It was December 28th. On the same date, three years before, I had received orders to leave Barcelona in three days.
I dressed hastily and went to the magistrate to enquire the reason for my exile, and on entering the room I found it was the same man who had ordered me to leave Florence eleven years before.
I asked him to give me his reasons, and he replied coldly that such was the will of his highness.
“But as his highness must have his reasons, it seems to me that I am within my rights in enquiring what they are.”
“If you think so you had better betake yourself to the prince; I know nothing about it. He left yesterday for Pisa, where he will stay three days; you can go there.”
“Will he pay for my journey?”
“I should doubt it, but you can see for yourself.”
“I shall not go to Pisa, but I will write to his highness if you will promise to send on the letter.”
“I will do so immediately, for it is my duty.”
“Very good; you shall have the letter before noon tomorrow, and before day-break I shall be in the States of the Church.”