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Updated: May 12, 2025
Manucci whispered to me that the ambassador would do his best in a confidential way to get my release, and that he had no doubt of his success. When my visitors were gone I sat down to write, but I had need of all my patience. The rascally prisoners crowded round me to read what I was writing, and when they could not understand it they were impudent enough to ask me to explain it to them.
'Count Manucci came here last week from travelling in Ireland. I have shewn him what civilities I could on his own account, on yours, and on that of Mr. and Mrs. Thrale. He has had a fall from his horse, and been much hurt. I regret this unlucky accident, for he seems to be a very amiable man.
On one occasion I was at a ball, and a Spaniard noticing me with Manucci, came up to me, and told me with an air of mystery that that young man was the ambassador's wife. He did not know that the ambassador was Manucci's wife; in fact, he did not understand the arrangement at all. "Where ignorance is bliss!" etc.
Manucci told me that my letters would be delivered in the course of the day, and observed, smilingly, that my epistle to the ambassador was rather severe. I shewed him copies of the three others I had written, and the inexperienced young man told me that gentleness was the best way to obtain favours. He did not know that there are circumstances in which a man's pen must be dipped in gall.
Manucci who had just arrived from Paris, and had evinced much delight on learning that I was at Rome. "I suppose you know him well," said the ambassador, "and as I am going to present him to the Holy Father to-morrow, I should be much obliged if you could tell me who he really is."
I felt that my fault was beyond forgiveness, and did not think of asking Manucci to pardon me; I could do nothing but despair. Nevertheless, in spite of Manucci's just indignation, I could not help seeing that he had made a great mistake in advising me, in so insulting a manner, to leave Madrid in a week.
Manucci whispered to me that the ambassador would do his best in a confidential way to get my release, and that he had no doubt of his success. When my visitors were gone I sat down to write, but I had need of all my patience. The rascally prisoners crowded round me to read what I was writing, and when they could not understand it they were impudent enough to ask me to explain it to them.
I then took the document to Manucci, who was evidently suffering from some mental trouble; and I remained to dinner with the ambassador. It was for the last time. The effect of this sentence on me was like that of a thunderbolt; I returned home like a man in a dream.
After some fine sport my mistress begged me to take her to the Prado, where all the best people in Madrid are to be seen. Donna Ignazia leant on my arm, seemed proud to be thought mine, and filled me with delight. All at once we met the Venetian ambassador and his favourite, Manucci. They had just arrived from Aranjuez.
I could scarcely believe in such an extremity of vengeance: Manucci was making a parade of the influence he possessed over his wife the ambassador. In his insane desire for revenge he had laid all shame aside. I was curious to know whether he had forgotten Don Emmanuel de Roda and the Marquis de la Moras; I found both of them had been forewarned against me.
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