The next day, I called on L'Abbadie.
After the usual compliments, I told him what service I hoped to receive from his friendship.
He refused me with exquisite politeness as he drowned his refusal in that sea of commonplaces reserved for occasions when people either cannot or will not oblige a friend.
He was still apologizing when Zawoiski came in.
I left them together and went straight to M. de Bragadin.
"Well?" he asked.
"He refused."
My father only smiled and remarked quietly.
"The Frenchman is deficient in intelligence."
It happened to be the very day on which the inspectorship was to be discussed in the senate.
I went out to attend to my business (I ought to say to my pleasure), and as I did not return home till after midnight I went to bed without seeing my father.
In the morning, in his presence, I said,
"I shall call on L'Abbadie today to congratulate him on his appointment."
"You may spare yourself the trouble," said M. de Bragadin. "The senate has rejected his nomination."
"How so? Three days ago L'Abbadie felt sure of his success."
"He was right then, for he would have been appointed if I had not made up my mind to speak against him."
I looked at him in surprise.
"I have proved to the senate that a right policy forbade the government to trust such an important post to a foreigner."
"I am much surprised, for your excellency was not of that opinion the day before yesterday."
"Very true, but then I did not know M. de l'Abbadie."
He continued calmly, "I found out only yesterday that the man was not sufficiently intelligent to fill the position he was soliciting. Is he likely to possess a sane judgment when he refuses to lend you one hundred sequins?"
I could not help smiling.
"That refusal," he added, "has cost him an important appointment and an income of three thousand crowns, which would now be his."
That same day, while walking, I met Zawoiski with L'Abbadie.
I did not avoid them.
L'Abbadie came towards me in a fury, and I confess he had some reason to be angry.
"If you had told me," he said, "that the one hundred sequins were intended as a gag to stop M. de Bragadin's mouth, I would have contrived to procure them for you."
"If you had had an inspector's brains," I retorted, "you would have easily guessed it."
The Frenchman's resentment proved very useful to me, because he related the circumstance to everybody.
The result was that from that time those who wanted the patronage of the senator applied to me.
No commentary is needed.
Such things have always existed, and they will exist as long as men seek favour from men more powerful than themselves. To obtain the greatest benefit, it is often enough to win over the favourite, the secretary, or even the valet. The great man signs; the small man opens the door.
My debts were soon paid.
Around that time, my brother Jean came to Venice with Guarienti, a converted Jew and an excellent judge of paintings. He was travelling at the expense of His Majesty the King of Poland, Elector of Saxony.
This Guarienti was the same man who had purchased, for His Majesty, the gallery of the Duke of Modena for one hundred thousand sequins.
He and my brother did not remain long in Venice. They left for Rome, where Jean entered the studio of the celebrated painter Raphael Mengs, whom we shall meet again later.
Now, as a faithful historian, I must give my readers the story of a certain adventure in which were involved the honour and happiness of one of the most charming women in Italy, who would have been unhappy if I had not been a thoughtless fellow.
It was early October 1746. The theatres had opened, and I was walking through Venice with my mask on.
Near the landing, I saw a woman step out of the Ferrara barge which had just arrived.
Her head was deeply hidden in the hood of her mantle. She was alone. Her walk had that uncertainty which belongs either to fear or to a stranger who does not know where to turn. Something in her manner drew me at once. I went towards her as if an invisible hand had guided me.
"Madam," I said, "may I be of service to you?"
She answered timidly that she wished only to make some enquiries.
"We are not here in the right place for conversation," I said, "but if you would be kind enough to come with me to a cafe, you would be able to speak and to explain your wishes."
She hesitated.
I insisted gently.
At last she yielded.
There was a tavern close by. We entered and were given a private room.
I removed my mask.
Politeness then obliged her to lower her hood.
A large muslin headdress still concealed half her face, but what remained visible was enough. Her eyes, her nose, her pretty mouth, all spoke before she did. I saw beauty there, but not beauty alone. There was nobility, sorrow, candour, and that touching innocence which gives youth such an undeniable charm.
I need not say that, with such a good letter of introduction, the unknown at once captivated my warmest interest.
She tried to master herself, but the tears came anyway.
After wiping them away, she told me her story. She belonged to a noble family. She had fled her father's house alone, trusting only in God, to find a Venetian nobleman who had seduced her, deceived her, and thus sealed her everlasting misery.
"You have then some hope of recalling him to the path of duty? I suppose he has promised you marriage?"
"He has engaged his faith to me in writing. The only favour I claim from your kindness is to take me to his house, to leave me there, and to keep my secret."
"You may trust, madam, to the feelings of a man of honour. I am worthy of your trust. Have entire confidence in me, for I already take a deep interest in all your concerns. Tell me his name."
