Bellino’s History

–I Am Put Under Arrest–I Run Away Against
My Will–My Return To Rimini, and My Arrival In Bologna

Dear reader, I said enough at the end of the last chapter to make you
guess what happened, but no language would be powerful enough to make you
realize all the voluptuousness which that charming being had in store for
me. She came close to me the moment I was in bed. Without uttering one
word our lips met, and I found myself in the ecstasy of enjoyment before
I had had time to seek for it. After so complete a victory, what would my
eyes and my fingers have gained from investigations which could not give
me more certainty than I had already obtained? I could not take my gaze
off that beautiful face, which was all aflame with the ardour of love.

After a moment of quiet rapture, a spark lighted up in our veins a fresh
conflagration which we drowned in a sea of new delights. Bellino felt
bound to make me forget my sufferings, and to reward me by an ardour
equal to the fire kindled by her charms.

The happiness I gave her increased mine twofold, for it has always been
my weakness to compose the four-fifths of my enjoyment from the sum-total
of the happiness which I gave the charming being from whom I derived it.
But such a feeling must necessarily cause hatred for old age which can
still receive pleasure, but can no longer give enjoyment to another. And
youth runs away from old age, because it is its most cruel enemy.

An interval of repose became necessary, in consequence of the activity of
our enjoyment. Our senses were not tired out, but they required the rest
which renews their sensitiveness and restores the buoyancy necessary to
active service.

Bellino was the first to break our silence.

“Dearest,” she said, “are you satisfied now? Have you found me truly
loving?”

“Truly loving? Ah! traitress that you are! Do you, then, confess that I
was not mistaken when I guessed that you were a charming woman? And if
you truly loved me, tell me how you could contrive to defer your
happiness and mine so long? But is it quite certain that I did not make a
mistake?”

“I am yours all over; see for yourself.”

Oh, what delightful survey! what charming beauties! what an ocean of
enjoyment! But I could not find any trace of the protuberance which had
so much terrified and disgusted me.

“What has become,” I said, “of that dreadful monstrosity?”

“Listen to me,” she replied, “and I will tell you everything.

“My name is Therese. My father, a poor clerk in the Institute of Bologna,
had let an apartment in his house to the celebrated Salimberi, a
castrato, and a delightful musician. He was young and handsome, he became
attached to me, and I felt flattered by his affection and by the praise
he lavished upon me. I was only twelve years of age; he proposed to teach
me music, and finding that I had a fine voice, he cultivated it
carefully, and in less than a year I could accompany myself on the
harpsichord. His reward was that which his love for me induced him to
ask, and I granted the reward without feeling any humiliation, for I
worshipped him. Of course, men like yourself are much above men of his
species, but Salimberi was an exception. His beauty, his manners, his
talent, and the rare qualities of his soul, made him superior in my eyes
to all the men I had seen until then. He was modest and reserved, rich
and generous, and I doubt whether he could have found a woman able to
resist him; yet I never heard him boast of having seduced any. The
mutilation practised upon his body had made him a monster, but he was an
angel by his rare qualities and endowments.

“Salimberi was at that time educating a boy of the same age as myself,
who was in Rimini with a music teacher. The father of the boy, who was
poor and had a large family, seeing himself near death, had thought of
having his unfortunate son maimed so that he should become the support of
his brothers with his voice. The name of the boy was Bellino; the good
woman whom you have just seen in Ancona was his mother, and everybody
believes that she is mine.

“I had belonged to Salimberi for about a year, when he announced to me
one day, weeping bitterly, that he was compelled to leave me to go to
Rome, but he promised to see me again. The news threw me into despair. He
had arranged everything for the continuation of my musical education,
but, as he was preparing himself for his departure, my father died very
suddenly, after a short illness, and I was left an orphan.

“Salimberi had not courage enough to resist my tears and my entreaties;
he made up his mind to take me to Rimini, and to place me in the same
house where his young ‘protege’ was educated. We reached Rimini, and put
up at an inn; after a short rest, Salimberi left me to call upon the
teacher of music, and to make all necessary arrangements respecting me
with him; but he soon returned, looking sad and unhappy; Bellino had died
the day before.

