I became particularly attached to one of my school-fellows, Bernardo, a gay, almost dissolute son of a Roman senator.  When he suddenly left school to join the Papal Guard the whole world seemed to me empty and deserted.  One day I saw him pass my window on a prancing horse.  I rushed out, but ran across the porter’s wife of the Borghese Palace, who informed me that the young Eccellenza and her husband had just arrived.  Would I not come to give them welcome?  To the palace I went, was graciously received by Fabiani and Francesca, who brought me their little daughter Flaminia, the “little abbess,” as she was called, having been destined from her birth for the life of a nun.  The child had wonderfully bright eyes, and came towards me as though we were old acquaintances, laughing and chattering, and showing me her toys.

On my way back, early in the evening, as luck would have it, I almost ran into the arms of Bernardo.  He was delighted to see me, told me of his merry life and adventures, and wanted to drag me into an artists’ tavern to drink a bottle of wine.  That was impossible for me, a Jesuits’ pupil.  I refused.  As we walked on we met a crowd hustling an old Jew.  A thick-set brute of a fellow wanted to force him to jump over a long stick, and everybody shouted, “Leap, Jew!” Bernardo sprang forth, snatched the stick out of the fellow’s hand, brandished his sword, and cried in a strong, manly voice, “Leap yourself, or I shall cleave your head!” He made him jump, and jump again, and struck him lightly with the flat of his sword.  The crowd veered round at once, laughed and applauded, the old Jew meanwhile making his escape.  “Come,” said I, when we were out of the crowd, “come!  Let them say what they may, I will drink a bottle of wine with you.  May we always be friends!”

I met Bernardo again some time after at the Vatican.  His joy equalled mine, and he immediately plunged into confidences.  One day, when straying into the Ghetto, he had encountered the old Jew of our adventure, bowing and scraping, and requesting the honour of receiving, him in his house.  They entered; wine was brought to him by a dark Jewish maiden, of such beauty as to set his whole blood on fire.  Since then he had vainly tried to see her.  He visited the Jew’s house on all sorts of pretexts, but his charmer remained invisible.  He now made the amazing proposition that I should take up the study of Hebrew with the old Jew, and thus help him in this affair.  I explained the utter impossibility of aiding him in a project of this nature.  He was obviously offended; and when we parted he returned my warmth with chilly politeness.

We met but rarely after this meeting; Bernardo was always jovial and friendly, though not confidential, until, on the occasion of a dance at the Borghese Palace, when I asked him about the handsome Jewish maiden, he laughed.  “I have found,” he said, “another and tamer little golden bird.  The other has flown out of the Ghetto—­nay, even out of Rome!”