I arrived at Ancona on the 25th of February, 1744, and took rooms at the best inn in the city.
Pleased with my lodging, I ordered my host to prepare a good meat dinner. He answered that in Lent good Catholics ate fish.
"The Holy Father has granted me permission to eat meat," I said.
"Let me see your permission."
"He gave it to me by word of mouth."
"Reverend sir, I am not obliged to believe you."
"You are a fool."
"I am master in my own house, and I beg you will go to some other inn."
That reply, with the sudden order to quit the inn, put me in a fury. I began swearing, raving and screaming, when a grave-looking man suddenly entered my room and addressed me with these words.
"Sir, you are wrong in calling for meat, when in Ancona fish is much better; you are wrong in expecting the landlord to believe you on your bare word; and if you have obtained the permission from the Pope, you have been wrong in soliciting it at your age; you have been wrong in not asking for such permission in writing; you are wrong in calling the host a fool, because it is a compliment that no man is likely to accept in his own house; and, finally, you are wrong in making such an uproar."
Far from increasing my bad temper, this individual, who had entered my room only to treat me to a sermon, made me laugh.
"I willingly plead guilty, sir," I answered, "to all the counts which you allege against me; but it is raining, it is getting late, I am tired and hungry, and therefore you will easily understand that I do not feel disposed to change my quarters. Will you give me some supper, as the landlord refuses to do so?"
"No," he replied with perfect calm. "because I am a good Catholic and fast. But I will undertake to make it all right for you with the landlord, who will give you a good supper."
He went downstairs. I remained where I was and had time to compare my hastiness to his calm and I acknowledged the man worthy of teaching me some lessons.
Soon he returned and told me that peace had been signed and that I should be served at once.
"Will you not take supper with me?"
"No, but I will keep you company."
I accepted his offer.
To know whom I had before me, I gave him my name and styled myself secretary to Cardinal Acquaviva.
"My name is Sancio Pico," he said; "I am a Castilian, and the 'proveditore' of the army of H. C. M., which is commanded by Count de Gages under the orders of the generalissimo, the Duke of Modem."
My appetite, which was very much alive, seemed to surprise him. He asked whether I had dined.
"No," said I.
At that, I saw satisfaction steal over his face.
"Are you not afraid such a supper will hurt you?" he said.
"On the contrary, I hope it will do me a great deal of good."
"Then you have deceived the Pope?"
"No, for I did not tell him that I had no appetite, but only that I liked meat better than fish."
"If you feel disposed to hear some good music," he said a moment after, "follow me to the next room; the prima donna of Ancona lives there."
The words prima donna interested me at once, and I followed him.
In the next room sat a woman already past her first youth, with two young girls and two boys beside her. I looked for the singer and found none.
Don Sancio at last presented him to me in the person of one of the boys, a handsome youth of about seventeen.
I thought he was a 'castrato' who, as is the custom in Rome, performed all the parts of a prima donna.
The mother then showed me the other son, no less handsome, though more manly in air.
His name was Petronio, and, to keep the family's transformations in order, he was the first female dancer at the opera.
The elder girl, Cecilia, studied music. The younger, Marina, like her brother Petronio, had been dedicated to Terpsichore. Both were very pretty.
The family came from Bologna and lived by the talents of its members, cheerfulness and amiability replaced wealth with them.
Bellino, such was the name of the castrato, yielding to the entreaties of Don Sancio, rose from the table, went to the harpiscord, and sang with the voice of an angel and with delightful grace.
The Castilian listened with his eyes closed, carried away by pleasure. I did nothing of the sort. I gazed into Bellino's eyes, which seemed to dart amorous lightnings upon me.
There was in him some of the features of Lucrezia and the graceful manner of the marchioness, and beneath the boy's dress I thought I detected the outline of a woman too beautiful to be hidden quite successfully.
Thus, in spite of his having been introduced as a man, I fancied that the so-called Bellino was a disguised beauty.
My imagination took at once the highest flight and I became thoroughly enamored.
We spent two very agreeable hours together. When I returned to my room, Don Sancio came with me.
"I intend to leave very early to-morrow morning," he said, "for Sinigaglia, with the Abbe Vilmarcati, but I expect to return for supper the day after to-morrow."
I wished him a good journey and told him that we should probably meet again on the road, since I also intended to leave Ancona that day, after paying a visit to my banker.
I went to bed with Bellino occupying my thoughts. I was sorry to go away without having proved to him that I was not the dupe of his disguise.
