May 17.
I thank you, my most honored friend, for the permission you have given
me to continue in your absence that confidential intercourse with you,
which during your stay here formed my great pleasure. You must be aware
that there is no one here with whom I can venture to open my heart on
certain private matters. Whatever you may urge to the contrary, I
detest the people here. Since the prince has become one of them, and
since we have lost your society, I feel solitary in the midst of this
populous city. Z------ takes it less to heart, and the fair ones of
Venice manage to make him forget the mortifications he is compelled to
share with me at home. And why should he make himself unhappy? He
desires nothing more in the prince than a master, whom he could also
find elsewhere. But I!--you know how deep an interest I feel in our
prince’s weal and woe, and how much cause I have for doing so; I have
now lived with him sixteen years, and seem to exist only for his sake.
As a boy of nine years old I first entered his service, and since that
time we have never been separated. I have grown up under his eye--a
long intercourse has insensibly attached me more and more to him--I have
borne a part in all his adventures, great and small. Until this last
unhappy year I had been accustomed to look upon him in the light of a
friend, or of an elder brother--I have basked in his smile as in the
sunshine of a summer’s day--no cloud hung over my happiness!--and all
this must now go to ruin in this unlucky Venice!
Since your departure several changes have taken place in our
establishment. The Prince of --d----- arrived here last week, with a
numerous and brilliant retinue, and has caused a new and tumultuous life
in our circle. As he is so nearly related to our prince, and as they
are moreover at present upon pretty good terms, they will be very little
apart during his sojourn, which I hear is to last until after the feast
of the Ascension. A good beginning has already been made; for the last
ten days our prince has hardly had time to breathe. The Prince of
--d---- has all along been living in a very expensive way, which was
excusable in him, as he will soon take his departure; but the worst of
the business is that he has inoculated our prince with his extravagance,
because he could not well withdraw himself from his company, and, in the
peculiar relation which exists between the two houses, thought it
incumbent upon himself to assert the dignity of his own. We shall,
moreover, depart from Venice in a few weeks, which will relieve the
prince from the necessity of continuing for any length of time this
extraordinary expenditure.
The Prince of --d-----, it is reported, is here on business of the
Order, in which he imagines that he plays an important part. That he
has taken advantage of all the acquaintances of our prince you may
readily imagine. He has been introduced with distinguished honor into
the society of the Bucentauro, as he is pleased to consider himself a
wit, and a man of great genius, and allows himself to be styled in his
correspondences, which he keeps up throughout all parts of the world,
the “prince philosophique.” I do not know whether you have ever had the
pleasure of meeting him. He displays a promising exterior, piercing
eyes, a countenance full of expression, much show of reading, much
acquired naturalness (if I may be allowed the expression), joined to a
princely condescension towards the human race, a large amount of
confidence in himself, and an eloquence which talks down all opposition.
Who could refuse to pay homage to such splendid qualities in a “Royal
Highness?” But to what advantage the quiet and sterling worth of our
prince will appear, when contrasted with these dazzling accomplishments,
the event must show.
In the arrangement of our establishment, various and important changes
have taken place. We have rented a new and magnificent house opposite
the new Procuracy, because the lodging at the Moor Hotel became too
confined for the prince. Our suite has been augmented by twelve
persons, pages, Moors, guards, etc. During your stay here you
complained of unnecessary expense--you should see us now!
Our internal arrangements remain the same as of old, except that the
prince, no longer held in check by your presence, is, if possible, more
reserved and distant towards us than ever; we see very little of him,
except while dressing or undressing him. Under the pretext that we
speak the French language very badly, and the Italian not at all, he has
found means to exclude us from most of his entertainments, which to me
personally is not a very great grievance; but I believe I know the true
reason of it--he is ashamed of us; and this hurts me, for we have not
deserved it of him.
As you wish to know all our minor affairs, I must tell you, that of all
his attendants, the prince almost exclusively employs Biondello, whom he
took into his service, as you will recollect, on the disappearance of
his huntsman, and who, in his new mode of life, has become quite
indispensable to him. This man knows Venice thoroughly, and turns
everything to some account. It is as though he had a thousand eyes,
and could set a thousand hands in motion at once. This he accomplishes,
as he says, by the help of the gondoliers. To the prince he renders
himself very useful by making him acquainted with all the strange faces
that present themselves at his assemblies, and the private information
he gives his highness has always proved to be correct. Besides this,
he speaks and writes both Italian and French excellently, and has in
consequence already risen to be the prince’s secretary. I must,
however, relate to you an instance of fidelity in him which is rarely
found among people of his station. The other day a merchant of good
standing from Rimini requested an audience of the prince. The object
of his visit was an extraordinary complaint concerning Biondello. The
procurator, his former master, who must have been rather an odd fellow,
had lived in irreconcilable enmity with his relations; this enmity he
wished if possible to continue even after his death. Biondello
possessed his entire confidence, and was the repository of all his
secrets; while on his deathbed he obliged him to swear that he would
keep them inviolably, and would never disclose them for the benefit of
his relations; a handsome legacy was to be the reward of his silence.
When the deceased procurator’s will was opened and his papers inspected,
many blanks and irregularities were found to which Biondello alone could
furnish a key. He persisted in denying that he knew anything about it,
gave up his very handsome legacy to the heirs, and kept his secrets to
himself. Large offers were made to him by the relations, but all in
vain; at length, in order to escape from their importunities and their
threats of legally prosecuting him he entered the service of the prince.
The merchant, who was the chief heir, now applied to the prince, and
made larger offers than, before if Biondello would alter his
determination. But even the persuasions of the prince were fruitless.
He admitted that secrets of consequence had really been confided to him;
he did not deny that the deceased had perhaps carried his enmity towards
his relations too far; but, added he, he was my dear master and
benefactor, and died with a firm belief in my integrity. I was the only
friend he had left in the world, and will therefore never prove myself
unworthy of his confidence. At the same time he hinted that the avowals
they wished him to make would not tend to the honor of the deceased.
Was not that acting nobly and delicately? You may easily imagine that
the prince did not renew his endeavors to shake so praiseworthy a
determination. The extraordinary fidelity which he has shown towards
his deceased master has procured him the unlimited confidence of his
present one!
Farewell, my dear friend. How I sigh for the quiet life we led when
first you came amongst us, for the stillness of which your society so
agreeably indemnified us. I fear my happy days in Venice are over, and
shall be glad if the same remark does not also apply to the prince. The
element in which he now lives is not calculated to render him
permanently happy, or my sixteen years’ experience has deceived me.