Dalacqua was so ill that Barbara gave me my lesson in his stead.
When it was over, she contrived, in passing, to slip a letter into my pocket and vanished at once, leaving me no occasion to refuse it.
It was addressed to me.
She thanked me warmly for what I had done, and asked only that I should tell her lover that her father had spoken to her again, that he would probably take on a new servant as soon as his health returned, and that I need never fear being involved in the affair by her own indiscretion.
Her father was kept to his bed for a fortnight, and during all that time Barbara continued to teach me each day.
I felt for her an interest which, from me towards a young and pretty girl, was, indeed, quite a new sentiment. It was a feeling of pity, and I was proud of being able to help and comfort her.
She never let her eyes rest on mine, never touched my hand, never altered the least detail of her toilet as though to please me.
She was very pretty, and I knew her nature to be tender and loving, but nothing in her manner asked for license.
Honour itself seemed to stand between us, and I was proud to remark that she never thought me capable of taking advantage of her weakness or of her position.
When her father recovered, he dismissed the servant and hired another. Barbara asked me to tell her friend what had happened, and to say that she hoped to gain the new servant to their side, at least enough to keep their correspondence alive. I promised to do so.
As a mark of her gratitude, she took my hand and lifted it toward her lips.
I drew it back and, on an impulse I did not stop to examine, tried instead to kiss her. She turned her face away, blushing deeply.
I was much pleased with her modesty.
Soon after, Barbara succeeded in winning the new servant over.
From then on I had no further part in the intrigue, and I was glad of it, for I knew my interference might have brought evil on my own head. Unfortunately, it was already too late.
I seldom visited Don Gaspar. The study of French filled my mornings, and those were the only hours in which I could see him.
In the evening, however, I never failed to go to Father Georgi. I came to him as one of his protégés, and that alone won me some reputation.
I spoke little in his company, yet I never found his circle dull. His friends knew how to criticise without slandering, to discuss politics without stubbornness, and to speak of literature without passion. I listened, and I profited.
After leaving the discreet monk, I used to present myself at the cardinal's assembly as duty required.
There, almost every evening, the beautiful marchioness would address me now and then in French when she saw me at her card table. I always answered her in Italian.
I had no desire to make her laugh in front of so many witnesses.
My feelings toward her were of a singular kind. I must leave them to the analysis of the reader.
I found her charming, and for that very reason I avoided her. It was not that I feared to fall in love with her. I loved Lucrezia, and believed that such a love ought to protect me against every other attachment.
No, I kept my distance because I feared that she might be the one to feel something for me or have a passing fancy for me.
Was it self-conceit or modesty, vice or virtue?
Perhaps neither one nor the other.
One evening the Abbé Gama was told to call me to the marchioness. She stood near the Cardinal, my patron, and the moment I came up to her she surprised me by asking me in Italian a question which I was far from anticipating:
"How did you like Frascati?"
"Very much, madam; I have never seen such a beautiful place."
"But your company was still more beautiful, and your vis-a-vis was very smart."
I only bowed low to the marchioness, and a moment after Cardinal Acquaviva said to me, kindly,
"You are astonished at your adventure being known?"
"No, my lord; but I am surprised that people should talk of it. I could not have believed Rome to be so much like a small village."
"The longer you live in Rome," said his eminence, "the more you will find it so. You have not yet presented yourself to kiss the foot of our Holy Father?"
"Not yet, my lord."
"Then you must do so."
I bowed in compliance to his wishes.
The Abbé Gama told me that I must present myself to the Pope the next day.
"Of course," he added, "you have already shown yourself at the palace of Marchioness G----?"
"No, I have never been there."
He looked at me with surprise.
"You astonish me; but she often speaks to you!"
"I have no objection to go with you."
"I never visit at her palace."
"Yet she speaks to you likewise."
"Yes, but.... You do not know Rome; go alone; believe me, you ought to go."
"Will she receive me?"
"You are joking, I suppose. Of course it is out of the question for you to be announced. You will call when the doors are wide open to everybody. You will meet there all those who pay homage to her."
"Will she see me?"
"No doubt of it."
The next day I went to Monte-Cavallo and was at once shown into the room where the Pope was alone.