“As he was thinking of the grief which the loss of the young man would
cause his mother, he was struck with the idea of bringing me back to
Bologna under the name of Bellino, where he could arrange for my board
with the mother of the deceased Bellino, who, being very poor, would find
it to her advantage to keep the secret. ‘I will give her,’ he said,
‘everything necessary for the completion of your musical education, and
in four years, I will take you to Dresden (he was in the service of the
Elector of Saxony, King of Poland), not as a girl, but as a castrato.
There we will live together without giving anyone cause for scandal, and
you will remain with me and minister to my happiness until I die. All we
have to do is to represent you as Bellino, and it is very easy, as nobody
knows you in Bologna. Bellino’s mother will alone know the secret; her
other children have seen their brother only when he was very young, and
can have no suspicion. But if you love me you must renounce your sex,
lose even the remembrance of it, and leave immediately for Bologna,
dressed as a boy, and under the name of Bellino. You must be very careful
lest anyone should find out that you are a girl; you must sleep alone,
dress yourself in private, and when your bosom is formed, as it will be
in a year or two, it will only be thought a deformity not uncommon
amongst ‘castrati’. Besides, before leaving you, I will give you a small
instrument, and teach how to fix it in such manner that, if you had at
any time to submit to an examination, you would easily be mistaken for a
man. If you accept my plan, I feel certain that we can live together in
Dresden without losing the good graces of the queen, who is very
religious. Tell me, now, whether you will accept my proposal?

“He could not entertain any doubt of my consent, for I adored him. As
soon as he had made a boy of me we left Rimini for Bologna, where we
arrived late in the evening. A little gold made everything right with
Bellino’s mother; I gave her the name of mother, and she kissed me,
calling me her dear son. Salimberi left us, and returned a short time
afterwards with the instrument which would complete my transformation. He
taught me, in the presence of my new mother, how to fix it with some
tragacanth gum, and I found myself exactly like my friend. I would have
laughed at it, had not my heart been deeply grieved at the departure of
my beloved Salimberi, for he bade me farewell as soon as the curious
operation was completed. People laugh at forebodings; I do not believe in
them myself, but the foreboding of evil, which almost broke my heart as
he gave me his farewell kiss, did not deceive me. I felt the cold
shivering of death run through me; I felt I was looking at him for the
last time, and I fainted away. Alas! my fears proved only too prophetic.
Salimberi died a year ago in the Tyrol in the prime of life, with the
calmness of a true philosopher. His death compelled me to earn my living
with the assistance of my musical talent. My mother advised me to
continue to give myself out as a castrato, in the hope of being able to
take me to Rome. I agreed to do so, for I did not feel sufficient energy
to decide upon any other plan. In the meantime she accepted an offer for
the Ancona Theatre, and Petronio took the part of first female dancer; in
this way we played the comedy of ‘The World Turned Upside Down.’

“After Salimberi, you are the only man I have known, and, if you like,
you can restore me to my original state, and make me give up the name of
Bellino, which I hate since the death of my protector, and which begins
to inconvenience me. I have only appeared at two theatres, and each time
I have been compelled to submit to the scandalous, degrading examination,
because everywhere I am thought to have too much the appearance of a
girl, and I am admitted only after the shameful test has brought
conviction. Until now, fortunately, I have had to deal only with old
priests who, in their good faith, have been satisfied with a very slight
examination, and have made a favourable report to the bishop; but I might
fall into the hands of some young abbe, and the test would then become a
more severe one. Besides, I find myself exposed to the daily persecutions
of two sorts of beings: those who, like you, cannot and will not believe
me to be a man, and those who, for the satisfaction of their disgusting
propensities, are delighted at my being so, or find it advantageous to
suppose me so. The last particularly annoy me! Their tastes are so
infamous, their habits so low, that I fear I shall murder one of them
some day, when I can no longer control the rage in which their obscene
language throws me. Out of pity, my beloved angel, be generous; and, if
you love me, oh! free me from this state of shame and degradation! Take
me with you. I do not ask to become your wife, that would be too much
happiness; I will only be your friend, your mistress, as I would have
been Salimberi’s; my heart is pure and innocent, I feel that I can remain
faithful to my lover through my whole life. Do not abandon me. The love I
have for you is sincere; my affection for Salimberi was innocent; it was
born of my inexperience and of my gratitude, and it is only with you that
I have felt myself truly a woman.”

