A few days after these pleasant and cultured men had left, I was startled one morning by the sudden appearance of the wretched Marazzani in my room. I seized him by his collar, threw him out, and before he had time to use his cane or his sword, I had kicked, beaten, and boxed him most soundly. He defended himself to the best of his ability, and the landlord and his men ran up at the noise, and had some difficulty in separating us.
“Don’t let him go!” I cried, “send for the bargello and have him away to prison.”
I dressed myself hastily, and as I was going out to see M. de R——, the bargello met me, and asked me on what charge I gave the man into custody.
“You will hear that at M. de R——‘s, where I shall await you.”
I must now explain my anger. You may remember, reader, that I left the wretched fellow in the prison of Buen Retiro. I heard afterwards that the King of Spain, Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands, had given him a small post in a galley off the coast of Africa.
He had done me no harm, and I pitied him; but not being his intimate friend, and having no power to mitigate the hardship of his lot, I had well-nigh forgotten him.
Eight months after, I met at Barcelona Madame Bellucci, a Venetian dancer, with whom I had had a small intrigue. She gave an exclamation of delight on seeing me, and said she was glad to see me delivered from the hard fate to which a tyrannous Government had condemned me.
“What fate is that?” I asked, “I have seen a good deal of misfortune since I left you.”
“I mean the presidio.”
“But that has never been my lot, thank God! Who told you such a story?”