MY ADVENTURES AT THE INN

I hope I may say that, in the painful position in which I found myself, I did what was becoming to a man of honour more jealous of his wife’s than of his own.  I reasoned with myself that a scandal, an uproar, an exhibition of my resentment would not only be no protection to Virginia, but would be, on the other hand, the clearest evidence that I doubted her.  It could only end in my being turned out of the inn and in her being held by every man and woman of the place for what she was not.  I remembered here with admiration the conduct of Father Carnesecchi, who, having on one occasion conducted two ladies and their cavaliers about the church of San Giovannino, and pointed out what beauties it possessed—­and many which it did not—­was mistaken by them for the sacristan and offered a small gratuity at the door.  He thanked them and humbly accepted it, and (as I think), did well; for, as he said afterwards, it would have hurt their esteem much more to have been refused than it could possibly hurt his to have been offered the gift.  It was in the spirit of this that I acted in the present state of my affairs.  Virginia was undoubtedly my wife, and therefore of my own rank.  To doubt a gentleman in any situation, however delicate, were to be offensive; it could not therefore be less offensive, but must needs be more, to doubt a gentlewoman.  Not only did I not doubt her in truth, but I would not let it be supposed by any one that I did.  There then, in that steaming kitchen, among sweating cooks and greasy cook-aids did I stand, with what countenance I had.

They were too busy just then for any notice to be thrown my way.  I sat in a corner out of sight and watched their preparations for a superb banquet.  It might have seemed that the cavaliere was going to entertain all the Ancients of the Republic, to judge by the capons and turkeys, the strings of ortolans, the quails, the partridges, roasting, basting or getting trussed.  There was a cygnet, I remember; there were large fish stuffed with savoury herbs, crawfish, lampreys, eels in wine; there were pastry, shapes of cream, jellies, custards:  you never saw such a feast—­and I am sure there were a score of persons of both sexes busy about it.  The maids flew from saucepan to stewpan, the boys staggered under piles of plates; the dressers and servers were always in and out, carrying dishes to the lacqueys of the table or coming back for more.  The head-cook, a mountain of brawn and lard, seemed fresh from the bath—­ so he dripped and shone.  The hubbub, bustle, heat and worry are not to be described by me.