Her emotion, an inexpressible charm which seemed to flow from her lips
and to enforce conviction, made me shed tears of love and sympathy. I
blended my tears with those falling from her beautiful eyes, and deeply
moved, I promised not to abandon her and to make her the sharer of my
fate. Interested in the history, as singular as extraordinary, that she
had just narrated, and having seen nothing in it that did not bear the
stamp of truth, I felt really disposed to make her happy but I could not
believe that I had inspired her with a very deep passion during my short
stay in Ancona, many circumstances of which might, on the contrary, have
had an opposite effect upon her heart.

“If you loved me truly,” I said, “how could you let me sleep with your
sisters, out of spite at your resistance?”

“Alas, dearest! think of our great poverty, and how difficult it was for
me to discover myself. I loved you; but was it not natural that I should
suppose your inclination for me only a passing caprice? When I saw you go
so easily from Cecilia to Marinetta, I thought that you would treat me in
the same manner as soon as your desires were satisfied, I was likewise
confirmed in my opinion of your want of constancy and of the little
importance you attached to the delicacy of the sentiment of love, when I
witnessed what you did on board the Turkish vessel without being hindered
by my presence; had you loved me, I thought my being present would have
made you uncomfortable. I feared to be soon despised, and God knows how
much I suffered! You have insulted me, darling, in many different ways,
but my heart pleaded in your favour, because I knew you were excited,
angry, and thirsting for revenge. Did you not threaten me this very day
in your carriage? I confess you greatly frightened me, but do not fancy
that I gave myself to you out of fear. No, I had made up my mind to be
yours from the moment you sent me word by Cecilia that you would take me
to Rimini, and your control over your own feelings during a part of our
journey confirmed me in my resolution, for I thought I could trust myself
to your honour, to your delicacy.”

“Throw up,” I said, “the engagement you have in Rimini; let us proceed on
our journey, and, after remaining a couple of days in Bologna, you will
go with me to Venice; dressed as a woman, and with another name, I would
challenge the manager here to find you out.”

“I accept. Your will shall always be my law. I am my own mistress, and I
give myself to you without any reserve or restriction; my heart belongs
to you, and I trust to keep yours.”

Man has in himself a moral force of action which always makes him
overstep the line on which he is standing. I had obtained everything, I
wanted more. “Shew me,” I said, “how you were when I mistook you for a
man.” She got out of bed, opened her trunk, took out the instrument and
fixed it with the gum: I was compelled to admire the ingenuity of the
contrivance. My curiosity was satisfied, and I passed a most delightful
night in her arms.

When I woke up in the morning, I admired her lovely face while she was
sleeping: all I knew of her came back to my mind; the words which had
been spoken by her bewitching mouth, her rare talent, her candour, her
feelings so full of delicacy, and her misfortunes, the heaviest of which
must have been the false character she had been compelled to assume, and
which exposed her to humiliation and shame, everything strengthened my
resolution to make her the companion of my destiny, whatever it might be,
or to follow her fate, for our positions were very nearly the same; and
wishing truly to attach myself seriously to that interesting being, I
determined to give to our union the sanction of religion and of law, and
to take her legally for my wife. Such a step, as I then thought, could
but strengthen our love, increase our mutual esteem, and insure the
approbation of society which could not accept our union unless it was
sanctioned in the usual manner.

The talents of Therese precluded the fear of our being ever in want of
the necessaries of life, and, although I did not know in what way my own
talents might be made available, I had faith in myself. Our love might
have been lessened, she would have enjoyed too great advantages over me,
and my self-dignity would have too deeply suffered if I had allowed
myself to be supported by her earnings only. It might, after a time, have
altered the nature of our feelings; my wife, no longer thinking herself
under any obligation to me, might have fancied herself the protecting,
instead of the protected party, and I felt that my love would soon have
turned into utter contempt, if it had been my misfortune to find her
harbouring such thoughts. Although I trusted it would not be so, I
wanted, before taking the important step of marriage, to probe her heart,
and I resolved to try an experiment which would at once enable me to
judge the real feelings of her inmost soul. As soon as she was awake, I
spoke to her thus:

“Dearest Therese, all you have told me leaves me no doubt of your love
for me, and the consciousness you feel of being the mistress of my heart
enhances my love for you to such a degree, that I am ready to do
everything to convince you that you were not mistaken in thinking that
you had entirely conquered me. I wish to prove to you that I am worthy of
the noble confidence you have reposed in me by trusting you with equal
sincerity.

