I Purchase a Handsome Carriage, and Proceed to Parma With the Old Captain and the Young Frenchwoman

I Purchase a Handsome Carriage, and Proceed to Parma With
the Old Captain and the Young Frenchwoman–I Pay a Visit to
Javotte, and Present Her With a Beautiful Pair of Gold
Bracelets–My Perplexities Respecting My Lovely Travelling
Companion–A Monologue–Conversation with the Captain–Tete-
a-Tete with Henriette

The conversation was animated, and the young female officer was
entertaining everybody, even Madame Querini, although she hardly took the
trouble of concealing her spleen.

“It seems strange,” she remarked, “that you and the captain should live
together without ever speaking to each other.”

“Why, madam? We understand one another perfectly, for speech is of very
little consequence in the kind of business we do together.”

That answer, given with graceful liveliness, made everybody laugh, except
Madame Querini-Juliette, who, foolishly assuming the air of a prude,
thought that its meaning was too clearly expressed.

“I do not know any kind of business,” she said, “that can be transacted
without the assistance of the voice or the pen.”

“Excuse me, madam, there are some: playing at cards, for instance, is a
business of that sort.”

“Are you always playing?”

“We do nothing else. We play the game of the Pharaoh (faro), and I hold
the bank.”

Everybody, understanding the shrewdness of this evasive answer, laughed
again, and Juliette herself could not help joining in the general
merriment.

“But tell me,” said Count Spada, “does the bank receive much?”

“As for the deposits, they are of so little importance, that they are
hardly worth mentioning.”

No one ventured upon translating that sentence for the benefit of the
worthy captain. The conversation continued in the same amusing style, and
all the guests were delighted with the graceful wit of the charming
officer.

Late in the evening I took leave of the general, and wished him a
pleasant journey.

“Adieu,” he said, “I wish you a pleasant journey to Naples, and hope you
will enjoy yourself there.”

“Well, general, I am not going to Naples immediately; I have changed my
mind and intend to proceed to Parma, where I wish to see the Infante. I
also wish to constitute myself the interpreter of these two officers who
know nothing of Italian:”

“Ah, young man! opportunity makes a thief, does it not? Well, if I were
in your place, I would do the same.”

I also bade farewell to Madame Querini, who asked me to write to her from
Bologna. I gave her a promise to do so, but without meaning to fulfil it.

I had felt interested in the young Frenchwoman when she was hiding under
the bed-clothes: she had taken my fancy the moment she had shewn her
features, and still more when I had seen her dressed. She completed her
conquest at the dinner-table by the display of a wit which I greatly
admired. It is rare in Italy, and seems to belong generally to the
daughters of France. I did not think it would be very difficult to win
her love, and I resolved on trying. Putting my self-esteem on one side, I
fancied I would suit her much better than the old Hungarian, a very
pleasant man for his age, but who, after all, carried his sixty years on
his face, while my twenty-three were blooming on my countenance. It
seemed to me that the captain himself would not raise any great
objection, for he seemed one of those men who, treating love as a matter
of pure fancy, accept all circumstances easily, and give way
good-naturedly to all the freaks of fortune. By becoming the travelling
companion of this ill-matched couple, I should probably succeed in my
aims. I never dreamed of experiencing a refusal at their hands, my
company would certainly be agreeable to them, as they could not exchange
a single word by themselves.

With this idea I asked the captain, as we reached our inn, whether he
intended to proceed to Parma by the public coach or otherwise.

“As I have no carriage of my own,” he answered, “we shall have to take
the coach.”

“I have a very comfortable carriage, and I offer you the two back seats
if you have no objection to my society.”

“That is a piece of good fortune. Be kind enough to propose it to
Henriette.”

“Will you, madam, grant me the favour of accompanying you to Parma?”

“I should be delighted, for we could have some conversation, but take
care, sir, your task will not be an easy one, you will often find
yourself obliged to translate for both of us.”

“I shall do so with great pleasure; I am only sorry that the journey is
not longer. We can arrange everything at supper-time; allow me to leave
you now as I have some business to settle.”