"Alas! sir, I give way to fate."
She drew a paper from her bosom and gave it to me.
I recognized the handwriting at once.
Zanetto Steffani.
It was a promise of marriage, by which he pledged his honour to marry, within a week in Venice, the young Countess A---- S----.
I returned the paper to her.
"I know the writer quite well," I said. "He is connected with the chancellor's office. He is known as a great libertine, and he is deep in debt. He will be rich only after his mother's death."
"For God's sake take me to his house."
"I will do anything you wish; but have entire confidence in me, and be good enough to hear me. I advise you not to go to his house. He has already done you great injury, and, even supposing that you should happen to find him at home, he might be capable of receiving you badly; if he should not be at home, it is most likely that his mother would not exactly welcome you, if you should tell her who you are and what is your errand."
She lowered her eyes.
"Trust me," I added, "and be quite certain that God has sent me on your way to assist you. I promise you that to-morrow at the latest you shall know whether Steffani is in Venice, what he intends to do with you, and what we may compel him to do. Until then my advice is not to let him know your arrival in Venice."
"Good God," she said. "Where shall I go tonight?"
"To a respectable house, of course."
"I will go to yours, if you are married."
"I am a bachelor."
I knew an honest widow who lived in a narrow lane and had two furnished rooms. I persuaded the young countess to follow me. We left the tavern and took a gondola.
As the gondola glided through the dark canals, she told me her story.
A month earlier, Steffani had stopped near her home because his travelling carriage needed repairs. That same day, she had met him at a house where she had gone with her mother to congratulate a newly married lady.
"I was unfortunate enough," she said, "to inspire him with love, and he postponed his departure.
"He remained one month in C----, never going out but in the evening, and spending every night under my windows conversing with me. He swore a thousand times that he adored me, that his intentions were honourable. I entreated him to present himself to my parents to ask me in marriage, but he always excused himself by alleging some reason, good or bad, assuring me that he could not be happy unless I shewed him entire confidence. He would beg of me to make up my mind to run away with him, unknown to everybody, promising that my honour should not suffer from such a step, because, three days after my departure, everybody should receive notice of my being his wife, and he assured me that he would bring me back on a visit to my native place shortly after our marriage. Alas, sir! what shall I say now? Love blinded me; I fell into the abyss; I believed him; I agreed to everything. He gave me the paper which you have read, and the following night I allowed him to come into my room through the window under which he was in the habit of conversing with me.
"I consented to be guilty of a crime which I believed would be atoned for within three days, and he left me, promising that the next night he would be again under my window, ready to receive me in his arms. Could I possibly entertain any doubt after the fearful crime I had committed for him? I prepared a small parcel, and waited for his coming, but in vain. Oh! what a cruel long night it was! In the morning I heard that the monster had gone away with his servant one hour after sealing my shame. You may imagine my despair! I adopted the only plan that despair could suggest, and that, of course, was not the right one. One hour before midnight I left my father's roof, alone, thus completing my dishonour, but resolved on death, if the man who has cruelly robbed me of my most precious treasure, and whom a natural instinct told me I could find here, does not restore me the honour which he alone can give me back. I walked all night and nearly the whole day, without taking any food, until I got into the barge, which brought me here in twenty-four hours. I travelled in the boat with five men and two women, but no one saw my face or heard my voice, I kept constantly sitting down in a corner, holding my head down, half asleep, and with this prayer-book in my hands. I was left alone, no one spoke to me, and I thanked God for it. When I landed on the wharf, you did not give me time to think how I could find out the dwelling of my perfidious seducer, but you may imagine the impression produced upon me by the sudden apparition of a masked man who, abruptly, and as if placed there purposely by Providence, offered me his services; it seemed to me that you had guessed my distress, and, far from experiencing any repugnance, I felt that I was acting rightly in trusting myself in your hands, in spite of all prudence which, perhaps, ought to have made me turn a deaf ear to your words, and refuse the invitation to enter alone with you the house to which you took me."
She folded her hands.
"You know all now, sir; but I entreat you not to judge me too severely; I have been virtuous all through my life; one month ago I had never committed a fault which could call a blush upon my face, and the bitter tears which I shed every day will, I hope, wash out my crime in the eyes of God. I have been carefully brought up, but love and the want of experience have thrown me into the abyss. I am in your hands, and I feel certain that I shall have no cause to repent it."
I needed all she had just told me to confirm me in the interest which I had felt in her from the first moment.
I told her unsparingly that Steffani had seduced and abandoned her of malice aforethought, and that she ought to think of him only to be revenged of his perfidy.
My words made her shudder, and she buried her beautiful face in her hands.