“Our hearts must be on a footing of perfect equality. I know you, my
dearest Therese, but you do not know me yet. I can read in your eyes that
you do not mind it, and it proves our great love, but that feeling places
me too much below you, and I do not wish you to have so great an
advantage over me. I feel certain that my confidence is not necessary to
your love; that you only care to be mine, that your only wish is to
possess my heart, and I admire you, my Therese; but I should feel
humiliated if I found myself either too much above or too much below you.
You have entrusted your secrets to me, now listen to mine; but before I
begin, promise me that, when you know everything that concerns me, you
will tell me candidly if any change has taken place either in your
feelings or in your hopes.”

“I promise it faithfully; I promise not to conceal anything from you; but
be upright enough not to tell me anything that is not perfectly true, for
I warn you that it would be useless. If you tried any artifice in order
to find me less worthy of you than I am in reality, you would only
succeed in lowering yourself in my estimation. I should be very sorry to
see you guilty of any cunning towards me. Have no more suspicion of me
than I have of you; tell me the whole truth.”

“Here it is. You suppose me wealthy, and I am not so; as soon as what
there is now in my purse is spent I shall have nothing left. You may
fancy that I was born a patrician, but my social condition is really
inferior to your own. I have no lucrative talents, no profession, nothing
to give me the assurance that I am able to earn my living. I have neither
relatives nor friends, nor claims upon anyone, and I have no serious plan
or purpose before me. All I possess is youth, health, courage, some
intelligence, honour, honesty, and some tincture of letters. My greatest
treasure consists in being my own master, perfectly independent, and not
afraid of misfortune. With all that, I am naturally inclined to
extravagance. Lovely Therese, you have my portrait. What is your answer?”

“In the first place, dearest, let me assure you that I believe every word
you have just uttered, as I would believe in the Gospel; in the second,
allow me to tell you that several times in Ancona I have judged you such
as you have just described yourself, but far from being displeased at
such a knowledge of your nature, I was only afraid of some illusion on my
part, for I could hope to win you if you were what I thought you to be.
In one word, dear one, if it is true that you are poor and a very bad
hand at economy, allow me to tell you that I feel delighted, because, if
you love me, you will not refuse a present from me, or despise me for
offering it. The present consists of myself, such as I am, and with all
my faculties. I give myself to you without any condition, with no
restriction; I am yours, I will take care of you. For the future think
only of your love for me, but love me exclusively. From this moment I am
no longer Bellino. Let us go to Venice, where my talent will keep us both
comfortably; if you wish to go anywhere else, let us go where you
please.”

“I must go to Constantinople.”

“Then let us proceed to Constantinople. If you are afraid to lose me
through want of constancy, marry me, and your right over me will be
strengthened by law. I should not love you better than I do now, but I
should be happy to be your wife.”

“It is my intention to marry you, and I am delighted that we agree in
that respect. The day after to-morrow, in Bologna, you shall be made my
legal-wife before the altar of God; I swear it to you here in the
presence of Love. I want you to be mine, I want to be yours, I want us to
be united by the most holy ties.”

“I am the happiest of women! We have nothing to do in Rimini; suppose we
do not get up; we can have our dinner in bed, and go away to-morrow well
rested after our fatigues.”

We left Rimini the next day, and stayed for breakfast at Pesaro. As we
were getting into the carriage to leave that place, an officer,
accompanied by two soldiers, presented himself, enquired for our names,
and demanded our passports. Bellino had one and gave it, but I looked in
vain for mine; I could not find it.

The officer, a corporal, orders the postillion to wait and goes to make
his report. Half an hour afterwards, he returns, gives Bellino his
passport, saying that he can continue his journey, but tells me that his
orders are to escort me to the commanding officer, and I follow him.

“What have you done with your passport?” enquires that officer.

“I have lost it.”

“A passport is not so easily lost.”

“Well, I have lost mine.”

“You cannot proceed any further.”

“I come from Rome, and I am going to Constantinople, bearing a letter
from Cardinal Acquaviva. Here is the letter stamped with his seal.”