My business was in reference to a carriage, for the one I had boasted of
existed only in my imagination. I went to the most fashionable
coffee-house, and, as good luck would have it, heard that there was a
travelling carriage for sale, which no one would buy because it was too
expensive. Two hundred sequins were asked for it, although it had but two
seats and a bracket-stool for a third person. It was just what I wanted.
I called at the place where it would be seen. I found a very fine English
carriage which could not have cost less than two hundred guineas. Its
noble proprietor was then at supper, so I sent him my name, requesting
him not to dispose of his carriage until the next morning, and I went
back to the hotel well pleased with my discovery. At supper I arranged
with the captain that we would not leave Cesena till after dinner on the
following day, and the conversation was almost entirely a dialogue
between Henriette and myself; it was my first talk with a French woman. I
thought this young creature more and more charming, yet I could not
suppose her to be anything else but an adventurers, and I was astonished
at discovering in her those noble and delicate feelings which denote a
good education. However, as such an idea would not have suited the views
I had about her, I rejected it whenever it presented itself to my mind.
Whenever I tried to make her talk about the captain she would change the
subject of conversation, or evade my insinuations with a tact and a
shrewdness which astonished and delighted me at the same time, for
everything she said bore the impress of grace and wit. Yet she did not
elude this question:

“At least tell me, madam, whether the captain is your husband or your
father.”

“Neither one nor the other,” she answered, with a smile.

That was enough for me, and in reality what more did I want to know? The
worthy captain had fallen asleep. When he awoke I wished them both good
night, and retired to my room with a heart full of love and a mind full
of projects. I saw that everything had taken a good turn, and I felt
certain of success, for I was young, I enjoyed excellent health, I had
money and plenty of daring. I liked the affair all the better because it
must come to a conclusion in a few days.

Early the next morning I called upon Count Dandini, the owner of the
carriage, and as I passed a jeweller’s shop I bought a pair of gold
bracelets in Venetian filigree, each five yards long and of rare
fineness. I intended them as a present for Javotte.

The moment Count Dandini saw me he recognized me. He had seen me in Padua
at the house of his father, who was professor of civil law at the time I
was a student there. I bought his carriage on condition that he would
send it to me in good repair at one o’clock in the afternoon.

Having completed the purchase, I went to my friend, Franzia, and my
present of the bracelets made Javotte perfectly happy. There was not one
girl in Cesena who could boast of possessing a finer pair, and with that
present my conscience felt at ease, for it paid the expense I had
occasioned during my stay of ten or twelve days at her father’s house
four times over. But this was not the most important present I offered
the family. I made the father take an oath to wait for me, and never to
trust in any pretended magician for the necessary operation to obtain the
treasure, even if I did not return or give any news of myself for ten
years.

“Because,” I said to him, “in consequence of the agreement in which I
have entered with the spirits watching the treasure, at the first attempt
made by any other person, the casket containing the treasure will sink to
twice its present depth, that is to say as deep as thirty-five fathoms,
and then I shall have myself ten times more difficulty in raising it to
the surface. I cannot state precisely the time of my return, for it
depends upon certain combinations which are not under my control, but
recollect that the treasure cannot be obtained by anyone but I.”

I accompanied my advice with threats of utter ruin to his family if he
should ever break his oath. And in this manner I atoned for all I had
done, for, far from deceiving the worthy man, I became his benefactor by
guarding against the deceit of some cheat who would have cared for his
money more than for his daughter. I never saw him again, and most likely
he is dead, but knowing the deep impression I left on his mind I am
certain that his descendants are even now waiting for me, for the name of
Farusi must have remained immortal in that family.

Javotte accompanied me as far as the gate of the city, where I kissed her
affectionately, which made me feel that the thunder and lightning had had
but a momentary effect upon me; yet I kept control over my senses, and I
congratulate myself on doing so to this day. I told her, before bidding
her adieu, that, her virginity being no longer necessary for my magic
operations, I advised her to get married as soon as possible, if I did
not return within three months. She shed a few tears, but promised to
follow my advice.

I trust that my readers will approve of the noble manner in which I
concluded my magic business. I hardly dare to boast of it, but I think I
deserve some praise for my behaviour. Perhaps, I might have ruined poor
Franzia with a light heart, had I not possessed a well-filled purse. I do
not wish to enquire whether any young man, having intelligence, loving
pleasure, and placed in the same position, would not have done the same,
but I beg my readers to address that question to themselves.

