ry fine black eyes. She was two-and-twenty
years old, * * * She was, besides, a thorough Venetian in her
dialect, in her thoughts, in her countenance, in every thing, with
all their _naivete_ and pantaloon humour. Besides, she could
neither read nor write, and could not plague me with
letters,--except twice that she paid sixpence to a public scribe,
under the piazza, to make a letter for her, upon some occasion when
I was ill and could not see her. In other respects, she was
somewhat fierce and 'prepotente,' that is, over-bearing, and used
to walk in whenever it suited her, with no very great regard to
time, place, nor persons; and if she found any women in her way,
she knocked them down.

"When I first knew her, I was in 'relazione' (liaison) with la
Signora * *, who was silly enough one evening at Dolo, accompanied
by some of her female friends, to threaten her; for the gossips of
the villeggiatura had already found out, by the neighing of my
horse one evening, that I used to 'ride late in the night' to meet
the Fornarina. Margarita threw back her veil (fazziolo), and
replied in very explicit Venetian, '_You_ are _not_ his _wife_: _I_
am _not_ his _wife_: you are his Donna, and _I_ am his _Donna_:
your husband is a _becco_, and mine is another. For the rest, what
_right_ have you to reproach me? If he prefers me to you, is it my
fault? If you wish to secure him, tie him to your
petticoat-string.--But do not think to speak to me without a reply,
because you happen to be richer than I am.' Having delivered this
pretty piece of eloquence (which I translate as it was related to
me by a bystander), she went on her way, leaving a numerous
audience with Madame * *, to ponder at her leisure on the dialogue
between them.

"When I came to Venice for the winter, she followed; and as she
found herself out to be a favourite, she came to me pretty often.
But she had inordinate self-love, and was not tolerant of other
women. At the 'Cavalchina,' the masked ball on the last night of
the carnival, where all the world goes, she snatched off the mask
of Madame Contarini, a lady noble by birth, and decent in conduct,
for no other reason, but because she happened to be leaning on my
arm. You may suppose what a cursed noise this made; but this is
only one