“All I can do for you is to send you to M. de Gages.”

I found the famous general standing, surrounded by his staff. I told him
all I had already explained to the officer, and begged him to let me
continue my journey.

“The only favour I can grant you is to put you under arrest till you
receive another passport from Rome delivered under the same name as the
one you have given here. To lose a passport is a misfortune which befalls
only a thoughtless, giddy man, and the cardinal will for the future know
better than to put his confidence in a giddy fellow like you.”

With these words, he gave orders to take me to the guard-house at St.
Mary’s Gate, outside the city, as soon as I should have written to the
cardinal for a new passport. His orders were executed. I was brought back
to the inn, where I wrote my letter, and I sent it by express to his
eminence, entreating him to forward the document, without loss of time,
direct to the war office. Then I embraced Therese who was weeping, and,
telling her to go to Rimini and to wait there for my return, I made her
take one hundred sequins. She wished to remain in Pesaro, but I would not
hear of it; I had my trunk brought out, I saw Therese go away from the
inn, and was taken to the place appointed by the general.

It is undoubtedly under such circumstances that the most determined
optimist finds himself at a loss; but an easy stoicism can blunt the too
sharp edge of misfortune.

My greatest sorrow was the heart-grief of Therese who, seeing me torn
from her arms at the very moment of our union, was suffocated by the
tears which she tried to repress. She would not have left me if I had not
made her understand that she could not remain in Pesaro, and if I had not
promised to join her within ten days, never to be parted again. But fate
had decided otherwise.

When we reached the gate, the officer confined me immediately in the
guard-house, and I sat down on my trunk. The officer was a taciturn
Spaniard who did not even condescend to honour me with an answer, when I
told him that I had money and would like to have someone to wait on me. I
had to pass the night on a little straw, and without food, in the midst
of the Spanish soldiers. It was the second night of the sort that my
destiny had condemned me to, immediately after two delightful nights. My
good angel doubtless found some pleasure in bringing such conjunctions
before my mind for the benefit of my instruction. At all events,
teachings of that description have an infallible effect upon natures of a
peculiar stamp.

If you should wish to close the lips of a logician calling himself a
philosopher, who dares to argue that in this life grief overbalances
pleasure, ask him whether he would accept a life entirely without sorrow
and happiness. Be certain that he will not answer you, or he will
shuffle, because, if he says no, he proves that he likes life such as it
is, and if he likes it, he must find it agreeable, which is an utter
impossibility, if life is painful; should he, on the contrary, answer in
the affirmative, he would declare himself a fool, for it would be as much
as to say that he can conceive pleasure arising from indifference, which
is absurd nonsense.

Suffering is inherent in human nature; but we never suffer without
entertaining the hope of recovery, or, at least, very seldom without such
hope, and hope itself is a pleasure. If it happens sometimes that man
suffers without any expectation of a cure, he necessarily finds pleasure
in the complete certainty of the end of his life; for the worst, in all
cases, must be either a sleep arising from extreme dejection, during
which we have the consolation of happy dreams or the loss of all
sensitiveness. But when we are happy, our happiness is never disturbed by
the thought that it will be followed by grief. Therefore pleasure, during
its active period, is always complete, without alloy; grief is always
soothed by hope.

I suppose you, dear reader, at the age of twenty, and devoting yourself
to the task of making a man of yourself by furnishing your mind with all
the knowledge necessary to render you a useful being through the activity
of your brain. Someone comes in and tells you, “I bring you thirty years
of existence; it is the immutable decree of fate; fifteen consecutive
years must be happy, and fifteen years unhappy. You are at liberty to
choose the half by which you wish to begin.”

Confess it candidly, dear reader, you will not require much more
consideration to decide, and you will certainly begin by the unhappy
series of years, because you will feel that the expectation of fifteen
delightful years cannot fail to brace you up with the courage necessary
to bear the unfortunate years you have to go through, and we can even
surmise, with every probability of being right, that the certainty of
future happiness will soothe to a considerable extent the misery of the
first period.

You have already guessed, I have no doubt, the purpose of this lengthy
argument. The sagacious man, believe me, can never be utterly miserable,
and I most willingly agree with my friend Horace, who says that, on the
contrary, such a man is always happy.