I was therefore delighted, the next morning, to see him enter my room as soon as I opened the door. He had come to offer me the services of his younger brother Petronio during my stay in Ancona, so that I need not engage a valet de place.
I agreed, and sent Petronio to fetch coffee for the whole family.
I asked Bellino to sit on my bed, meaning to make love to him and to treat him as I would have treated a girl, but the two young sisters burst into the room and ruined my design.
Yet the company that gathered there was pleasant enough to content a colder heart than mine.
There was in them a natural grace of three different kinds, an unobtrusive familiarity, theatrical wit, pleasing playfulness, and those agreeable Bolognese manners which I then saw for the first time. Had I been melancholy, they would have cured me of it.
Cecilia and Marina were two sweet rosebuds, which needed only the inspiration of love to open fully.
They would have outshone Bellino in my eyes, had I seen in him only the miserable outcast of mankind, or rather the pitiful victim of priestly cruelty.
In spite of their youth, the two amiable girls offered on their dawning bosom the precious image of womanhood.
Petronio brought in the coffee and served it. I sent some to his mother, who never quitted her room.
Petronio was a true male harlot by taste and by profession. The species is not scare in Italy, where the offence is not regarded with the wild and ferocious intolerance of England and Spain.
I had given him a sequin for the coffee and told him to keep the change. In return, to thank me in his own fashion, he gave me a voluptuous kiss with half-open lips, supposing in me a taste which I was very far from entertaining. I undeceived him, but he showed no shame.
I then ordered dinner for six. He answered that he would have it prepared only for four, since he must keep his dear mother company and she always took her meal in bed.
Everyone to his taste, I thought, and I let him do as he pleased.
Two minutes after Petronio had gone, the landlord came to my room.
"Reverend sir, the persons you have invited here have each the appetite of two men at least; I give you notice of it, because I must charge accordingly."
"Allright," I replied, "but let us have a good dinner."
He was satisfied with that answer and left me.
When I had dressed, I thought it proper to pay my compliments to the compliant mother.
I found her in her room, arranging a few articles of clothing. I congratulated her on her children.
She thanked me for the present I had given to Petronio, and began to make me the confidant of her distress.
"The manager of the theatre," she said, "is a miser who has given us only fifty Roman crowns for the whole carnival. We have spent them for our living, and, to return to Bologna, we shall have to walk and beg our way."
She tried to say this with composure, but her mouth trembled at the last words.
I took a gold quadruple from my purse and placed it in her hand.
She looked at it, then at me. Her eyes filled. She thanked me, blessed me, and would have kissed my hand if I had not withdrawn it.
I was moved by her joy, and perhaps a little pleased with myself.
"Madam," I said, "I promise you another gold quadruple if you will be entirely frank with me."
She closed her fingers around the coin.
"What do you wish to know?"
"Confess that Bellino is a pretty woman in disguise."
She looked at me sharply.
"I can assure you it is not so, although he has the appearance of a woman."
"Not only the appearance, madam, but the tone, the manners; I am a good judge."
"Nevertheless, he is a boy, for he has had to be examined before he could sing on the stage here."
"And who examined him?"
"My lord bishop's chaplain."
"A chaplain?"
"Yes, and you may satisfy yourself by enquiring from him."
"The only way to clear my doubts would be to examine him myself."
"You may, if he has no objection, but truly I cannot interfere, as I do not know what your intentions are."
"They are quite natural."
I returned to my room and sent Petronio for a bottle of Cyprus wine. He came back with the bottle under his arm and seven sequins in his hand, the change from the doubloon I had given him.
I took the money and divided it between Bellino, Cecilia, and Marina. The two girls received their share with bright eyes and many thanks.
Bellino accepted his with a quieter grace, which did nothing to lessen my suspicions.
I then begged Cecilia and Marina to leave me alone with their brother.
When the door was closed, I poured two glasses of wine and offered him one.
"Bellino," I said, "I am certain that your natural conformation is different from mine; my dear, you are a girl."
He did not blush. He looked at me steadily over the rim of his glass.
"I am a man," he said, "but a castrato. I have been examined."
"Allow me to examine you likewise, and I will give you a doubloon."
He set down the glass.
"I cannot."
"Why not?"
"For it is evident that you love me, and such love is condemned by religion."
"You did not raise these objections with the bishop's chaplain."
"He was an elderly priest, and besides, he only just glanced at me."
"I will know the truth," said I, extending my hand boldly.
Bellino pushed it away at once and rose from his chair.
His obstinacy vexed me. I had already spent fifteen or sixteen sequins in this adventure, and curiosity, when it has paid in advance, believes itself entitled to satisfaction.