As for Capitani, to whom I sold the sheath of St. Peter’s knife for
rather more than it was worth, I confess that I have not yet repented on
his account, for Capitani thought he had duped me in accepting it as
security for the amount he gave me, and the count, his father, valued it
until his death as more precious than the finest diamond in the world.
Dying with such a firm belief, he died rich, and I shall die a poor man.
Let the reader judge which of the two made the best bargain. But I must
return now to my future travelling companions.

As soon as I had reached the inn, I prepared everything for our departure
for which I was now longing. Henriette could not open her lips without my
discovering some fresh perfection, for her wit delighted me even more
than her beauty. It struck me that the old captain was pleased with all
the attention I shewed her, and it seemed evident to me that she would
not be sorry to exchange her elderly lover for me. I had all the better
right to think so, inasmuch as I was perfection from a physical point of
view, and I appeared to be wealthy, although I had no servant. I told
Henriette that, for the sake of having none, I spent twice as much as a
servant would have cost me, that, by my being my own servant, I was
certain of being served according to my taste, and I had the satisfaction
of having no spy at my heels and no privileged thief to fear. She agreed
with everything I said, and it increased my love.

The honest Hungarian insisted upon giving me in advance the amount to be
paid for the post-horses at the different stages as far as Parma. We left
Cesena after dinner, but not without a contest of politeness respecting
the seats. The captain wanted me to occupy the back seat-near Henriette,
but the reader will understand how much better the seat opposite to her
suited me; therefore I insisted upon taking the bracket-seat, and had the
double advantage of shewing my politeness, and of having constantly and
without difficulty before my eyes the lovely woman whom I adored.

My happiness would have been too great if there had been no drawback to
it. But where can we find roses without thorns? When the charming
Frenchwoman uttered some of those witty sayings which proceed so
naturally from the lips of her countrywomen, I could not help pitying the
sorry face of the poor Hungarian, and, wishing to make him share my
mirth, I would undertake to translate in Latin Henriette’s sallies; but
far from making him merry, I often saw his face bear a look of
astonishment, as if what I had said seemed to him rather flat. I had to
acknowledge to myself that I could not speak Latin as well as she spoke
French, and this was indeed the case. The last thing which we learn in
all languages is wit, and wit never shines so well as in jests. I was
thirty years of age before I began to laugh in reading Terence, Plautus
and Martial.

Something being the matter with the carriage, we stopped at Forli to have
it repaired. After a very cheerful supper, I retired to my room to go to
bed, thinking of nothing else but the charming woman by whom I was so
completely captivated. Along the road, Henriette had struck me as so
strange that I would not sleep in the second bed in their room. I was
afraid lest she should leave her old comrade to come to my bed and sleep
with me, and I did not know how far the worthy captain would have put up
with such a joke. I wished, of course, to possess that lovely creature,
but I wanted everything to be settled amicably, for I felt some respect
for the brave officer.

Henriette had nothing but the military costume in which she stood, not
any woman’s linen, not even one chemise. For a change she took the
captain’s shirt. Such a state of things was so new to me that the
situation seemed to me a complete enigma.

In Bologna, excited by an excellent supper and by the amorous passion
which was every hour burning more fiercely in me, I asked her by what
singular adventure she had become the friend of the honest fellow who
looked her father rather than her lover.

“If you wish to know,” she answered, with a smile, “ask him to relate the
whole story himself, only you must request him not to omit any of the
particulars.”

Of course I applied at once to the captain, and, having first ascertained
by signs that the charming Frenchwoman had no objection, the good man
spoke to me thus:

“A friend of mine, an officer in the army, having occasion to go to Rome,
I solicited a furlough of six months, and accompanied him. I seized with
great delight the opportunity of visiting a city, the name of which has a
powerful influence on the imagination, owing to the memories of the past
attached to it. I did not entertain any doubt that the Latin language was
spoken there in good society, at least as generally as in Hungary. But I
was indeed greatly mistaken, for nobody can speak it, not even the
priests, who only pretend to write it, and it is true that some of them
do so with great purity. I was therefore rather uncomfortable during my
stay in Rome, and with the exception of my eyes my senses remained
perfectly inactive. I had spent a very tedious month in that city, the
ancient queen of the world, when Cardinal Albani gave my friend
dispatches for Naples. Before leaving Rome, he introduced me to his
eminence, and his recommendation had so much influence that the cardinal
promised to send me very soon with dispatches for the Duke of Parma,
Piacenza, and Guastalla, assuring me that all my travelling expenses
would be defrayed. As I wished to see the harbour called in former times
Centum cellae and now Civita-Vecchia, I gave up the remainder of my time
to that visit, and I proceeded there with a cicerone who spoke Latin.