‘Nisi quum pituita molesta est.’

But, pray where is the man who is always suffering from a rheum?

The fact is that the fearful night I passed in the guardhouse of St. Mary
resulted for me in a slight loss and in a great gain. The small loss was
to be away from my dear Therese, but, being certain of seeing her within
ten days, the misfortune was not very great: as to the gain, it was in
experience the true school for a man. I gained a complete system against
thoughtlessness, a system of foresight. You may safely bet a hundred to
one that a young man who has once lost his purse or his passport, will
not lose either a second time. Each of those misfortunes has befallen me
once only, and I might have been very often the victim of them, if
experience had not taught me how much they were to be dreaded. A
thoughtless fellow is a man who has not yet found the word dread in the
dictionary of his life.

The officer who relieved my cross-grained Castilian on the following day
seemed of a different nature altogether; his prepossessing countenance
pleased me much. He was a Frenchman, and I must say that I have always
liked the French, and never the Spaniards; there is in the manners of the
first something so engaging, so obliging, that you feel attracted towards
them as towards a friend, whilst an air of unbecoming haughtiness gives
to the second a dark, forbidding countenance which certainly does not
prepossess in their favour. Yet I have often been duped by Frenchmen, and
never by Spaniards–a proof that we ought to mistrust our tastes.

The new officer, approaching me very politely, said to me,–

“To what chance, reverend sir, am I indebted for the honour of having you
in my custody?”

Ah! here was a way of speaking which restored to my lungs all their
elasticity! I gave him all the particulars of my misfortune, and he found
the mishap very amusing. But a man disposed to laugh at my disappointment
could not be disagreeable to me, for it proved that the turn of his mind
had more than one point of resemblance with mine. He gave me at once a
soldier to serve me, and I had very quickly a bed, a table, and a few
chairs. He was kind enough to have my bed placed in his own room, and I
felt very grateful to him for that delicate attention.

He gave me an invitation to share his dinner, and proposed a game of
piquet afterwards, but from the very beginning he saw that I was no match
for him; he told me so, and he warned me that the officer who would
relieve him the next day was a better player even than he was himself; I
lost three or four ducats. He advised me to abstain from playing on the
following day, and I followed his advice. He told me also that he would
have company to supper, that there would be a game of faro, but that the
banker being a Greek and a crafty player, I ought not to play. I thought
his advice very considerate, particularly when I saw that all the punters
lost, and that the Greek, very calm in the midst of the insulting
treatment of those he had duped, was pocketing his money, after handing a
share to the officer who had taken an interest in the bank. The name of
the banker was Don Pepe il Cadetto, and by his accent I knew he was a
Neapolitan. I communicated my discovery to the officer, asking him why he
had told me that the man was a Greek. He explained to me the meaning of
the word greek applied to a gambler, and the lesson which followed his
explanation proved very useful to me in after years.

During the five following days, my life was uniform and rather dull, but
on the sixth day the same French officer was on guard, and I was very
glad to see him. He told me, with a hearty laugh, that he was delighted
to find me still in the guard-house, and I accepted the compliment for
what it was worth. In the evening, we had the same bank at faro, with the
same result as the first time, except a violent blow from the stick of
one of the punters upon the back of the banker, of which the Greek
stoically feigned to take no notice. I saw the same man again nine years
afterwards in Vienna, captain in the service of Maria Theresa; he then
called himself d’Afflisso. Ten years later, I found him a colonel, and
some time after worth a million; but the last time I saw him, some
thirteen or fourteen years ago, he was a galley slave. He was handsome,
but (rather a singular thing) in spite of his beauty, he had a gallows
look. I have seen others with the same stamp–Cagliostro, for instance,
and another who has not yet been sent to the galleys, but who cannot fail
to pay them a visit. Should the reader feel any curiosity about it, I can
whisper the name in his ear.

Towards the ninth or tenth day everyone in the army knew and liked me,
and I was expecting the passport, which could not be delayed much longer.
I was almost free, and I would often walk about even out of sight of the
sentinel. They were quite right not to fear my running away, and I should
have been wrong if I had thought of escaping, but the most singular
adventure of my life happened to me then, and most unexpectedly.

