taking up his batticulo and finding it empty he flew 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

waggoner going to Folligno; I persuaded Stephano 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 Folligno, we saw

another waggon, 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 Spoleti, where Brother Stephano had two

benefactors, and, careful not to give either of them a cause of jealousy,

he favoured 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 on

pleasantly 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. I

gave him the lie to his face, and called him a scoundrel. The host and

his wife pacified me, saying that they were well acquainted with their

neighbour, 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 to 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 inn-keeper, a woman

of rare beauty, gave us a good dinner, and some excellent Cyprus 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 inn-keeper without losing a part of my heart.

It would be difficult to draw a picture of the indignation which

overpowered me when, as we were about two miles from Terni, the infamous

friar shewed me a small bag full of truffles which the scoundrel had

stolen from the amiable woman by way of thanks for her generous

hospitality. The truffles were worth two sequins at least. In my

indignation I snatched the bag from him, saying that I would certainly

return it to its 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 reaching Terni, I wrote a letter of apology to our

beautiful hostess of Soma, and sent back the truffles.

From Terni I went on foot to Otricoli, where I only stayed long enough to

examine the fine old bridge, and from there I paid four paoli to a

waggoner 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.

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 endeavoured 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

retraced my steps purposely, but, every time I did so, the flame

disappeared, and would not shew itself again until I proceeded towards

Rome. This extraordinary beacon left me when daylight chased darkness

from the sky.

What a splendid field for ignorant superstition, if there had been any

witnesses to that phenomenon, and if I had chanced 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 any one.

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 gate 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 magnificent 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 6th 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 enquired whether he

had left any instructions for me, but all 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 Cosenza, 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

Brother Stephano.

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 night in a comfortable bed. In the

morning I told the inn-keeper that I would return for my dinner, and I

went out to visit the royal palace. As I passed through the gate, I was

met by a man of prepossessing appearance, dressed in the eastern fashion,

who offered to shew me all over the palace, 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 reverence.

"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 Cerigo wine."

"You are right. I have some rare Cerigo muscatel, and we can taste it if

you have no objection to dine with me."

"None whatever."

"I can likewise give you the wines of Samos and Cephalonia. I have also a

quantity of minerals, plenty of vitriol, cinnabar, antimony, and one

hundred quintals 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, boasts 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 bethought 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 the mercury, treat it as a jest, and see

what his intentions would be. Cheating is a crime, but honest cunning may

be considered as a 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 Cerdaleophyon from the word cerdo; fox,

and it might be translated by foxdom if there were such a word in

English.

After we had visited the palace 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, 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 bismuth; the druggist had no more. 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 I

pronounced his Cerigo 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 bismuth. 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 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

Salerno early the next morning.

"Then we must have supper together 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," said he, "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

to-day is again 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 cask of his Cerigo.

We embraced each other, and I retired to bed well pleased with my day's

work, and in no way astonished at the Greek's not offering to purchase my

secret, for I was certain that he would not sleep for anxiety, and that I

should see him early in the morning. At all events, I had enough money to

reach the Tour-du-Grec, and there 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

pity; 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 forseen, the Greek was in my room at daybreak. I received him in

a friendly way, saying that we could take coffee together.

"Willingly; but tell me, reverend abbe, 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 agree to pay you that sum provided that I succeed in making the

augmentation myself with such matter as you name 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 Tourdu-Grec. We could

go there together. Can you tell me what is the expense of the

augmentation?"

"One and a half per cent. but are you likewise known at the Tour-du-Grec,

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, on account of

Panagiotti."

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 Tour-du-Grec, 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 Tour-du-Grec, 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 presence at Portici.

He then gave me a bill of exchange payable at sight in eight days on M.

Genaro de Carlo. I told him that the ingredients were lead and bismuth;

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 do 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 any

one."

"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

mean time, 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 pleased

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 of reproach to myself, for the cunning I had brought into play to

insure the sale of my secret could not be found fault 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 bought sufficient experience to insure me against falling a

second time an easy prey to a Father Corsini, to thieving gamblers, to

mercenary women, and particularly to the impudent scoundrels who

barefacedly praise 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 Cosenza 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 Ausonaum, 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 scattered

on a soil where they ought to be so numerous; I felt ashamed to

acknowledge them as originating from the same stock as myself. Such is,

however the Terra di Lavoro where labour 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 too

great abundance, and for which there is no market. I felt compelled to

admit the justice of the Romans who had called them Brutes instead of

Byutians. The good priests with whom I had been travelling laughed at my

dread of the tarantula and of the crasydra, 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 has devoted to them in the Georgics as

well as at all those I quoted to justify my fears.

I found Bishop Bernard de Bernardis occupying a hard chair near an old

table on which he was writing. I fell on my knees, as it is customary 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 a seat, and with a heavy

sigh he began to talk of his poverty, and ordered a servant to lay the

cloth for three persons. Besides this servant, his lordship's suite

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 in only

five hundred ducat-diregno 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 feel himself out of the clutches of the

monks, who had persecuted him, and made his life a perfect 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 mitre 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 enquired 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 literacy 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 Martorano. 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 added, "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 I begged his acceptance of it as a souvenir

of me. I had great difficulty in forcing it upon him, for it was worth

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 Cosenza, 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 Cosenza, 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 archbishop and all his guests, amongst whom were two

ladies, his relatives, who did the honours 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-fourth only of its inhabitants were like her. Perhaps it

was with the idea of proving to me that I had been wrong in my opinion

that the archbishop gave on the following day a splendid supper.

Cosenza 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 Cosenza on the third day with a letter from the archbishop for the

far-famed Genovesi.

I had five travelling companions, whom I judged, from their appearance,

to be either pirates or banditti, and I took very good care not to let

them see or guess that I had a well-filled purse. I likewise thought it

prudent to go to bed without undressing during the whole journey--an

excellent measure of prudence for a young man travelling in that part of

the country.

I reached Naples on the 16th of September, 1743, and I lost no time in

presenting the letter of the Bishop of Martorano. It was addressed to a

M. Gennaro Polo at St. Anne's. This excellent man, whose duty was only to

give me the sum of sixty ducats, 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

his kind invitation, my trunk was sent for, and I was a guest in the

house of M. Gennaro Polo.