I thought it my duty to tell Abbot Grimani at once what had happened.
I went to his house as soon as I knew he was awake.
My reception told me everything: the man in the black wig was already there.
They had shut themselves up together.
When I was admitted, the fellow stood to one side, arms folded, the innocent witness.
Grimani held the inventory in his hand.
He did not invite me to sit.
He began with a sermon and I was its only congregation.
I listened in silence while he reproached me for ingratitude, extravagance, and scandal.
He returned again and again to the trust he had placed in me, and to the shame I had brought upon my father's house.
When he had exhausted generalities, he came to particulars.
"You will render an exact account of the missing articles," he said.
I replied that I had been forced to sell them in order not to fall into debt.
The confession changed his face. His voice leapt.
"Rascal!" he cried. "Nothing in that house belongs to you. Nothing. I know what I have to do."
He pointed to the door. "Leave my presence this instant. Leave my house!"
I walked out shaking, not with repentance but with anger.
My first thought was to save what I could.
I went in search of a Convenetian who might buy the furniture that still remained, and found one quickly enough.
Together we hurried back to my lodging, the bargain already half made between us.
At my door we found the law.
A bailiff stood there with a paper in his hand and a guard at his back. Wax seals hung on every door.
He handed me the summons.
It bore the name of Antonio Razetta, the dark-faced emissary of the morning.
I asked to go up to my room; the bailiff shrugged and pointed to the keeper within.
I wasted no time arguing with men who were only doing their work.
I went straight to M. Rosa and laid the whole affair before him from the first visit of the man in the scarlet cloak to the scene with Grimani.
He read the summons slowly, then smiled in a way that reassured me.
"The seals will be removed to-morrow morning," he said. "In the meantime, I shall summon Razetta before the avogador. For tonight, my dear friend, you must ask hospitality from one of your friends. It is a violent proceeding, but you shall be paid for it. This man is clearly acting under Abbot Grimani's orders."
"Well," I said, "that is their business."
That night I slept at Nanette and Marton's, who received both my misfortune and me with their usual good humour.
The next morning, as Rosa had promised, the seals came off.
I entered my rooms again as master, at least in appearance.
Razetta ignored the first summons of the avogador.
Rosa then had him cited in my name before the criminal court and obtained a writ of capias against him if he persisted in his absence.
The law, which had lent him its hand the day before, now offered me its own.
On the third day a note arrived from Abbot Grimani. He commanded me to present myself immediately.
I obeyed at once.
As soon as I crossed the threshold of his room, without greeting or preface, he fixed his eyes on me and said:
"What are your intentions?"
"I intend," I said, "to protect myself against your violence by the only shield left to me, the law. I shall defend myself against a man with whom I should never have had dealings and who has forced me to spend the night in a disreputable house."
"In a disreputable place?" he repeated.
"Certainly. What else would you call it? Against all right and justice, I was kept from entering my own home."
"You have it now," he answered coldly.
"And you will go to your lawyer and order him to suspend all proceedings against Razetta. He has done nothing except under my instruction. I suspected you meant to sell what remained of the furniture; I prevented it."
"There is a room at your disposal at Saint Chrysostom's, in one of my houses. The first floor is occupied by La Tintoretta, our principal opera dancer. Send your belongings there, and come to dine with me every day."
"Your sister and brothers are already well provided for. Everything is arranged for the best."
I went straight to Rosa and laid the new arrangement before him.
He listened thoughtfully, saw the advantage, and advised submission.
"Yield to him," he said. "You lose nothing and gain his table."
It was sound advice.
To be received daily at Grimani's dinner was no small honour for a young man without fortune.
And the prospect of lodging under the same roof as La Tintoretta did not lessen my willingness.
Venecia spoke of her incessantly. Her beauty, her caprices, and Prince Waldeck, who emptied his purse with a devotion that made every husband thoughtful.
The bishop was expected in the course of the summer.
I had, then, six months to spend in Venecia before setting out on the road which, in my imagination, already led to the throne of Saint Peter.
Everything in the future assumed in my eyes the brightest hue; my castles in the air were indeed most beautiful.
That same day I dined with Grimani.
I found myself seated next to Razetta, an unpleasant neighbour, but I took no notice of him.
After the meal I went back once more to my house in the parish of Saint Samuel, walked through its rooms as through a stage I was leaving, and then loaded all that remained of my possessions into a gondola.
The boat slipped off toward my new lodging.
I had never seen Signora Tintoretta, but I knew her story by heart.
She was no great dancer; the theatre said so without malice.
Neither beautiful nor ugly, she held her court not with her ankles but with her head. Her wit did the work her feet refused.
Prince Waldeck spent his fortune in homage to that wit, and yet she kept, with perfect composure, the official protection of an elderly patrician of the Lin family, now extinct in the male line.
He was about sixty, always at her door, and at every hour; Venecia called him her "titulary".
This nobleman, who already knew me by sight, appeared in my room toward evening.
He brought the lady's compliments: she was delighted to have me in her house and would be pleased to admit me to her familiar circle.
I excused myself by saying that I said I had not known she lived above me.
I told the nobleman that Abbot Grimani had told me nothing, and that, had I been aware of it, my first step would have been to pay my respects before unpacking a single trunk.
The ambassador accepted the apology and led me upstairs.
She received me like a princess.
She drew off her glove before giving me her hand to kiss, spoke my name aloud so that the five or six strangers present might hear it, then named each of them in turn and placed me at her side on the sofa.
Being Venetian, she addressed me at once in French.
I thought it unnecessary for two natives of the lagoons to pretend ignorance of their own tongue, and told her candidly that I did not speak French and would be grateful if she would talk to me in Italian.
She stared as if I had confessed I could not read.
"You will make but a poor figure in my salon," she said. "We seldom speak anything else here. I receive too many foreigners."
"I shall learn French," I answered. "You give me a reason."
While we were speaking, Prince Waldeck entered.
I was presented; he gave me a very friendly welcome.
He spoke Italian fluently and, during the carnival, treated me with much kindness.
To reward a sonnet I had composed in honour of his beloved Grizellini -a very mediocre one, I must add- he pressed upon me a gold snuffbox.
The city called her Tintoretta because her father had been a dyer.
Compared with Juliette, the Tintoretta had stronger claims on the respect of sensible men.
She loved poetry and understood it; a rare virtue in a woman courted for her caprices.
Had I not been waiting for the bishop and the career he promised, I might easily have fallen in love with her myself.
Her own heart was elsewhere.
She was enamoured of a young physician of great merit, Righelini. Clever, gentle, and destined, I thought, for distinction.
Death claimed him before his talents could fully bloom.
I still regret him, and I shall have to speak of him again in another part of these Memoirs.