It was about six in the morning. I was taking a walk within one hundred
yards of the sentinel, when an officer arrived and alighted from his
horse, threw the bridle on the neck of his steed, and walked off.
Admiring the docility of the horse, standing there like a faithful
servant to whom his master has given orders to wait for him I got up to
him, and without any purpose I get hold of the bridle, put my foot in the
stirrup, and find myself in the saddle. I was on horseback for the first
time in my life. I do not know whether I touched the horse with my cane
or with my heels, but suddenly the animal starts at full speed. My right
foot having slipped out of the stirrup, I press against the horse with my
heels, and, feeling the pressure, it gallops faster and faster, for I did
not know how to check it. At the last advanced post the sentinels call
out to me to stop; but I cannot obey the order, and the horse carrying me
away faster than ever, I hear the whizzing of a few musket balls, the
natural consequence of my involuntary disobedience. At last, when I
reach the first advanced picket of the Austrians, the horse is stopped,
and I get off his back thanking God.

An officer of Hussars asks where I am running so fast, and my tongue,
quicker than my thought, answers without any privity on my part, that I
can render no account but to Prince Lobkowitz, commander-in-chief of the
army, whose headquarters were at Rimini. Hearing my answer, the officer
gave orders for two Hussars to get on horseback, a fresh one is given me,
and I am taken at full gallop to Rimini, where the officer on guard has
me escorted at once to the prince.

I find his highness alone, and I tell him candidly what has just happened
to me. My story makes him laugh, although he observes that it is hardly
credible.

“I ought,” he says, “to put you under arrest, but I am willing to save
you that unpleasantness.” With that he called one of his officers and
ordered him to escort me through the Cesena Gate. “Then you can go
wherever you please,” he added, turning round to me; “but take care not
to again enter the lines of my army without a passport, or you might fare
badly.”

I asked him to let me have the horse again, but he answered that the
animal did not belong to me. I forgot to ask him to send me back to the
place I had come from, and I regretted it; but after all perhaps I did
for the best.

The officer who accompanied me asked me, as we were passing a
coffee-house, whether I would like to take some chocolate, and we went
in. At that moment I saw Petronio going by, and availing myself of a
moment when the officer was talking to someone, I told him not to appear
to be acquainted with me, but to tell me where he lived. When we had
taken our chocolate the officer paid and we went out. Along the road we
kept up the conversation; he told me his name, I gave him mine, and I
explained how I found myself in Rimini. He asked me whether I had not
remained some time in Ancona; I answered in the affirmative, and he
smiled and said I could get a passport in Bologna, return to Rimini and
to Pesaro without any fear, and recover my trunk by paying the officer
for the horse he had lost. We reached the gate, he wished me a pleasant
journey, and we parted company.

I found myself free, with gold and jewels, but without my trunk. Therese
was in Rimini, and I could not enter that city. I made up my mind to go
to Bologna as quickly as possible in order to get a passport, and to
return to Pesaro, where I should find my passport from Rome, for I could
not make up my mind to lose my trunk, and I did not want to be separated
from Therese until the end of her engagement with the manager of the
Rimini Theatre.

It was raining; I had silk stockings on, and I longed for a carriage. I
took shelter under the portal of a church, and turned my fine overcoat
inside out, so as not to look like an abbe. At that moment a peasant
happened to come along, and I asked him if a carriage could be had to
drive me to Cesena. “I have one, sir,” he said, “but I live half a league
from here.”

“Go and get it, I will wait for you here.”

While I was waiting for the return of the peasant with his vehicle, some
forty mules laden with provisions came along the road towards Rimini. It
was still raining fast, and the mules passing close by me, I placed my
hand mechanically upon the neck of one of them, and following the slow
pace of the animals I re-entered Rimini without the slightest notice
being taken of me, even by the drivers of the mules. I gave some money to
the first street urchin I met, and he took me to Therese’s house.

With my hair fastened under a night-cap, my hat pulled down over my face,
and my fine cane concealed under my coat, I did not look a very elegant
figure. I enquired for Bellino’s mother, and the mistress of the house
took me to a room where I found all the family, and Therese in a woman’s
dress. I had reckoned upon surmising them, but Petronio had told them of
our meeting, and they were expecting me. I gave a full account of my
adventures, but Therese, frightened at the danger that threatened me, and
in spite of her love, told me that it was absolutely necessary for me to
go to Bologna, as I had been advised by M. Vais, the officer.

