I wrote to Therese. I told her to accept the engagement in Naples. I added that she might expect me there in July, or after my return from Constantinople.
I advised her to engage an honest-looking waiting-woman, so as to appear respectably in the world, and, she must live, I added, in such a manner that, on my return, I could make her my wife without being ashamed of myself.
I foresaw that her success would be insured by her beauty even more than by her talent, and with my nature, I knew that I could never assume the part of an easy-going lover or a compliant husband.
Had Therese's letter reached me a week earlier, I would never have allowed her to go to Naples. My love would have proved stronger than my reason. But in love, as in all things, time is a great teacher.
I told her to direct her answers to Bologna.
Three days later, her answer came.
It was full of love and sorrow. She informed me that she had signed the engagement. She had found a woman whom she could present as her mother. She would reach Naples toward the middle of May, and there she would wait for me until I told her that I no longer wanted her.
Four days after receiving that letter, the last but one she ever wrote me, I left Bologna for Venice.
Before leaving Bologna, I received an answer from the French officer.
My passport had reached Pesaro. He added that he was ready to send it to me with my trunk, provided I paid Monsieur Marcello Birna, proveditore of the Spanish army, fifty doubloons for the horse which I had run away with, or rather, which had run away with me. He enclosed the address.
I went there at once, well pleased to settle the affair.
A few hours before my departure, my trunk and passport arrived. But the payment for the horse became known all over the town, and Monsignor Cornaro saw in it a fresh proof that I had truly killed my captain in a duel.
To reach Venice, I had an obstacle before me.
A quarantine had been imposed between the territories, not because plague required it, but because the two governments had taken offence with one another.
The Venetians wanted the Pope to be the first in giving free passage through his frontiers, and the Pope insisted that the Venetians should take the initiative.
The result of this trifling pique between the two governments was great hindrance to commerce, but very often that which bears only upon the private interest of the people is lightly treated by the rulers.
I had no desire to undergo quarantine.
I therefore resolved to evade it.
The undertaking was delicate, for in Venice the sanitary laws are very strict, but in those days I delighted in doing, if not everything that was forbidden, at least everything which offered real difficulties.
I knew that passage was free between the state of Mantua and that of Venice. I knew also that Mantua communicated freely with Modena. If, therefore, I could enter Mantuan territory while appearing to come from Modena, the rest would be easy. I would cross the Po and go straight to Venice.
I hired a carrier to take me to Revere, a town situated on the river Po belonging to Mantua.
The man listened to my directions, scratched his head, and told me that by taking the cross-roads he could bring me there in such a way that we might say we came from Mantua.
"There is only one difficulty," he added. "They may ask for the health certificate given at Mantua."
"Then you will say you lost it."
He looked doubtful.
I added a little money to the argument, and his objections disappeared.
We reached the gates of Revere without incident.
There I presented myself as a Spanish officer travelling to Venice on business of the greatest importance, in order to meet the Duke of Modena, whom I knew to be there.
The health certificate was not even demanded.
Military honours were paid to me. The officers treated me with the greatest civility. A certificate was delivered at once, declaring that I travelled from Revere, and with that precious paper I crossed the Po at Ostiglia without the least difficulty.
From Ostiglia I went on to Legnago. There I dismissed my carrier, who was as pleased with my generosity as with the good luck which had attended our journey.
I then took post-horses and reached Venice in the evening.
I remarked that it was the second of April, 1744, the anniversary of my birth, which, ten times during my life, has been marked by some important event.
The very next morning I went to the exchange to look for passage to Constantinople.
No passenger ship was to sail before two or three months.
I therefore engaged a berth on a Venetian vessel called Our Lady of the Rosary, commanded by Captain Zane, which was to sail for Corfu within the month.
Having thus prepared myself to obey my destiny, which, according to my superstitious feelings, called me imperiously to Constantinople, I went to St. Mark's Square.
I wished to see and to be seen.
Venice had known me as an abbé, and I enjoyed by anticipation the surprise of my acquaintances who would now find me transformed.
I must add that at Revere I had decorated my hat with a red cockade. The colour pleased me. It gave my military invention a final flourish.
I thought my first visit belonged, by right, to the Abbé Grimani.
The moment he saw me, he gave a perfect shriek of astonishment. He believed me still with Cardinal Acquaviva, advancing towards a political career, and instead he saw standing before him a son of Mars.
