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Authors: Andrea Di Robilant
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Piero was visiting Giustiniana and her sisters, when in fact Piero simply lived nearby. Indeed, some already referred to them as “Piero Marcello’s girls.” Piero not only flirted with Giustiniana, he also needled Andrea in public, wondering aloud whether he and Giustiniana were secretly still seeing each other. The two nearly came to blows over her, as Andrea reported to Giustiniana with more than a hint of braggadocio in this account of their confrontation:
PIERO:
Are you jealous of me? Oh . . . but I have no designs
on her. True, when women call me it is hard for me to resist. . . .
But I am your friend, I would not betray you. I stay away from
my friends’ women. And if you have the slightest suspicion, I will
never see her again.
ANDREA:
Who do you think you are, the Terror of the World?
Do you really think I’m afraid of losing Giustiniana to you? If
she were crazy, like all your previous lovers were, if she wanted
your money, . . . if she had all the weaknesses, all the silliness, all
the prejudices of the average woman, if she could not tell the true
value of better men, if she were a coquette or worse, then, yes, I
probably wouldn’t trust her. But my dear Piero, who do you think
you’re dealing with?
Andrea concluded, “I told him these things with my usual straightforwardness, so that after affecting surprise he turned the whole thing into a joke.”
Things did not end there. Days later Andrea saw Piero and Giustiniana talking to each other again. He gave her a stern warning: “Now I speak to you as a husband: I absolutely do not want you to show in public that you know Piero Marcello. I was very sorry that Mariettina, noticing that I was trying to see with whom you were laughing, came over and whispered into my ear: ‘She’s laughing with Piero down there.’ ”
Even after such a reprimand Andrea would not admit to being the slightest bit jealous:
I’ve told you a hundred times: I don’t forbid you to see Piero
out of jealousy. . . . But I absolutely do not want you to look at
him in public or even say hello, all the more so because he a fects
an equivocal manner that I simply don’t like and that I find insolent in the extreme. . . . Piero and Momolo are not for you. . . .
Piero frets while Momolo a fects his usual mannerisms, both with
the same end: to make people believe that there has been at least a
little bit of intimacy with all the women they are barely
acquainted with. And for this reason the two of them are a real
nuisance to young lovers.
Despite the misunderstandings and squabbles that ensued, Andrea and Giustiniana’s relationship deepened through the spring and summer of 1755 to the point that very little else seemed to matter to them anymore. All their energies were devoted to making time for themselves and finding places to meet. They had become experts at escaping the restrictions imposed on them and moved stealthily from alcove to alcove. Their love affair consumed their life, and it gradually transformed them.
Giustiniana had been known as a lively and gregarious young woman. The affectionate nickname
inglesina di Sant’Aponal
conjured up a refreshing image of youth and grace. Soon after returning to Venice, Giustiniana, being the eldest, had begun to share with her mother the duties of a good hostess while Bettina, Tonnina, Richard, and William were still under the care of Toinon. This role had come naturally to her. She had felt at ease in their drawing room or over at the consul’s, delighting everyone with her charm. But by 1755 she was tired of all that, tired of performing onstage. She hardly recognized herself. “Coquetry was all I really cared for once,” she told Andrea in a moment of introspection. “Now I can barely manage to be polite. Everything bores me. Everything annoys me. People say I have become stupid, silly; that I am hopeless at entertaining guests. I realize they’re right, but I don’t much care.” She spent her days writing letters to
PIERO:
Are you jealous of me? Oh . . . but I have no designs
on her. True, when women call me it is hard for me to resist. . . .
But I am your friend, I would not betray you. I stay away from
my friends’ women. And if you have the slightest suspicion, I will
never see her again.
ANDREA:
Who do you think you are, the Terror of the World?
Do you really think I’m afraid of losing Giustiniana to you? If
she were crazy, like all your previous lovers were, if she wanted
your money, . . . if she had all the weaknesses, all the silliness, all
the prejudices of the average woman, if she could not tell the true
value of better men, if she were a coquette or worse, then, yes, I
probably wouldn’t trust her. But my dear Piero, who do you think
you’re dealing with?
Andrea concluded, “I told him these things with my usual straightforwardness, so that after affecting surprise he turned the whole thing into a joke.”
Things did not end there. Days later Andrea saw Piero and Giustiniana talking to each other again. He gave her a stern warning: “Now I speak to you as a husband: I absolutely do not want you to show in public that you know Piero Marcello. I was very sorry that Mariettina, noticing that I was trying to see with whom you were laughing, came over and whispered into my ear: ‘She’s laughing with Piero down there.’ ”
Even after such a reprimand Andrea would not admit to being the slightest bit jealous:
I’ve told you a hundred times: I don’t forbid you to see Piero
out of jealousy. . . . But I absolutely do not want you to look at
him in public or even say hello, all the more so because he a fects
an equivocal manner that I simply don’t like and that I find insolent in the extreme. . . . Piero and Momolo are not for you. . . .
Piero frets while Momolo a fects his usual mannerisms, both with
the same end: to make people believe that there has been at least a
little bit of intimacy with all the women they are barely
acquainted with. And for this reason the two of them are a real
nuisance to young lovers.
Despite the misunderstandings and squabbles that ensued, Andrea and Giustiniana’s relationship deepened through the spring and summer of 1755 to the point that very little else seemed to matter to them anymore. All their energies were devoted to making time for themselves and finding places to meet. They had become experts at escaping the restrictions imposed on them and moved stealthily from alcove to alcove. Their love affair consumed their life, and it gradually transformed them.
Giustiniana had been known as a lively and gregarious young woman. The affectionate nickname
inglesina di Sant’Aponal
conjured up a refreshing image of youth and grace. Soon after returning to Venice, Giustiniana, being the eldest, had begun to share with her mother the duties of a good hostess while Bettina, Tonnina, Richard, and William were still under the care of Toinon. This role had come naturally to her. She had felt at ease in their drawing room or over at the consul’s, delighting everyone with her charm. But by 1755 she was tired of all that, tired of performing onstage. She hardly recognized herself. “Coquetry was all I really cared for once,” she told Andrea in a moment of introspection. “Now I can barely manage to be polite. Everything bores me. Everything annoys me. People say I have become stupid, silly; that I am hopeless at entertaining guests. I realize they’re right, but I don’t much care.” She spent her days writing letters to
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