“I was loitering about the harbour when I saw, coming out of a tartan, an
elderly officer and this young woman dressed as she is now. Her beauty
struck me, but I should not have thought any more about it, if the
officer had not put up at my inn, and in an apartment over which I had a
complete view whenever I opened my window. In the evening I saw the
couple taking supper at the same table, but I remarked that the elderly
officer never addressed a word to the young one. When the supper was
over, the disguised girl left the room, and her companion did not lift
his eyes from a letter which he was reading, as it seemed to me, with the
deepest attention. Soon afterwards the officer closed the windows, the
light was put out, and I suppose my neighbors went to bed. The next
morning, being up early as is my habit, I saw the officer go out, and the
girl remained alone in the room.

“I sent my cicerone, who was also my servant, to tell the girl in the
garb of an officer that I would give her ten sequins for an hour’s
conversation. He fulfilled my instructions, and on his return he informed
me that her answer, given in French, had been to the effect that she
would leave for Rome immediately after breakfast, and that, once in that
city, I should easily find some opportunity of speaking to her.

“‘I can find out from the vetturino,’ said my cicerone, ‘where they put
up in Rome, and I promise you to enquire of him.’

“She left Civita-Vecchia with the elderly officer, and I returned home on
the following day.

“Two days afterwards, the cardinal gave me the dispatches, which were
addressed to M. Dutillot, the French minister, with a passport and the
money necessary for the journey. He told me, with great kindness, that I
need not hurry on the road.

“I had almost forgotten the handsome adventuress, when, two days before
my departure, my cicerone gave me the information that he had found out
where she lived, and that she was with the same officer. I told him to
try to see her, and to let her know that my departure was fixed for the
day after the morrow. She sent me word by him that, if I would inform her
of the hour of my departure, she would meet me outside of the gate, and
get into the coach with me to accompany me on my way. I thought the
arrangement very ingenious and during the day I sent the cicerone to tell
her the hour at which I intended to leave, and where I would wait for her
outside of the Porto del Popolo. She came at the appointed time, and we
have remained together ever since. As soon as she was seated near me, she
made me understand by signs that she wanted to dine with me. You may
imagine what difficulty we had in understanding one another, but we
guessed somehow the meaning expressed by our pantomime, and I accepted
the adventure with delight.

“We dined gaily together, speaking without understanding, but after the
dessert we comprehended each other very well. I fancied that I had seen
the end of it, and you may imagine how surprised I was when, upon my
offering her the ten sequins, she refused most positively to take any
money, making me understand that she would rather go with me to Parma,
because she had some business in that city, and did not want to return to
Rome.

“The proposal was, after all, rather agreeable to me; I consented to her
wishes. I only regretted my inability to make her understand that, if she
was followed by anyone from Rome, and if that person wanted to take her
back, I was not in a position to defend her against violence. I was also
sorry that, with our mutual ignorance of the language spoken by each of
us, we had no opportunity of conversation, for I should have been greatly
pleased to hear her adventures, which, I think, must be interesting. You
can, of course, guess that I have no idea of who she can be. I only know
that she calls herself Henriette, that she must be a Frenchwoman, that
she is as gentle as a turtledove, that she has evidently received a good
education, and that she enjoys good health. She is witty and courageous,
as we have both seen, I in Rome and you in Cesena at General Spada’s
table. If she would tell you her history, and allow you to translate it
for me in Latin she would indeed please me much, for I am sincerely her
friend, and I can assure you that it will grieve me to part from her in
Parma. Please to tell her that I intend to give her the thirty sequins I
received from the Bishop of Cesena, and that if I were rich I would give
her more substantial proofs of my tender affection. Now, sir, I shall
feel obliged to you if you will explain it all to her in French.”

I asked her whether she would feel offended if I gave her an exact
translation. She assured me that, on the contrary, she wished me to speak
openly, and I told her literally what the captain had related to me.

With a noble frankness which a slight shade of-shame rendered more
interesting, Henriette confirmed the truth of her friend’s narrative, but
she begged me to tell him that she could not grant his wish respecting
the adventures of her life.

