A Cleric in Naples | Page 5

four more sequins in partnership with him.
He held the bank, and it was broken. I did not wish to play any more,
but Corsini, feigning to pity me and to feel great sorrow at being the

cause of my loss, induced me to try myself a bank of twenty-five
sequins; my bank was likewise broken. The hope of winning back my
money made me keep up the game, and I lost everything I had.
Deeply grieved, I went away and laid myself down near the cook, who
woke up and said I was a libertine.
"You are right," was all I could answer.
I was worn out with fatigue and sorrow, and I slept soundly. My vile
tormentor, the monk, woke me at noon, and informed me with a
triumphant joy that a very rich young man had been invited by his
friends to supper, that he would be sure to play and to lose, and that it
would be a good opportunity for me to retrieve my losses.
"I have lost all my money. Lend me twenty sequins."
"When I lend money I am sure to lose; you may call it superstition, but
I have tried it too often. Try to find money somewhere else, and come.
Farewell."
I felt ashamed to confess my position to my friend, and sending for, a
money-lender I emptied my trunk before him. We made an inventory of
my clothes, and the honest broker gave me thirty sequins, with the
understanding that if I did not redeem them within three days all my
things would become his property. I am bound to call him an honest
man, for he advised me to keep three shirts, a few pairs of stockings,
and a few handkerchiefs; I was disposed to let him take everything,
having a presentiment that I would win back all I had lost; a very
common error. A few years later I took my revenge by writing a
diatribe against presentiments. I am of opinion that the only foreboding
in which man can have any sort of faith is the one which forbodes evil,
because it comes from the mind, while a presentiment of happiness has
its origin in the heart, and the heart is a fool worthy of reckoning
foolishly upon fickle fortune.
I did not lose any time in joining the honest company, which was
alarmed at the thought of not seeing me. Supper went off without any

allusion to gambling, but my admirable qualities were highly praised,
and it was decided that a brilliant fortune awaited me in Rome. After
supper there was no talk of play, but giving way to my evil genius I
loudly asked for my revenge. I was told that if I would take the bank
everyone would punt. I took the bank, lost every sequin I had, and
retired, begging the monk to pay what I owed to the landlord, which he
promised to do.
I was in despair, and to crown my misery I found out as I was going
home that I had met the day before with another living specimen of the
Greek woman, less beautiful but as perfidious. I went to bed stunned by
my grief, and I believe that I must have fainted into a heavy sleep,
which lasted eleven hours; my awaking was that of a miserable being,
hating the light of heaven, of which he felt himself unworthy, and I
closed my eyes again, trying to sleep for a little while longer. I dreaded
to rouse myself up entirely, knowing that I would then have to take
some decision; but I never once thought of returning to Venice, which
would have been the very best thing to do, and I would have destroyed
myself rather than confide my sad position to the young doctor. I was
weary of my existence, and I entertained vaguely some hope of starving
where I was, without leaving my bed. It is certain that I should not have
got up if M. Alban, the master of the peotta, had not roused me by
calling upon me and informing me that the boat was ready to sail.
The man who is delivered from great perplexity, no matter by what
means, feels himself relieved. It seemed to me that Captain Alban had
come to point out the only thing I could possibly do; I dressed myself
in haste, and tying all my worldly possessions in a handkerchief I went
on board. Soon afterwards we left the shore, and in the morning we cast
anchor in Orsara, a seaport of Istria. We all landed to visit the city,
which would more properly be called a village. It belongs to the Pope,
the Republic of Venice having abandoned it to the Holy See.
A young monk of