“I know him,” she said, “and he is a worthy man, but he comes here every
evening, and you must conceal yourself.”

It was only eight o’clock in the morning; we had the whole day before us,
and everyone promised to be discreet. I allayed Therese’s anxiety by
telling her that I could easily contrive to leave the city without being
observed.

Therese took me to her own room, where she told me that she had met the
manager of the theatre on her arrival in Rimini, and that he had taken
her at once to the apartments engaged for the family. She had informed
him that she was a woman, and that she had made up her mind not to appear
as a castrato any more; he had expressed himself delighted at such news,
because women could appear on the stage at Rimini, which was not under
the same legate as Ancona. She added that her engagement would be at an
end by the 1st of May, and that she would meet me wherever it would be
agreeable to me to wait for her.

“As soon as I can get a passport,” I said, “there is nothing to hinder me
from remaining near you until the end of your engagement. But as M. Vais
calls upon you, tell me whether you have informed him of my having spent
a few days in Ancona?”

“I did, and I even told him that you had been arrested because you had
lost your passport.”

I understood why the officer had smiled as he was talking with me. After
my conversation with Therese, I received the compliments of the mother
and of the young sisters who appeared to me less cheerful and less free
than they had been in Ancona. They felt that Bellino, transformed into
Therese, was too formidable a rival. I listened patiently to all the
complaints of the mother who maintained that, in giving up the character
of castrato, Therese had bidden adieu to fortune, because she might have
earned a thousand sequins a year in Rome.

“In Rome, my good woman,” I said, “the false Bellino would have been
found out, and Therese would have been consigned to a miserable convent
for which she was never made.”

Notwithstanding the danger of my position, I spent the whole of the day
alone with my beloved mistress, and it seemed that every moment gave her
fresh beauties and increased my love. At eight o’clock in the evening,
hearing someone coming in, she left me, and I remained in the dark, but
in such a position that I could see everything and hear every word. The
Baron Vais came in, and Therese gave him her hand with the grace of a
pretty woman and the dignity of a princess. The first thing he told her
was the news about me; she appeared to be pleased, and listened with
well-feigned indifference, when he said that he had advised me to return
with a passport. He spent an hour with her, and I was thoroughly well
pleased with her manners and behaviour, which had been such as to leave
me no room for the slightest feeling of jealousy. Marina lighted him out
and Therese returned to me. We had a joyous supper together, and, as we
were getting ready to go to bed, Petronio came to inform me that ten
muleteers would start for Cesena two hours before day-break, and that he
was sure I could leave the city with them if I would go and meet them a
quarter of an hour before their departure, and treat them to something to
drink. I was of the same opinion, and made up my mind to make the
attempt. I asked Petronio to sit up and to wake me in good time. It
proved an unnecessary precaution, for I was ready before the time, and
left Therese satisfied with my love, without any doubt of my constancy,
but rather anxious as to my success in attempting to leave Rimini. She
had sixty sequins which she wanted to force back upon me, but I asked her
what opinion she would have of me if I accepted them, and we said no more
about it.

I went to the stable, and having treated one of the muleteers to some
drink I told him that I would willingly ride one of his mules as far as
Sarignan.

“You are welcome to the ride,” said the good fellow, “but I would advise
you not to get on the mule till we are outside the city, and to pass
through the gate on foot as if you were one of the drivers.”

It was exactly what I wanted. Petronio accompanied me as far as the gate,
where I gave him a substantial proof of my gratitude. I got out of the
city without the slightest difficulty, and left the muleteers at
Sarignan, whence I posted to Bologna.

I found out that I could not obtain a passport, for the simple reason
that the authorities of the city persisted that it was not necessary; but
I knew better, and it was not for me to tell them why. I resolved to
write to the French officer who had treated me so well at the guardhouse.
I begged him to enquire at the war office whether my passport had arrived
from Rome, and, if so, to forward it to me. I also asked him to find out
the owner of the horse who had run away with me, offering to pay for it.
I made up my mind to wait for Therese in Bologna, and I informed her of
my decision, entreating her to write very often. The reader will soon
know the new resolution I took on the very same day.