“Be good enough to inform him,” she added, “that the same principle which
forbids me to utter a falsehood, does not allow me to tell the truth. As
for the thirty sequins which he intends to give me, I will not accept
even one of them, and he would deeply grieve me by pressing them upon me.
The moment we reach Parma I wish him to allow me to lodge wherever I may
please, to make no enquiries whatever about me, and, in case he should
happen to meet me, to crown his great kindness to me by not appearing to
have ever known me.”

As she uttered the last words of this short speech, which she had
delivered very seriously and with a mixture of modesty and resolution,
she kissed her elderly friend in a manner which indicated esteem and
gratitude rather than love. The captain, who did not know why she was
kissing him, was deeply grieved when I translated what Henriette had
said. He begged me to tell her that, if he was to obey her with an easy
conscience, he must know whether she would have everything she required
in Parma.

“You can assure him,” she answered, “that he need not entertain any
anxiety about me.”

This conversation had made us all very sad; we remained for a long time
thoughtful and silent, until, feeling the situation to be painful, I
rose, wishing them good night, and I saw that Henriette’s face wore a
look of great excitement.

As soon as I found myself alone in my room, deeply moved by conflicting
feelings of love, surprise, and uncertainty, I began to give vent to my
feelings in a kind of soliloquy, as I always do when I am strongly
excited by anything; thinking is not, in those cases, enough for me; I
must speak aloud, and I throw so much action, so much animation into
these monologues that I forget I am alone. What I knew now of Henriette
had upset me altogether.

“Who can she be,” I said, speaking to the walls; “this girl who seems to
have the most elevated feelings under the veil of the most cynical
libertinism? She says that in Parma she wishes to remain perfectly
unknown, her own mistress, and I cannot, of course, flatter myself that
she will not place me under the same restrictions as the captain to whom
she has already abandoned herself. Goodbye to my expectations, to my
money, and my illusions! But who is she–what is she? She must have
either a lover or a husband in Parma, or she must belong to a respectable
family; or, perhaps, thanks to a boundless love for debauchery and to her
confidence in her own charms, she intends to set fortune, misery, and
degradation at defiance, and to try to enslave some wealthy nobleman! But
that would be the plan of a mad woman or of a person reduced to utter
despair, and it does not seem to be the case with Henriette. Yet she
possesses nothing. True, but she refused, as if she had been provided
with all she needed, the kind assistance of a man who has the right to
offer it, and from whom, in sooth, she can accept without blushing, since
she has not been ashamed to grant him favours with which love had nothing
to do. Does she think that it is less shameful for a woman to abandon
herself to the desires of a man unknown and unloved than to receive a
present from an esteemed friend, and particularly at the eve of finding
herself in the street, entirely destitute in the middle of a foreign
city, amongst people whose language she cannot even speak? Perhaps she
thinks that such conduct will justify the ‘faux pas’ of which she has
been guilty with the captain, and give him to understand that she had
abandoned herself to him only for the sake of escaping from the officer
with whom she was in Rome. But she ought to be quite certain that the
captain does not entertain any other idea; he shews himself so reasonable
that it is impossible to suppose that he ever admitted the possibility of
having inspired her with a violent passion, because she had seen him once
through a window in Civita-Vecchia. She might possibly be right, and feel
herself justified in her conduct towards the captain, but it is not the
same with me, for with her intelligence she must be aware that I would
not have travelled with them if she had been indifferent to me, and she
must know that there is but one way in which she can obtain my pardon.
She may be endowed with many virtues, but she has not the only one which
could prevent me from wishing the reward which every man expects to
receive at the hands of the woman he loves. If she wants to assume
prudish manners towards me and to make a dupe of me, I am bound in honour
to shew her how much she is mistaken.”

After this monologue, which had made me still more angry, I made up my
mind to have an explanation in the morning before our departure.

“I shall ask her,” said I to myself, “to grant me the same favours which
she has so easily granted to her old captain, and if I meet with a
refusal the best revenge will be to shew her a cold and profound contempt
until our arrival in Parma.”

I felt sure that she could not refuse me some marks of real or of
pretended affection, unless she wished to make a show of a modesty which
certainly did not belong to her, and, knowing that her modesty would only
be all pretence, I was determined not to be a mere toy in her hands.

As for the captain, I felt certain, from what he had told me, that he
would not be angry with me if I risked a declaration, for as a sensible
man he could only assume a neutral position.