He had just risen from dinner, and there was company in the room. Among the guests I noticed an officer in Spanish uniform, but his presence did not trouble me.
I bowed to the abbé.
"I am only passing through Venice," I said, "but I felt it a duty and a pleasure to pay my respects to your honor."
He looked me over from head to foot.
"I did not expect to see you in such a costume."
"I have resolved to throw off the garb which could not procure me a fortune likely to satisfy my ambition."
"And where are you going?"
"To Constantinople; and I hope to find a quick passage to Corfu, as I have dispatches from Cardinal Acquaviva."
"Where do you come from now?"
"From the Spanish army, which I left ten days ago."
The words had scarcely left my mouth when a young nobleman cried out,
"That is not true."
I turned to him at once.
"The profession to which I belong," I said to him with great animation, "does not permit me to let anyone give me the lie."
And upon that, bowing all round, I went away, without taking any notice of those who were calling me back.
I wore a uniform; it seemed to me that I was right in showing that sensitive and haughty pride which forms one of the characteristics of military men.
I was no longer a priest. I could not bear being given the lie, especially when it had been given to me in so public a manner.
I called upon Madame Manzoni, whom I longed to see.
She received me with real pleasure, and did not fail to remind me of her prediction. I told her my history, which amused her much; but she said that if I went to Constantinople I should most likely never see her again.
After my visit to Madame Manzoni I went to the house of Madame Orio, where I found worthy M. Rosa, Nanette, and Marton. They were all greatly surprised, indeed petrified at seeing me.
The two lovely sisters looked more beautiful than ever, but I did not think it necessary to tell them the history of my nine months absence, for it would not have edified the aunt or pleased the nieces.
I satisfied myself with telling them as much as I thought fit, and amused them for three hours.
The good old lady listened warmly to my adventures. Seeing her carried away by her enthusiasm, I said,
"My dear madam, I should be very happy to pass the four or five weeks of my stay in Venice under your roof, if you could give me a room and supper. But only on condition that I should not become a burden either to you or to your charming nieces."
"I should be only too happy," she answered, "to have you so long, but I have no room to offer you."
"Yes, you have one, my dear," exclaimed M. Rosa, "and I undertake to put it to rights within two hours."
The room in question adjoined the chamber of Nanette and Marton.
Nanette at once said that she and her sister would move downstairs.
"There is no need," said Madame Orio. "You can lock yourselves in your room."
"There would be no need for them to do that, madam," I said, with a serious and modest air; "and if I am likely to occasion the slightest disturbance, I can remain at the inn."
"There will be no disturbance whatever; but forgive my nieces, they are young prudes, and have a very high opinion of themselves."
The sisters lowered their eyes, but not quickly enough to hide their pleasure.
Everything was settled. I pressed fifteen sequins upon Madame Orio in advance, despite her objections. I assured her that I was rich, which was an exaggeration, and that I made a very good bargain, as I should spend a great deal more if I kept my room at the inn.
"I will send my luggage," I said, "and take up my quarters here tomorrow."
During the whole of the conversation, I could see the eyes of my two dear little wives sparkling with pleasure, and they reconquered all their influence over my heart in spite of my love for Therese, whose image was, all the same, brilliant in my soul.
This was a passing infidelity, but not inconstancy.
The next day I went to the war office. To avoid any chance of unpleasantness, I took care to remove my cockade.
I found Major Pelodoro there.
The moment he saw me in uniform, he opened his arms and embraced me with a joy I had not expected. My transformation delighted him.
I told him that I wished to go to Constantinople, and that, though I wore military dress, I belonged to no service and was perfectly free.
He advised me earnestly to seek the favour of going to Turkey with the bailo, who intended to leave within two months, and even to try to obtain service in the Venetian army.
His advice suited me wonderfully.
While we were speaking, the secretary of war saw me and called me over. He had known me the year before and looked at my uniform with an expression in which amusement and curiosity were very well mixed.
"I have received letters from Bologna," he said. "They speak of an adventure much to your honour, though I know you will not acknowledge it."
Then he asked, "Tell me, did you receive your discharge before leaving the Spanish army?"
"I could not receive a discharge, since I was never in the service."
"And how did you manage to come to Venice without performing quarantine?"
"Persons coming from Mantua are not subject to it."
"True; but I advise you to enter the Venetian service like Major Pelodoro."