I fell to my knees and kissed the holy cross on his slipper.
He asked who I was. I told him, and he said he knew me already, and congratulated me on being in the service of so eminent a cardinal.
He then asked how I had won the cardinal's favour. I gave him a faithful account of my adventures from the day of my arrival at Martorano.
At the mention of the poor bishop he laughed heartily, and when I made an effort to speak Tuscan, he told me I need not trouble myself, since he was speaking to me in the dialect of Bologna.
I soon found myself entirely at ease with him. I told him so much news and amused him so well that the Holy Father kindly said that he would be glad to see me whenever I presented myself at Monte-Cavallo.
Before leaving, I asked permission to read every forbidden book.
He granted it with his blessing, and promised that I should have the authorization in writing, but he forgot it.
Benedict XIV was a learned man, very amiable, and fond of a joke. I saw him a second time at the Villa Medici.
He called me to him and went on walking, speaking of trifling things. He was accompanied by Cardinal Albani and the Venetian ambassador.
As we walked, a man of modest appearance approached the Holy Father.
The Pope asked what he wanted.
The man answered in a low voice, and after hearing him the Pope said, "You are right. Put your trust in God," and gave him his blessing.
The poor fellow went away with a downcast air, and the Pope continued his walk.
"This man," I said, "most Holy Father, has not been pleased with the answer of Your Holiness."
"Why?"
"Because most likely he had already addressed himself to God before he ventured to apply to you; and when Your Holiness sends him to God again, he finds himself sent back, as the proverb says, from Herod to Pilate."
The Pope laughed heartily, as did the two gentlemen with him, but I kept a serious countenance.
"I cannot," continued the Pope, "do any good without God's assistance."
"Very true, Holy Father; but the man is aware that you are God's prime minister, and it is easy to imagine his trouble now that the minister sends him again to the master. His only resource is to give money to the beggars of Rome, who for one 'bajocco' will pray for him. They boast of their influence before the throne of the Almighty, but as I have faith only in your credit, I entreat Your Holiness to deliver me of the heat which inflames my eyes by granting me permission to eat meat."
"Eat meat, my son."
"Holy Father, give me your blessing."
He blessed me, and added that I was not thereby dispensed from fasting.
That same evening, at the cardinal's assembly, I found that the story of my dialogue with the Pope had already spread.
Everyone wished to speak to me. The attention pleased me, but I was more pleased still by the joy Cardinal Acquaviva tried in vain to conceal.
I did not wish to neglect Gama's advice, so I presented myself at the marchioness's mansion at the hour when her doors stood open to all comers.
I saw her, I saw the cardinal and a great many abbes; but I might have supposed myself invisible, for no one honoured me with a look, and no one spoke to me.
I left after having performed for half an hour the character of a mute.
Five or six days later the marchioness told me, with much graciousness, that she had caught sight of me in her reception room.
"I was there, it is true, madam; but I had no idea that I had had the honour to be seen by your ladyship."
"Oh! I see everybody. They tell me that you have wit."
"If it is not a mistake on the part of your informants, your ladyship gives me very good news."
"Oh! they are excellent judges."
"Then, madam, those persons must have honoured me with their conversation; otherwise, it is not likely that they would have been able to express such an opinion."
"No doubt," she said. but let me see you often at my receptions."
Our conversation had not escaped notice.
The Cardinal told me that when the marchioness addressed me in French, I ought to answer her in French as well, whether my French were elegant or not.
The cunning politician Gama took me apart, and remarked that my repartees were too smart, too cutting, and that, after a time, I would be sure to displease.
By then I had made enough progress in the language to dispense with lessons. Practice was all I required.
I was then in the habit of calling sometimes upon Lucrezia in the morning, and in the evening I visited Father Georgi, who knew of the excursion to Frascati and had shown no displeasure.
Two days after the marchioness had given me what amounted to a command, I presented myself at her reception.
As soon as she saw me, she favoured me with a smile which I acknowledged by a deep reverence; that was all.
A quarter of an hour later I left the mansion.
The marchioness was beautiful, but she was powerful, and I could not make up my mind to crawl at the feet of power, and, on that head, I felt disgusted with the manners of the Romans.