Satisfied with my wise reasoning, and with my mind fully made up, I fell
asleep. My thoughts were too completely absorbed by Henriette for her not
to haunt my dreams, but the dream which I had throughout the night was so
much like reality that, on awaking, I looked for her in my bed, and my
imagination was so deeply struck with the delights of that night that, if
my door had not been fastened with a bolt, I should have believed that
she had left me during my sleep to resume her place near the worthy
Hungarian.

When I was awake I found that the happy dream of the night had turned my
love for the lovely creature into a perfect amorous frenzy, and it could
not be other wise. Let the reader imagine a poor devil going to bed
broken down with fatigue and starvation; he succumbs to sleep, that most
imperative of all human wants, but in his dream he finds himself before a
table covered with every delicacy; what will then happen? Why, a very
natural result. His appetite, much more lively than on the previous day,
does not give him a minute’s rest he must satisfy it or die of sheer
hunger.

I dressed myself, resolved on making sure of the possession of the woman
who had inflamed all my senses, even before resuming our journey.

“If I do not succeed,” I said to myself, “I will not go one step
further.”

But, in order not to offend against propriety, and not to deserve the
reproaches of an honest man, I felt that it was my duty to have an
explanation with the captain in the first place.

I fancy that I hear one of those sensible, calm, passionless readers, who
have had the advantage of what is called a youth without storms, or one
of those whom old age has forced to become virtuous, exclaim,

“Can anyone attach so much importance to such nonsense?”

Age has calmed my passions down by rendering them powerless, but my heart
has not grown old, and my memory has kept all the freshness of youth; and
far from considering that sort of thing a mere trifle, my only sorrow,
dear reader, arises from the fact that I have not the power to practise,
to the day of my death, that which has been the principal affair of my
life!

When I was ready I repaired to the chamber occupied by my two travelling
companions, and after paying each of them the usual morning compliments I
told the officer that I was deeply in love with Henriette, and I asked
him whether he would object to my trying to obtain her as my mistress.

“The reason for which she begs you,” I added, “to leave her in Parma and
not to take any further notice of her, must be that she hopes to meet
some lover of hers there. Let me have half an hour’s conversation with
her, and I flatter myself I can persuade her to sacrifice that lover for
me. If she refuses me, I remain here; you will go with her to Parma,
where you will leave my carriage at the post, only sending me a receipt,
so that I can claim it whenever I please.”

“As soon as breakfast is over,” said the excellent man, “I shall go and
visit the institute, and leave you alone with Henriette. I hope you may
succeed, for I should be delighted to see her under your protection when
I part with her. Should she persist in her first resolution, I could
easily find a ‘vetturino’ here, and you could keep your carriage. I thank
you for your proposal, and it will grieve me to leave you.”

Highly pleased at having accomplished half of my task, and at seeing
myself near the denouement, I asked the lovely Frenchwoman whether she
would like to see the sights of Bologna.

“I should like it very much,” she said, “if I had some other clothes; but
with such a costume as this I do not care to shew myself about the city.”

“Then you do not want to go out?”

“No.”

“Can I keep you company?”

“That would be delightful:”

The captain went out immediately after breakfast. The moment he had gone
I told Henriette that her friend had left us alone purposely, so as to
give me the opportunity of a private interview with her.

“Tell me now whether you intended the order which you gave him yesterday
to forget you, never to enquire after you; and even not to know you if he
happened to meet you, from the time of our arrival in Parma, for me as
well as for him.”

“It is not an order that I gave him; I have no right to do so, and I
could not so far forget myself; it is only a prayer I addressed to him, a
service which circumstances have compelled me to claim at his hands, and
as he has no right to refuse me, I never entertained any doubt of his
granting my command. As far as you are concerned, it is certain that I
should have addressed the same prayer to you, if I had thought that you
had any views about me. You have given me some marks of your friendship,
but you must understand that if, under the circumstances, I am likely to
be injured by the kind attentions of the captain, yours would injure me
much more. If you have any friendship for me, you would have felt all
that.”

“As you know that I entertain great friendship for you, you cannot
possibly suppose that I would leave you alone, without money, without
resources in the middle of a city where you cannot even make yourself
understood. Do you think that a man who feels for you the most tender
affection can abandon you when he has been fortunate enough to make your
acquaintance, when he is aware of the sad position in which you are
placed? If you think such a thing possible, you must have a very false
idea of friendship, and should such a man grant your request, he would
only prove that he is not your friend.”

