Milan and Mantua | Page 4

Charles paid us a visit with his lovely wife, who
seemed totally indifferent to what Christine used to be. Her hair dressed
with powder did not please me as well as the raven black of her
beautiful locks, and her fashionable town attire did not, in my eyes, suit
her as well as her rich country dress. But the countenances of husband
and wife bore the stamp of happiness. Charles reproached me in a
friendly manner because I had not called once upon them, and, in order
to atone for my apparent negligence, I went to see them the next day
with M. Dandolo. Charles told me that his wife was idolized by his
aunt and his sister who had become her bosom friend; that she was kind,
affectionate, unassuming, and of a disposition which enforced affection.
I was no less pleased with this favourable state of things than with the
facility with which Christine was learning the Venetian dialect.
When M. Dandolo and I called at their house, Charles was not at home;
Christine was alone with his two relatives. The most friendly welcome
was proffered to us, and in the course of conversation the aunt praised
the progress made by Christine in her writing very highly, and asked
her to let me see her copy-book. I followed her to the next room, where
she told me that she was very happy; that every day she discovered new
virtues in her husband. He had told her, without the slightest
appearance of suspicion of displeasure, that he knew that we had spent
two days together in Treviso, and that he had laughed at the
well-meaning fool who had given him that piece of information in the
hope of raising a cloud in the heaven of their felicity.
Charles was truly endowed with all the virtues, with all the noble
qualities of an honest and distinguished man. Twenty-six years
afterwards I happened to require the assistance of his purse, and found
him my true friend. I never was a frequent visitor at his house, and he
appreciated my delicacy. He died a few months before my last
departure from Venice, leaving his widow in easy circumstances, and
three well-educated sons, all with good positions, who may, for what I
know, be still living with their mother.
In June I went to the fair at Padua, and made the acquaintance of a

young man of my own age, who was then studying mathematics under
the celebrated Professor Succi. His name was Tognolo, but thinking it
did not sound well, he changed it for that of Fabris. He became, in after
years, Comte de Fabris, lieutenant-general under Joseph II., and died
Governor of Transylvania. This man, who owed his high fortune to his
talents, would, perhaps, have lived and died unknown if he had kept his
name of Tognolo, a truly vulgar one. He was from Uderzo, a large
village of the Venetian Friuli. He had a brother in the Church, a man of
parts, and a great gamester, who, having a deep knowledge of the world,
had taken the name of Fabris, and the younger brother had to assume it
likewise. Soon afterwards he bought an estate with the title of count,
became a Venetian nobleman, and his origin as a country bumpkin was
forgotten. If he had kept his name of Tognolo it would have injured
him, for he could not have pronounced it without reminding his hearers
of what is called, by the most contemptible of prejudices, low
extraction, and the privileged class, through an absurd error, does not
admit the possibility of a peasant having talent or genius. No doubt a
time will come when society, more enlightened, and therefore more
reasonable, will acknowledge that noble feelings, honour, and heroism
can be found in every condition of life as easily as in a class, the blood
of which is not always exempt from the taint of a misalliance.
The new count, while he allowed others to forget his origin, was too
wise to forget it himself, and in legal documents he always signed his
family name as well as the one he had adopted. His brother had offered
him two ways to win fortune in the world, leaving him perfectly free in
his choice. Both required an expenditure of one thousand sequins, but
the abbe had put the amount aside for that purpose. My friend had to
choose between the sword of Mars and the bird of Minerva. The abbe
knew that he could purchase for his brother a company in the army of
his Imperial and Apostolic Majesty, or obtain for him a professorship at
the University of Padua; for money can do everything. But my friend,
who was gifted with noble feelings and good sense, knew that in