“I am certain that the captain is my friend; yet you have heard him, he
will obey me, and forget me.”

“I do not know what sort of affection that honest man feels for you, or
how far he can rely upon the control he may have over himself, but I know
that if he can grant you what you have asked from him, his friendship
must be of a nature very different from mine, for I am bound to tell you
it is not only impossible for me to afford you willingly the strange
gratification of abandoning you in your position, but even that, if I go
to Parma, you could not possibly carry out your wishes, because I love
you so passionately that you must promise to be mine, or I must remain
here. In that case you must go to Parma alone with the captain, for I
feel that, if I accompanied you any further, I should soon be the most
wretched of men. I could not bear to see you with another lover, with a
husband, not even in the midst of your family; in fact, I would fain see
you and live with you forever. Let me tell you, lovely Henriette, that if
it is possible for a Frenchman to forget, an Italian cannot do it, at
least if I judge from my own feelings. I have made up my mind, you must
be good enough to decide now, and to tell me whether I am to accompany
you or to remain here. Answer yes or no; if I remain here it is all over.
I shall leave for Naples to-morrow, and I know I shall be cured in time
of the mad passion I feel for you, but if you tell me that I can
accompany you to Parma, you must promise me that your heart will forever
belong to me alone. I must be the only one to possess you, but I am ready
to accept as a condition, if you like, that you shall not crown my
happiness until you have judged me worthy of it by my attentions and by
my loving care. Now, be kind enough to decide before the return of the
too happy captain. He knows all, for I have told him what I feel.”

“And what did he answer?”

“That he would be happy to see you under my protection. But what is the
meaning of that smile playing on your lips?”

“Pray, allow me to laugh, for I have never in my life realized the idea
of a furious declaration of love. Do you understand what it is to say to
a woman in a declaration which ought to be passionate, but at the same
time tender and gentle, the following terrible words:

“‘Madam, make your choice, either one or the other, and decide
instanter!’ Ha! ha! ha!”

“Yes, I understand perfectly. It is neither gentle, nor gallant, nor
pathetic, but it is passionate. Remember that this is a serious matter,
and that I have never yet found myself so much pressed by time. Can you,
on your side, realize the painful position of a man, who, being deeply in
love, finds himself compelled to take a decision which may perhaps decide
issues of life and death? Be good enough to remark that, in spite of the
passion raging in me, I do not fail in the respect I owe you; that the
resolution I intend to take, if you should persist in your original
decision, is not a threat, but an effort worthy of a hero, which ought to
call for your esteem. I beg of you to consider that we cannot afford to
lose time. The word choose must not sound harshly in your ears, since it
leaves my fate as well as yours entirely in your hands. To feel certain
of my love, do you want to see me kneeling before you like a simpleton,
crying and entreating you to take pity on me? No, madam, that would
certainly displease you, and it would not help me. I am conscious of
being worthy of your love, I therefore ask for that feeling and not for
pity. Leave me, if I displease you, but let me go away; for if you are
humane enough to wish that I should forget you, allow me to go far away
from you so as to make my sorrow less immense. Should I follow you to
Parma, I would not answer for myself, for I might give way to my despair.
Consider everything well, I beseech you; you would indeed be guilty of
great cruelty, were you to answer now: ‘Come to Parma, although I must
beg of you not to see me in that city.’ Confess that you cannot, in all
fairness, give me such an answer; am I not right?”

“Certainly, if you truly love me.”

“Good God! if I love you? Oh, yes! believe me, my love is immense,
sincere! Now, decide my fate.”

“What! always the same song?”

“Yes.”

“But are you aware that you look very angry?”

“No, for it is not so. I am only in a state of uncontrollable excitement,
in one of the decisive hours of my life, a prey to the most fearful
anxiety. I ought to curse my whimsical destiny and the ‘sbirri’ of Cesena
(may God curse them, too!), for, without them, I should never have known
you.”

“Are you, then, so very sorry to have made my acquaintance?”

“Have I not some reason to be so?”

“No, for I have not given you my decision yet.”

“Now I breathe more freely, for I am sure you will tell me to accompany
you to Parma.”

“Yes, come to Parma.”